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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..89dd0eb --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53942 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53942) diff --git a/old/53942-0.txt b/old/53942-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3d1a671..0000000 --- a/old/53942-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5617 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Letters from a Landscape Painter, by Charles -Lanman - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: Letters from a Landscape Painter - - -Author: Charles Lanman - - - -Release Date: January 11, 2017 [eBook #53942] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS FROM A LANDSCAPE PAINTER*** - - -This e-book was generously made available by FadedPage.com -(http://www.fadedpage.com) - - - -Transcriber’s note: - - Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - - - - - -LETTERS FROM A LANDSCAPE PAINTER. - -By the Author of -“Essays for Summer Hours.” -(CHARLES LANMAN) - - -Gentlemen, let not prejudice prepossess you. I confess my discourse is -like to prove suitable to my recreation,—calm and quiet. - Izaak Walton. - - - - - - - -Boston: -James Munroe and Company. -MDCCCXLV. - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1844, by -Charles Lanman. -in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of -Massachusetts. - -Boston: -Printed by Thurston, Torry and Co. -31 Devonshire Street. - - - - - CRITICAL NOTICES - OF - LANMAN’S “ESSAYS FOR SUMMER HOURS.” - - - _By John Neal, Esq._ - - “A book of two hundred and fifty pages, containing some twenty essays - or thereabouts,—and perhaps more,—upon all sorts of pilgrimages: upon - the woods and the city, Morning and Evening, the Dying Year, - Literature, Mirth and Sadness, the Early Called, the Painter’s Dream, - &c., &c., &c.; written with great simplicity and sweetness,—untainted - with affectation, except in two or three slight instances,—original, - tender, and at times absolutely touching.” - - _From the N. Y. Evening Post, Edited by W. C. Bryant._ - - “The volume, of which we have copied the title, is composed of essays - on various subjects, the fruit, as the author tells us, of the leisure - of last summer. They are agreeably written, with a vein of poetic - embellishment.” - - _From the Democratic Review._ - - “‘Essays for Summer Hours,’ is the title of a pleasing little tome, by - Charles Lanman, comprising a series of sketches of American scenery, - interspersed with poetical allusions to incidents and characters which - are very harmoniously blended, and agreeably presented. We hope this - work will prove successful, and form the precursor of many other - contributions to our elegant literature from the same pen.” - - _From the Southern Literary Messenger._ - - “This well printed, and handsome little volume, embraces a series of - eighteen essays; the most of them founded in American scenery and - associations. Some of the topics are furnished by the West, the native - place of the young author; he has certainly done justice to the fresh - scenes that are spread out in that interesting portion of the country. - The talent of the writer is descriptive; he has painted, with - remarkable fidelity and beauty, some of the most striking points of - Western life. His language is chaste and well selected; and many of - the moral reflections, growing out of the several subjects which he - has selected for his essays, are expressed in an exceedingly - interesting and even touching manner.” - - _From the Boston Miscellany._ - - “This a pleasant little volume of quiet Essays, written by a warm - lover of nature, and dealing principally with descriptions of natural - scenery, or the development of simple feeling. The author has well - characterized them as reading ‘for summer hours.’ They neither furnish - deep thought, nor are the parent of it; and yet they conduct the - reader through pleasant places, in peaceful and undisturbed meditative - shades, without disturbing him with paradoxical statements, or, often, - with opinions that his judgment or his taste rejects. The author - appears to have read a good deal, with discrimination and sympathy, - and,—as it is true that the more we know, the more we learn from what - we read of the best written efforts of master-minds,—so the more a - writer, especially of this class of essays, has gathered from the - already accumulated stores of information and illustration, readier - will be his power to impress his own train of thought upon his reader. - Mr. Lanman appears to have had a peculiarly apt sympathy and - appreciation for his favorite authors, and we consequently find that - (which, although artistically a fault, is no loss to the readers of - his book,) whenever he comes to the real depth of his subject, or to a - marked point either of argument or illustration, he flies to quotation - to express himself, and his quotations are in general well selected - and classical.” - - _From the London Literary Gazette._ - - “This is a second edition, and the matter well deserves to run through - many more; for we have met with nothing of the kind in Transatlantic - polite literature in which so fresh and pure a spirit prevails. It is - far away from the worldly, trading, and money-making go-a-head - passion, which rules the multitude both there and here.” - - - - - TO THE - HON. GEORGE PERKINS MARSH, - BURLINGTON, VERMONT. - - - My Dear Sir, - -To you, in testimony of my regard for you, as a Statesman, a Scholar, -and a Lover of the Fine Arts, do I dedicate this little volume. - -Had not my maiden effort in the world of letters been received by the -public with such marked favor, I should not venture to publish again. -The same motives, however, which prompted the first, have also prompted -the present collection of my productions, and I desire no other reward -than the one already bestowed upon me in the approving smile of honest -and sincere hearts. - -As my title-page implies, I am now a professional Landscape Painter, my -inclinations having compelled me to relinquish the “cotton trade and -sugar line,” and these letters, originally written to a literary friend -in New York, are but the offspring of one who claims the only merit of -being a lover of Nature and his fellow men. I confess myself to be a -creature of impulse, and each paper that I now publish, I would have -considered as a mere record of my thoughts and feelings during the hour -it may have been indited. Having been a sojourner in various portions of -the country during the past summer, in search of the picturesque, you -must not be surprised to find yourself one moment scrambling through a -mountain gorge, and the next on the margin of the boundless sea. With -this preliminary, I lay aside my pen, and return to my palette and -pencils. - - Your sincere friend, - CHARLES LANMAN. - - New York, Autumn of 1844. - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - TROUTING AMONG THE CATSKILLS, 1 - A SPRING DAY, 19 - SOUTH PEAK MOUNTAIN, 34 - A SLEEPLESS NIGHT, 52 - COLE’S IMAGINATIVE PAINTINGS, 64 - LAKE HORICON, 83 - BURLINGTON, 103 - TRIP TO PORTLAND, 122 - MOOSEHEAD LAKE AND THE KENNEBECK, 143 - LILLY LARNARD, 157 - LOUIS L. NOBLE, 172 - THE UNHAPPY STRANGER, 190 - A WEEK IN A FISHING SMACK, 197 - TRIP TO WATCH HILL, 214 - OUR NEW YORK PAINTERS, 233 - A SONG OF MEMORY, 256 - - - - - TROUTING AMONG THE CATSKILLS - - -Again am I in the country, where I shall probably remain until the -even-tide of the year. The main object, as you know, in my contemplated -wanderings, will be to study the “book of nature, opened wide,” with a -view of adding to my stock of materials for future use in my profession. -The first of those letters, which I promised to write you by way of -recreation, I have now commenced, and I wish you to understand, at the -very outset, that, as I have nothing in particular to prove, my themes -will be as variable as my feelings; but I shall confine myself -principally to descriptions of natural scenery and personal adventures. - -My present stopping place is at an old Dutch farm-house near Plauterkill -Clove, under the shadow of the Catskill mountains. Since my arrival here -the weather has been rather chilly for the season, so that I have not -had much opportunity to use the pencil, but I have already noted some -noble views, which I shall attempt to portray in their summer garb. The -consequence is—independent of the fact that May is the angler’s favorite -month—I have been practising my hand at trouting, in which art you have -reason to know I am somewhat of an adept. How truly hath it been written -by good old Walton;— - - Of recreation, there is none - So free as fishing is alone. - All other pastimes do no less, - Than mind and body both possess; - My _hands_ alone my _work_ can do, - So I can _fish_ and _study_ too. - -Never, more deeply than now, have I felt the wisdom of this thought, and -never before have I enjoyed this sport to such perfection, whether you -consider my success or the scenery I have witnessed. My first excursion -was performed along the margin of a stream, which rises about two miles -off, out of a little lake on the mountains. My guide and companion was a -notorious hunter of these parts, named Peter Hummel, whose services I -have engaged for all my future rambles among the mountains. He is, -without exception, the wildest and rarest character I have ever known, -and would be a great acquisition to a menagerie. He was born in a little -hut at the foot of South Peak, is twenty-seven years of age, and has -never been to school a day in his life, or in his travels further away -from home than fifteen miles. He was _educated_ for a bark-gatherer, his -father and several brothers being engaged in the business; but Peter is -averse to commonplace labor, to anything, in fact, that will bring -money. When a mere boy of five years, he had an inkling for the -mountains, and once had wandered so far, that he was found by his father -in the den of an old bear, playing with her cubs. To tramp among the -mountains, with gun and dog, is Peter’s chief and only happiness. He is -probably one of the most perfect specimens of a hunter now living; and -very few, I imagine, could have survived the dangers to which he has -exposed himself. He seems to be one of those iron mortals that cannot -die with age and infirmity,—or be killed by man, rock, or water; he must -be shivered by a stroke of lightning. Although one of the wildest of -God’s creatures, Peter Hummel is as amiable and kind-hearted a man as -ever lived. He is an original wit withal, and shrewd and very laughable -are many of his speeches, and his stories are the cream of romance and -genuine mountain poetry. - -But to return. We started on our tramp at an early hour, he with a -trout-basket in his hand, containing our dinner, and I with my -sketch-book and a “pilgrim staff.” After a tiresome ascent of three -hours at the almost perpendicular side of a mountain, over ledges and -through gloomy ravines, we at last reached the wished-for brook. All the -day long were we cheered by its happy song, as we descended, now leaping -from one deep pool to another, and now scrambling over green-coated -rocks, under and around fallen trees, and along the damp, slippery sides -of the mountain, until we reached its mouth on a plain, watered by a -charming river, and sprinkled with the rustic residences of a sturdy -Dutch yeomanry. We were at home by sunset, having walked the distance of -twenty miles, and captured one hundred and fifty trout, the most of -which I distributed among the farm-houses in my way, on my return. - -On another occasion, I had taken my sketch-book and some fishing tackle, -and gone up a mountain road, when, after having outlined a few giant -trees, whose bare arms were extended upwards, as if they were praying to -be reclothed in their summer garniture, I found myself on the banks of -Schoharie Creek. In the very first hole into which I peered, I -discovered a large trout, lying near the bottom, just above a little bed -of white sand, whence rose the bubbles of a spring. It must have been -some thirty minutes, I think, that I stood there against a tree, -watching him with a “yearning tenderness.” “He is so happy,” thought I, -“I will let him live.” Presently, however, a beautiful fly lighted on -the water, which the greedy hermit swallowed in a minute, and returned -to his cool bed, with his conscience, as I fancied, not one whit -troubled by what he had done. Involuntarily I began to unwind my line, -and having cut a pole, and repeated to myself something about “diamond -cut diamond,” I baited my hook, and threw it in. The rogue of a trout, -however, saw me, and scorned for a while to heed my bait. But I coaxed -and coaxed, until at last he darted for it, apparently out of mere -spite. Something, then, like a miniature water-spout arose, and the -monarch of the brook was in a fair way of sharing the same fate which -had befallen the innocent fly. I learned a salutary lesson from this -incident, and as I had yielded to the temptation of the brook, I -shouldered my sketch-book, and descended the stream. At noon I reached a -farm-house, where I craved something to eat. A first-rate dinner was -given me, which was seasoned by many questions, and some information, -concerning trout. That afternoon, in company with a little boy, I -visited a neighboring stream, called the Roaring Kill, where I caught -one hundred and sixty fish. I then returned to the farm-house, and spent -the evening in conversation with my new acquaintances. After breakfast, -on the following morning, I set out for home, and got there about noon, -having made two additions to my sketches. Long shall I remember the -evening spent with this family, and their hospitality towards an entire -stranger. A good husband, a good wife, and two good daughters, have been -added to my list of friends. - -Another of my trouting pilgrimages was to a famous place called Stony -Clove, among the mountains of Shindaken, which are a continuation of the -Catskills, leading westward. It is a deep perpendicular cut or gorge -between two mountains, from twenty to an hundred feet in width, three -thousand in depth, and completely lined from base to summit by the most -luxuriant vegetation. It is watered by a narrow but deep brook, which is -so full of trout, that some seven hundred were captured by myself and -two others in a single day. When I tell you that this spot is only one -hundred miles from New York, you will be surprised to hear that in its -immediate vicinity we saw no less than two bears, a doe with two fawns, -and a host of other less important game. In some parts of it the -sunshine never enters, and cart loads of the purest ice may be found -there throughout the year. It is the loneliest and most awful corner of -the world that I have ever seen,—none other I fancy could make a man -feel more utterly desolate. It is a type of the valley of the shadow of -death; in single file did we have to pass through it, and in single file -must we pass into the grave. To spend one day there, we had to encamp -two nights, and how we generally manage that affair I will tell you -presently. In returning from Stony Clove, we took a circuitous route and -visited the Mountain House. We approached it by the way of the -celebrated Catskill Fall, which I will describe to you in the graphic -language of Cooper, as you may not remember the passage in his Pioneer. -“Why there’s a fall in the hills, where the water of two little ponds, -that lie near each other, breaks out of their bounds, and runs over the -rocks into the valley. The stream is, may be, such a one as would turn a -mill, if so useless a thing was wanted in the wilderness. _But the Hand -that made that ‘Leap’ never made a mill!_ There the water comes croaking -and winding among the rocks, first so slow that a trout might swim in -it, and then starting and running, just like any creature that wanted to -make a fair spring, till it gets to where the mountain divides, like the -cleft foot of a deer, leaving a deep hollow for the brook to tumble -into. The first pitch is nigh two hundred feet, and the water looks like -flakes of snow afore it touches the bottom, and then gathers itself -together again for a new start, and, may be, flutters over fifty feet of -flat rock, before it falls for another hundred, where it jumps from -shelf to shelf, first turning this way and that way, striving to get out -of the hollow, till it finally comes to the plain.” - -Our party on this occasion consisted of three,—Peter Hummel, a -bark-gatherer, and myself. I had chosen these fellows for the -expedition, because of their friendship for me and their willingness to -go, and I now resolved to give them a treat at the “Grand Hotel,” which -the wild fellows in their ignorance had ever looked upon as a kind of -paradise. You are aware, I suppose, that the Mountain House is an -establishment vieing in its style of accommodations with the best hotels -of the city. Between it and the Hudson there is, during the summer, an -hourly line of stages, and it is the transient resort of thousands, who -go there for the novelty of the scenery. The edifice itself stands on a -cliff, within a few feet of the edge, and commands a most magnificent -prospect, extending from Long Island Sound to the Green and White -mountains. The first time I was there, I spent half the night at my -bedroom window, watching the fantastic performances of a thunder-storm -far below me, which made the building tremble like a leaf, and reminded -me of Milton’s description of hell; while the sky above was cloudless, -and studded with stars. Between this spot and South Peak, “there’s the -High Peak and the Round Top, which lay back, like a father and mother -among their children, seeing they are far above all the other hills.” - -But to proceed. Coarsely and comically dressed as we were, we made a -very unique appearance as we paraded into the office of the hotel. I met -a few acquaintances there, to whom I introduced my comrades, and in a -short time each one of them was spinning a mountain legend to a crowd of -astonished and delighted listeners. In due time I ushered them into the -dining-room, where was enacted a scene which can be better imagined than -described. A Chinese in Victoria’s drawing-room, would not be more -completely out of his element, or be the cause of heartier laughter, -than were these men among the soup, ice-creams, and silver forks of the -“Yankee Palace,” as the house has been christened by the Dutch under the -mountains. - -About the middle of the afternoon we commenced descending the beautiful -mountain road, and a jolly time we had of it, I assure you. A little -while before there had been a heavy shower, and a thousand happy rills -attended us with a song. A delightful nook on this road is pointed out -as the identical spot where Rip Van Winkle slept away a score of his -life. I reached home in time to spend the twilight hour in my room, -musing upon the solemn and much loved mountains. I had but one -companion, and that was a sweet whip-poor-will, which nightly comes to -my window sill, to tell me a tale of its love or of the woods and -solitary wilderness. - -But the most unique and interesting of my fishing adventures, remains to -be described. I have heard a great deal about a certain lake among the -mountains, (the same alluded to above,) and I desired to visit it, and -spend a night upon its shore. Having again spoken to Peter Hummel, and -invited a neighbor to accompany us, whom they call White Yankee, the -noon-tide hour of last Thursday found us on our winding way. And such a -grotesque appearance as we made, would have caused you to laugh most -heartily, I am sure. The group was mostly _animated_, when climbing the -steep and rocky ravines which we were compelled to pass through. There -was Peter, “long, lank, and lean,” and wild in his attire and -countenance as an eagle of the wilderness, with an axe in his hand, and -a huge knapsack on his back, containing our provisions and utensils for -cooking. Next to him followed White Yankee, with three blankets lashed -upon his back, a slouched white hat on his head, and a half pound of -tobacco in his mouth. Crooked legged withal, and somewhat sickly was -this individual, and being wholly unaccustomed to this kind of business, -he went along groaning, grunting, and sweating, as if he was “sent for, -and _didn’t want_ to come.” In the rear trotted along your humble -friend, with a gun upon his shoulder, a powder-horn and shot-pouch at -his side, cowhide boots on his feet, and a cap on his head—his beard -half an inch long, and his long hair streaming in the wind. - -We reached our place of destination about five o’clock, and halted under -a large impending rock, which was to be our sleeping place. We were -emphatically under the “shadow of a rock, in a weary land.” Our first -business was to build a fire, which we did with about one cord of green -and dry wood. Eighty poles were then cut, to which we fastened our -lines. The old canoe in the lake was bailed out, and, having baited our -hooks with the small fish which we brought with us, we arranged the -poles around the lake, in about seven feet water. We then prepared and -ate our supper, and awaited the coming on of night. During this -interval, I learned from Peter the following particulars concerning the -lake. It was originally discovered by a hunter named Shew, after whom it -has always been called. It was estimated to cover about fifty acres, -and, in some places, to be more than two hundred feet in depth. For my -part, however, I should have said that it did not contain five acres, -but the mountains, which lower above it on every side, are calculated to -deceive the eye; but, as to its depth, I could fancy it to be -bottomless, for the water is apparently as black as ink. To the number -of trout in it there seems to be no end. It is supposed they reach it, -when small, through the brook already mentioned, when they increase in -size, and multiply. Peter says he caught one there once which weighed a -little over five pounds, and a speckled, common trout, too. It also -abounds in green and scarlet lizards, which would be a serious drawback -to the pleasures of the fastidious. I asked Peter many questions -concerning his adventures about this lake, and he told me that the -number of “harmless murders” which he had committed here were two or -three hundred. In one day, he shot three deer; at another time, a dozen -turkeys; at another, twenty ducks; one night, an old bear; and again, -half a dozen coons; and, on one occasion, annihilated a den of -thirty-seven rattlesnakes. This will give you some idea of the stories -which I hear from this man; but you cannot conceive the peculiar -enjoyment they afford me: it is because they are associated with my -“boyhood’s home,”—my wilderness home, in my much-loved Michigan. - -At nine o’clock, we lighted a torch and went to examine our lines; and -it was my peculiarly good fortune to haul out not less than forty-one -trout, weighing from one to two pounds a-piece. Now, if this wasn’t -sport, I should like to know what is? These we put into a spring of the -coldest water I ever tasted, and then “laid down in our loneliness,” as -Coleridge would have said on the occasion. Branches of hemlock -constituted our couch, and my station was between Peter and White -Yankee. Little did I dream, when I first saw these two bipeds, that I -should ever have them for my bedfellows. But who, alas! can always have -the bedfellow he desires? Think you that we could not sleep soundly in -that lap of the forest, between the sheltering rock and the roaring -fire? Yea, my friends were in the land of Nod in less than a dozen -minutes; but it was hard for me to go to sleep, tired as I was, in the -midst of such a scene. There I lay, flat upon my back, a stone and my -cap for a pillow, wrapt up in my blanket, with nothing but my nose and -eyes exposed to the chilly night air. Oh! what pictures did my fancy -conjure up, as I looked upon the army of trunks around me, glistening in -the fire-light. One moment they were a troop of Indians from the -spirit-land, come to revisit again the hunting-grounds of their fathers, -and weeping that the white man had desecrated their soil; and again, I -fancied them to be a congress of wild animals, assembled together to -try, execute, and devour us, for the depredations our fellows had -committed upon their kind for the last one hundred years. By and by, a -star peered upon me from between the branches of a tree, and my thoughts -ascended heavenward. And now, my eyes twinkled and blinked in sympathy -with the star, and I was a dreamer. - -An hour after the witching time of night, I was startled from my sleep -by a bellowing halloo from Peter, who said it was time to examine the -lines again. Had you heard the echoes which were then awakened, far and -near, you would have thought yourself in enchanted land. But there were -_living_ answers to that shout, for a frightened fox began to bark; an -owl commenced its horrible hootings; a partridge its drumming; and a -wolf its howl. There was not a breeze stirring, and - - “Nought was seen, in the vault on high, - But the moon, and the stars, and a cloudless sky, - And a river of white in the welkin blue.” - -Peter and Yankee went out to haul in the trout, but I remained on shore, -to attempt a drawing, by moonlight, of the lake before me. The opposite -side of the mountain, with its dark tangled forest, was perfectly -mirrored in the waters below, the whole seeming as solid and variegated -as a tablet of Egyptian marble. The canoe with its inmates noiselessly -pursued its way, making the stillness more profound. In the water at my -feet I distinctly saw lizards sporting about, and I could not but wonder -why such creatures were created. I thought, with the Ancient Mariner, - - “A thousand slimy things lived on, - And so did I.” - -Again we retired to rest, and slept till day-break. We visited our hooks -once more, and took them up, and found that we had one hundred and two -trout, averaging more than a pound a-piece. We then partook of a -substantial breakfast of this delicious fish, which were cooked by me as -well as anybody could do it, and, having gathered up our plunder, -started for home. - -The accidents we met with during the night were harmless, though they -might have proved serious. A paper of Locofoco matches, which Peter -carried in his breeches pocket, took fire, and gave him such a scorching -that he bellowed lustily. White Yankee, in his restless slumber, rolled -so near our watch-fire, that he barely escaped with one corner of his -blanket, the remainder having been consumed. As for me, I only got -pitched into the water up to my middle, while endeavoring to reach the -end of a log which extended into the lake. In descending the mountain, I -shot three partridges, and confoundedly frightened a fox, and by noon -was in my snug studio, commencing a picture from one of my last -sketches. - -But lo! my candle is flickering in the socket, and I must say, Good -night! - - - - - A SPRING DAY - - -May is near its close, and I am still at work in the valley of the -Hudson. Spring is indeed come again, and this, for the present year, has -been its day of triumph. The moment I awoke, at dawn, this morning, I -knew by intuition that it would be so, and I bounded from my couch like -a startled deer, impatient for the cool delicious air. Spring is upon -the earth once more, and a new life is given me of enjoyment and hope. -The year is in its childhood, and my heart clings to it with a sympathy, -that I feel must be immortal and divine. What I have done to-day, I -cannot tell: I only know that my body has been tremulous with feeling, -and my eyes almost blinded with seeing. Every hour has been fraught with -a new emotion of delight, and presented to my vision numberless pictures -of surpassing beauty. I have held communion with the sky, the mountains, -the streams, the woods, and the fields: and these, if you please, shall -be themes of my present letter. - -The sky! It has been of as deep an azure, and as serene, as ever -canopied the world. It seemed as if you could look _through_ it, into -the illimitable home of the angels—could almost behold the glory which -surrounds the Invisible. Three clouds alone have attracted my attention. -One was the offspring of the dawn, and encircled by a rim of gold; the -next was the daughter of noon, and white as a pearl; and the last, of -evening, and robed in deepest crimson. Wayward and coquettish creatures -were these clouds! Their chief ambition seemed to be to display their -charms to the best advantage, as if conscious of their loveliness; and, -at sunset, when the light lay pillowed on the mountains, it was a joyous -sight to see them, side by side, like three sweet sisters, as they were, -_going home_. Each one was anxious to favor the world with its own last -smile, so that, by their changing places so often, you would have -thought they were all unwilling to depart. But they were the ministers -of the Sun, and he would not tarry for them; and, while he beckoned them -to follow on, the Evening Star took his station in the sky, and bade -them depart: and when I looked again, they were gone. Never more, -thought I, will those clouds be a source of joy to a human heart. And in -this respect, also, they seemed to me to be the emblems of those -beautiful but thoughtless maidens, who spend the flower of youth -trifling with the affections of all whom they have the power to -fascinate. - -The mountains! In honor of the season which has just clothed them in the -richest green, they have displayed every one of their varied and -interesting charms. At noon, as I lay under the shadow of a tree, -watching them “with a look made of all sweet accord,” my face was -freshened by a breeze. It seemed to come from the summit of South Peak, -and to be the voice of the Catskills. I listened, and these were the -words which echoed through my ear. - -“Of all the seasons, oh, Spring! thou art the most beloved, and to us, -always the most welcome. Joy and gladness ever attend thy coming, for we -know that the ‘winter is past, the rains are over and gone, the time of -the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in -our land.’ And we know, too, that from thy hands flow unnumbered -blessings. Thou softenest the earth, that the husbandman may sow his -seed, which shall yield him a thousand fold at the harvest. Thou -releasest the rivers from their icy fetters, that the wings of commerce -may be unfurled once more. Thou givest food to the cattle upon a -thousand hills, that they, in their turn, may furnish man with necessary -food, and also assist him in his domestic labors. Thou coverest the -earth with a garniture of freshest loveliness, that the senses of man -may be gratified, and his thoughts directed to Him who hath created all -things, and pronounced them good. And, finally, thou art the hope of the -year, and thine admonitions, which are of the future, have a tendency to -emancipate the thoughts of man from this world, and the troubles which -may surround him here, and fix them upon that clime where an everlasting -spring abides.” “The voice in my dreaming ear melted away,” and I heard -the roaring of the streams as they fretted their way down the rocky -steeps. - -The streams! Such “trumpets” as they have, blown to-day, would, I am -afraid, have caused Mr. Wordsworth to exclaim: - - “The cataracts—_make a devilish noise up yonder_.” - -The fact is, “all the earth is gay,” and all the springs among the -mountains “giving themselves up to jollity,” the streams are full to -overflowing, and rush along with a “vindictive looseness,” because of -the burden they have to bear. The falls and cascades, which make such -exquisite pictures in the summer months, are now fearful to behold, for, -in their anger, every now and then they toss some giant tree into an -abyss of foam, which makes one fear the effects of an earthquake. But, -after the streams have left the mountains, and are running through the -bottom lands, they still seem to be displeased at something, and at -_every turn_ they take, _delve_ into the “bowels of the harmless earth,” -making it dangerous for the angler to approach too near, but rendering -the haunt of the trout more spacious and commodious than before. The -streams are about the only things I cannot praise to-day, and I hope it -will not _rain_ for a month to come, if this is the way they intend to -act whenever we have a number of delightful showers. - -The woods! A goodly portion of the day have I spent in one of their most -secret recesses. I went with Shakspeare under my arm, but could not -read, any more than fly, so I stretched myself at full length on a huge -log, and kept a sharp look-out for anything that might send me a waking -dream. The brotherhood of trees clustered around me, laden with leaves -just bursting into full maturity, and possessing that delicate and -peculiar green, which lasts but a single day, and never returns. A -fitful breeze swept through them, so that ever and anon I fancied a -gushing fountain to be near, or that a company of ladies fair were come -to visit me, and that I heard the rustle of their silken kirtles. And -now my eyes rested on a tree, that was entirely leafless, and almost -without a limb. Instead of grass at its foot, was a heap of dry leaves, -and not a bush or vine grew anywhere near it, but around its neighbors -they grew in great abundance. It seemed branded with a curse, alone, -forsaken of its own, and despised by all. Can this, thought I, be an -emblem of any human being? Strange that it should be, but it is -nevertheless too true. Only one week ago, I saw a poor miserable maniac, -bound hand and foot, driven from “home and all its treasures,” and -carried to a dark, damp prison-house in a neighboring town. We can be -reconciled to the mystery of a poisonous reptile’s existence, but it is -very hard to understand for what good purpose a maniac is created. But -to return. Another object I noticed, was a little tree about five feet -high, completely covered with blossoms of a gaudy hue. At first, I tried -to gather something poetical out of this thing, but could not to save my -life. It caused me a real hearty laugh as the idea expanded, for it -reminded me of a certain maiden lady of my acquaintance, who is _old_, -_stunted_, very fond of _tall men_, and always strutting round under a -weight of _jewelry_. But oh, what beautiful flowers did I notice in that -shady grove, whose whispering thrilled me with delight! Their names? I -cannot tell them to you—they _ought_ to have no names, any more than a -cloud or a foam-bell on the river. Some were blue, some white, some -purple, and some scarlet. There were little parties of them on every -side, and as the wind swayed their delicate stems, I could not but fancy -they were living creatures, the personified thoughts perhaps of happy -and innocent children. Occasionally, too, I noticed a sort of straggler -peeping at me from beside a hillock of moss, or from under the branches -of a fallen tree, as if surprised at my temerity in entering its -secluded haunt. Birds also were around me in that greenwood sanctuary, -singing their hymns of praise to the Father of mercies for the return of -spring. The nests of the females being already built, they had nothing -to do but be happy, anticipating the time when they themselves should be -the “dealers-out of some small blessings” to their own dear helpless -broods. As to their mates, they were about as independent, restless and -noisy as might be expected, very much as any rational man would be who -was the husband of a young and beautiful wife. - -But the open fields to-day have superabounded with pictures to please -and instruct the mind. I know not where to begin to describe them. Shall -it be at the very threshold of our farm-house? Well, then, only look at -those lilac trees in the garden, actually top-heavy with purple and -white flowering pyramids. The old farmer has just cut a number of large -branches, and given them to his little daughter to carry to her mother, -who will distribute them between the mantel-piece, the table, and the -fire-place of the family sitting-room. But what ambrosial odor is that -which now salutes the senses? It comes not from the variegated corner of -the garden, where the tulip, the violet, the hyacinth, the blue bell, -and the lily of the valley are vieing to outstrip each other in their -attire; nor, from that clover-covered lawn, besprinkled with buttercups, -dandelions, strawberry blossoms, and honeysuckles; but from the orchard, -every one of whose trees are completely covered with snow-white -blossoms. And from their numberless petals, emanates the murmur of bees, -as they are busy extracting stores of honey. Oh, what an abundance of -fruit—of apples, cherries, peaches, and pears, do these sweet blossoms -promise! But, next week there _may_ be a bitter _frost_; and this is the -lesson which my heart learns. Now that I am in the spring-time of life, -my hopes, in number and beauty, are like the blossoms of trees, and I -know not but they may even on the morrow be withered by the chilly -breath of the grave. But let us loiter farther on. The western slope of -this gentle hill is equally divided, and of two different shades of -green; one is planted with rye, and the other with wheat. The eastern -slope of the hill has lately been loosened by the plough, and is of a -sombre color, but to my eye not less pleasing than the green. And this -view is enlivened with figures besides—for a farmer and two boys are -planting corn, the latter opening the bed with their hoes, and the -farmer dropping in the seed (which he carries in a bag slung at his -side), and pushing it with his foot. And now, fluttering over their -heads is a roguish bob-o-link, _scolding_ about something in their -_wake_, at a _respectful_ distance, and hopping along the ground are a -number of robins, and on the nearest fence a meadow-lark and bluebird -are “holding on for a bite.” But there is no end to these rural -pictures, so I will just take you into this neighboring meadow-pasture, -then into the poultry yard at home, and conclude my present epistle. - -Here we are, then, in the midst of various domestic animals. Yonder, a -couple of black colts are chasing each other in play, while their -venerable mother (for they are brothers, though not twins) is standing a -little way off, watching their antics, and twisting about her ears, as -she remembers the happy days of her own colthood. Here are some half -dozen hearty cows, lying down and grazing, each one with a “pledge of -affection” sporting about her. There are six or eight oxen, eating away -as fast as they can, while one, who seems to be a sentinel, occasionally -rolls up his eye to see if the farmer is coming to renew his song of -“haw! gee! gee! haw!” Under the shadow of that old oak, whose _portrait_ -I mean to take to-morrow, is a flock of sheep, with their lambs bounding -beside them, as to the “tabor’s sound;” but to me there comes no -“thought of grief” at the sight, wherein I must be suffered to disagree -with Wordsworth, to whom I have already alluded once or twice, and whose -celebrated and most wonderful ode has been echoing in my heart all the -day long. Some of the lines in it are appropriate to the day, the charms -of which I am attempting to make you _feel_, and you will oblige me by -reading and inwardly digesting, for the hundredth time, as I know it -will be, the following fragments of a whole, and yet really complete -poems:— - - “The sunshine is a glorious birth.” - - - “The winds come to me from the fields of sleep.” - - - “And the babe leaps up on his mother’s arm.” - - - “Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own.” - - - “Full soon thy soul shalt have her earthly freight, - And custom lie upon thee with a weight, - Heavy as fate, and deep almost as life.” - - - “O joy, that in our embers - Is something that doth live, - That nature yet remembers - What was so fugitive.” - - - “To me, the meanest flower that blows, can give - Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.” - - -Strange, that an immortal man, after dwelling upon such poetry, should -be willing to go into a _poultry_ yard. But why not? I should rather do -this _willingly_, than be compelled, as I have been, and may be again, -to hear a man say, after reading to him Wordsworth’s great Ode—“Why! of -what _use_ is such _stuff_ as that? what does it _prove_? will it -furnish a man with _bread and butter_? will it make the _pot boil_?” The -people of the poultry yard have been in such glee to-day, and -contributed so much to the gladness of the day, that I must pay them a -passing tribute. In the first place, our old gobbler, with his retinue -of turkey wives, has been on the point of bursting with pride ever since -sunrise. If the Grand Sultan of Turkey (who must be the father of all -turkeys) cuts the same kind of capers in the presence of his hundred -ladies, that must be a great country for lean people to “laugh and grow -fat.” Our _ring-tailed_ gobbler is a feathered personification of Jack -Falstaff, possessing his prominent trait of cowardice to perfection. I -flourished a red handkerchief in his face this morning, and, by the way -he strutted round and gobbled, you would have thought he was going to -devour you. About ten minutes after this, I threw down a handful of -corn, which was intended for him. While he was busy picking it up, a -certain rooster stept along side and commenced picking too: the -intruder, having got in the way of the gobbler, was suddenly pushed -aside; whereupon the gentleman with spurs chuckled and “showed fight,” -but the gobbler for a moment heeded him not. This the rooster could not -bear, so he pounced upon his enemy, and whipt him without mercy, until -the coward and fool ran away, with his long train of affectionate wives -following behind. - -The roosters, hens and chickens, which have figured in the yard to-day, -would more than number a hundred, and such cackling, crowing, chuckling, -and crying as they have made, was anything but a “_concord_ of sweet -sounds.” But the creatures have been happy, and it was therefore a -pleasure to look at them. A young hen this morning made her first -appearance with a large brood of chickens, yellow as gold, and this -caused quite a sensation among the feathered husbands generally. The -mother, as she rambled about, seemed to say by her pompous air, to her -daughterless friends—“ar’nt they beautiful? don’t you wish you had a -few?” It was also very funny to see with what looks of astonishment the -youthful roosters surveyed these “infant phenomenons.” As to our ducks, -and geese, and guinea hens, they have minded their business pretty -well—the two former paddling about the creek and mud-puddles, and the -latter “between meals” roaming at large through the orchard and garden, -altogether the most beautiful and rational of the feathered tribes. - -A mountaineer, who is to take this letter to the post-office, is waiting -for me below, and I must close,—hoping that the country figures I have -endeavored to sketch may have a tendency to make you feel a portion of -that joy, which has characterized this delightful Spring Day. - - - - - SOUTH PEAK MOUNTAINS. - - -I commence this letter in the language of Leather-Stocking: “You know -the Catskills, lad, for you must have seen them on your left, as you -followed the river up from York, looking as blue as a piece of clear -sky, and holding the clouds on their tops, as the smoke curls over the -head of an Indian chief at a council-fire.” Yes, everybody is acquainted -with the name of these mountains, but few with their peculiarities of -scenery. They are situated about eight miles from the Hudson, rise to an -average elevation of thirty-eight hundred feet, and running in a -straight line from north to south, cover a space of some twenty-five -miles. The fertile valley on the east is as beautiful as heart could -desire, watered by the Catskill, Plauterkill, and Esopus Creeks, -inhabited by a sturdy Dutch yeomanry, and is the mother of those three -most flourishing towns, Catskill, Saugerties, and Kingston. The upland -on the west, for some thirty miles, is rugged, dreary, and thinly -settled, but the winding valley of Schoharie, beyond, is possessed of a -thousand charms peculiarly American. The mountains themselves are -covered with dense forests, abounding in cliffs and waterfalls, and for -the most part untrodden by the footsteps of men. Looking at them from -the Hudson, the eye is attracted by two deep hollows, which are called -“cloves.” That one nearest to the Mountain House, Catskill Clove, is -distinguished for a remarkable fall, which is familiar to the world -through the pen of Bryant and the pencil of Cole; but it is fast filling -up with habitations of improvement, while the other, Plauterkill Clove, -though yet possessing much of its original glory, is certain of the same -destiny. The clove whence issues the Esopus is among the Shandaken -mountains, and is not visible from the Hudson. - -My nominal residence at the present time is at the mouth of Plauterkill -Clove. I came into the country to study,—to forget the busy world, and -give myself up entirely to the hallowing influences of nature, and oh, -how many “mysteries sublime,” has she revealed to me in my journeyings -among the dear, dear Catskills! - -To the west, and only half a mile from, my abode, are the beautiful -mountains, whose graceful outlines fade away to the north, like the -waves of the sea when covered with a _visible_ atmosphere. The nearest, -and to me most beloved of these, is called South Peak. It is nearly four -thousand feet in height, and covered from base to summit by one vast -forest of trees, varying from eighty to a hundred feet. Like most of its -brethren, it is a perfectly wild and uncultivated wilderness, richly -abounding in all the interesting features of mountain scenery. Like a -corner stone, it stands at the junction of the northern and western -ranges of the Catskills, and as its huge form looms up against the -evening sky, it inspires one with awe, as if it were the ruler of the -world; and yet I have learned to love it as a friend. Its name, its -image, and every tree, and shrub, and vine, which spring from its rocky -bosom, can never be forgotten. I have reflected upon it when reposing in -the noontide sunshine, or enveloped in clouds, when holding communion -with the most holy night, when trembling under the influence of a -thunder-storm, or encircled by a rainbow. It has filled my soul with -images of beauty and sublimity, and made me feel the omnipotence of God. - -A day and night has it just been my privilege to spend on this mountain, -accompanied by a friend. We started at an early hour yesterday morning, -equipped in our brown fustians, and laden with well-filled knapsacks, -one of us with a hatchet in his belt, and the other with a brace of -pistols. We were bound to the extreme summit of the peak, where we -intended to spend the night, see the rising of the sun, and return at -our leisure on the following day. But when I tell you, my friend, that -our course lay right up the almost perpendicular side of the mountain, -where was no path save that formed by a torrent or a bear, you will -readily believe it was somewhat rare and wild. But this was what we -delighted in, so we shouted “Excelsior,” and commenced the ascent. The -air was excessively sultry, and the very first effort we made caused the -perspiration to start most profusely; upward, upward, was our -course,—now climbing through a tangled thicket, or under the spray of a -cascade, and then again supporting ourselves by the roots of saplings, -or scrambling under a fallen tree,—now, like the samphire gatherer, -scaling a precipice, and then again clambering over a rock, or -“shinning” up a hemlock tree, to reach a desired point. Our first halt -was made at a singular spot called “Hunter’s Hole,” which is a spacious -cavern or pit, forty feet deep and twenty wide, and approached only by a -crack in the mountain sufficiently large to admit a man. There is a -story connected with it worth recording. Many years ago, a farmer, -residing at the foot of the mountain, having missed a favorite dog, and -being anxious for his safety, called together his neighbors, and offered -a reward for the safe return of his canine friend. Always ready to do a -kind deed, a number of his neighbors immediately started in different -directions for the hunt. A barking sound having issued from this cavern, -it was discovered, and, at the bottom of it, the lost dog, which had -probably fallen in while chasing a fox. “But how is he to be extricated -from this hole?” was the general inquiry of the assembled hunters. Not -one of all the group would venture to descend, under any circumstances; -so the poor animal remained a prisoner for another night. But the next -morning he was released, and by none other than a brave boy, the son of -the farmer, and playmate of the dog. A large number of men were present -on the occasion. A strong rope was tied around the body of the boy, and -he was gently lowered down. Having reached the bottom, and by the aid of -his lamp discovered that he was in a “real nice place,” the little rogue -thought he would have some sport; so he continued to pull down, more -rope, until he had made a coil of two hundred feet, which was -bewildering enough to the crowd above; but nothing happened to him, and -the dog was raised. The young hero having played his trick so well, it -was generally supposed, for a long time after, that this cavern was two -hundred feet in depth, and none were found sufficiently bold to venture -in. The bravery of the boy, however, was eventually the cause of his -death, for he was cut down by a cannon ball in the war of 1812. - -The next remarkable place that we attained in our ascent was the Bear -Bank, where, in the winter, may ever be found an abundance of those -charming creatures. It is said that they have often, on a clear day, -been seen sunning themselves, even from as far as the Hudson. We were -now on a beetling precipice three hundred feet high, where, under the -shadow of a huge pine, we enjoyed a slice of bread and pork, without the -“fixens to match.” Instead of a dessert of strawberries and ice-cream, -we were furnished by venerable dame nature with a thunder-storm. It was -one that we had noticed making a great commotion in the valley below, -and which, having discovered two bipeds going toward its home, the sky, -seemed to have come up there to frighten us back again. But, “knowing -that nature never did betray the heart that loved her,” we awaited the -thunder-storm’s reply to our obstinate refusal to descend. The cloud was -yet below us, but its unseen herald, a strong east wind, told us that -the conflict had commenced. Presently a peal of thunder resounded -through the vast profound, which caused the mountain to tremble to its -deep foundation. And then followed another and another, as the storm -increased, and the rain and hail poured down in floods. Thinking it -safer to expose ourselves to the storm than remain under the pine, we -retreated without delay, when we were suddenly enveloped in the heart of -the cloud, only a few rods distant; a stroke of vivid lighting blinded -us, and the towering forest monarch, even upon his proud throne, was -smitten to the earth. We were in the midst of an unwritten epic poem -about that time, but we could not then appreciate its beauties, for -another peal of thunder, and another stroke of lightning, attracted our -whole attention. Soon as these had passed, a terrible gale followed in -their wake, tumbling down piles of loose rocks, and bending to the dust, -as if in passion, the resisting forms of an army of trees, and a -glorious rainbow spanned the mountain like that distinguishing circle -around the temples of the mighty and holy, as portrayed by the painters -of old. The commotion lasted for an hour, when the region of the Bear -Bank became as serene as the slumber of a babe. A spirit of silent and -holy prayer seemed to be brooding over that scene of marvellous -loveliness, and with a shadow of thoughtfulness at our hearts we resumed -our upward march. - -The next place where we halted to get breath was upon a sort of -peninsula, called the Eagle’s Nest, where it is said an Indian child was -carried by one of those birds and cruelly destroyed, and whence the -frantic mother, with the mangled body of her babe, leaped into the -terrible abyss below. From this point we discovered a host of clouds -assembled in council above High Peak, as if discussing the parched -condition of the earth, and the speediest mode of affording relief to a -still greater extent than they had done; and far away to the west, was -another assembly of clouds, vieing, like sporting children, to outrun -and overleap each other in their aerial amphitheatre. - -After this, we surmounted another lofty cliff, celebrated for -rattlesnakes. Here the rocks were literally covered with the white bones -of these reptiles, slaughtered by the hunter in by-gone years, and we -saw a couple that were alive. One was about four feet long, and the -other half this size, which seemed to be the offspring of the old one, -for, when discovered, they were playing together, like an affectionate -mother with her tender child. Strange, that even in creatures, the sight -of which begets in man only abhorrence and fear, should be found one of -the first and most cherished principles of humanity! The law of love is -indeed universal. Soon as we appeared the sport ceased, and the venomous -creatures, in the twinkling of an eye, coiled themselves up in the -attitude of battle. But the conflict was of short duration, and to know -the result you need only look into my cabinet of curiosities. - -Higher up yet was it our lot to climb. We went a little out of our -course to obtain a bird’s-eye view of Shew’s Lake. In its tranquil bosom -the glowing evening sky was perfectly reflected, and the silence -surrounding it so profound, that we could almost hear the ripples made -by a solitary wild duck, as it swam from one shore to the other in its -utter loneliness. And the thought entered my mind, that, as the infant -of Bethlehem was tenderly protected by the parents who watched over its -slumbers, so was this exquisite lake cradled and protected in the lap of -the mountains. - -One sight more did we behold before reaching the summit. It was the -sunset hour, and on a jutting cliff, which commanded an immense view, -our eyes were delighted by a solitary deer, standing still, and looking -down upon the silent void below, which was then covered with a deep -purple atmosphere, causing the prospect to resemble the boundless ocean. -It was the last of its race, we could not but fancy, bidding the human -world good night, previous to seeking its heathery couch in a nameless -ravine. - -Such are some of the scenes we enjoyed in our ascent. One effort more -and the long-desired eminence was attained, which was a little nearer -the evening star than we had ever been before. It was now the shadowy -hour of twilight, and as we were about done over with fatigue, it was -not long before we had pitched our leafy tent, eaten some supper, -offered up a prayer, and yielded ourselves to the embrace of sleep, -“dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health.” - -At midnight, a cooling breath of air having passed across my face, I was -awakened from a fearful dream, which left me in a nervous and excited -state of mind. A strange and solemn gloom had taken possession of my -spirit, which was enhanced by the melancholy song of a neighboring -hemlock grove. Our encampment having been made a little below the summit -of the peak, and feeling anxious to behold the prospect at that hour -from that point, I arose, without awaking my companion, and seated -myself on the topmost rock, which was bare of trees and shrubs, and -covered by a rich moss, softer and more beautiful than a Turkey carpet. -But oh, how can I describe the scene that burst upon my enraptured -vision? It was unlike anything I had ever seen before, creating a “lone, -lost feeling,” which I supposed could only be realized by a wanderer in -the heart of an uninhabited wilderness, or on the ocean a thousand -leagues from land. Above, around, and beneath me, ay, far beneath me, -were the cold, bright stars, and to the east, the “old moon with the -young moon in her arms.” In the west were floating a little band of -pearly clouds, which I fancied to be winged chariots from the city of -the living God, and that they were crowded with children, the absent and -loved of other years, who, in a frolic of blissful joy, were out upon -the fields of heaven. On my left reposed the long, broad valley of the -Hudson, with its cities, towns, villages, woods, hills, and plains, -whose crowded highway was diminished to a narrow girdle of deep blue. To -the south, hill beyond hill, field beyond field, receded to the sky, -occasionally enlivened by a peaceful lake. On my right, a multitudinous -array of rugged mountains lay piled up, apparently as impassable as the -bottomless pit. To the north, the king of the Catskills bared his bosom -to the moonlight, as if demanding and expecting the homage of the world. -Such was the scene that surrounded me at that witching hour of the -night, and think you, that it did not animate my spirit with new life, -and expand my love for the invisible Creator of all? Oh, yes, and I -longed for the timbrel of Miriam, or the harp of David, that I might -sing aloud this song of praise,—“Praise the Lord, O my soul, and all -that is within me, bless his holy name. Praise him, O earth, for he hath -crowned thee with blessings numberless as the sands of ocean. Praise -him, ye children of men, for he healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth -up their wounds. Praise him, all ye starry hosts of heaven, for he -telleth your numbers and calleth you names. Praise him, ye heaven of -heavens, for he commanded and ye were created. Praise ye him, all ye his -angels, for he hath crowned you with immortality. Let everything that -hath breath sing praises unto the Lord forever, for his manifold and -infinite attributes.” The song ended, the weight upon my spirit was -departed, and I sought my couch once more, and slumbered until the dawn. - -We saw the sun rise, as a matter of course, which event is described in -the following brief rhapsody: it will be more distinctly understood by -those who are familiar with the mountain. - -He comes! he comes! the “king of the bright day!” The crimson and golden -clouds are parting, and he bursts on the bewildered sight! One moment -more, and the whole earth rejoices in his beams; and these are not more -welcome to the prince than the peasant, to the philosopher than the -idiot. All, alike, are made happy by the blessed sunshine. But look! on -either side and beneath the sun, what an array of new-born clouds are -gathering!—like a band of cavaliers, preparing to accompany their leader -on a journey. Out of the Atlantic have they just risen; at noon they -will have pitched their tents on the cerulean plains of heaven; and when -the hours of day are numbered, the far-off waters of the Pacific will -again receive them in its cool embrace. Hark! was not that the roar of -waves? No; naught but the report of thunder in the valley below. Can it -be? can it be? are the two oceans coming together? God have mercy upon -us! we are on a rock in the midst of an illimitable sea, and the tide is -rising—rapidly. Strange! it is still as death, and yet the oceans are -covered with billows. Lo! the naked masts of a Ship on fire! Now she is -gone, and from her grave ascends the emblem of her fate. Yonder, as if a -reef were hidden there to impede their course, the waves are struggling -in despair—now leaping to the very sky, and now plunging into a deep -abyss. And when they have passed the unseen enemy, how beautiful are -their various evolutions, as they hasten to the distant shore! Another -look, and what a change! The mists of morning are being exhaled by the -sun, already the world of waters is dispersed, and in the broad valley -of the Hudson, far, far beneath me, are reposing all the enchanting -features of the green earth. - -We descended the mountain by a circuitous route, that we might enjoy the -luxury of passing through the Plauterkill Clove. The same spring that -gives rise to Schoharie Creek, which is a tributary of the Mohawk, also -gives rise to this wild mountain stream. In its very infancy it begins -to leap and laugh with the gladness of a boy. From its source to my -dwelling-place the distance is only two miles, and yet it has a fall of -twenty-five hundred feet; but the remainder of its course, until it -reaches the Esopus creek, is calm and peaceful, and on every side and at -every turn is protected by the farm-houses of a sturdy yeomanry. The -wild gorge or dell, through which it passes, abounds in waterfalls of -surpassing beauty, varying from ten to a hundred and fifty feet in -height, whose rocks are green with the moss of centuries, and whose -brows are ever wreathed with the most exquisite of vines and flowers. -There’s the Double Leap, with its almost fathomless pool, containing a -hermit trout that has laughed at the angler’s skill for a score of -years; the Mountain Spirit, haunted by the disembodied spirit of an -Indian girl, who lost her life there while pursuing a phantom of the -brain; and the Blue Bell Fall, which is forever guarded by a -multitudinous array of those charming flowers. Caverns, too, and chasms -are there, dark, deep, chilly, and damp, where the toad, the lizard and -snake, and strange families of insects, are perpetually multiplying and -actually seeming to enjoy their loathsome lives; the Black Chasm, the -Gray Chasm, and the Devil’s Chamber, with perpendicular walls of twice -the height of a tall mast, and with a wainscoting of pines and hemlocks, -that have “braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze.” -Plauterkill Clove is an eddy of the great and tumultuous world, and in -itself a world of unwritten poetry, whose primitive loveliness has not -yet been disfigured by the influences of mammon, and God grant that it -may continue so forever. It is endeared to my heart for being a favorite -haunt of solitude, and for having been consecrated by a brotherhood of -friends to the pure religion of nature; and they always enter there as -into a holy sanctuary. You may imagine, then, my friend, what was our -mode of descending through the dell, and as to our feelings as we -emerged under the open sky, they were allied to those of a pilgrim in a -strange land, passing through the dim twilight of a dream-like -cathedral. And now we stood upon a ledge whence could be obtained a view -of the dear old mountain we were leaving behind, and as we contemplated -its graceful lines and delicate hues of blueish green, we could not but -admire, in the abstract, the sublimity and solemnity of its admonitions -as a preacher, its faithfulness as a friend, and the grandeur of its -conceptions as a poet. We reached home about noon, thankful to God for -the love of nature which he has so deeply implanted in our hearts, and, -as we hope, happier and better men. - - - - - A SLEEPLESS NIGHT. - - -I have been whiling away a little time this morning in recording a queer -medley of thoughts, which occupied my mind during the tedious hours of -the past night. Their cause and import I will leave you to guess. - - -It is well. My long, long dream of two years,—my dream of heart-gladness -is at an end. I saw her, and was a lover, which is but another name for -slave. She became my promised bride, and I was happy,—thoughtlessly -happy. She proved herself to be a faithless and unworthy creature, and -the link which bound us together was broken. And so, my dream is ended, -and I am free. - - -A child, with a basket on his arm, was gathering flowers in a meadow on -a bright spring morning. There was no end to the number that he plucked, -and none, as he thought, in the world, could be compared to them in -loveliness. And thus was it with my hopes,—but the flowers withered, and -my hopes are gone. - - -Softly!—was not that a footstep, and did I not see the gleaming of a -silken kirtle? No; it was only an echo and a reflection from the past. I -know it, for I am alone, utterly alone. - - -O how truly hath it been written by the poet, that Art is long and time -is fleeting! What a cheerless thought is this to the ambitious Painter! -Was I wrong to set my life upon _that_ cast! At any rate, I will stand -the hazard of the die. I sometimes think that the cup which others -drink, the cup of fame, will never be quaffed by me. Well, what matter? -Was I born, merely to create a name? No, no, no! I was brought into the -wilderness of life to be tried by pain, sickness, and sorrow, and to -leave it as becomes a Christian is my chief ambition. Fame, which I had -hoped to win, I panted after, that another’s happiness might be -promoted. But she has frowned upon me, and an impassable ocean is -forever spread between our hearts. Be it so. - - -Once, a serpent secreted itself within the petals of a flower. I pressed -that flower to my bosom, and the serpent stung me. But I rejoice that -the agony of the pain is over and gone. - - -A strange excitement is upon me,—with all my wooing sleep will not come -to my relief. O how painful it is to count the slowly lagging hours, -throughout the silent watches of this summer night! Restless am I as a -wave of the sea, and, may be, as useless and insignificant. The -pulsations of my mind are as fitful as the breeze which breathes upon me -through my open window, but like that breeze they hasten to one point, -which is the heart of a poor dreamer. - - -I cannot, with Othello, feel that _I_ have thrown away a _pearl_. It was -the shell of a pearl only, whose heart was a living worm. - - -Little things! Of these is the world composed, and that man is a fool -who looks upon them with contempt. Yes, it is a little thing to say, “I -love you with all my heart, and will follow you to the end.” But when -believed, if this proves to be the mockery of a hypocritical heart, who -can describe the consequences that may result to the believer? Fatal -they may be to the soul, as the bite of Tarantula to the body, unless -our thoughts are attracted by a strain of melody emanating from the -throne of Deity. And to that great Being am I deeply thankful, for -having upheld me in my trying hour. - - -It hath been whispered in my ear, that the being whom I lately cherished -as my life-blood, now mentions my name with a scornful smile. And why? -not because of my inferior wealth, or family, or education, for with -respect to these I am her superior,—but because I loved her as an angel. -How little did I think of this, when her head has been pillowed on my -bosom, and I have seen and felt the throbbings of her own! Yet, even -then she nourished the spirit that would “damn” a queen. She tried to -break my heart,—she failed,—but what matter? She must answer for the -_deed_. When she comes to die, if not till then, when she come to “tread -the wine-press alone,” then must she repent her folly and ingratitude, -and it is my prayer that she may be among the redeemed in heaven. Then -will she be purified from the corruptions which cling to her here, and -become a worthy subject of heavenly solicitude and love. - - -Where, O where are all the blissful dreams upon which my heart has so -long existed? Vanished, like the shadow of a cloud, and I am a -companionless pilgrim through the world. Who can comprehend the misery -of a desolate human heart? I thought she loved me with a spotless -passion, and yet, while anguish rends my brow to-night, she is sweetly -sleeping and dreaming on her couch of down. Surely, surely it must be a -sin to love. What have I done, that my heart-strings should be snapt -asunder,—that I must kiss the dust and be unhappy? - - -If you give a beggar a loaf of bread to save his life, and he spurns you -with an oath, you cannot but exclaim, “O horrible ingratitude?” But what -should be thought of those to whom you had given away your _heart_, if -they should reciprocate with the damnable _lie_? “Begone, thou art a -villain,—touch not the hem of our garments,—we are pure, but thou art -polluted.” - - -It was the noontide hour, and as I was passing along a lonely and -unfrequented road, I discovered a pair of turtle doves quietly cooing to -each other on a sandy hillock in the sunshine. It was a picture of -exquisite happiness, and yet the longer I gazed, the more deeply did it -affect my heart, so that when I left the spot, I found that my eyes were -filled with tears. The last time that I had wept before, was when I -beheld the wreck of my _greatest hope_. When, I wonder, shall I be -compelled to weep again? - - -O how my heart clings to the hour of our first acknowledgment of love! -aye, and to all the blissful hours that have been mine since then in her -society! Like a wealthy prince I gloried in my rare possession, and -could not believe that aught on earth would ever make me a beggar. -But,—the treasure that I doted on took unto itself wings, and like a -beautiful but unclean bird has flown away, to delight and to deceive -some other unsatisfied mortal. I _am_ a beggar now. O will not some of -the poor and forsaken, that I have cheered with a kind word when I was -happy, come forth now and welcome me with a smile of pure affection? - - -I loved her, and fondly anticipated that she would one day become the -star of my _home_. Home! what place upon the earth is dearer to the -heart of man? How pleasing is the anticipation of the absent school-boy -as he looks forward to the close of the term, when he shall be welcomed -to the fireside of home! The poor farmer toils unceasingly through the -long days of summer, cheered by the comforts of home, which he fondly -hopes will be the crown of his coming winter evenings! How fortunate is -that man who can say—“mine is a happy home!” How thankful should he be! -But is there no consolation for those who are homeless and friendless in -the world? Ah yes, there is, and it is as sweet as it is invaluable. Our -elder Brother, the meek and lowly Saviour, when upon the earth, was -compelled to exclaim,—“The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air -have nests, but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.” Homeless -and unhappy Christian, cheer up! cheer up! A few more days, and you will -be an inhabitant of that blessed world beyond the skies, “where the -wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.” Yonder, is the -home which I pant for _now_. - - -Friendship is one of the most beautiful and delicate plants that -flourish in the garden of human passions, and to my mind is a holier -emotion than love. What though I am no more a Lover! have I not a few -well-tried friends, whom I “grapple to my soul with looks of steel?” Why -then should there be a weight upon my spirit? Long enough have I played -the fool. O that I may be wise enough to renounce my folly! - - -How prone are we, who know not what it is to want, to forget that the -world is full of suffering! We do not sympathize with those who suffer, -and are contented to think only of ourselves. If, to be hungry, and -naked, and friendless, is to suffer, what must be his condition, whose -heart craves for the sympathy of love, and is destitute of those -endearing attentions, which refine and elevate the soul? - - -There is a river, in a much-loved mountain and, whose waters are -sometimes brackish and sometimes clear, and which sometimes hastens to -the sea singing a plaintive under-song of loveliness. I know not why it -is, but it seems to me, that such is the river of my life. - - -The smiles of woman! Sweet words. How many and beautiful beyond compare -are the scenes which they recall to mind, whose charms are heightened by -the smiles of a mother, a sister, a companion, or friend! All these, is -it my privilege to claim, but yet the _whole_ of my heart is not -occupied. Who would wish to live in a world, where the lovely form and -tender sympathies of woman were not known? It would be more desolate -than the flowerless wilderness. Once, I thought to have toiled for a -distinguished name, that I might be able to return a worthy recompense, -for the smiles of the maiden whom I loved. I hoped to become affluent, -that I might in future years make my wife and children happy, and -nourish the light which illumines the fireside circle, which light is -the smile of woman. But,—who can tell what shall be on the morrow? - - -Welcome, thrice welcome, thou blessed night-wind that fannest my -feverish brow, and banishes from my heart that pang of agony. Oh! I am a -child again,—and bitter, bitter, bitter tears are the only witnesses, -that my blood is cold and clotted. Can I endure this suffering? Is it -possible, that these are the consequences of unrequited affection? Is -it,—there that breeze again! it is a messenger from the bosom of God, -and this is the burthen of its mission. “Child of sin and sorrow, thy -days of darkness upon the earth are now commencing, and the period -arrived, for thy nobler nature to assert its rightful supremacy. -Terrible indeed will be the conflict, but fail not to struggle with all -thy might for the mastery. If thou yieldest to this world, thy perfect -happiness will be lost forever; but if thou conquerest on behalf of -eternity, thy bliss will be as endless as its cycle, and more glorious -than thy fondest dream.” - - -_Once_, I was dreaming only of manhood, and knew not what it was to -love. _Now_, that I _can_ love, there is not a being in the wide world -whom I am privileged to love. Love! what is it but another name for -jealousy, selfishness, and lust? Aye, this is the conclusion of the -whole matter, if one woman that I know is a representative of her sex. -But I rejoice in the conviction that here is a Love, which is as pure as -the diamond, and lasting as the soul, which but blossoms in this world, -bearing its fruit throughout the untold years of the great hereafter. -She, who merits and enjoys that love, is the daughter of Heaven, and the -hope of the world. If we but prove faithful to her, she will never -abandon us in our pilgrimage to Jerusalem. - - -Look! the drapery of my couch is flooded with moonlight,—affording my -bodily and mortal vision a most exquisite pleasure. And why? Because I -_feel_ that I am not utterly unloved. Surely, the blessed Queen of Night -would not thus make my heart glad, if I were doomed to be forever a -brother to the desolate and unknown! - - -Dear, dear girl, a thousand blessings rest upon thee for that pressure -of thy soft hand upon my throbbing temples! It has soothed my pain, and -hushed the wild tumult of my heart. Come near, come near, thou heavenly -messenger, and let me press thy lips with a holy kiss, and then I will -lie down again and be at peace. There!—’twas but a vision, and again my -agony returns. O, my brain is on fire—see! see! the moon is veiled in -blood, all the stars are falling, the air is beginning to simmer, the -earth is swelling, and yet,—I am calmly going to pillow my head on a -soft brown clod in the silent city of forgetfulness, the same which men -call a grave-yard. Where can the body find a more _untroubled_ home? - - -Love! It is not _this_ that weighs my spirit down. I never loved a -_woman_, and wherefore should I repine? I loved, but it was an ideal -creature, a being of the mind. Such, we know, are never _false_,—I am -once more happy. A light from heaven is beaming upon my soul, and, -thanks to the breaking day, my sleepless night is ended. - - - - - COLE’S IMAGINATIVE PAINTINGS. - - -According to my promise, and to commemorate my visit to his place of -residence, I herewith send you my mite of information concerning the -productions of that man whom we delight to honor, as unquestionably the -most gifted landscape painter of the present age. In my own opinion, -none superior to him have ever existed, when we consider, in connection -with his felicity of artistic execution, the poetic genius which his -productions display. Having for years been a student of his art, and a -warm lover of his pictures, I will describe some of the imaginative -works of this Poet-Painter. First, however, a few words about the man -himself. - -Thomas Cole was born in England, but brought to this country in -childhood. As his parents, before his birth, had resided in the United -States, it is with the fullest propriety that he is called an American -painter. At any rate, his attachment to this country is so strong, that -he has been heard to remark: “I would give my left arm, could I but -identify myself with America, by saying that I was born here.” The -incidents of his youth and manhood, as recorded in “Dunlap’s History of -the Arts of Design,” are among the most interesting things of the kind, -and it is with reluctance that I refrain from inserting them in this -place. Let it suffice, however, to state, that the genius which was born -with him, was fostered by intimate and long continued acquaintance with -the scenery of the Western States, when as yet they were a comparative -wilderness. While toiling for a reputation, he resided for a few years -at a time in Philadelphia, Pittsburg, Chillicothe, Steubenville, and New -York city; and, having visited Europe a number of times, established his -reputation, and married a wife, he retired to the beautiful town of -Catskill, on the Hudson, where he now resides, one of the most amiable -of men, the best of husbands and fathers, and the most talented of -living landscape painters. - -The number of his imaginative paintings is about twenty, and his actual -views somewhere between fifty and a hundred. Out of the former, I intend -to select my especial favorites, of which I shall attempt to convey the -best idea in my power for your benefit, namely, The Course of Empire, -The Departure and Return, Dream of Arcadia, Past and Present, and The -Voyage of Life. On these alone am I willing to base my previous -assertion, that no landscape painter superior to Cole has ever lived. Of -his other productions I shall say nothing, only giving the names of -those which I have seen, by way of making you acquainted with the -character of his subjects. They are as follows: The Architect’s Dream, -Paradise, Scene from Manfred, Expulsion from Eden, Angels appearing to -the Shepherds, Heroic Composition, Notch of the White Mountains, Italian -Scenery, View of Florence, View in Rome, Schroon Mountain, Tornado in an -American Forest, Mount Holyoke after a Storm, A Roman Aqueduct, Niagara, -Mount Ætna, Lake George, New England Scenery, Distant View of the -Catskill Mountains, and a number of smaller views among the mountains. - -The Course of Empire is a series, of five paintings, representing the -History of a Scene—an epitome of that of Man. None but a great mind -would have dared to choose so vast a subject, requiring the united -attributes of poet, philosopher, and painter; and very few could have -accomplished it so successfully. - -In the first picture we have a perfectly wild scene of rocks, mountains, -woods, and a bay of the ocean, reposing in the luxuriance of a ripe -Spring. The clouds of night are being dissipated by the beams of the -rising sun. On the opposite side of the bay rises a lofty promontory, -crowned by a singular isolated rock, which would ever be a conspicuous -landmark to the mariner. As the same locality is preserved in each -picture of the series, this rock identifies it, although the position of -the spectator changes in the several pictures. The chase being the most -characteristic occupation of savage life, in the foreground we see an -Indian clothed in skins, pursuing a wounded deer, which is bounding down -a narrow ravine. On a rock, in the middle ground, are other Indians, -with their dogs, surrounding another deer. On the bosom of a little -river below are a number of canoes passing down the stream, while many -more are drawn up on the shore. On an elevation beyond these is a -cluster of wigwams, and a number of Indians dancing round a fire. In -this picture we have the first rudiments of society. Men are already -banded together for mutual aid in the chase. In the canoes, huts, and -weapons, we perceive that the useful arts have commenced, and in the -singing, which usually accompanies the dance of savages, we behold the -germs of music and poetry. The Empire is asserted, to a limited degree, -over sea, land, and the animal kingdom. - -Ages have passed away, and in the second picture we have the Simple or -Arcadian State of Society. The time of day is a little before noon, and -the season early summer. The “untracked and rude” has been tamed and -softened. Shepherds are tending their flocks; a solitary ploughman, with -his oxen, is turning up the soil; and in the rude vessels passing into -the haven of a growing village, and in the skeleton of a barque building -on the shore, we perceive the commencement of Commerce. From a rude -temple on a hill the smoke of sacrifice is ascending to the sky, -symbolizing the spirit of Religion. In the foreground, on the left hand, -is seated an old man, who, by describing strange figures in the sand, -seems to have made some geometrical discovery, demonstrating the infancy -of Science. On the right hand is a woman with a distaff, about crossing -a stone bridge; beside her, a boy is drawing on a stone the figure of a -man with a sword; and beyond these, ascending the road, a soldier is -partly seen. Under some noble trees, in the middle distance, are a -number of peasants dancing to the music of pipe and timbrel. All these -things show us that society is steadily progressing in its march of -usefulness and power. - -Ages have again passed away, and in the third picture we have a -magnificent city. It is now mid-day, and early Autumn. The Bay is now -surrounded by piles of architecture, temples, colonnades, and domes. It -is a day of rejoicing. The spacious harbor is crowded with vessels, -war-galleys, ships, and barques, their silken sails glistening in the -sunshine. Moving over a massive stone bridge, in the foreground, is a -triumphal procession. The conqueror, robed in purple, is mounted on a -car drawn by an elephant, and surrounded by captives and a numerous -train of guards and servants, many of them bearing pictures and golden -treasures. As he is about to pass the triumphal arch, beautiful girls -strew flowers in his path; gay festoons of drapery hang from the -clustered columns; golden trophies glitter in the sun, and incense rises -from silver censers. Before a Doric temple, on the left, a multitude of -white-robed priests are standing on the marble steps, while near them a -religious ceremony is being performed before a number of altars. The -statue of Minerva, with a Victory in her hand, stands above the building -of the Caryatides, on a columned pedestal, near which is a company of -musicians, with cymbals, “trumpets also, and shawms.” From the lofty -portico of a palace, an imperial personage is watching the procession, -surrounded by her children, attendants, and guards. Nations have been -subjugated, man has reached the summit of human glory. Wealth, power, -knowledge, and taste have worked together and accomplished the highest -meed of human achievement and Empire. - -Another change—and lo! in the fourth picture, the Vicious State, or -State of Destruction. Behold the consequences of luxury, in the weakened -and debased condition of mankind. A savage enemy has entered the once -proud and happy city; a fierce tempest is raging; walls and colonnades -are lying in the dust, and temples and palaces are being consumed by the -torch of the incendiary. The fire of vengeance is swallowing up the -devoted city. An arch of the bridge, over which the triumphal procession -had before passed, has been battered down, and broken pillars, ruins of -war-engines, and the temporary bridge which has been thrown over, -indicate that this has been the scene of direst contention. Now there is -a terrible conflict on the bridge, whose insecurity accelerates the -horror of the conflict. Horses, and men, and chariots are precipitated -into the raging waves. War-galleys are contending; others in flames; and -others still, sinking beneath the prow of a superior foe. Smoke and -flames are issuing from the falling and prostrate edifices; and along -the battlements and in the blocked-up streets the conflict is dreadful -indeed. The foreground is strewed with the bodies of the dead and dying. -Some have fallen into the basin of a fountain, tinging the water with -blood. One female is sitting in mute despair over the dead body of her -son; another leaping over a battlement, to escape the grasp of a ruffian -soldier; and other soldiers drag a woman by the hair down the steps, -that form the pedestal of a mutilated colossal statue, whose shattered -head lies on the pavement below. A barbarous enemy has conquered the -city; Carnage and Destruction have asserted their frightful Empire. - -The last and most impressive picture of this series is the scene of -Desolation. The sun has just departed, and the moon is ascending the -twilight sky over the ocean, near the place where the sun rose in the -first picture. The shades of evening are gradually stealing over the -shattered and ivy-grown ruins of that once great city. A lonely column -rises in the foreground, on whose capital a solitary heron has built her -nest, and at the foot of it her mate is standing in the water, both of -them apparently conscious of being a living mockery. The Doric temple -and triumphal bridge may still be identified among the ruins, which are -laved by the waters of the tranquil sea. But though man and his works -have perished, the steep promontory with its isolated rock, still rears -itself against the sky, unmoved, unchanged. Time has consumed the works -of man, and art is resolving into its elemental nature. The gorgeous -pageant has passed, the roar of battle has ceased, the multitude has -mingled with the dust, the Empire is extinct. - -The first, second, and last of these paintings are considered the best -of Mr. Cole’s productions, not only in the poetry they portray, but in -their execution. The style is more varied and natural, and has less the -appearance of paint than in many of his late productions. As to the -third and fourth paintings, the conception of both is exceedingly fine -and poetical, but deficient in execution. The architecture is admirably -done, but the numerous figures, which it was necessary to introduce, are -poorly drawn and arranged. It would be, perhaps, too much to ask that an -artist should be a great painter of scenery, and also a master of the -human figure. As a whole, the Course of Empire is a work of art worthy -of any nation or any painter of woman born. These pictures were painted -for the late Luman Reed, at a cost of eight thousand dollars. Surely it -were a blessing to the Fine Arts in this country, were such patrons more -frequently found. - -The Departure and Return, exhibit a poetical representation of the -Feudal times. The Departure represents early morning in spring. As you -look upon the picture, you can almost hear the fall of waters, and feel -the pleasant breeze of the hour and season. In the distance is seen a -church, whose spire is gilded by the beams of the rising sun; and in the -foreground is a magnificent castle, looming to the sky, the seeming lord -and guardian of the world. Coming forth from one of its massy gates is a -band of mounted cavaliers, who are going to the wars, full of life and -hope and gladness. The leader, in a splendid dress, is mounted on a -noble charger, whose flashing eye and extended nostrils show that he is -impatient for the fight. Turn your eyes away, and they are gone. - -Imagine that months have passed, and look upon the Return. It is now -evening, the season autumn, but the same section of country. The castle -is now in the distance, and the church in the foreground. Toil-worn, a -few only are returning home by a woodland path; and their leader, dying -or wounded, is conveyed upon a litter carried by men. His steed, with -heavy step, is following behind. As they approach the church a party of -monks are seen coming out, and are taken by surprise, to meet the small -remnant of brave warriors just returned from a long and tedious -campaign. - -How simple and yet how complete is the story here revealed! As these are -among the artist’s early pictures, they are distinguished for their -truth and unmannered style; and as compositions, are unsurpassed. - -The “Dream of Arcadia” is the perfect personification of the sweetest -dream of poetry and romance. It is composed of temples, vine-clad -mountains, streams, cascades, trees, shepherds and minstrels, everything -in fact which poets have described as making Arcady the most beautiful -land under the sun. - -The “Past and Present” consists of two pictures. The first is a -tournament near a castle. The second is the same spot, but with the -castle gone to decay. On the field where we beheld the brave deeds of -chivalry, a single shepherd boy is tending his sheep. The first of these -we think poorly managed, but the last is without a single fault,—it is -superb. - -The “Voyage of Life” is a series of fine pictures, allegorically -portraying the prominent features of man’s life, viz., childhood, youth, -manhood, and old ago. The subject is one of such universal interest, -that it were almost impossible to treat it in an entirely original -manner, but no one can deny that the conception of the painter displays -a high and rare order of poetic power. - -In the first we behold the dawn of a summer morning. A translucent -stream is issuing from an unknown source out of a deep cavern in the -side of a mountain. Floating gently down the stream is a golden boat, -made of the sculptured figures of the Hours, while the prow is formed by -the present hour holding forth an emblem of Time. It is filled with -flowers, and on these a little child is seated, tossing them with his -upraised hands, and smiling with new-born joy, as he looks upon the -unnumbered beauties and glories of this bright world around him; while a -guardian angel is at the helm, with his wings lovingly and protectingly -extended over the child. Love, purity, and beauty emanate like incense -from the sky, the earth, and water, so that the heart of the gazer seems -to forget the world, and lose itself in a dream of heaven. - -A few fleeting years are gone, and behold the change! The Stream of Life -is widened, and its current strong and irresistible, but it flows -through a country of surpassing loveliness. The Voyager, who is now a -youth, has taken the helm into his own hands, and the dismissed angel -stands upon the shore looking at him with “a look made of all sweet -accord,” as if he said in his heart, “God be with thee, thoughtless -mortal!” But the youth heeds not his angel, for his eyes are now riveted -by an airy castle pictured against the sky, dome above dome, reaching to -the very zenith. The phantom of worldly happiness and worldly ambition -has absorbed the imagination and eager gaze of the wayward voyager, and -as he urges his frail bark onward, he dreams not of the dangers which -may await him in his way. To the boat, only a few flowers are now -clinging, and on closer observation we perceive that the castle in the -air, apparently so real, has only a white cloud for its foundation, and -that ere long the stream makes a sudden turn, rushing with the fury of a -maddened steed down a terrible ravine. The moral of the picture it is -needless for us to elucidate. - -Another change, and lo! the verge of a cataract and a fearful storm. The -rudderless bark is just about to plunge into the abyss below, while the -voyager (now in the prime of manhood) is imploring the only aid, that -can avail him in the trying hour, that of heaven. Demoniacal images are -holding forth their temptations in the clouds around him, but he heeds -them not. His confidence in God supports him, the previous agony of his -soul is dispelled or subdued, by a reflection of immortal light stealing -through the storm, and by the smiles of his guardian angel, visibly -stationed in the far-off sky. - -The Voyage of Life is ended, and our voyager, now white with hoary -hairs, has reached that point where the waters of time and eternity -mingle together—a bold conception, which is finely embodied by the -daring genius of the painter. The hour-glass is gone, and the shattered -bark is ready to dissolve into the fathomless waters beneath. The old -man is on his knees, with clasped hands and his eyes turned heavenward, -for the greenness of earth is forever departed, and a gloom is upon the -ocean of Eternity. But just above the form of our good voyager is -hovering his angel, who is about to transport him to his home; and, as -the eye wanders upward, an infinite host of heavenly ministers are seen -ascending and descending the cloudy steps which lead to the bosom of -God. Death is swallowed up in life, the glory of heaven has eclipsed -that of the earth, and our voyager is safe in the haven of eternal rest. -And thus endeth the allegory of Human Life. - -With regard to the mechanical execution of these paintings, I consider -them not equal to some of the earlier efforts of the same pencil. They -are deficient in atmosphere, and have too much the appearance of paint. -The water in the first, second, and third pictures, is superior, and the -knowledge of perspective in the last of them is masterly. In all of them -the figures are very fine, considering the difficulty of managing such -peculiar characters. In the first I am pleased with the simplicity of -the composition; in the second, with the variety, there being portrayed -the elm of England, the plains of Tuscany, the palm of tropic climes, -the mountains of Switzerland, and the oak of America; in the third, with -the genius displayed in using the very storm to tell a story; and in the -fourth, with the management of the light, and the apparent reality of -those rays of glory. These pictures were painted for the late Samuel -Ward, of New York, and the price received for them was five thousand -dollars. - -Thus have I attempted to describe the prominent imaginative paintings of -Thomas Cole, with the object in view, of making you acquainted with the -fact, that great acquisitions have been and are being made to the Fine -Arts, even in our own country. His is a name which we should not -willingly let die. A man of fine, exalted genius, by his pencil he has -done a great deal of good, not only to his chosen art, by becoming one -of its masters, but also in a moral point of view. And this reminds me -of the influences, which may be exerted by the landscape painter. That -these are of importance no one can deny. Is not painting as well the -result and expression of thought as writing? What though, instead of -pen, ink, and paper, the painter uses canvass, a pencil, and the colors -of the rainbow, yet these, if he is a poet in his soul, can display his -power to scarcely less effect than though, to give utterance to his -“thoughts that glow,” his means were the “words that burn.” With these, -if he is a wise and good man, he may portray, to every eye that rests -upon his canvass, the loveliness of virtue and religion, or the -deformity and wretchedness of a vicious life. He may warn the worldling -of his folly and impending doom, and encourage the Christian in his -pilgrimage to heaven. He may delineate the marvellous beauty of nature, -so as to lead the mind upward to its Creator, or proclaim the ravages of -time, that we may take heed to our ways and prepare ourselves for a safe -departure from this world, into that beyond the Valley of the Shadow of -Death. A goodly portion of all these things have been accomplished by -Thomas Cole. As yet, he is the only landscape painter in this country -who has attempted imaginative painting, and the success which has -followed him in his career, even in a pecuniary point of view, affords -great encouragement to our young painters in this department of the art. -Cole has indeed done some great things, but a thousandfold more he has -left undone. He has but set a noble example, which ought to be -extensively followed. Mind, we do not mean by this that his subjects -ought to be imitated. Far from it; because they are not stamped with a -national character, as the productions of all painters should be. -Excepting his actual views of American scenery, the paintings of Cole -might have been produced had he never set foot upon our soil. Let our -young artists aspire to something above a mere copy of nature, or even a -picture of the fancy; let them paint the visions of their imagination. -No other country ever offered such advantages as our own. Let our young -painters use their pencils to illustrate the thousands of scenes, -strange, wild, and beautiful, of our early history. Let them aim high, -and their achievements will be distinguished. Let them remember that -theirs is a noble destiny. What though ancient wisdom and modern poetry -have told us that “art is long and time is fleeting!”—let them toil and -toil with nature as their guide, and they will assuredly have their -reward. - - - - - LAKE HORICON. - - -If circumstances alone could make one poetical, then might you expect -from me on this occasion a letter of rare excellence and beauty. My -sketch book is my desk, my canopy from the sunshine an elm tree, the -carpet under my feet a rich green sprinkled with flowers, the music in -my ear of singing birds, and the prospect before me, north, east, and -south, the tranquil bosom of Lake George, with its islands and -surrounding mountains, whose waters, directly at my side, are alive with -many kinds of fish, sporting together on a bed of sand. Yes, the -far-famed Lake George is my subject, but in what I write I shall not use -that title,—for I do not like the idea of christening what belongs to us -with the name of an English monarch, however much his memory deserves to -be respected. Shall it be Lake St. Sacrament, then? No! for that was -given to it by the Pope and the French nation. Horicon,—a musical and -appropriate word, meaning pure water, and given it by the poor -Indian,—is the name which rightfully belongs to the lake which is now my -theme. - -Lake Horicon is one of the few objects in Nature, that did not -disappoint me after reading the descriptions of travellers. I verily -believe, that in point of mere beauty it has not its equal in the world. -Its length is thirty-four miles, and its width from two to four. Its -islands number about three hundred, and vary from ten feet to a mile in -length;—a great many of them are located in the centre of the lake, -which place is called the Narrows. It is completely surrounded with -mountains, the most prominent of which are, Black Mountain on the east -of the Narrows, Tongue Mountain directly opposite, and French Mountain -at the southern extremity. The first is the most lofty, and remarkable -for its wildness, and the superb prospect therefrom; the second is also -wild and uninhabited, but distinguished for its dens of rattlesnakes; -and the latter is somewhat cultivated, but memorable for having been the -camping ground of the French during the Revolutionary war. The whole -eastern border is yet a comparative wilderness, but along the western -shore are some respectable farms, and a good coach road from Caldwell to -Ticonderoga, which affords many admirable views of the sky-blue lake. -There are three public houses here which I can recommend,—the Lake House -for those who are fond of company,—Lyman’s Tavern for the hunter of -scenery and lover of quiet,—and Garfield’s House for the fisherman. A -nice little steamboat, commanded by a gentleman, passes through the lake -every morning and evening (excepting Sundays), which is a convenient -affair to the traveller, but an eye-sore to the admirer of the -wilderness. When, in addition to all these things, it is remembered, -that Horicon is the centre of a region made classic, by the exploits of -civilized and savage warfare, it can safely be pronounced one of the -most interesting portions of our country for the summer tourist to -visit. I have looked upon it from many a peak whence might be seen -almost every rood of its shore. I have sailed into every one of its -bays, and, like the pearl diver, have repeatedly descended into its cold -blue chambers, so that I have learned to love it as a faithful and well -tried friend. Since the day of my arrival here, I have kept a journal of -my adventures, and, as a memorial of Horicon, I will extract therefrom -and embody in this letter the following passages. - - -Six oil sketches have I executed upon the Lake to-day. One of them was a -view of the distant mountains, whose various outlines were concentrated -at one point, and whose color was of that delicate dreamy blue, created -by a sunlight atmosphere, with the sun beyond. In the middle distance -was a flock of islands, with a sail boat in their midst, and in the -foreground a cluster of rocks, surmounted by a single cedar, which -seemed to be the sentinel of a fortress. Another was of the ruins of -Fort George, with a background of dark green mountains, and made more -desolate by a flock of sheep sleeping in one of its shady moats. Another -was of a rowing race between two rival fishermen, at the time when they -were only a dozen rods from the goal, and when every nerve of their aged -frames was strained to the utmost. Another was of a neat log-cabin on a -quiet lawn near the water, at whose threshold a couple of ragged but -beautiful children were playing with a large dog, and from whose chimney -ascended the blue smoke with a thousand fantastic evolutions. Another -was of a huge pine tree, which towered conspicuously above its kindred -on the mountain side, and which seemed to me an appropriate symbol of -Webster in the midst of a vast concourse of his fellow men. And the last -was of a thunder-storm, driven away from a mountain top by the mild -radiance of a rainbow, which partly encircled Horicon in a loving -embrace. - - -I have been a fishing to-day, and, while enduring some poor sport, -indited in my mind the following information, for the benefit of my -piscatorial friends. The days of trout-fishing in Lake Horicon are -nearly at an end. A few years ago it abounded in this fine fish, which -were frequently caught weighing twenty pounds, but their average weight -at the present is not more than one pound and a half, and they are -scarce even at that. In taking them you first have to obtain a -sufficient quantity of sapling bark to reach the bottom in sixty feet of -water, to one end of which must be fastened a stone, and to the other a -stick of wood, which designates your fishing ground, and is called a -buoy. A variety of more common fish are then caught, such as suckers, -perch, and eels, which are cut up and deposited, some half a peck at a -time, in the vicinity of the buoy. In a few days the trout will begin to -assemble, and so long as you keep them well fed, a brace of them may be -captured at almost any time during the summer. But the fact is, this is -only another way for “paying too dear for the whistle.” The best -angling, after all, is for the common brook trout, which is a bolder -biting fish, and full as good for the table as the salmon trout. The -cause of the great decrease in the large trout of this lake is this,—in -the Autumn, when they have sought the shores for the purpose of -spawning, the neighboring barbarians have been accustomed to spear them -by torch-light; and if the heartless business does not cease, the result -will be, that in a few years they will be extinct. There are two other -kinds of trout in the lake, however, which yet afford good sport,—the -silver trout, caught in the summer, and the fall-trout. But the -black-bass, upon the whole, is now mostly valued by the fisherman. They -are in their prime in the summer months. They vary from one to five -pounds in weight; and are taken by trolling and with a drop line, and -afford fine fun. Their haunts are along the rocky shores, and it is -often the case that on a still day you may see them from your boat -swimming about in herds, when the water is twenty feet deep. They have a -queer fashion when hooked, of leaping out of the water for the purpose -of getting clear, and it is seldom that a novice in the gentle art can -keep them from succeeding. But alas, their numbers also are fast -diminishing, by the same means and the same hands that have killed the -trout. My advice to those who come here exclusively for the purpose of -fishing is, to continue their journey to the sources of the Hudson, -Schroon Lake, Long Lake, and Lake Pleasant, in whose several waters -there seems to be no end to every variety of trout, and where may be -found much wild and beautiful scenery. The angler of the present day -will be disappointed in Lake Horicon. - - -When issuing from the Narrows on your way down the Horicon, the most -attractive object, next to the mountains, is a strip of low sandy land -extending into the lake, called Sabbath Day Point. It was so christened -by Abercrombie, who encamped and spent the Sabbath there, when on his -way to Ticonderoga, where he was so sadly defeated. I look upon it as -one of the most enchanting places in the world; but the pageant with -which it is associated was not only enchanting, and beautiful, and -grand, but perfectly magnificent. Only look at the picture, which I am -attempting to reproduce upon canvass. It is the sunset hour, and before -you, far up in the upper air, and companion of the Evening star and a -host of glowing clouds, rises the majestic form of Black Mountain, -enveloped in a mantle of rosy atmosphere. The bosom of the Lake is -without a ripple, and every cliff, ravine, and island, has its -counterpart in the pure waters. A blast of martial music from drums, -fifes, bagpipes, and bugle horns, now falls upon the ear, and the -immense procession comes in sight; one thousand and thirty-five battaux, -containing an army of seventeen thousand souls, headed by the brave -Abercrombie and the red cross of England,—the scarlet uniforms and -glistening bayonets forming a line of light against the darker -background of the mountain. And behind a log in the foreground is a -crouching Indian runner, who, with the speed of a hawk, will carry the -tidings to the French nation that an army is coming—“numerous as the -leaves upon the trees.” Far from the strange scene fly the affrighted -denizens of mountain and wave,—while thousands of human hearts are -beating happily at the prospect of victory, whose bodies in a few hours -will be food for the raven on the plains of Ticonderoga. - - -A goodly portion of this day have I been musing upon the olden times, -while rambling about Fort George, and Fort William Henry. Long and with -peculiar interest did I linger about the spot near the latter, where -were cruelly massacred the followers of Monroe, at which time Montcalm -linked his name to the title of a heartless Frenchman, and the name of -Webb became identified with all that is justly despised by the human -heart. I profess myself to be an enemy to wrong and outrage of every -kind, and yet a lover and defender of the Indian race; but when I picked -up one after another the flinty heads of arrows, which were mementos of -an awful butchery, my spirit revolted against the Red man, and for a -moment I felt a desire to condemn him. Yes, I will condemn that -particular band of murderers, but I cannot but defend the race. Cruel -and treacherous they were, I will allow, but do we forget the treatment -they ever met with from the white man? The most righteous of battles -have ever been fought for the sake of sires and wives and children, and -for what else did the poor Indian fight, when driven from the home of -his youth into an unknown wilderness, to become thereafter a by-word and -a reproach among the nations? “Indians,” said we, “we would have your -lands, and if you will not be satisfied with the gewgaws we proffer, out -powder and balls will teach you that power is but another name for -right.” And this is the principle that has guided the white man ever -since in his warfare against the aborigines of our country. Oh, I cannot -believe that we shall ever be a happy and prosperous people, until the -King of kings shall have forgiven us for having, with a yoke of tyranny, -almost annihilated an hundred nations. - - -A portion of this afternoon I whiled away on a little island, which -attracted my attention by its charming variety of foliage. It is not -more than one hundred feet across at the widest part, and is encircled -by a yellow sand-bank, and shielded by a regiment of variegated rocks. -But what could I find there to interest me, it may be inquired. My -answer is this: That island, hidden in one of the bays of Horicon, is an -Insect city, and more populous than was Rome in the days of her glory. -There the honey-bee has his oaken tower, the wasp and humble-bee their -grassy nests, the spider his den, the butterfly his hammock, the -grasshopper his domain, the beetle and cricket and hornet their decayed -stump, and the toiling ant her palace of sand. There they were born, -there they flourish and multiply, and there they die, symbolizing the -career and destiny of man. I was a “distinguished stranger” in that -city, and I must confess that it gratified my ambition to be welcomed -with such manifestations of regard as the inhabitants thought proper to -bestow. My approach was heralded by the song of a kingly bee; and when I -had thrown myself upon a mossy bank, multitudes of people gathered -round, and, with their eyes intently fixed upon me, stood still, and let -“expressive silence muse my praise.” To the “natives” I was emphatically -a source of astonishment; and as I wished to gather instruction from the -event, I wondered in my heart whether I would be a _happier_ man if my -presence in a human city should create a kindred excitement. At any rate -it would be a “great excitement on a small capital.” - - -While quietly eating my dinner this noon, in the shady recess of an -island near Black Mountain, I was startled by the yell of a peck of -hounds coming down one of its ravines. I knew that the chase was after a -deer, so I waited in breathless anxiety for his appearance. Five minutes -had hardly elapsed before I discovered a noble buck at bay on the -extreme summit of a bluff which extended into the lake. There were five -dogs yelping about him, but the “antlered monarch” fought them like a -hero. His hoof was the most dangerous weapon he could wield, and it -seemed to me that the earth actually trembled every time that he struck -at his enemies. Presently, to my great joy, one of the hounds was -killed, and another so disabled, that he retired from the contest. But -the hunters made their appearance, and I knew that the scene would soon -come to a tragic close. And when the buck beheld them, I could not but -believe that over his face a “tablet of _agonizing_ thoughts was -traced,” for he fell upon his knees, then made a sudden wheel, and with -a frightful bound, as a ball passed through his heart, cleared the rock -and fell into the lake far below. The waters closed over him, and -methought that the waves of Horicon and the leaves of the forest -murmured a requiem above the grave of the wilderness king. I turned away -with a tear in my eye, and partly resolved that I would never again have -a dog for my friend, or respect the character of a hunter; but then I -looked into the crystal waters of the lake, and thought of the _beam_ in -my own eye, and stood convicted of a kindred cruelty. - - -One of the most singular precipices overlooking Horicon is about five -miles from the outlet, and known as Rogers’ Slide. It is some four -hundred feet high, and at one point not a fissure or sprig can be -discerned to mar the polished surface of the rock till it reaches the -water. Once on a time in the winter, the said Rogers was pursued by a -band of Indians to this spot, where, after throwing down his knapsack, -he carefully retraced the steps of his snow-shoes for a short distance, -and descending the hill by a circuitous route, continued his way across -the frozen lake. The Indians, on coming to the jumping-off-place, -discovered their enemy on the icy plain; but when they saw the neglected -knapsack below, and no signs of returning footsteps where they stood, -they thought the devil must be in the man, and gave up the pursuit. - - -The most famous, and one of the most beautiful islands in this lake, is -Diamond Island, so called from the fact that it abounds in crystallized -quartz. It is half a mile in length, but the last place in the world -which would be thought of as the scene of a battle. It is memorable for -the attack made by the Americans on the British, who had a garrison -there, in 1777. The American detachment was commanded by Col. Brown, and -being elated with his recent triumphs on Lake Champlain, he resolved to -attack Diamond Island. The battle was bloody, and the British fought -like brave men “long and well”; the Americans were defeated, and this -misfortune was followed by the sufferings of a most painful retreat over -the almost impassable mountains between the Lake and what is now -Whitehall. While wandering about the island it was a difficult matter -for me to realize, that it had ever resounded with the roar of cannon, -the dismal wail of war, and the shout of victory. That spot is now -covered with woods, whose shadowy groves are the abode of a thousand -birds, forever singing a song of peace or love, as if to condemn the -ambition and cruelty of man. - - -In the vicinity of French Mountain is an island which is celebrated as -the burial place of a rattle-snake hunter, named Belden. From all that I -can learn, he must have been a strange mortal indeed. His birth-place -and early history were alike unknown. When he first made his appearance -at this Lake, his only companions were a brotherhood of rattlesnakes, by -exhibiting which he professed to have obtained his living; and it is -said that, during the remainder of his life, he acquired a handsome sum -of money by selling the oil and gall of his favorite reptile. And I have -recently been told that the present market price of a fat snake, when -dead, is not less than half a dollar. Another mode peculiar to old -Belden for making money, was to suffer himself to be bitten, at some -tavern, after which he would return to his cabin to apply the remedy, -when he would come forth again just as good as new. But he was not -always to be a solemn trifler. For a week had the old man been missing, -and on a pleasant August morning, his body was found on the island -alluded to, sadly mutilated and bloated, and it was certain that he had -died actually surrounded with rattlesnakes. His death-bed became his -grave, and rattlesnakes were his only watchers,—and thus endeth the -story of his life. - -But this reminds me of two little adventures. The other day as I was -seated near the edge of a sand bar, near the mouth of a brook, sketching -a group of trees and the sunset clouds beyond, I was startled by an -immense black snake, that landed at my side, and pursued its way -directly under my legs, upon which my drawing-book was resting. Owing to -my perfect silence, the creature had probably looked upon me as a mere -stump. But what was my surprise a few moments after, when reseated in -the same place, to find another snake, and that a large spotted adder, -passing along the same track the former had pursued. The first fright -had almost disabled me from using the pencil, but when the second came, -I gave a lusty yell, and forgetful of the fine arts, started for home on -the keen run. - -At another time, when returning from a fishing excursion, in a boat, -accompanied by a couple of greenhorns, we discovered on the water, near -Tongue Mountain, an immense rattlesnake, with his head turned towards -us. As the oarsman in the bow of the boat struck at him with his oar, -the snake coiled round it, and the fool was in the very act of dropping -the devilish thing in my lap at the stern of the boat. I had heard the -creature rattle, and not knowing what I did, as he hung suspended over -me, overboard I went, and did not look behind till I had reached the -land. The consequence was, that for one while I was perfectly disgusted -even with Lake Horicon, and resolved to leave it without delay. The -snake was killed without doing any harm, however, but such a blowing up -as I gave the greenhorn actually made his hair stand straight with fear. - -One more snake story and I’ll stop. On the north side of Black Mountain -is a cluster of some half-dozen houses, in a vale, which spot is called -the Bosom, but from what cause I do not know. The presiding geniuses of -the place are a band of girls, weighing two hundred pounds a piece, who -farm it with their fathers for a living, but whose principal _amusement_ -is rattlesnake hunting. Their favorite playground is the notorious cliff -on Tongue Mountain, where they go with naked feet (rowing their own -boats across the Lake), and pull out by their tails from the rocks the -pretty playthings, and, snapping them to death, lay them away in a -basket as trophies of their skill. I was told that in one day last year -they killed the incredible number of eleven hundred. What delicious -wives would these Horicon ladies make! Now that the Florida Indians have -been driven from their country by bloodhounds, would it not be a good -idea for Congress to secure the services of these amazons for the -purpose of exterminating the rattlesnakes upon our mountains. This -latter movement would be the most ridiculous, but the inhumanity of the -former is without a parallel. - - -A clear and tranquil summer night, and I am alone on the pebbly beach of -this paragon of lakes. The countless hosts of heaven are beaming upon me -with a silent joy, and more impressive and holy than a poet’s dream, are -the surrounding mountains, as they stand reflected in the unruffled -waters. Listen! what sound is that, so like the wail of a spirit? Only a -loon, the lonely night-watcher of Horicon, whose melancholy moan, as it -breaks the profound stillness, carries my fancy back to the olden Indian -times, ere the white man had crossed the ocean. All these mountains and -this beautiful Lake were then the heritage of a brave and noble-hearted -people, who made war only upon the denizens of the forest, whose lives -were peaceful as a dream, and whose manly forms, decorated with the -plumes of the eagle, the feathers of the scarlet bird, and the robe of -the bounding stag, tended but to make the scenery of the wilderness -beautiful as an earthly Eden. Here was the quiet wigwam village, and -there the secluded abode of the thoughtful chief. Here, unmolested, the -Indian child played with the spotted fawn, and the “Indian lover wooed -his dusky mate;” here the Indian hunter, in the “sunset of his life,” -watched, with holy awe, the sunset in the west, and here the ancient -Indian prophetess sung her uncouth but religious chant. Gone,—all, all -gone,—and the desolate creature of the waves, now pealing forth another -wail, seems the only memorial that they have left behind. There,—my -recent aspirations are all quelled, I can walk no farther to -night;—there is a tear in my eye and a sadness in my soul, and I must -seek my home. It is such a blessed night, that it seems almost sinful -that a blight should rest upon the spirit of man; yet on mine a gloom -will sometimes fall, nor can I tell from whence the cloud that makes me -wretched. To prayer!! - -Here endeth a lover’s tribute to the sky-blue and ice-cold Horicon. - - - - - BURLINGTON. - - -Of all the towns which I have ever seen, Burlington in Vermont is -decidedly the most beautiful. It stands on the shore of Lake Champlain, -and from the water to its eastern extremity is a regular elevation, -which rises to the height of some three hundred feet. Its streets are -broad and regularly laid out, the generality of its buildings elegant, -and its inhabitants well educated, refined, and wealthy. My visit here -is now about to close, and I cannot but follow the impulses of my heart, -by giving you a brief account of its principal picturesque attraction, -and some information concerning a few of its public men. - -As a matter of course, my first subject is Lake Champlain. In -approaching it from the south, and particularly from Horicon, one is apt -to form a wrong opinion of its picturesque features; but one cannot pass -through it without being lavish in its praise. It extends, in a straight -line from south to north, somewhat over a hundred miles, and lies -between the States of Vermont and New York. It is the gateway between -the country on the St. Lawrence and that on the Hudson, and it is -therefore extensively navigated by vessels and steamboats. The steamer -Burlington, Captain Sherman, is unquestionably the finest boat in the -Union; not on account of its size, but considering the admirable -discipline with which it is commanded. Lake Champlain is surrounded with -flourishing villages, whose population is generally made up of New -Englanders and Canadians. Its width varies from half a mile to thirteen, -but its waters are muddy, excepting in the vicinity of Burlington. Its -islands are not numerous, but one of them, Grand Isle, is sufficiently -large to support four villages. Its scenery may be denominated bold; -rising from the water on the west are the Adirondack Mountains, and at -some distance on the east the beautiful Green Mountains, whose glorious -_commanders_ are Mansfield Mountain and the Camel’s Hump. Owing to the -width of the Lake at Burlington, and the beauty of the western -mountains, the sunsets that are here visible are exceedingly superb. O -that I could strike the lyre of the poet, that I might celebrate in song -some of those which have transported my spirit to the realms of bliss. -The classic associations of this Lake are uncommonly interesting. Here -are the moss-covered ruins of Ticonderoga and Crown Point, whose present -occupants are the snake, the lizzard, and toad. Leaden and iron balls, -broken bayonets, and English flints, have I picked up on their ramparts, -which I cannot look upon without thinking of death-struggles and the -horrible shout of war. And there too is Plattsburg, in whose waters -Commodore McDonough vindicated the honor of the Stars and Stripes of -Freedom. As to the fishing of this lake, I have but a word to say. -Excepting trout, every variety of fresh-water fish is found here in -abundance; but the water is not pure, which is ever a serious drawback -to my enjoyment in wetting the line. Lake Champlain received its present -name from a French nobleman, who discovered it in 1609, and who died at -Quebec in 1635. - -The associations I am now to speak of, are of a personal character; and -the first, of the three names before me, is that of Joseph Torrey, the -present Professor of Moral and Intellectual Philosophy in the University -of Vermont. As a citizen, he is one of the most amiable and beloved of -men. As one of the faculty of the University, he occupies a high rank, -and is a particular favorite with all his students. A pleasing evidence -of the latter fact I noticed a few days since, when it was reported -among the students that the Professor had returned from a visit to the -Springs for his health. I was in company with some half-dozen of them at -the time, and these are the remarks they made. “How is his health”? “I -hope he has improved”! “Now shall I be happy,—for ever since he went -away, the recitation-room has been a cheerless place to me.” “Now shall -I be advised as to my essay”! “Now shall my poem be corrected”! “Now, in -my troubles, shall I have the sympathies of a true friend”! Much more -meaning is contained in these simple phrases than what meets the eye. -Surely, if any man is to be envied, it is he who has a place in the -affections of all who know him. As a scholar, too, Professor Torrey -occupies an exalted station, as will be proven to the world in due time. -He has never published anything but an occasional article for a review, -and the memoir of President Marsh (who was his predecessor in the -University), as contained in the admirable volume of his Remains, which -should occupy a conspicuous place in the library of every American -scholar and Christian. The memoir is indeed a rare specimen of that kind -of writing,—beautifully written, and pervaded by a spirit of refinement -that is delightful. But I was mostly interested in Mr. Torrey as a man -of taste in the Fine Arts. In everything but the mere execution, he is a -genuine artist, and long may I remember the counsels of his experience -and knowledge. A course of Lectures on the Arts forms a portion of his -instruction as Professor, and I trust that they will eventually be -published for the benefit of our country. He has also translated, from -the German of Schelling, a most admirable discourse entitled “Relation -of the Arts of Design to Nature;” a copy of which ought to be in the -possession of every young artist. Mr. Torrey has been an extensive -traveller in Europe, and being a lover and an acute observer of -everything connected with Literature and Art, it is a perfect luxury to -hear him expatiate upon “the wonders he has seen.” He also examines -everything with the eye of a philosopher, and his conclusions are ever -of practical utility. Not only can he analyze in a profound manner the -principles of metaphysical learning, but, with the genuine feelings of a -poet, descant upon the triumphs of poetic genius, or point out the -mind-charms of a Claude or Titian. He is—but I will not say all that I -would, for I fear that at our next meeting he would chide me for my -boyish personalities. Let me conclude then with the advice, that, if you -ever chance to meet the Professor in your travels, you must endeavor to -secure an introduction, which I am sure you cannot but ever remember -with unfeigned pleasure. - -John Henry Hopkins, D. D., Bishop of Vermont, is another of the -principal attractions of Burlington. The history of his life, the -expression of his countenance, and his general deportment, all speak of -the “peace of God.” Considering the number and diversity of his -acquirements, I think him a very remarkable man. He is not only in point -of character well worthy of his exalted station as Bishop, but as a -theologian learned and eloquent to an uncommon degree. His contributions -to the world of Letters are of rare value, having published volumes -entitled “Christianity Vindicated;” “The Primitive Church;” “The -Primitive Creed;” “The Church of Rome;” “British Reformation;” and -“Letters to the Clergy.” His style of writing is persuasive, vigorous, -and clear, and all his conclusions seem to have been formed in full view -of the Bible, which is a virtue worth noticing in these degenerate days. -Unlike the bigoted followers of Pusey, he is a _charitable_ -Episcopalian,—deserving and enjoying the love and esteem of every -orthodox denomination. It is because of his honesty and soundness, I -suppose, that some of his own church are disaffected with his -straight-forward conduct. Bishop Hopkins, as a divine, is of the same -school with the late Bishop White, and therefore among the most -eminently wise and good of his age and country. - -The Bishop of Vermont is also a man of remarkable taste with regard to -Architecture, Music, and Painting; in which departments, as an amateur, -he has done himself great credit. Not only did he plan and superintend -the building of an edifice for his recent school, but has published an -interesting book on Architecture, wherein he appears to be as much at -_home_ as a Christopher Wren. Knowing the market to be full of -sentimental nonsense in the way of songs, he composed, for the benefit -of his own children, a few with a moral tone, which he also set to -music, and are now published as a worthy tribute to his fine feelings -and the correctness of his ear. But he ranks still higher as a man of -taste in the capacity of a Painter. The Vermont Drawing Book, which he -published, is an evidence of his ability as a draftsman. The family -portraits which adorn his walls, prove him to have an accurate eye for -color, and an uncommon knowledge of effect;—and his oil sketches of -scenes from Nature, give token of an ardent devotion to Nature. But the -best, in my opinion, of all his artistical productions, is a picture -representing “our Saviour blessing little children.” Its conception, -grouping, and execution, are all of very great merit, and I am persuaded -will one day be looked upon with peculiar interest by the lovers and -judges of art in this country. Though done in water colors, and -considered by the artist as a mere sketch for a larger picture, there -are some heads in it that would have called forth a compliment even from -the lamented Allston. Would that he could be influenced to send it, for -exhibition, to our National Academy! And thus endeth my humble tribute -of applause to a gifted man. - -I now come to the Hon. George P. Marsh, of whom, if I were to follow the -bent of my feelings, I could write a complete volume. Though yet in the -early prime of life, he is a sage in learning and wisdom. After leaving -college he settled in Burlington, where he has since resided, dividing -his time between his legal profession and the retirement of his study. -With a large and liberal heart, he possesses all the endearing and -interesting qualities which belong to the true and accomplished -gentleman. Like all truly great men, he is exceedingly retiring and -modest in his deportment, and one of that rare class who are never -excited by the voice of fame. About two years ago, almost without his -knowledge, he was elected to a seat in the lower house of Congress, -where he at once began to make an impression as a Statesman. Though few -have been his public speeches, they are remarkable for sound political -logic, and the classic elegance of their language. As an orator, he is -not showy and passionate, but plain, forcible, and earnest. - -But it is in the walks of private life, that Mr. Marsh is to be mostly -admired. His knowledge of the Fine Arts is probably more extensive than -that of any other man in this country, and his critical taste is equal -to his knowledge; but that department peculiarly his hobby, is -Engraving. He has a perfect passion for line engravings; and it is -unquestionably true, that his collection is the most valuable and -extensive in the Union. He is well acquainted with the history of this -art from the earliest period, and also with its various mechanical -ramifications. He is as familiar with the lives and peculiar styles of -the Painters and Engravers of antiquity, as with his household affairs; -and when he talks to you on his favorite theme, it is not to display his -learning, but to make you realize the exalted attributes and mission of -universal Art. - -As an author, Mr. Marsh has done but little in extent, but enough to -secure a seat beside such men as Edward Everett, with whom he has been -compared. He has published (among his numerous things of the kind) a -pamphlet entitled “The Goths in New-England,” which is a fine specimen -of chaste writing and beautiful thought; also another on the “History of -the Mechanic Arts,” which contains a great deal of rare and important -information. He has also written an “Icelandic Grammar” of 150 pages, -which created quite a sensation among the learned of Europe a few years -ago. As to his scholarship,—it can be said of him, that he is a _master_ -in some twelve of the principal modern and ancient languages. He has not -learned them merely for the purpose of being considered a literary -prodigy, but to multiply his means of acquiring information, which -information is intended to accomplish some substantial end. He is not a -visionary, but a devoted lover of truth, whether it be in History, -Poetry, or the Arts. - -But my chief object in speaking of this gentleman, was to introduce a -passing notice of his Library, which is undoubtedly the most unique in -the country. The building itself, which stands near his dwelling, is of -brick, and arranged throughout with great taste. You enter it, as it was -often my privilege, and find yourself in a perfect wilderness of -gorgeous books, and portfolios of engravings. Of books Mr. Marsh owns -some five thousand volumes. His collection of Scandinavian Literature is -supposed to be the most complete that can be found out of the Northern -Kingdoms. To give you an idea of this literary treasure, I will mention -a few of the rarest specimens. In old Northern Literature, here may be -found the _Arna Magnæan_ editions of old Icelandic Sagas, all those of -_Suhm_, all those of the Royal Society of Northern Antiquaries, and in -fact all those printed at Copenhagen and Stockholm, as well as in -Iceland, with scarcely an exception. This Library also contains the -great editions of _Heimskringla_, the two _Eddas_, _Kongs-Skugg-Sjo_, -_Konunga_, _Styrilse_, the Scriptores Rerum Danicarum, Scriptores Rerum -Svecicarum, Dansk Magazin, the two complete editions of _Olaus Magnus_, -_Saxo Grammaticus_, the works of Bartholinus, Torfaus, Schöning, Suhm, -Pontoppidan, Grundtvig, Petersen, Rask, the _Aplantica_ of Rudbeck, the -great works of _Sjöborg_, Liljegren, Geijer, Cronholm, and Strinnholm, -all the collections of old Icelandic, Danish, and Swedish laws, and -almost all the writers, ancient and modern, who have treated of the -language, literature, or history of the ancient Scandinavian race. - -In modern Danish Literature, here may be found the works of Holberg, -Wessel, Ewald, Hejberg, Baggesen, Ochlenschlseger, Nyerup, Ingemann, -with other celebrated authors; in Swedish, those of Leopold Oxenstjerna, -Bellmann, Franzen, Atterbom, Tegner, Frederika Bremer, and indeed almost -all the _belles lettres_ authors of Sweden, the Transactions of the -Royal Academy of Science, (more than one hundred volumes,) those of the -Swedish Academy, and of the Royal Academy of Literature, and many -collections in documentary history, besides numerous other works. - -In Spanish and Portuguese, besides many modern authors, here are -numerous old chronicles, such as the Madrid collection of old Spanish -Chronicles in seven volumes 4to.; the Portuguese _Livros ineditos da -Historia Portugueza_, five volumes folio; Fernam Lopez, de Brito, Duarte -Nunez de Liam, Damiam de Goes, de Barros, Castanheda, Resende, Andrada, -Osorio; also, de Menezes, Mariana, and others of similar character. In -Italian, most of the best authors, who have acquired a European -reputation; several hundred volumes of French works, including many of -the ancient chronicles; a fine collection in German, including many -editions of Reyneke de Vos, the Nibelungen, and other works of the -middle ages. In classical literature, good editions of the most -celebrated Greek and Latin authors; and in English, a choice collection -of the best authors, among which should be mentioned, as rare in this -country, Lord Berners’ Froissart, Roger Ascham, the writings of King -James I., John Smith’s Virginia (edition of 1624), Amadis de Gaul, and -Palmerin of England. In lexicography, the best dictionaries and grammars -in all the languages of Western Europe, and many biographical -dictionaries and other works of reference in various languages. Many -works too, are here, on astrology, alchemy, witchcraft, and magic; and a -goodly number of works on the situation of Plato’s Atlantis and Elysian -Fields, such as Rudbeck’s Atlantica, Goropius Becanus, de Grave -Republique des Champs Elysées, and a host of others in every department -of learning, the mere mention of which would cause the bookworm a thrill -of delight. - -In the department of Art, Mr. Marsh possesses the Musée Français, Musée -Royal, (proof before letters) Liber Veritatis, Houghton Galley, Florence -Gallery, Publications of Dilettanti Society, and many other illustrated -works and collections of engravings; the works of Bartsch, Ottley, -Mengs, Visconti, Winchelmann, and other writers on the history and -theory of Art; old illustrated works, among which are the original -editions of Teuerdanck and Der Weiss Kunig; and many thousand steel -engravings, including many originals by Albert Dürer, Luke of Leyden, -Lucas Cranach, Aldegreuer, Wierx, the Sadelers Nauteuil, (among others -the celebrated Louis XIV., size of life, and a proof of the Cadet a la -Perle, by Masson,) Edelink, Drevet, Marc Antonio, and other old -engravers of the Italian school, Callot, Ostade, Rembrandt, (including a -most superb impression of the Christ Healing the Sick, the hundred -guilder Piece, and the portrait of Renier Ansloo,) Waterloo, Woollett, -Sharp, Strange, Earlom, Wille, Ficquet, Schmidt, Longhi, and Morghen; in -short, nearly all the works of all the greatest masters in chalcography, -from the time of Dürer to the present day. It were folly for me to -praise these various works, and I have alluded to them merely for the -purpose of letting you know something of the taste and possessions of -Mr. Marsh. His library is one of the most glorious places it has ever -been my fortune to visit, and the day that I became acquainted with the -man, I cannot but consider as an era in my life. Morning, noon, and -evening did I linger with the master-spirits of olden time, collected in -that delightful place, and though I often stood in mute admiration of -their genius, I was sometimes compelled to shed a tear, as I thought of -the miserable destiny, as a writer or painter, which will probably be -mine. Thank God, there is no such thing as _ambition_ in that blessed -world above the stars, which I hope to attain,—no ambition to harass the -soul,—for then will it be free to revel, and forever, in its holy and -godlike conceptions. But a truce to this strain of thought, and also to -the Lions of Burlington, of whom I now take my leave with a respectful -bow. - - -P. S. As you may probably be induced to visit Burlington, after what I -have written, I cannot leave the place without mentioning two more of -its personal attractions—Judge Meech the farmer, and John H. Peck the -merchant. Of the former, who resides just without the town, I would -remark, that his mortal part is six feet and a half high, and weighs -nearly four hundred pounds, and a perfect counterpart in body as well as -mind of the immortal Jack Falstaff. He is the proprietor of the largest -grazing farm in New England, which contains three thousand acres, and at -the present moment gives food to nearly four thousand sheep. The Judge -is one of the most hospitable of men, and having spent a portion of his -life as a trapper in the wilderness, and another as a member of -Congress, there is no end to his fund of stories, which he tells with an -admirable grace. One concerning himself, is to the following effect. -Once on a time, when young, poor, and somewhat idle in his habits, he -chanced to stop at a country store where he was known, for the purpose -of purchasing a handkerchief, which the shopkeeper refused to let him -have upon credit. The youth was so exasperated, that he swore he would -one day purchase the whole property of the man; and it is a singular -fact, that the identical store, and all the possessions of that -merchant, are now incorporated in the immense estate of Judge Meech. A -similar story is told of Mr. Astor (who once dealt in furs on Lake -Champlain with the Judge) and the Astor House, so that it would actually -seem as if some people are born to become rich. And what is the -strangest thing of all, Mr. Meech is a great trout fisherman, and of -_course_ a man of genius. About a month ago he caught one thousand in -three days, which I can readily believe, but I cannot vouch for the -truth of the statement I heard, that he ate two hundred and forty of the -little fellows at one meal! Fail not to visit the Judge when you have an -opportunity. He will be glad to see you, or any other honest man, and -with his accomplished lady will show you every variety of flowers, and -an artificial pond full of trout, and will refresh you with the rarest -kinds of fruit. - -Of Mr. Peck, it will not do for me to say but a single word, as he has -never filled any public station, and is therefore only a private -citizen. He is just such a man as I suppose William Roscoe of Liverpool -to have been, according to the account of Washington Irving—a perfect -gentleman, a merchant of the first rank, a lover of books and pictures, -and the giver of glorious dinners. A thousand blessings rest upon his -head, and upon all the gentlemen of Burlington of my acquaintance, whom -I shall ever look upon as among the true nobility of our land, and -therefore among the nobility of the earth. - - - - - TRIP TO PORTLAND. - - -Three loud knocks upon my bed-room door at Burlington, awakened me from -“a deep dream of peace.” “The eastern stage is ready,” said my landlord, -as he handed me a light; whereupon, in less than five minutes after the -hour of three I was on my way to Portland, and inditing on the tablet of -my memory the following disjointed stage-coach rhapsody. - -A fine coach, fourteen passengers, and six superb horses. My seat is on -the outside, and my eyes are on the alert for anything of peculiar -interest, which I may meet with in my journey. Now does the beautiful -range of the Green Mountains meet my view. The day is breaking, and lo! -upon either side of me, and like the two leaders of an army, rise the -peaks of Mansfield Mountain and the Camel’s Hump. Around the former the -cloud-spirits of early morning are picturing the fantastic poetry of the -sky; while just above the summit of the other, may be seen the new moon -and the morning star, waiting for the sun to come, like two sweet human -sisters, for the smiles and kisses of a returning father. And now, as -the sunbeams glide along the earth, we are in the solitude of the -mountains, and the awakened mist-creatures are ascending from the cool -and silent nooks in the deep ravines. - -Young Dana’s description of a ship under full sail is very fine, but it -does not possess the living beauty of that picture which is now before -me, in those six bay horses, straining every nerve to eclipse the -morning breeze. Hold your breath, for the road is hard and smooth as -marble, and the extended nostrils of those matchless steeds speak of a -noble pride within. There, the race is done, the victory theirs, and -now, as they trot steadily along, what music in the champing of those -bits and the striking of those iron-bound hoofs! Of all the soulless -animals on earth, none do I love so dearly as the horse,—I sometimes am -inclined to think that they have souls. I respect a noble horse, more -than I do some men. Horses are the Indian chiefs of the brute creation. - -The Winooski, along whose banks is the most picturesque stage route in -Vermont, is an uncommonly interesting stream,—rapid, clear, and cold. It -is remarkable for its falls and narrow passes, where perpendicular rocks -of a hundred feet or more frown upon its solitary pools. Its chief -pictorial attraction is the cataract at Waterbury, which is a deep and -jagged chasm in the granite mountain, whose horrors are greatly -increased by the sight and the smothered howl of an avalanche of pure -white foam. On its banks, and forty miles from its outlet near -Burlington, is situated Montpelier, the capital of Vermont. It is a -compact town, mostly built upon two streets, and completely hemmed in by -rich and cultivated mountains. Its chief attractions to my mind, -however, during my short stay, was a pair of deep black eyes, only half -visible under their drooping lids. O the dear, dear women, I verily -believe they will be the ruin of me! - -During one of my rambles near Montpelier, I discovered an isolated and -abandoned dwelling, which stands upon a little plot of green, in the lap -of the forest near the top of a mountain. I entered its deserted -chambers, and spent a long time musing upon its solemn admonitions. The -cellar had become the home of lizards and toads. The spider and cricket -were masters of the hearth, where once had been spun the mountain -legend, by an old man to the only child of his widowed son. They were, -as I am told, the last of a long line, which once flourished in Britain, -but with them their name would pass into forgetfulness. Only the years -of a single generation have elapsed since then, but the dwellers upon -yonder mountain are sleeping in the grave. And is this passing record of -their existence the only inheritance they have left behind? Most true; -but would it have been _better_ for them, or for us, had they bequeathed -to the world a noted name or immense possessions? What is our life? - -The route between Montpelier and Danville lies along the Winooski, and -is not less beautiful than that down the river. Its chief picture is -Marshfield Waterfall. While at Montpelier a pleasure ride was got up by -some of my friends, and as they were bound to the east, and I was -honored with an invitation, I sent on my baggage and joined them, so -that the monotony of my journey was agreeably relieved. We had our -fishing-rods with us, and having stopped at the fall, we caught a fine -mess of trout, which we had cooked for dinner at the next tavern on our -way,—and our dessert was fine singing from the ladies, and good stories -from the lips of Senator Phelps, who was of the party, and is celebrated -for his conversational powers. For further particulars concerning that -expedition, I would refer you to Mr. George Langdon and Lady of -Montpelier, and to that pair of eyes, which I just now mentioned as -having beamed upon me with a bewitching brilliancy. But alas! the dear -creature is already,—excuse me, I cannot, I will not speak the hateful -word. The lucky fellow ought to carry a liberal and kind soul hereafter, -if he has never done so before. - -At cock-crowing this morning I was again in my seat outside of the -stage-coach, anxiously waiting for the mists to evaporate in the east. -The sun proved to be my friend, and soon as he appeared, they vanished -like a frightened troop, and he was marching up the sky in the plenitude -of his glory. And then, for the first time, did my vision rest upon the -White Mountains, as they reposed in the distance, like a mighty herd of -camels in the solitude of the desert. In the charming valley of the -Connecticut we only tarried about ten minutes, but long enough for me to -hear the mower whet his scythe, the “lark sing loud and high,” and the -pleasant tinkle of a cow-bell far away in a broad meadow. While there I -took a sketch, wherein I introduced the father of New England rivers, -and the bald peak of Mount Lafayette, with the storm-inflicted scar upon -its brow. A noble monument is yonder mountain to the memory of a noble -man. - -While breakfasting at Littleton this morning, I came to the conclusion -to leave my baggage and visit Franconia. I jumped into the stage, and -after a very pleasant ride of seventeen miles, found myself far into the -Notch, in the midst of whose scenery I am to repose this night. I would -not have missed the trip _even_ for a _sincere_ love-smile from the girl -of my former idolatry. I reached here in time to enjoy an early dinner -with “mine host”; after which I sallied forth to examine the wonders of -the place, but was so delighted with everything around, that I did not -take time to make a single sketch. I saw the Flume, and was perfectly -astonished. It is a chasm in the mountain, thirty feet wide, about a -hundred deep, and some two thousand long, and as regular in its shape as -if it had been cut by the hand of man. Bridging its centre is a rock of -many tons weight, which one would suppose could only have been hurled -there from the heavens. Through its centre flows a little brook, which -soon passes over a succession of rocky slides, and which are almost as -smooth and white as marble. And to cap the climax, this Flume is the -centre of as perfect and holy a wilderness of scenery as could be -imagined. - -I have also seen (what should be the pride of the Merrimack, as it is -upon one of its tributaries) the most superb pool in this whole country. -The fall above it is not remarkable, but the forest-covered rocks on -either side, and the pool itself, are wonderfully fine. In the first -place, you must remember, that the waters of this whole region are cold -as ice, and clear as possible. The pool forms a circle of about one -hundred feet in diameter, and is said to be fifty feet in depth. Owing -to the fall, it is the “head-quarters” of the trout, which are found all -along the stream in great abundance. After I had completed a drawing, I -laid aside my pencils and fixed my fishing rod. I threw the line _only_ -about two hours and caught _only_ forty-five trout, but they were real -beauties, I assure you. Among them was the great-grandfather of all -trout,—he was _only_ seventeen inches long, and weighed _only_ two -pounds and one ounce. It does take me, and no mistake, to throw a -scientific fly. - -The Old Man of the Mountain, is another of the lions of this place. It -is a cone-shaped mountain, (at the foot of which is a small lake,) upon -whose top are some rocks, which have a resemblance to the profile of an -old man. It is really a very curious affair. There the old fellow -stands, as he has stood perhaps for centuries, “looking the whole world -in the face.” I wonder if the thunder never frightens him! and does the -lightning play around his brow without making him wink? His business -there, I suppose, is to protect the “ungranted lands” of New Hampshire, -or keep Isaac Hill from lecturing the White Mountains on Locofocoism. He -need not trouble himself as to the first fear, for they could not be -deeded even to a bear; and as to the second, I don’t believe the -mountains could ever be persuaded to go for the annexation of Texas. -Every plant upon them speaks of freedom, and in their fastnesses does -the eagle find a home,—their banner-symbols are the stars and stripes, -and therefore they must be Whigs. - -And another curiosity, which everybody goes to see, is called the -Basin,—which is indeed an exquisite little spot,—fit for the abode of a -very angel. It is formed in the solid rock, and though twenty feet in -depth, you can see a sixpence at the bottom,—it is so wonderfully clear. -But the wild beauties of this Notch, unknown to fame, are charming -beyond compare. There goes the midnight warning of the clock, and I must -retire. O that my dreams may be of yonder star, now just beaming with -intense brightness above the dark outline of the nearest mountain. - -The distance from Knight’s tavern to the western outlet of Franconia -Notch is eight miles. The eastern stage was to pass through about the -middle of the afternoon, so after eating my breakfast I started on, -intending to enjoy a walk between the mountains. With the conceptions -and feelings that were with me then, I should have been willing to die, -for I was perfectly happy. Now, as I sat upon a stone to sketch a mass -of foliage, a little red squirrel came within five feet of me, and -commenced a terrible chattering, as if his lady-love had given him the -“mitten,” and he was blowing out against the whole female sex; and now -an old partridge with a score of children came tripping along the -shadowy road, almost within my reach, and so fearless of my presence, -that I would not have harmed one of them even for a crown. Both of these -were exceedingly simple pictures, and yet they afforded me a world of -pleasure. I thought of the favorite haunts of these dear creatures,—the -hollow tree,—the bed of dry leaves,—the cool spring,—the mossy yellow -log,—the rocky ledges overgrown with moss,—the gurgling brooklet -stealing through the trees, with its fairy waterfalls in a green shadow -and its spots of vivid sunlight,—and of a thousand other kindred _gems_ -in the wonderful gallery of Nature. And now as I walked onward, peering -into the gloomy recesses of the forest on either side, or fixed my eyes -upon the blue sky with a few white clouds floating in their glory, many -of my favorite songs were remembered, and, in a style _peculiarly_ my -own, I poured them upon the air, whilst I was answered by unnumbered -mountain echoes. Nothing had they to do with the place or with each -other, but like the pictures around me, they were a divine food for my -soul,—so that I was in the perfect enjoyment of a heavenly feast. Now, -as I looked through the opening trees, I saw an eagle floating above the -summit of a mighty cliff,—now, with the speed of a falling star -descending far into the leafy depths, and then, slowly but surely -ascending, until hidden from view by a passing cloud. Fly on, proud -bird, glorious symbol of my country’s freedom! O what a god-like life is -thine? Yes, thou art the “sultan of the sky,” and from thy craggy home -forever lookest upon the abodes of man with indifference and scorn. The -war-whoop of the Savage, the roar of artillery on the bloody battle -field, and the loud boom of the ocean cannon, have fallen upon thy ear, -and thou hast listened, utterly heedless as to whom belonged the -victory. What strength and power in thy pinions! traversing in an hour a -wider space - - “Than yonder gallant ship, with all her sails - Wooing the winds, can cross from morn till eve!” - -When thy hunger-shriek echoes through the wilderness, with terror does -the wild animal seek his den, for thy talons are of iron and thy eyes of -fire. But what is thy message to the sun? Far, far into the zenith art -thou gone, forever gone—emblem of a mighty hope that once was mine. - -My thoughts were upon the earth once more, and my feet upon a hill out -of the woods, whence might be seen the long broad valley of the -Amonoosack, melting into that of the Connecticut. Long and intently did -I gaze upon the landscape, with its unnumbered farm-houses, reposing in -the sunlight, and surmounted by pyramids of light blue smoke, and also -upon the cattle gazing on a thousand hills. Presently I heard the -rattling wheels of the stage-coach;—one more look over the charming -valley,—and I was in my seat beside the coachman. - -In view of the foregoing and forthcoming facts, and though I am -sometimes hard pushed for the dollars needful, I cannot but conclude -that I am a most lucky fellow. My ride from Franconia to Littleton was -attended with this interesting circumstance. A very pretty young lady, -who was in the stage, found it necessary to change her seat to the -outside on account of the confinement within. Of course, I welcomed her -to my side with unalloyed pleasure. The scenery was fine, but what do -you suppose I cared for that,—as I sat there talking in a most eloquent -strain to my companion, with my right arm around her waist to keep her -from falling? That conduct of mine may appear “shocking” to those who -have “never travelled,” but it was not only an act of politeness but of -absolute necessity. Neither, as my patient’s smile told me, “was it bad -to take.” And O, how perfectly delightful it was to have her cling to -me, and to hear the beating of her heart, as the driver swung his whip -and run his horses down the hills! Animal magnetism is indeed a great -invention,—and I am a believer in it, so far as the touch of a beautiful -woman is concerned. - -Away, away—thoughts of the human world! for I am entering into the heart -of the White Mountains. Ah me! how can I describe these glorious -hierarchs of New England! How solemnly do they raise their rugged peaks -to heaven! Now, in token of their royalty, crowned with a diadem of -clouds; and now with every one of their cliffs gleaming in the sunlight -like the pictures of a dream! For ages, have ye been the playmates of -the storm, and held communion with the mysteries of the midnight sky. -The earliest beams of the morning have bathed you in living light, and -there too have been the last kisses of departing day. Man and his -empires have arisen and decayed, but ye have remained unchanged, a -perpetual mockery. Upon your summits, Time has never claimed dominion. -There, as of old, does the eagle teach her brood to fly, and there does -the wild bear prowl after his prey. There do thy waterfalls still leap -and shout on their way to the dells below, even as when the tired Indian -hunter, some hundred ages agone, bent him to quaff the liquid element. -There still, does the rank grass rustle in the breeze, and the pine, and -cedar, and hemlock, take part in the howling of the gale. Upon Man alone -falls the heavy curse of time; Nature has never sinned, therefore is her -glory immortal. - -But how in thunder shall I get down from this great poetical eminence? -Why, by giving you a simple matter-of-fact description. As you know, the -highest of these mountains was christened after our beloved Washington, -and with it, as with him, are associated the names of Jefferson, -Madison, and Adams. Its height is said to be six thousand and eight -hundred feet above the sea, but owing to its situation in the _centre_ -of a brotherhood of hills, it does not _appear_ to be so grand an object -as South Peak Mountain among the Catskills. Its summit, like most of its -companions, is destitute of vegetation, and is therefore more desolate -and monotonous. It is somewhat of an undertaking to ascend Mount -Washington, though the trip is performed on horseback; but if the -weather is clear, the traveller will be well repaid for his labor. The -Painter will be pleased with the views which he will command in -ascending the route from Crawford’s, and which abounds in the wildest -and most diversified charms of mountain scenery. But the prospect from -the summit of Washington, will mostly excite the soul of the Poet. Not -so much on account of what he will behold, but for the _breathless -feeling_, which will make him deem himself for a moment to be an angel -or a god. And then, more than ever, if he is a Christian, will he desire -to be alone, so as to anticipate the bliss of heaven by a holy communion -with the Invisible. - -I spent a night upon this mountain, and my best view of the prospect was -at the break of day, when, as Milton says, - - “——morn, her rosy steps in th’ Eastern clime - Advancing, sow’d the earth with orient pearls,” - -and, - - “Wak’d by the circling hours, with rosy hand - Unbarr’d the gates of light;” - -or when, in the language of Shakspeare, - - “The grey-eyed morn smiled on the frowning night, - Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light.” - -Wonderfully vast, and strangely indistinct and dreamy, was the scene -spread out on every side. To the west lay the superb Connecticut, with -its fertile valley reposing in the gloom of night, while to the east, -the ocean-bounded prospect, just bursting into the life of light, was -faintly relieved by Winnepiseogee and Sebago lakes, and like rockets -along the earth, wandered away the Merrimack, the Saco, and the -Androscoggin, to their ocean home,—the whole forming an _epic -landscape_, such as we seldom behold excepting in our dreams. Heavens! -with what exquisite delight did I gaze upon the scene, as in the eyes of -truth and fancy it expanded before my mind. Yonder, in one of a hundred -villages, a young wife, with her first-born child at her side, was in -the midst of her morning dream; and there, the pilgrim of fourscore -years was lying on his couch in a fitful slumber, as the pains of age -crept through his frame. There, on the Atlantic shore, the fisherman in -the sheltering bay, hoisted anchor and spread his sail for the sea;—and -there, the life-star of the lighthouse was extinguished, again at its -stated time to appear with increased brilliancy. In reality, there was -an ocean of mountains all around me, but in the dim light of the hour, -and as I looked _down_ upon them, it seemed to me that I stood in the -centre of a plain, boundless as the universe; and though I could not see -them, I felt that I was in a region of spirits, and that the summit of -the mount was holy ground. But the morning was advancing, and the rising -mists obscuring my vision, and, as I did not wish to have that day-break -picture dissipated from my mind, I mounted my faithful horse, and with a -solemn awe at heart descended the mountain. - -The ride from the Notch House through the Notch valley, which is some -twelve miles long, is perfectly magnificent. First is the Gap itself, -only some twenty feet in width, and overhung with jagged rocks of -wondrous height, and then the tiny spring alive with trout, which gives -birth to the untamed Saco. A few more downward steps, and you are in -full view of a bluff, whose storm-scathed brow seems to prop the very -heavens,—its deep grey shadows strongly contrasting with the deep blue -sky. A little further on, and you find yourself in an amphitheatre of -mountains, whose summits and sides are perfectly barren and desolate, -where the storms of a thousand years have exhausted their fury. Downward -still and farther on, and you come to the memorable Wiley cottage, whose -inhabitants perished in the avalanche or slide of 1826. The storm had -been unceasing for some days upon the surrounding country, and the -dwellers of the cottage were startled at midnight by the falling earth. -They fled,—and were buried in an instant; and up to the present time, -only one of the seven bodies has ever been found. As it then stood, the -dwelling still stands—a monument of mysterious escape, as well as of the -incomprehensible decrees of Providence. The Saco river, which runs -through the valley, was lifted from its original bed, and forced into a -new channel. The whole place, which but a short time before was “a -beautiful and verdant opening amid the surrounding rudeness and deep -shadow, is now like a stretch of desolate sea-shore after a -tempest,—full of wrecks, buried in sand and rocks, crushed and ground to -atoms.” - -After witnessing so much of the grand and gloomy, I was glad to reach -the bottom of the Notch valley, and to continue along the picturesque -Saco, through a very pleasant and well cultivated country, to Conway. My -_last_ view of Mount Washington and its lordly companions was the most -_beautiful_. The sun was near his setting, and the whole western sky was -suffused with a glow of richest yellow and crimson, where hung two -immense copper-colored clouds just touching the outline of the -mountains; and through the hazy atmosphere the mountains themselves -looked cloud-like, but with more of the bright blue of heaven upon them. -In the extensive middle distance faded away wood-crowned hills, and in -the foreground an exquisite little farm, with the husbandman’s happy -abode almost hidden by groups of elms, and with the simple figures, only -a few paces off, of a little girl sitting on a stone, with a bunch of -summer flowers in her hand, and a basket of berries and a dog at her -side. One more yearning gaze upon the dear old mountains, and the -fountain of my affections was full, and I wept like a very child. - -Well, here I am at last in Portland. At the time of starting this -morning from Conway it commenced raining, and all the way here were we -attended with refreshing showers. There were six passengers, and it so -happened that we were acquainted with each other before we reached the -mountains, and having for the most part enjoyed their scenery in -company, we were in a fitting mood to be somewhat entertaining. Doctor -Orville Dewy, of New York, his lady and daughter, and John Frothingham, -of Montreal, and daughter, are the friends whose names will ever be -associated with my recollections of the White Mountains. The Doctor’s -faculty for telling a good story or cracking a joke, is well worthy of -the orator and writer; and if Mr. Frothingham excels as a merchant in -proportion to his entertaining manner of relating his European travels, -he must indeed be a merchant prince. As to the fair ladies, I cannot pay -them a better compliment than by letting - - “Expressive silence muse their praise.” - -Portland is a thriving city of some twenty thousand inhabitants, and -commands a very fine view of the ocean. If for no other reason, it -should interest the admirers of genius because it is the native place of -Mrs. Seba Smith, Professor Longfellow, and John Neal. I have just -received an invitation to hear some singing from the lips of one of my -fellow-travellers, and as I know it will be of the rarest kind, I must -conclude this rhapsody, and _migrate_ to the parlor. - - - - - MOOSEHEAD LAKE AND THE - KENNEBECK. - - -Moosehead Lake is the largest and the wildest in New England. It lies in -the central portion of the State of Maine, and distant from the ocean -about one hundred and fifty miles. Its length is fifty miles, and its -width from five to fifteen. It is embosomed among a brotherhood of -mountains, whose highest peak hath been christened with the beautiful -name of Katahden. All of them, from base to summit, are covered with a -dense forest, in which the pine is by far the most abundant. It is the -grand centre of the only wilderness region in New England, whose -principal denizens are wild beasts. During the summer months, its -tranquil waters remain in unbroken solitude, unless some scenery-hunting -pilgrim, like myself, should happen to steal along its shores in his -birchen canoe. But in the winter the case is very different, for then, -all along its borders, may be heard the sound of the axe, wielded by a -thousand men. Then it is that an immense quantity of logs are cut, which -are manufactured into lumber at the extensive mills down the Kennebeck, -which is the only outlet to the Lake. - -A winter at Moosehead must be attended with much that is rare, and wild, -and exciting, not only to the wealthy proprietor who has a hundred men -to superintend, but even to the toiling chopper himself. Look at a -single specimen of the gladdening scenes enacted in that forest world. -It is an awful night, the winds wailing, the snow falling, and the -forests making a moan. Before you is a spacious, but rudely built log -cabin, almost covered with snow. But now, above the shriek of the storm, -and the howl of the wolf, you hear a long, loud shout, from a score of -human mouths. You enter the cabin, and lo, a merry band of noble men, -some lying on a buffalo-robe, and some seated upon a log, while the huge -fire before them reveals every feature and wrinkle of their -countenances, and makes a picture of the richest coloring. Now the call -is for a song, and a young man sings a song of Scotland, which is his -native land; a mug of cider then goes round, after which an old pioneer -clears his throat for a hunting legend of the times of old; now the -cunning jest is heard, and peals of hearty laughter shake the building; -and now a soul-stirring speech is delivered in favor of Henry Clay. The -fireplace is again replenished, when with a happy and contented mind -each woodman retires to his couch, to sleep, and to dream of his wife -and children, or of the buxom damsel whom he loves. - -The number of logs which these men cut in a single winter is almost -incredible, and the business of conveying them to the lake upon the snow -gives employment to a great many additional men and their oxen. The -consequence is, that large quantities of flour, potatoes, pork, and hay, -are consumed; and as these things are mostly supplied by the farmers of -the Kennebeck, winter is the busiest season of the year throughout the -region. When the lake is released from its icy fetters in the spring, a -new feature of the logging business comes into operation, which is -called rafting. A large raft contains about eighteen thousand logs, and -covers a space of some ten acres. In towing them to the Kennebeck, a -small steamboat is employed, which, when seen from the summit of a hill, -looks like a living creature struggling with a mighty incubus. But the -most picturesque thing connected with this business is a floating -log-cabin, called a Raft House, which ever attends a raft on its way to -the river. During the summer, as before stated, Moosehead Lake is a -perfect solitude, for the “log chopper” has become a “log driver” on the -Kennebeck,—the little steamer being moored in its sheltering bay, near -the tavern at the south end of the lake, and the toiling oxen been -permitted to enjoy their summer sabbath on the farm of their master. - -The islands of Moosehead Lake, of any size, are only four; Moose and -Deer Islands at the southern extremity, Sugar Island in the large -eastern bay, and Farm Island in a north-western direction from that. All -of these are covered with beautiful groves, but the time is not far -distant when they will be cultivated farms. Trout are the principal fish -that flourish in its waters, and may be caught at any time in great -abundance. And thereby hangs a _fish story_. - -It was the sunset hour, and with one of my companions I had gone to a -rocky ledge for the purpose of trying my luck. We cut each of us a long -pole, to which we fastened two immensely long lines with stout hooks. -Our bait was squirrel meat, and I was the first to throw my line. It had -hardly reached the water, before I had the pleasure of striking and -securing a two pound trout. This threw my friend into a perfect fever of -excitement, so that he was everlastingly slow in cutting up the -squirrels; and it may be readily supposed that I was somewhat excited -myself, so I grabbed the animal out of his hands, and in less than a -“jiffy,” and with my _teeth_, made a number of good baits. The -conclusion of the whole matter was, that in less than forty minutes we -had caught nearly seventy pounds of salmon trout, and some of them, I -tell you, were real _smashers_. But the trout of Moosehead are not to be -compared with those of Horicon in point of delicacy, though they are -very large, and very abundant. The reason of this is, that its waters -are not remarkably clear, and a good deal of its bottom is muddy. Moose -River, which is the principal tributary to the Lake, is a narrow, deep, -and picturesque stream, where may be caught the common trout, weighing -from one to five pounds. - -In this portion of Maine every variety of forest game may be found, but -the principal kinds are the grey wolf, the black bear, the deer, and the -moose. Winter is the appropriate season for their capture, when they -afford a deal of sport to the hunter, and furnish a variety of food to -the forest laborers. Deer are so very plenty, that a certain resident -told me, that, in the deep snow of last winter, he caught some dozen of -them alive, and having cut a slit in their ears, let them go, that they -might recount to their kindred their marvellous escape. But the -homeliest animal, the most abundant, and the best for eating, is the -moose. I did not kill one, but spent a night with an old hunter who did. -During the warm summer night these animals, for the purpose of getting -clear of the black-fly, are in the habit of taking to the water, where, -with nothing but their heads in sight, they remain for hours. It was the -evening of one of those cloudless nights, whose memory can never die. We -were alone far up the Moose River, and it seemed to me, “we were the -first that ever burst into that _forest_ sea.” On board a swan-like -birch canoe we embarked, and with our rifles ready, we carefully and -silently descended the stream. How can I describe the lovely pictures -that we passed? Now we peered into an ink-black recess in the centre of -a group of elms, where a thousand fire-flies were revelling in joy;—and -now a solitary duck shot out into the stream from its hidden home, -behind a fallen and decayed tree; now we watched the stars mirrored in -the sleeping waves, and now we listened to the hoot of the owl, the drum -of the partridge, the song of a distant waterfall, or the leap of a -robber-trout. It was not far from midnight when my companion whispered, -“Hush, hush!” and pointed to a dim spot some hundred yards below. The -first fire was allotted me, so I took the best aim I could, and fired. I -heard the ball skip along the water, and on coming near, found my mark -to be only a smooth rock. Two hours more passed on, one small moose was -killed, and at day-break we were in our cabin fast asleep. - -The principal outlet to Moosehead Lake is the Kennebeck, which “now -demands my song.” It is the second river in Maine, and one of the most -beautiful I have ever seen. Instead of watering a wilderness, as I had -supposed, all along its valley for over a hundred miles are fertile and -extensive farms, with here and there a thriving village, inhabited by an -intelligent and industrious people. Its principal tributary is Dead -River, and the spot at the junction of the two is called the Forks. The -cultivated region stops here, and between this point and Moosehead the -distance is about twenty-five miles, which is yet a forest wilderness. - -The principal attraction at the Forks is a capital tavern, kept by one -Burnham, who is a capital fellow to guide the lover of Nature or the -trout fisherman to Moxy Fall or Lake Lanman, which are in the immediate -vicinity. The mountains about here are quite lofty, and exceedingly -picturesque, abounding in the maple, the oak, the pine, and hemlock. -Emptying into the Kennebeck, a few miles north of the Forks, is a superb -mountain-stream, named Moxy, after an Indian who was there drowned. -Winding for a long distance among the rock of wild ravines, and -eternally singing to the woods a trumpet-song, it finally makes a sudden -plunge into a chasm more than a hundred feet in depth. The perpendicular -rocks on either side rise to an immense height, their tops crowned with -a “peculiar diadem of trees,” and their crevices filled up with -dark-green verdure, whence occasionally issues, hanging gracefully in -the air, beautiful festoons of the ivy, and clusters of the mountain -blue-bell. The depth of the pool was never told, and its waters wash -against the granite walls in a perpetual gloom. On one occasion I -visited it when there was a high freshet, and saw what I could hardly -have believed from a description. I stood on an elevated point, in front -of the Fall, when my eyes rested upon an immense log, some sixty feet -long, coming down the foaming stream with all the fury of a maddened -steed; presently it reached the precipice,—then cleaved its airy pathway -down into the hell of waters,—was completely out of sight for _three -minutes_, then, like a creature endowed with life, shot upward again -clear out of the water, made another less desperate plunge, and quietly -pursued its course into the Kennebeck. - -In speaking of _Lake Lanman_, it is necessary that I should be a little -egotistical. It is a fairy-like sheet of pure water in the heart of the -mountain wilderness, only about a mile in length, but full of trout. The -proprietor was of the party that accompanied me on my first visit. While -approaching it, the remark was made, that it was yet without a name; -when it was agreed that it should be christened after that individual, -who should on that day throw the most successful fly. As fortune would -have it, the honor was awarded to me; and on a guide-board in the -forest, three miles from Burnham’s, may be seen the figure of a hand, -and the words “Lake Lanman.” There stands my written name, exposed “to -the peltings of the pitiless storm;” and in a few years, at the longest, -it will be washed away, and the tree which supports it be mingling with -the dust. O, will it be even thus with the _memory_ of name? - -Not to attempt a description of the scenery of the Kennebeck, which -could be faithfully given only by the pictures of a Cole or Durand, I -will take you down its beautiful valley, and tell you what I know -respecting its beautiful villages. - -The first in order is Bingham, situated on a fertile “interval,” -surrounded with picturesque hills, charming and quiet as a summer day, -and containing within the jurisdiction of its town an uncommonly fine -farm, belonging to a Mr. Parlin, who manufactures large quantities of -maple sugar. - -Solon is the next village in the Kennebeck valley, remarkable for -nothing but Caritunk Falls, which are twenty feet high, and run through -a gorge fifty feet wide. Here I saw some twenty men “driving” the logs -that had been lodged all along the river when it was low. It is a -laborious life which these men lead, but they receive good pay, and meet -with many interesting adventures. They generally have the soul to enjoy -fine scenery, and therefore demand the respect of the intelligent -traveller. - -Anson, though in the valley of the Kennebeck, is situated on Seven Mile -Brook, and is a flourishing business place. From its neighboring hills -may be seen the sky-piercing peaks of Mount Blue, Saddleback, Bigelow, -and Mount Abraham, which are the guardian spirits of Maine. The town is -distinguished for its agricultural enterprise, and the abundance of its -wheat, having actually produced more than is reported from any other -town in the State. - -Norridgwock, so named by the Kennebeck Indians, because, when fighting -with their enemies at this place, they could find _no-ridge-to-walk_ -upon, which was a desirable object. It is a charming little village, and -associated with a celebrated Indian Chief named Bomazeen, and also with -a Jesuit Missionary, whose name I do not remember. Not far from here is -a picturesque fall, also a picturesque bend of the Kennebeck, where -empties Sandy River, upon which are many extensive farms. - -Skowhegan is a thriving village, where there are fine Falls, which I -never could look upon without thinking of the famous Glen’s Falls in New -York, of which they are a perfect counterpart, though on a smaller -scale. Many and very dear to me are my recollections of its “choice -bits” of scenery, of the fine singing I there heard, of the -acquaintances there formed, and of the pleasant literary communings -which were mine in company with one of the best and most intellectual of -women, and who has for many years been my “guide, counsellor, and -friend.” - -Waterville, the next town on the river, is the seat of a Baptist -College, and the head of navigation on account of the Ticonic Falls. It -is the centre of an extensive farming district, which fact, together -with the literary taste of its people, make it an uncommonly interesting -place. - -Augusta, the capital of the State, is also on the Kennebeck, and with -its State House and other State buildings, its admirably conducted -hotels, its commanding churches, its large bridge, and pleasant -residences, is one of the most picturesque and interesting towns in the -whole of New England. - -Hallowell, two miles below Augusta, was once a great place of business, -and is still a very pleasant place, though unable to compete with its -rival the Capital. In my mind it is chiefly associated with some fine -people, and particularly with three beautiful sisters, who are great -lovers of poetry, and fine singers, either with the piano or guitar. - -Gardiner, further down, is a tremendous place for saw-mills,—and -lumbering I look upon as one of the nicest and surest kinds of business. -It contains the handsomest church-building in the State, and a number of -fine residences, belonging to its wealthy citizens, of which that one -belonging to Mr. Gardiner, (after whom the place was named,) is the -finest. - -Bath is the next and most southern town on the Kennebeck; it is quite a -large place, where there is a great deal of shipping done, and is now in -a flourishing condition. The sail down the river from here is a most -delightful one, for the eye revels on a continual succession of pleasant -farms, quiet headlands, solitary islands, and vessels of every kind -passing up and down the stream. Even to the present day, the Kennebeck -abounds in salmon, which are caught with nets from the first of May till -mid-summer. To take them with the hook is a _leetle_ the _tallest_ kind -of sport _in all creation_, and for the manner in which I conquered a -solitary individual, I refer you to a certain passage in Scrope on -Salmon Fishing. Few are the rivers that I love more than the Kennebeck, -and very dear to me are its manifold associations. - - - - - LILLY LARNARD. - - -I write from somewhere in Massachusetts, and the following passage will -give you an idea of my theme: - - All that life can rate - Worth name of life, in her hath estimate; - Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, virtue, all - That happiness and prime can happy call. - Shaks. - -Lilly Larnard is an only child, the pride of her mother, and the delight -of her father, who is the clergyman of our secluded and beautiful -village. I desire to make you acquainted with this dear girl; but what -can I find to say which hath not been anticipated by the poet? Her -character is already revealed. Well, then, I will say something about -her by way of illustration. - -As I passed by her cottage this afternoon, which stands on the southern -extremity of the green, about a hundred paces from the meeting house, I -noticed an almost startling stillness about the premises, as if the -place were deserted; but this was owing to the heat and natural silence -of the hour. The closed window-blinds, half hidden by woodbine and -honey-suckle; the open doors, with a kitten sunning itself upon the sill -of one of them; bespoke it not only inhabited, but the abode of peace -and contentment. In a green grape-vine arbor beside the house sat our -little heroine, engaged in drawing some curious flowers, which she had -gathered in the meadow during her morning walk. At this moment two of -her female cousins stopped at the front gate, and called her to go with -them on a ramble through the woodlands. I had just time to change from -one hand to the other my heavy string of trout, for I was returning home -from angling, when out she came, bounding like a fawn, robed in white -muslin, her gypsy bonnet awry, and a crimson scarf thrown carelessly -over her shoulders. This simple dress is a specimen of her taste in such -matters, and the very thing to correspond with her dark-brown curling -hair, regular pearly teeth, blue, Madonna-like eyes, and blooming -cheeks. A snow-white terrier, her constant playmate and companion, soon -came following after, and having licked the hands of the two friends, as -a token of recognition, leaped a neighboring fence, and led the way -across a clover-field. When I turned to look again, the happy group were -crossing a rude bridge at the foot of a hill, and following the path a -short distance they were lost to view. - -Lilly Larnard is now in her sixteenth year. She is passionately fond of -the country; and I do believe, could she obtain permission, would spend -half her time in the open air. If she has but one summer hour to spare, -she goes no farther than her favorite brook, half a mile from home, -where she will angle away her time, wandering up the stream to where the -overhanging trees throw a soft twilight upon her path; and, if -_necessity_ requires it, will off with her slippers, and wade in after a -bunch of lilies or some golden pebbles. The neighboring farmer as he -comes to the post-office early in the morning, if he chances to pass the -parsonage, will most likely be saluted by a sweet smile and bow. And -from whom, do you think? Why, from Lilly Larnard, who is airing the -parlor, dusting the furniture, or arranging some creeping flowers beside -the door, with her pretty face almost hidden in a “kerchief white.” And -it may be, when mowing in one of his fields in the afternoon, he will be -surprised by a hearty laugh in an adjoining copse, and on looking round -behold a party of girls returning from the strawberry hills, with Lilly -as their leader. She is a pure-hearted lover of nature, and everything, -from the nameless flower to the cloud-capt mountain, hath a language -which causes her to feel that the attributes of God are infinite. For -her gayer hours, Nature “hath a tale of gladness, and a smile and -eloquence of beauty, and glides into her darker musings, with a mild and -gentle sympathy, which steals away their sharpness ere she is aware.” - -But how does she busy herself at home? it will be asked. She is an early -riser; and the first thing she does in the morning, after she has left -her room, is to put everything in its place which is out of place. She -kindly directs and helps Betty, the servant, to perform those numerous -little household duties, such as feeding the chickens and straining the -milk, not forgetting to give pussy a saucer full of the warm, sweet -liquid. She sets the breakfast table, prepares the toast, and all those -kindred delicacies, and pours out the coffee, sitting like a fairy queen -in the old high-backed chair, with her parents on either side. And when -her father clasps his hands to implore a blessing, she meekly bows her -head, sweetly responding to the solemn Amen. If anything is wanted from -the kitchen, she is up and away, and back again almost in a minute, so -sprightly is she in all her movements. During the forenoon she is -generally helping her mother to sew or knit, or do anything else which -is required to be done; or, if her father wants her to read one of his -chaste and deeply religious sermons, the sweetness of her eloquent voice -makes it doubly impressive. In the afternoon she is generally engaged in -some benevolent duty. Not one in a hundred is so well acquainted with -the poor of the parish. - -She enters the abode of the poor widow, and, besides administering to -her temporal wants, gives her the overflowing sympathy of her own warm -heart, administering at the same time the consolations of religion. It -is a common sight to see her tripping along the street, with a basket on -her arm; and the clerk, or more stately merchant, as he sees her pass -his door, takes particular pains to make a bow, inwardly -exclaiming,—“Who now is to become the debtor of Lilly Larnard?” And the -stranger who may have met her in his walk, fails not to inquire of his -host, at evening, the name of the lovely creature who wears a white -dress and gypsy bonnet. - -Lilly is a Christian, not only a church-going Christian, but her life is -one continued round of charitable deeds and pious duties, almost worthy -of an angel. She has a class of little boys in the Sabbath school, and -they are all so fond of their amiable teacher, that I do believe they -would undergo almost any trial for her sake. She _loves_ her Bible too, -and would be unhappy were she deprived of the privilege of reading it -every day. When she rises from her pillow at dawn, she kneels beside her -couch, and breathes her offering of prayer; and so, too, when the day is -closed and she retires to repose. - -Her father is a clergyman of easy fortune. The prayer of his youth seems -to have been kindly answered by the Most High. About one year ago he -bought a beautiful chesnut pony, and, all saddled and bridled, presented -it to Lilly on her fifteenth birth-day. As might be expected, she was -perfectly transported with the gift. “Oh! father,” she exclaimed, “how I -will try to merit your approbation in every action of my life.” - -A colored boy, named Tommy, is Lilly’s groom and page, and he seems to -love the pony and his mistress above everything else in the world. A -smarter and better-hearted page did not follow a high-born lady of the -feudal times. Lilly has now become a first-rate rider; and often, when -with her friends, takes pleasure in boasting of her noble -accomplishment, and the speed of her horse. When she has been out -riding, she almost always manages to canter through the middle street of -the village on her return. Sometimes she is alone with her dog, and -sometimes with a female friend; but the forelock of her pony is always -surmounted by a few flowers, or a cluster of green leaves, for she has a -queer notion of ransacking the most secluded corners of the field and -wood. Only a week ago (the very day I caught that two-pound trout), -while standing upon a hill, I saw her trying to leap a narrow but deep -brook, and she did not give up trying until she had accomplished the -deed. I thought that if her pony had been gifted with the power of -speech, he would have exclaimed, “Well done, you courageous girl, you -possess a wonderful deal of spunk!” - -Lilly left school about two years ago, because her father chose to -superintend her education himself. She is a good scholar in everything -requisite for a lady. You could hardly puzzle her with questions in -history, geography, or mathematics. Her modesty and simplicity of -character are so great, that you would be surprised at the extent of her -book-information and practical knowledge. She has a wonderful talent for -making herself agreeable under all circumstances. If she meets a beggar -woman in the street, she will talk familiarly with her about her -sorrows, instructing her to bear up under every trial. She is the -universal favorite of the whole village. All who know her, the poor and -the rich, from the child of three years to the hoary head, all love her -with the affection felt toward a sister or daughter. She smiles with -those who smile, and weeps with those who weep. Servant-girls consult -with her about purchasing a new dress, and little children invite her to -participate with them in their pastimes. - -Lilly Larnard is a lover of poetry. Yes, whether she sees it in the -primrose and the evening cloud; or hears it in the laughing rivulet and -the song of birds; or reads it in the pages of Spenser, Milton, -Shakspeare, Wordsworth, or Coleridge. And she is a _writer_, too, of -sweet and soothing poetry, just such as should always emanate from the -pure-hearted. To give you an idea of her poetic powers, I will here -quote her last effort, which was written with a pencil on a fly-leaf of -Dana’s Poems while walking on the sea-shore; for, be it known that the -village of her birth is within sound of the never-ceasing roar of the -Atlantic. The title of it is— - - - A SEA-SHORE ECHO. - -“Alone! and on the smooth, hard, sandy shore of the boundless sea! A -lovelier morning never dawned upon the world of waters. O! how balmy, -how clear, how soul-subduing, how invigorating is the air! Calmness sits -throned upon the unmoving clouds, whose colors are like the sky, only of -a brighter hue. One of them, more ambitious than its fellows, is -swimming onward, a wanderer, and companionless. O that I could rest upon -its ‘unrolling skirts,’ and take an aerial pilgrimage around the -globe,—now looking down upon its humming cities, and fruitful and -cultivated plains; and again, upon some unpeopled wilderness or ocean -solitude! But alas! the peerless beauty of that light cloud will be -extinguished, when the sun shall have withdrawn his influence, and, if -not entirely dispersed, will take another shape, and make its home in -darkness. And so have I seen a man, when wandering from the heavenly -sunshine of religion, passing from his cradle to the grave. - -“As I gaze upward into yon blue dome, the anxieties of life are all -forgotten, and my heart throbs with a quicker pulse, and beats with an -increasing thrill of joy. How holy and serene those azure depths of air! -Strange, that aught so beautiful should canopy a world of tears, decay, -and death! Yonder sky is the everlasting home of countless worlds; the -vast ethereal chamber, where are displayed the wonders of the thunder, -and lightning, and rainbow; and a mirror, too, reflecting the glorious -majesty, the wisdom and power of the Omnipotent. Lo! across my vision -there is floating another cloud, whiter than the driven snow! Rearward, -there trails along another, and still another, until pile on pile they -reach upward to the very zenith; and oh, how gorgeous the scenes which -my fancy conjures up, delighted with their changing loveliness! One -moment, I behold a group of angels reclining at ease upon the summit of -a pearly battlement; and now, summoned by a celestial strain of melody, -they spread their pinions for a higher flight,—a flight into the diamond -portals of the New Jerusalem. Again, a river of pure white foam rolls -swift but noiseless through unpeopled valleys, hemmed in by airy -mountains of wondrous height, until its waters empty into a tranquil -sea, boundless and ‘beautiful exceedingly;’ and on this, a myriad of -swanlike barges are gliding to and fro, without a breeze, while the -voyagers are striking their golden harps, and singing hymns of sweetest -strain and holiest import, whose echoes die away on the shadowy waves. -There! all these, like the dreams of youth, are melting into -nothingness;—and my eyes now rest only upon the dark blue ocean. - -“The green waves of the Atlantic, with their undulating swell, come -rolling in upon the sand, making a plaintive music, sweeter than the -blended harmonies of a thousand instruments. Would that I might leap in -and wrestle with them, and, when overcome by fatigue, lay my heated brow -upon those cool watery pillows, rocked to sleep as in a cradle, while my -lullaby would be the moaning of the sea. The mists of morning are all -dispelled, and the glorious sunshine, emblem of God’s love, is bathing -with effulgent light the ocean before me, and behind me the mountains -and valleys of my own loved country. Look! how the white caps chase each -other along the watery plain, like the milk-white steeds, striving in -their freedom to outstrip the breeze. Whence comes this breeze, and -whither is it going? Three days ago, at set of sun, it spread its wing -near to a sandy desert of Africa, where a caravan of camels, and horses, -and men, had halted for the night; and at the dawning of to-morrow, it -will be sporting with the forest-trees of the western wilderness! - -“Far as the eye can reach, the sea is ‘sprinkled o’er with ships,’ their -white sails gleaming in the sunlight. One of them has just returned from -India, another from the Pacific, and another from the Arctic Sea. Years -have elapsed since they departed hence. They have been exposed to a -thousand dangers, but the great God, who holds the ocean in the hollow -of his hand, has conducted them back to their desired homes. How many -silent prayers of thanksgiving, and what a thrilling and joyous shout, -will echo to the shore, as those storm-beaten mariners drop anchor in -their native waters! Yonder, too, are other ships, bound to the remotest -corners of the earth. They seem to rejoice in their beauty and speed, -and proud is their bearing; but will they ever return? Alas! the shadowy -future alone can answer. Farewell, a long farewell, ye snowy daughters -of the ocean.” - - -But to return. Lilly Larnard is fond of music, too, and plays -delightfully on the harp. Her voice is sweeter than the fall of waters -when heard at a distance in the stillness of the twilight hour. She -knows nothing of fashion, and if she did, would consider it beneath her -dignity to be incommoded or swayed by it. Instead of decking herself -with gew-gaws, for a brilliant appearance in the gay saloon, within -sound of the rude jest and foolish flattery, she strives by watchfulness -and care to purify her daily conduct; for hers is not less prone to sin -than all other human hearts. “Necklaces does she sometimes wear, in her -playful glee, made of the purple fruit that feeds the small birds in the -moors, and beautiful is the gentle stain then visible over the blue -veins of her swan-like bosom.” Beautiful as she is, a feeling of vanity -never yet entered the heart of the rector’s daughter. She feels too -deeply the truth, that personal charms, which are the only pride of -weak-minded persons, time will eventually transform into wrinkled -homeliness; and that an affectionate heart and good understanding will -endure, and become more perfect, until the pilgrimage of life is ended. - -Never has Lilly Larnard been more than thirty miles away from the -village of her birth. She has read of cities, and the busy multitudes -that throng them; of armies and navies; of politics and war; but all -these things to her are but as the visions of a dream. She is ignorant -of the real condition and character of the great world, for nought but -the echo of its din has ever fallen upon her ear. She listens with -wonder to the deeds of which I sometimes tell her I have been an -unwilling witness in the wilderness of men. She thinks it strange, that -the inhabitants of cities think so much of the present life, and so -little of the future. Her days have been spent in innocence beneath the -blue dome of the illimitable sky, inhaling the pure unadulterated air of -the country, now sporting in the sunshine, and now sprinkled by a -refreshing shower; while the loveliest of flowers and birds, and holy -and tender affections, have been her hourly companions; and her nights -have passed away in pleasant dreams of that bright world beyond the -stars. - - - - - LOUIS L. NOBLE. - - -You ask me to tell you who is Louis L. Noble, to whom I dedicated a -volume of Essays some years ago? There is hardly a task in the wide -world that I could enter upon with greater pleasure than the answering -of this question. And why? Because he is one of my best friends, and a -poet of rare genius and power. - -To come directly to the point, then, he is a young clergyman of the -Episcopal church, whose present field of ministerial labor is in North -Carolina. He was born on the Susquehannah; but having spent his boyhood -in the wilderness where I was born, there has ever been (since our -acquaintance commenced) a delicate stream of sympathy flowing out of one -heart into the other. His poetry (and this is perhaps the secret of my -attachment to it) is the offspring of that wilderness country familiar -to the world as Michigan, and his themes I look upon as my own. He has -always been an admirer of the red man, and, like me, in times past has -associated with him in the most intimate and familiar intercourse. -Therefore, when their customs inspire his pen, you may depend upon the -faithfulness of his descriptions. He is a creature of impulse, and -whenever he strikes the lyre, it is because he cannot help it, or -because it affords him an indescribable joy. He writes “with fury, and -corrects with care;” and I am not sure but he sometimes weakens his -conceptions by too much pruning and artificial arrangement. He is yet in -the vigor of his days, and if his life is spared, we have reason to -expect great things from his pen. In temper he is exceedingly amiable, -and in disposition variable as the shade, but ever joyous as a -strong-bodied and intellectual boy,—a feeling which his philosophy -teaches him is a treasure beyond all price. In person he is rather -slender, but well formed and sinewy, with dark complexion, hair like the -raven’s wing, and an eye as black, as keen, and spirit-stirring as that -of an Ottawa Chief. He is one who cannot but be _loved_ by all who study -his works, and to do this is the best literary advice I can offer you or -any of my thinking friends. - -And now, as an important portion of himself, let me characterize his -poetry, and give you a few specimens. As yet, he has only occasionally -published in our prominent periodicals; but a volume of his Poems is now -in press, and I prophecy that its appearance will be a bright era in our -Polite Literature. His principal efforts, up to this time, are entitled -“Ni-ma-min,” “Tale of the Morning Wind,” “Lines to a Swan,” “Love and -Beauty,” “The Cripple Boy,” the “Emigrant’s Burial,” the “Girl of the -Sky-blue Lake,” and some fine songs and sonnets. A valuable and -remarkable feature of his poetry, is its suggestive tendency. It is of a -kind calculated to purify the public taste, to make more happy those who -read it, to instil into the heart a love for the beautiful and true, and -to make us at once conscious of our own littleness in the sight of God, -and of the exalted attributes of the soul; or rather, makes a man feel -that he is but a man, and yet a portion of the Invisible. It displays a -consummate knowledge of the Indian character, an ardent attachment to -the works of nature, and showing a remarkable mastery of language, and -the writer to be possessed of a mind of refined poetical genius. You -find nothing in it “long drawn out”; every sentence has a meaning. It -contains no far-fetched conceptions and images; and every portion of -each poem is closely cemented together, and pervaded by one spirit, one -idea. Take away the rhyme, and it is poetry; take away the thought, and -you will find much poetry in the versification alone. It breathes of the -virgin wilderness, and of its brave, hardy, and noble children; and -dearly, dearly do I love it, for it recalls to mind the living joys of -my wild, free, and happy boyhood. I would rather have written his -forthcoming volume, than to have been the author of all the fashionable -novels of the present century. If it be true, that “a thing of beauty is -a joy forever,” then must the poetry of Noble be as enduring as the -English language, or the memory of the Indian race now withering from -the land. A thousand blessings rest upon the poet of my boyhood’s home! -As to the faults of his poetry, I confess that he has his share, because -he is of “woman born.” So far as my sagacity goes, the most glaring ones -are these. He is somewhat inclined to the mysticism of the German, and -sometimes makes use of epithets that remind us of his favorite authors. -In the next place, his stories are not as clearly defined as they should -be; but what, after all, to the genuine lover of poetry, is the mere -story of a poem? “_Thoughts_ that breathe, and words that burn,” are -what delight him, and it will probably be only among kindred spirits -that Noble will be popular. The mass of people will likely pass him by -“as the idle wind, which they regard not.” And why? Because their minds -are too narrow and weakly to enjoy anything superior to the horrid and -disgusting trash continually teeming from the press. Noble’s poetry is -possessed of the true spirit of the nine, and its gifted author need not -doubt as to his reward, which is the only one he desires, namely, the -approbation of sensible and refined minds. - -And now, to back the foregoing opinions, I mean to quote three poems, -neither of which shall be the longest and most ambitious he has written, -viz.; “Lines to a Swan Flying in the Vale of the Huron,” “The Cripple -Boy,” and the “Girl of the Sky-blue Lake.” The Huron, alluded to in the -first, rises in the interior of Michigan, and empties into Lake Erie. -Its clear waters gave it the name of its more mighty kinsman, Lake -Huron. Now free your imagination and give it wings. - - O, what a still, bright night! It is the sleep - Of beauteous Nature in her bridal hall. - See, while the groves shadow the shining lake, - How the full moon does bathe their melting green! - I hear the dew-drop twang upon the pool,— - Hark, hark, what music! from the rampart hills, - How _like a far off bugle, sweet and clear_, - It _searches through the list’ning wilderness_!— - A swan—I know it by the trumpet-tone— - Winging her pathless way in the cool heavens, - Piping her midnight melody, she comes. - - Beautiful bird! upon the dark, still world - Thou fallest like an angel—like a lone - Sweet angel from some sphere of harmony. - Where art thou, where?—no speck upon the blue - My vision marks, from whence thy music ranges. - And why this hour—this voiceless hour is thine— - And thine alone, I cannot tell. Perchance, - While all is hushed and silent but the heart, - E’en _thou_ hast human sympathies for heaven, - And singest yonder in the holy deep - Because thou hast a pinion. If it be, - O for a wing, upon the aerial tide - To sail with thee, a minstrel mariner! - - When to a rarer height thou wheelest up, - _Hast thou that awful thrill of an ascension— - The lone, lost feeling in the vasty vault?— - O, for thine ear, to hear the ascending tones - Range the ethereal chambers!—then to feel - A harmony, while from the eternal depth - Steals nought but the pure starlight evermore!—_ - And then to list the echoes, faint and mellow, - Far, far below, breathe from the hollow earth - For thee, soft, sweet petition, to return. - And hither, haply, thou wilt shape thy neck, - And settle, like a silvery cloud, to rest, - If thy wild image, flaring in the abyss, - Startle thee not aloft. Lone aeronaut, - That catchest, on thine airy looking-out, - Glassing the hollow darkness, many a lake, - Lay, for the night, thy lily bosom here, - There is the deep unsounded for thy bath, - The shallow for the shaking of thy plumes, - The dreamy cove, or cedar-wooded isle, - With galaxy of water-lilies, where, - Like mild Diana ’mong the quiet stars, - ’Neath over-bending branches, thou wilt move, - Till early warblers shake the crystal shower, - And whistling pinions warn thee to thy voyage. - - But where art thou!—lost—spirited away - To bowers of light by thy own dying whispers? - _Or does some billow of the ocean air,_ - _In its still roll around from zone to zone,_ - _All breathless to the empyrean heave thee?—_ - There is a panting in the zenith—hush!— - The _Swan_—How strong her great wing times the silence! - She passes over high and quietly. - - Now peals the living clarion anew, - One vocal shower falls in and fills the vale. - What witchery in the wilderness it plays!— - Shrill snort the affrighted deer; across the lake - The loon, sole sentinel, screams loud alarm; - The shy fox barks; tingling in every vein - I feel the wild enchantment;—hark! they come, - The dulcet echoes from the distant hills, - Like fainter horns responsive all the while, - From misty isles, soft-stealing symphonies. - - The bright, swift river of the bark canoe, - Threading the prairie ponds of Washtenung, - Thy day of romance wanes. Few summers more, - And the long night will pass away unwaked, - Save by the house-dog, or the village bell; - And she, thy minstrel queen, her ermine dip - In lonelier waters. - Ah! thou wilt not stoop: - Old Huron, haply, glistens on thy sky. - The chasing moon-beams, glancing on thy plumes, - Reveal thee now, a little beating blot, - Into the pale aurora fading. - There!— - Sinks gently back upon her flowery couch - The startled night:—tinkle the damp wood-vaults, - While slip the dew-pearls from their leafy curtain. - That last soft whispering note, how spirit-like! - While vainly yet my ear another waits, - A sad, sweet longing lingers in my heart. - -Is not that a magnificent production? How does it breathe of nature in -her primitive loveliness, and how completely does it wean us from the -world of flesh and blood into that other one of spiritual blessedness! -How majestic, and yet how sweet is the flowing of its numbers!—reminding -us of a strong but pleasant summer-evening wind, which is wont to make -us strangely happy, even in our grief! Can anything be more completely -exquisite than the few lines that I have marked? Is there anything in -Dana, Bryant, or Longfellow, that can eclipse them? or even in the very -best of England’s modern poets? There may be, but I have never been able -to discover them, although I almost know by heart the poetry of -Wordsworth, Coleridge, Wilson, Cowper, Goldsmith, Beattie, Shelly, -Scott, Rogers, Campbell, and Mrs. Hemans. - -Now comes “The Cripple Boy,” of its kind, one of the sweetest and most -affecting things I ever read; and I willingly acknowledge that it has -often blinded my eyes with tears. Such poetry softens the heart, and -prepares us to sympathize with the unfortunate, and look with kindly -feeling upon our fellows. It smooths the rugged pathway of life, by -telling us that it is not the whole of life to live, nor the whole of -death to die. We read, and our hearts cannot but be made wiser, even as -the story of the Ancient Mariner made the heart of the Wedding Guest, -and caused him to renounce his anticipated pleasure. Read and see. - - Upon an Indian rush-mat, spread - Where burr-oak boughs a coolness shed, - Alone he sat,—a cripple-child,— - With eyes so large, so dark and wild, - And fingers, thin and pale to see, - Locked upon his trembling knee. - A-gathering nuts so blithe and gay, - The children early tripped away; - And he his mother had besought - Under the oak to have him brought;— - It was ever his seat when black-birds sung - The wavy rustling tops among;— - They calmed his pain,—they cheered his loneliness— - The gales,—the music of the wilderness. - - Upon a prairie, wide and wild, - Looked off that suffering cripple-child: - The hour was breezy, the hour was bright;— - O, ’twas a lively, a lovely sight!— - An eagle, sailing to and fro - Around a flitting cloud so white, - Across the billowy grass below - Darting swift their shadows’ light; - And mingled noises, sweet and clear, - Noises out of the ringing wood, - Were pleasing trouble in his ear, - A shock how pleasant to his blood. - O, happy world!—Beauty and Blessing slept - On everything but him—he felt, and wept. - - Humming a lightsome tune of yore; - Beside the open log-house door, - Tears upon his sickly cheek - Saw his mother, and so did speak;— - “What makes his mother’s Henry weep? - You and I the cottage keep; - They hunt the nuts and clusters blue, - Weary lads, for me and you; - And yonder see the quiet sheep;— - Why now—I wonder why you weep!”— - “Mother, I wish that I could be - A sailor on the breezy sea!” - “A sailor on the stormy sea, my son!— - What ails the boy!—what have the breezes done!” - - “I do!—I wish that I could be - A sailor on the rolling sea; - In the shadow of the sails - I would ride and rock all day, - Going whither blow the gales, - As I have heard a seaman say: - I would, I guess, come back again - For my mother, now and then, - And the curling fire so bright, - When the prairie burns at night; - And tell the wonders I had seen - Away upon the ocean green;”— - “Hush! hush! talk not about the ocean so; - Better at home a hunter hale to go.” - - Between a tear and sigh he smiled; - And thus spake on the cripple-child:— - “I would I were a hunter hale, - Nimbler than the nimble doe, - Bounding lightly down the dale,— - But that will never be, I know! - Behind our house the woodlands lie; - A prairie wide and green before; - And I have seen them with my eye - A thousand times or more; - Yet in the woods I never strayed, - Or on the prairie-border played; - O, mother dear, that I could only be - A sailor-boy upon the rocking sea!” - - You would have turned with a tear, - A tear upon your cheek; - She wept aloud, the woman dear, - And further could not speak; - The boy’s it was a bitter lot - She always felt, I trow; - Yet never till then its bitterness - At heart had grieved her so. - _Nature had waked the eternal wish—_ - _—Liberty, far and wide!_ - And now, to win him health, with joy, - She would that morn have died. - Till noon she kept the shady door-way chair, - But never a measure of that ancient air. - - Piped the March-wind;—pinched and slow - The deer were trooping in the snow; - He saw them out of the cottage door, - The lame boy sitting upon the floor: - “Mother, mother, how long will it be - Till the prairie go like a waving sea? - Will the bare woods ever be green—and when? - O, will it ever be summer again?”— - She looked in silence on her child: - That large eye, ever so dark and wild, - Oh me, how bright!—it may have been - That he was grown so pale and thin. - _It came, the emerald month, and sweetly shed_ - _Beauty for grief, and garlands for the dead._ - -The Girl of the Sky-blue Lake, is a simple Indian ballad, teeming with -pictures as fresh and exquisite to behold as a full-blown wild rose of -the wilderness. Some of its versification is remarkably fine, and the -idea of the story pleasing and mournful to the soul,—attributes which I -fancy are indispensable to the perfection of any poetry; for there is no -such thing as poetry without truth, and truth is ever a subject of -solemn consideration. - - - PART I. - - “Push off, push off the birch canoe, - The wave and the wood are still; - The screaming loon is fast asleep, - And so is the whip-poor-will. - - The moonlight-blowing flowers I love— - On yon little isle they grow;—” - So said a black-eyed Ottawa girl, - In silvery accents low. - - “Off, off with the bark canoe, my boy, - And tarry till I come back—” - “No, sister,” said the red-neck’d boy, - “The panther will smell my track. - - Our boat upon the deep shall rock, - And in it the paddles three; - My little grey dog my bow shall watch, - But I will keep with thee.” - - “Now, nay, across the lake I go - Alone to the flow’ry isle; - I’ll come e’er the big owl screams for day, - So tarry thou here the while. - - Thou art a bounding hunter bold, - As the wolf and the panther know; - And thou shalt whoop at the water-stars - That flash in the skies below; - And when the still woods halloo back, - The braver wilt thou grow.” - - Now half-way over the sky-blue lake - Hath paddled the wild red girl; - Kneeling, a wearied arm she rests,— - The waters round her curl. - - Away she looks, with beating heart, - Away to the purple isle; - Beneath it swings a bright round moon; - She listeneth all the while,— - Heard she one far shrill whistle-sound, - Her sadness were a smile. - - _The lake was still as still could be,_ - _And bright as a warrior’s blade;_ - _And, save the dash of the leaping fish,_ - _Not a waking sound was made._ - - _The lovely bright-eyed Ottawa girl_ - _Hath bent o’er the low canoe,_ - _And smoothed anew her raven hair_ - _In the glass of the shining blue._ - - And now is at the islet’s edge - The stem of her birchen bark: - And so is the bare, the springy foot - Of a hunter tall and dark. - - “My deer-eyed dove,” the hunter breathed— - And the maid fell at his knee: - Along its lash a bright tear flashed, - And thus again spake he. - - “My dark-eyed dove, the twisted shells, - With tints of the blood-red snow, - I’ve brought thee now, and scarlet bird, - And skin of the spotted doe.” - - The red girl of the sky-blue lake, - She loves that chieftain bold:— - He loves again: but hatred lurks, - And ever by day and by night it works - In the heart of her father old. - - And hither, when the swan leads off - Her brood on the sleeping swell, - Beneath a climbing vine they meet, - With tenderest words, in accents sweet, - The tale of their loves to tell. - - - PART II. - - The Indian boy is fast asleep, - And dew on his wolf-skin gray, - Hath cried him weary long ago; - His little grey dog is moaning low, - And the big owl screams for day. - - Poor lonely sleeping Indian boy,— - How wild are his fitful dreams? - —In mirth she comes; and sinking now - To the water-moon she seems. - - A wolf is trotting in the brake, - All under the panthers’ limb; - But they have licked a fawn’s sweet blood, - And careless are grown of him. - - Then darker grew the shadowy woods, - And bent with a crackling sound; - Shines through the dark the flashing foam - On the pebbled beach around. - - Too late the warning loon has yell’d - To the shallow-wading crane; - For now the thunder blast is up, - And whirls the driving rain. - - O, red girl of the sky-blue lake, - Look well to thy dancing bark; - The wind is loud, the wave is white, - And the breaking morn is dark; - - _The wind is loud, the wave is white,_ - _Look well to thy slender oar:_ - _The loon hath need of its wing of jet_ - _To battle the might of the waves, that fret_ - _Along to the foamy shore._ - - Alone, upon the frothy beach, - In the still and pleasant morn, - The Ottawa child is waiting yet, - But frightened and forlorn. - - His eyes are red, his hair is wild; - He hath donned his wolf-skin gray; - His shivering dog is moaning low; - The child hath turned him round to go,— - He can no longer stay. - - Yet once, with aching heart, he looks - To the isle of flowers again; - It seems a sleeping bank of green - Upon a silvery plain. - - Within its shade, the voiceless swans - Are sailing two by two; - But never his eye can catch a glimpse - Of the maiden’s birch canoe;— - The bow-neck’d swans are all that move - Upon the silvery blue. - - Turn home, heart-broken child! turn home; - That bark is in the deep; - And she has gone with the tinted shells - To their own green caves to sleep. - - Her spirit owns a brighter isle - Than floats the moon below; - _Where never the thunder-blast is heard,_ - _She lists to the song of the scarlet bird,_ - _And plays with the beautiful doe._ - -There! for this letter you owe me an oyster supper,—but if you will give -me that beautiful engraving from Claude, hanging in your study, I will -call the matter settled. - - - - - THE UNHAPPY STRANGER. - - -I was a passenger on board one of those noble steamers which navigate -the Sound. The hurly-burly attending our departure from the dock was at -last ended, and I had a good opportunity to wander quietly about the -boat, studying, as it is my wont to do, the variously marked -countenances of my fellow passengers. When the supper bell rang, there -was a general movement made towards the after-cabin, and as I fell in -with the crowd, I happened to cast my eye upon the only group left -behind. This was composed of a middle-aged man and his three children. -The latter were getting ready to retire to rest, and the youngest one, a -sweet little girl of perhaps three years of age, ever and anon kept -questioning her father as follows—“where’s mother, pa?—pa, where’s -mother? When will she come back?” The kind and delicate attentions of -the father, as he smoothed the pillows and laid them in their nest, -tended to interest my feelings; and, when at the supper-table, my fancy -was busy with the scene just witnessed. - -It was now quite late; the lazily-uttered joke, and the less frequent -peal of laughter, seemed to announce the spiritual presence of repose. -The newspaper, the book, and checker-board, were gradually laid aside, -and in a little while nearly all the berth-curtains were drawn up, and -their occupants in the arms of sleep. Many of the lamps were out, and -those that did remain produced a dim, solemn twilight throughout the -cabin—the only part at all animated being that corner where the -boot-black was engaged in his appropriate duty. The cause of my own -wakefulness it is unnecessary to relate; suffice it to say, it was -entirely dispelled by the following incident. - -Just as I was about to retire, the sigh of a burdened heart smote my -ear, and as I turned, I beheld an individual sitting near a berth, with -his face resting upon the pillow, weeping bitterly. He was a fine, -intelligent looking man, in the prime of life; and on nearer -observation, I found him to be the identical one, who had before -attracted my attention. I approached his seat, and, in as kind a tone as -possible, inquired the cause of his unhappiness; adding, that I should -be pleased to do for him anything he might desire. For a moment, a fresh -flood of tears was my only answer; but these he soon wiped away, and -extending to me his hand, he thus began to speak. - -“I am grateful to you, my dear Sir, for your expressions of kindness and -sympathy towards me, but the weight which is resting upon my spirit -cannot be easily dispelled. I have been sorely afflicted of late, and -the associations connected with that event are what caused me to forget -myself, and give vent to my emotions in tears. To be found weeping like -a child, in the midst of a multitude of strangers, may be considered a -weakness, I hope not a sin; but that you may understand my conduct, I -will relate to you the cause. - -“One short month ago, as I paused to consider my condition, I fancied -myself to be one of the happiest of men. My cottage-home, which stands -in one of the fairest valleys of New Hampshire, was then a perfect -picture of contentment and peace. A much-loved wife, and three children, -were then the joys of my existence. Every pleasurable emotion which I -enjoyed was participated in by her, who was my first and only love. From -our united hearts, every morning and evening, ascended a deep-felt -prayer of gratitude to our Heavenly Father; and from the same source -sprang every hope concerning the temporal prospects of our children, -and, to us and them, of the life beyond the grave. We were at peace with -God, and with regard to this world, we had everything we desired. - -“The time of harvest being now ended, and an urgent invitation having -been received from my father-in-law, I concluded to take my family, and -make a visit to the pleasant village in New Jersey, where my wife and I -were children together, and where we had plighted our early love-vows. -All things were ready, and, leaving our homestead to the care of a -servant, we started on our journey,—reaching in due time, and in safety, -our place of destination. - -“We found our friends all well, and glad to see us. Not a care or -trouble rested on a single heart. Thankful for the blessings of the past -and present, all our prospects of the future were as bright as heart -could desire. ‘Old familiar faces’ greeted us at every corner, old -friendships were again revived, and a thousand delightful associations -crowded around us, so that we had nothing to do but be happy. - -“Thus had two weeks passed away, when, on the very night previous to our -_intended_ departure for home, my wife was suddenly taken ill, and when -the morrow dawned,—_I was a widower, and my children motherless_. The -idol of my heart, instead of returning to her earthly home, was summoned -by her Maker to that blessed home above the stars, where the happiness -of the redeemed will never end. God is great, and His will be done; but, -alas, it almost breaks my heart to think of those bitter, bitter -words—‘never more.’ I cannot bear to think of it; never more upon the -earth shall I behold that beauteous form, and listen to that heavenly -voice, which were my delight and pride. To my eye, the greenness of -earth is forever departed. O who can tell what a day or an hour may -bring forth? O how lonely, lonely, is my poor, poor, poor heart!” - -These last words of my stranger friend were uttered in a smothered tone, -and with a drooping head; and, though he held my arm after I had risen -to go, I tore myself away, for I thought it my duty to retire. - -When I awoke in the morning, after a troubled sleep, I found the boat -was at the dock, and the day somewhat advanced. My first thought was -concerning the unhappy stranger, with whom I longed to have another -interview; but in making diligent search I found that he was gone, and -with him his three sweet orphan children. His form, and the few words he -had spoken, seemed to me like a dream. O yes, they were indeed the -substance of a vision—a dream of human life. Surely, surely life is but -a vapor, which appeareth for a little season, and then vanisheth away. -As the great Jeremy Taylor hath eloquently written: “Death meets us -everywhere, and is procured by every instrument, and in all chances, and -enters in at many doors; by violence and secret influence, by the aspect -of a star, by the emissions of a cloud and the melting of a vapor, by -the fall of a chariot and the stumbling of a stone, by a full meal or an -empty stomach, by watching at the wine, or by watching at prayers, by -the sun or the moon, by a heat or a cold, by sleepless nights or -sleeping days, by water frozen into the hardness and sharpness of a -dagger, or water thawed into the floods of a river, by a hair or a -raisin, by violent motion, or sitting still, by severity or dissolution, -by God’s mercy or God’s anger, by everything in providence and -everything in manners, by everything in nature and everything in chance. -We take pains to heap up things useful to our life, and get our death in -the purchase; and the person is snatched away, and the goods remain. And -all this is the law and constitution of nature; it is a punishment to -our sins, the unalterable event of providence, and the decree of heaven. -The chains that confine us to this condition are strong as destiny, and -immutable as the eternal laws of God.” - -This picture of man’s condition is indeed most melancholy, but let us -remember it is not a hopeless one. Only let us keep the commandments, -and confide in the promises of the Invisible, and we shall eventually -find that the laws regulating our final redemption will prove to be as -immutable as those concerning our earthly condition. - - - - - A WEEK IN A FISHING SMACK. - - -On Monday morning of last week I started from Norwich, bound to New -London, and from thence to any other portion of the world where I might -have some sport in the way of salt-water fishing. In less than an hour -after landing from the steamboat, I had boarded the handsome smack -Orleans, Captain Keeney, and by dint of much persuasion secured a berth -on board to accompany him on a fishing voyage. In addition to my -previous preparation, I had only to purchase a Guernsey shirt and -tarpaulin; and by the time I was regularly equipped, the sails were -hoisted, and we were on our course for Nantucket. An intimate -acquaintance was soon formed between myself and crew, which consisted of -the master, two sailors, and the cook. The whole time that I spent in -their company was six days, as I reached home on the following Saturday -evening. The incidents that I met with were somewhat new, as a matter of -course, and I employed a few moments of every evening during my absence, -in briefly recording the events of the past day; and that medley I now -put together as a literary chowder. - -_Monday Evening._ My observations to-day have been limited to our little -vessel, in consequence of a dense fog, which drenched us to the skin, -and seems likely to continue us in this state of preservation. I have -obtained some information, however, concerning the character of an -interesting class of men, which may be new to you. Smack-fishermen are a -brave, hardy, honest, and simple-hearted race, and as my Captain tells -me, spend nine-tenths of their time “rocked in the cradle of the deep.” -Their vessels, or smacks, are generally of about forty tons burthen; the -number of those which supply New York and Boston with fish is said to be -near a thousand, and they are all at home anywhere on the coast between -the Kennebeck and the Delaware. Of the perils which these fishermen -endure, and the privations they suffer, how little is known or thought -by the great world at large! Yet I believe there is as much genuine -happiness in their lives, as in those of any other class. Their fathers -were fishermen before them, and as they themselves have mostly been born -within hearing of the surf, they look upon the unsounded deep as their -fitting home, their only home, and would not part with it for a palace -or a crown. Four is the usual number of a smack’s crew, and the master -is invariably called a skipper. Most of them are worthy husbands and -fathers, whose families are snugly harbored in some convenient seaport, -with enough and to spare of the good things of life. They are a jovial -set of men, hailing each other upon the ocean as friends, and meeting -upon land as brothers. Each skipper thinks his craft the handsomest and -swiftest that floats, and very exciting are the races they sometimes -run. Their affection for their own vessel is like that of the Arab for -his steed, and like the Arab, too, they have been known even to weep -over the grave of their darling and their pride. - -The kinds of fish which they mostly bring to market are shad, salmon, -lobsters, mackerel, cod, bluefish, haddock, blackfish, paugies, bass, -and halibut. The first three are generally purchased of local fisherman, -but all the rest are caught by themselves. The haunts of the blackfish -are rocky reefs, those of the bass and bluefish in the vicinity of sandy -shoals or tide rips, and those of the remainder in about fifteen fathom -water. These are the varieties they capture by way of business, but when -in a frolicsome mood they frequently attack a sword-fish, a shark, or -black whale; and soul-thrilling indeed, and laughable withal, are the -yarns they spin concerning these exploits. - -As to their mode of living, while at sea, it is just what it should be, -and what they would have it, although it would be “positively shocking” -to a Bond Street gentleman of leisure. But they always possess a good -appetite, which is what money cannot purchase, and without which the -greatest delicacy in the world would be insipid or loathsome. Fish, -sea-biscuit, corned-beef and pork, potatoes, onions, and pancakes, -constitute their provisions, and what besides these would a reasonable -man desire? It is with a mixture of some of these, that a _chowder_ is -concocted, and where can anything more delicious be found, even at the -tables of the Astor and American? And with these ingredients, moreover, -they manage very well to keep body and soul together, unless a storm on -a rock-bound coast happens to make a sudden separation. - -I have just been on deck, and must say that I resume my pen with a -heavier heart. The fog has not dispersed in the least, a regular gale of -wind is blowing from the north, and the waves, seemingly in a revengeful -mood, are tossing our bark about, as if the skipper, like the Ancient -Mariner, had shot another albatros. But like a fearless man, as he is, -he stands at the helm, watching the sails with a steady eye, and the men -with their storm-jackets on are standing by, muttering something about -the coming darkness, and a reef somewhere on our lee. Never before have -I so distinctly understood the force of the Psalmist’s simile, when he -compares a wave to a drunken man reeling to and fro. Both have it in -their power to cause a mighty mischief, and both become exhausted and -perish,—one upon a sandy beach, and the other, sweeping over the -peninsula of time, finds a grave on the shore of oblivion. Heavens! how -the wind whistles, and the waters roar! Aye, but a still small voice -salutes my ear, and I lay me down to sleep, with a prayer upon my lips, -and a feeling of security at my heart, as I place implicit confidence in -Him who holdeth the ocean in the hollow of his hand. - -_Tuesday Evening._ I was awakened out of a deep sleep this morning by -the following salutation from the skipper, as he patted me on the -shoulder. “It’s a beautiful morning, and you ought to be up,—the fog is -gone, and the wind is down; won’t you come up and take the helm -awhile,—so that the boys and I may obtain a little sleep before reaching -the fishing-ground, which will be about ten o’clock?” I was delighted to -accept the invitation, and in a very short time the sailors were asleep, -and I in my new station, proud as a king, and happy as a sinless boy. -And oh that I could describe the scene that fascinated my eyes as I lay -there upon the deck, with one arm reposing on the rudder, and my other -hand grasping a Claude glass! I felt as I once felt before, when -standing on the famous precipice of Niagara, that then, more than ever, -I desired God to be my friend. I also felt, that if the world did not -demand the feeble services of my life, I should wish to remain upon the -ocean forever, provided I could have “one fair being for my minister.” -More earnestly than ever did I long for a complete mastery of my art. -The fact of being out sight of land, where the blue element announced -that the ocean was soundless, filled my soul with that “lone, lost -feeling,” which is supposed to be the eagle’s, when journeying to the -zenith of the sky. The sun had just risen above the waves, and the whole -Eastern portion of the heavens was flooded with the most exquisite -coloring I ever beheld,—from the deepest crimson to the faintest and -most delicate purple, from the darkest yellow to an almost invisible -green; and all blended, too, in a myriad of forms of marvellous -loveliness. A reflection of this scene was also visible in the remaining -quarters of the horizon. Around me the illimitable deep, whose bosom is -studded with many a gallant and glittering ship, - - that have the plain - Of ocean for their own domain. - -The waves are lulling themselves to rest, and a balmy breeze is -wandering by, as if seeking its old grandfather, who kicked up the grand -rumpus last night; whereby I learn, that the offspring of a “rough and -stormy sire,” are sometimes very beautiful and affectionate to the -children of men. But look, even the dwellers in the sea and of the sea -are participating in the hilarity of this bright autumnal morning! Here, -a school of herring are skipping along like a frolicsome party of -vagabonds as they are,—and yonder a shark has leaped out of the water, -to display the symmetry of his form and the largeness of his jaw, and -looking as if he thought “that land lubber would make me a first-rate -breakfast;” there, a lot of porpoises are playing “leap-frog,” or some -other _outlandish_ game; and, a little beyond them, a gentleman -sword-fish is swaggering along to parts unknown, to fight a duel in cold -blood with some equally cold-blooded native of the Atlantic; and now, a -flock of gulls are cleaving their course to the South, to the floating -body perhaps of a drowned mariner, which their sagacity has discovered a -league or two away,—and now, again, I notice a flock of petrels, -hastening onward to where the winds blow and the waves are white. Such -are the pictures I beheld in my brief period of command. It may have -been but fancy, but I thought my little vessel was trying to eclipse her -former beauty and her former speed. One thing I know, that she “walked -the water like a thing of life.” I fancied, too, that I was the -identical last man whom Campbell saw in his vision, and that I was then -bound to the haven of eternal rest. But my shipmates returning from the -land of Nod, and a certain clamor within my own body having caught my -ear, I became convinced that to break my fast would make me happier than -anything else just at that time, and I was soon as contented as an -alderman at five P. M. About two hours after this we reached our fishing -place, which was twenty miles east of Nantucket. We then lowered the jib -and topsail, and having luffed and fastened the mainsheet, so that the -smack could easily float, we hauled out our lines and commenced fishing, -baiting our hooks with clams, of which we had some ten bushels on board. -Cod fishing (for we were on a codding cruize) is rather dull sport; it -is, in fact, what I would call hard labor. In six hours we had caught -all the skipper wanted, or that the well would hold, so we made sail -again, bound to New York; and at supper-time the deck of our smack was -as clean and dry, as if it had never been pressed save by the feet of -ladies. At sunset, however, a fierce southerly wind sprang up, so that -we were compelled to make a harbor; and just as I am closing this -record, we are anchoring at Nantucket, with a score of storm-beaten -whales on our starboard bow. - -_Wednesday Evening._ The weather to-day has been quite threatening, and -the skipper thought it best to remain at our moorings; but with me the -day has not been devoid of interest; for, in my sailor garb, I have been -strolling about the town, studying the great and solemn drama of life, -while playfully acting a subordinate part myself. This morning, as it -happened, I went into the public grave-yard, and spent an hour conning -over the rude inscriptions to the memory of the departed. In that city -of the dead I saw a number of the living walking to and fro, but there -was one who attracted my particular attention. He was a seaman of noble -presence, seated upon an unmarked mound, with his feet resting upon a -smaller one beside it, his head reclined upon one hand, while the other -was occasionally passed across his face, as if wiping away a tear. I -hailed him with a few kind questions, and my answer was the following -brief tale. - -“Yes, sir, four years ago I shipped aboard that whaler yonder, leaving -behind me, in a sweet little cottage of my own, a dear, first-rate -mother, a good wife, and an only boy. They were all in the enjoyment of -good health, and happy; and, when we were under sail, and I saw from the -mast-head how kindly they waved their handkerchiefs beside my door, I -too was happy, even in my hour of grief. Since that time I have -circumnavigated the globe, and every rare curiosity I could obtain was -intended for my darling ones at home. Last Saturday our ship returned. -And while yet a league from port, I was again at the mast head, looking -with an anxious heart towards my nest upon the shore. I saw that the -blinds were closed, and that all around was very still; but ‘they are -only gone a visiting,’ thought I, and rejoiced at heart. I landed, flew -to my dwelling, and found it locked. The flagging in my yard attracted -my notice, and I thought it strange that the rank grass had been -suffered to grow over it so thickly. The old minister passed by my gate, -and running to him with extended hand, I inquired for my family. ‘Oh Mr. -B.,’ said he, ‘you must bless the Lord,—he gave them to you, and he hath -taken them away.’ And as the thought stole into my brain, my suffering, -Sir, was intense, and I longed to die. And there they are, my wife and -darling child, and, a step or two beyond, my dear old mother. Peace to -their memories. As for me, I am a victim to blight and desolation, and -that sacred song which my mother used to be so fond of singing on -Sabbath evenings long ago, that song I can understand now:— - - ‘I would not live alway; I ask not to stay - Where storm after storm rises dark o’er the way; - The few lurid mornings that dawn on us here, - Are enough for life’s woes, full enough for its cheer.’ - -In a few days I mean to deliver up my property to the Seaman’s Friend -Society, and then launching upon the deep once more, become, and -forever, a wanderer from my native land.” - -Such is the simple story I heard in the Nantucket grave-yard, and I have -pondered much upon the world of woe which must be hidden in the breast -of that old mariner. May the tale not have been recorded in vain. - -After dinner, to-day, I got into company with some fishermen who were -going after bass and bluefish, and in a short time I had captured, with -my own hands, two big bass and some dozen bluefish,—which I packed in -ice as a present to some New York friends. - -At my present time of writing, which is near ten o’clock at night, we -are weighing anchor, and the skipper tells me we shall be in New York by -to-morrow’s sunset. An hour before coming on board this evening, I -lounged into a sailor boarding-house, and mingled as freely with a -company of whalemen there, as if I had ever been a _bonâ fide_ member of -the craft. I heard a great deal that interested me, and was sorry that I -could not remain longer. There were some in that company lately arrived -from every portion of the world, and yet they were engaged in the same -business, and had journeyed on the same mighty highway of nations. One -was descanting upon the coral islands of the Torrid zone, another upon -the ice-mountains of the Arctic Sea, a third was describing the coast of -California, and another the waters that lave the Eastern shore of Asia. -The more I listened to these men the more did the immensity of ocean -expand before my mind, and in the same proportion was I led to wonder at -the wisdom of the Almighty. - -I have just been on deck, and find that we are on the way to our desired -haven, wafted by a steady and pleasant breeze. Our course is between -Martha’s Vineyard and Rhode Island, which is a route studded with -islands and seaports, that now appear in the cool starlight like the -pictures of a dream. - -_Thursday Evening._ Instead of coming through the Sound last night, we -headed our vessel outside of Long Island, and after a delightful sail -have realized our skipper’s promise, for we are now floating beside the -market in New York. The reason assigned for taking the outside course -was, that the fish would keep better, on account of the greater coldness -of the water. Nothing of peculiar interest has happened to us to-day, -except the meeting with a wreck off Sandy Hook. It was the hull of a -large ship, whose name we could not discern. It had a very old -appearance, and from the moss and sea-weed that covered it, we supposed -it must have been afloat for many months, the plaything of the waves. -“Man marks the earth with ruin,” but who is it that scatters such -splendid ruins upon the ocean? And a thousand thousand remorseless -surges echo back the answer: “To us, belong the glory of those deeds.” -If that wreck had language, what a strange, eventful history would it -reveal! Its themes would be,—home and all its treasures lost; the sea, -and all its dangers; the soul, and all its agonies; the heart, and all -its sufferings. But when we multiply all this as fast as time is -multiplying it, we cannot but realize the idea, that human life is but a -probationary state, and that sorrow and sighing are our earthly -inheritance. - -_Friday Evening._ After portioning out my fish this morning, and sending -them to my friends, I put on my usual dress, and having obtained a six -hours’ furlough, set off towards Broadway, where, between the Mercantile -Library reading rooms and the studios of a few artists, I managed to -spend my time quite pleasantly. At noon we embarked for home, and had a -delightful time, passing through the East River, and that pleasing -panorama from the city to the Sound never appeared more beautiful. - -It is now quite late, and I have been on deck all the evening alone. In -a thoughtful mood I fixed my eyes upon the stars, and my spirits were -saddened by the continual murmur of the sea. Of what avail, thought I, -is all this excitement? Why was I created, and what, O what is my -destiny? Is it to sail for a few brief years longer upon the ocean of -life, and, when the death-tempest overtakes me, to pass away unloved and -unremembered by a single human heart? If not an honored name, can I not -leave behind me an humble memory, that will be cherished by a few, a -very few, to whom I have laid bare my innermost soul, when I was younger -than I am, and a hundred-fold more happy? What! O night! what is my -destiny? And the tears upon my cheeks were the only answer that I -received,—and I descended into the cabin to my berth, to pray, to -slumber, and to dream. - -_Saturday Evening._ We anchored off New London to-day, in time for me to -take the evening steamer for Norwich. When I parted with my “shipmates,” -I shook each one affectionately by the hand, and thought that I might -travel many years without finding a brotherhood of nobler men. I reached -home as the eight o’clock bells were ringing, and was reminded that -another week of precious time was gone, and “another Sabbath was begun.” -That the present must be remembered as an unprofitable week, I cannot -believe, for I feel that my soul has been enlarged, and my heart -humbled, by listening to the teachings of the mighty deep. - - - - - TRIP TO WATCH HILL. - - -A few mornings ago, just as the sun had risen above the eastern hills, -which look down upon the Thames at Norwich, the prettiest sailboat of -the place left her moorings, and with a pleasant northerly breeze -started for the Sound. Her passengers consisted of six gentlemen, all -equipped in their sporting jackets, and furnished with fishing tackle, -and their place of destination was Watch Hill, which is a point of land -in Rhode Island, extending into the Atlantic, a few miles from -Stonington. We were on a fishing frolic, as a matter of course, and a -happier company, I ween, were never yet afloat, for the sport of a -morning breeze. What with the story, the jest, the iced lemonade and -exquisite cigar, the minutes glided by as swiftly and unobserved as the -tiny waves around us. Now we met a solitary fisherman, towing for bass, -and as we hailed him with a friendly shout and passed by, he began to -talk in an under tone, and his voice did not die away until we had -turned a point. Oh, what would I not give for an accurate record of that -old man’s life! Anon, we witnessed the soothing picture of a well -conducted farm, with its greengirt cottage, spacious barns, neat and -flowing fields, and abundance of horses and oxen, cows, sheep, hogs, and -poultry. Now we saw some noble men, such as Vernet delighted to paint, -hauling the seine, and, as the “fruit of all their toil” were thrown -upon the sand, their flipping forms reflected back the sunlight, -reminding us of the short-lived glory of an earth-born name. Now, we -were overtaken and tossed about by a steamer bound to New Haven; and -then we sailed in company with a boat, a sloop, and schooner; meeting -others, beating up, from Boston, New York, and Philadelphia. And the -termination of this pleasing panorama was composed of Gale’s Ferry, the -commanding town, fort, and monument of Groton, together with the city of -New London, among whose anchored shipping floated the saucy Revenue -Cutter, and at whose docks were chained a goodly number of storm-beaten -whalers. - -Having taken in “our stores,” and obtained from the fish-market a basket -of bait, we again hoisted sail and put to sea, “bound first to Commit -Rock,” and “binding” ourselves to capture all of the watery enemy which -might tempt the power or the dexterity of our arms. - -When about three miles from New London, all eyes were attracted by a -beautiful craft on our lee, laden with a party of ladies and gentlemen. -“They’re going toward a reef!” exclaimed our captain; and no sooner had -the words escaped his lips, than the stranger struck, and stove a hole -through her bottom. We were just in time to save the party from a watery -grave; and when we had landed them in safety on the beach, we were well -repaid for our trouble by the consciousness of having done a good act, -and by the thankful words and benignant smiles of the ladies fair. A -dozen minutes more and we were within oar’s length of the fishing rock. -“All ashore, that’s coming!” shouted our mate, when we all leaped out, -and a plenty of line being given her, the boat swung to, and “like a -cradled thing at rest,” floated upon the waves. Then commenced the -sport. The breeze was refreshing, and the breath of the salt sea-foam -buoyed up our spirits to a higher pitch, and gave new vigor to our -sinews. The youngest of the party was the first who threw his hook, -which was snapped in the twinkling of an eye. Another trial, and a -four-pound blackfish lay extended upon the rock. Another, and another, -and another, until fourscore, even-numbered, came following after. Tired -of the sport, two of the party entered the boat, and hoisted sail for a -little cruize. Half an hour had elapsed, when the steady breeze changed -into a frightful gale, capsizing within hailing distance a fishing boat -with two old men in it. Hanging on, as they were, to the keel of the -boat (which having no ballast could not sink), their situation was -extremely dangerous, as there was not a vessel within two miles. The -poor men beckoned to us to help them; but as our boat was gone, we could -not do so, which of course we much regretted. For one long, long hour -did they thus hang, “midway betwixt life and death,” exposed to the -danger of being washed away by the remorseless surge, or swallowed up, -as we were afterwards told, by a couple of sharks, which were kept away -only by the hand of Providence. This incident tended to cool our ardor -for fishing, and as we were satisfied with that day’s luck, we put up -our gear, during which time the boat arrived, and we embarked for the -Hill. We made one short turn, however, towards the boat which had picked -up the fishermen, as we were anxious to tell them why we did not come to -their relief. We then tacked about, and the last words we heard from our -companions were,—“Thank you—thank you—God bless you all,” and until we -had passed a league beyond Fisher Island, our little vessel “carried a -most beautiful bone between her teeth.” - -At sunset we moored our little boat on the eastern shore of Paucatuck -Bay. On ascending to the Watch Hill hotel, we found it to be a large, -well-furnished house, and our host to be a fat and jolly Falstaff-ish -sort of man, just suited to his station. At seven o’clock we sat down to -a first-rate blackfish supper, then smoked a cigar, and while my -companions resorted to the ten-pin alley, I buttoned up my pea-jacket, -and sallied forth on an “exploring expedition.” As I stood on the -highest point of the peninsula facing, the south, I found that the -light-house stood directly before me, on the extreme point, that a -smooth beach faded away on either side, the left hand one being washed -by the Atlantic, and that on the right by the waters of Fisher Island -Bay, and that the dreary hills in my rear were dotted by an occasional -dwelling. The breeze had died away, and the bright, full moon was in the -cloudless sky. Many sails were in the offing, passing by and being -passed by the Providence and Stonington steamboats bound to New York. -The scenery around me, and the loveliness of the day, with its galaxy of -stars above me, caused me to forget myself, and I wandered far away upon -the shore—alone, in the awful presence of the great Atlantic Ocean. No -sounds fell upon my ear, save the muffled roar of the ground swell, and -the faint whispers of the tiny waves as they melted upon the sand. I -traced my name, and beside it that of another, a being beauteous, for -whose cabinet of curiosities I gathered many a round, smooth pebble, and -many a delicate sea-shell. I wandered on, now gazing with wonder and -admiration into the cerulean vault of Heaven, or into the still deeper -blue of the mighty sea; and now singing with a loud voice one of the -sacred songs of the sweet singer of Israel. Now, a thousand images of -surpassing loveliness darted across my vision, as I thought of God—of an -eternal life in heaven—and of love, divine and human; and then there -came a weight upon my spirit, as I remembered the powers of darkness, -the destiny of the condemned, and the miseries engendered by our evil -passions. One moment I deemed myself immortal, released forever from the -contaminating influence of sin, and then I thought of the valley of -death, and trembled. In that communion with the mysteries of the -universe, strongly blended as they were, I felt that I could wander on -without fatigue, until the whole earth should be trodden by my pilgrim -feet. But the chilly air and the fading night warned me to retrace my -steps, and in an hour I had reached my home. - -When the sun rose from his ocean-bed on the following morning, -surrounded by a magnificent array of clouds, I was up, and busily -engaged preparing for a day’s fishing,—first, and before breakfast, for -bluefish, then for blackfish, and then for bass. While my companions -were asleep, I went out with an old fisherman, and by breakfast time had -captured thirty bluefish, weighing about two pounds apiece. The manner -of catching these is to tow for them with a long line, the bait being a -piece of ivory attached to a strong hook. They are a very active and -powerful fish, and when hooked make a great fuss, skipping and leaping -out of the water. - -At nine o’clock our party were at anchor on a reef about one mile off, -and for the space of about two hours we hauled in the blackfish fast as -possible, many of them weighing eight to ten pounds apiece. For them, -you must have a small straight hook, and for bait, lobsters or crabs. A -broiled blackfish, when rightly cooked, is considered one of the best of -saltwater delicacies. - -But the rarest of all fishing is that of catching bass, and a first-rate -specimen I was permitted to enjoy. About eleven o’clock, I jumped into -the surf-boat of an old fisherman, requesting him to pull for the best -bass ground with which he was acquainted. In the mean time my friends -had obtained a large boat, and were going to follow us. The spot having -been reached, we let our boat float, wherever the tide and wind impelled -it, and began to throw over lines, using for bait the skin of an eel six -inches long. Those in the neighboring boat had fine luck, as they -thought, having caught some dozen five-pounders, and they seemed to be -perfectly transported because nearly an hour had passed and I had caught -nothing. In their glee they raised a tremendous shout, but before it had -fairly died away, my line was suddenly straightened, and I knew that I -had a prize. Now it cut the water like a streak of lightning, although -there were two hundred feet out, and as the fish returned I still kept -it taught; and after playing with him for about forty minutes, I -succeeded in drowning him, then hauled up gradually, and with my -boat-hook landed him in the boat safe and sound. The length of that -striped bass was four feet two inches, and his weight, before cleaned, -fifty-eight pounds. That is a “fish story” worth telling. As a -beneficial effect and natural consequence of that triumph, I would -state, that I have grown about one inch in height since then,—more or -less,—as the saying is,—but probably less. You can easily imagine the -chop-fallen appearance of my brother fishermen, when they found out that -“the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.” At -three o’clock in the afternoon, a piece of that bass tended to satisfy -the appetite which had been excited by his capture, and I assure you it -touched the _right_ spot. - -Satisfied with our piscatorial sports, we concluded to spend the rest of -the day quietly gathering shells upon the beach; but causes of -excitement were still around us. No sooner had we reached the water’s -edge, than we discovered a group of hardy men standing on a little -knoll, in earnest conversation, while some of them were pointing towards -the sea. “To the boat—to the boat,” suddenly shouted their leader, when -they all descended with the speed of Swiss mountaineers, and on reaching -a boat which had been made ready, they pushed her into the surf, and -three of them jumped in, and thus commenced the interesting scene of -hauling the seine. There was something new and romantic to us in the -thought, that the keen and intelligent eye of man could even penetrate -into the deep, so far as to designate the course of travel of the tribes -of the sea. And when the seine was drawn, it was a glorious and -thrilling sight to see those fishermen tugging at the lines, or leap -into the surf, which sometimes completely covered them, to secure the -tens of thousands of fish which they had caught. There was a grace and -beauty about the whole scene, which made me long for the genius of a -Mount or Edmonds. - -A little before sunset, I was again strolling along the shore, when the -following incident occurred. You will please return with me to the spot. -Yonder on that fisherman’s stake, a little sparrow has just alighted, -facing the main. It has been lured away from the green bowers of home by -the music of the sea, and is now gazing, perhaps with feelings kindred -to my own, upon this most magnificent structure of the Almighty hand. -See! it spreads its wing, and is now darting towards the water—fearless -and free. Ah! it has gone too near! for the spray moistens its plumes! -There—there it goes, frightened back to its native woodland. That little -bird, so far as its power and importance are concerned, seems to me a -fit emblem of the mind of man, and this great ocean an appropriate -symbol of the mind of God. - -The achievements of the human mind “have their passing paragraphs of -praise, and are forgotten.” Man may point to the Pyramids of Egypt, -which are the admiration of the world, and exclaim, “Behold the symbol -of my power and importance!” But most impotent is the boast. Those -mighty mysteries stand in the solitude of the desert, and the glory of -their destiny is fulfilled, in casting a temporary shadow over the tent -of the wandering Arab. - -The achievements of the Almighty mind are beyond the comprehension of -man, and lasting as his own eternity. The spacious firmament, with its -suns, and moons, and stars; our globe, with its oceans, and mountains, -and rivers; the regularly revolving seasons; and the still, small voice -continually ascending from universal nature, all proclaim the power and -goodness of their great original. And everything which God has created, -from the nameless insect to the world of waters, which is the highway of -nations, was created for good, was created to accomplish some omnipotent -end. As this ocean is measureless and fathomless, so is it an emblem, -beautiful but faint, of that wonderful Being, whose throne is above the -milky-way, and who is himself from everlasting to everlasting. But see, -there is a heavy cloud rising in the west, the breeze is freshening, -flocks of wild ducks are flying inland, and the upper air is ringing -with the shrill whistle of the bold and wild sea-gull, whose home is the -boundless sea; therefore, as my dear friend Noble has somewhere written, -“the shortest homeward track’s the best.” - -Still in the present tense would I continue. The witching hour of -midnight has again returned. A cold rain-storm has just passed over, the -moon is again the mistress of a cloudless sky, but the wind is still -raging in all its fury. - - “I view the ships that come and go, - Looking so like to living things. - O! ’tis a proud and gallant show - Of bright and broad-spread wings, - Making it light around them, as they keep - Their course right onward through the unsounded deep.” - _Dana._ - -God be with them and their brave and gallant crews. But, again. - - “Where the far-off sand-bars lift - Their backs in long and narrow line, - The breakers shout, and leap, and shift, - And send the sparkling brine - Into the air; then rush to mimic strife; - Glad creatures of the sea, and full of life!” - _Ibid._ - -But I must stop quoting poetry, for as “a thing of beauty is a joy -forever,” I should be forever writing about the sea. Heavens! What a -terrible song is the ocean singing! with his long white hair streaming -in the wind. The waving, splashing, wailing, dashing, howling, rushing, -and moaning of the waves, is a glorious lullaby, and a fit prelude to a -dream of the sea. - -At an early hour on the following day we embarked for home, but a sorry -time did we have of it, for the winds were very lazy. We were ten hours -going the distance of twenty-two miles. It was now sunset, we were off -Gale’s Ferry, and not a solitary breath of air. Ashore we went, resolved -to await the coming of the Sag Harbor steamboat, which usually arrived -about nine o’clock, and by which we were taken in tow. Snugly seated in -our boat, and going at the rate of eighteen miles, we were -congratulating ourselves upon an early arrival home, and had already -begun to divide and string up our fish. But, alas, at this moment the -painter broke, the steamer, unconscious of our fate, still sped onward, -while we sheered off towards the shore, _almost disgusted_ with human -life in general—for our boat was large, and we had but one oar. But what -matter? We were a jolly set, and the way we gave three cheers, as a -prelude to the song of “Begone Dull Care,” must have been startling to -the thousand sleeping echoes of hill, forest, river, and glen. - -Having crept along at snails pace about one mile, we concluded to land, -and, if possible, obtain a place to sleep, and something to eat; for not -having had a regular dinner, and not a mouthful of supper, we were half -starved. With clubs in our hands, to keep off hobgobblins and bull dogs, -we wended our way towards a neighboring farm-house, where we knocked for -admittance. Pretty soon a great gawky-looking head stuck itself out of -an upper window, to which we made known our heartfelt desires, receiving -in return the following answer: “My wife is sick—hain’t got any -bread—you can go in the barn to sleep if you want to;” and we turned -reluctantly away, troubled with a feeling very nearly allied to anger. -“Come, let’s go off in this direction,” exclaimed one of the party, “and -I’ll introduce you to my old friend, Captain Somebody,”—and away we -posted, two by two, across a new-mown field. Presently our two leaders -were awe-stricken by the sudden appearance of something white, which -seemed to be rising out of the earth beside a cluster of bushes, and the -way they wheeled about and put for the river, (accompanied by their -fellows, whose fright was merely sympathetic,) was “a caution” to all -unbelievers in ghosts and other midnight spectres. - -At last we halted to gain a little breath, an explanation was made, and -our captain forthwith resolved to _investigate_ the matter. He now took -the lead, and on coming to the mysterious spot, discovered an _old blind -white horse_; who had been awakened by a noise, and, following the -instinct of his nature, had risen from his lair, to be better prepared -for danger. I doubt whether the echoes are yet silent, which were caused -by the loud and long peals of laughter which resounded to the sky. Being -in a strange land, without chart or compass, we could not find the -mortal dwelling place of Captain Somebody, and so we changed our course -of travel. - -We stopt at another house, farther on, but to save our lives we could -not obtain an interview, although we entered the hen-coop, and set the -hens and roosters a cackling and crowing, the pig-pen, and set the hogs -a squealing, while a large dog and two puppies did their best to -increase and prolong the mighty chorus. If our farmer friend did not -deem himself transported to Bedlam, about that time, we imagine that -nothing on earth would have the power to give him such a dream. Our -ill-luck made us almost desperate, and so we returned to the boat, -resolved to row the whole distance home, could we but find an extra oar. - -It was now eleven o’clock, and the only things that seemed to smile upon -us were the ten thousand stars, studding the clear, blue firmament. -Anon, a twinkling light beamed upon our vision; and as we approached, we -found it to proceed from a little hut on an island, where the Thames -lamplighter and his boy were accustomed to pass the night after their -work was done. Having again concluded to land, we received a hearty -welcome, as the host proved to be an old acquaintance of our captain and -mate. “Have you anything to eat?” was almost the first question of every -tongue. “No, nothing but this barrel of crackers and some cheese,” -exclaimed the man of light. “And we,” shouted one of our crew, “have -plenty of fish,—can’t we have a chowder?” “Aye, aye; a chowder, a -chowder it shall be,” were the words which rang aloud to the very -heavens. A wherry was despatched to the main-land, to the well known -habitation of an old fisherman, for the necessary iron pot and bowls; -for the potatoes and onions, which were dug for the occasion; for the -pork, the pepper, and salt; all which, added to our biscuit and -black-fish, nicely cleaned and prepared, constituted a chowder of the -very first water. There was one addition to our company, in the person -of the old fisherman; and our appearance, as we were seated in a circle -on the floor, each with a bowl of thick hot soup in his hands, -constituted a picture rich and rare. After we were done, it was -acknowledged by all, that a better meal had never been enjoyed by mortal -man. In about thirty minutes from this time the odd one of the company -bade us “good night,” and the midnight brotherhood resigned themselves -to sleep. The last sounds I heard, before closing my eyes, were caused -by the regular opposition steamboats from New York, as they shot ahead -almost as “swift as an arrow from a shivering bow.” - -The first faint streak of daylight found us on board our boat, homeward -bound, wafted on by a pleasant southerly breeze. At the usual hour, we -were all seated at our respective breakfast tables, relating our -adventures of the excursion just ended. - - - - - OUR NEW YORK PAINTERS. - - -Sometime ago, when I indited a letter on the paintings of Cole, I partly -intended it to be the first of a series, which should include all those -of our painters who have established themselves as masters. Since then, -however, I have relinquished that idea. I am not _sufficiently_ well -acquainted with all these gentlemen, and the number of their -productions, to devote a separate paper to each, and have, therefore, -concluded briefly to embody my opinions concerning them in a single -letter. I propose to speak of those only who are identified with New -York, and who are now in the full tide of successful operation; and my -object will be merely to write what would correspond to a letter of -introduction. In my list, made without respect to persons, are the -following names; Durand, Huntington, Edmonds, Page, Mount, Doughty, -Wier, Inman, Ingham, Chapman, and Harvey. - -_Durand._ If you are at all conversant with the history of art in this -country, you need not be told that this gentleman has long borne the -enviable reputation of being our best engraver of the human figure. It -is also a well-known fact, that he has executed some remarkable pictures -in the way of portraiture and fanciful history; but as he is now -devoting himself principally to landscape, I shall consider his merits -in this department alone. - -His only imaginative landscapes, are a pair, allegorically portraying -the “Morning and Evening” of human life. In one, the monuments of art -and the works of nature are in their prime, and a halo of hope seems to -surround the brow of every living creature, young men and maidens, and -dancing children. In the other, the same monuments and the same nature -are falling to decay, and most of earth’s children are trembling under -the weary load of life. And here, on a fallen column, is seated an old -man leaning upon his staff, and listening, as it were, to a song of -memory, as it recalls the unnumbered joys of other days. A saddening -subject, in reality, is here portrayed, but how has the genius of the -painter endowed it with a spirit of immortality! To the thoughtful mind, -it possesses a world of eloquence, and touches the heart with the thrill -of poetry. Considered as a maiden effort in the most exalted branch of -landscape painting, it affords abundant reason to believe that Mr. -Durand would accomplish great things in this department, if he would but -persevere. The only fault I can find with it, is this—in the idea of its -design, and in some parts of its execution, it bears too close a -resemblance to the Departure and Return, or the Past and Present, of -Thomas Cole. - -The majority of Mr. Durand’s landscapes I should designate as actual -views and fanciful pictures; and here, I think, he is without a -superior. In the choice of subjects, he always displays an exquisite -taste; and as he paints with great care, and finishes highly, there is -an indescribable summer-day charm about his pictures which is peculiarly -their own. The three most difficult things in nature for an artist to -delineate, are trees, atmospheres, and figures; but all these have been -thoroughly mastered by Mr. Durand. His trees are strongly -characteristic, and his figures numerous, happily introduced, and -accurately drawn. Of his views, I mostly admire “Lake Geneva,” -“Shakspeare’s Church,” two “Views in Switzerland,” “Island of Capri,” -“Deserted Road-side,” “Farm Yard on the Hudson,” “Oak Tree with horses -under it,” and a “View on the Rhine.” Each one of these is a perfect -gem, a beautiful and poetical reproduction of the original scene. But -the most unique and superb of all his paintings, is a fanciful picture -of a large size, exhibiting an extensive lake in a wilderness. The sun -is on the verge of the horizon, the sky is studded with an array of most -gorgeous clouds, and the surface of the lake is quivering under the -pinions of an evening breeze. In one corner of the foreground is a -cluster of luxuriant trees, encircled with grape-vines, and in the -other, an admirable rock, on which is standing a solitary heron, the -only living creature in the whole scene. The great triumph of this -picture is in the water—the gold-tipt waves. - -The last time I saw Mr. Durand, he was finishing some studies of -chestnut trees in blossom, which stand on the margin of Esopus Creek. -They are wonderfully true to nature, and will enhance his reputation, -even if he should not paint anything more during the coming summer. But -I hope that he may not only live to do this, but to paint a dozen -summers more, and a dozen pictures in each summer; for he is a great -artist, and an honor to his native country. - -_Huntington._ Although this gentleman is under thirty years of age, he -has produced many admirable pictures, which place him on a level with -the most gifted artists of any country. He commenced his career by -painting landscapes, many of which were wood-scenes and waterfalls on -the Rondout. They are remarkable for their rich coloring, and dashing -style of execution. But it is as a portrait and historical painter that -he is most celebrated. In both these departments his power is wonderful. -Eight years ago he was a pupil of Mr. Morse, but now is an acknowledged -master, and the pride of his profession. He uses the most glowing -colors, and yet there is a perfect harmony in all he paints; he handles -the pencil in a fine off-hand style, and yet his flesh possesses the -softness of the reality; he can take the most ordinary head, and by his -arrangement and his faculty of exalting his subject, make an interesting -picture, while at the same time it will be a speaking likeness. Of his -portraits, the most superb are those of his father, an uncle and aunt, -“The Venetian Girl,” the “Roman Girl,” and “Shepherd Boy of the -Campagna.” The last of these, which we think is equal to Murillo’s -“Beggar Boy,” was painted in the incredible short period of four hours. -If this fact and this picture do not prove Huntington to be a wonderful -genius, we do not know what could do so. But even all the pictures just -mentioned are eclipsed by his two historical ones, taken from the -Pilgrim’s Progress, viz.: “Mercy’s Dream,” and “Christiana and Family -passing through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.” In the first, Mercy -is in a reclining position, resting on one arm, with her face raised -heavenward, while the angel hovering above her is on the point of -placing the crown upon her head. In her position there may be something -a little unnatural, and the expression of the angel may be somewhat too -earthly; but where, in the whole range of art, is there anything more -beautifully designed, more accurately drawn, or more richly colored? In -the other picture, Christiana and her family are represented on a rock -overlooking a valley of flame. At first we are startled by a feeling of -terror, but when the eye falls upon the principal figure, her upraised -countenance beaming with holy confidence and hope, the first impulse -vanishes, and the heart throbs with peaceful joy. The soul depicted in -that countenance, its conception and execution, is a triumph of art -which we believe can never be surpassed. But the interest does not stop -here. What a world of poetry has the painter portrayed in the eldest son -attempting to shield the loved ones from the impending danger, and in -the youngest child cleaving to its mother for protection! All, in fact, -look to Christiana for safety, while she, with the meekness of -childhood, looks calmly up to the Almighty. I should rather be the -author of that painting than of any others of superior merit. Oh, it is -a blessed thing to see genius consecrating its powers to the promotion -of His glory, from whom all genius flows! Huntington possesses both -great and good qualities, and we trust that his sojourn in Europe will -not be prolonged beyond an extensive tour. - -_Edmonds._ This gentleman, who occupies the responsible station of -cashier in a bank, is considered one of the ablest financiers in New -York, while, at the same time, he enjoys a remarkable reputation as an -artist. His paintings are comparatively few, owing to his peculiar -situation, and to the correct notion which he entertains, that a work of -art should not be exhibited to the public until its author has done his -best to make it perfect. His style of coloring is warm and glowing, and -his drawing exceedingly accurate. As a designer, he is more particular -than our artists generally; and very few, I think, understand the -principles of composition so well. He is a man of quite extensive -reading, and of expansive mind, and his pictures are an index to the -humor which it contains. They are of a comical character, and never fail -to tell their story at a single glance. They are always intended to make -you laugh, and are, therefore, agreeable helpers on to a long life; and -sometimes possess an undercurrent of poetry or philosophy, which makes -them voiceless preachers to the thinking man. His best pictures are the -“Newspaper Boy,” “The Country and City Beaux,” “Sparking,” “The Bashful -Cousin,” “Italian Mendicants,” “The Epicure,” and “Stealing Milk.” The -first represents a large room thronged with men, women, and children, -into the midst of whom a ragged boy has entered to sell his Sunday -morning papers. In the second we have a charming country lady and her -accepted lover, suddenly surprised by the appearance of a city dandy; -and while the latter is nettled by the appearance of things, the former, -who is rocking himself in an arm-chair, very coolly puffs the smoke of -his cigar into the face of his disappointed rival. In the next, a -country damsel is peeling apples before a large blazing fire, while a -hearty fellow is talking to her, “solemnly and slow,” about his heart -and other kindred matters. In the next, a bashful young fellow is taking -leave of his friends, who urge him to sit down to tea, which is now -ready. The next is a blind old man, led by a little girl, asking alms in -the streets of Rome. In the Epicure, we have a butcher displaying his -nice things to an old gentleman, almost eaten up in health by rich -living. In the last, we have a school-boy in his mother’s pantry, -swallowing large quantities of rich cream, who is discovered by his -“anxious Ma” in the very act. All things considered, I think Mr. Edmonds -one of the most remarkable men of the age, and hope that he may live to -make many more additions to the genius-stamped treasures of American -art. - -_Page._ Here we come to another honored artist, but one who has been -greatly over-rated; not a man of genius, but one of rare, of -extraordinary talent. As a mere portrait painter or map-taker, he is -without a rival, I believe, in any country. The man who sits to him for -a likeness, must expect to have every hair on his face delineated to -perfection, but must not expect to have himself exalted or -intellectualized. This is a thing which Page has never done, and can -never do, and consequently he will never excel as an historical painter. -I am warranted in making this assertion by looking at his past efforts -in this department? What admirable execution has he squandered on his -picture of “The Whistle,” his “Prison Scene,” and lately in his “Ecce -Homo.” In coloring and drawing, these pictures cannot be surpassed; but -how very inferior are they in conception, and especially the last! -Surely, the Saviour of the world could never have borne so _physical_ a -countenance as Page has here conceived! It is understood, that he is -engaged on a large picture, to be called “Jephtha’s Daughter.” I -sincerely _hope_ that he may triumph there, but I cannot but doubt. -Parts of it I know will be astonishingly fine, but, as a whole, it will -be a failure. I have been thus free in my remarks concerning this -artist, because he is lauded as a great _genius_, which I am not willing -to acknowledge, although I admire him as a portrait painter. His style -of coloring is not easily described, for it varies with every one of his -subjects, now pale as death or red as a cherry, and now blue as sapphire -or green as an emerald. If I desired my children to behold their very Pa -long after he is in the grave, I would rather have Page paint me than -any other man. His greatest portraits are those of Mrs. Ridner, a single -head and with a child, of Lowell the poet, of Mr. Leup, and of himself. - -_Mount._ Three cheers for the laughter-loving and incomparable genius of -Stony Brook, whom I know to be a first-rate fisherman, and a most -pathetic player on the violin. Here is a man who stands alone in the art -of painting, for, in everything he does, he is entirely original. His -productions are stamped with an entirely American character, and so -comically conceived, that they always cause the beholder to smile, -whatever may be his troubles. His coloring is what we call cold, but -remarkable for its fidelity; and his power and knowledge of drawing are -superior to those of any other man in the country. Unlike Mr. Edmonds, -he pays but little attention to designing by rule, but in expression, he -always lays himself out, and I know not that he has ever failed, in a -single instance, to delineate the character he aimed at. He is peculiar -in the habit of tasking his own mind for his subjects, so that you never -see him illustrating the pages of any writer, historian, poet or wit. -And this is a feature I greatly admire. The man who cannot conceive and -execute a picture on his own hook entirely, is nothing but a copyist, -whatever may be his knowledge of the art. Thinking and strictly original -painters, are the only ones that exert a lasting and salutary influence -on the pictorial genius of their country, and Mr. Mount, I am glad to -know, is emphatically one of these. But let me glance at those pictures -which I believe warrant the foregoing opinions. Their general character -may be imagined by their titles, which are as follows: “Cider Making,” -“The Raffle,” “Tough Yarn,” “Fortune Telling,” “Bargaining for a Horse,” -“Gamesters Surprised,” “Winding Up,” “Ringing a Hog,” “Artist showing -his Work,” “The last Clam,” “Hoeing Corn,” “Husking Corn,” “Rustic -Dance,” and “Rabbit Catching.” In the first, we have a Long Island cider -mill, with all the laughable appurtenances thereof. In the next, a -company of loafers in a country bar-room are raffling for a goose, -illustrating the proverb, that “birds of a feather flock together.” The -next picture, a lame old “covey” telling a story to two impatient -gentlemen, which has been illustrated by an admirable story from the pen -of Seba Smith, Esq. In the next, a couple of farmers, in a barn-yard, -are discussing the merits of a “slick looking” horse hitched to a fence, -one of them rolling a stone with his foot, and the other whittling a -stick. In the next, we have some truant boys, who have stolen into a -barn to play “heads or tails,” who are discovered by the farmer; and -while he approaches cautiously, with a long stick in his hand and -vengeance in his eye, one of the boys is frightened by the approaching -step, but another is so absorbed in the game, that a nameless portion of -his body is about to sting under the chastising stroke. The next -exhibits a gentleman lover holding a skein of yarn for a buxom country -damsel. The next, is a _painted_ “concord of _sharp_ sounds.” In the -next, an artist is showing a country farmer a picture, which causes him -great delight. The next, portrays the garret of a disappointed bachelor, -seated before a fireless fireplace, and mourning over the departure of a -few clams, the shells of which are on the hearth at his feet. The four -remaining pictures are described in their titles. The man who could -paint such a variety of subjects, ought assuredly to be a good portrait -painter; and Mr. Mount is such. His portraits are only occasionally -executed, and for particular friends, and the former only when the -spirit moves him, for he is a creature of impulse. And besides, his -health has ever been of a delicate nature, which will not suffer him to -“bone” down to labor. This fact, I presume, will be a satisfactory -answer to those who are continually inquiring, “Why don’t Mount paint -more?” The pictures he has produced, admirable and numerous as they are, -are but as the bud to the fruit, when we consider his great capacity. I -hope that it may be his fortune to enjoy a long and happy life, and that -he may make many more additions to American art. - -_Doughty._ This gentleman has long been a favorite landscape painter -with the public, and has executed many exceedingly beautiful pictures, -principally of a fanciful character. In number they are too great, which -is his misfortune and not his fault. He has been obliged to paint at a -cheap price, or the public would have let him starve to death, as they -would any other artist, or a man of refined and exalted taste. And -having painted so much, it is not to be wondered at that many of his -productions should have been too hastily done, and that there should be -a sameness in his subjects. Finishing, as he generally does, with great -care, it always gratifies the eye to behold his pictures; but it is -obvious that he has never painted much from nature, for there is a -monotony in his touch, which cannot escape the criticism of the -attentive student of foliage. There are some, however, and very -important features too, in landscape painting, which are completely -mastered by Mr. Doughty, and in which he is without a rival, either in -Cole, Durand, or Huntington. His skies and water are the most true and -beautiful that we have ever seen. A carefully painted waterfall by -Doughty, is a picture of rare excellence and great value. His -atmospheres, too, are sometimes most exquisitely conceived and executed. -Good figures are the principal things wanting in his paintings to make -some of them nearly perfect, and his inability to paint them is -undoubtedly another reason for the sameness of his subjects. When a man -paints without a story or a moral in view, it is difficult to designate -his pictures; but our favorites among those of Mr. Doughty, are a large -“upright” with waterfall, an autumn scene, owned in Boston, another sold -to the Apollo Association, and a scene on Lake George. - -_Wier._ This gentleman is the accomplished teacher of drawing at the -Academy of West Point. The majority of his productions, which are -numerous, give evidence of his possessing extensive literary -acquirements, a refined mind, and brilliant imagination. He is the -author of a number of pleasing landscapes, the best of which, “Constable -Bourbon’s March to Rome,” has been illustrated by the pen of Gulian C. -Verplanck. The amusing pictures, called the “Boat Club,” and “St. -Nicholas,” have proven, that if he would attempt it, he might excel in -that department of the art occupied by Mount and Edmonds. But it is as -an historical painter, that his name will live, and is now mostly -celebrated. His drawing is remarkably correct, his coloring rich, and -his style of execution highly finished. Another qualification belonging -to his works, and one which makes us love the man, is, that they are -purely American. Who that has seen it, can ever forget his full-length -portrait of “Red Jacket,” the warrior and orator of the Senecas? Aside -from the noble subject, it is unquestionably the most faithful and -competent delineation of Indian character to be found; and who that has -ever seen the “Indian Captives,” by the same hand, has not mourned over -the fate of the much wronged Aborigines of our land, even as “brave men -mourn the brave?” In this painting, we have an Indian and his squaw, in -prison, and an English soldier warning them of their impending fate. -Although it is an intensely interesting scene, yet the painter has not -availed himself of a single “face divine,” which I fancy to be a -beautifully poetic idea, and could not be carried out but by a man of -genius. Mr. Wier is one of the four artists appointed by the General -Government to execute four paintings for the Rotunda at Washington. The -subject of his, is the “Departure of the Pilgrims from Leyden;” but as I -have not yet seen it, I am unable to express an opinion as to its -merits. - -_Inman._ The reputation of this gentleman as a portrait painter is very -extensive, and he has ever commanded a higher price than any other in -New York. His productions are very numerous, and there is not a single -branch of the art in which he has not made some successful attempts. His -coloring is rich and life-like, his style of execution exceedingly bold -and free. Painting as he does with great rapidity, we find that his -drawing is seldom as correct as it should be. He manifests a refined and -exalted taste in the arrangements of his portraits, and generally in his -miscellaneous designs. But, after all, he has painted some poor -pictures, and this is an evidence of the fact, that he is a man of -uncommon genius, and not talent. There is a wonderful spirit in his -heads, and unlike his rival, Page, he portrays the mind, which, after -all, is a greater triumph of art, and far more important in a portrait, -than the mere shell of humanity, as delineated by Page. His full-length -portrait of Macready, as William Tell, is a masterly performance, well -conceived, well colored, and well drawn; and among his miscellaneous -pictures, the most remarkable, are—“Rip Van Winkle,” “Bride of -Lammermoor,” “Mumble the Peg,” and “News-Boy;” all of them possessing -many peculiar beauties, with some glaring faults. Of his plain -portraits, I would mention only two as good specimens of his skill in -general, namely, those of Nicholas Biddle and Bishop White. I do not -deem it within the power of any man to go beyond these in portraying the -body of man and the soul within. Mr. Inman is also one of those artists -honored by a commission from the Government for a 10,000 dollar -painting. I understand that he is very far behind-hand in his great -undertaking. I know, however, that he has met with some sad misfortune, -which may be the cause; but I trust that he will soon be at work, and -may accomplish a national work worthy of his ability and his fame. - -_Ingham._ This gentleman is one of the most celebrated and unique of all -our portrait painters. His style is emphatically his own, and may be -designated as that of exquisite finishing. You can never discern the -traces of his pencil, and the reason is, he produces his effect by -successive glazing. His pictures are distinguished for their -transparency, richness of color, and harmony; and being a man of -sentiment and delicate feeling, he is the universal favorite among the -ladies, and probably the most faultless painter in this country of those -charming but incomprehensible creations of Heaven. His best productions -are the portraits of “Miss McNevin,” “Mr. Dunlap,” “Dr. Channing,” and -the “White Plume;” and as genuine works of art, are inferior to nothing -in the whole range of that department. That of Dr. Channing, is one of -the best specimens of soul painting that I have ever seen, and any one -familiar only with the writings of the great original, could not fail to -select this portrait as his, from the midst of a hundred of other men, -so full is it of expression, and so perfect and exalted is the effect of -the painter. Ingham is a man of genius as well as talent, a friend to -young artists, and an honor to American art. - -_Chapman._ All hail to this poetical and ready artist, and accomplished -gentleman, who has executed first-rate pictures in almost every -department of painting! His coloring is rather gaudy and paint-like, but -his drawing, when he takes pains, is correct and vigorous. His knowledge -of design is profound, and his conception of a picture is quick, and -always in admirable taste. He has been a devoted student of the old -masters, and copied more celebrated paintings than any other American. -Having been an extensive traveller throughout the United States, and -ever being on the lookout for valuable subjects to paint, and a lover of -historical lore, he has collected a large quantity of valuable -materials, the whole of which I hope he may live to embody in national -paintings. It was he who received the commission from Government to -paint the third picture (Vanderlyn is at work on the fourth) for the -Rotunda at Washington, and he has manfully fulfilled his obligation in -the execution of the “Baptism of Pocahontas.” Some of his other -prominent pictures, are “Hagar and Ishmael fainting in the wilderness,” -full length portrait of “David Crocket,” “Beppo,” “The First Ship,” a -large historical landscape representing “The Retreat from Fort -Necessity,” and a full length of “Washington in his youth.” These, -however, are but a small portion of what he has done, for he is one of -the most industrious men living. He is also a complete master of -sketching, and as he has a historical mind, his efforts of this kind are -very beautiful and very numerous. He is without a rival in this -lucrative branch of art, and for the past two years has mostly been -devoted to it, and is consequently a favorite among booksellers. He is a -lover of the “poor Indian,” and has done much toward perpetuating their -personal and national characteristics. Among the many things which now -occupy his time, is an American Drawing Book, which is what we very much -need in this country, and his I know will be a superb and valuable one -in every point of view. - -_Harvey._ This gentleman is a landscape painter of rare merit; but many -of his pictures, unfortunately for us, are owned in England. His -principal work, and one which places him in a very high rank, is Forty -Atmospheric Views in the United States, executed in watercolors, and in -a style of uncommon beauty. He is a good draftsman, and possesses a -remarkable eye for color, and everything from his pencil teems with -sentiment and poetry. His contemplated work of “American Scenery,” when -published after his own expensive plan, will be an invaluable -acquisition to our treasury of art, and I hope that it may be received -by the public with the favor it so richly deserves. - -Such is the array of painters, of which the emporium of America may well -be proud. Fame must ever attend their names, as surely as it is -attending those of West, Copley, Stuart, Allston, Jarvis, Trumbull, and -Malbone, among the dead; and Sully, King, Harding, Fisher, Neagle, -Morse, Vanderlyn, and Audubon, among the living of other -cities;—altogether making a company which would reflect honor on any -nation in the world. - - - - - A SONG OF MEMORY. - - -The din of the great world is hushed, and the vexatious cares, which -have occupied my mind during the day, are all dispelled; and again, for -a little while, I am left alone. The evening lamps are not yet lighted, -but the fire in the grate burns brightly, so that the shadows on the -wall are distinct and clear, but continually changing, even as my own -wayward thoughts. Wayward they are at all times, I confess, but most -strangely so when my spirit forgets the present, and the hereafter, and -holds communion with the realities of by-gone years. Time has not yet -set his signet on my brow, for it was but yesterday that my timid -footsteps crossed the threshold of manhood; so that the years gone by, -with me, are comprised in the budding and the blossoming seasons of -childhood and youth. But with these, what a world of joys and griefs, of -smiles and tears, are entwined, which the fond memory strangely delights -to recall. I know not how it is with others, but to me the voice of -memory is sometimes plaintive as the evening breeze, when sporting with -the flowers in the garden of the dead. I am even now listening to that -voice; and the burden of its song, I shall trace upon this page. - -It were not wise to “look mournfully into the past,” for we know that -“it comes not back again.” But it were well to ponder, deeply ponder, -the history of our past lives, and analyze the motives which have ever -influenced our conduct. How little can we remember, which will be of -service to us, when we are called to die. But how many things there are, -the remembrance of which inclines us to shed penitent tears, and heave -the sigh of regret. Ours is a frail and sinful nature; not a day passes -away, that does not take with it the record of many sins, which we have -committed in word, thought, and deed. - -How many unkind words have we spoken to our parents, who have chided us -for unworthy conduct; to a sister or brother, who have thwarted -us—unconsciously, perhaps, or for our own good, in our thoughtless and -head-strong desires; to some squalid beggar, whose misfortune it was to -solicit our aid, when we were perplexed with the cares of business, or -absorbed with some dream of opulence and renown; to a party of innocent -children, who have chanced to disturb our moroseness by a natural and -heartfelt shout of happiness and a laugh of joy; and even to our Maker, -in the form of an oath, when we have been disappointed in some of our -ambitious designs. Lightly spoken, it may be, were many of these words, -but they are not lightly considered by our Creator, as we shall know at -the judgment day. - -How many selfish thoughts have we cherished in our bosoms, which we knew -were desperately wicked, and which we would have blushed to proclaim; -thought of hate and revenge, of hypocrisy and pride, of envy and -sensuality. Do not the nature of these, and their great number, make us -ashamed to own ourselves the lords of the brute creation, creatures made -in the image of God? - -How many wicked and debasing deeds have we committed which we would fain -recall, or annihilate, but for which we must at last render a reasonably -excuse, or suffer, unless the recording angel in heaven should drop a -tear upon the page, where they are written down, and blot them out -forever. In a fit of anger we may have rudely struck a friend or -brother; we have flattered the unsuspecting only to deceive and make -them wretched; we have trifled with the misfortunes of the poverty -stricken, the deformed, and the ignorant; in a thousand ways we have -broken the commandments of our Lord and Saviour, and instead of God, we -have worshipped Baal; we have not loved our Bible, the holy sanctuary, -and the duty of prayer; we have misimproved our time, neglected many -opportunities for doing good, and instead of giving a portion of our -money to the poor heathen, who are perishing for the want of the bread -of life all over the world, we have spent it all in administering to our -own sensual gratifications. - -Yes, it is too true, and the recollection of it should make us humble -ourselves in the dust, that the words, thoughts, and deeds of our past -lives, which we have reason deeply to regret, are more in number than -the sands upon the sea-shore. But because they cannot be numbered, we -must not omit to remember and meditate upon them. We should use them as -a medicine, not in too great abundance, lest they make us sick, and not -too sparingly, less they produce not their desired effect. - -Unenviable indeed is the condition of that man, who can dwell upon his -moral character for a series of years, or even for a single week, and -not find much to mourn over and regret. Sin and sorrow are our -inheritance, and it is natural, therefore, and good for us, to have our -cheeks occasionally moistened by regretful tears. Sometimes, too, there -is a luxury in tears, which the breaking heart alone can know; and that -proud man who is ashamed to weep, deserves to have pointed at him the -finger of scorn. - -At the mention of that word regret, memory calls up a long array of -beings whom I once loved most tenderly, but who are gone away to a -country whence they can never return. Some had just pushed their little -bark upon the stream of time, which flowed onward with a murmur “soft, -gentle, and low,” and whose banks were covered with flowers. Some were -in the strength and buoyancy of youth; others in the full vigor of -manhood; and a few were tottering along, “wrinkled and bent, and white -with hoary hairs.” I knew them, I loved them, and they died. I regret -that they are gone, because they were the friends and counsellors of my -early days. Deeply, indeed, do I mourn their absence, but I would not, -even if I could, call them back again, for they have been transformed, -as I trust, into the glorious image of their Creator, and his bosom is -their home. In my hours of loneliness I am always strengthened by the -hope, that when I too shall have passed the troubled waves of Jordan, I -shall meet them again, and remain with them forever. O! yes, it is a -nameless feeling of regret that oppresses me when I think, that upon the -earth never more shall I listen to their voices, who once charmed my -ear, and look upon their smiles, who once gladdened my heart. But often -in my dreams do I behold them in their angelic robes, hovering in the -ethereal atmosphere of heaven, and they are always beckoning to me, and -pointing to a great white throne, whose foundations are everlasting. -They are calling me away, but I cannot go, for my earthly pilgrimage is -not yet ended. To secure the crown of Immortality, with which they -endeavor to allure me, is my chief ambition; and though a thousand -regrets are the burden of the song of Memory, yet I feel and hope that I -shall at last obtain it, through the mercy and love of my Redeemer. - -Lo! the voice of Memory is speaking to me in another tone, mournfully -pleasing to the soul. It is telling me of the morning of life, which was -cheerful as the singing of birds, and loving as the opening of spring, -when not a cloud arose to mar its beauty, or obscure the bright sun of -innocence and youth; when every sense was gratified, every flower was -sweet, and every rose without a thorn; when every kiss was a pledge of -affection, and every friend was true; and when my cheeks were blooming -with health, and my eyes beaming with joy. True, the sun has not yet -reached the meridian, but far different from those of the morning are -the associations of the early noon. Alas! it is with regret I remember -the truth, that “I am not now that which I have been.” Weary and heavy -laden as I am, my course is onward, and my heart is strong. - -Memory is telling me of my childhood’s home, the dearest and most lovely -spot on the face of the earth, and I regret that I can visit it only in -my dreams. It is telling me the thrilling legends which fascinated my -boyish imagination, when, with my bow and arrows, and clad in my hunting -garb, I used to visit the Indian villages of Michigan. The better I have -ever become acquainted with the red man of the wilderness, the more -deeply have I loved him, and the more highly have I honored his -character; and I regret that I cannot now, as of yore, chase with him -the bounding deer, and paddle the light canoe. I regret that he is an -exile and a stranger in the very land which gave him birth, and which, -by the laws of nations and of God, is rightfully his own. Memory is -telling me of those matchless lakes, Superior, Michigan, Huron, and -Erie, whose every inlet almost I have explored, and from many of whose -cliffs I have watched the most glorious of sunsets—those lakes with -whose waves in summer it was my delight to sport, and over whose -icy-plains in winter I took the lead in skating, and used to drive the -swift Canadian pacer in the swan-like carriole. Of those rivers, too, -the Detroit, the St. Clair, the St. Joseph, the Huron, and the Raisin, -in whose transparent waters I have often caught the sturgeon, the -pickerel, and the bass, and along whose borders I have hunted the plover -and the duck. Of those glorious forests, the homes of solitude and -silence, where I was wont to be so happy alone with my God. Of those -prairies, “boundless and beautiful, for which the speech of England has -no name,” where I used to wander in dreamy mood, gathering the richest -of flowers, with which to adorn the neck and forelock of my favorite -steed. These are but the beginnings of the innumerable scenes, which are -the themes of my memory. I regret that it is my lot to live so far -removed from all these things, which are fast passing away, and that my -pursuits compel me to live in a world of art, of business, and fashion. - -And now come the recollections of the past summer, which I have -attempted to commemorate in the foregoing letters. I know not with what -feelings you may have perused them, but to me they are very dear, on -account of the feelings and conceptions with which they are associated, -and these are a kind of treasure, that my heart cherishes as the miser -does his gold. Much of the time, during my various journeyings have I -been alone, and I have held a blessed communion with my mother -nature,—not only in the morning and at noon, but in the calm evening and -in the most holy night. Thou hast, O Nature, instructed me in the “magic -of thy mysteries,” and given my spirit an idea of its immortal destiny. -I thank thee for having, even in my infancy, consecrated my affections -to thy rational worship. Next to those of revealed religion are thy -consolations. Thou art the Empress of a world of poetry, and yet the -great human world is familiar only with thy name. Next to my Creator, -thou hast proven thyself my most faithful friend, and when I cease to -love thee as I now do, may my right hand forget its cunning, and the -silver cord of my life be forever loosened. In all my mortal pilgrimage -may I be influenced by thy teachings, so that when I come to be an -immortal, I may be fitted for a station at the footstool of God. - - - JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY - ARE PUBLISHERS OF - NOTES ON CUBA. - -Containing an account of its Discovery and Early History; a description - of the face of the country, its population, resources - and wealth, its institutions, and the manners and - customs of its inhabitants; with directions to - travellers visiting the Island. - - By A PHYSICIAN. - - 12mo. pp. 359. - -“The main purposes of this volume is to serve as a guide and a companion -to invalids, travellers, and others who may visit Cuba. There is no -other work of this character in the English language, nor in any -language is there a book which embraces the information which is -contained in this. The directions to travellers for their guidance, -comfort and conduct, are very full, and we may add, very necessary. Then -we have a methodical arrangement of matter which presents us with a -complete and exceedingly interesting narrative, seeming to anticipate -every question, and to draw a full picture of the country, of its -inhabitants, their employments and characteristics. The towns upon the -island, with its general scenery, curiosities and striking objects, are -described in full. The history, the geology, the government and commerce -of the island, are noticed at length, and present the results of an -evidently laborious investigation, and a faithful use of the eyes. The -resources which a traveller or visitor will find for occupying his time, -or for amusing himself, have their full share of space. The whole -volume, coming from a source which stamps it with a high authority, is a -valuable addition to our libraries, and will be much prized by those who -read it.”—_Christian Register._ - -“A well written, carefully printed, and instructive book, by a -Physician. No invalid who seeks the blissful climate of Cuba, should -leave home without this best of all guides and counsellors. We are -delighted with the valuable contribution which he has made to history, -as well as with the intelligence and good judgment he evinces as a -physician. In recommending the Notes on Cuba to medical readers and -voyagers, it would be unjust not to recommend it also to the whole -reading community.”—_Boston Medical Journal._ - -“Notes on Cuba, by an American Physician. This is a truly valuable and -interesting book, both to the invalid intending to visit Cuba in search -of health, and to the general reader, and supplies a gap in literature -which it is surprising has not long ago been filled. The work is well -written, and affords very pleasant reading. The author is known to us, -and we can assure the readers of the work that it is entirely authentic, -and entitled to the most entire confidence.”—_New Bedford Bulletin._ - - - JAMES MUNROE AND CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. - TWICE TOLD TALES. - By NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. - FIRST AND SECOND SERIES. - - 2 vols. 12mo., elegantly printed on clear type and fine paper, and - neatly bound in cloth, gilt. - -“To this little work we would say, ‘Live ever, sweet, sweet book.’ It -comes from the hand of a man of genius. Every thing about it has the -freshness of morning and of May. * * * * The book, though in prose, was -written by a poet. * * * A calm, thoughtful face seems to be looking at -you from every page. * * One of the most prominent characteristics of -these tales is, that they are national in their character. The author -has wisely chosen his themes among the traditions of New England. * * -Another characteristic of this writer is the exceeding beauty of his -style. It is as clear as running waters are. Indeed he uses words as -mere stepping-stones, upon which, with a free and youthful bound, his -spirit crosses and recrosses the bright and rushing stream of thought. * -* In speaking in terms of such high praise as we have done, we have -given utterance not alone to our own feelings, but we trust to those of -all gentle readers of the Twice Told Tales. Like children we say, ‘Tell -us more.’”—_North American Review._ - -“The Tales are worth _twice telling_ and a dozen readings.”—_Boston -Courier._ - -“A book like this, evincing a mind of such peculiar organization, may, -or may not become popular; but whether they read it or not, the public -may be assured, that in this unpretending volume by a countryman and -neighbor, they will find more of that which indicates thought in the -writer, and begets thought in the reader, than in nine-tenths of the -English reprints, which are so eagerly devoured.”—_Boston Daily -Advertiser._ - -“Mr. Hawthorne’s style is rich, refined, and graceful, and the present -volume is an ornament to the literature of our country.”—_Boston Atlas._ - -“This modest volume, which comes before us without preface, or any sort -of an appeal to the public regard, is well calculated to stand on its -own merits, and to acquire enduring popularity. The author possesses the -power of winning immediate attention, and of sustaining it, by a certain -ingenuous sincerity, and by the force of a style at once simple and -graceful. In all his descriptions, whether of scenes or emotions, nature -is his only guide. In short, in quiet humor, in genuine pathos, and deep -feeling, and in a style equally unstudied and pure, the author of ‘Twice -Told Tales’ has few equals, and with perhaps one or two eminent -exceptions, no superior in our country. We confidently and cordially, -therefore, commend the beautiful volume to the attention of our -readers.”—_Knickerbocker._ - - - - - * * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber’s note: - ---Added author's name on the title page. - ---Silently corrected a few obvious typographical errors. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS FROM A LANDSCAPE PAINTER*** - - -******* This file should be named 53942-0.txt or 53942-0.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/3/9/4/53942 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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} -p.sp { margin-left:2em; clear:both; } - -dl.gloss dt { display:block; } -dl.gloss dd { margin-left:6em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:justify; } - - h1.pg { margin-top: 0em; - font-size: 190%; } - h3.pg { font-size: 110%; } - h4.pg { font-size: 100%; } - hr.full { width: 100%; - margin-top: 3em; - margin-bottom: 0em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - height: 4px; - border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ - border-style: solid; - border-color: #000000; - clear: both; } -</style> -</head> -<body> -<h1 class="pg">The Project Gutenberg eBook, Letters from a Landscape Painter, by Charles -Lanman</h1> -<p>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States -and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no -restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at <a -href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you are not -located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this ebook.</p> -<p>Title: Letters from a Landscape Painter</p> -<p>Author: Charles Lanman</p> -<p>Release Date: January 11, 2017 [eBook #53942]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS FROM A LANDSCAPE PAINTER***</p> -<p> </p> -<h4 class="pg">This e-book was generously made available by FadedPage.com<br /> - (http://www.fadedpage.com)</h4> -<p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<div id="cover" class="img"> -<img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Letters from a Landscape Painter" width="584" height="784" /> -</div> -<div class="box"> -<h1>LETTERS -<br /><span class="smallest">FROM</span> -<br />A LANDSCAPE PAINTER.</h1> -<p class="center"><span class="smaller">BY THE AUTHOR OF</span> -<br /><span class="small">“ESSAYS FOR SUMMER HOURS.”</span> -<br /><span class="rubric">(<b><i>Charles Lanman</i></b>)</span></p> -<p class="tb small">Gentlemen, let not prejudice prepossess you. I confess my discourse -is like to prove suitable to my recreation,—calm and quiet. -<span class="lr"><span class="sc">Izaak Walton.</span></span></p> -<p class="tbcenter">BOSTON: -<br /><span class="small">JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY.</span> -<br /><span class="smaller">MDCCCXLV.</span></p> -</div> -<p class="center smaller">Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1844, by -<br /><span class="sc">Charles Lanman.</span> -<br />in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.</p> -<p class="center smaller">BOSTON: -<br /><span class="small">PRINTED BY THURSTON, TORRY AND CO.</span> -<br />31 Devonshire Street.</p> -<h2 class="eee">CRITICAL NOTICES -<br /><span class="small"><span class="smallest">OF</span></span> -<br /><span class="small">LANMAN’S “ESSAYS FOR SUMMER HOURS.”</span></h2> -<p class="center"><i>By John Neal, Esq.</i></p> -<p class="bq">“A book of two hundred and fifty pages, containing -some twenty essays or thereabouts,—and perhaps more,—upon -all sorts of pilgrimages: upon the woods and -the city, Morning and Evening, the Dying Year, Literature, -Mirth and Sadness, the Early Called, the Painter’s -Dream, &c., &c., &c.; written with great simplicity and -sweetness,—untainted with affectation, except in two or -three slight instances,—original, tender, and at times -absolutely touching.”</p> -<p class="center"><i>From the N. Y. Evening Post, Edited by W. C. Bryant.</i></p> -<p class="bq">“The volume, of which we have copied the title, is -composed of essays on various subjects, the fruit, as the -author tells us, of the leisure of last summer. They are -agreeably written, with a vein of poetic embellishment.”</p> -<p class="center"><i>From the Democratic Review.</i></p> -<p class="bq">“‘Essays for Summer Hours,’ is the title of a pleasing -little tome, by Charles Lanman, comprising a series -of sketches of American scenery, interspersed with poetical -allusions to incidents and characters which are very -harmoniously blended, and agreeably presented. We -hope this work will prove successful, and form the precursor -of many other contributions to our elegant literature -from the same pen.”</p> -<p class="center"><i>From the Southern Literary Messenger.</i></p> -<p class="bq">“This well printed, and handsome little volume, embraces -a series of eighteen essays; the most of them -founded in American scenery and associations. Some of -the topics are furnished by the West, the native place of -the young author; he has certainly done justice to the -fresh scenes that are spread out in that interesting portion -of the country. The talent of the writer is descriptive; -he has painted, with remarkable fidelity and beauty, -some of the most striking points of Western life. His -language is chaste and well selected; and many of the -moral reflections, growing out of the several subjects -which he has selected for his essays, are expressed in an -exceedingly interesting and even touching manner.”</p> -<p class="center"><i>From the Boston Miscellany.</i></p> -<p class="bq">“This a pleasant little volume of quiet Essays, written -by a warm lover of nature, and dealing principally -with descriptions of natural scenery, or the development -of simple feeling. The author has well characterized -them as reading ‘for summer hours.’ They neither furnish -deep thought, nor are the parent of it; and yet they -conduct the reader through pleasant places, in peaceful -and undisturbed meditative shades, without disturbing -him with paradoxical statements, or, often, with opinions -that his judgment or his taste rejects. The author appears -to have read a good deal, with discrimination and -sympathy, and,—as it is true that the more we know, the -more we learn from what we read of the best written efforts -of master-minds,—so the more a writer, especially -of this class of essays, has gathered from the already -accumulated stores of information and illustration, readier -will be his power to impress his own train of thought -upon his reader. Mr. Lanman appears to have had a peculiarly -apt sympathy and appreciation for his favorite -authors, and we consequently find that (which, although -artistically a fault, is no loss to the readers of his book,) -whenever he comes to the real depth of his subject, or to -a marked point either of argument or illustration, he flies -to quotation to express himself, and his quotations are in -general well selected and classical.”</p> -<p class="center"><i>From the London Literary Gazette.</i></p> -<p class="bq">“This is a second edition, and the matter well deserves -to run through many more; for we have met with nothing -of the kind in Transatlantic polite literature in which so -fresh and pure a spirit prevails. It is far away from the -worldly, trading, and money-making go-a-head passion, -which rules the multitude both there and here.”</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_iii">iii</div> -<h2 class="eee"><span class="smallest">TO THE</span><br /><span class="small">HON. GEORGE PERKINS MARSH,</span><br /><span class="smaller">BURLINGTON, VERMONT.</span></h2> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0"><span class="sc">My Dear Sir</span>,</p> -</div> -<p>To you, in testimony of my regard for you, as a -Statesman, a Scholar, and a Lover of the Fine Arts, -do I dedicate this little volume.</p> -<p>Had not my maiden effort in the world of letters -been received by the public with such marked favor, -I should not venture to publish again. The -same motives, however, which prompted the first, -have also prompted the present collection of my -productions, and I desire no other reward than the -one already bestowed upon me in the approving -smile of honest and sincere hearts.</p> -<p>As my title-page implies, I am now a professional -Landscape Painter, my inclinations having compelled -me to relinquish the “cotton trade and sugar -line,” and these letters, originally written to a literary -friend in New York, are but the offspring of -one who claims the only merit of being a lover of -<span class="pb" id="Page_iv">iv</span> -Nature and his fellow men. I confess myself to be -a creature of impulse, and each paper that I now -publish, I would have considered as a mere record -of my thoughts and feelings during the hour it may -have been indited. Having been a sojourner in -various portions of the country during the past summer, -in search of the picturesque, you must not be -surprised to find yourself one moment scrambling -through a mountain gorge, and the next on the -margin of the boundless sea. With this preliminary, -I lay aside my pen, and return to my palette and -pencils. -<span class="center">Your sincere friend,</span> -<span class="lr">CHARLES LANMAN.</span></p> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0"><span class="sc">New York</span>, Autumn of 1844.</p> -</div> -<div class="pb" id="Page_v">v</div> -<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> -<dl class="toc"> -<dt><a href="#c1">TROUTING AMONG THE CATSKILLS,</a> 1</dt> -<dt><a href="#c2">A SPRING DAY,</a> 19</dt> -<dt><a href="#c3">SOUTH PEAK MOUNTAIN,</a> 34</dt> -<dt><a href="#c4">A SLEEPLESS NIGHT,</a> 52</dt> -<dt><a href="#c5">COLE’S IMAGINATIVE PAINTINGS,</a> 64</dt> -<dt><a href="#c6">LAKE HORICON,</a> 83</dt> -<dt><a href="#c7">BURLINGTON,</a> 103</dt> -<dt><a href="#c8">TRIP TO PORTLAND,</a> 122</dt> -<dt><a href="#c9">MOOSEHEAD LAKE AND THE KENNEBECK,</a> 143</dt> -<dt><a href="#c10">LILLY LARNARD,</a> 157</dt> -<dt><a href="#c11">LOUIS L. NOBLE,</a> 172</dt> -<dt><a href="#c12">THE UNHAPPY STRANGER,</a> 190</dt> -<dt><a href="#c13">A WEEK IN A FISHING SMACK,</a> 197</dt> -<dt><a href="#c14">TRIP TO WATCH HILL,</a> 214</dt> -<dt><a href="#c15">OUR NEW YORK PAINTERS,</a> 233</dt> -<dt><a href="#c16">A SONG OF MEMORY,</a> 256</dt> -</dl> -<div class="pb" id="Page_1">1</div> -<h2 id="c1">TROUTING AMONG THE CATSKILLS</h2> -<p>Again am I in the country, where I shall -probably remain until the even-tide of the -year. The main object, as you know, in -my contemplated wanderings, will be to study -the “book of nature, opened wide,” with a -view of adding to my stock of materials for -future use in my profession. The first of -those letters, which I promised to write you -by way of recreation, I have now commenced, -and I wish you to understand, at the very -outset, that, as I have nothing in particular to -prove, my themes will be as variable as my -feelings; but I shall confine myself principally -to descriptions of natural scenery and personal -adventures.</p> -<p>My present stopping place is at an old Dutch -farm-house near Plauterkill Clove, under the -<span class="pb" id="Page_2">2</span> -shadow of the Catskill mountains. Since my -arrival here the weather has been rather chilly -for the season, so that I have not had much opportunity -to use the pencil, but I have already -noted some noble views, which I shall attempt -to portray in their summer garb. The consequence -is—independent of the fact that May -is the angler’s favorite month—I have been -practising my hand at trouting, in which art -you have reason to know I am somewhat of -an adept. How truly hath it been written by -good old Walton;—</p> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">Of recreation, there is none</p> -<p class="t0">So free as fishing is alone.</p> -<p class="t0">All other pastimes do no less,</p> -<p class="t0">Than mind and body both possess;</p> -<p class="t0">My <i>hands</i> alone my <i>work</i> can do,</p> -<p class="t0">So I can <i>fish</i> and <i>study</i> too.</p> -</div> -<p>Never, more deeply than now, have I felt -the wisdom of this thought, and never before -have I enjoyed this sport to such perfection, -whether you consider my success or the scenery -I have witnessed. My first excursion -was performed along the margin of a stream, -which rises about two miles off, out of a little -lake on the mountains. My guide and companion -<span class="pb" id="Page_3">3</span> -was a notorious hunter of these parts, -named Peter Hummel, whose services I have -engaged for all my future rambles among the -mountains. He is, without exception, the wildest -and rarest character I have ever known, -and would be a great acquisition to a menagerie. -He was born in a little hut at the -foot of South Peak, is twenty-seven years of -age, and has never been to school a day in his -life, or in his travels further away from -home than fifteen miles. He was <i>educated</i> -for a bark-gatherer, his father and several -brothers being engaged in the business; but -Peter is averse to commonplace labor, to anything, -in fact, that will bring money. When a -mere boy of five years, he had an inkling for the -mountains, and once had wandered so far, that -he was found by his father in the den of an -old bear, playing with her cubs. To tramp -among the mountains, with gun and dog, is -Peter’s chief and only happiness. He is probably -one of the most perfect specimens of a -hunter now living; and very few, I imagine, -could have survived the dangers to which he -has exposed himself. He seems to be one of -those iron mortals that cannot die with age -and infirmity,—or be killed by man, rock, or -<span class="pb" id="Page_4">4</span> -water; he must be shivered by a stroke of -lightning. Although one of the wildest of -God’s creatures, Peter Hummel is as amiable -and kind-hearted a man as ever lived. -He is an original wit withal, and shrewd and -very laughable are many of his speeches, and -his stories are the cream of romance and genuine -mountain poetry.</p> -<p>But to return. We started on our tramp at -an early hour, he with a trout-basket in his -hand, containing our dinner, and I with my -sketch-book and a “pilgrim staff.” After a -tiresome ascent of three hours at the almost -perpendicular side of a mountain, over ledges -and through gloomy ravines, we at last reached -the wished-for brook. All the day long were -we cheered by its happy song, as we descended, -now leaping from one deep pool to another, -and now scrambling over green-coated rocks, -under and around fallen trees, and along the -damp, slippery sides of the mountain, until we -reached its mouth on a plain, watered by a -charming river, and sprinkled with the rustic -residences of a sturdy Dutch yeomanry. We -were at home by sunset, having walked the -distance of twenty miles, and captured one -hundred and fifty trout, the most of which I -<span class="pb" id="Page_5">5</span> -distributed among the farm-houses in my way, -on my return.</p> -<p>On another occasion, I had taken my sketch-book -and some fishing tackle, and gone up -a mountain road, when, after having outlined -a few giant trees, whose bare arms were -extended upwards, as if they were praying to -be reclothed in their summer garniture, I found -myself on the banks of Schoharie Creek. In -the very first hole into which I peered, I discovered -a large trout, lying near the bottom, -just above a little bed of white sand, whence -rose the bubbles of a spring. It must have -been some thirty minutes, I think, that I stood -there against a tree, watching him with a -“yearning tenderness.” “He is so happy,” -thought I, “I will let him live.” Presently, -however, a beautiful fly lighted on the water, -which the greedy hermit swallowed in a minute, -and returned to his cool bed, with his conscience, -as I fancied, not one whit troubled by -what he had done. Involuntarily I began to -unwind my line, and having cut a pole, and -repeated to myself something about “diamond -cut diamond,” I baited my hook, and threw it -in. The rogue of a trout, however, saw me, -and scorned for a while to heed my bait. But I -<span class="pb" id="Page_6">6</span> -coaxed and coaxed, until at last he darted for -it, apparently out of mere spite. Something, -then, like a miniature water-spout arose, and -the monarch of the brook was in a fair way of -sharing the same fate which had befallen the -innocent fly. I learned a salutary lesson from -this incident, and as I had yielded to the temptation -of the brook, I shouldered my sketch-book, -and descended the stream. At noon I -reached a farm-house, where I craved something -to eat. A first-rate dinner was given -me, which was seasoned by many questions, -and some information, concerning trout. That -afternoon, in company with a little boy, I visited -a neighboring stream, called the Roaring -Kill, where I caught one hundred and sixty -fish. I then returned to the farm-house, and -spent the evening in conversation with my -new acquaintances. After breakfast, on the -following morning, I set out for home, and -got there about noon, having made two additions -to my sketches. Long shall I remember -the evening spent with this family, and their -hospitality towards an entire stranger. A good -husband, a good wife, and two good daughters, -have been added to my list of friends.</p> -<p>Another of my trouting pilgrimages was to -<span class="pb" id="Page_7">7</span> -a famous place called Stony Clove, among the -mountains of Shindaken, which are a continuation -of the Catskills, leading westward. It -is a deep perpendicular cut or gorge between -two mountains, from twenty to an hundred -feet in width, three thousand in depth, and -completely lined from base to summit by the -most luxuriant vegetation. It is watered by a -narrow but deep brook, which is so full of -trout, that some seven hundred were captured -by myself and two others in a single day. -When I tell you that this spot is only one -hundred miles from New York, you will be -surprised to hear that in its immediate vicinity -we saw no less than two bears, a doe with -two fawns, and a host of other less important -game. In some parts of it the sunshine never -enters, and cart loads of the purest ice may be -found there throughout the year. It is the loneliest -and most awful corner of the world that -I have ever seen,—none other I fancy could -make a man feel more utterly desolate. It is -a type of the valley of the shadow of death; -in single file did we have to pass through it, -and in single file must we pass into the grave. -To spend one day there, we had to encamp -two nights, and how we generally manage that -<span class="pb" id="Page_8">8</span> -affair I will tell you presently. In returning from -Stony Clove, we took a circuitous route and -visited the Mountain House. We approached -it by the way of the celebrated Catskill Fall, -which I will describe to you in the graphic -language of Cooper, as you may not remember -the passage in his Pioneer. “Why there’s -a fall in the hills, where the water of two little -ponds, that lie near each other, breaks out of -their bounds, and runs over the rocks into the -valley. The stream is, may be, such a one -as would turn a mill, if so useless a thing -was wanted in the wilderness. <i>But the Hand -that made that ‘Leap’ never made a mill!</i> -There the water comes croaking and winding -among the rocks, first so slow that a trout -might swim in it, and then starting and running, -just like any creature that wanted to -make a fair spring, till it gets to where the -mountain divides, like the cleft foot of a deer, -leaving a deep hollow for the brook to tumble -into. The first pitch is nigh two hundred feet, -and the water looks like flakes of snow afore -it touches the bottom, and then gathers itself -together again for a new start, and, may be, -flutters over fifty feet of flat rock, before it -falls for another hundred, where it jumps from -<span class="pb" id="Page_9">9</span> -shelf to shelf, first turning this way and that -way, striving to get out of the hollow, till it -finally comes to the plain.”</p> -<p>Our party on this occasion consisted of -three,—Peter Hummel, a bark-gatherer, and -myself. I had chosen these fellows for the -expedition, because of their friendship for me -and their willingness to go, and I now resolved -to give them a treat at the “Grand Hotel,” -which the wild fellows in their ignorance had -ever looked upon as a kind of paradise. You -are aware, I suppose, that the Mountain House -is an establishment vieing in its style of accommodations -with the best hotels of the city. -Between it and the Hudson there is, during -the summer, an hourly line of stages, and it is -the transient resort of thousands, who go there -for the novelty of the scenery. The edifice -itself stands on a cliff, within a few feet of the -edge, and commands a most magnificent prospect, -extending from Long Island Sound to -the Green and White mountains. The first -time I was there, I spent half the night at my -bedroom window, watching the fantastic performances -of a thunder-storm far below me, -which made the building tremble like a leaf, -and reminded me of Milton’s description of -<span class="pb" id="Page_10">10</span> -hell; while the sky above was cloudless, and -studded with stars. Between this spot and -South Peak, “there’s the High Peak and the -Round Top, which lay back, like a father and -mother among their children, seeing they are -far above all the other hills.”</p> -<p>But to proceed. Coarsely and comically -dressed as we were, we made a very unique -appearance as we paraded into the office of -the hotel. I met a few acquaintances there, -to whom I introduced my comrades, and in a -short time each one of them was spinning a -mountain legend to a crowd of astonished and -delighted listeners. In due time I ushered -them into the dining-room, where was enacted -a scene which can be better imagined than -described. A Chinese in Victoria’s drawing-room, -would not be more completely out of -his element, or be the cause of heartier laughter, -than were these men among the soup, -ice-creams, and silver forks of the “Yankee -Palace,” as the house has been christened by -the Dutch under the mountains.</p> -<p>About the middle of the afternoon we commenced -descending the beautiful mountain -road, and a jolly time we had of it, I assure -you. A little while before there had been a -<span class="pb" id="Page_11">11</span> -heavy shower, and a thousand happy rills -attended us with a song. A delightful nook -on this road is pointed out as the identical -spot where Rip Van Winkle slept away a score -of his life. I reached home in time to spend -the twilight hour in my room, musing upon -the solemn and much loved mountains. I had -but one companion, and that was a sweet -whip-poor-will, which nightly comes to my -window sill, to tell me a tale of its love or -of the woods and solitary wilderness.</p> -<p>But the most unique and interesting of my -fishing adventures, remains to be described. -I have heard a great deal about a certain lake -among the mountains, (the same alluded to -above,) and I desired to visit it, and spend a -night upon its shore. Having again spoken to -Peter Hummel, and invited a neighbor to accompany -us, whom they call White Yankee, -the noon-tide hour of last Thursday found us -on our winding way. And such a grotesque -appearance as we made, would have caused -you to laugh most heartily, I am sure. The -group was mostly <i>animated</i>, when climbing -the steep and rocky ravines which we were -compelled to pass through. There was Peter, -“long, lank, and lean,” and wild in his attire -<span class="pb" id="Page_12">12</span> -and countenance as an eagle of the wilderness, -with an axe in his hand, and a huge knapsack -on his back, containing our provisions and -utensils for cooking. Next to him followed -White Yankee, with three blankets lashed -upon his back, a slouched white hat on his -head, and a half pound of tobacco in his -mouth. Crooked legged withal, and somewhat -sickly was this individual, and being -wholly unaccustomed to this kind of business, -he went along groaning, grunting, and sweating, -as if he was “sent for, and <i>didn’t want</i> -to come.” In the rear trotted along your humble -friend, with a gun upon his shoulder, a -powder-horn and shot-pouch at his side, cowhide -boots on his feet, and a cap on his head—his -beard half an inch long, and his long hair -streaming in the wind.</p> -<p>We reached our place of destination about -five o’clock, and halted under a large impending -rock, which was to be our sleeping place. -We were emphatically under the “shadow of -a rock, in a weary land.” Our first business was -to build a fire, which we did with about one cord -of green and dry wood. Eighty poles were then -cut, to which we fastened our lines. The old -canoe in the lake was bailed out, and, having -<span class="pb" id="Page_13">13</span> -baited our hooks with the small fish which -we brought with us, we arranged the poles -around the lake, in about seven feet water. -We then prepared and ate our supper, and -awaited the coming on of night. During this -interval, I learned from Peter the following -particulars concerning the lake. It was originally -discovered by a hunter named Shew, -after whom it has always been called. It was -estimated to cover about fifty acres, and, in -some places, to be more than two hundred feet -in depth. For my part, however, I should have -said that it did not contain five acres, but the -mountains, which lower above it on every -side, are calculated to deceive the eye; but, -as to its depth, I could fancy it to be bottomless, -for the water is apparently as black as ink. -To the number of trout in it there seems to -be no end. It is supposed they reach it, when -small, through the brook already mentioned, -when they increase in size, and multiply. -Peter says he caught one there once which -weighed a little over five pounds, and a -speckled, common trout, too. It also abounds -in green and scarlet lizards, which would be a -serious drawback to the pleasures of the fastidious. -I asked Peter many questions concerning -<span class="pb" id="Page_14">14</span> -his adventures about this lake, and he told -me that the number of “harmless murders” -which he had committed here were two or -three hundred. In one day, he shot three -deer; at another time, a dozen turkeys; at -another, twenty ducks; one night, an old -bear; and again, half a dozen coons; and, on -one occasion, annihilated a den of thirty-seven -rattlesnakes. This will give you some idea of -the stories which I hear from this man; but -you cannot conceive the peculiar enjoyment -they afford me: it is because they are associated -with my “boyhood’s home,”—my wilderness -home, in my much-loved Michigan.</p> -<p>At nine o’clock, we lighted a torch and -went to examine our lines; and it was my -peculiarly good fortune to haul out not less -than forty-one trout, weighing from one to -two pounds a-piece. Now, if this wasn’t -sport, I should like to know what is? These -we put into a spring of the coldest water I -ever tasted, and then “laid down in our -loneliness,” as Coleridge would have said on -the occasion. Branches of hemlock constituted -our couch, and my station was between -Peter and White Yankee. Little did I dream, -when I first saw these two bipeds, that I should -<span class="pb" id="Page_15">15</span> -ever have them for my bedfellows. But -who, alas! can always have the bedfellow he -desires? Think you that we could not sleep -soundly in that lap of the forest, between the -sheltering rock and the roaring fire? Yea, -my friends were in the land of Nod in less -than a dozen minutes; but it was hard for -me to go to sleep, tired as I was, in the midst -of such a scene. There I lay, flat upon my -back, a stone and my cap for a pillow, wrapt -up in my blanket, with nothing but my nose -and eyes exposed to the chilly night air. Oh! -what pictures did my fancy conjure up, as I -looked upon the army of trunks around me, -glistening in the fire-light. One moment they -were a troop of Indians from the spirit-land, -come to revisit again the hunting-grounds of -their fathers, and weeping that the white man -had desecrated their soil; and again, I fancied -them to be a congress of wild animals, assembled -together to try, execute, and devour us, -for the depredations our fellows had committed -upon their kind for the last one hundred -years. By and by, a star peered upon me -from between the branches of a tree, and my -thoughts ascended heavenward. And now, -<span class="pb" id="Page_16">16</span> -my eyes twinkled and blinked in sympathy -with the star, and I was a dreamer.</p> -<p>An hour after the witching time of night, I -was startled from my sleep by a bellowing -halloo from Peter, who said it was time to -examine the lines again. Had you heard the -echoes which were then awakened, far and -near, you would have thought yourself in -enchanted land. But there were <i>living</i> answers -to that shout, for a frightened fox began -to bark; an owl commenced its horrible hootings; -a partridge its drumming; and a wolf -its howl. There was not a breeze stirring, and</p> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“Nought was seen, in the vault on high,</p> -<p class="t0">But the moon, and the stars, and a cloudless sky,</p> -<p class="t0">And a river of white in the welkin blue.”</p> -</div> -<p>Peter and Yankee went out to haul in the -trout, but I remained on shore, to attempt a -drawing, by moonlight, of the lake before me. -The opposite side of the mountain, with its -dark tangled forest, was perfectly mirrored in -the waters below, the whole seeming as solid -and variegated as a tablet of Egyptian marble. -The canoe with its inmates noiselessly pursued -its way, making the stillness more profound. -In the water at my feet I distinctly -<span class="pb" id="Page_17">17</span> -saw lizards sporting about, and I could not but -wonder why such creatures were created. -I thought, with the Ancient Mariner,</p> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“A thousand slimy things lived on,</p> -<p class="t0">And so did I.”</p> -</div> -<p>Again we retired to rest, and slept till day-break. -We visited our hooks once more, and -took them up, and found that we had one -hundred and two trout, averaging more than a -pound a-piece. We then partook of a substantial -breakfast of this delicious fish, which -were cooked by me as well as anybody could -do it, and, having gathered up our plunder, -started for home.</p> -<p>The accidents we met with during the -night were harmless, though they might have -proved serious. A paper of Locofoco matches, -which Peter carried in his breeches pocket, -took fire, and gave him such a scorching that -he bellowed lustily. White Yankee, in his -restless slumber, rolled so near our watch-fire, -that he barely escaped with one corner of his -blanket, the remainder having been consumed. -As for me, I only got pitched into the water -up to my middle, while endeavoring to reach -the end of a log which extended into the -<span class="pb" id="Page_18">18</span> -lake. In descending the mountain, I shot three -partridges, and confoundedly frightened a fox, -and by noon was in my snug studio, commencing -a picture from one of my last sketches.</p> -<p>But lo! my candle is flickering in the socket, -and I must say, Good night!</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_19">19</div> -<h2 id="c2">A SPRING DAY</h2> -<p>May is near its close, and I am still at work -in the valley of the Hudson. Spring is indeed -come again, and this, for the present year, has -been its day of triumph. The moment I -awoke, at dawn, this morning, I knew by intuition -that it would be so, and I bounded -from my couch like a startled deer, impatient -for the cool delicious air. Spring is upon the -earth once more, and a new life is given me -of enjoyment and hope. The year is in its -childhood, and my heart clings to it with a -sympathy, that I feel must be immortal and -divine. What I have done to-day, I cannot -tell: I only know that my body has been -tremulous with feeling, and my eyes almost -blinded with seeing. Every hour has been -fraught with a new emotion of delight, and -presented to my vision numberless pictures of -<span class="pb" id="Page_20">20</span> -surpassing beauty. I have held communion -with the sky, the mountains, the streams, the -woods, and the fields: and these, if you please, -shall be themes of my present letter.</p> -<p>The sky! It has been of as deep an azure, -and as serene, as ever canopied the world. It -seemed as if you could look <i>through</i> it, into -the illimitable home of the angels—could -almost behold the glory which surrounds the -Invisible. Three clouds alone have attracted -my attention. One was the offspring of the -dawn, and encircled by a rim of gold; the -next was the daughter of noon, and white as a -pearl; and the last, of evening, and robed in -deepest crimson. Wayward and coquettish -creatures were these clouds! Their chief ambition -seemed to be to display their charms to -the best advantage, as if conscious of their -loveliness; and, at sunset, when the light lay -pillowed on the mountains, it was a joyous -sight to see them, side by side, like three -sweet sisters, as they were, <i>going home</i>. Each -one was anxious to favor the world with its -own last smile, so that, by their changing -places so often, you would have thought they -were all unwilling to depart. But they were -the ministers of the Sun, and he would not -<span class="pb" id="Page_21">21</span> -tarry for them; and, while he beckoned them -to follow on, the Evening Star took his station -in the sky, and bade them depart: and -when I looked again, they were gone. Never -more, thought I, will those clouds be a source -of joy to a human heart. And in this respect, -also, they seemed to me to be the emblems of -those beautiful but thoughtless maidens, who -spend the flower of youth trifling with the -affections of all whom they have the power to -fascinate.</p> -<p>The mountains! In honor of the season -which has just clothed them in the richest -green, they have displayed every one of their -varied and interesting charms. At noon, as I -lay under the shadow of a tree, watching -them “with a look made of all sweet accord,” -my face was freshened by a breeze. It -seemed to come from the summit of South -Peak, and to be the voice of the Catskills. I -listened, and these were the words which -echoed through my ear.</p> -<p>“Of all the seasons, oh, Spring! thou art -the most beloved, and to us, always the most -welcome. Joy and gladness ever attend thy -coming, for we know that the ‘winter is past, -the rains are over and gone, the time of the -<span class="pb" id="Page_22">22</span> -singing of birds is come, and the voice of the -turtle is heard in our land.’ And we know, -too, that from thy hands flow unnumbered -blessings. Thou softenest the earth, that the -husbandman may sow his seed, which shall -yield him a thousand fold at the harvest. -Thou releasest the rivers from their icy fetters, -that the wings of commerce may be unfurled -once more. Thou givest food to the cattle -upon a thousand hills, that they, in their turn, -may furnish man with necessary food, and -also assist him in his domestic labors. Thou -coverest the earth with a garniture of freshest -loveliness, that the senses of man may be -gratified, and his thoughts directed to Him -who hath created all things, and pronounced -them good. And, finally, thou art the hope of -the year, and thine admonitions, which are of -the future, have a tendency to emancipate the -thoughts of man from this world, and the -troubles which may surround him here, and -fix them upon that clime where an everlasting -spring abides.” “The voice in my dreaming -ear melted away,” and I heard the roaring of -the streams as they fretted their way down -the rocky steeps.</p> -<p>The streams! Such “trumpets” as they -<span class="pb" id="Page_23">23</span> -have, blown to-day, would, I am afraid, have -caused Mr. Wordsworth to exclaim:</p> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“The cataracts—<i>make a devilish noise up yonder</i>.”</p> -</div> -<p>The fact is, “all the earth is gay,” and all the -springs among the mountains “giving themselves -up to jollity,” the streams are full to -overflowing, and rush along with a “vindictive -looseness,” because of the burden they -have to bear. The falls and cascades, which -make such exquisite pictures in the summer -months, are now fearful to behold, for, in their -anger, every now and then they toss some -giant tree into an abyss of foam, which makes -one fear the effects of an earthquake. But, -after the streams have left the mountains, -and are running through the bottom lands, -they still seem to be displeased at something, -and at <i>every turn</i> they take, <i>delve</i> into the -“bowels of the harmless earth,” making it -dangerous for the angler to approach too near, -but rendering the haunt of the trout more spacious -and commodious than before. The -streams are about the only things I cannot -praise to-day, and I hope it will not <i>rain</i> for a -month to come, if this is the way they intend -to act whenever we have a number of delightful -showers.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_24">24</div> -<p>The woods! A goodly portion of the day -have I spent in one of their most secret -recesses. I went with Shakspeare under my -arm, but could not read, any more than fly, so -I stretched myself at full length on a huge -log, and kept a sharp look-out for anything -that might send me a waking dream. The -brotherhood of trees clustered around me, -laden with leaves just bursting into full maturity, -and possessing that delicate and peculiar -green, which lasts but a single day, and -never returns. A fitful breeze swept through -them, so that ever and anon I fancied a gushing -fountain to be near, or that a company of -ladies fair were come to visit me, and that I -heard the rustle of their silken kirtles. And -now my eyes rested on a tree, that was entirely -leafless, and almost without a limb. Instead -of grass at its foot, was a heap of dry leaves, -and not a bush or vine grew anywhere near it, -but around its neighbors they grew in great -abundance. It seemed branded with a curse, -alone, forsaken of its own, and despised -by all. Can this, thought I, be an emblem of -any human being? Strange that it should be, -but it is nevertheless too true. Only one week -ago, I saw a poor miserable maniac, bound -<span class="pb" id="Page_25">25</span> -hand and foot, driven from “home and all its -treasures,” and carried to a dark, damp prison-house -in a neighboring town. We can be -reconciled to the mystery of a poisonous reptile’s -existence, but it is very hard to understand -for what good purpose a maniac is created. -But to return. Another object I -noticed, was a little tree about five feet high, -completely covered with blossoms of a gaudy -hue. At first, I tried to gather something -poetical out of this thing, but could not to -save my life. It caused me a real hearty laugh -as the idea expanded, for it reminded me of a -certain maiden lady of my acquaintance, who -is <i>old</i>, <i>stunted</i>, very fond of <i>tall men</i>, and -always strutting round under a weight of -<i>jewelry</i>. But oh, what beautiful flowers did I -notice in that shady grove, whose whispering -thrilled me with delight! Their names? I -cannot tell them to you—they <i>ought</i> to have -no names, any more than a cloud or a foam-bell -on the river. Some were blue, some -white, some purple, and some scarlet. There -were little parties of them on every side, and -as the wind swayed their delicate stems, I -could not but fancy they were living creatures, -the personified thoughts perhaps of happy and -<span class="pb" id="Page_26">26</span> -innocent children. Occasionally, too, I noticed -a sort of straggler peeping at me from -beside a hillock of moss, or from under the -branches of a fallen tree, as if surprised at my -temerity in entering its secluded haunt. Birds -also were around me in that greenwood sanctuary, -singing their hymns of praise to the -Father of mercies for the return of spring. -The nests of the females being already built, -they had nothing to do but be happy, anticipating -the time when they themselves should -be the “dealers-out of some small blessings” -to their own dear helpless broods. As to their -mates, they were about as independent, restless -and noisy as might be expected, very -much as any rational man would be who -was the husband of a young and beautiful -wife.</p> -<p>But the open fields to-day have superabounded -with pictures to please and instruct -the mind. I know not where to begin to describe -them. Shall it be at the very threshold -of our farm-house? Well, then, only look -at those lilac trees in the garden, actually top-heavy -with purple and white flowering pyramids. -The old farmer has just cut a number -of large branches, and given them to his little -<span class="pb" id="Page_27">27</span> -daughter to carry to her mother, who will distribute -them between the mantel-piece, the -table, and the fire-place of the family sitting-room. -But what ambrosial odor is that which -now salutes the senses? It comes not from -the variegated corner of the garden, where the -tulip, the violet, the hyacinth, the blue bell, -and the lily of the valley are vieing to outstrip -each other in their attire; nor, from that -clover-covered lawn, besprinkled with buttercups, -dandelions, strawberry blossoms, and -honeysuckles; but from the orchard, every -one of whose trees are completely covered with -snow-white blossoms. And from their numberless -petals, emanates the murmur of bees, -as they are busy extracting stores of honey. -Oh, what an abundance of fruit—of apples, -cherries, peaches, and pears, do these sweet -blossoms promise! But, next week there <i>may</i> -be a bitter <i>frost</i>; and this is the lesson which -my heart learns. Now that I am in the spring-time -of life, my hopes, in number and beauty, -are like the blossoms of trees, and I know not -but they may even on the morrow be withered -by the chilly breath of the grave. But let us -loiter farther on. The western slope of this -gentle hill is equally divided, and of two different -<span class="pb" id="Page_28">28</span> -shades of green; one is planted with -rye, and the other with wheat. The eastern -slope of the hill has lately been loosened by -the plough, and is of a sombre color, but to -my eye not less pleasing than the green. And -this view is enlivened with figures besides—for -a farmer and two boys are planting corn, -the latter opening the bed with their hoes, and -the farmer dropping in the seed (which he carries -in a bag slung at his side), and pushing it -with his foot. And now, fluttering over their -heads is a roguish bob-o-link, <i>scolding</i> about -something in their <i>wake</i>, at a <i>respectful</i> distance, -and hopping along the ground are a -number of robins, and on the nearest fence a -meadow-lark and bluebird are “holding on -for a bite.” But there is no end to these rural -pictures, so I will just take you into this -neighboring meadow-pasture, then into the -poultry yard at home, and conclude my present -epistle.</p> -<p>Here we are, then, in the midst of various -domestic animals. Yonder, a couple of black -colts are chasing each other in play, while -their venerable mother (for they are brothers, -though not twins) is standing a little way off, -watching their antics, and twisting about her -<span class="pb" id="Page_29">29</span> -ears, as she remembers the happy days of her -own colthood. Here are some half dozen -hearty cows, lying down and grazing, each one -with a “pledge of affection” sporting about -her. There are six or eight oxen, eating -away as fast as they can, while one, who -seems to be a sentinel, occasionally rolls up -his eye to see if the farmer is coming to -renew his song of “haw! gee! gee! haw!” -Under the shadow of that old oak, whose <i>portrait</i> -I mean to take to-morrow, is a flock of -sheep, with their lambs bounding beside them, -as to the “tabor’s sound;” but to me there -comes no “thought of grief” at the sight, -wherein I must be suffered to disagree with -Wordsworth, to whom I have already alluded -once or twice, and whose celebrated and most -wonderful ode has been echoing in my heart -all the day long. Some of the lines in it are -appropriate to the day, the charms of which I -am attempting to make you <i>feel</i>, and you -will oblige me by reading and inwardly digesting, -for the hundredth time, as I know it -will be, the following fragments of a whole, -and yet really complete poems:—</p> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“The sunshine is a glorious birth.”</p> -</div> -<hr class="short" /> -<div class="pb" id="Page_30">30</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“The winds come to me from the fields of sleep.”</p> -</div> -<hr class="short" /> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“And the babe leaps up on his mother’s arm.”</p> -</div> -<hr class="short" /> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own.”</p> -</div> -<hr class="short" /> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“Full soon thy soul shalt have her earthly freight,</p> -<p class="t0">And custom lie upon thee with a weight,</p> -<p class="t0">Heavy as fate, and deep almost as life.”</p> -</div> -<hr class="short" /> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“O joy, that in our embers</p> -<p class="t">Is something that doth live,</p> -<p class="t0">That nature yet remembers</p> -<p class="t">What was so fugitive.”</p> -</div> -<hr class="short" /> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“To me, the meanest flower that blows, can give</p> -<p class="t0">Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.”</p> -</div> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>Strange, that an immortal man, after dwelling -upon such poetry, should be willing -to go into a <i>poultry</i> yard. But why not? I -should rather do this <i>willingly</i>, than be compelled, -as I have been, and may be again, to -hear a man say, after reading to him Wordsworth’s -great Ode—“Why! of what <i>use</i> is -such <i>stuff</i> as that? what does it <i>prove</i>? will -it furnish a man with <i>bread and butter</i>? will -it make the <i>pot boil</i>?” The people of the -poultry yard have been in such glee to-day, -and contributed so much to the gladness of -the day, that I must pay them a passing tribute. -<span class="pb" id="Page_31">31</span> -In the first place, our old gobbler, with -his retinue of turkey wives, has been on the -point of bursting with pride ever since sunrise. -If the Grand Sultan of Turkey (who must be -the father of all turkeys) cuts the same kind -of capers in the presence of his hundred ladies, -that must be a great country for lean people -to “laugh and grow fat.” Our <i>ring-tailed</i> -gobbler is a feathered personification of Jack -Falstaff, possessing his prominent trait of -cowardice to perfection. I flourished a red -handkerchief in his face this morning, and, -by the way he strutted round and gobbled, -you would have thought he was going to -devour you. About ten minutes after this, -I threw down a handful of corn, which was -intended for him. While he was busy picking -it up, a certain rooster stept along side and -commenced picking too: the intruder, having -got in the way of the gobbler, was suddenly -pushed aside; whereupon the gentleman with -spurs chuckled and “showed fight,” but -the gobbler for a moment heeded him not. -This the rooster could not bear, so he pounced -upon his enemy, and whipt him without -mercy, until the coward and fool ran away, -with his long train of affectionate wives following -behind.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_32">32</div> -<p>The roosters, hens and chickens, which -have figured in the yard to-day, would more -than number a hundred, and such cackling, -crowing, chuckling, and crying as they have -made, was anything but a “<i>concord</i> of sweet -sounds.” But the creatures have been happy, -and it was therefore a pleasure to look at -them. A young hen this morning made her -first appearance with a large brood of chickens, -yellow as gold, and this caused quite a sensation -among the feathered husbands generally. -The mother, as she rambled about, seemed -to say by her pompous air, to her daughterless -friends—“ar’nt they beautiful? don’t you -wish you had a few?” It was also very funny -to see with what looks of astonishment the -youthful roosters surveyed these “infant phenomenons.” -As to our ducks, and geese, and -guinea hens, they have minded their business -pretty well—the two former paddling about -the creek and mud-puddles, and the latter -“between meals” roaming at large through -the orchard and garden, altogether the most -beautiful and rational of the feathered tribes.</p> -<p>A mountaineer, who is to take this letter -to the post-office, is waiting for me below, -and I must close,—hoping that the country -<span class="pb" id="Page_33">33</span> -figures I have endeavored to sketch may -have a tendency to make you feel a portion -of that joy, which has characterized this delightful -Spring Day.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_34">34</div> -<h2 id="c3">SOUTH PEAK MOUNTAINS.</h2> -<p>I commence this letter in the language of -Leather-Stocking: “You know the Catskills, -lad, for you must have seen them on your -left, as you followed the river up from York, -looking as blue as a piece of clear sky, and holding -the clouds on their tops, as the smoke curls -over the head of an Indian chief at a council-fire.” -Yes, everybody is acquainted with the -name of these mountains, but few with their peculiarities -of scenery. They are situated about -eight miles from the Hudson, rise to an average -elevation of thirty-eight hundred feet, and -running in a straight line from north to south, -cover a space of some twenty-five miles. The -fertile valley on the east is as beautiful as heart -could desire, watered by the Catskill, Plauterkill, -and Esopus Creeks, inhabited by a sturdy -Dutch yeomanry, and is the mother of those -three most flourishing towns, Catskill, Saugerties, -<span class="pb" id="Page_35">35</span> -and Kingston. The upland on the west, -for some thirty miles, is rugged, dreary, and -thinly settled, but the winding valley of Schoharie, -beyond, is possessed of a thousand -charms peculiarly American. The mountains -themselves are covered with dense forests, -abounding in cliffs and waterfalls, and for the -most part untrodden by the footsteps of men. -Looking at them from the Hudson, the eye is -attracted by two deep hollows, which are -called “cloves.” That one nearest to the -Mountain House, Catskill Clove, is distinguished -for a remarkable fall, which is familiar -to the world through the pen of Bryant and -the pencil of Cole; but it is fast filling up with -habitations of improvement, while the other, -Plauterkill Clove, though yet possessing much -of its original glory, is certain of the same -destiny. The clove whence issues the Esopus -is among the Shandaken mountains, and is not -visible from the Hudson.</p> -<p>My nominal residence at the present time is -at the mouth of Plauterkill Clove. I came -into the country to study,—to forget the busy -world, and give myself up entirely to the hallowing -influences of nature, and oh, how -many “mysteries sublime,” has she revealed -<span class="pb" id="Page_36">36</span> -to me in my journeyings among the dear, dear -Catskills!</p> -<p>To the west, and only half a mile from, my -abode, are the beautiful mountains, whose -graceful outlines fade away to the north, like -the waves of the sea when covered with a -<i>visible</i> atmosphere. The nearest, and to me -most beloved of these, is called South Peak. -It is nearly four thousand feet in height, and -covered from base to summit by one vast -forest of trees, varying from eighty to a hundred -feet. Like most of its brethren, it is a -perfectly wild and uncultivated wilderness, -richly abounding in all the interesting features -of mountain scenery. Like a corner stone, -it stands at the junction of the northern and -western ranges of the Catskills, and as its -huge form looms up against the evening -sky, it inspires one with awe, as if it were the -ruler of the world; and yet I have learned to -love it as a friend. Its name, its image, and -every tree, and shrub, and vine, which spring -from its rocky bosom, can never be forgotten. -I have reflected upon it when reposing in the -noontide sunshine, or enveloped in clouds, -when holding communion with the most -holy night, when trembling under the influence -<span class="pb" id="Page_37">37</span> -of a thunder-storm, or encircled by a -rainbow. It has filled my soul with images -of beauty and sublimity, and made me feel the -omnipotence of God.</p> -<p>A day and night has it just been my privilege -to spend on this mountain, accompanied by a -friend. We started at an early hour yesterday -morning, equipped in our brown fustians, and -laden with well-filled knapsacks, one of us -with a hatchet in his belt, and the other with -a brace of pistols. We were bound to the -extreme summit of the peak, where we intended -to spend the night, see the rising of the -sun, and return at our leisure on the following -day. But when I tell you, my friend, that -our course lay right up the almost perpendicular -side of the mountain, where was no path -save that formed by a torrent or a bear, you -will readily believe it was somewhat rare and -wild. But this was what we delighted in, so -we shouted “Excelsior,” and commenced the -ascent. The air was excessively sultry, and -the very first effort we made caused the perspiration -to start most profusely; upward, upward, -was our course,—now climbing through -a tangled thicket, or under the spray of a -cascade, and then again supporting ourselves -<span class="pb" id="Page_38">38</span> -by the roots of saplings, or scrambling under a -fallen tree,—now, like the samphire gatherer, -scaling a precipice, and then again clambering -over a rock, or “shinning” up a hemlock -tree, to reach a desired point. Our first halt -was made at a singular spot called “Hunter’s -Hole,” which is a spacious cavern or pit, forty -feet deep and twenty wide, and approached -only by a crack in the mountain sufficiently -large to admit a man. There is a story -connected with it worth recording. Many -years ago, a farmer, residing at the foot of the -mountain, having missed a favorite dog, and -being anxious for his safety, called together -his neighbors, and offered a reward for the -safe return of his canine friend. Always -ready to do a kind deed, a number of his -neighbors immediately started in different directions -for the hunt. A barking sound having -issued from this cavern, it was discovered, -and, at the bottom of it, the lost dog, which -had probably fallen in while chasing a fox. -“But how is he to be extricated from this -hole?” was the general inquiry of the assembled -hunters. Not one of all the group would -venture to descend, under any circumstances; -so the poor animal remained a prisoner for -<span class="pb" id="Page_39">39</span> -another night. But the next morning he was -released, and by none other than a brave boy, -the son of the farmer, and playmate of the dog. -A large number of men were present on the -occasion. A strong rope was tied around -the body of the boy, and he was gently lowered -down. Having reached the bottom, and -by the aid of his lamp discovered that he was -in a “real nice place,” the little rogue thought -he would have some sport; so he continued -to pull down, more rope, until he had made a -coil of two hundred feet, which was bewildering -enough to the crowd above; but nothing -happened to him, and the dog was raised. -The young hero having played his trick so -well, it was generally supposed, for a long time -after, that this cavern was two hundred feet in -depth, and none were found sufficiently bold to -venture in. The bravery of the boy, however, -was eventually the cause of his death, for he was -cut down by a cannon ball in the war of 1812.</p> -<p>The next remarkable place that we attained -in our ascent was the Bear Bank, where, in -the winter, may ever be found an abundance -of those charming creatures. It is said -that they have often, on a clear day, been -seen sunning themselves, even from as far -<span class="pb" id="Page_40">40</span> -as the Hudson. We were now on a beetling -precipice three hundred feet high, where, under -the shadow of a huge pine, we enjoyed a slice -of bread and pork, without the “fixens to -match.” Instead of a dessert of strawberries -and ice-cream, we were furnished by venerable -dame nature with a thunder-storm. It was -one that we had noticed making a great commotion -in the valley below, and which, -having discovered two bipeds going toward its -home, the sky, seemed to have come up there -to frighten us back again. But, “knowing -that nature never did betray the heart that -loved her,” we awaited the thunder-storm’s -reply to our obstinate refusal to descend. -The cloud was yet below us, but its unseen -herald, a strong east wind, told us that the -conflict had commenced. Presently a peal -of thunder resounded through the vast profound, -which caused the mountain to tremble -to its deep foundation. And then followed -another and another, as the storm increased, -and the rain and hail poured down in floods. -Thinking it safer to expose ourselves to the -storm than remain under the pine, we retreated -without delay, when we were suddenly enveloped -in the heart of the cloud, only a few -<span class="pb" id="Page_41">41</span> -rods distant; a stroke of vivid lighting blinded -us, and the towering forest monarch, even -upon his proud throne, was smitten to the -earth. We were in the midst of an unwritten -epic poem about that time, but we could not -then appreciate its beauties, for another peal -of thunder, and another stroke of lightning, -attracted our whole attention. Soon as these -had passed, a terrible gale followed in their -wake, tumbling down piles of loose rocks, and -bending to the dust, as if in passion, the resisting -forms of an army of trees, and a glorious -rainbow spanned the mountain like that distinguishing -circle around the temples of the -mighty and holy, as portrayed by the painters -of old. The commotion lasted for an hour, -when the region of the Bear Bank became as -serene as the slumber of a babe. A spirit of -silent and holy prayer seemed to be brooding -over that scene of marvellous loveliness, and -with a shadow of thoughtfulness at our hearts -we resumed our upward march.</p> -<p>The next place where we halted to get -breath was upon a sort of peninsula, called the -Eagle’s Nest, where it is said an Indian child -was carried by one of those birds and cruelly -destroyed, and whence the frantic mother, -<span class="pb" id="Page_42">42</span> -with the mangled body of her babe, leaped -into the terrible abyss below. From this point -we discovered a host of clouds assembled in -council above High Peak, as if discussing the -parched condition of the earth, and the speediest -mode of affording relief to a still greater -extent than they had done; and far away to -the west, was another assembly of clouds, -vieing, like sporting children, to outrun and -overleap each other in their aerial amphitheatre.</p> -<p>After this, we surmounted another lofty cliff, -celebrated for rattlesnakes. Here the rocks -were literally covered with the white bones of -these reptiles, slaughtered by the hunter in -by-gone years, and we saw a couple that were -alive. One was about four feet long, and the -other half this size, which seemed to be the -offspring of the old one, for, when discovered, -they were playing together, like an affectionate -mother with her tender child. Strange, that -even in creatures, the sight of which begets in -man only abhorrence and fear, should be found -one of the first and most cherished principles -of humanity! The law of love is indeed universal. -Soon as we appeared the sport ceased, -and the venomous creatures, in the twinkling -<span class="pb" id="Page_43">43</span> -of an eye, coiled themselves up in the attitude -of battle. But the conflict was of short duration, -and to know the result you need only -look into my cabinet of curiosities.</p> -<p>Higher up yet was it our lot to climb. We -went a little out of our course to obtain a -bird’s-eye view of Shew’s Lake. In its tranquil -bosom the glowing evening sky was perfectly -reflected, and the silence surrounding it so -profound, that we could almost hear the ripples -made by a solitary wild duck, as it swam from -one shore to the other in its utter loneliness. -And the thought entered my mind, that, as the -infant of Bethlehem was tenderly protected -by the parents who watched over its slumbers, -so was this exquisite lake cradled and protected -in the lap of the mountains.</p> -<p>One sight more did we behold before reaching -the summit. It was the sunset hour, and -on a jutting cliff, which commanded an immense -view, our eyes were delighted by a -solitary deer, standing still, and looking down -upon the silent void below, which was then -covered with a deep purple atmosphere, causing -the prospect to resemble the boundless ocean. -It was the last of its race, we could not but -fancy, bidding the human world good night, -<span class="pb" id="Page_44">44</span> -previous to seeking its heathery couch in a -nameless ravine.</p> -<p>Such are some of the scenes we enjoyed in -our ascent. One effort more and the long-desired -eminence was attained, which was a -little nearer the evening star than we had ever -been before. It was now the shadowy hour -of twilight, and as we were about done over -with fatigue, it was not long before we -had pitched our leafy tent, eaten some supper, -offered up a prayer, and yielded ourselves to -the embrace of sleep, “dear mother of fresh -thoughts and joyous health.”</p> -<p>At midnight, a cooling breath of air having -passed across my face, I was awakened from a -fearful dream, which left me in a nervous and -excited state of mind. A strange and solemn -gloom had taken possession of my spirit, -which was enhanced by the melancholy song -of a neighboring hemlock grove. Our encampment -having been made a little below -the summit of the peak, and feeling anxious -to behold the prospect at that hour from that -point, I arose, without awaking my companion, -and seated myself on the topmost rock, -which was bare of trees and shrubs, and covered -by a rich moss, softer and more beautiful than -<span class="pb" id="Page_45">45</span> -a Turkey carpet. But oh, how can I describe -the scene that burst upon my enraptured -vision? It was unlike anything I had ever -seen before, creating a “lone, lost feeling,” -which I supposed could only be realized by a -wanderer in the heart of an uninhabited wilderness, -or on the ocean a thousand leagues -from land. Above, around, and beneath me, -ay, far beneath me, were the cold, bright -stars, and to the east, the “old moon with the -young moon in her arms.” In the west -were floating a little band of pearly clouds, -which I fancied to be winged chariots from -the city of the living God, and that they were -crowded with children, the absent and loved -of other years, who, in a frolic of blissful joy, -were out upon the fields of heaven. On my -left reposed the long, broad valley of the -Hudson, with its cities, towns, villages, woods, -hills, and plains, whose crowded highway was -diminished to a narrow girdle of deep blue. -To the south, hill beyond hill, field beyond -field, receded to the sky, occasionally enlivened -by a peaceful lake. On my right, a -multitudinous array of rugged mountains lay -piled up, apparently as impassable as the bottomless -pit. To the north, the king of the -<span class="pb" id="Page_46">46</span> -Catskills bared his bosom to the moonlight, as -if demanding and expecting the homage of -the world. Such was the scene that surrounded -me at that witching hour of the -night, and think you, that it did not animate -my spirit with new life, and expand my -love for the invisible Creator of all? Oh, -yes, and I longed for the timbrel of Miriam, or -the harp of David, that I might sing aloud this -song of praise,—“Praise the Lord, O my soul, -and all that is within me, bless his holy name. -Praise him, O earth, for he hath crowned thee -with blessings numberless as the sands of -ocean. Praise him, ye children of men, for -he healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up -their wounds. Praise him, all ye starry hosts -of heaven, for he telleth your numbers and -calleth you names. Praise him, ye heaven of -heavens, for he commanded and ye were -created. Praise ye him, all ye his angels, for -he hath crowned you with immortality. Let -everything that hath breath sing praises unto -the Lord forever, for his manifold and infinite -attributes.” The song ended, the weight -upon my spirit was departed, and I sought my -couch once more, and slumbered until the -dawn.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_47">47</div> -<p>We saw the sun rise, as a matter of course, -which event is described in the following brief -rhapsody: it will be more distinctly understood -by those who are familiar with the -mountain.</p> -<p>He comes! he comes! the “king of the -bright day!” The crimson and golden clouds -are parting, and he bursts on the bewildered -sight! One moment more, and the whole earth -rejoices in his beams; and these are not more -welcome to the prince than the peasant, to the -philosopher than the idiot. All, alike, are -made happy by the blessed sunshine. But -look! on either side and beneath the sun, -what an array of new-born clouds are gathering!—like -a band of cavaliers, preparing to -accompany their leader on a journey. Out of -the Atlantic have they just risen; at noon -they will have pitched their tents on the -cerulean plains of heaven; and when the -hours of day are numbered, the far-off waters -of the Pacific will again receive them in its -cool embrace. Hark! was not that the roar of -waves? No; naught but the report of thunder -in the valley below. Can it be? can it be? -are the two oceans coming together? God -have mercy upon us! we are on a rock in the -<span class="pb" id="Page_48">48</span> -midst of an illimitable sea, and the tide is -rising—rapidly. Strange! it is still as death, -and yet the oceans are covered with billows. -Lo! the naked masts of a Ship on fire! Now -she is gone, and from her grave ascends the -emblem of her fate. Yonder, as if a reef were -hidden there to impede their course, the waves -are struggling in despair—now leaping to the -very sky, and now plunging into a deep abyss. -And when they have passed the unseen -enemy, how beautiful are their various evolutions, -as they hasten to the distant shore! -Another look, and what a change! The mists -of morning are being exhaled by the sun, -already the world of waters is dispersed, and -in the broad valley of the Hudson, far, far beneath -me, are reposing all the enchanting -features of the green earth.</p> -<p>We descended the mountain by a circuitous -route, that we might enjoy the luxury of passing -through the Plauterkill Clove. The same -spring that gives rise to Schoharie Creek, -which is a tributary of the Mohawk, also -gives rise to this wild mountain stream. In -its very infancy it begins to leap and laugh -with the gladness of a boy. From its source -to my dwelling-place the distance is only two -<span class="pb" id="Page_49">49</span> -miles, and yet it has a fall of twenty-five hundred -feet; but the remainder of its course, -until it reaches the Esopus creek, is calm and -peaceful, and on every side and at every turn -is protected by the farm-houses of a sturdy -yeomanry. The wild gorge or dell, through -which it passes, abounds in waterfalls of surpassing -beauty, varying from ten to a hundred -and fifty feet in height, whose rocks are green -with the moss of centuries, and whose brows -are ever wreathed with the most exquisite of -vines and flowers. There’s the Double Leap, -with its almost fathomless pool, containing a -hermit trout that has laughed at the angler’s -skill for a score of years; the Mountain Spirit, -haunted by the disembodied spirit of an Indian -girl, who lost her life there while pursuing -a phantom of the brain; and the Blue -Bell Fall, which is forever guarded by a multitudinous -array of those charming flowers. -Caverns, too, and chasms are there, dark, -deep, chilly, and damp, where the toad, the -lizard and snake, and strange families of insects, -are perpetually multiplying and actually -seeming to enjoy their loathsome lives; the -Black Chasm, the Gray Chasm, and the -Devil’s Chamber, with perpendicular walls of -<span class="pb" id="Page_50">50</span> -twice the height of a tall mast, and with a -wainscoting of pines and hemlocks, that have -“braved a thousand years the battle and the -breeze.” Plauterkill Clove is an eddy of the great -and tumultuous world, and in itself a world of -unwritten poetry, whose primitive loveliness -has not yet been disfigured by the influences -of mammon, and God grant that it may continue -so forever. It is endeared to my heart -for being a favorite haunt of solitude, and for -having been consecrated by a brotherhood -of friends to the pure religion of nature; and -they always enter there as into a holy sanctuary. -You may imagine, then, my friend, -what was our mode of descending through the -dell, and as to our feelings as we emerged -under the open sky, they were allied to those -of a pilgrim in a strange land, passing through -the dim twilight of a dream-like cathedral. -And now we stood upon a ledge whence -could be obtained a view of the dear old -mountain we were leaving behind, and as -we contemplated its graceful lines and delicate -hues of blueish green, we could not but admire, -in the abstract, the sublimity and solemnity -of its admonitions as a preacher, its -faithfulness as a friend, and the grandeur of -<span class="pb" id="Page_51">51</span> -its conceptions as a poet. We reached home -about noon, thankful to God for the love of -nature which he has so deeply implanted in -our hearts, and, as we hope, happier and better -men.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_52">52</div> -<h2 id="c4">A SLEEPLESS NIGHT.</h2> -<p>I have been whiling away a little time this -morning in recording a queer medley of -thoughts, which occupied my mind during the -tedious hours of the past night. Their cause -and import I will leave you to guess.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>It is well. My long, long dream of two -years,—my dream of heart-gladness is at an -end. I saw her, and was a lover, which is -but another name for slave. She became my -promised bride, and I was happy,—thoughtlessly -happy. She proved herself to be a -faithless and unworthy creature, and the link -which bound us together was broken. And -so, my dream is ended, and I am free.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>A child, with a basket on his arm, was -gathering flowers in a meadow on a bright -spring morning. There was no end to the -number that he plucked, and none, as he -<span class="pb" id="Page_53">53</span> -thought, in the world, could be compared to -them in loveliness. And thus was it with my -hopes,—but the flowers withered, and my -hopes are gone.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>Softly!—was not that a footstep, and did -I not see the gleaming of a silken kirtle? No; -it was only an echo and a reflection from the -past. I know it, for I am alone, utterly -alone.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>O how truly hath it been written by the -poet, that Art is long and time is fleeting! -What a cheerless thought is this to the ambitious -Painter! Was I wrong to set my life -upon <i>that</i> cast! At any rate, I will stand the -hazard of the die. I sometimes think that -the cup which others drink, the cup of fame, -will never be quaffed by me. Well, what -matter? Was I born, merely to create a -name? No, no, no! I was brought into the -wilderness of life to be tried by pain, sickness, -and sorrow, and to leave it as becomes a Christian -is my chief ambition. Fame, which I -had hoped to win, I panted after, that another’s -happiness might be promoted. But she has -frowned upon me, and an impassable ocean is -forever spread between our hearts. Be it so.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<div class="pb" id="Page_54">54</div> -<p>Once, a serpent secreted itself within the -petals of a flower. I pressed that flower to -my bosom, and the serpent stung me. But I -rejoice that the agony of the pain is over and -gone.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>A strange excitement is upon me,—with -all my wooing sleep will not come to my -relief. O how painful it is to count the -slowly lagging hours, throughout the silent -watches of this summer night! Restless am -I as a wave of the sea, and, may be, as useless -and insignificant. The pulsations of my -mind are as fitful as the breeze which breathes -upon me through my open window, but like -that breeze they hasten to one point, which is -the heart of a poor dreamer.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>I cannot, with Othello, feel that <i>I</i> have -thrown away a <i>pearl</i>. It was the shell of a -pearl only, whose heart was a living worm.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>Little things! Of these is the world composed, -and that man is a fool who looks upon -them with contempt. Yes, it is a little thing -to say, “I love you with all my heart, and will -follow you to the end.” But when believed, -if this proves to be the mockery of a hypocritical -<span class="pb" id="Page_55">55</span> -heart, who can describe the consequences -that may result to the believer? Fatal -they may be to the soul, as the bite of Tarantula -to the body, unless our thoughts are -attracted by a strain of melody emanating -from the throne of Deity. And to that great -Being am I deeply thankful, for having upheld -me in my trying hour.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>It hath been whispered in my ear, that the -being whom I lately cherished as my life-blood, -now mentions my name with a scornful -smile. And why? not because of my -inferior wealth, or family, or education, for -with respect to these I am her superior,—but -because I loved her as an angel. How little -did I think of this, when her head has been -pillowed on my bosom, and I have seen and -felt the throbbings of her own! Yet, even -then she nourished the spirit that would -“damn” a queen. She tried to break my -heart,—she failed,—but what matter? She -must answer for the <i>deed</i>. When she comes -to die, if not till then, when she come to -“tread the wine-press alone,” then must she -repent her folly and ingratitude, and it is my -prayer that she may be among the redeemed -<span class="pb" id="Page_56">56</span> -in heaven. Then will she be purified from -the corruptions which cling to her here, and -become a worthy subject of heavenly solicitude -and love.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>Where, O where are all the blissful dreams -upon which my heart has so long existed? -Vanished, like the shadow of a cloud, and I -am a companionless pilgrim through the world. -Who can comprehend the misery of a desolate -human heart? I thought she loved me with -a spotless passion, and yet, while anguish rends -my brow to-night, she is sweetly sleeping and -dreaming on her couch of down. Surely, -surely it must be a sin to love. What have I -done, that my heart-strings should be snapt -asunder,—that I must kiss the dust and be -unhappy?</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>If you give a beggar a loaf of bread to save -his life, and he spurns you with an oath, you -cannot but exclaim, “O horrible ingratitude?” -But what should be thought of those to whom -you had given away your <i>heart</i>, if they -should reciprocate with the damnable <i>lie</i>? -“Begone, thou art a villain,—touch not the -hem of our garments,—we are pure, but thou -art polluted.”</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<div class="pb" id="Page_57">57</div> -<p>It was the noontide hour, and as I was -passing along a lonely and unfrequented road, -I discovered a pair of turtle doves quietly -cooing to each other on a sandy hillock in the -sunshine. It was a picture of exquisite happiness, -and yet the longer I gazed, the more -deeply did it affect my heart, so that when I -left the spot, I found that my eyes were filled -with tears. The last time that I had wept -before, was when I beheld the wreck of my -<i>greatest hope</i>. When, I wonder, shall I be -compelled to weep again?</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>O how my heart clings to the hour of our -first acknowledgment of love! aye, and to all -the blissful hours that have been mine since -then in her society! Like a wealthy prince -I gloried in my rare possession, and could not -believe that aught on earth would ever make -me a beggar. But,—the treasure that I -doted on took unto itself wings, and like a -beautiful but unclean bird has flown away, to -delight and to deceive some other unsatisfied -mortal. I <i>am</i> a beggar now. O will not -some of the poor and forsaken, that I have -cheered with a kind word when I was happy, -come forth now and welcome me with a smile -of pure affection?</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<div class="pb" id="Page_58">58</div> -<p>I loved her, and fondly anticipated that she -would one day become the star of my <i>home</i>. -Home! what place upon the earth is dearer to -the heart of man? How pleasing is the anticipation -of the absent school-boy as he looks -forward to the close of the term, when he shall -be welcomed to the fireside of home! The poor -farmer toils unceasingly through the long days -of summer, cheered by the comforts of home, -which he fondly hopes will be the crown of -his coming winter evenings! How fortunate is -that man who can say—“mine is a happy -home!” How thankful should he be! But -is there no consolation for those who are -homeless and friendless in the world? Ah -yes, there is, and it is as sweet as it is invaluable. -Our elder Brother, the meek and lowly -Saviour, when upon the earth, was compelled -to exclaim,—“The foxes have holes, and the -birds of the air have nests, but the Son of man -hath not where to lay his head.” Homeless -and unhappy Christian, cheer up! cheer up! -A few more days, and you will be an inhabitant -of that blessed world beyond the skies, -“where the wicked cease from troubling, and -the weary are at rest.” Yonder, is the home -which I pant for <i>now</i>.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<div class="pb" id="Page_59">59</div> -<p>Friendship is one of the most beautiful and -delicate plants that flourish in the garden of -human passions, and to my mind is a holier -emotion than love. What though I am no -more a Lover! have I not a few well-tried -friends, whom I “grapple to my soul with -looks of steel?” Why then should there be -a weight upon my spirit? Long enough have -I played the fool. O that I may be wise -enough to renounce my folly!</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>How prone are we, who know not what it -is to want, to forget that the world is full of -suffering! We do not sympathize with those -who suffer, and are contented to think only -of ourselves. If, to be hungry, and naked, -and friendless, is to suffer, what must be his -condition, whose heart craves for the sympathy -of love, and is destitute of those endearing -attentions, which refine and elevate the soul?</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>There is a river, in a much-loved mountain -and, whose waters are sometimes brackish -and sometimes clear, and which sometimes -hastens to the sea singing a plaintive under-song -of loveliness. I know not why it is, but -it seems to me, that such is the river of my -life.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<div class="pb" id="Page_60">60</div> -<p>The smiles of woman! Sweet words. How -many and beautiful beyond compare are the -scenes which they recall to mind, whose charms -are heightened by the smiles of a mother, a -sister, a companion, or friend! All these, is it -my privilege to claim, but yet the <i>whole</i> of my -heart is not occupied. Who would wish to -live in a world, where the lovely form and -tender sympathies of woman were not known? -It would be more desolate than the flowerless -wilderness. Once, I thought to have toiled -for a distinguished name, that I might be -able to return a worthy recompense, for the -smiles of the maiden whom I loved. I -hoped to become affluent, that I might in -future years make my wife and children -happy, and nourish the light which illumines -the fireside circle, which light is the smile of -woman. But,—who can tell what shall be -on the morrow?</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>Welcome, thrice welcome, thou blessed -night-wind that fannest my feverish brow, -and banishes from my heart that pang of -agony. Oh! I am a child again,—and bitter, -bitter, bitter tears are the only witnesses, that -my blood is cold and clotted. Can I endure -<span class="pb" id="Page_61">61</span> -this suffering? Is it possible, that these are -the consequences of unrequited affection? Is -it,—there that breeze again! it is a messenger -from the bosom of God, and this is the burthen -of its mission. “Child of sin and sorrow, -thy days of darkness upon the earth are now -commencing, and the period arrived, for thy -nobler nature to assert its rightful supremacy. -Terrible indeed will be the conflict, but fail not -to struggle with all thy might for the mastery. -If thou yieldest to this world, thy perfect happiness -will be lost forever; but if thou conquerest -on behalf of eternity, thy bliss will be as endless -as its cycle, and more glorious than thy fondest -dream.”</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p><i>Once</i>, I was dreaming only of manhood, -and knew not what it was to love. <i>Now</i>, -that I <i>can</i> love, there is not a being in the -wide world whom I am privileged to love. -Love! what is it but another name for -jealousy, selfishness, and lust? Aye, this is -the conclusion of the whole matter, if one -woman that I know is a representative of her -sex. But I rejoice in the conviction that -here is a Love, which is as pure as the -diamond, and lasting as the soul, which but -<span class="pb" id="Page_62">62</span> -blossoms in this world, bearing its fruit -throughout the untold years of the great hereafter. -She, who merits and enjoys that love, is -the daughter of Heaven, and the hope of the -world. If we but prove faithful to her, she -will never abandon us in our pilgrimage to -Jerusalem.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>Look! the drapery of my couch is flooded -with moonlight,—affording my bodily and -mortal vision a most exquisite pleasure. And -why? Because I <i>feel</i> that I am not utterly -unloved. Surely, the blessed Queen of Night -would not thus make my heart glad, if I were -doomed to be forever a brother to the desolate -and unknown!</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>Dear, dear girl, a thousand blessings rest -upon thee for that pressure of thy soft hand -upon my throbbing temples! It has soothed -my pain, and hushed the wild tumult of my -heart. Come near, come near, thou heavenly -messenger, and let me press thy lips with a -holy kiss, and then I will lie down again and -be at peace. There!—’twas but a vision, -and again my agony returns. O, my brain is -on fire—see! see! the moon is veiled in -blood, all the stars are falling, the air is beginning -<span class="pb" id="Page_63">63</span> -to simmer, the earth is swelling, and -yet,—I am calmly going to pillow my head -on a soft brown clod in the silent city of forgetfulness, -the same which men call a grave-yard. -Where can the body find a more -<i>untroubled</i> home?</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>Love! It is not <i>this</i> that weighs my spirit -down. I never loved a <i>woman</i>, and wherefore -should I repine? I loved, but it was an ideal -creature, a being of the mind. Such, we know, -are never <i>false</i>,—I am once more happy. -A light from heaven is beaming upon my -soul, and, thanks to the breaking day, my -sleepless night is ended.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_64">64</div> -<h2 id="c5">COLE’S IMAGINATIVE PAINTINGS.</h2> -<p>According to my promise, and to commemorate -my visit to his place of residence, -I herewith send you my mite of information -concerning the productions of that man whom -we delight to honor, as unquestionably the -most gifted landscape painter of the present -age. In my own opinion, none superior to -him have ever existed, when we consider, in -connection with his felicity of artistic execution, -the poetic genius which his productions -display. Having for years been a student of -his art, and a warm lover of his pictures, I will -describe some of the imaginative works of this -Poet-Painter. First, however, a few words -about the man himself.</p> -<p>Thomas Cole was born in England, but -brought to this country in childhood. As his -parents, before his birth, had resided in the -United States, it is with the fullest propriety that -<span class="pb" id="Page_65">65</span> -he is called an American painter. At any rate, -his attachment to this country is so strong, -that he has been heard to remark: “I would -give my left arm, could I but identify myself -with America, by saying that I was born -here.” The incidents of his youth and manhood, -as recorded in “Dunlap’s History of the -Arts of Design,” are among the most interesting -things of the kind, and it is with reluctance -that I refrain from inserting them in this -place. Let it suffice, however, to state, that -the genius which was born with him, was -fostered by intimate and long continued acquaintance -with the scenery of the Western -States, when as yet they were a comparative -wilderness. While toiling for a reputation, -he resided for a few years at a time in Philadelphia, -Pittsburg, Chillicothe, Steubenville, -and New York city; and, having visited -Europe a number of times, established his -reputation, and married a wife, he retired to -the beautiful town of Catskill, on the Hudson, -where he now resides, one of the most amiable -of men, the best of husbands and fathers, and -the most talented of living landscape painters.</p> -<p>The number of his imaginative paintings is -about twenty, and his actual views somewhere -<span class="pb" id="Page_66">66</span> -between fifty and a hundred. Out of the -former, I intend to select my especial favorites, -of which I shall attempt to convey the best -idea in my power for your benefit, namely, -The Course of Empire, The Departure and -Return, Dream of Arcadia, Past and Present, -and The Voyage of Life. On these alone am -I willing to base my previous assertion, that -no landscape painter superior to Cole has ever -lived. Of his other productions I shall say -nothing, only giving the names of those which -I have seen, by way of making you acquainted -with the character of his subjects. They are -as follows: The Architect’s Dream, Paradise, -Scene from Manfred, Expulsion from Eden, -Angels appearing to the Shepherds, Heroic -Composition, Notch of the White Mountains, -Italian Scenery, View of Florence, View in -Rome, Schroon Mountain, Tornado in an -American Forest, Mount Holyoke after a -Storm, A Roman Aqueduct, Niagara, Mount -Ætna, Lake George, New England Scenery, -Distant View of the Catskill Mountains, and a -number of smaller views among the mountains.</p> -<p>The Course of Empire is a series, of five -paintings, representing the History of a Scene—an -<span class="pb" id="Page_67">67</span> -epitome of that of Man. None but a -great mind would have dared to choose so vast -a subject, requiring the united attributes of -poet, philosopher, and painter; and very few -could have accomplished it so successfully.</p> -<p>In the first picture we have a perfectly wild -scene of rocks, mountains, woods, and a bay -of the ocean, reposing in the luxuriance of a -ripe Spring. The clouds of night are being -dissipated by the beams of the rising sun. On -the opposite side of the bay rises a lofty -promontory, crowned by a singular isolated -rock, which would ever be a conspicuous landmark -to the mariner. As the same locality is -preserved in each picture of the series, this -rock identifies it, although the position of the -spectator changes in the several pictures. The -chase being the most characteristic occupation -of savage life, in the foreground we see an -Indian clothed in skins, pursuing a wounded -deer, which is bounding down a narrow -ravine. On a rock, in the middle ground, are -other Indians, with their dogs, surrounding -another deer. On the bosom of a little river -below are a number of canoes passing down -the stream, while many more are drawn up on -the shore. On an elevation beyond these is a -<span class="pb" id="Page_68">68</span> -cluster of wigwams, and a number of Indians -dancing round a fire. In this picture we have -the first rudiments of society. Men are already -banded together for mutual aid in the chase. -In the canoes, huts, and weapons, we perceive -that the useful arts have commenced, -and in the singing, which usually accompanies -the dance of savages, we behold the germs of -music and poetry. The Empire is asserted, -to a limited degree, over sea, land, and the -animal kingdom.</p> -<p>Ages have passed away, and in the second -picture we have the Simple or Arcadian State -of Society. The time of day is a little before -noon, and the season early summer. The -“untracked and rude” has been tamed and -softened. Shepherds are tending their flocks; -a solitary ploughman, with his oxen, is turning -up the soil; and in the rude vessels passing -into the haven of a growing village, and in -the skeleton of a barque building on the shore, -we perceive the commencement of Commerce. -From a rude temple on a hill the smoke of -sacrifice is ascending to the sky, symbolizing -the spirit of Religion. In the foreground, on -the left hand, is seated an old man, who, by -describing strange figures in the sand, seems -<span class="pb" id="Page_69">69</span> -to have made some geometrical discovery, -demonstrating the infancy of Science. On -the right hand is a woman with a distaff, -about crossing a stone bridge; beside her, a -boy is drawing on a stone the figure of a man -with a sword; and beyond these, ascending -the road, a soldier is partly seen. Under some -noble trees, in the middle distance, are a -number of peasants dancing to the music of -pipe and timbrel. All these things show us -that society is steadily progressing in its march -of usefulness and power.</p> -<p>Ages have again passed away, and in the -third picture we have a magnificent city. It -is now mid-day, and early Autumn. The Bay -is now surrounded by piles of architecture, -temples, colonnades, and domes. It is a day -of rejoicing. The spacious harbor is crowded -with vessels, war-galleys, ships, and barques, -their silken sails glistening in the sunshine. -Moving over a massive stone bridge, in the foreground, -is a triumphal procession. The conqueror, -robed in purple, is mounted on a car -drawn by an elephant, and surrounded by captives -and a numerous train of guards and servants, -many of them bearing pictures and golden -treasures. As he is about to pass the triumphal -<span class="pb" id="Page_70">70</span> -arch, beautiful girls strew flowers in his path; -gay festoons of drapery hang from the clustered -columns; golden trophies glitter in the sun, -and incense rises from silver censers. Before -a Doric temple, on the left, a multitude of -white-robed priests are standing on the marble -steps, while near them a religious ceremony -is being performed before a number of altars. -The statue of Minerva, with a Victory in her -hand, stands above the building of the Caryatides, -on a columned pedestal, near which is -a company of musicians, with cymbals, “trumpets -also, and shawms.” From the lofty -portico of a palace, an imperial personage is -watching the procession, surrounded by her -children, attendants, and guards. Nations -have been subjugated, man has reached the -summit of human glory. Wealth, power, -knowledge, and taste have worked together -and accomplished the highest meed of human -achievement and Empire.</p> -<p>Another change—and lo! in the fourth -picture, the Vicious State, or State of Destruction. -Behold the consequences of luxury, in -the weakened and debased condition of mankind. -A savage enemy has entered the once -proud and happy city; a fierce tempest is -<span class="pb" id="Page_71">71</span> -raging; walls and colonnades are lying in the -dust, and temples and palaces are being consumed -by the torch of the incendiary. The -fire of vengeance is swallowing up the devoted -city. An arch of the bridge, over which the -triumphal procession had before passed, has -been battered down, and broken pillars, ruins -of war-engines, and the temporary bridge -which has been thrown over, indicate that this -has been the scene of direst contention. Now -there is a terrible conflict on the bridge, whose -insecurity accelerates the horror of the conflict. -Horses, and men, and chariots are precipitated -into the raging waves. War-galleys -are contending; others in flames; and others -still, sinking beneath the prow of a superior -foe. Smoke and flames are issuing from the -falling and prostrate edifices; and along the -battlements and in the blocked-up streets the -conflict is dreadful indeed. The foreground -is strewed with the bodies of the dead and -dying. Some have fallen into the basin of a -fountain, tinging the water with blood. One -female is sitting in mute despair over the dead -body of her son; another leaping over a battlement, -to escape the grasp of a ruffian -soldier; and other soldiers drag a woman by -<span class="pb" id="Page_72">72</span> -the hair down the steps, that form the pedestal -of a mutilated colossal statue, whose shattered -head lies on the pavement below. A barbarous -enemy has conquered the city; Carnage -and Destruction have asserted their frightful -Empire.</p> -<p>The last and most impressive picture of this -series is the scene of Desolation. The sun -has just departed, and the moon is ascending -the twilight sky over the ocean, near the place -where the sun rose in the first picture. The -shades of evening are gradually stealing over -the shattered and ivy-grown ruins of that once -great city. A lonely column rises in the foreground, -on whose capital a solitary heron has -built her nest, and at the foot of it her mate is -standing in the water, both of them apparently -conscious of being a living mockery. The -Doric temple and triumphal bridge may still -be identified among the ruins, which are -laved by the waters of the tranquil sea. But -though man and his works have perished, the -steep promontory with its isolated rock, still -rears itself against the sky, unmoved, unchanged. -Time has consumed the works of -man, and art is resolving into its elemental -nature. The gorgeous pageant has passed, -<span class="pb" id="Page_73">73</span> -the roar of battle has ceased, the multitude -has mingled with the dust, the Empire is -extinct.</p> -<p>The first, second, and last of these paintings -are considered the best of Mr. Cole’s productions, -not only in the poetry they portray, but -in their execution. The style is more varied -and natural, and has less the appearance of -paint than in many of his late productions. -As to the third and fourth paintings, the conception -of both is exceedingly fine and poetical, -but deficient in execution. The architecture -is admirably done, but the numerous -figures, which it was necessary to introduce, -are poorly drawn and arranged. It would be, -perhaps, too much to ask that an artist should -be a great painter of scenery, and also a master -of the human figure. As a whole, the Course -of Empire is a work of art worthy of any -nation or any painter of woman born. These -pictures were painted for the late Luman -Reed, at a cost of eight thousand dollars. -Surely it were a blessing to the Fine Arts in -this country, were such patrons more frequently -found.</p> -<p>The Departure and Return, exhibit a poetical -representation of the Feudal times. The -<span class="pb" id="Page_74">74</span> -Departure represents early morning in spring. -As you look upon the picture, you can almost -hear the fall of waters, and feel the pleasant -breeze of the hour and season. In the distance -is seen a church, whose spire is gilded -by the beams of the rising sun; and in the -foreground is a magnificent castle, looming to -the sky, the seeming lord and guardian of the -world. Coming forth from one of its massy -gates is a band of mounted cavaliers, who are -going to the wars, full of life and hope and -gladness. The leader, in a splendid dress, is -mounted on a noble charger, whose flashing -eye and extended nostrils show that he is impatient -for the fight. Turn your eyes away, -and they are gone.</p> -<p>Imagine that months have passed, and look -upon the Return. It is now evening, the -season autumn, but the same section of country. -The castle is now in the distance, and -the church in the foreground. Toil-worn, a -few only are returning home by a woodland -path; and their leader, dying or wounded, -is conveyed upon a litter carried by men. -His steed, with heavy step, is following -behind. As they approach the church a -party of monks are seen coming out, and are -<span class="pb" id="Page_75">75</span> -taken by surprise, to meet the small remnant -of brave warriors just returned from a long -and tedious campaign.</p> -<p>How simple and yet how complete is the -story here revealed! As these are among the -artist’s early pictures, they are distinguished -for their truth and unmannered style; and as -compositions, are unsurpassed.</p> -<p>The “Dream of Arcadia” is the perfect -personification of the sweetest dream of poetry -and romance. It is composed of temples, -vine-clad mountains, streams, cascades, trees, -shepherds and minstrels, everything in fact -which poets have described as making Arcady -the most beautiful land under the sun.</p> -<p>The “Past and Present” consists of two -pictures. The first is a tournament near a -castle. The second is the same spot, but -with the castle gone to decay. On the field -where we beheld the brave deeds of chivalry, -a single shepherd boy is tending his sheep. -The first of these we think poorly managed, -but the last is without a single fault,—it is -superb.</p> -<p>The “Voyage of Life” is a series of fine -pictures, allegorically portraying the prominent -features of man’s life, viz., childhood, youth, -<span class="pb" id="Page_76">76</span> -manhood, and old ago. The subject is one of -such universal interest, that it were almost -impossible to treat it in an entirely original -manner, but no one can deny that the conception -of the painter displays a high and rare -order of poetic power.</p> -<p>In the first we behold the dawn of a summer -morning. A translucent stream is issuing -from an unknown source out of a deep cavern -in the side of a mountain. Floating gently -down the stream is a golden boat, made of the -sculptured figures of the Hours, while the -prow is formed by the present hour holding -forth an emblem of Time. It is filled with -flowers, and on these a little child is seated, -tossing them with his upraised hands, and -smiling with new-born joy, as he looks upon -the unnumbered beauties and glories of this -bright world around him; while a guardian -angel is at the helm, with his wings lovingly -and protectingly extended over the child. -Love, purity, and beauty emanate like incense -from the sky, the earth, and water, so that -the heart of the gazer seems to forget the -world, and lose itself in a dream of heaven.</p> -<p>A few fleeting years are gone, and behold -the change! The Stream of Life is widened, -<span class="pb" id="Page_77">77</span> -and its current strong and irresistible, but it -flows through a country of surpassing loveliness. -The Voyager, who is now a youth, has -taken the helm into his own hands, and the -dismissed angel stands upon the shore looking -at him with “a look made of all sweet accord,” -as if he said in his heart, “God be with thee, -thoughtless mortal!” But the youth heeds -not his angel, for his eyes are now riveted by -an airy castle pictured against the sky, dome -above dome, reaching to the very zenith. The -phantom of worldly happiness and worldly -ambition has absorbed the imagination and -eager gaze of the wayward voyager, and -as he urges his frail bark onward, he dreams -not of the dangers which may await him in -his way. To the boat, only a few flowers -are now clinging, and on closer observation we -perceive that the castle in the air, apparently -so real, has only a white cloud for its foundation, -and that ere long the stream makes a -sudden turn, rushing with the fury of a maddened -steed down a terrible ravine. The -moral of the picture it is needless for us to -elucidate.</p> -<p>Another change, and lo! the verge of a -cataract and a fearful storm. The rudderless -<span class="pb" id="Page_78">78</span> -bark is just about to plunge into the abyss -below, while the voyager (now in the prime -of manhood) is imploring the only aid, that -can avail him in the trying hour, that of -heaven. Demoniacal images are holding forth -their temptations in the clouds around him, -but he heeds them not. His confidence in -God supports him, the previous agony of his -soul is dispelled or subdued, by a reflection of -immortal light stealing through the storm, and -by the smiles of his guardian angel, visibly -stationed in the far-off sky.</p> -<p>The Voyage of Life is ended, and our -voyager, now white with hoary hairs, has -reached that point where the waters of time -and eternity mingle together—a bold conception, -which is finely embodied by the daring -genius of the painter. The hour-glass is gone, -and the shattered bark is ready to dissolve into -the fathomless waters beneath. The old man -is on his knees, with clasped hands and his -eyes turned heavenward, for the greenness of -earth is forever departed, and a gloom is upon -the ocean of Eternity. But just above the -form of our good voyager is hovering his -angel, who is about to transport him to his -home; and, as the eye wanders upward, an -<span class="pb" id="Page_79">79</span> -infinite host of heavenly ministers are seen -ascending and descending the cloudy steps -which lead to the bosom of God. Death is -swallowed up in life, the glory of heaven has -eclipsed that of the earth, and our voyager is -safe in the haven of eternal rest. And thus -endeth the allegory of Human Life.</p> -<p>With regard to the mechanical execution of -these paintings, I consider them not equal to -some of the earlier efforts of the same pencil. -They are deficient in atmosphere, and have -too much the appearance of paint. The water -in the first, second, and third pictures, is superior, -and the knowledge of perspective in -the last of them is masterly. In all of them -the figures are very fine, considering the difficulty -of managing such peculiar characters. -In the first I am pleased with the simplicity -of the composition; in the second, with the -variety, there being portrayed the elm of England, -the plains of Tuscany, the palm of tropic -climes, the mountains of Switzerland, and the -oak of America; in the third, with the genius -displayed in using the very storm to tell a -story; and in the fourth, with the management -of the light, and the apparent reality of -those rays of glory. These pictures were -<span class="pb" id="Page_80">80</span> -painted for the late Samuel Ward, of New -York, and the price received for them was five -thousand dollars.</p> -<p>Thus have I attempted to describe the -prominent imaginative paintings of Thomas -Cole, with the object in view, of making you -acquainted with the fact, that great acquisitions -have been and are being made to the Fine -Arts, even in our own country. His is a name -which we should not willingly let die. A -man of fine, exalted genius, by his pencil he -has done a great deal of good, not only to his -chosen art, by becoming one of its masters, -but also in a moral point of view. And this -reminds me of the influences, which may be -exerted by the landscape painter. That these -are of importance no one can deny. Is not -painting as well the result and expression of -thought as writing? What though, instead of -pen, ink, and paper, the painter uses canvass, -a pencil, and the colors of the rainbow, yet -these, if he is a poet in his soul, can display -his power to scarcely less effect than though, -to give utterance to his “thoughts that glow,” -his means were the “words that burn.” With -these, if he is a wise and good man, he may -portray, to every eye that rests upon his canvass, -<span class="pb" id="Page_81">81</span> -the loveliness of virtue and religion, or -the deformity and wretchedness of a vicious -life. He may warn the worldling of his folly -and impending doom, and encourage the -Christian in his pilgrimage to heaven. He -may delineate the marvellous beauty of nature, -so as to lead the mind upward to its Creator, -or proclaim the ravages of time, that we may -take heed to our ways and prepare ourselves -for a safe departure from this world, into that -beyond the Valley of the Shadow of Death. -A goodly portion of all these things have been -accomplished by Thomas Cole. As yet, he is -the only landscape painter in this country who -has attempted imaginative painting, and the -success which has followed him in his career, -even in a pecuniary point of view, affords -great encouragement to our young painters in -this department of the art. Cole has indeed -done some great things, but a thousandfold -more he has left undone. He has but set a -noble example, which ought to be extensively -followed. Mind, we do not mean by this that -his subjects ought to be imitated. Far from -it; because they are not stamped with a national -character, as the productions of all -painters should be. Excepting his actual -<span class="pb" id="Page_82">82</span> -views of American scenery, the paintings of -Cole might have been produced had he never -set foot upon our soil. Let our young artists -aspire to something above a mere copy of -nature, or even a picture of the fancy; let -them paint the visions of their imagination. -No other country ever offered such advantages -as our own. Let our young painters use their -pencils to illustrate the thousands of scenes, -strange, wild, and beautiful, of our early history. -Let them aim high, and their achievements -will be distinguished. Let them -remember that theirs is a noble destiny. -What though ancient wisdom and modern -poetry have told us that “art is long and time -is fleeting!”—let them toil and toil with -nature as their guide, and they will assuredly -have their reward.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_83">83</div> -<h2 id="c6">LAKE HORICON.</h2> -<p>If circumstances alone could make one -poetical, then might you expect from me on -this occasion a letter of rare excellence and -beauty. My sketch book is my desk, my -canopy from the sunshine an elm tree, the -carpet under my feet a rich green sprinkled -with flowers, the music in my ear of singing -birds, and the prospect before me, north, east, -and south, the tranquil bosom of Lake George, -with its islands and surrounding mountains, -whose waters, directly at my side, are alive -with many kinds of fish, sporting together on a -bed of sand. Yes, the far-famed Lake George -is my subject, but in what I write I shall not -use that title,—for I do not like the idea of -christening what belongs to us with the name -of an English monarch, however much his -memory deserves to be respected. Shall it be -<span class="pb" id="Page_84">84</span> -Lake St. Sacrament, then? No! for that was -given to it by the Pope and the French nation. -Horicon,—a musical and appropriate word, -meaning pure water, and given it by the poor -Indian,—is the name which rightfully belongs -to the lake which is now my theme.</p> -<p>Lake Horicon is one of the few objects in -Nature, that did not disappoint me after reading -the descriptions of travellers. I verily -believe, that in point of mere beauty it has -not its equal in the world. Its length is -thirty-four miles, and its width from two to -four. Its islands number about three hundred, -and vary from ten feet to a mile in -length;—a great many of them are located in -the centre of the lake, which place is called the -Narrows. It is completely surrounded with -mountains, the most prominent of which are, -Black Mountain on the east of the Narrows, -Tongue Mountain directly opposite, and French -Mountain at the southern extremity. The -first is the most lofty, and remarkable for its -wildness, and the superb prospect therefrom; -the second is also wild and uninhabited, but distinguished -for its dens of rattlesnakes; and the -latter is somewhat cultivated, but memorable -for having been the camping ground of the -<span class="pb" id="Page_85">85</span> -French during the Revolutionary war. The -whole eastern border is yet a comparative -wilderness, but along the western shore are -some respectable farms, and a good coach road -from Caldwell to Ticonderoga, which affords -many admirable views of the sky-blue lake. -There are three public houses here which I -can recommend,—the Lake House for those -who are fond of company,—Lyman’s Tavern -for the hunter of scenery and lover of quiet,—and -Garfield’s House for the fisherman. A -nice little steamboat, commanded by a gentleman, -passes through the lake every morning -and evening (excepting Sundays), which is a -convenient affair to the traveller, but an eye-sore -to the admirer of the wilderness. When, -in addition to all these things, it is remembered, -that Horicon is the centre of a region -made classic, by the exploits of civilized and -savage warfare, it can safely be pronounced -one of the most interesting portions of our -country for the summer tourist to visit. I -have looked upon it from many a peak whence -might be seen almost every rood of its shore. -I have sailed into every one of its bays, and, -like the pearl diver, have repeatedly descended -into its cold blue chambers, so that I have -<span class="pb" id="Page_86">86</span> -learned to love it as a faithful and well tried -friend. Since the day of my arrival here, I -have kept a journal of my adventures, and, as -a memorial of Horicon, I will extract therefrom -and embody in this letter the following -passages.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>Six oil sketches have I executed upon the -Lake to-day. One of them was a view of the -distant mountains, whose various outlines -were concentrated at one point, and whose -color was of that delicate dreamy blue, created -by a sunlight atmosphere, with the sun beyond. -In the middle distance was a flock of -islands, with a sail boat in their midst, and in the -foreground a cluster of rocks, surmounted by a -single cedar, which seemed to be the sentinel -of a fortress. Another was of the ruins of -Fort George, with a background of dark -green mountains, and made more desolate by -a flock of sheep sleeping in one of its shady -moats. Another was of a rowing race between -two rival fishermen, at the time when -they were only a dozen rods from the goal, -and when every nerve of their aged frames -was strained to the utmost. Another was of -a neat log-cabin on a quiet lawn near the -<span class="pb" id="Page_87">87</span> -water, at whose threshold a couple of ragged -but beautiful children were playing with a -large dog, and from whose chimney ascended -the blue smoke with a thousand fantastic evolutions. -Another was of a huge pine tree, -which towered conspicuously above its kindred -on the mountain side, and which seemed -to me an appropriate symbol of Webster in the -midst of a vast concourse of his fellow men. -And the last was of a thunder-storm, driven -away from a mountain top by the mild radiance -of a rainbow, which partly encircled Horicon -in a loving embrace.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>I have been a fishing to-day, and, while -enduring some poor sport, indited in my mind -the following information, for the benefit of -my piscatorial friends. The days of trout-fishing -in Lake Horicon are nearly at an end. -A few years ago it abounded in this fine fish, -which were frequently caught weighing twenty -pounds, but their average weight at the -present is not more than one pound and a half, -and they are scarce even at that. In taking them -you first have to obtain a sufficient quantity of -sapling bark to reach the bottom in sixty feet -of water, to one end of which must be fastened -<span class="pb" id="Page_88">88</span> -a stone, and to the other a stick of wood, -which designates your fishing ground, and is -called a buoy. A variety of more common -fish are then caught, such as suckers, perch, -and eels, which are cut up and deposited, some -half a peck at a time, in the vicinity of the -buoy. In a few days the trout will begin to -assemble, and so long as you keep them well -fed, a brace of them may be captured at -almost any time during the summer. But the -fact is, this is only another way for “paying too -dear for the whistle.” The best angling, after -all, is for the common brook trout, which is -a bolder biting fish, and full as good for the -table as the salmon trout. The cause of the -great decrease in the large trout of this lake is -this,—in the Autumn, when they have sought -the shores for the purpose of spawning, the -neighboring barbarians have been accustomed -to spear them by torch-light; and if the -heartless business does not cease, the result -will be, that in a few years they will be -extinct. There are two other kinds of trout -in the lake, however, which yet afford good -sport,—the silver trout, caught in the summer, -and the fall-trout. But the black-bass, upon -the whole, is now mostly valued by the fisherman. -<span class="pb" id="Page_89">89</span> -They are in their prime in the summer -months. They vary from one to five pounds -in weight; and are taken by trolling and with -a drop line, and afford fine fun. Their haunts -are along the rocky shores, and it is often the -case that on a still day you may see them -from your boat swimming about in herds, -when the water is twenty feet deep. They -have a queer fashion when hooked, of leaping -out of the water for the purpose of getting -clear, and it is seldom that a novice in the -gentle art can keep them from succeeding. -But alas, their numbers also are fast diminishing, -by the same means and the same hands -that have killed the trout. My advice to -those who come here exclusively for the purpose -of fishing is, to continue their journey to -the sources of the Hudson, Schroon Lake, -Long Lake, and Lake Pleasant, in whose -several waters there seems to be no end to -every variety of trout, and where may be -found much wild and beautiful scenery. The -angler of the present day will be disappointed -in Lake Horicon.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>When issuing from the Narrows on your -way down the Horicon, the most attractive -<span class="pb" id="Page_90">90</span> -object, next to the mountains, is a strip of low -sandy land extending into the lake, called -Sabbath Day Point. It was so christened by -Abercrombie, who encamped and spent the -Sabbath there, when on his way to Ticonderoga, -where he was so sadly defeated. I -look upon it as one of the most enchanting -places in the world; but the pageant with -which it is associated was not only enchanting, -and beautiful, and grand, but perfectly magnificent. -Only look at the picture, which I am -attempting to reproduce upon canvass. It is -the sunset hour, and before you, far up in the -upper air, and companion of the Evening star -and a host of glowing clouds, rises the majestic -form of Black Mountain, enveloped in a -mantle of rosy atmosphere. The bosom of -the Lake is without a ripple, and every cliff, -ravine, and island, has its counterpart in the -pure waters. A blast of martial music from -drums, fifes, bagpipes, and bugle horns, now -falls upon the ear, and the immense procession -comes in sight; one thousand and thirty-five -battaux, containing an army of seventeen -thousand souls, headed by the brave Abercrombie -and the red cross of England,—the -scarlet uniforms and glistening bayonets forming -<span class="pb" id="Page_91">91</span> -a line of light against the darker background -of the mountain. And behind a log -in the foreground is a crouching Indian runner, -who, with the speed of a hawk, will carry the -tidings to the French nation that an army is -coming—“numerous as the leaves upon the -trees.” Far from the strange scene fly the -affrighted denizens of mountain and wave,—while -thousands of human hearts are beating -happily at the prospect of victory, whose -bodies in a few hours will be food for the -raven on the plains of Ticonderoga.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>A goodly portion of this day have I been -musing upon the olden times, while rambling -about Fort George, and Fort William Henry. -Long and with peculiar interest did I linger -about the spot near the latter, where were -cruelly massacred the followers of Monroe, at -which time Montcalm linked his name to the -title of a heartless Frenchman, and the name -of Webb became identified with all that is -justly despised by the human heart. I profess -myself to be an enemy to wrong and outrage -of every kind, and yet a lover and defender of -the Indian race; but when I picked up one -after another the flinty heads of arrows, which -<span class="pb" id="Page_92">92</span> -were mementos of an awful butchery, my -spirit revolted against the Red man, and for a -moment I felt a desire to condemn him. Yes, -I will condemn that particular band of murderers, -but I cannot but defend the race. Cruel -and treacherous they were, I will allow, but -do we forget the treatment they ever met with -from the white man? The most righteous of -battles have ever been fought for the sake of -sires and wives and children, and for what else -did the poor Indian fight, when driven from -the home of his youth into an unknown wilderness, -to become thereafter a by-word and a -reproach among the nations? “Indians,” said -we, “we would have your lands, and if you -will not be satisfied with the gewgaws we -proffer, out powder and balls will teach you -that power is but another name for right.” -And this is the principle that has guided the -white man ever since in his warfare against -the aborigines of our country. Oh, I cannot -believe that we shall ever be a happy and -prosperous people, until the King of kings shall -have forgiven us for having, with a yoke of -tyranny, almost annihilated an hundred nations.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<div class="pb" id="Page_93">93</div> -<p>A portion of this afternoon I whiled away -on a little island, which attracted my attention -by its charming variety of foliage. It is not -more than one hundred feet across at the -widest part, and is encircled by a yellow sand-bank, -and shielded by a regiment of variegated -rocks. But what could I find there to interest -me, it may be inquired. My answer is this: -That island, hidden in one of the bays of -Horicon, is an Insect city, and more populous -than was Rome in the days of her glory. -There the honey-bee has his oaken tower, the -wasp and humble-bee their grassy nests, the -spider his den, the butterfly his hammock, the -grasshopper his domain, the beetle and cricket -and hornet their decayed stump, and the toiling -ant her palace of sand. There they were -born, there they flourish and multiply, and -there they die, symbolizing the career and -destiny of man. I was a “distinguished -stranger” in that city, and I must confess -that it gratified my ambition to be welcomed -with such manifestations of regard as -the inhabitants thought proper to bestow. -My approach was heralded by the song -of a kingly bee; and when I had thrown -myself upon a mossy bank, multitudes of people -<span class="pb" id="Page_94">94</span> -gathered round, and, with their eyes -intently fixed upon me, stood still, and let -“expressive silence muse my praise.” To -the “natives” I was emphatically a source of -astonishment; and as I wished to gather instruction -from the event, I wondered in my -heart whether I would be a <i>happier</i> man if -my presence in a human city should create a -kindred excitement. At any rate it would be -a “great excitement on a small capital.”</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>While quietly eating my dinner this noon, in -the shady recess of an island near Black -Mountain, I was startled by the yell of a peck -of hounds coming down one of its ravines. I -knew that the chase was after a deer, so I -waited in breathless anxiety for his appearance. -Five minutes had hardly elapsed before I -discovered a noble buck at bay on the extreme -summit of a bluff which extended into -the lake. There were five dogs yelping about -him, but the “antlered monarch” fought them -like a hero. His hoof was the most dangerous -weapon he could wield, and it seemed to me -that the earth actually trembled every time -that he struck at his enemies. Presently, to -my great joy, one of the hounds was killed, and -<span class="pb" id="Page_95">95</span> -another so disabled, that he retired from the -contest. But the hunters made their appearance, -and I knew that the scene would soon -come to a tragic close. And when the buck -beheld them, I could not but believe that over -his face a “tablet of <i>agonizing</i> thoughts was -traced,” for he fell upon his knees, then made -a sudden wheel, and with a frightful bound, as -a ball passed through his heart, cleared the -rock and fell into the lake far below. The -waters closed over him, and methought that -the waves of Horicon and the leaves of the -forest murmured a requiem above the grave of -the wilderness king. I turned away with a -tear in my eye, and partly resolved that I -would never again have a dog for my friend, -or respect the character of a hunter; but then I -looked into the crystal waters of the lake, and -thought of the <i>beam</i> in my own eye, and -stood convicted of a kindred cruelty.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>One of the most singular precipices overlooking -Horicon is about five miles from the -outlet, and known as Rogers’ Slide. It is -some four hundred feet high, and at one point -not a fissure or sprig can be discerned to -mar the polished surface of the rock till it -<span class="pb" id="Page_96">96</span> -reaches the water. Once on a time in the -winter, the said Rogers was pursued by a -band of Indians to this spot, where, after -throwing down his knapsack, he carefully -retraced the steps of his snow-shoes for a -short distance, and descending the hill by a -circuitous route, continued his way across the -frozen lake. The Indians, on coming to the -jumping-off-place, discovered their enemy on -the icy plain; but when they saw the neglected -knapsack below, and no signs of returning -footsteps where they stood, they thought -the devil must be in the man, and gave up the -pursuit.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>The most famous, and one of the most -beautiful islands in this lake, is Diamond -Island, so called from the fact that it abounds -in crystallized quartz. It is half a mile in -length, but the last place in the world which -would be thought of as the scene of a battle. -It is memorable for the attack made by the -Americans on the British, who had a garrison -there, in 1777. The American detachment -was commanded by Col. Brown, and being -elated with his recent triumphs on Lake -Champlain, he resolved to attack Diamond -<span class="pb" id="Page_97">97</span> -Island. The battle was bloody, and the -British fought like brave men “long and -well”; the Americans were defeated, and this -misfortune was followed by the sufferings of a -most painful retreat over the almost impassable -mountains between the Lake and what is now -Whitehall. While wandering about the island -it was a difficult matter for me to realize, that -it had ever resounded with the roar of cannon, -the dismal wail of war, and the shout of victory. -That spot is now covered with woods, -whose shadowy groves are the abode of a -thousand birds, forever singing a song of peace -or love, as if to condemn the ambition and -cruelty of man.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>In the vicinity of French Mountain is an -island which is celebrated as the burial place of -a rattle-snake hunter, named Belden. From -all that I can learn, he must have been a -strange mortal indeed. His birth-place and -early history were alike unknown. When he -first made his appearance at this Lake, his -only companions were a brotherhood of rattlesnakes, -by exhibiting which he professed to -have obtained his living; and it is said that, -during the remainder of his life, he acquired a -<span class="pb" id="Page_98">98</span> -handsome sum of money by selling the oil -and gall of his favorite reptile. And I have -recently been told that the present market -price of a fat snake, when dead, is not less -than half a dollar. Another mode peculiar -to old Belden for making money, was to -suffer himself to be bitten, at some tavern, after -which he would return to his cabin to apply -the remedy, when he would come forth again -just as good as new. But he was not always -to be a solemn trifler. For a week had the -old man been missing, and on a pleasant -August morning, his body was found on the -island alluded to, sadly mutilated and bloated, -and it was certain that he had died actually -surrounded with rattlesnakes. His death-bed -became his grave, and rattlesnakes were his -only watchers,—and thus endeth the story of -his life.</p> -<p>But this reminds me of two little adventures. -The other day as I was seated near -the edge of a sand bar, near the mouth of a -brook, sketching a group of trees and the -sunset clouds beyond, I was startled by an -immense black snake, that landed at my side, -and pursued its way directly under my legs, -upon which my drawing-book was resting. -<span class="pb" id="Page_99">99</span> -Owing to my perfect silence, the creature had -probably looked upon me as a mere stump. -But what was my surprise a few moments -after, when reseated in the same place, to find -another snake, and that a large spotted adder, -passing along the same track the former had -pursued. The first fright had almost disabled -me from using the pencil, but when the -second came, I gave a lusty yell, and forgetful -of the fine arts, started for home on the keen -run.</p> -<p>At another time, when returning from a -fishing excursion, in a boat, accompanied by a -couple of greenhorns, we discovered on the -water, near Tongue Mountain, an immense -rattlesnake, with his head turned towards us. -As the oarsman in the bow of the boat struck -at him with his oar, the snake coiled round it, -and the fool was in the very act of dropping -the devilish thing in my lap at the stern of the -boat. I had heard the creature rattle, and not -knowing what I did, as he hung suspended -over me, overboard I went, and did not look -behind till I had reached the land. The consequence -was, that for one while I was perfectly -disgusted even with Lake Horicon, and -resolved to leave it without delay. The -<span class="pb" id="Page_100">100</span> -snake was killed without doing any harm, -however, but such a blowing up as I gave -the greenhorn actually made his hair stand -straight with fear.</p> -<p>One more snake story and I’ll stop. On the -north side of Black Mountain is a cluster of -some half-dozen houses, in a vale, which spot -is called the Bosom, but from what cause I do -not know. The presiding geniuses of the -place are a band of girls, weighing two hundred -pounds a piece, who farm it with their -fathers for a living, but whose principal -<i>amusement</i> is rattlesnake hunting. Their -favorite playground is the notorious cliff on -Tongue Mountain, where they go with naked -feet (rowing their own boats across the Lake), -and pull out by their tails from the rocks the -pretty playthings, and, snapping them to -death, lay them away in a basket as trophies -of their skill. I was told that in one day last -year they killed the incredible number of -eleven hundred. What delicious wives would -these Horicon ladies make! Now that the -Florida Indians have been driven from their -country by bloodhounds, would it not be a -good idea for Congress to secure the services -of these amazons for the purpose of exterminating -<span class="pb" id="Page_101">101</span> -the rattlesnakes upon our mountains. -This latter movement would be the most -ridiculous, but the inhumanity of the former -is without a parallel.</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p>A clear and tranquil summer night, and I -am alone on the pebbly beach of this paragon -of lakes. The countless hosts of heaven are -beaming upon me with a silent joy, and more -impressive and holy than a poet’s dream, are -the surrounding mountains, as they stand reflected -in the unruffled waters. Listen! what -sound is that, so like the wail of a spirit? -Only a loon, the lonely night-watcher of -Horicon, whose melancholy moan, as it breaks -the profound stillness, carries my fancy back -to the olden Indian times, ere the white man -had crossed the ocean. All these mountains -and this beautiful Lake were then the heritage -of a brave and noble-hearted people, who -made war only upon the denizens of the forest, -whose lives were peaceful as a dream, and -whose manly forms, decorated with the plumes -of the eagle, the feathers of the scarlet bird, -and the robe of the bounding stag, tended -but to make the scenery of the wilderness -beautiful as an earthly Eden. Here was the -<span class="pb" id="Page_102">102</span> -quiet wigwam village, and there the secluded -abode of the thoughtful chief. Here, unmolested, -the Indian child played with the spotted -fawn, and the “Indian lover wooed his -dusky mate;” here the Indian hunter, in the -“sunset of his life,” watched, with holy awe, -the sunset in the west, and here the ancient -Indian prophetess sung her uncouth but religious -chant. Gone,—all, all gone,—and -the desolate creature of the waves, now pealing -forth another wail, seems the only memorial -that they have left behind. There,—my -recent aspirations are all quelled, I can -walk no farther to night;—there is a tear in -my eye and a sadness in my soul, and I must -seek my home. It is such a blessed night, -that it seems almost sinful that a blight should -rest upon the spirit of man; yet on mine a -gloom will sometimes fall, nor can I tell from -whence the cloud that makes me wretched. -To prayer!!</p> -<p>Here endeth a lover’s tribute to the sky-blue -and ice-cold Horicon.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_103">103</div> -<h2 id="c7">BURLINGTON.</h2> -<p>Of all the towns which I have ever seen, -Burlington in Vermont is decidedly the most -beautiful. It stands on the shore of Lake -Champlain, and from the water to its eastern -extremity is a regular elevation, which rises to -the height of some three hundred feet. Its -streets are broad and regularly laid out, the -generality of its buildings elegant, and its -inhabitants well educated, refined, and wealthy. -My visit here is now about to close, and -I cannot but follow the impulses of my -heart, by giving you a brief account of its -principal picturesque attraction, and some information -concerning a few of its public men.</p> -<p>As a matter of course, my first subject is -Lake Champlain. In approaching it from the -south, and particularly from Horicon, one is -apt to form a wrong opinion of its picturesque -features; but one cannot pass through it without -<span class="pb" id="Page_104">104</span> -being lavish in its praise. It extends, in a -straight line from south to north, somewhat over -a hundred miles, and lies between the States -of Vermont and New York. It is the gateway -between the country on the St. Lawrence -and that on the Hudson, and it is therefore -extensively navigated by vessels and steamboats. -The steamer Burlington, Captain -Sherman, is unquestionably the finest boat in -the Union; not on account of its size, but considering -the admirable discipline with which it -is commanded. Lake Champlain is surrounded -with flourishing villages, whose population is -generally made up of New Englanders and -Canadians. Its width varies from half a mile -to thirteen, but its waters are muddy, excepting -in the vicinity of Burlington. Its islands -are not numerous, but one of them, Grand Isle, -is sufficiently large to support four villages. -Its scenery may be denominated bold; rising -from the water on the west are the Adirondack -Mountains, and at some distance on the east -the beautiful Green Mountains, whose glorious -<i>commanders</i> are Mansfield Mountain and -the Camel’s Hump. Owing to the width of -the Lake at Burlington, and the beauty of the -western mountains, the sunsets that are here -<span class="pb" id="Page_105">105</span> -visible are exceedingly superb. O that I -could strike the lyre of the poet, that I might -celebrate in song some of those which have -transported my spirit to the realms of bliss. -The classic associations of this Lake are uncommonly -interesting. Here are the moss-covered -ruins of Ticonderoga and Crown Point, -whose present occupants are the snake, the -lizzard, and toad. Leaden and iron balls, -broken bayonets, and English flints, have I -picked up on their ramparts, which I cannot -look upon without thinking of death-struggles -and the horrible shout of war. And there too -is Plattsburg, in whose waters Commodore -McDonough vindicated the honor of the Stars -and Stripes of Freedom. As to the fishing of -this lake, I have but a word to say. Excepting -trout, every variety of fresh-water fish is -found here in abundance; but the water is not -pure, which is ever a serious drawback to my -enjoyment in wetting the line. Lake Champlain -received its present name from a French -nobleman, who discovered it in 1609, and who -died at Quebec in 1635.</p> -<p>The associations I am now to speak of, are -of a personal character; and the first, of the -three names before me, is that of Joseph -<span class="pb" id="Page_106">106</span> -Torrey, the present Professor of Moral and -Intellectual Philosophy in the University of -Vermont. As a citizen, he is one of the most -amiable and beloved of men. As one of the -faculty of the University, he occupies a high -rank, and is a particular favorite with all his -students. A pleasing evidence of the latter -fact I noticed a few days since, when it was -reported among the students that the Professor -had returned from a visit to the Springs for his -health. I was in company with some half-dozen -of them at the time, and these are the -remarks they made. “How is his health”? -“I hope he has improved”! “Now shall I -be happy,—for ever since he went away, the -recitation-room has been a cheerless place to -me.” “Now shall I be advised as to my -essay”! “Now shall my poem be corrected”! -“Now, in my troubles, shall I have the sympathies -of a true friend”! Much more meaning -is contained in these simple phrases than -what meets the eye. Surely, if any man is -to be envied, it is he who has a place in the -affections of all who know him. As a scholar, -too, Professor Torrey occupies an exalted -station, as will be proven to the world in due -time. He has never published anything but -<span class="pb" id="Page_107">107</span> -an occasional article for a review, and the -memoir of President Marsh (who was his -predecessor in the University), as contained in -the admirable volume of his Remains, which -should occupy a conspicuous place in the library -of every American scholar and Christian. -The memoir is indeed a rare specimen of that -kind of writing,—beautifully written, and -pervaded by a spirit of refinement that is delightful. -But I was mostly interested in Mr. -Torrey as a man of taste in the Fine Arts. -In everything but the mere execution, he is a -genuine artist, and long may I remember the -counsels of his experience and knowledge. A -course of Lectures on the Arts forms a portion -of his instruction as Professor, and I trust that -they will eventually be published for the -benefit of our country. He has also translated, -from the German of Schelling, a most admirable -discourse entitled “Relation of the Arts -of Design to Nature;” a copy of which ought -to be in the possession of every young artist. -Mr. Torrey has been an extensive traveller in -Europe, and being a lover and an acute observer -of everything connected with Literature -and Art, it is a perfect luxury to hear him -expatiate upon “the wonders he has seen.” -<span class="pb" id="Page_108">108</span> -He also examines everything with the eye of a -philosopher, and his conclusions are ever of -practical utility. Not only can he analyze in a -profound manner the principles of metaphysical -learning, but, with the genuine feelings of a -poet, descant upon the triumphs of poetic -genius, or point out the mind-charms of a -Claude or Titian. He is—but I will not say -all that I would, for I fear that at our next -meeting he would chide me for my boyish -personalities. Let me conclude then with the -advice, that, if you ever chance to meet the -Professor in your travels, you must endeavor -to secure an introduction, which I am sure -you cannot but ever remember with unfeigned -pleasure.</p> -<p>John Henry Hopkins, D. D., Bishop of Vermont, -is another of the principal attractions of -Burlington. The history of his life, the expression -of his countenance, and his general -deportment, all speak of the “peace of God.” -Considering the number and diversity of his -acquirements, I think him a very remarkable -man. He is not only in point of character -well worthy of his exalted station as Bishop, -but as a theologian learned and eloquent to an -uncommon degree. His contributions to the -<span class="pb" id="Page_109">109</span> -world of Letters are of rare value, having published -volumes entitled “Christianity Vindicated;” -“The Primitive Church;” “The -Primitive Creed;” “The Church of Rome;” -“British Reformation;” and “Letters to the -Clergy.” His style of writing is persuasive, -vigorous, and clear, and all his conclusions -seem to have been formed in full view of the -Bible, which is a virtue worth noticing in -these degenerate days. Unlike the bigoted -followers of Pusey, he is a <i>charitable</i> Episcopalian,—deserving -and enjoying the love and -esteem of every orthodox denomination. It is -because of his honesty and soundness, I suppose, -that some of his own church are disaffected -with his straight-forward conduct. -Bishop Hopkins, as a divine, is of the same -school with the late Bishop White, and therefore -among the most eminently wise and good -of his age and country.</p> -<p>The Bishop of Vermont is also a man of -remarkable taste with regard to Architecture, -Music, and Painting; in which departments, as -an amateur, he has done himself great credit. -Not only did he plan and superintend the -building of an edifice for his recent school, but -has published an interesting book on Architecture, -<span class="pb" id="Page_110">110</span> -wherein he appears to be as much at -<i>home</i> as a Christopher Wren. Knowing the -market to be full of sentimental nonsense in -the way of songs, he composed, for the benefit -of his own children, a few with a moral tone, -which he also set to music, and are now published -as a worthy tribute to his fine feelings and -the correctness of his ear. But he ranks still -higher as a man of taste in the capacity of a -Painter. The Vermont Drawing Book, which -he published, is an evidence of his ability as a -draftsman. The family portraits which adorn -his walls, prove him to have an accurate eye -for color, and an uncommon knowledge of -effect;—and his oil sketches of scenes from -Nature, give token of an ardent devotion to -Nature. But the best, in my opinion, of all -his artistical productions, is a picture representing -“our Saviour blessing little children.” Its -conception, grouping, and execution, are all of -very great merit, and I am persuaded will one -day be looked upon with peculiar interest by -the lovers and judges of art in this country. -Though done in water colors, and considered -by the artist as a mere sketch for a larger picture, -there are some heads in it that would -have called forth a compliment even from the -<span class="pb" id="Page_111">111</span> -lamented Allston. Would that he could be -influenced to send it, for exhibition, to our -National Academy! And thus endeth my -humble tribute of applause to a gifted man.</p> -<p>I now come to the Hon. George P. Marsh, -of whom, if I were to follow the bent of my -feelings, I could write a complete volume. -Though yet in the early prime of life, he is a -sage in learning and wisdom. After leaving -college he settled in Burlington, where he has -since resided, dividing his time between his -legal profession and the retirement of his -study. With a large and liberal heart, he -possesses all the endearing and interesting -qualities which belong to the true and accomplished -gentleman. Like all truly great men, -he is exceedingly retiring and modest in his -deportment, and one of that rare class who are -never excited by the voice of fame. About -two years ago, almost without his knowledge, -he was elected to a seat in the lower house -of Congress, where he at once began to make -an impression as a Statesman. Though few -have been his public speeches, they are remarkable -for sound political logic, and the -classic elegance of their language. As an -orator, he is not showy and passionate, but -plain, forcible, and earnest.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_112">112</div> -<p>But it is in the walks of private life, that -Mr. Marsh is to be mostly admired. His -knowledge of the Fine Arts is probably more -extensive than that of any other man in this -country, and his critical taste is equal to his -knowledge; but that department peculiarly -his hobby, is Engraving. He has a perfect -passion for line engravings; and it is unquestionably -true, that his collection is the most -valuable and extensive in the Union. He is -well acquainted with the history of this art -from the earliest period, and also with its -various mechanical ramifications. He is as -familiar with the lives and peculiar styles of -the Painters and Engravers of antiquity, as -with his household affairs; and when he talks -to you on his favorite theme, it is not to -display his learning, but to make you realize -the exalted attributes and mission of universal -Art.</p> -<p>As an author, Mr. Marsh has done but little -in extent, but enough to secure a seat beside -such men as Edward Everett, with whom -he has been compared. He has published -(among his numerous things of the kind) a -pamphlet entitled “The Goths in New-England,” -which is a fine specimen of chaste -<span class="pb" id="Page_113">113</span> -writing and beautiful thought; also another -on the “History of the Mechanic Arts,” which -contains a great deal of rare and important information. -He has also written an “Icelandic -Grammar” of 150 pages, which created quite -a sensation among the learned of Europe a few -years ago. As to his scholarship,—it can be -said of him, that he is a <i>master</i> in some -twelve of the principal modern and ancient -languages. He has not learned them merely -for the purpose of being considered a literary -prodigy, but to multiply his means of acquiring -information, which information is intended -to accomplish some substantial end. He is -not a visionary, but a devoted lover of truth, -whether it be in History, Poetry, or the Arts.</p> -<p>But my chief object in speaking of this -gentleman, was to introduce a passing notice -of his Library, which is undoubtedly the most -unique in the country. The building itself, -which stands near his dwelling, is of brick, -and arranged throughout with great taste. -You enter it, as it was often my privilege, and -find yourself in a perfect wilderness of gorgeous -books, and portfolios of engravings. Of books -Mr. Marsh owns some five thousand volumes. -His collection of Scandinavian Literature is -<span class="pb" id="Page_114">114</span> -supposed to be the most complete that can be -found out of the Northern Kingdoms. To -give you an idea of this literary treasure, I -will mention a few of the rarest specimens. In -old Northern Literature, here may be found -the <i>Arna Magnæan</i> editions of old Icelandic -Sagas, all those of <i>Suhm</i>, all those of the -Royal Society of Northern Antiquaries, and in -fact all those printed at Copenhagen and -Stockholm, as well as in Iceland, with scarcely -an exception. This Library also contains -the great editions of <i>Heimskringla</i>, the two -<i>Eddas</i>, <i>Kongs-Skugg-Sjo</i>, <i>Konunga</i>, <i>Styrilse</i>, -the Scriptores Rerum Danicarum, Scriptores -Rerum Svecicarum, Dansk Magazin, -the two complete editions of <i>Olaus Magnus</i>, -<i>Saxo Grammaticus</i>, the works of Bartholinus, -Torfaus, Schöning, Suhm, Pontoppidan, -Grundtvig, Petersen, Rask, the <i>Aplantica</i> of -Rudbeck, the great works of <i>Sjöborg</i>, Liljegren, -Geijer, Cronholm, and Strinnholm, all -the collections of old Icelandic, Danish, and -Swedish laws, and almost all the writers, ancient -and modern, who have treated of the language, -literature, or history of the ancient Scandinavian -race.</p> -<p>In modern Danish Literature, here may be -<span class="pb" id="Page_115">115</span> -found the works of Holberg, Wessel, Ewald, -Hejberg, Baggesen, Ochlenschlseger, Nyerup, -Ingemann, with other celebrated authors; in -Swedish, those of Leopold Oxenstjerna, Bellmann, -Franzen, Atterbom, Tegner, Frederika -Bremer, and indeed almost all the <i>belles lettres</i> -authors of Sweden, the Transactions of the -Royal Academy of Science, (more than one -hundred volumes,) those of the Swedish -Academy, and of the Royal Academy of -Literature, and many collections in documentary -history, besides numerous other works.</p> -<p>In Spanish and Portuguese, besides many -modern authors, here are numerous old chronicles, -such as the Madrid collection of old -Spanish Chronicles in seven volumes 4to.; -the Portuguese <i>Livros ineditos da Historia -Portugueza</i>, five volumes folio; Fernam -Lopez, de Brito, Duarte Nunez de Liam, -Damiam de Goes, de Barros, Castanheda, -Resende, Andrada, Osorio; also, de Menezes, -Mariana, and others of similar character. In -Italian, most of the best authors, who have -acquired a European reputation; several hundred -volumes of French works, including -many of the ancient chronicles; a fine collection -in German, including many editions of -<span class="pb" id="Page_116">116</span> -Reyneke de Vos, the Nibelungen, and other -works of the middle ages. In classical literature, -good editions of the most celebrated -Greek and Latin authors; and in English, a -choice collection of the best authors, among -which should be mentioned, as rare in this -country, Lord Berners’ Froissart, Roger Ascham, -the writings of King James I., John -Smith’s Virginia (edition of 1624), Amadis -de Gaul, and Palmerin of England. In lexicography, -the best dictionaries and grammars in -all the languages of Western Europe, and -many biographical dictionaries and other works -of reference in various languages. Many -works too, are here, on astrology, alchemy, -witchcraft, and magic; and a goodly number -of works on the situation of Plato’s Atlantis -and Elysian Fields, such as Rudbeck’s Atlantica, -Goropius Becanus, de Grave Republique -des Champs Elysées, and a host of others in -every department of learning, the mere mention -of which would cause the bookworm a -thrill of delight.</p> -<p>In the department of Art, Mr. Marsh possesses -the Musée Français, Musée Royal, -(proof before letters) Liber Veritatis, Houghton -Galley, Florence Gallery, Publications of -<span class="pb" id="Page_117">117</span> -Dilettanti Society, and many other illustrated -works and collections of engravings; the -works of Bartsch, Ottley, Mengs, Visconti, -Winchelmann, and other writers on the history -and theory of Art; old illustrated works, -among which are the original editions of -Teuerdanck and Der Weiss Kunig; and -many thousand steel engravings, including -many originals by Albert Dürer, Luke of -Leyden, Lucas Cranach, Aldegreuer, Wierx, -the Sadelers Nauteuil, (among others the celebrated -Louis XIV., size of life, and a proof of -the Cadet a la Perle, by Masson,) Edelink, -Drevet, Marc Antonio, and other old engravers -of the Italian school, Callot, Ostade, -Rembrandt, (including a most superb impression -of the Christ Healing the Sick, the hundred -guilder Piece, and the portrait of Renier -Ansloo,) Waterloo, Woollett, Sharp, Strange, -Earlom, Wille, Ficquet, Schmidt, Longhi, and -Morghen; in short, nearly all the works of all -the greatest masters in chalcography, from the -time of Dürer to the present day. It were -folly for me to praise these various works, and -I have alluded to them merely for the purpose -of letting you know something of the taste -and possessions of Mr. Marsh. His library is -<span class="pb" id="Page_118">118</span> -one of the most glorious places it has ever -been my fortune to visit, and the day that I -became acquainted with the man, I cannot but -consider as an era in my life. Morning, noon, -and evening did I linger with the master-spirits -of olden time, collected in that delightful -place, and though I often stood in mute -admiration of their genius, I was sometimes -compelled to shed a tear, as I thought of the -miserable destiny, as a writer or painter, which -will probably be mine. Thank God, there is -no such thing as <i>ambition</i> in that blessed -world above the stars, which I hope to attain,—no -ambition to harass the soul,—for then -will it be free to revel, and forever, in its holy -and godlike conceptions. But a truce to this -strain of thought, and also to the Lions of -Burlington, of whom I now take my leave -with a respectful bow.</p> -<p class="tb">P. S. As you may probably be induced to -visit Burlington, after what I have written, I -cannot leave the place without mentioning -two more of its personal attractions—Judge -Meech the farmer, and John H. Peck the -merchant. Of the former, who resides just -without the town, I would remark, that his -<span class="pb" id="Page_119">119</span> -mortal part is six feet and a half high, and -weighs nearly four hundred pounds, and a -perfect counterpart in body as well as mind of -the immortal Jack Falstaff. He is the proprietor -of the largest grazing farm in New -England, which contains three thousand acres, -and at the present moment gives food to -nearly four thousand sheep. The Judge is -one of the most hospitable of men, and having -spent a portion of his life as a trapper in the -wilderness, and another as a member of Congress, -there is no end to his fund of stories, -which he tells with an admirable grace. -One concerning himself, is to the following -effect. Once on a time, when young, poor, -and somewhat idle in his habits, he chanced -to stop at a country store where he was -known, for the purpose of purchasing a handkerchief, -which the shopkeeper refused to let -him have upon credit. The youth was so -exasperated, that he swore he would one day -purchase the whole property of the man; and -it is a singular fact, that the identical store, -and all the possessions of that merchant, are -now incorporated in the immense estate of -Judge Meech. A similar story is told of Mr. -Astor (who once dealt in furs on Lake Champlain -<span class="pb" id="Page_120">120</span> -with the Judge) and the Astor House, so -that it would actually seem as if some people -are born to become rich. And what is the -strangest thing of all, Mr. Meech is a great -trout fisherman, and of <i>course</i> a man of genius. -About a month ago he caught one thousand -in three days, which I can readily believe, but -I cannot vouch for the truth of the statement -I heard, that he ate two hundred and forty of -the little fellows at one meal! Fail not to -visit the Judge when you have an opportunity. -He will be glad to see you, or any other honest -man, and with his accomplished lady will show -you every variety of flowers, and an artificial -pond full of trout, and will refresh you with -the rarest kinds of fruit.</p> -<p>Of Mr. Peck, it will not do for me to say -but a single word, as he has never filled -any public station, and is therefore only a private -citizen. He is just such a man as I -suppose William Roscoe of Liverpool to have -been, according to the account of Washington -Irving—a perfect gentleman, a merchant -of the first rank, a lover of books and pictures, -and the giver of glorious dinners. A -thousand blessings rest upon his head, and -<span class="pb" id="Page_121">121</span> -upon all the gentlemen of Burlington of my -acquaintance, whom I shall ever look upon as -among the true nobility of our land, and therefore -among the nobility of the earth.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_122">122</div> -<h2 id="c8">TRIP TO PORTLAND.</h2> -<p>Three loud knocks upon my bed-room -door at Burlington, awakened me from “a -deep dream of peace.” “The eastern stage is -ready,” said my landlord, as he handed me a -light; whereupon, in less than five minutes -after the hour of three I was on my way to -Portland, and inditing on the tablet of my -memory the following disjointed stage-coach -rhapsody.</p> -<p>A fine coach, fourteen passengers, and six -superb horses. My seat is on the outside, and -my eyes are on the alert for anything of peculiar -interest, which I may meet with in my -journey. Now does the beautiful range of the -Green Mountains meet my view. The day -is breaking, and lo! upon either side of me, -and like the two leaders of an army, rise the -peaks of Mansfield Mountain and the Camel’s -Hump. Around the former the cloud-spirits -<span class="pb" id="Page_123">123</span> -of early morning are picturing the fantastic -poetry of the sky; while just above the -summit of the other, may be seen the new -moon and the morning star, waiting for the -sun to come, like two sweet human sisters, for -the smiles and kisses of a returning father. -And now, as the sunbeams glide along the -earth, we are in the solitude of the mountains, -and the awakened mist-creatures are ascending -from the cool and silent nooks in the deep -ravines.</p> -<p>Young Dana’s description of a ship under -full sail is very fine, but it does not possess -the living beauty of that picture which is now -before me, in those six bay horses, straining -every nerve to eclipse the morning breeze. -Hold your breath, for the road is hard and -smooth as marble, and the extended nostrils of -those matchless steeds speak of a noble pride -within. There, the race is done, the victory -theirs, and now, as they trot steadily along, -what music in the champing of those bits and -the striking of those iron-bound hoofs! Of all -the soulless animals on earth, none do I love -so dearly as the horse,—I sometimes am inclined -to think that they have souls. I respect -a noble horse, more than I do some men. -<span class="pb" id="Page_124">124</span> -Horses are the Indian chiefs of the brute -creation.</p> -<p>The Winooski, along whose banks is the -most picturesque stage route in Vermont, is an -uncommonly interesting stream,—rapid, clear, -and cold. It is remarkable for its falls -and narrow passes, where perpendicular rocks of a -hundred feet or more frown upon its solitary -pools. Its chief pictorial attraction is the -cataract at Waterbury, which is a deep and -jagged chasm in the granite mountain, whose -horrors are greatly increased by the sight and -the smothered howl of an avalanche of pure -white foam. On its banks, and forty miles -from its outlet near Burlington, is situated -Montpelier, the capital of Vermont. It is a -compact town, mostly built upon two streets, -and completely hemmed in by rich and cultivated -mountains. Its chief attractions to my -mind, however, during my short stay, was a -pair of deep black eyes, only half visible under -their drooping lids. O the dear, dear women, I -verily believe they will be the ruin of me!</p> -<p>During one of my rambles near Montpelier, -I discovered an isolated and abandoned dwelling, -which stands upon a little plot of green, -in the lap of the forest near the top of a mountain. -<span class="pb" id="Page_125">125</span> -I entered its deserted chambers, and -spent a long time musing upon its solemn -admonitions. The cellar had become the -home of lizards and toads. The spider and -cricket were masters of the hearth, where once -had been spun the mountain legend, by an -old man to the only child of his widowed -son. They were, as I am told, the last of a -long line, which once flourished in Britain, -but with them their name would pass into -forgetfulness. Only the years of a single generation -have elapsed since then, but the -dwellers upon yonder mountain are sleeping in -the grave. And is this passing record of their -existence the only inheritance they have left -behind? Most true; but would it have been -<i>better</i> for them, or for us, had they bequeathed -to the world a noted name or immense possessions? -What is our life?</p> -<p>The route between Montpelier and Danville -lies along the Winooski, and is not less beautiful -than that down the river. Its chief -picture is Marshfield Waterfall. While at -Montpelier a pleasure ride was got up by some -of my friends, and as they were bound to the -east, and I was honored with an invitation, I -sent on my baggage and joined them, so that the -<span class="pb" id="Page_126">126</span> -monotony of my journey was agreeably relieved. -We had our fishing-rods with us, and having -stopped at the fall, we caught a fine mess of -trout, which we had cooked for dinner at the -next tavern on our way,—and our dessert was -fine singing from the ladies, and good stories -from the lips of Senator Phelps, who was of the -party, and is celebrated for his conversational -powers. For further particulars concerning -that expedition, I would refer you to Mr. -George Langdon and Lady of Montpelier, and -to that pair of eyes, which I just now mentioned -as having beamed upon me with a -bewitching brilliancy. But alas! the dear creature -is already,—excuse me, I cannot, I will -not speak the hateful word. The lucky fellow -ought to carry a liberal and kind soul -hereafter, if he has never done so before.</p> -<p>At cock-crowing this morning I was again -in my seat outside of the stage-coach, anxiously -waiting for the mists to evaporate in -the east. The sun proved to be my friend, -and soon as he appeared, they vanished like a -frightened troop, and he was marching up the -sky in the plenitude of his glory. And then, -for the first time, did my vision rest upon the -White Mountains, as they reposed in the distance, -<span class="pb" id="Page_127">127</span> -like a mighty herd of camels in the -solitude of the desert. In the charming valley -of the Connecticut we only tarried about ten -minutes, but long enough for me to hear the -mower whet his scythe, the “lark sing loud -and high,” and the pleasant tinkle of a cow-bell -far away in a broad meadow. While -there I took a sketch, wherein I introduced -the father of New England rivers, and the -bald peak of Mount Lafayette, with the storm-inflicted -scar upon its brow. A noble monument -is yonder mountain to the memory of a -noble man.</p> -<p>While breakfasting at Littleton this morning, -I came to the conclusion to leave my -baggage and visit Franconia. I jumped into -the stage, and after a very pleasant ride of -seventeen miles, found myself far into the -Notch, in the midst of whose scenery I am to -repose this night. I would not have missed -the trip <i>even</i> for a <i>sincere</i> love-smile from the -girl of my former idolatry. I reached here in -time to enjoy an early dinner with “mine -host”; after which I sallied forth to examine -the wonders of the place, but was so delighted -with everything around, that I did not take -time to make a single sketch. I saw the -<span class="pb" id="Page_128">128</span> -Flume, and was perfectly astonished. It is a -chasm in the mountain, thirty feet wide, about -a hundred deep, and some two thousand long, -and as regular in its shape as if it had been -cut by the hand of man. Bridging its centre -is a rock of many tons weight, which one -would suppose could only have been hurled -there from the heavens. Through its centre -flows a little brook, which soon passes over a -succession of rocky slides, and which are -almost as smooth and white as marble. And -to cap the climax, this Flume is the centre of -as perfect and holy a wilderness of scenery as -could be imagined.</p> -<p>I have also seen (what should be the pride -of the Merrimack, as it is upon one of its tributaries) -the most superb pool in this whole -country. The fall above it is not remarkable, -but the forest-covered rocks on either side, -and the pool itself, are wonderfully fine. In the -first place, you must remember, that the waters -of this whole region are cold as ice, and clear -as possible. The pool forms a circle of about -one hundred feet in diameter, and is said to -be fifty feet in depth. Owing to the fall, it is -the “head-quarters” of the trout, which are -found all along the stream in great abundance. -<span class="pb" id="Page_129">129</span> -After I had completed a drawing, I laid aside -my pencils and fixed my fishing rod. I threw -the line <i>only</i> about two hours and caught <i>only</i> -forty-five trout, but they were real beauties, I -assure you. Among them was the great-grandfather -of all trout,—he was <i>only</i> seventeen -inches long, and weighed <i>only</i> two pounds and -one ounce. It does take me, and no mistake, -to throw a scientific fly.</p> -<p>The Old Man of the Mountain, is another of -the lions of this place. It is a cone-shaped -mountain, (at the foot of which is a small -lake,) upon whose top are some rocks, which -have a resemblance to the profile of an old -man. It is really a very curious affair. There -the old fellow stands, as he has stood perhaps -for centuries, “looking the whole world in the -face.” I wonder if the thunder never frightens -him! and does the lightning play around his -brow without making him wink? His business -there, I suppose, is to protect the “ungranted -lands” of New Hampshire, or keep -Isaac Hill from lecturing the White Mountains -on Locofocoism. He need not trouble himself -as to the first fear, for they could not be -deeded even to a bear; and as to the second, -I don’t believe the mountains could ever be -<span class="pb" id="Page_130">130</span> -persuaded to go for the annexation of Texas. -Every plant upon them speaks of freedom, -and in their fastnesses does the eagle find a -home,—their banner-symbols are the stars -and stripes, and therefore they must be -Whigs.</p> -<p>And another curiosity, which everybody -goes to see, is called the Basin,—which is indeed -an exquisite little spot,—fit for the -abode of a very angel. It is formed in the -solid rock, and though twenty feet in depth, -you can see a sixpence at the bottom,—it is -so wonderfully clear. But the wild beauties -of this Notch, unknown to fame, are charming -beyond compare. There goes the midnight -warning of the clock, and I must retire. O -that my dreams may be of yonder star, now -just beaming with intense brightness above -the dark outline of the nearest mountain.</p> -<p>The distance from Knight’s tavern to the -western outlet of Franconia Notch is eight -miles. The eastern stage was to pass through -about the middle of the afternoon, so after -eating my breakfast I started on, intending to -enjoy a walk between the mountains. With -the conceptions and feelings that were with -me then, I should have been willing to die, -<span class="pb" id="Page_131">131</span> -for I was perfectly happy. Now, as I sat -upon a stone to sketch a mass of foliage, a -little red squirrel came within five feet of me, -and commenced a terrible chattering, as if his -lady-love had given him the “mitten,” and he -was blowing out against the whole female -sex; and now an old partridge with a score of -children came tripping along the shadowy -road, almost within my reach, and so fearless -of my presence, that I would not have harmed -one of them even for a crown. Both of these -were exceedingly simple pictures, and yet they -afforded me a world of pleasure. I thought of -the favorite haunts of these dear creatures,—the -hollow tree,—the bed of dry leaves,—the -cool spring,—the mossy yellow log,—the -rocky ledges overgrown with moss,—the -gurgling brooklet stealing through the trees, -with its fairy waterfalls in a green shadow -and its spots of vivid sunlight,—and of a -thousand other kindred <i>gems</i> in the wonderful -gallery of Nature. And now as I walked onward, -peering into the gloomy recesses of the -forest on either side, or fixed my eyes upon -the blue sky with a few white clouds floating -in their glory, many of my favorite songs -were remembered, and, in a style <i>peculiarly</i> -<span class="pb" id="Page_132">132</span> -my own, I poured them upon the air, whilst I -was answered by unnumbered mountain -echoes. Nothing had they to do with the -place or with each other, but like the pictures -around me, they were a divine food for my -soul,—so that I was in the perfect enjoyment -of a heavenly feast. Now, as I looked -through the opening trees, I saw an eagle -floating above the summit of a mighty cliff,—now, -with the speed of a falling star descending -far into the leafy depths, and then, -slowly but surely ascending, until hidden from -view by a passing cloud. Fly on, proud bird, -glorious symbol of my country’s freedom! O -what a god-like life is thine? Yes, thou art -the “sultan of the sky,” and from thy craggy -home forever lookest upon the abodes of man -with indifference and scorn. The war-whoop -of the Savage, the roar of artillery on the -bloody battle field, and the loud boom of the -ocean cannon, have fallen upon thy ear, and -thou hast listened, utterly heedless as to whom -belonged the victory. What strength and -power in thy pinions! traversing in an hour a -wider space</p> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“Than yonder gallant ship, with all her sails</p> -<p class="t0">Wooing the winds, can cross from morn till eve!”</p> -</div> -<div class="pb" id="Page_133">133</div> -<p>When thy hunger-shriek echoes through the -wilderness, with terror does the wild animal -seek his den, for thy talons are of iron and -thy eyes of fire. But what is thy message to -the sun? Far, far into the zenith art thou -gone, forever gone—emblem of a mighty -hope that once was mine.</p> -<p>My thoughts were upon the earth once -more, and my feet upon a hill out of the -woods, whence might be seen the long broad -valley of the Amonoosack, melting into that -of the Connecticut. Long and intently did I -gaze upon the landscape, with its unnumbered -farm-houses, reposing in the sunlight, and -surmounted by pyramids of light blue smoke, -and also upon the cattle gazing on a thousand -hills. Presently I heard the rattling wheels -of the stage-coach;—one more look over the -charming valley,—and I was in my seat beside -the coachman.</p> -<p>In view of the foregoing and forthcoming -facts, and though I am sometimes hard pushed -for the dollars needful, I cannot but conclude -that I am a most lucky fellow. My ride from -Franconia to Littleton was attended with this -interesting circumstance. A very pretty young -lady, who was in the stage, found it necessary -<span class="pb" id="Page_134">134</span> -to change her seat to the outside on account -of the confinement within. Of course, I welcomed -her to my side with unalloyed pleasure. -The scenery was fine, but what do you suppose -I cared for that,—as I sat there talking -in a most eloquent strain to my companion, -with my right arm around her waist to keep -her from falling? That conduct of mine may -appear “shocking” to those who have “never -travelled,” but it was not only an act of politeness -but of absolute necessity. Neither, as -my patient’s smile told me, “was it bad to -take.” And O, how perfectly delightful it -was to have her cling to me, and to hear the -beating of her heart, as the driver swung his -whip and run his horses down the hills! -Animal magnetism is indeed a great invention,—and -I am a believer in it, so far as the touch -of a beautiful woman is concerned.</p> -<p>Away, away—thoughts of the human -world! for I am entering into the heart of the -White Mountains. Ah me! how can I describe -these glorious hierarchs of New England! -How solemnly do they raise their -rugged peaks to heaven! Now, in token of -their royalty, crowned with a diadem of -clouds; and now with every one of their -<span class="pb" id="Page_135">135</span> -cliffs gleaming in the sunlight like the pictures -of a dream! For ages, have ye been the -playmates of the storm, and held communion -with the mysteries of the midnight sky. The -earliest beams of the morning have bathed you -in living light, and there too have been the -last kisses of departing day. Man and his -empires have arisen and decayed, but ye have -remained unchanged, a perpetual mockery. -Upon your summits, Time has never claimed -dominion. There, as of old, does the eagle -teach her brood to fly, and there does the -wild bear prowl after his prey. There do -thy waterfalls still leap and shout on their -way to the dells below, even as when the -tired Indian hunter, some hundred ages agone, -bent him to quaff the liquid element. There -still, does the rank grass rustle in the breeze, -and the pine, and cedar, and hemlock, take -part in the howling of the gale. Upon Man -alone falls the heavy curse of time; Nature -has never sinned, therefore is her glory immortal.</p> -<p>But how in thunder shall I get down from -this great poetical eminence? Why, by giving -you a simple matter-of-fact description. As -you know, the highest of these mountains -<span class="pb" id="Page_136">136</span> -was christened after our beloved Washington, -and with it, as with him, are associated the -names of Jefferson, Madison, and Adams. Its -height is said to be six thousand and eight -hundred feet above the sea, but owing to its -situation in the <i>centre</i> of a brotherhood of hills, -it does not <i>appear</i> to be so grand an object as -South Peak Mountain among the Catskills. -Its summit, like most of its companions, is -destitute of vegetation, and is therefore more -desolate and monotonous. It is somewhat of -an undertaking to ascend Mount Washington, -though the trip is performed on horseback; but -if the weather is clear, the traveller will be -well repaid for his labor. The Painter will -be pleased with the views which he will -command in ascending the route from Crawford’s, -and which abounds in the wildest and -most diversified charms of mountain scenery. -But the prospect from the summit of Washington, -will mostly excite the soul of the Poet. -Not so much on account of what he will behold, -but for the <i>breathless feeling</i>, which will -make him deem himself for a moment to be -an angel or a god. And then, more than -ever, if he is a Christian, will he desire to be -alone, so as to anticipate the bliss of heaven -by a holy communion with the Invisible.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_137">137</div> -<p>I spent a night upon this mountain, and my -best view of the prospect was at the break of -day, when, as Milton says,</p> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“——morn, her rosy steps in th’ Eastern clime</p> -<p class="t0">Advancing, sow’d the earth with orient pearls,”</p> -</div> -<p>and,</p> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“Wak’d by the circling hours, with rosy hand</p> -<p class="t0">Unbarr’d the gates of light;”</p> -</div> -<p>or when, in the language of Shakspeare,</p> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“The grey-eyed morn smiled on the frowning night,</p> -<p class="t0">Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light.”</p> -</div> -<p>Wonderfully vast, and strangely indistinct and -dreamy, was the scene spread out on every -side. To the west lay the superb Connecticut, -with its fertile valley reposing in the -gloom of night, while to the east, the ocean-bounded -prospect, just bursting into the life of -light, was faintly relieved by Winnepiseogee -and Sebago lakes, and like rockets along the -earth, wandered away the Merrimack, the -Saco, and the Androscoggin, to their ocean -home,—the whole forming an <i>epic landscape</i>, -such as we seldom behold excepting in our -dreams. Heavens! with what exquisite delight -did I gaze upon the scene, as in the eyes -of truth and fancy it expanded before my -mind. Yonder, in one of a hundred villages, -<span class="pb" id="Page_138">138</span> -a young wife, with her first-born child at her -side, was in the midst of her morning dream; -and there, the pilgrim of fourscore years was -lying on his couch in a fitful slumber, as the -pains of age crept through his frame. There, -on the Atlantic shore, the fisherman in the -sheltering bay, hoisted anchor and spread his -sail for the sea;—and there, the life-star of -the lighthouse was extinguished, again at its -stated time to appear with increased brilliancy. -In reality, there was an ocean of mountains all -around me, but in the dim light of the hour, -and as I looked <i>down</i> upon them, it seemed to -me that I stood in the centre of a plain, -boundless as the universe; and though I could -not see them, I felt that I was in a region of -spirits, and that the summit of the mount was -holy ground. But the morning was advancing, -and the rising mists obscuring my vision, -and, as I did not wish to have that day-break -picture dissipated from my mind, I mounted -my faithful horse, and with a solemn awe at -heart descended the mountain.</p> -<p>The ride from the Notch House through -the Notch valley, which is some twelve miles -long, is perfectly magnificent. First is the Gap -itself, only some twenty feet in width, and -<span class="pb" id="Page_139">139</span> -overhung with jagged rocks of wondrous -height, and then the tiny spring alive with -trout, which gives birth to the untamed Saco. -A few more downward steps, and you are in -full view of a bluff, whose storm-scathed brow -seems to prop the very heavens,—its deep -grey shadows strongly contrasting with the -deep blue sky. A little further on, and you -find yourself in an amphitheatre of mountains, -whose summits and sides are perfectly barren -and desolate, where the storms of a thousand -years have exhausted their fury. Downward -still and farther on, and you come to the -memorable Wiley cottage, whose inhabitants -perished in the avalanche or slide of 1826. -The storm had been unceasing for some -days upon the surrounding country, and the -dwellers of the cottage were startled at midnight -by the falling earth. They fled,—and -were buried in an instant; and up to the present -time, only one of the seven bodies has -ever been found. As it then stood, the dwelling -still stands—a monument of mysterious -escape, as well as of the incomprehensible -decrees of Providence. The Saco river, which -runs through the valley, was lifted from its -original bed, and forced into a new channel. -<span class="pb" id="Page_140">140</span> -The whole place, which but a short time before -was “a beautiful and verdant opening amid the -surrounding rudeness and deep shadow, is now -like a stretch of desolate sea-shore after a -tempest,—full of wrecks, buried in sand and -rocks, crushed and ground to atoms.”</p> -<p>After witnessing so much of the grand and -gloomy, I was glad to reach the bottom of the -Notch valley, and to continue along the picturesque -Saco, through a very pleasant and -well cultivated country, to Conway. My <i>last</i> -view of Mount Washington and its lordly -companions was the most <i>beautiful</i>. The sun -was near his setting, and the whole western -sky was suffused with a glow of richest yellow -and crimson, where hung two immense -copper-colored clouds just touching the outline -of the mountains; and through the hazy -atmosphere the mountains themselves looked -cloud-like, but with more of the bright blue -of heaven upon them. In the extensive middle -distance faded away wood-crowned hills, -and in the foreground an exquisite little farm, -with the husbandman’s happy abode almost -hidden by groups of elms, and with the simple -figures, only a few paces off, of a little girl -sitting on a stone, with a bunch of summer -<span class="pb" id="Page_141">141</span> -flowers in her hand, and a basket of berries -and a dog at her side. One more yearning -gaze upon the dear old mountains, and the -fountain of my affections was full, and I wept -like a very child.</p> -<p>Well, here I am at last in Portland. At -the time of starting this morning from Conway -it commenced raining, and all the way here -were we attended with refreshing showers. -There were six passengers, and it so happened -that we were acquainted with each other before -we reached the mountains, and having -for the most part enjoyed their scenery in -company, we were in a fitting mood to be -somewhat entertaining. Doctor Orville Dewy, -of New York, his lady and daughter, and -John Frothingham, of Montreal, and daughter, -are the friends whose names will ever be associated -with my recollections of the White -Mountains. The Doctor’s faculty for telling -a good story or cracking a joke, is well worthy -of the orator and writer; and if Mr. Frothingham -excels as a merchant in proportion to his -entertaining manner of relating his European -travels, he must indeed be a merchant prince. -As to the fair ladies, I cannot pay them a -better compliment than by letting</p> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“Expressive silence muse their praise.”</p> -</div> -<div class="pb" id="Page_142">142</div> -<p>Portland is a thriving city of some twenty -thousand inhabitants, and commands a very -fine view of the ocean. If for no other reason, -it should interest the admirers of genius because -it is the native place of Mrs. Seba -Smith, Professor Longfellow, and John Neal. -I have just received an invitation to hear some -singing from the lips of one of my fellow-travellers, -and as I know it will be of the -rarest kind, I must conclude this rhapsody, and -<i>migrate</i> to the parlor.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_143">143</div> -<h2 id="c9">MOOSEHEAD LAKE AND THE<br />KENNEBECK.</h2> -<p>Moosehead Lake is the largest and the -wildest in New England. It lies in the central -portion of the State of Maine, and distant -from the ocean about one hundred and -fifty miles. Its length is fifty miles, and its -width from five to fifteen. It is embosomed -among a brotherhood of mountains, whose -highest peak hath been christened with the -beautiful name of Katahden. All of them, -from base to summit, are covered with a dense -forest, in which the pine is by far the most -abundant. It is the grand centre of the only -wilderness region in New England, whose -principal denizens are wild beasts. During -the summer months, its tranquil waters remain -in unbroken solitude, unless some scenery-hunting -pilgrim, like myself, should happen to -steal along its shores in his birchen canoe. -<span class="pb" id="Page_144">144</span> -But in the winter the case is very different, -for then, all along its borders, may be heard -the sound of the axe, wielded by a thousand -men. Then it is that an immense quantity of -logs are cut, which are manufactured into -lumber at the extensive mills down the Kennebeck, -which is the only outlet to the -Lake.</p> -<p>A winter at Moosehead must be attended -with much that is rare, and wild, and exciting, -not only to the wealthy proprietor who has a -hundred men to superintend, but even to the -toiling chopper himself. Look at a single -specimen of the gladdening scenes enacted in -that forest world. It is an awful night, the -winds wailing, the snow falling, and the forests -making a moan. Before you is a spacious, -but rudely built log cabin, almost covered -with snow. But now, above the shriek of -the storm, and the howl of the wolf, you hear -a long, loud shout, from a score of human -mouths. You enter the cabin, and lo, a merry -band of noble men, some lying on a buffalo-robe, -and some seated upon a log, while the -huge fire before them reveals every feature -and wrinkle of their countenances, and makes -a picture of the richest coloring. Now the -<span class="pb" id="Page_145">145</span> -call is for a song, and a young man sings a -song of Scotland, which is his native land; -a mug of cider then goes round, after which -an old pioneer clears his throat for a hunting -legend of the times of old; now the cunning jest -is heard, and peals of hearty laughter shake -the building; and now a soul-stirring speech is -delivered in favor of Henry Clay. The fireplace -is again replenished, when with a happy -and contented mind each woodman retires to -his couch, to sleep, and to dream of his wife -and children, or of the buxom damsel whom -he loves.</p> -<p>The number of logs which these men cut -in a single winter is almost incredible, and -the business of conveying them to the lake -upon the snow gives employment to a great -many additional men and their oxen. The -consequence is, that large quantities of flour, -potatoes, pork, and hay, are consumed; and as -these things are mostly supplied by the farmers -of the Kennebeck, winter is the busiest season -of the year throughout the region. When -the lake is released from its icy fetters in the -spring, a new feature of the logging business -comes into operation, which is called rafting. -A large raft contains about eighteen thousand -<span class="pb" id="Page_146">146</span> -logs, and covers a space of some ten acres. -In towing them to the Kennebeck, a small -steamboat is employed, which, when seen -from the summit of a hill, looks like a living -creature struggling with a mighty incubus. -But the most picturesque thing connected with -this business is a floating log-cabin, called a Raft -House, which ever attends a raft on its way to -the river. During the summer, as before stated, -Moosehead Lake is a perfect solitude, for the -“log chopper” has become a “log driver” on -the Kennebeck,—the little steamer being -moored in its sheltering bay, near the tavern -at the south end of the lake, and the toiling -oxen been permitted to enjoy their summer -sabbath on the farm of their master.</p> -<p>The islands of Moosehead Lake, of any size, -are only four; Moose and Deer Islands at the -southern extremity, Sugar Island in the large -eastern bay, and Farm Island in a north-western -direction from that. All of these are covered -with beautiful groves, but the time is not -far distant when they will be cultivated farms. -Trout are the principal fish that flourish in its -waters, and may be caught at any time in -great abundance. And thereby hangs a <i>fish -story</i>.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_147">147</div> -<p>It was the sunset hour, and with one of my -companions I had gone to a rocky ledge for -the purpose of trying my luck. We cut each -of us a long pole, to which we fastened two -immensely long lines with stout hooks. Our -bait was squirrel meat, and I was the first to -throw my line. It had hardly reached the -water, before I had the pleasure of striking -and securing a two pound trout. This threw -my friend into a perfect fever of excitement, -so that he was everlastingly slow in cutting -up the squirrels; and it may be readily supposed -that I was somewhat excited myself, so -I grabbed the animal out of his hands, and in -less than a “jiffy,” and with my <i>teeth</i>, made -a number of good baits. The conclusion of -the whole matter was, that in less than forty -minutes we had caught nearly seventy pounds -of salmon trout, and some of them, I tell you, -were real <i>smashers</i>. But the trout of Moosehead -are not to be compared with those of -Horicon in point of delicacy, though they are -very large, and very abundant. The reason -of this is, that its waters are not remarkably -clear, and a good deal of its bottom is muddy. -Moose River, which is the principal tributary -to the Lake, is a narrow, deep, and picturesque -<span class="pb" id="Page_148">148</span> -stream, where may be caught the common -trout, weighing from one to five pounds.</p> -<p>In this portion of Maine every variety of -forest game may be found, but the principal -kinds are the grey wolf, the black bear, the -deer, and the moose. Winter is the appropriate -season for their capture, when they afford -a deal of sport to the hunter, and furnish a -variety of food to the forest laborers. Deer -are so very plenty, that a certain resident told -me, that, in the deep snow of last winter, he -caught some dozen of them alive, and having -cut a slit in their ears, let them go, that they -might recount to their kindred their marvellous -escape. But the homeliest animal, the -most abundant, and the best for eating, is the -moose. I did not kill one, but spent a night -with an old hunter who did. During the -warm summer night these animals, for the -purpose of getting clear of the black-fly, are -in the habit of taking to the water, where, -with nothing but their heads in sight, they -remain for hours. It was the evening of one -of those cloudless nights, whose memory can -never die. We were alone far up the Moose -River, and it seemed to me, “we were the -first that ever burst into that <i>forest</i> sea.” -<span class="pb" id="Page_149">149</span> -On board a swan-like birch canoe we embarked, -and with our rifles ready, we carefully -and silently descended the stream. How can -I describe the lovely pictures that we passed? -Now we peered into an ink-black recess in the -centre of a group of elms, where a thousand -fire-flies were revelling in joy;—and now a -solitary duck shot out into the stream from its -hidden home, behind a fallen and decayed -tree; now we watched the stars mirrored in -the sleeping waves, and now we listened to -the hoot of the owl, the drum of the partridge, -the song of a distant waterfall, or the -leap of a robber-trout. It was not far from -midnight when my companion whispered, -“Hush, hush!” and pointed to a dim spot -some hundred yards below. The first fire -was allotted me, so I took the best aim I -could, and fired. I heard the ball skip along -the water, and on coming near, found my -mark to be only a smooth rock. Two hours -more passed on, one small moose was killed, -and at day-break we were in our cabin fast -asleep.</p> -<p>The principal outlet to Moosehead Lake is -the Kennebeck, which “now demands my -song.” It is the second river in Maine, and -<span class="pb" id="Page_150">150</span> -one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. -Instead of watering a wilderness, as I had -supposed, all along its valley for over a hundred -miles are fertile and extensive farms, with -here and there a thriving village, inhabited by -an intelligent and industrious people. Its principal -tributary is Dead River, and the spot at -the junction of the two is called the Forks. -The cultivated region stops here, and between -this point and Moosehead the distance is about -twenty-five miles, which is yet a forest wilderness.</p> -<p>The principal attraction at the Forks is a -capital tavern, kept by one Burnham, who is -a capital fellow to guide the lover of Nature -or the trout fisherman to Moxy Fall or Lake -Lanman, which are in the immediate vicinity. -The mountains about here are quite lofty, -and exceedingly picturesque, abounding in the -maple, the oak, the pine, and hemlock. Emptying -into the Kennebeck, a few miles north -of the Forks, is a superb mountain-stream, -named Moxy, after an Indian who was there -drowned. Winding for a long distance -among the rock of wild ravines, and eternally -singing to the woods a trumpet-song, it finally -makes a sudden plunge into a chasm more -<span class="pb" id="Page_151">151</span> -than a hundred feet in depth. The perpendicular -rocks on either side rise to an immense -height, their tops crowned with a “peculiar -diadem of trees,” and their crevices -filled up with dark-green verdure, whence -occasionally issues, hanging gracefully in the -air, beautiful festoons of the ivy, and clusters -of the mountain blue-bell. The depth of the -pool was never told, and its waters wash -against the granite walls in a perpetual gloom. -On one occasion I visited it when there was a -high freshet, and saw what I could hardly -have believed from a description. I stood on -an elevated point, in front of the Fall, when -my eyes rested upon an immense log, some -sixty feet long, coming down the foaming -stream with all the fury of a maddened steed; -presently it reached the precipice,—then -cleaved its airy pathway down into the hell of -waters,—was completely out of sight for -<i>three minutes</i>, then, like a creature endowed -with life, shot upward again clear out of the -water, made another less desperate plunge, and -quietly pursued its course into the Kennebeck.</p> -<p>In speaking of <i>Lake Lanman</i>, it is necessary -that I should be a little egotistical. It is -<span class="pb" id="Page_152">152</span> -a fairy-like sheet of pure water in the heart -of the mountain wilderness, only about a mile -in length, but full of trout. The proprietor -was of the party that accompanied me on my -first visit. While approaching it, the remark -was made, that it was yet without a name; -when it was agreed that it should be christened -after that individual, who should on that day -throw the most successful fly. As fortune -would have it, the honor was awarded to me; -and on a guide-board in the forest, three miles -from Burnham’s, may be seen the figure of a -hand, and the words “Lake Lanman.” There -stands my written name, exposed “to the peltings -of the pitiless storm;” and in a few -years, at the longest, it will be washed away, -and the tree which supports it be mingling -with the dust. O, will it be even thus with -the <i>memory</i> of name?</p> -<p>Not to attempt a description of the scenery -of the Kennebeck, which could be faithfully -given only by the pictures of a Cole or Durand, -I will take you down its beautiful valley, and -tell you what I know respecting its beautiful -villages.</p> -<p>The first in order is Bingham, situated on -a fertile “interval,” surrounded with picturesque -<span class="pb" id="Page_153">153</span> -hills, charming and quiet as a summer -day, and containing within the jurisdiction of -its town an uncommonly fine farm, belonging -to a Mr. Parlin, who manufactures large quantities -of maple sugar.</p> -<p>Solon is the next village in the Kennebeck -valley, remarkable for nothing but Caritunk -Falls, which are twenty feet high, and run -through a gorge fifty feet wide. Here I saw -some twenty men “driving” the logs that had -been lodged all along the river when it was -low. It is a laborious life which these men -lead, but they receive good pay, and meet -with many interesting adventures. They generally -have the soul to enjoy fine scenery, and -therefore demand the respect of the intelligent -traveller.</p> -<p>Anson, though in the valley of the Kennebeck, -is situated on Seven Mile Brook, and is -a flourishing business place. From its neighboring -hills may be seen the sky-piercing -peaks of Mount Blue, Saddleback, Bigelow, -and Mount Abraham, which are the guardian -spirits of Maine. The town is distinguished -for its agricultural enterprise, and the abundance -of its wheat, having actually produced -more than is reported from any other town in -the State.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_154">154</div> -<p>Norridgwock, so named by the Kennebeck -Indians, because, when fighting with their -enemies at this place, they could find <i>no-ridge-to-walk</i> -upon, which was a desirable object. It -is a charming little village, and associated with -a celebrated Indian Chief named Bomazeen, -and also with a Jesuit Missionary, whose name -I do not remember. Not far from here is a -picturesque fall, also a picturesque bend of the -Kennebeck, where empties Sandy River, upon -which are many extensive farms.</p> -<p>Skowhegan is a thriving village, where -there are fine Falls, which I never could look -upon without thinking of the famous Glen’s -Falls in New York, of which they are a -perfect counterpart, though on a smaller scale. -Many and very dear to me are my recollections -of its “choice bits” of scenery, of the fine -singing I there heard, of the acquaintances -there formed, and of the pleasant literary communings -which were mine in company with -one of the best and most intellectual of women, -and who has for many years been my “guide, -counsellor, and friend.”</p> -<p>Waterville, the next town on the river, is -the seat of a Baptist College, and the head of -navigation on account of the Ticonic Falls. -<span class="pb" id="Page_155">155</span> -It is the centre of an extensive farming district, -which fact, together with the literary -taste of its people, make it an uncommonly -interesting place.</p> -<p>Augusta, the capital of the State, is also on -the Kennebeck, and with its State House and -other State buildings, its admirably conducted -hotels, its commanding churches, its large -bridge, and pleasant residences, is one of the -most picturesque and interesting towns in the -whole of New England.</p> -<p>Hallowell, two miles below Augusta, was -once a great place of business, and is still a -very pleasant place, though unable to compete -with its rival the Capital. In my mind it is -chiefly associated with some fine people, and -particularly with three beautiful sisters, who -are great lovers of poetry, and fine singers, -either with the piano or guitar.</p> -<p>Gardiner, further down, is a tremendous -place for saw-mills,—and lumbering I look -upon as one of the nicest and surest kinds of -business. It contains the handsomest church-building -in the State, and a number of fine -residences, belonging to its wealthy citizens, -of which that one belonging to Mr. Gardiner, -(after whom the place was named,) is the -finest.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_156">156</div> -<p>Bath is the next and most southern town on -the Kennebeck; it is quite a large place, -where there is a great deal of shipping done, -and is now in a flourishing condition. The -sail down the river from here is a most delightful -one, for the eye revels on a continual -succession of pleasant farms, quiet headlands, -solitary islands, and vessels of every kind passing -up and down the stream. Even to the -present day, the Kennebeck abounds in salmon, -which are caught with nets from the -first of May till mid-summer. To take them -with the hook is a <i>leetle</i> the <i>tallest</i> kind of -sport <i>in all creation</i>, and for the manner in -which I conquered a solitary individual, I refer -you to a certain passage in Scrope on Salmon -Fishing. Few are the rivers that I love more -than the Kennebeck, and very dear to me are -its manifold associations.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_157">157</div> -<h2 id="c10">LILLY LARNARD.</h2> -<p>I write from somewhere in Massachusetts, -and the following passage will give you an -idea of my theme:</p> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t8">All that life can rate</p> -<p class="t0">Worth name of life, in her hath estimate;</p> -<p class="t0">Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, virtue, all</p> -<p class="t0">That happiness and prime can happy call.</p> -<p class="lr"><span class="sc">Shaks.</span></p> -</div> -<p>Lilly Larnard is an only child, the pride -of her mother, and the delight of her father, -who is the clergyman of our secluded and -beautiful village. I desire to make you acquainted -with this dear girl; but what can I -find to say which hath not been anticipated -by the poet? Her character is already revealed. -Well, then, I will say something -about her by way of illustration.</p> -<p>As I passed by her cottage this afternoon, -which stands on the southern extremity of the -green, about a hundred paces from the meeting -<span class="pb" id="Page_158">158</span> -house, I noticed an almost startling stillness -about the premises, as if the place were deserted; -but this was owing to the heat and -natural silence of the hour. The closed window-blinds, -half hidden by woodbine and -honey-suckle; the open doors, with a kitten -sunning itself upon the sill of one of them; -bespoke it not only inhabited, but the abode of -peace and contentment. In a green grape-vine -arbor beside the house sat our little heroine, -engaged in drawing some curious flowers, -which she had gathered in the meadow during -her morning walk. At this moment two of -her female cousins stopped at the front -gate, and called her to go with them on a -ramble through the woodlands. I had just -time to change from one hand to the other my -heavy string of trout, for I was returning home -from angling, when out she came, bounding -like a fawn, robed in white muslin, her gypsy -bonnet awry, and a crimson scarf thrown carelessly -over her shoulders. This simple dress -is a specimen of her taste in such matters, and -the very thing to correspond with her dark-brown -curling hair, regular pearly teeth, blue, -Madonna-like eyes, and blooming cheeks. A -snow-white terrier, her constant playmate and -<span class="pb" id="Page_159">159</span> -companion, soon came following after, and -having licked the hands of the two friends, as -a token of recognition, leaped a neighboring -fence, and led the way across a clover-field. -When I turned to look again, the happy group -were crossing a rude bridge at the foot of a -hill, and following the path a short distance -they were lost to view.</p> -<p>Lilly Larnard is now in her sixteenth year. -She is passionately fond of the country; and -I do believe, could she obtain permission, -would spend half her time in the open air. If -she has but one summer hour to spare, she -goes no farther than her favorite brook, half a -mile from home, where she will angle away -her time, wandering up the stream to where -the overhanging trees throw a soft twilight -upon her path; and, if <i>necessity</i> requires it, -will off with her slippers, and wade in after a -bunch of lilies or some golden pebbles. The -neighboring farmer as he comes to the post-office -early in the morning, if he chances to -pass the parsonage, will most likely be saluted -by a sweet smile and bow. And from whom, -do you think? Why, from Lilly Larnard, -who is airing the parlor, dusting the furniture, -or arranging some creeping flowers beside the -<span class="pb" id="Page_160">160</span> -door, with her pretty face almost hidden in a -“kerchief white.” And it may be, when -mowing in one of his fields in the afternoon, -he will be surprised by a hearty laugh in an -adjoining copse, and on looking round behold -a party of girls returning from the strawberry -hills, with Lilly as their leader. She is a pure-hearted -lover of nature, and everything, from -the nameless flower to the cloud-capt mountain, -hath a language which causes her to feel that -the attributes of God are infinite. For her -gayer hours, Nature “hath a tale of gladness, -and a smile and eloquence of beauty, and -glides into her darker musings, with a mild -and gentle sympathy, which steals away their -sharpness ere she is aware.”</p> -<p>But how does she busy herself at home? it -will be asked. She is an early riser; and the -first thing she does in the morning, after she -has left her room, is to put everything in its -place which is out of place. She kindly -directs and helps Betty, the servant, to perform -those numerous little household duties, -such as feeding the chickens and straining the -milk, not forgetting to give pussy a saucer -full of the warm, sweet liquid. She sets the -breakfast table, prepares the toast, and all those -<span class="pb" id="Page_161">161</span> -kindred delicacies, and pours out the coffee, -sitting like a fairy queen in the old high-backed -chair, with her parents on either side. And -when her father clasps his hands to implore -a blessing, she meekly bows her head, sweetly -responding to the solemn Amen. If anything -is wanted from the kitchen, she is up and -away, and back again almost in a minute, so -sprightly is she in all her movements. During -the forenoon she is generally helping her -mother to sew or knit, or do anything else -which is required to be done; or, if her father -wants her to read one of his chaste and deeply -religious sermons, the sweetness of her eloquent -voice makes it doubly impressive. In -the afternoon she is generally engaged in some -benevolent duty. Not one in a hundred is so -well acquainted with the poor of the parish.</p> -<p>She enters the abode of the poor widow, -and, besides administering to her temporal -wants, gives her the overflowing sympathy -of her own warm heart, administering at the -same time the consolations of religion. It -is a common sight to see her tripping along -the street, with a basket on her arm; and the -clerk, or more stately merchant, as he sees her -pass his door, takes particular pains to make a -<span class="pb" id="Page_162">162</span> -bow, inwardly exclaiming,—“Who now is to -become the debtor of Lilly Larnard?” And -the stranger who may have met her in his -walk, fails not to inquire of his host, at evening, -the name of the lovely creature who -wears a white dress and gypsy bonnet.</p> -<p>Lilly is a Christian, not only a church-going -Christian, but her life is one continued -round of charitable deeds and pious duties, -almost worthy of an angel. She has a class -of little boys in the Sabbath school, and they -are all so fond of their amiable teacher, that I -do believe they would undergo almost any -trial for her sake. She <i>loves</i> her Bible too, -and would be unhappy were she deprived of -the privilege of reading it every day. When -she rises from her pillow at dawn, she kneels -beside her couch, and breathes her offering of -prayer; and so, too, when the day is closed -and she retires to repose.</p> -<p>Her father is a clergyman of easy fortune. -The prayer of his youth seems to have been -kindly answered by the Most High. About -one year ago he bought a beautiful chesnut -pony, and, all saddled and bridled, presented -it to Lilly on her fifteenth birth-day. As might -be expected, she was perfectly transported with -<span class="pb" id="Page_163">163</span> -the gift. “Oh! father,” she exclaimed, “how -I will try to merit your approbation in every -action of my life.”</p> -<p>A colored boy, named Tommy, is Lilly’s -groom and page, and he seems to love the -pony and his mistress above everything else -in the world. A smarter and better-hearted -page did not follow a high-born lady of -the feudal times. Lilly has now become a -first-rate rider; and often, when with her -friends, takes pleasure in boasting of her noble -accomplishment, and the speed of her horse. -When she has been out riding, she almost -always manages to canter through the middle -street of the village on her return. Sometimes -she is alone with her dog, and sometimes -with a female friend; but the forelock of her -pony is always surmounted by a few flowers, -or a cluster of green leaves, for she has a -queer notion of ransacking the most secluded -corners of the field and wood. Only a week -ago (the very day I caught that two-pound -trout), while standing upon a hill, I saw her -trying to leap a narrow but deep brook, and -she did not give up trying until she had accomplished -the deed. I thought that if her pony -had been gifted with the power of speech, he -<span class="pb" id="Page_164">164</span> -would have exclaimed, “Well done, you courageous -girl, you possess a wonderful deal of -spunk!”</p> -<p>Lilly left school about two years ago, because -her father chose to superintend her education -himself. She is a good scholar in everything -requisite for a lady. You could hardly -puzzle her with questions in history, geography, -or mathematics. Her modesty and simplicity -of character are so great, that you -would be surprised at the extent of her book-information -and practical knowledge. She -has a wonderful talent for making herself -agreeable under all circumstances. If she -meets a beggar woman in the street, she will -talk familiarly with her about her sorrows, -instructing her to bear up under every trial. -She is the universal favorite of the whole -village. All who know her, the poor and the -rich, from the child of three years to the -hoary head, all love her with the affection felt -toward a sister or daughter. She smiles with -those who smile, and weeps with those who -weep. Servant-girls consult with her about -purchasing a new dress, and little children -invite her to participate with them in their -pastimes.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_165">165</div> -<p>Lilly Larnard is a lover of poetry. Yes, -whether she sees it in the primrose and the -evening cloud; or hears it in the laughing -rivulet and the song of birds; or reads it in -the pages of Spenser, Milton, Shakspeare, -Wordsworth, or Coleridge. And she is a -<i>writer</i>, too, of sweet and soothing poetry, just -such as should always emanate from the pure-hearted. -To give you an idea of her poetic -powers, I will here quote her last effort, which -was written with a pencil on a fly-leaf of -Dana’s Poems while walking on the sea-shore; -for, be it known that the village of her -birth is within sound of the never-ceasing -roar of the Atlantic. The title of it is—</p> -<h3 class="generic">A SEA-SHORE ECHO.</h3> -<p>“Alone! and on the smooth, hard, sandy -shore of the boundless sea! A lovelier morning -never dawned upon the world of waters. -O! how balmy, how clear, how soul-subduing, -how invigorating is the air! Calmness sits -throned upon the unmoving clouds, whose -colors are like the sky, only of a brighter hue. -One of them, more ambitious than its fellows, -is swimming onward, a wanderer, and companionless. -O that I could rest upon its ‘unrolling -skirts,’ and take an aerial pilgrimage -<span class="pb" id="Page_166">166</span> -around the globe,—now looking down upon -its humming cities, and fruitful and cultivated -plains; and again, upon some unpeopled wilderness -or ocean solitude! But alas! the -peerless beauty of that light cloud will be -extinguished, when the sun shall have withdrawn -his influence, and, if not entirely dispersed, -will take another shape, and make its -home in darkness. And so have I seen a -man, when wandering from the heavenly -sunshine of religion, passing from his cradle -to the grave.</p> -<p>“As I gaze upward into yon blue dome, the -anxieties of life are all forgotten, and my -heart throbs with a quicker pulse, and beats -with an increasing thrill of joy. How holy -and serene those azure depths of air! Strange, -that aught so beautiful should canopy a world -of tears, decay, and death! Yonder sky is the -everlasting home of countless worlds; the vast -ethereal chamber, where are displayed the wonders -of the thunder, and lightning, and rainbow; -and a mirror, too, reflecting the glorious -majesty, the wisdom and power of the Omnipotent. -Lo! across my vision there is floating -another cloud, whiter than the driven -snow! Rearward, there trails along another, -<span class="pb" id="Page_167">167</span> -and still another, until pile on pile they reach -upward to the very zenith; and oh, how -gorgeous the scenes which my fancy conjures -up, delighted with their changing loveliness! -One moment, I behold a group of -angels reclining at ease upon the summit of a -pearly battlement; and now, summoned by a -celestial strain of melody, they spread their -pinions for a higher flight,—a flight into the -diamond portals of the New Jerusalem. Again, -a river of pure white foam rolls swift but -noiseless through unpeopled valleys, hemmed -in by airy mountains of wondrous height, -until its waters empty into a tranquil sea, -boundless and ‘beautiful exceedingly;’ and -on this, a myriad of swanlike barges are gliding -to and fro, without a breeze, while the -voyagers are striking their golden harps, and -singing hymns of sweetest strain and holiest -import, whose echoes die away on the shadowy -waves. There! all these, like the dreams of -youth, are melting into nothingness;—and my -eyes now rest only upon the dark blue ocean.</p> -<p>“The green waves of the Atlantic, with their -undulating swell, come rolling in upon the -sand, making a plaintive music, sweeter than -the blended harmonies of a thousand instruments. -<span class="pb" id="Page_168">168</span> -Would that I might leap in and wrestle -with them, and, when overcome by fatigue, -lay my heated brow upon those cool watery -pillows, rocked to sleep as in a cradle, while -my lullaby would be the moaning of the sea. -The mists of morning are all dispelled, and -the glorious sunshine, emblem of God’s love, -is bathing with effulgent light the ocean before -me, and behind me the mountains and valleys -of my own loved country. Look! how the -white caps chase each other along the watery -plain, like the milk-white steeds, striving in -their freedom to outstrip the breeze. Whence -comes this breeze, and whither is it going? -Three days ago, at set of sun, it spread its -wing near to a sandy desert of Africa, where -a caravan of camels, and horses, and men, had -halted for the night; and at the dawning of -to-morrow, it will be sporting with the forest-trees -of the western wilderness!</p> -<p>“Far as the eye can reach, the sea is -‘sprinkled o’er with ships,’ their white sails -gleaming in the sunlight. One of them has -just returned from India, another from the -Pacific, and another from the Arctic Sea. -Years have elapsed since they departed hence. -They have been exposed to a thousand dangers, -<span class="pb" id="Page_169">169</span> -but the great God, who holds the ocean -in the hollow of his hand, has conducted them -back to their desired homes. How many -silent prayers of thanksgiving, and what a -thrilling and joyous shout, will echo to the -shore, as those storm-beaten mariners drop -anchor in their native waters! Yonder, too, -are other ships, bound to the remotest corners -of the earth. They seem to rejoice in their -beauty and speed, and proud is their bearing; -but will they ever return? Alas! the shadowy -future alone can answer. Farewell, a long -farewell, ye snowy daughters of the ocean.”</p> -<p class="tb">But to return. Lilly Larnard is fond of -music, too, and plays delightfully on the harp. -Her voice is sweeter than the fall of waters -when heard at a distance in the stillness of the -twilight hour. She knows nothing of fashion, -and if she did, would consider it beneath her -dignity to be incommoded or swayed by it. -Instead of decking herself with gew-gaws, for -a brilliant appearance in the gay saloon, within -sound of the rude jest and foolish flattery, she -strives by watchfulness and care to purify her -daily conduct; for hers is not less prone to sin -than all other human hearts. “Necklaces -<span class="pb" id="Page_170">170</span> -does she sometimes wear, in her playful glee, -made of the purple fruit that feeds the small -birds in the moors, and beautiful is the gentle -stain then visible over the blue veins of her -swan-like bosom.” Beautiful as she is, a -feeling of vanity never yet entered the heart -of the rector’s daughter. She feels too deeply -the truth, that personal charms, which are the -only pride of weak-minded persons, time will -eventually transform into wrinkled homeliness; -and that an affectionate heart and good understanding -will endure, and become more perfect, -until the pilgrimage of life is ended.</p> -<p>Never has Lilly Larnard been more than -thirty miles away from the village of her birth. -She has read of cities, and the busy multitudes -that throng them; of armies and navies; of -politics and war; but all these things to her -are but as the visions of a dream. She is -ignorant of the real condition and character -of the great world, for nought but the echo -of its din has ever fallen upon her ear. She -listens with wonder to the deeds of which -I sometimes tell her I have been an unwilling -witness in the wilderness of men. She thinks -it strange, that the inhabitants of cities think -so much of the present life, and so little of the -<span class="pb" id="Page_171">171</span> -future. Her days have been spent in innocence -beneath the blue dome of the illimitable -sky, inhaling the pure unadulterated air of -the country, now sporting in the sunshine, and -now sprinkled by a refreshing shower; while -the loveliest of flowers and birds, and holy -and tender affections, have been her hourly -companions; and her nights have passed away -in pleasant dreams of that bright world beyond -the stars.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_172">172</div> -<h2 id="c11">LOUIS L. NOBLE.</h2> -<p>You ask me to tell you who is Louis L. -Noble, to whom I dedicated a volume of -Essays some years ago? There is hardly a -task in the wide world that I could enter upon -with greater pleasure than the answering of -this question. And why? Because he is one -of my best friends, and a poet of rare genius -and power.</p> -<p>To come directly to the point, then, he is a -young clergyman of the Episcopal church, -whose present field of ministerial labor is in -North Carolina. He was born on the Susquehannah; -but having spent his boyhood in the -wilderness where I was born, there has ever -been (since our acquaintance commenced) a -delicate stream of sympathy flowing out of -one heart into the other. His poetry (and -this is perhaps the secret of my attachment to -it) is the offspring of that wilderness country -<span class="pb" id="Page_173">173</span> -familiar to the world as Michigan, and his -themes I look upon as my own. He has -always been an admirer of the red man, and, -like me, in times past has associated with him -in the most intimate and familiar intercourse. -Therefore, when their customs inspire his pen, -you may depend upon the faithfulness of his -descriptions. He is a creature of impulse, and -whenever he strikes the lyre, it is because he -cannot help it, or because it affords him an -indescribable joy. He writes “with fury, and -corrects with care;” and I am not sure but he -sometimes weakens his conceptions by too -much pruning and artificial arrangement. He -is yet in the vigor of his days, and if his life -is spared, we have reason to expect great things -from his pen. In temper he is exceedingly amiable, -and in disposition variable as the shade, -but ever joyous as a strong-bodied and intellectual -boy,—a feeling which his philosophy -teaches him is a treasure beyond all price. In -person he is rather slender, but well formed -and sinewy, with dark complexion, hair like -the raven’s wing, and an eye as black, as keen, -and spirit-stirring as that of an Ottawa Chief. -He is one who cannot but be <i>loved</i> by all who -study his works, and to do this is the best -<span class="pb" id="Page_174">174</span> -literary advice I can offer you or any of my -thinking friends.</p> -<p>And now, as an important portion of himself, -let me characterize his poetry, and give -you a few specimens. As yet, he has only -occasionally published in our prominent periodicals; -but a volume of his Poems is now in -press, and I prophecy that its appearance will -be a bright era in our Polite Literature. His -principal efforts, up to this time, are entitled -“Ni-ma-min,” “Tale of the Morning Wind,” -“Lines to a Swan,” “Love and Beauty,” -“The Cripple Boy,” the “Emigrant’s Burial,” -the “Girl of the Sky-blue Lake,” and some -fine songs and sonnets. A valuable and remarkable -feature of his poetry, is its suggestive -tendency. It is of a kind calculated to -purify the public taste, to make more happy -those who read it, to instil into the heart a -love for the beautiful and true, and to make -us at once conscious of our own littleness -in the sight of God, and of the exalted -attributes of the soul; or rather, makes a man -feel that he is but a man, and yet a portion of -the Invisible. It displays a consummate knowledge -of the Indian character, an ardent attachment -to the works of nature, and showing a -<span class="pb" id="Page_175">175</span> -remarkable mastery of language, and the writer -to be possessed of a mind of refined poetical -genius. You find nothing in it “long -drawn out”; every sentence has a meaning. -It contains no far-fetched conceptions and -images; and every portion of each poem is -closely cemented together, and pervaded by -one spirit, one idea. Take away the rhyme, -and it is poetry; take away the thought, and -you will find much poetry in the versification -alone. It breathes of the virgin wilderness, -and of its brave, hardy, and noble children; -and dearly, dearly do I love it, for it recalls to -mind the living joys of my wild, free, and -happy boyhood. I would rather have written -his forthcoming volume, than to have been -the author of all the fashionable novels of the -present century. If it be true, that “a thing of -beauty is a joy forever,” then must the poetry -of Noble be as enduring as the English language, -or the memory of the Indian race now -withering from the land. A thousand blessings -rest upon the poet of my boyhood’s -home! As to the faults of his poetry, I confess -that he has his share, because he is of “woman -born.” So far as my sagacity goes, the most -glaring ones are these. He is somewhat inclined -<span class="pb" id="Page_176">176</span> -to the mysticism of the German, and -sometimes makes use of epithets that remind -us of his favorite authors. In the next place, -his stories are not as clearly defined as they -should be; but what, after all, to the genuine -lover of poetry, is the mere story of a poem? -“<i>Thoughts</i> that breathe, and words that burn,” -are what delight him, and it will probably be -only among kindred spirits that Noble will be -popular. The mass of people will likely pass -him by “as the idle wind, which they regard -not.” And why? Because their minds are -too narrow and weakly to enjoy anything superior -to the horrid and disgusting trash continually -teeming from the press. Noble’s poetry -is possessed of the true spirit of the nine, and -its gifted author need not doubt as to his reward, -which is the only one he desires, namely, -the approbation of sensible and refined minds.</p> -<p>And now, to back the foregoing opinions, I -mean to quote three poems, neither of which -shall be the longest and most ambitious he has -written, viz.; “Lines to a Swan Flying in the -Vale of the Huron,” “The Cripple Boy,” and -the “Girl of the Sky-blue Lake.” The Huron, -alluded to in the first, rises in the interior -of Michigan, and empties into Lake Erie. -<span class="pb" id="Page_177">177</span> -Its clear waters gave it the name of its more -mighty kinsman, Lake Huron. Now free your -imagination and give it wings.</p> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">O, what a still, bright night! It is the sleep</p> -<p class="t0">Of beauteous Nature in her bridal hall.</p> -<p class="t0">See, while the groves shadow the shining lake,</p> -<p class="t0">How the full moon does bathe their melting green!</p> -<p class="t0">I hear the dew-drop twang upon the pool,—</p> -<p class="t0">Hark, hark, what music! from the rampart hills,</p> -<p class="t0">How <i>like a far off bugle, sweet and clear</i>,</p> -<p class="t0">It <i>searches through the list’ning wilderness</i>!—</p> -<p class="t0">A swan—I know it by the trumpet-tone—</p> -<p class="t0">Winging her pathless way in the cool heavens,</p> -<p class="t0">Piping her midnight melody, she comes.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">Beautiful bird! upon the dark, still world</p> -<p class="t0">Thou fallest like an angel—like a lone</p> -<p class="t0">Sweet angel from some sphere of harmony.</p> -<p class="t0">Where art thou, where?—no speck upon the blue</p> -<p class="t0">My vision marks, from whence thy music ranges.</p> -<p class="t0">And why this hour—this voiceless hour is thine—</p> -<p class="t0">And thine alone, I cannot tell. Perchance,</p> -<p class="t0">While all is hushed and silent but the heart,</p> -<p class="t0">E’en <i>thou</i> hast human sympathies for heaven,</p> -<p class="t0">And singest yonder in the holy deep</p> -<p class="t0">Because thou hast a pinion. If it be,</p> -<p class="t0">O for a wing, upon the aerial tide</p> -<p class="t0">To sail with thee, a minstrel mariner!</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">When to a rarer height thou wheelest up,</p> -<p class="t0"><i>Hast thou that awful thrill of an ascension—</i></p> -<p class="t0"><i>The lone, lost feeling in the vasty vault?—</i></p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_178">178</div> -<p class="t0"><i>O, for thine ear, to hear the ascending tones</i></p> -<p class="t0"><i>Range the ethereal chambers!—then to feel</i></p> -<p class="t0"><i>A harmony, while from the eternal depth</i></p> -<p class="t0"><i>Steals nought but the pure starlight evermore!—</i></p> -<p class="t0">And then to list the echoes, faint and mellow,</p> -<p class="t0">Far, far below, breathe from the hollow earth</p> -<p class="t0">For thee, soft, sweet petition, to return.</p> -<p class="t0">And hither, haply, thou wilt shape thy neck,</p> -<p class="t0">And settle, like a silvery cloud, to rest,</p> -<p class="t0">If thy wild image, flaring in the abyss,</p> -<p class="t0">Startle thee not aloft. Lone aeronaut,</p> -<p class="t0">That catchest, on thine airy looking-out,</p> -<p class="t0">Glassing the hollow darkness, many a lake,</p> -<p class="t0">Lay, for the night, thy lily bosom here,</p> -<p class="t0">There is the deep unsounded for thy bath,</p> -<p class="t0">The shallow for the shaking of thy plumes,</p> -<p class="t0">The dreamy cove, or cedar-wooded isle,</p> -<p class="t0">With galaxy of water-lilies, where,</p> -<p class="t0">Like mild Diana ’mong the quiet stars,</p> -<p class="t0">’Neath over-bending branches, thou wilt move,</p> -<p class="t0">Till early warblers shake the crystal shower,</p> -<p class="t0">And whistling pinions warn thee to thy voyage.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">But where art thou!—lost—spirited away</p> -<p class="t0">To bowers of light by thy own dying whispers?</p> -<p class="t0"><i>Or does some billow of the ocean air,</i></p> -<p class="t0"><i>In its still roll around from zone to zone,</i></p> -<p class="t0"><i>All breathless to the empyrean heave thee?—</i></p> -<p class="t0">There is a panting in the zenith—hush!—</p> -<p class="t0">The <i>Swan</i>—How strong her great wing times the silence!</p> -<p class="t0">She passes over high and quietly.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">Now peals the living clarion anew,</p> -<p class="t0">One vocal shower falls in and fills the vale.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_179">179</div> -<p class="t0">What witchery in the wilderness it plays!—</p> -<p class="t0">Shrill snort the affrighted deer; across the lake</p> -<p class="t0">The loon, sole sentinel, screams loud alarm;</p> -<p class="t0">The shy fox barks; tingling in every vein</p> -<p class="t0">I feel the wild enchantment;—hark! they come,</p> -<p class="t0">The dulcet echoes from the distant hills,</p> -<p class="t0">Like fainter horns responsive all the while,</p> -<p class="t0">From misty isles, soft-stealing symphonies.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">The bright, swift river of the bark canoe,</p> -<p class="t0">Threading the prairie ponds of Washtenung,</p> -<p class="t0">Thy day of romance wanes. Few summers more,</p> -<p class="t0">And the long night will pass away unwaked,</p> -<p class="t0">Save by the house-dog, or the village bell;</p> -<p class="t0">And she, thy minstrel queen, her ermine dip</p> -<p class="t0">In lonelier waters.</p> -<p class="t8">Ah! thou wilt not stoop:</p> -<p class="t0">Old Huron, haply, glistens on thy sky.</p> -<p class="t0">The chasing moon-beams, glancing on thy plumes,</p> -<p class="t0">Reveal thee now, a little beating blot,</p> -<p class="t0">Into the pale aurora fading.</p> -<p class="t12">There!—</p> -<p class="t0">Sinks gently back upon her flowery couch</p> -<p class="t0">The startled night:—tinkle the damp wood-vaults,</p> -<p class="t0">While slip the dew-pearls from their leafy curtain.</p> -<p class="t0">That last soft whispering note, how spirit-like!</p> -<p class="t0">While vainly yet my ear another waits,</p> -<p class="t0">A sad, sweet longing lingers in my heart.</p> -</div> -<p>Is not that a magnificent production? How -does it breathe of nature in her primitive loveliness, -and how completely does it wean us from -the world of flesh and blood into that other one -<span class="pb" id="Page_180">180</span> -of spiritual blessedness! How majestic, and yet -how sweet is the flowing of its numbers!—reminding -us of a strong but pleasant summer-evening -wind, which is wont to make us -strangely happy, even in our grief! Can anything -be more completely exquisite than the -few lines that I have marked? Is there -anything in Dana, Bryant, or Longfellow, that -can eclipse them? or even in the very best of -England’s modern poets? There may be, but -I have never been able to discover them, -although I almost know by heart the poetry -of Wordsworth, Coleridge, Wilson, Cowper, -Goldsmith, Beattie, Shelly, Scott, Rogers, -Campbell, and Mrs. Hemans.</p> -<p>Now comes “The Cripple Boy,” of its kind, -one of the sweetest and most affecting things -I ever read; and I willingly acknowledge that -it has often blinded my eyes with tears. -Such poetry softens the heart, and prepares -us to sympathize with the unfortunate, and -look with kindly feeling upon our fellows. It -smooths the rugged pathway of life, by telling -us that it is not the whole of life to live, nor -the whole of death to die. We read, and our -hearts cannot but be made wiser, even as the -story of the Ancient Mariner made the heart -<span class="pb" id="Page_181">181</span> -of the Wedding Guest, and caused him to renounce -his anticipated pleasure. Read and see.</p> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t">Upon an Indian rush-mat, spread</p> -<p class="t">Where burr-oak boughs a coolness shed,</p> -<p class="t">Alone he sat,—a cripple-child,—</p> -<p class="t">With eyes so large, so dark and wild,</p> -<p class="t">And fingers, thin and pale to see,</p> -<p class="t">Locked upon his trembling knee.</p> -<p class="t">A-gathering nuts so blithe and gay,</p> -<p class="t">The children early tripped away;</p> -<p class="t">And he his mother had besought</p> -<p class="t">Under the oak to have him brought;—</p> -<p class="t">It was ever his seat when black-birds sung</p> -<p class="t">The wavy rustling tops among;—</p> -<p class="t0">They calmed his pain,—they cheered his loneliness—</p> -<p class="t0">The gales,—the music of the wilderness.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t">Upon a prairie, wide and wild,</p> -<p class="t">Looked off that suffering cripple-child:</p> -<p class="t">The hour was breezy, the hour was bright;—</p> -<p class="t">O, ’twas a lively, a lovely sight!—</p> -<p class="t">An eagle, sailing to and fro</p> -<p class="t">Around a flitting cloud so white,</p> -<p class="t">Across the billowy grass below</p> -<p class="t">Darting swift their shadows’ light;</p> -<p class="t">And mingled noises, sweet and clear,</p> -<p class="t">Noises out of the ringing wood,</p> -<p class="t">Were pleasing trouble in his ear,</p> -<p class="t">A shock how pleasant to his blood.</p> -<p class="t0">O, happy world!—Beauty and Blessing slept</p> -<p class="t0">On everything but him—he felt, and wept.</p> -</div> -<div class="pb" id="Page_182">182</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t">Humming a lightsome tune of yore;</p> -<p class="t">Beside the open log-house door,</p> -<p class="t">Tears upon his sickly cheek</p> -<p class="t">Saw his mother, and so did speak;—</p> -<p class="t">“What makes his mother’s Henry weep?</p> -<p class="t">You and I the cottage keep;</p> -<p class="t">They hunt the nuts and clusters blue,</p> -<p class="t">Weary lads, for me and you;</p> -<p class="t">And yonder see the quiet sheep;—</p> -<p class="t">Why now—I wonder why you weep!”—</p> -<p class="t">“Mother, I wish that I could be</p> -<p class="t">A sailor on the breezy sea!”</p> -<p class="t0">“A sailor on the stormy sea, my son!—</p> -<p class="t0">What ails the boy!—what have the breezes done!”</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t">“I do!—I wish that I could be</p> -<p class="t">A sailor on the rolling sea;</p> -<p class="t">In the shadow of the sails</p> -<p class="t">I would ride and rock all day,</p> -<p class="t">Going whither blow the gales,</p> -<p class="t">As I have heard a seaman say:</p> -<p class="t">I would, I guess, come back again</p> -<p class="t">For my mother, now and then,</p> -<p class="t">And the curling fire so bright,</p> -<p class="t">When the prairie burns at night;</p> -<p class="t">And tell the wonders I had seen</p> -<p class="t">Away upon the ocean green;”—</p> -<p class="t0">“Hush! hush! talk not about the ocean so;</p> -<p class="t0">Better at home a hunter hale to go.”</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t">Between a tear and sigh he smiled;</p> -<p class="t">And thus spake on the cripple-child:—</p> -<p class="t">“I would I were a hunter hale,</p> -<p class="t">Nimbler than the nimble doe,</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_183">183</div> -<p class="t">Bounding lightly down the dale,—</p> -<p class="t">But that will never be, I know!</p> -<p class="t">Behind our house the woodlands lie;</p> -<p class="t">A prairie wide and green before;</p> -<p class="t">And I have seen them with my eye</p> -<p class="t">A thousand times or more;</p> -<p class="t">Yet in the woods I never strayed,</p> -<p class="t">Or on the prairie-border played;</p> -<p class="t0">O, mother dear, that I could only be</p> -<p class="t0">A sailor-boy upon the rocking sea!”</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t">You would have turned with a tear,</p> -<p class="t">A tear upon your cheek;</p> -<p class="t">She wept aloud, the woman dear,</p> -<p class="t">And further could not speak;</p> -<p class="t">The boy’s it was a bitter lot</p> -<p class="t">She always felt, I trow;</p> -<p class="t">Yet never till then its bitterness</p> -<p class="t">At heart had grieved her so.</p> -<p class="t"><i>Nature had waked the eternal wish—</i></p> -<p class="t"><i>—Liberty, far and wide!</i></p> -<p class="t">And now, to win him health, with joy,</p> -<p class="t">She would that morn have died.</p> -<p class="t0">Till noon she kept the shady door-way chair,</p> -<p class="t0">But never a measure of that ancient air.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t">Piped the March-wind;—pinched and slow</p> -<p class="t">The deer were trooping in the snow;</p> -<p class="t">He saw them out of the cottage door,</p> -<p class="t">The lame boy sitting upon the floor:</p> -<p class="t">“Mother, mother, how long will it be</p> -<p class="t">Till the prairie go like a waving sea?</p> -<p class="t">Will the bare woods ever be green—and when?</p> -<p class="t">O, will it ever be summer again?”—</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_184">184</div> -<p class="t">She looked in silence on her child:</p> -<p class="t">That large eye, ever so dark and wild,</p> -<p class="t">Oh me, how bright!—it may have been</p> -<p class="t">That he was grown so pale and thin.</p> -<p class="t0"><i>It came, the emerald month, and sweetly shed</i></p> -<p class="t0"><i>Beauty for grief, and garlands for the dead.</i></p> -</div> -<p>The Girl of the Sky-blue Lake, is a simple -Indian ballad, teeming with pictures as fresh -and exquisite to behold as a full-blown wild -rose of the wilderness. Some of its versification -is remarkably fine, and the idea of the -story pleasing and mournful to the soul,—attributes -which I fancy are indispensable to -the perfection of any poetry; for there is no -such thing as poetry without truth, and truth -is ever a subject of solemn consideration.</p> -<h3 class="generic">PART I.</h3> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“Push off, push off the birch canoe,</p> -<p class="t">The wave and the wood are still;</p> -<p class="t0">The screaming loon is fast asleep,</p> -<p class="t">And so is the whip-poor-will.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">The moonlight-blowing flowers I love—</p> -<p class="t">On yon little isle they grow;—”</p> -<p class="t0">So said a black-eyed Ottawa girl,</p> -<p class="t">In silvery accents low.</p> -</div> -<div class="pb" id="Page_185">185</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“Off, off with the bark canoe, my boy,</p> -<p class="t">And tarry till I come back—”</p> -<p class="t0">“No, sister,” said the red-neck’d boy,</p> -<p class="t">“The panther will smell my track.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">Our boat upon the deep shall rock,</p> -<p class="t">And in it the paddles three;</p> -<p class="t0">My little grey dog my bow shall watch,</p> -<p class="t">But I will keep with thee.”</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“Now, nay, across the lake I go</p> -<p class="t">Alone to the flow’ry isle;</p> -<p class="t0">I’ll come e’er the big owl screams for day,</p> -<p class="t">So tarry thou here the while.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">Thou art a bounding hunter bold,</p> -<p class="t">As the wolf and the panther know;</p> -<p class="t0">And thou shalt whoop at the water-stars</p> -<p class="t">That flash in the skies below;</p> -<p class="t0">And when the still woods halloo back,</p> -<p class="t">The braver wilt thou grow.”</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">Now half-way over the sky-blue lake</p> -<p class="t">Hath paddled the wild red girl;</p> -<p class="t0">Kneeling, a wearied arm she rests,—</p> -<p class="t">The waters round her curl.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">Away she looks, with beating heart,</p> -<p class="t">Away to the purple isle;</p> -<p class="t0">Beneath it swings a bright round moon;</p> -<p class="t">She listeneth all the while,—</p> -<p class="t0">Heard she one far shrill whistle-sound,</p> -<p class="t">Her sadness were a smile.</p> -</div> -<div class="pb" id="Page_186">186</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0"><i>The lake was still as still could be,</i></p> -<p class="t"><i>And bright as a warrior’s blade;</i></p> -<p class="t0"><i>And, save the dash of the leaping fish,</i></p> -<p class="t"><i>Not a waking sound was made.</i></p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0"><i>The lovely bright-eyed Ottawa girl</i></p> -<p class="t"><i>Hath bent o’er the low canoe,</i></p> -<p class="t0"><i>And smoothed anew her raven hair</i></p> -<p class="t"><i>In the glass of the shining blue.</i></p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">And now is at the islet’s edge</p> -<p class="t">The stem of her birchen bark:</p> -<p class="t0">And so is the bare, the springy foot</p> -<p class="t">Of a hunter tall and dark.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“My deer-eyed dove,” the hunter breathed—</p> -<p class="t">And the maid fell at his knee:</p> -<p class="t0">Along its lash a bright tear flashed,</p> -<p class="t">And thus again spake he.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“My dark-eyed dove, the twisted shells,</p> -<p class="t">With tints of the blood-red snow,</p> -<p class="t0">I’ve brought thee now, and scarlet bird,</p> -<p class="t">And skin of the spotted doe.”</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">The red girl of the sky-blue lake,</p> -<p class="t">She loves that chieftain bold:—</p> -<p class="t0">He loves again: but hatred lurks,</p> -<p class="t0">And ever by day and by night it works</p> -<p class="t">In the heart of her father old.</p> -</div> -<div class="pb" id="Page_187">187</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">And hither, when the swan leads off</p> -<p class="t">Her brood on the sleeping swell,</p> -<p class="t0">Beneath a climbing vine they meet,</p> -<p class="t0">With tenderest words, in accents sweet,</p> -<p class="t">The tale of their loves to tell.</p> -</div> -<h3 class="generic">PART II.</h3> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">The Indian boy is fast asleep,</p> -<p class="t">And dew on his wolf-skin gray,</p> -<p class="t0">Hath cried him weary long ago;</p> -<p class="t0">His little grey dog is moaning low,</p> -<p class="t">And the big owl screams for day.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">Poor lonely sleeping Indian boy,—</p> -<p class="t">How wild are his fitful dreams?</p> -<p class="t0">—In mirth she comes; and sinking now</p> -<p class="t">To the water-moon she seems.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">A wolf is trotting in the brake,</p> -<p class="t">All under the panthers’ limb;</p> -<p class="t0">But they have licked a fawn’s sweet blood,</p> -<p class="t">And careless are grown of him.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">Then darker grew the shadowy woods,</p> -<p class="t">And bent with a crackling sound;</p> -<p class="t0">Shines through the dark the flashing foam</p> -<p class="t">On the pebbled beach around.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">Too late the warning loon has yell’d</p> -<p class="t">To the shallow-wading crane;</p> -<p class="t0">For now the thunder blast is up,</p> -<p class="t">And whirls the driving rain.</p> -</div> -<div class="pb" id="Page_188">188</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">O, red girl of the sky-blue lake,</p> -<p class="t">Look well to thy dancing bark;</p> -<p class="t0">The wind is loud, the wave is white,</p> -<p class="t">And the breaking morn is dark;</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0"><i>The wind is loud, the wave is white,</i></p> -<p class="t"><i>Look well to thy slender oar:</i></p> -<p class="t0"><i>The loon hath need of its wing of jet</i></p> -<p class="t0"><i>To battle the might of the waves, that fret</i></p> -<p class="t"><i>Along to the foamy shore.</i></p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">Alone, upon the frothy beach,</p> -<p class="t">In the still and pleasant morn,</p> -<p class="t0">The Ottawa child is waiting yet,</p> -<p class="t">But frightened and forlorn.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">His eyes are red, his hair is wild;</p> -<p class="t">He hath donned his wolf-skin gray;</p> -<p class="t0">His shivering dog is moaning low;</p> -<p class="t0">The child hath turned him round to go,—</p> -<p class="t">He can no longer stay.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">Yet once, with aching heart, he looks</p> -<p class="t">To the isle of flowers again;</p> -<p class="t0">It seems a sleeping bank of green</p> -<p class="t">Upon a silvery plain.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">Within its shade, the voiceless swans</p> -<p class="t">Are sailing two by two;</p> -<p class="t0">But never his eye can catch a glimpse</p> -<p class="t">Of the maiden’s birch canoe;—</p> -<p class="t0">The bow-neck’d swans are all that move</p> -<p class="t">Upon the silvery blue.</p> -</div> -<div class="pb" id="Page_189">189</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">Turn home, heart-broken child! turn home;</p> -<p class="t">That bark is in the deep;</p> -<p class="t0">And she has gone with the tinted shells</p> -<p class="t">To their own green caves to sleep.</p> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">Her spirit owns a brighter isle</p> -<p class="t">Than floats the moon below;</p> -<p class="t0"><i>Where never the thunder-blast is heard,</i></p> -<p class="t0"><i>She lists to the song of the scarlet bird,</i></p> -<p class="t"><i>And plays with the beautiful doe.</i></p> -</div> -<p>There! for this letter you owe me an oyster -supper,—but if you will give me that beautiful -engraving from Claude, hanging in your -study, I will call the matter settled.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_190">190</div> -<h2 id="c12">THE UNHAPPY STRANGER.</h2> -<p>I was a passenger on board one of those -noble steamers which navigate the Sound. -The hurly-burly attending our departure from -the dock was at last ended, and I had a good -opportunity to wander quietly about the boat, -studying, as it is my wont to do, the variously -marked countenances of my fellow passengers. -When the supper bell rang, there was a general -movement made towards the after-cabin, -and as I fell in with the crowd, I happened to -cast my eye upon the only group left behind. -This was composed of a middle-aged man and -his three children. The latter were getting -ready to retire to rest, and the youngest one, a -sweet little girl of perhaps three years of age, -ever and anon kept questioning her father as -follows—“where’s mother, pa?—pa, where’s -mother? When will she come back?” The -kind and delicate attentions of the father, as he -<span class="pb" id="Page_191">191</span> -smoothed the pillows and laid them in their -nest, tended to interest my feelings; and, when -at the supper-table, my fancy was busy with -the scene just witnessed.</p> -<p>It was now quite late; the lazily-uttered -joke, and the less frequent peal of laughter, -seemed to announce the spiritual presence -of repose. The newspaper, the book, and -checker-board, were gradually laid aside, and -in a little while nearly all the berth-curtains -were drawn up, and their occupants in the -arms of sleep. Many of the lamps were out, -and those that did remain produced a dim, -solemn twilight throughout the cabin—the -only part at all animated being that corner -where the boot-black was engaged in his appropriate -duty. The cause of my own wakefulness -it is unnecessary to relate; suffice it -to say, it was entirely dispelled by the following -incident.</p> -<p>Just as I was about to retire, the sigh of a -burdened heart smote my ear, and as I turned, -I beheld an individual sitting near a berth, -with his face resting upon the pillow, weeping -bitterly. He was a fine, intelligent looking -man, in the prime of life; and on nearer -observation, I found him to be the identical -<span class="pb" id="Page_192">192</span> -one, who had before attracted my attention. -I approached his seat, and, in as kind a tone -as possible, inquired the cause of his unhappiness; -adding, that I should be pleased to do -for him anything he might desire. For a -moment, a fresh flood of tears was my only -answer; but these he soon wiped away, and -extending to me his hand, he thus began to -speak.</p> -<p>“I am grateful to you, my dear Sir, for your -expressions of kindness and sympathy towards -me, but the weight which is resting upon my -spirit cannot be easily dispelled. I have been -sorely afflicted of late, and the associations -connected with that event are what caused -me to forget myself, and give vent to my -emotions in tears. To be found weeping like -a child, in the midst of a multitude of strangers, -may be considered a weakness, I hope not -a sin; but that you may understand my conduct, -I will relate to you the cause.</p> -<p>“One short month ago, as I paused to consider -my condition, I fancied myself to be one -of the happiest of men. My cottage-home, -which stands in one of the fairest valleys of -New Hampshire, was then a perfect picture of -contentment and peace. A much-loved wife, -<span class="pb" id="Page_193">193</span> -and three children, were then the joys of my -existence. Every pleasurable emotion which -I enjoyed was participated in by her, who was -my first and only love. From our united -hearts, every morning and evening, ascended -a deep-felt prayer of gratitude to our Heavenly -Father; and from the same source sprang -every hope concerning the temporal prospects -of our children, and, to us and them, of the life -beyond the grave. We were at peace with -God, and with regard to this world, we had -everything we desired.</p> -<p>“The time of harvest being now ended, and -an urgent invitation having been received -from my father-in-law, I concluded to take -my family, and make a visit to the pleasant -village in New Jersey, where my wife and I -were children together, and where we had -plighted our early love-vows. All things -were ready, and, leaving our homestead to the -care of a servant, we started on our journey,—reaching -in due time, and in safety, our -place of destination.</p> -<p>“We found our friends all well, and glad -to see us. Not a care or trouble rested on a -single heart. Thankful for the blessings of -the past and present, all our prospects of the -<span class="pb" id="Page_194">194</span> -future were as bright as heart could desire. -‘Old familiar faces’ greeted us at every corner, -old friendships were again revived, and -a thousand delightful associations crowded -around us, so that we had nothing to do but -be happy.</p> -<p>“Thus had two weeks passed away, when, -on the very night previous to our <i>intended</i> departure -for home, my wife was suddenly taken -ill, and when the morrow dawned,—<i>I was a -widower, and my children motherless</i>. The -idol of my heart, instead of returning to her -earthly home, was summoned by her Maker -to that blessed home above the stars, where -the happiness of the redeemed will never end. -God is great, and His will be done; but, -alas, it almost breaks my heart to think of -those bitter, bitter words—‘never more.’ I -cannot bear to think of it; never more upon -the earth shall I behold that beauteous form, -and listen to that heavenly voice, which were -my delight and pride. To my eye, the greenness -of earth is forever departed. O who can -tell what a day or an hour may bring forth? -O how lonely, lonely, is my poor, poor, poor -heart!”</p> -<p>These last words of my stranger friend -<span class="pb" id="Page_195">195</span> -were uttered in a smothered tone, and with a -drooping head; and, though he held my arm -after I had risen to go, I tore myself away, -for I thought it my duty to retire.</p> -<p>When I awoke in the morning, after a -troubled sleep, I found the boat was at the -dock, and the day somewhat advanced. My -first thought was concerning the unhappy -stranger, with whom I longed to have another -interview; but in making diligent search I -found that he was gone, and with him his -three sweet orphan children. His form, and -the few words he had spoken, seemed to me -like a dream. O yes, they were indeed the -substance of a vision—a dream of human -life. Surely, surely life is but a vapor, which -appeareth for a little season, and then vanisheth -away. As the great Jeremy Taylor hath -eloquently written: “Death meets us everywhere, -and is procured by every instrument, -and in all chances, and enters in at many -doors; by violence and secret influence, by -the aspect of a star, by the emissions of a -cloud and the melting of a vapor, by the fall -of a chariot and the stumbling of a stone, by -a full meal or an empty stomach, by watching -at the wine, or by watching at prayers, -<span class="pb" id="Page_196">196</span> -by the sun or the moon, by a heat or a cold, -by sleepless nights or sleeping days, by water -frozen into the hardness and sharpness of a -dagger, or water thawed into the floods of a -river, by a hair or a raisin, by violent motion, -or sitting still, by severity or dissolution, by -God’s mercy or God’s anger, by everything -in providence and everything in manners, -by everything in nature and everything in -chance. We take pains to heap up things -useful to our life, and get our death in the -purchase; and the person is snatched away, -and the goods remain. And all this is the -law and constitution of nature; it is a punishment -to our sins, the unalterable event of -providence, and the decree of heaven. The -chains that confine us to this condition are -strong as destiny, and immutable as the eternal -laws of God.”</p> -<p>This picture of man’s condition is indeed -most melancholy, but let us remember it is -not a hopeless one. Only let us keep the -commandments, and confide in the promises of -the Invisible, and we shall eventually find that -the laws regulating our final redemption will -prove to be as immutable as those concerning -our earthly condition.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_197">197</div> -<h2 id="c13">A WEEK IN A FISHING SMACK.</h2> -<p>On Monday morning of last week I started -from Norwich, bound to New London, and -from thence to any other portion of the world -where I might have some sport in the way -of salt-water fishing. In less than an hour -after landing from the steamboat, I had boarded -the handsome smack Orleans, Captain Keeney, -and by dint of much persuasion secured a -berth on board to accompany him on a fishing -voyage. In addition to my previous preparation, -I had only to purchase a Guernsey shirt -and tarpaulin; and by the time I was regularly -equipped, the sails were hoisted, and we were -on our course for Nantucket. An intimate -acquaintance was soon formed between myself -and crew, which consisted of the master, -two sailors, and the cook. The whole time -that I spent in their company was six days, as -I reached home on the following Saturday -<span class="pb" id="Page_198">198</span> -evening. The incidents that I met with were -somewhat new, as a matter of course, and I -employed a few moments of every evening -during my absence, in briefly recording the -events of the past day; and that medley I -now put together as a literary chowder.</p> -<p><i>Monday Evening.</i> My observations to-day -have been limited to our little vessel, in consequence -of a dense fog, which drenched us -to the skin, and seems likely to continue us -in this state of preservation. I have obtained -some information, however, concerning the -character of an interesting class of men, -which may be new to you. Smack-fishermen -are a brave, hardy, honest, and simple-hearted -race, and as my Captain tells me, spend nine-tenths -of their time “rocked in the cradle of -the deep.” Their vessels, or smacks, are generally -of about forty tons burthen; the number -of those which supply New York and -Boston with fish is said to be near a thousand, -and they are all at home anywhere on the -coast between the Kennebeck and the Delaware. -Of the perils which these fishermen -endure, and the privations they suffer, how -little is known or thought by the great world -at large! Yet I believe there is as much -<span class="pb" id="Page_199">199</span> -genuine happiness in their lives, as in those -of any other class. Their fathers were fishermen -before them, and as they themselves -have mostly been born within hearing of the -surf, they look upon the unsounded deep as -their fitting home, their only home, and would -not part with it for a palace or a crown. Four -is the usual number of a smack’s crew, and -the master is invariably called a skipper. Most -of them are worthy husbands and fathers, -whose families are snugly harbored in some -convenient seaport, with enough and to -spare of the good things of life. They are a -jovial set of men, hailing each other upon the -ocean as friends, and meeting upon land as -brothers. Each skipper thinks his craft the -handsomest and swiftest that floats, and very -exciting are the races they sometimes run. -Their affection for their own vessel is like -that of the Arab for his steed, and like the -Arab, too, they have been known even to weep -over the grave of their darling and their -pride.</p> -<p>The kinds of fish which they mostly bring -to market are shad, salmon, lobsters, mackerel, -cod, bluefish, haddock, blackfish, paugies, bass, -and halibut. The first three are generally -<span class="pb" id="Page_200">200</span> -purchased of local fisherman, but all the rest -are caught by themselves. The haunts of the -blackfish are rocky reefs, those of the bass and -bluefish in the vicinity of sandy shoals or -tide rips, and those of the remainder in about -fifteen fathom water. These are the varieties -they capture by way of business, but when in -a frolicsome mood they frequently attack a -sword-fish, a shark, or black whale; and soul-thrilling -indeed, and laughable withal, are the -yarns they spin concerning these exploits.</p> -<p>As to their mode of living, while at sea, it is -just what it should be, and what they would -have it, although it would be “positively -shocking” to a Bond Street gentleman of leisure. -But they always possess a good appetite, -which is what money cannot purchase, and -without which the greatest delicacy in the -world would be insipid or loathsome. Fish, -sea-biscuit, corned-beef and pork, potatoes, -onions, and pancakes, constitute their provisions, -and what besides these would a reasonable -man desire? It is with a mixture of some -of these, that a <i>chowder</i> is concocted, and -where can anything more delicious be found, -even at the tables of the Astor and American? -And with these ingredients, moreover, they -<span class="pb" id="Page_201">201</span> -manage very well to keep body and soul together, -unless a storm on a rock-bound coast -happens to make a sudden separation.</p> -<p>I have just been on deck, and must say that -I resume my pen with a heavier heart. The -fog has not dispersed in the least, a regular -gale of wind is blowing from the north, and -the waves, seemingly in a revengeful mood, -are tossing our bark about, as if the skipper, -like the Ancient Mariner, had shot another -albatros. But like a fearless man, as he is, he -stands at the helm, watching the sails with a -steady eye, and the men with their storm-jackets -on are standing by, muttering something -about the coming darkness, and a reef somewhere -on our lee. Never before have I so -distinctly understood the force of the Psalmist’s -simile, when he compares a wave to a -drunken man reeling to and fro. Both have it -in their power to cause a mighty mischief, and -both become exhausted and perish,—one upon -a sandy beach, and the other, sweeping over -the peninsula of time, finds a grave on the -shore of oblivion. Heavens! how the wind -whistles, and the waters roar! Aye, but a still -small voice salutes my ear, and I lay me down -to sleep, with a prayer upon my lips, and a -<span class="pb" id="Page_202">202</span> -feeling of security at my heart, as I place -implicit confidence in Him who holdeth the -ocean in the hollow of his hand.</p> -<p><i>Tuesday Evening.</i> I was awakened out of -a deep sleep this morning by the following -salutation from the skipper, as he patted me -on the shoulder. “It’s a beautiful morning, -and you ought to be up,—the fog is gone, and -the wind is down; won’t you come up and -take the helm awhile,—so that the boys and -I may obtain a little sleep before reaching -the fishing-ground, which will be about ten -o’clock?” I was delighted to accept the invitation, -and in a very short time the sailors -were asleep, and I in my new station, proud as -a king, and happy as a sinless boy. And oh -that I could describe the scene that fascinated -my eyes as I lay there upon the deck, with one -arm reposing on the rudder, and my other hand -grasping a Claude glass! I felt as I once felt -before, when standing on the famous precipice -of Niagara, that then, more than ever, I desired -God to be my friend. I also felt, that if the -world did not demand the feeble services of -my life, I should wish to remain upon the -ocean forever, provided I could have “one -fair being for my minister.” More earnestly -<span class="pb" id="Page_203">203</span> -than ever did I long for a complete mastery of -my art. The fact of being out sight of land, -where the blue element announced that the -ocean was soundless, filled my soul with that -“lone, lost feeling,” which is supposed to be -the eagle’s, when journeying to the zenith of -the sky. The sun had just risen above the -waves, and the whole Eastern portion of the -heavens was flooded with the most exquisite -coloring I ever beheld,—from the deepest crimson -to the faintest and most delicate purple, -from the darkest yellow to an almost invisible -green; and all blended, too, in a myriad of -forms of marvellous loveliness. A reflection -of this scene was also visible in the remaining -quarters of the horizon. Around me the illimitable -deep, whose bosom is studded with many -a gallant and glittering ship,</p> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t4">that have the plain</p> -<p class="t0">Of ocean for their own domain.</p> -</div> -<p>The waves are lulling themselves to rest, -and a balmy breeze is wandering by, as if -seeking its old grandfather, who kicked up the -grand rumpus last night; whereby I learn, that -the offspring of a “rough and stormy sire,” are -sometimes very beautiful and affectionate to -the children of men. But look, even the -<span class="pb" id="Page_204">204</span> -dwellers in the sea and of the sea are participating -in the hilarity of this bright autumnal -morning! Here, a school of herring are skipping -along like a frolicsome party of vagabonds -as they are,—and yonder a shark has leaped -out of the water, to display the symmetry of -his form and the largeness of his jaw, and -looking as if he thought “that land lubber -would make me a first-rate breakfast;” -there, a lot of porpoises are playing “leap-frog,” -or some other <i>outlandish</i> game; and, a -little beyond them, a gentleman sword-fish is -swaggering along to parts unknown, to fight a -duel in cold blood with some equally cold-blooded -native of the Atlantic; and now, a -flock of gulls are cleaving their course to the -South, to the floating body perhaps of a -drowned mariner, which their sagacity has discovered -a league or two away,—and now, -again, I notice a flock of petrels, hastening -onward to where the winds blow and the -waves are white. Such are the pictures I -beheld in my brief period of command. It -may have been but fancy, but I thought my -little vessel was trying to eclipse her former -beauty and her former speed. One thing I -know, that she “walked the water like a thing -<span class="pb" id="Page_205">205</span> -of life.” I fancied, too, that I was the identical -last man whom Campbell saw in his vision, -and that I was then bound to the haven -of eternal rest. But my shipmates returning -from the land of Nod, and a certain clamor -within my own body having caught my ear, -I became convinced that to break my fast -would make me happier than anything else just -at that time, and I was soon as contented as an -alderman at five P. M. About two hours after -this we reached our fishing place, which was -twenty miles east of Nantucket. We then -lowered the jib and topsail, and having luffed -and fastened the mainsheet, so that the smack -could easily float, we hauled out our lines and -commenced fishing, baiting our hooks with -clams, of which we had some ten bushels on -board. Cod fishing (for we were on a codding -cruize) is rather dull sport; it is, in fact, -what I would call hard labor. In six hours -we had caught all the skipper wanted, or that -the well would hold, so we made sail again, -bound to New York; and at supper-time the -deck of our smack was as clean and dry, as if -it had never been pressed save by the feet of -ladies. At sunset, however, a fierce southerly -wind sprang up, so that we were compelled to -<span class="pb" id="Page_206">206</span> -make a harbor; and just as I am closing this -record, we are anchoring at Nantucket, with -a score of storm-beaten whales on our starboard -bow.</p> -<p><i>Wednesday Evening.</i> The weather to-day -has been quite threatening, and the skipper -thought it best to remain at our moorings; but -with me the day has not been devoid of interest; -for, in my sailor garb, I have been -strolling about the town, studying the great -and solemn drama of life, while playfully acting -a subordinate part myself. This morning, as -it happened, I went into the public grave-yard, -and spent an hour conning over the rude -inscriptions to the memory of the departed. -In that city of the dead I saw a number of the -living walking to and fro, but there was one -who attracted my particular attention. He -was a seaman of noble presence, seated upon -an unmarked mound, with his feet resting upon -a smaller one beside it, his head reclined upon -one hand, while the other was occasionally -passed across his face, as if wiping away a -tear. I hailed him with a few kind questions, -and my answer was the following brief tale.</p> -<p>“Yes, sir, four years ago I shipped aboard -that whaler yonder, leaving behind me, in a -<span class="pb" id="Page_207">207</span> -sweet little cottage of my own, a dear, first-rate -mother, a good wife, and an only boy. -They were all in the enjoyment of good -health, and happy; and, when we were under -sail, and I saw from the mast-head how -kindly they waved their handkerchiefs beside -my door, I too was happy, even in my hour of -grief. Since that time I have circumnavigated -the globe, and every rare curiosity I -could obtain was intended for my darling -ones at home. Last Saturday our ship returned. -And while yet a league from port, I -was again at the mast head, looking with an -anxious heart towards my nest upon the shore. -I saw that the blinds were closed, and that all -around was very still; but ‘they are only -gone a visiting,’ thought I, and rejoiced at -heart. I landed, flew to my dwelling, and -found it locked. The flagging in my yard -attracted my notice, and I thought it strange -that the rank grass had been suffered to grow -over it so thickly. The old minister passed -by my gate, and running to him with extended -hand, I inquired for my family. ‘Oh -Mr. B.,’ said he, ‘you must bless the Lord,—he -gave them to you, and he hath taken them -away.’ And as the thought stole into my -<span class="pb" id="Page_208">208</span> -brain, my suffering, Sir, was intense, and I -longed to die. And there they are, my wife -and darling child, and, a step or two beyond, -my dear old mother. Peace to their memories. -As for me, I am a victim to blight and desolation, -and that sacred song which my mother -used to be so fond of singing on Sabbath evenings -long ago, that song I can understand -now:—</p> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">‘I would not live alway; I ask not to stay</p> -<p class="t0">Where storm after storm rises dark o’er the way;</p> -<p class="t0">The few lurid mornings that dawn on us here,</p> -<p class="t0">Are enough for life’s woes, full enough for its cheer.’</p> -</div> -<p>In a few days I mean to deliver up my property -to the Seaman’s Friend Society, and -then launching upon the deep once more, become, -and forever, a wanderer from my native -land.”</p> -<p>Such is the simple story I heard in the -Nantucket grave-yard, and I have pondered -much upon the world of woe which must be -hidden in the breast of that old mariner. May -the tale not have been recorded in vain.</p> -<p>After dinner, to-day, I got into company -with some fishermen who were going after -bass and bluefish, and in a short time I had -captured, with my own hands, two big bass -<span class="pb" id="Page_209">209</span> -and some dozen bluefish,—which I packed -in ice as a present to some New York -friends.</p> -<p>At my present time of writing, which is near -ten o’clock at night, we are weighing anchor, -and the skipper tells me we shall be in New -York by to-morrow’s sunset. An hour before -coming on board this evening, I lounged into -a sailor boarding-house, and mingled as freely -with a company of whalemen there, as if I -had ever been a <i>bonâ fide</i> member of the craft. -I heard a great deal that interested me, and -was sorry that I could not remain longer. -There were some in that company lately -arrived from every portion of the world, and -yet they were engaged in the same business, -and had journeyed on the same mighty highway -of nations. One was descanting upon -the coral islands of the Torrid zone, another -upon the ice-mountains of the Arctic Sea, a -third was describing the coast of California, and -another the waters that lave the Eastern shore -of Asia. The more I listened to these men -the more did the immensity of ocean expand -before my mind, and in the same proportion -was I led to wonder at the wisdom of the -Almighty.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_210">210</div> -<p>I have just been on deck, and find that we -are on the way to our desired haven, wafted -by a steady and pleasant breeze. Our course -is between Martha’s Vineyard and Rhode -Island, which is a route studded with islands -and seaports, that now appear in the cool starlight -like the pictures of a dream.</p> -<p><i>Thursday Evening.</i> Instead of coming -through the Sound last night, we headed our -vessel outside of Long Island, and after a -delightful sail have realized our skipper’s promise, -for we are now floating beside the market -in New York. The reason assigned for taking -the outside course was, that the fish would -keep better, on account of the greater coldness -of the water. Nothing of peculiar interest -has happened to us to-day, except the meeting -with a wreck off Sandy Hook. It was the -hull of a large ship, whose name we could not -discern. It had a very old appearance, and -from the moss and sea-weed that covered it, -we supposed it must have been afloat for many -months, the plaything of the waves. “Man -marks the earth with ruin,” but who is it that -scatters such splendid ruins upon the ocean? -And a thousand thousand remorseless surges -echo back the answer: “To us, belong the -<span class="pb" id="Page_211">211</span> -glory of those deeds.” If that wreck had language, -what a strange, eventful history would -it reveal! Its themes would be,—home and all -its treasures lost; the sea, and all its dangers; -the soul, and all its agonies; the heart, and -all its sufferings. But when we multiply all -this as fast as time is multiplying it, we cannot -but realize the idea, that human life is but a -probationary state, and that sorrow and sighing -are our earthly inheritance.</p> -<p><i>Friday Evening.</i> After portioning out my -fish this morning, and sending them to my -friends, I put on my usual dress, and having -obtained a six hours’ furlough, set off towards -Broadway, where, between the Mercantile -Library reading rooms and the studios of a -few artists, I managed to spend my time quite -pleasantly. At noon we embarked for home, -and had a delightful time, passing through the -East River, and that pleasing panorama from -the city to the Sound never appeared more -beautiful.</p> -<p>It is now quite late, and I have been on -deck all the evening alone. In a thoughtful -mood I fixed my eyes upon the stars, and my -spirits were saddened by the continual murmur -of the sea. Of what avail, thought I, is all -<span class="pb" id="Page_212">212</span> -this excitement? Why was I created, and -what, O what is my destiny? Is it to sail for -a few brief years longer upon the ocean of -life, and, when the death-tempest overtakes -me, to pass away unloved and unremembered -by a single human heart? If not an honored -name, can I not leave behind me an humble -memory, that will be cherished by a few, -a very few, to whom I have laid bare my -innermost soul, when I was younger than I -am, and a hundred-fold more happy? What! -O night! what is my destiny? And the tears -upon my cheeks were the only answer that -I received,—and I descended into the cabin -to my berth, to pray, to slumber, and to -dream.</p> -<p><i>Saturday Evening.</i> We anchored off New -London to-day, in time for me to take the -evening steamer for Norwich. When I parted -with my “shipmates,” I shook each one affectionately -by the hand, and thought that I -might travel many years without finding a -brotherhood of nobler men. I reached home -as the eight o’clock bells were ringing, and -was reminded that another week of precious -time was gone, and “another Sabbath was -begun.” That the present must be remembered -<span class="pb" id="Page_213">213</span> -as an unprofitable week, I cannot -believe, for I feel that my soul has been -enlarged, and my heart humbled, by listening -to the teachings of the mighty deep.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_214">214</div> -<h2 id="c14">TRIP TO WATCH HILL.</h2> -<p>A few mornings ago, just as the sun had -risen above the eastern hills, which look down -upon the Thames at Norwich, the prettiest sailboat -of the place left her moorings, and with a -pleasant northerly breeze started for the Sound. -Her passengers consisted of six gentlemen, all -equipped in their sporting jackets, and furnished -with fishing tackle, and their place of -destination was Watch Hill, which is a point -of land in Rhode Island, extending into the -Atlantic, a few miles from Stonington. We -were on a fishing frolic, as a matter of course, -and a happier company, I ween, were never -yet afloat, for the sport of a morning breeze. -What with the story, the jest, the iced lemonade -and exquisite cigar, the minutes glided by -as swiftly and unobserved as the tiny waves -around us. Now we met a solitary fisherman, -towing for bass, and as we hailed him with a -<span class="pb" id="Page_215">215</span> -friendly shout and passed by, he began to talk -in an under tone, and his voice did not die -away until we had turned a point. Oh, what -would I not give for an accurate record of that -old man’s life! Anon, we witnessed the soothing -picture of a well conducted farm, with its -greengirt cottage, spacious barns, neat and -flowing fields, and abundance of horses and -oxen, cows, sheep, hogs, and poultry. Now -we saw some noble men, such as Vernet delighted -to paint, hauling the seine, and, as the -“fruit of all their toil” were thrown upon the -sand, their flipping forms reflected back the -sunlight, reminding us of the short-lived glory -of an earth-born name. Now, we were overtaken -and tossed about by a steamer bound to -New Haven; and then we sailed in company -with a boat, a sloop, and schooner; meeting -others, beating up, from Boston, New York, -and Philadelphia. And the termination of this -pleasing panorama was composed of Gale’s -Ferry, the commanding town, fort, and monument -of Groton, together with the city of New -London, among whose anchored shipping -floated the saucy Revenue Cutter, and at -whose docks were chained a goodly number -of storm-beaten whalers.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_216">216</div> -<p>Having taken in “our stores,” and obtained -from the fish-market a basket of bait, we again -hoisted sail and put to sea, “bound first to -Commit Rock,” and “binding” ourselves to -capture all of the watery enemy which might -tempt the power or the dexterity of our -arms.</p> -<p>When about three miles from New London, -all eyes were attracted by a beautiful craft on -our lee, laden with a party of ladies and gentlemen. -“They’re going toward a reef!” -exclaimed our captain; and no sooner had the -words escaped his lips, than the stranger struck, -and stove a hole through her bottom. We -were just in time to save the party from a -watery grave; and when we had landed them -in safety on the beach, we were well repaid -for our trouble by the consciousness of having -done a good act, and by the thankful words -and benignant smiles of the ladies fair. A -dozen minutes more and we were within oar’s -length of the fishing rock. “All ashore, that’s -coming!” shouted our mate, when we all -leaped out, and a plenty of line being given -her, the boat swung to, and “like a cradled -thing at rest,” floated upon the waves. Then -commenced the sport. The breeze was refreshing, -<span class="pb" id="Page_217">217</span> -and the breath of the salt sea-foam -buoyed up our spirits to a higher pitch, and -gave new vigor to our sinews. The youngest -of the party was the first who threw his hook, -which was snapped in the twinkling of an -eye. Another trial, and a four-pound blackfish -lay extended upon the rock. Another, -and another, and another, until fourscore, -even-numbered, came following after. Tired -of the sport, two of the party entered the boat, -and hoisted sail for a little cruize. Half an -hour had elapsed, when the steady breeze -changed into a frightful gale, capsizing within -hailing distance a fishing boat with two old -men in it. Hanging on, as they were, to the -keel of the boat (which having no ballast could -not sink), their situation was extremely dangerous, -as there was not a vessel within two -miles. The poor men beckoned to us to help -them; but as our boat was gone, we could -not do so, which of course we much regretted. -For one long, long hour did they thus hang, -“midway betwixt life and death,” exposed to -the danger of being washed away by the -remorseless surge, or swallowed up, as we were -afterwards told, by a couple of sharks, which -were kept away only by the hand of Providence. -<span class="pb" id="Page_218">218</span> -This incident tended to cool our ardor -for fishing, and as we were satisfied with that -day’s luck, we put up our gear, during which -time the boat arrived, and we embarked for -the Hill. We made one short turn, however, -towards the boat which had picked up the -fishermen, as we were anxious to tell them -why we did not come to their relief. We -then tacked about, and the last words we -heard from our companions were,—“Thank -you—thank you—God bless you all,” and -until we had passed a league beyond Fisher -Island, our little vessel “carried a most beautiful -bone between her teeth.”</p> -<p>At sunset we moored our little boat on the -eastern shore of Paucatuck Bay. On ascending -to the Watch Hill hotel, we found it -to be a large, well-furnished house, and our -host to be a fat and jolly Falstaff-ish sort of -man, just suited to his station. At seven -o’clock we sat down to a first-rate blackfish -supper, then smoked a cigar, and while my -companions resorted to the ten-pin alley, I -buttoned up my pea-jacket, and sallied forth -on an “exploring expedition.” As I stood on -the highest point of the peninsula facing, the -south, I found that the light-house stood -<span class="pb" id="Page_219">219</span> -directly before me, on the extreme point, that -a smooth beach faded away on either side, the -left hand one being washed by the Atlantic, -and that on the right by the waters of Fisher -Island Bay, and that the dreary hills in my -rear were dotted by an occasional dwelling. -The breeze had died away, and the bright, full -moon was in the cloudless sky. Many sails -were in the offing, passing by and being passed -by the Providence and Stonington steamboats -bound to New York. The scenery around -me, and the loveliness of the day, with its galaxy -of stars above me, caused me to forget -myself, and I wandered far away upon the -shore—alone, in the awful presence of the -great Atlantic Ocean. No sounds fell upon my -ear, save the muffled roar of the ground swell, -and the faint whispers of the tiny waves as -they melted upon the sand. I traced my -name, and beside it that of another, a being -beauteous, for whose cabinet of curiosities I -gathered many a round, smooth pebble, and -many a delicate sea-shell. I wandered on, -now gazing with wonder and admiration into -the cerulean vault of Heaven, or into the still -deeper blue of the mighty sea; and now singing -with a loud voice one of the sacred songs -<span class="pb" id="Page_220">220</span> -of the sweet singer of Israel. Now, a thousand -images of surpassing loveliness darted -across my vision, as I thought of God—of an -eternal life in heaven—and of love, divine -and human; and then there came a weight -upon my spirit, as I remembered the powers -of darkness, the destiny of the condemned, -and the miseries engendered by our evil passions. -One moment I deemed myself immortal, -released forever from the contaminating -influence of sin, and then I thought of the -valley of death, and trembled. In that communion -with the mysteries of the universe, -strongly blended as they were, I felt that I -could wander on without fatigue, until the -whole earth should be trodden by my pilgrim -feet. But the chilly air and the fading -night warned me to retrace my steps, and in -an hour I had reached my home.</p> -<p>When the sun rose from his ocean-bed on -the following morning, surrounded by a magnificent -array of clouds, I was up, and busily -engaged preparing for a day’s fishing,—first, -and before breakfast, for bluefish, then for -blackfish, and then for bass. While my companions -were asleep, I went out with an old -fisherman, and by breakfast time had captured -<span class="pb" id="Page_221">221</span> -thirty bluefish, weighing about two pounds -apiece. The manner of catching these is to -tow for them with a long line, the bait being -a piece of ivory attached to a strong hook. -They are a very active and powerful fish, and -when hooked make a great fuss, skipping and -leaping out of the water.</p> -<p>At nine o’clock our party were at anchor on -a reef about one mile off, and for the space of -about two hours we hauled in the blackfish -fast as possible, many of them weighing eight -to ten pounds apiece. For them, you must -have a small straight hook, and for bait, lobsters -or crabs. A broiled blackfish, when -rightly cooked, is considered one of the best -of saltwater delicacies.</p> -<p>But the rarest of all fishing is that of catching -bass, and a first-rate specimen I was permitted -to enjoy. About eleven o’clock, I -jumped into the surf-boat of an old fisherman, -requesting him to pull for the best bass ground -with which he was acquainted. In the mean -time my friends had obtained a large boat, and -were going to follow us. The spot having -been reached, we let our boat float, wherever -the tide and wind impelled it, and began to -throw over lines, using for bait the skin of an -<span class="pb" id="Page_222">222</span> -eel six inches long. Those in the neighboring -boat had fine luck, as they thought, having -caught some dozen five-pounders, and they -seemed to be perfectly transported because -nearly an hour had passed and I had caught -nothing. In their glee they raised a tremendous -shout, but before it had fairly died away, -my line was suddenly straightened, and I knew -that I had a prize. Now it cut the water like -a streak of lightning, although there were -two hundred feet out, and as the fish returned -I still kept it taught; and after playing with -him for about forty minutes, I succeeded in -drowning him, then hauled up gradually, and -with my boat-hook landed him in the boat -safe and sound. The length of that striped -bass was four feet two inches, and his weight, -before cleaned, fifty-eight pounds. That is a -“fish story” worth telling. As a beneficial -effect and natural consequence of that triumph, -I would state, that I have grown about one -inch in height since then,—more or less,—as -the saying is,—but probably less. You can -easily imagine the chop-fallen appearance of -my brother fishermen, when they found out -that “the race is not always to the swift, nor -the battle to the strong.” At three o’clock in -<span class="pb" id="Page_223">223</span> -the afternoon, a piece of that bass tended to -satisfy the appetite which had been excited by -his capture, and I assure you it touched the -<i>right</i> spot.</p> -<p>Satisfied with our piscatorial sports, we concluded -to spend the rest of the day quietly -gathering shells upon the beach; but causes of -excitement were still around us. No sooner -had we reached the water’s edge, than we discovered -a group of hardy men standing on a -little knoll, in earnest conversation, while some -of them were pointing towards the sea. “To -the boat—to the boat,” suddenly shouted their -leader, when they all descended with the speed -of Swiss mountaineers, and on reaching a boat -which had been made ready, they pushed her -into the surf, and three of them jumped in, -and thus commenced the interesting scene of -hauling the seine. There was something new -and romantic to us in the thought, that the -keen and intelligent eye of man could even -penetrate into the deep, so far as to designate -the course of travel of the tribes of the -sea. And when the seine was drawn, it was -a glorious and thrilling sight to see those fishermen -tugging at the lines, or leap into the -surf, which sometimes completely covered -<span class="pb" id="Page_224">224</span> -them, to secure the tens of thousands of fish -which they had caught. There was a grace -and beauty about the whole scene, which -made me long for the genius of a Mount or -Edmonds.</p> -<p>A little before sunset, I was again strolling -along the shore, when the following incident -occurred. You will please return with me to -the spot. Yonder on that fisherman’s stake, -a little sparrow has just alighted, facing the -main. It has been lured away from the green -bowers of home by the music of the sea, and -is now gazing, perhaps with feelings kindred -to my own, upon this most magnificent structure -of the Almighty hand. See! it spreads -its wing, and is now darting towards the -water—fearless and free. Ah! it has gone -too near! for the spray moistens its plumes! -There—there it goes, frightened back to its -native woodland. That little bird, so far as -its power and importance are concerned, seems -to me a fit emblem of the mind of man, and -this great ocean an appropriate symbol of the -mind of God.</p> -<p>The achievements of the human mind -“have their passing paragraphs of praise, and -are forgotten.” Man may point to the Pyramids -<span class="pb" id="Page_225">225</span> -of Egypt, which are the admiration of -the world, and exclaim, “Behold the symbol -of my power and importance!” But most -impotent is the boast. Those mighty mysteries -stand in the solitude of the desert, and the -glory of their destiny is fulfilled, in casting a -temporary shadow over the tent of the wandering -Arab.</p> -<p>The achievements of the Almighty mind -are beyond the comprehension of man, and -lasting as his own eternity. The spacious firmament, -with its suns, and moons, and stars; -our globe, with its oceans, and mountains, and -rivers; the regularly revolving seasons; and -the still, small voice continually ascending -from universal nature, all proclaim the power -and goodness of their great original. And -everything which God has created, from the -nameless insect to the world of waters, which -is the highway of nations, was created for -good, was created to accomplish some omnipotent -end. As this ocean is measureless and -fathomless, so is it an emblem, beautiful but -faint, of that wonderful Being, whose throne -is above the milky-way, and who is himself -from everlasting to everlasting. But see, -there is a heavy cloud rising in the west, the -<span class="pb" id="Page_226">226</span> -breeze is freshening, flocks of wild ducks are -flying inland, and the upper air is ringing with -the shrill whistle of the bold and wild sea-gull, -whose home is the boundless sea; therefore, -as my dear friend Noble has somewhere written, -“the shortest homeward track’s the best.”</p> -<p>Still in the present tense would I continue. -The witching hour of midnight has again returned. -A cold rain-storm has just passed over, -the moon is again the mistress of a cloudless -sky, but the wind is still raging in all its -fury.</p> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t3">“I view the ships that come and go,</p> -<p class="t4">Looking so like to living things.</p> -<p class="t3">O! ’tis a proud and gallant show</p> -<p class="t4">Of bright and broad-spread wings,</p> -<p class="t0">Making it light around them, as they keep</p> -<p class="t0">Their course right onward through the unsounded deep.”</p> -<p class="lr"><i>Dana.</i></p> -</div> -<p>God be with them and their brave and gallant -crews. But, again.</p> -<div class="verse"> -<p class="t0">“Where the far-off sand-bars lift</p> -<p class="t">Their backs in long and narrow line,</p> -<p class="t0">The breakers shout, and leap, and shift,</p> -<p class="t">And send the sparkling brine</p> -<p class="t0">Into the air; then rush to mimic strife;</p> -<p class="t0">Glad creatures of the sea, and full of life!”</p> -<p class="lr"><i>Ibid.</i></p> -</div> -<p>But I must stop quoting poetry, for as “a -thing of beauty is a joy forever,” I should -<span class="pb" id="Page_227">227</span> -be forever writing about the sea. Heavens! -What a terrible song is the ocean singing! -with his long white hair streaming in the -wind. The waving, splashing, wailing, dashing, -howling, rushing, and moaning of the -waves, is a glorious lullaby, and a fit prelude to -a dream of the sea.</p> -<p>At an early hour on the following day we embarked -for home, but a sorry time did we have -of it, for the winds were very lazy. We were -ten hours going the distance of twenty-two -miles. It was now sunset, we were off Gale’s -Ferry, and not a solitary breath of air. Ashore -we went, resolved to await the coming of the -Sag Harbor steamboat, which usually arrived -about nine o’clock, and by which we were -taken in tow. Snugly seated in our boat, and -going at the rate of eighteen miles, we were -congratulating ourselves upon an early arrival -home, and had already begun to divide and -string up our fish. But, alas, at this moment the -painter broke, the steamer, unconscious of our -fate, still sped onward, while we sheered off -towards the shore, <i>almost disgusted</i> with human -life in general—for our boat was large, and we -had but one oar. But what matter? We -were a jolly set, and the way we gave three -<span class="pb" id="Page_228">228</span> -cheers, as a prelude to the song of “Begone -Dull Care,” must have been startling to the -thousand sleeping echoes of hill, forest, river, -and glen.</p> -<p>Having crept along at snails pace about one -mile, we concluded to land, and, if possible, -obtain a place to sleep, and something to eat; -for not having had a regular dinner, and not a -mouthful of supper, we were half starved. -With clubs in our hands, to keep off hobgobblins -and bull dogs, we wended our way towards -a neighboring farm-house, where we knocked -for admittance. Pretty soon a great gawky-looking -head stuck itself out of an upper window, -to which we made known our heartfelt -desires, receiving in return the following answer: -“My wife is sick—hain’t got any bread—you -can go in the barn to sleep if you want -to;” and we turned reluctantly away, troubled -with a feeling very nearly allied to anger. -“Come, let’s go off in this direction,” exclaimed -one of the party, “and I’ll introduce you to my -old friend, Captain Somebody,”—and away we -posted, two by two, across a new-mown field. -Presently our two leaders were awe-stricken -by the sudden appearance of something white, -which seemed to be rising out of the earth -<span class="pb" id="Page_229">229</span> -beside a cluster of bushes, and the way they -wheeled about and put for the river, (accompanied -by their fellows, whose fright was -merely sympathetic,) was “a caution” to all -unbelievers in ghosts and other midnight spectres.</p> -<p>At last we halted to gain a little breath, an explanation -was made, and our captain forthwith -resolved to <i>investigate</i> the matter. He now -took the lead, and on coming to the mysterious -spot, discovered an <i>old blind white horse</i>; who -had been awakened by a noise, and, following -the instinct of his nature, had risen from his -lair, to be better prepared for danger. I doubt -whether the echoes are yet silent, which were -caused by the loud and long peals of laughter -which resounded to the sky. Being in a strange -land, without chart or compass, we could not -find the mortal dwelling place of Captain -Somebody, and so we changed our course of -travel.</p> -<p>We stopt at another house, farther on, but -to save our lives we could not obtain an interview, -although we entered the hen-coop, and -set the hens and roosters a cackling and crowing, -the pig-pen, and set the hogs a squealing, -while a large dog and two puppies did their -<span class="pb" id="Page_230">230</span> -best to increase and prolong the mighty chorus. -If our farmer friend did not deem himself -transported to Bedlam, about that time, -we imagine that nothing on earth would have -the power to give him such a dream. Our ill-luck -made us almost desperate, and so we -returned to the boat, resolved to row the -whole distance home, could we but find an -extra oar.</p> -<p>It was now eleven o’clock, and the only -things that seemed to smile upon us were the -ten thousand stars, studding the clear, blue firmament. -Anon, a twinkling light beamed -upon our vision; and as we approached, we -found it to proceed from a little hut on an -island, where the Thames lamplighter and his -boy were accustomed to pass the night after -their work was done. Having again concluded -to land, we received a hearty welcome, as -the host proved to be an old acquaintance of -our captain and mate. “Have you anything -to eat?” was almost the first question of every -tongue. “No, nothing but this barrel of -crackers and some cheese,” exclaimed the -man of light. “And we,” shouted one of -our crew, “have plenty of fish,—can’t we -have a chowder?” “Aye, aye; a chowder, -<span class="pb" id="Page_231">231</span> -a chowder it shall be,” were the words which -rang aloud to the very heavens. A wherry -was despatched to the main-land, to the well -known habitation of an old fisherman, for the -necessary iron pot and bowls; for the potatoes -and onions, which were dug for the occasion; -for the pork, the pepper, and salt; all -which, added to our biscuit and black-fish, -nicely cleaned and prepared, constituted a -chowder of the very first water. There was one -addition to our company, in the person of the -old fisherman; and our appearance, as we were -seated in a circle on the floor, each with a bowl -of thick hot soup in his hands, constituted -a picture rich and rare. After we were done, it -was acknowledged by all, that a better meal had -never been enjoyed by mortal man. In about -thirty minutes from this time the odd one of the -company bade us “good night,” and the midnight -brotherhood resigned themselves to sleep. -The last sounds I heard, before closing my -eyes, were caused by the regular opposition -steamboats from New York, as they shot ahead -almost as “swift as an arrow from a shivering -bow.”</p> -<p>The first faint streak of daylight found us -on board our boat, homeward bound, wafted -<span class="pb" id="Page_232">232</span> -on by a pleasant southerly breeze. At the -usual hour, we were all seated at our respective -breakfast tables, relating our adventures of -the excursion just ended.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_233">233</div> -<h2 id="c15">OUR NEW YORK PAINTERS.</h2> -<p>Sometime ago, when I indited a letter on -the paintings of Cole, I partly intended it to be -the first of a series, which should include all -those of our painters who have established -themselves as masters. Since then, however, -I have relinquished that idea. I am not <i>sufficiently</i> -well acquainted with all these gentlemen, -and the number of their productions, -to devote a separate paper to each, and have, -therefore, concluded briefly to embody my -opinions concerning them in a single letter. -I propose to speak of those only who are identified -with New York, and who are now in -the full tide of successful operation; and my -object will be merely to write what would -correspond to a letter of introduction. In my -list, made without respect to persons, are the -following names; Durand, Huntington, Edmonds, -Page, Mount, Doughty, Wier, Inman, -Ingham, Chapman, and Harvey.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_234">234</div> -<p><i>Durand.</i> If you are at all conversant with -the history of art in this country, you need -not be told that this gentleman has long borne -the enviable reputation of being our best engraver -of the human figure. It is also a well-known -fact, that he has executed some remarkable -pictures in the way of portraiture -and fanciful history; but as he is now devoting -himself principally to landscape, I shall -consider his merits in this department alone.</p> -<p>His only imaginative landscapes, are a pair, -allegorically portraying the “Morning and -Evening” of human life. In one, the monuments -of art and the works of nature are in -their prime, and a halo of hope seems to surround -the brow of every living creature, young -men and maidens, and dancing children. In -the other, the same monuments and the same -nature are falling to decay, and most of earth’s -children are trembling under the weary load -of life. And here, on a fallen column, is seated -an old man leaning upon his staff, and listening, -as it were, to a song of memory, as it recalls -the unnumbered joys of other days. A saddening -subject, in reality, is here portrayed, but how -has the genius of the painter endowed it with -a spirit of immortality! To the thoughtful -<span class="pb" id="Page_235">235</span> -mind, it possesses a world of eloquence, and -touches the heart with the thrill of poetry. -Considered as a maiden effort in the most exalted -branch of landscape painting, it affords -abundant reason to believe that Mr. Durand -would accomplish great things in this department, -if he would but persevere. The only -fault I can find with it, is this—in the idea of -its design, and in some parts of its execution, -it bears too close a resemblance to the Departure -and Return, or the Past and Present, -of Thomas Cole.</p> -<p>The majority of Mr. Durand’s landscapes I -should designate as actual views and fanciful -pictures; and here, I think, he is without a superior. -In the choice of subjects, he always -displays an exquisite taste; and as he paints -with great care, and finishes highly, there is an -indescribable summer-day charm about his -pictures which is peculiarly their own. The -three most difficult things in nature for an -artist to delineate, are trees, atmospheres, and -figures; but all these have been thoroughly -mastered by Mr. Durand. His trees are strongly -characteristic, and his figures numerous, happily -introduced, and accurately drawn. Of -his views, I mostly admire “Lake Geneva,” -<span class="pb" id="Page_236">236</span> -“Shakspeare’s Church,” two “Views in Switzerland,” -“Island of Capri,” “Deserted Road-side,” -“Farm Yard on the Hudson,” “Oak -Tree with horses under it,” and a “View on -the Rhine.” Each one of these is a perfect -gem, a beautiful and poetical reproduction of -the original scene. But the most unique and -superb of all his paintings, is a fanciful picture -of a large size, exhibiting an extensive -lake in a wilderness. The sun is on the -verge of the horizon, the sky is studded with -an array of most gorgeous clouds, and the surface -of the lake is quivering under the pinions -of an evening breeze. In one corner of the -foreground is a cluster of luxuriant trees, encircled -with grape-vines, and in the other, an -admirable rock, on which is standing a solitary -heron, the only living creature in the whole -scene. The great triumph of this picture is -in the water—the gold-tipt waves.</p> -<p>The last time I saw Mr. Durand, he was -finishing some studies of chestnut trees in -blossom, which stand on the margin of Esopus -Creek. They are wonderfully true to nature, -and will enhance his reputation, even if he -should not paint anything more during the -coming summer. But I hope that he may -<span class="pb" id="Page_237">237</span> -not only live to do this, but to paint a dozen -summers more, and a dozen pictures in each -summer; for he is a great artist, and an honor -to his native country.</p> -<p><i>Huntington.</i> Although this gentleman is -under thirty years of age, he has produced -many admirable pictures, which place him on -a level with the most gifted artists of any -country. He commenced his career by painting -landscapes, many of which were wood-scenes -and waterfalls on the Rondout. They -are remarkable for their rich coloring, and -dashing style of execution. But it is as a -portrait and historical painter that he is most -celebrated. In both these departments his -power is wonderful. Eight years ago he was -a pupil of Mr. Morse, but now is an acknowledged -master, and the pride of his profession. -He uses the most glowing colors, and yet -there is a perfect harmony in all he paints; he -handles the pencil in a fine off-hand style, and -yet his flesh possesses the softness of the -reality; he can take the most ordinary head, -and by his arrangement and his faculty -of exalting his subject, make an interesting -picture, while at the same time it will be a -speaking likeness. Of his portraits, the most -<span class="pb" id="Page_238">238</span> -superb are those of his father, an uncle and aunt, -“The Venetian Girl,” the “Roman Girl,” and -“Shepherd Boy of the Campagna.” The last -of these, which we think is equal to Murillo’s -“Beggar Boy,” was painted in the incredible -short period of four hours. If this fact and this -picture do not prove Huntington to be a wonderful -genius, we do not know what could do so. -But even all the pictures just mentioned are -eclipsed by his two historical ones, taken from -the Pilgrim’s Progress, viz.: “Mercy’s Dream,” -and “Christiana and Family passing through -the Valley of the Shadow of Death.” In the -first, Mercy is in a reclining position, resting -on one arm, with her face raised heavenward, -while the angel hovering above her is on the -point of placing the crown upon her head. In -her position there may be something a little -unnatural, and the expression of the angel -may be somewhat too earthly; but where, in -the whole range of art, is there anything more -beautifully designed, more accurately drawn, -or more richly colored? In the other picture, -Christiana and her family are represented on a -rock overlooking a valley of flame. At first -we are startled by a feeling of terror, but -when the eye falls upon the principal figure, -<span class="pb" id="Page_239">239</span> -her upraised countenance beaming with holy -confidence and hope, the first impulse vanishes, -and the heart throbs with peaceful joy. -The soul depicted in that countenance, its -conception and execution, is a triumph of art -which we believe can never be surpassed. -But the interest does not stop here. What a -world of poetry has the painter portrayed in -the eldest son attempting to shield the loved -ones from the impending danger, and in the -youngest child cleaving to its mother for protection! -All, in fact, look to Christiana for -safety, while she, with the meekness of childhood, -looks calmly up to the Almighty. I -should rather be the author of that painting -than of any others of superior merit. Oh, it -is a blessed thing to see genius consecrating -its powers to the promotion of His glory, from -whom all genius flows! Huntington possesses -both great and good qualities, and we trust -that his sojourn in Europe will not be prolonged -beyond an extensive tour.</p> -<p><i>Edmonds.</i> This gentleman, who occupies -the responsible station of cashier in a bank, is -considered one of the ablest financiers in New -York, while, at the same time, he enjoys a -remarkable reputation as an artist. His paintings -<span class="pb" id="Page_240">240</span> -are comparatively few, owing to his peculiar -situation, and to the correct notion which -he entertains, that a work of art should not -be exhibited to the public until its author has -done his best to make it perfect. His style of -coloring is warm and glowing, and his drawing -exceedingly accurate. As a designer, he -is more particular than our artists generally; -and very few, I think, understand the principles -of composition so well. He is a man of -quite extensive reading, and of expansive mind, -and his pictures are an index to the humor -which it contains. They are of a comical -character, and never fail to tell their story at -a single glance. They are always intended to -make you laugh, and are, therefore, agreeable -helpers on to a long life; and sometimes possess -an undercurrent of poetry or philosophy, -which makes them voiceless preachers to the -thinking man. His best pictures are the “Newspaper -Boy,” “The Country and City Beaux,” -“Sparking,” “The Bashful Cousin,” “Italian -Mendicants,” “The Epicure,” and “Stealing -Milk.” The first represents a large room -thronged with men, women, and children, -into the midst of whom a ragged boy has -entered to sell his Sunday morning papers. In -<span class="pb" id="Page_241">241</span> -the second we have a charming country lady -and her accepted lover, suddenly surprised by -the appearance of a city dandy; and while the -latter is nettled by the appearance of things, -the former, who is rocking himself in an arm-chair, -very coolly puffs the smoke of his cigar -into the face of his disappointed rival. In the -next, a country damsel is peeling apples before -a large blazing fire, while a hearty fellow is -talking to her, “solemnly and slow,” about his -heart and other kindred matters. In the next, -a bashful young fellow is taking leave of his -friends, who urge him to sit down to tea, -which is now ready. The next is a blind old -man, led by a little girl, asking alms in the -streets of Rome. In the Epicure, we have a -butcher displaying his nice things to an old -gentleman, almost eaten up in health by rich -living. In the last, we have a school-boy in -his mother’s pantry, swallowing large quantities -of rich cream, who is discovered by his -“anxious Ma” in the very act. All things -considered, I think Mr. Edmonds one of the -most remarkable men of the age, and hope -that he may live to make many more additions -to the genius-stamped treasures of American -art.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_242">242</div> -<p><i>Page.</i> Here we come to another honored -artist, but one who has been greatly over-rated; -not a man of genius, but one of rare, -of extraordinary talent. As a mere portrait -painter or map-taker, he is without a rival, I -believe, in any country. The man who sits -to him for a likeness, must expect to have -every hair on his face delineated to perfection, -but must not expect to have himself exalted -or intellectualized. This is a thing which -Page has never done, and can never do, and -consequently he will never excel as an historical -painter. I am warranted in making -this assertion by looking at his past efforts in -this department? What admirable execution -has he squandered on his picture of “The -Whistle,” his “Prison Scene,” and lately in -his “Ecce Homo.” In coloring and drawing, -these pictures cannot be surpassed; but how -very inferior are they in conception, and especially -the last! Surely, the Saviour of the -world could never have borne so <i>physical</i> a -countenance as Page has here conceived! It -is understood, that he is engaged on a large -picture, to be called “Jephtha’s Daughter.” -I sincerely <i>hope</i> that he may triumph there, -but I cannot but doubt. Parts of it I know -<span class="pb" id="Page_243">243</span> -will be astonishingly fine, but, as a whole, it -will be a failure. I have been thus free in -my remarks concerning this artist, because he -is lauded as a great <i>genius</i>, which I am not -willing to acknowledge, although I admire -him as a portrait painter. His style of coloring -is not easily described, for it varies with every -one of his subjects, now pale as death or red -as a cherry, and now blue as sapphire or green -as an emerald. If I desired my children to -behold their very Pa long after he is in the -grave, I would rather have Page paint me -than any other man. His greatest portraits -are those of Mrs. Ridner, a single head and -with a child, of Lowell the poet, of Mr. Leup, -and of himself.</p> -<p><i>Mount.</i> Three cheers for the laughter-loving -and incomparable genius of Stony -Brook, whom I know to be a first-rate fisherman, -and a most pathetic player on the violin. -Here is a man who stands alone in the art of -painting, for, in everything he does, he is -entirely original. His productions are stamped -with an entirely American character, and so -comically conceived, that they always cause -the beholder to smile, whatever may be his -troubles. His coloring is what we call cold, -<span class="pb" id="Page_244">244</span> -but remarkable for its fidelity; and his power -and knowledge of drawing are superior to -those of any other man in the country. Unlike -Mr. Edmonds, he pays but little attention -to designing by rule, but in expression, he -always lays himself out, and I know not that -he has ever failed, in a single instance, to -delineate the character he aimed at. He is -peculiar in the habit of tasking his own mind -for his subjects, so that you never see him -illustrating the pages of any writer, historian, -poet or wit. And this is a feature I greatly -admire. The man who cannot conceive and -execute a picture on his own hook entirely, is -nothing but a copyist, whatever may be his -knowledge of the art. Thinking and strictly -original painters, are the only ones that exert a -lasting and salutary influence on the pictorial -genius of their country, and Mr. Mount, I am -glad to know, is emphatically one of these. -But let me glance at those pictures which I -believe warrant the foregoing opinions. Their -general character may be imagined by their -titles, which are as follows: “Cider Making,” -“The Raffle,” “Tough Yarn,” “Fortune -Telling,” “Bargaining for a Horse,” “Gamesters -Surprised,” “Winding Up,” “Ringing a -<span class="pb" id="Page_245">245</span> -Hog,” “Artist showing his Work,” “The last -Clam,” “Hoeing Corn,” “Husking Corn,” -“Rustic Dance,” and “Rabbit Catching.” In -the first, we have a Long Island cider mill, with -all the laughable appurtenances thereof. In -the next, a company of loafers in a country -bar-room are raffling for a goose, illustrating -the proverb, that “birds of a feather flock -together.” The next picture, a lame old -“covey” telling a story to two impatient gentlemen, -which has been illustrated by an -admirable story from the pen of Seba Smith, -Esq. In the next, a couple of farmers, in a -barn-yard, are discussing the merits of a “slick -looking” horse hitched to a fence, one of them -rolling a stone with his foot, and the other -whittling a stick. In the next, we have some -truant boys, who have stolen into a barn to -play “heads or tails,” who are discovered by -the farmer; and while he approaches cautiously, -with a long stick in his hand and vengeance -in his eye, one of the boys is frightened by -the approaching step, but another is so absorbed -in the game, that a nameless portion of -his body is about to sting under the chastising -stroke. The next exhibits a gentleman lover -holding a skein of yarn for a buxom country -<span class="pb" id="Page_246">246</span> -damsel. The next, is a <i>painted</i> “concord of -<i>sharp</i> sounds.” In the next, an artist is showing -a country farmer a picture, which causes -him great delight. The next, portrays the -garret of a disappointed bachelor, seated before -a fireless fireplace, and mourning over the -departure of a few clams, the shells of which -are on the hearth at his feet. The four remaining -pictures are described in their titles. -The man who could paint such a variety of -subjects, ought assuredly to be a good portrait -painter; and Mr. Mount is such. His portraits -are only occasionally executed, and for particular -friends, and the former only when the -spirit moves him, for he is a creature of impulse. -And besides, his health has ever been -of a delicate nature, which will not suffer him -to “bone” down to labor. This fact, I presume, -will be a satisfactory answer to those -who are continually inquiring, “Why don’t -Mount paint more?” The pictures he has -produced, admirable and numerous as they -are, are but as the bud to the fruit, when we -consider his great capacity. I hope that it may -be his fortune to enjoy a long and happy life, -and that he may make many more additions to -American art.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_247">247</div> -<p><i>Doughty.</i> This gentleman has long been a -favorite landscape painter with the public, and -has executed many exceedingly beautiful pictures, -principally of a fanciful character. In -number they are too great, which is his misfortune -and not his fault. He has been obliged to -paint at a cheap price, or the public would have -let him starve to death, as they would any other -artist, or a man of refined and exalted taste. -And having painted so much, it is not to be -wondered at that many of his productions -should have been too hastily done, and that -there should be a sameness in his subjects. -Finishing, as he generally does, with great -care, it always gratifies the eye to behold his -pictures; but it is obvious that he has never -painted much from nature, for there is a monotony -in his touch, which cannot escape the -criticism of the attentive student of foliage. -There are some, however, and very important -features too, in landscape painting, which are -completely mastered by Mr. Doughty, and in -which he is without a rival, either in Cole, -Durand, or Huntington. His skies and water are -the most true and beautiful that we have ever -seen. A carefully painted waterfall by Doughty, -is a picture of rare excellence and great -<span class="pb" id="Page_248">248</span> -value. His atmospheres, too, are sometimes -most exquisitely conceived and executed. -Good figures are the principal things wanting -in his paintings to make some of them nearly -perfect, and his inability to paint them is undoubtedly -another reason for the sameness -of his subjects. When a man paints without -a story or a moral in view, it is difficult to -designate his pictures; but our favorites among -those of Mr. Doughty, are a large “upright” -with waterfall, an autumn scene, owned in -Boston, another sold to the Apollo Association, -and a scene on Lake George.</p> -<p><i>Wier.</i> This gentleman is the accomplished -teacher of drawing at the Academy of West -Point. The majority of his productions, which -are numerous, give evidence of his possessing -extensive literary acquirements, a refined mind, -and brilliant imagination. He is the author of -a number of pleasing landscapes, the best of -which, “Constable Bourbon’s March to Rome,” -has been illustrated by the pen of Gulian C. -Verplanck. The amusing pictures, called the -“Boat Club,” and “St. Nicholas,” have proven, -that if he would attempt it, he might excel in -that department of the art occupied by Mount -<span class="pb" id="Page_249">249</span> -and Edmonds. But it is as an historical -painter, that his name will live, and is now -mostly celebrated. His drawing is remarkably -correct, his coloring rich, and his style of execution -highly finished. Another qualification -belonging to his works, and one which makes -us love the man, is, that they are purely -American. Who that has seen it, can ever -forget his full-length portrait of “Red Jacket,” -the warrior and orator of the Senecas? Aside -from the noble subject, it is unquestionably -the most faithful and competent delineation of -Indian character to be found; and who that -has ever seen the “Indian Captives,” by the -same hand, has not mourned over the fate of -the much wronged Aborigines of our land, -even as “brave men mourn the brave?” In -this painting, we have an Indian and his -squaw, in prison, and an English soldier warning -them of their impending fate. Although -it is an intensely interesting scene, yet the -painter has not availed himself of a single -“face divine,” which I fancy to be a beautifully -poetic idea, and could not be carried out -but by a man of genius. Mr. Wier is one -of the four artists appointed by the General -Government to execute four paintings for the -<span class="pb" id="Page_250">250</span> -Rotunda at Washington. The subject of his, -is the “Departure of the Pilgrims from -Leyden;” but as I have not yet seen it, I -am unable to express an opinion as to its -merits.</p> -<p><i>Inman.</i> The reputation of this gentleman -as a portrait painter is very extensive, and he -has ever commanded a higher price than any -other in New York. His productions are very -numerous, and there is not a single branch of -the art in which he has not made some successful -attempts. His coloring is rich and life-like, -his style of execution exceedingly bold -and free. Painting as he does with great -rapidity, we find that his drawing is seldom -as correct as it should be. He manifests a -refined and exalted taste in the arrangements -of his portraits, and generally in his miscellaneous -designs. But, after all, he has painted -some poor pictures, and this is an evidence of -the fact, that he is a man of uncommon -genius, and not talent. There is a wonderful -spirit in his heads, and unlike his rival, Page, -he portrays the mind, which, after all, is a -greater triumph of art, and far more important -in a portrait, than the mere shell of humanity, -as delineated by Page. His full-length portrait -<span class="pb" id="Page_251">251</span> -of Macready, as William Tell, is a masterly -performance, well conceived, well colored, and -well drawn; and among his miscellaneous -pictures, the most remarkable, are—“Rip Van -Winkle,” “Bride of Lammermoor,” “Mumble -the Peg,” and “News-Boy;” all of them possessing -many peculiar beauties, with some -glaring faults. Of his plain portraits, I would -mention only two as good specimens of -his skill in general, namely, those of Nicholas -Biddle and Bishop White. I do not deem -it within the power of any man to go beyond -these in portraying the body of man and the -soul within. Mr. Inman is also one of those -artists honored by a commission from the -Government for a 10,000 dollar painting. I -understand that he is very far behind-hand in -his great undertaking. I know, however, that -he has met with some sad misfortune, which -may be the cause; but I trust that he will -soon be at work, and may accomplish a national -work worthy of his ability and his -fame.</p> -<p><i>Ingham.</i> This gentleman is one of the -most celebrated and unique of all our portrait -painters. His style is emphatically his own, -and may be designated as that of exquisite -<span class="pb" id="Page_252">252</span> -finishing. You can never discern the traces -of his pencil, and the reason is, he produces -his effect by successive glazing. His pictures -are distinguished for their transparency, richness -of color, and harmony; and being a man -of sentiment and delicate feeling, he is the -universal favorite among the ladies, and probably -the most faultless painter in this country -of those charming but incomprehensible creations -of Heaven. His best productions are -the portraits of “Miss McNevin,” “Mr. Dunlap,” -“Dr. Channing,” and the “White -Plume;” and as genuine works of art, are -inferior to nothing in the whole range of that -department. That of Dr. Channing, is one of -the best specimens of soul painting that I -have ever seen, and any one familiar only with -the writings of the great original, could not -fail to select this portrait as his, from the midst -of a hundred of other men, so full is it of -expression, and so perfect and exalted is the -effect of the painter. Ingham is a man of -genius as well as talent, a friend to young -artists, and an honor to American art.</p> -<p><i>Chapman.</i> All hail to this poetical and -ready artist, and accomplished gentleman, who -has executed first-rate pictures in almost every -<span class="pb" id="Page_253">253</span> -department of painting! His coloring is rather -gaudy and paint-like, but his drawing, when -he takes pains, is correct and vigorous. His -knowledge of design is profound, and his conception -of a picture is quick, and always in -admirable taste. He has been a devoted -student of the old masters, and copied more -celebrated paintings than any other American. -Having been an extensive traveller throughout -the United States, and ever being on the lookout -for valuable subjects to paint, and a lover of -historical lore, he has collected a large quantity -of valuable materials, the whole of which I -hope he may live to embody in national paintings. -It was he who received the commission -from Government to paint the third picture -(Vanderlyn is at work on the fourth) for -the Rotunda at Washington, and he has manfully -fulfilled his obligation in the execution -of the “Baptism of Pocahontas.” Some of -his other prominent pictures, are “Hagar and -Ishmael fainting in the wilderness,” full length -portrait of “David Crocket,” “Beppo,” “The -First Ship,” a large historical landscape representing -“The Retreat from Fort Necessity,” -and a full length of “Washington in his -youth.” These, however, are but a small portion -<span class="pb" id="Page_254">254</span> -of what he has done, for he is one of the -most industrious men living. He is also a -complete master of sketching, and as he has a -historical mind, his efforts of this kind are -very beautiful and very numerous. He is -without a rival in this lucrative branch of art, -and for the past two years has mostly been -devoted to it, and is consequently a favorite -among booksellers. He is a lover of the -“poor Indian,” and has done much toward -perpetuating their personal and national characteristics. -Among the many things which -now occupy his time, is an American Drawing -Book, which is what we very much need in -this country, and his I know will be a superb -and valuable one in every point of view.</p> -<p><i>Harvey.</i> This gentleman is a landscape -painter of rare merit; but many of his pictures, -unfortunately for us, are owned in England. -His principal work, and one which places him -in a very high rank, is Forty Atmospheric -Views in the United States, executed in watercolors, -and in a style of uncommon beauty. -He is a good draftsman, and possesses a remarkable -eye for color, and everything from -his pencil teems with sentiment and poetry. -His contemplated work of “American Scenery,” -<span class="pb" id="Page_255">255</span> -when published after his own expensive -plan, will be an invaluable acquisition to our -treasury of art, and I hope that it may be received -by the public with the favor it so -richly deserves.</p> -<p>Such is the array of painters, of which the -emporium of America may well be proud. -Fame must ever attend their names, as surely -as it is attending those of West, Copley, Stuart, -Allston, Jarvis, Trumbull, and Malbone, among -the dead; and Sully, King, Harding, Fisher, -Neagle, Morse, Vanderlyn, and Audubon, among -the living of other cities;—altogether making -a company which would reflect honor on any -nation in the world.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_256">256</div> -<h2 id="c16">A SONG OF MEMORY.</h2> -<p>The din of the great world is hushed, and -the vexatious cares, which have occupied my -mind during the day, are all dispelled; and -again, for a little while, I am left alone. The -evening lamps are not yet lighted, but the fire -in the grate burns brightly, so that the shadows -on the wall are distinct and clear, but continually -changing, even as my own wayward -thoughts. Wayward they are at all times, I -confess, but most strangely so when my spirit -forgets the present, and the hereafter, and -holds communion with the realities of by-gone -years. Time has not yet set his signet on my -brow, for it was but yesterday that my timid -footsteps crossed the threshold of manhood; so -that the years gone by, with me, are comprised -in the budding and the blossoming seasons of -childhood and youth. But with these, what a -world of joys and griefs, of smiles and tears, -<span class="pb" id="Page_257">257</span> -are entwined, which the fond memory strangely -delights to recall. I know not how it is -with others, but to me the voice of memory is -sometimes plaintive as the evening breeze, when -sporting with the flowers in the garden of the -dead. I am even now listening to that voice; -and the burden of its song, I shall trace upon -this page.</p> -<p>It were not wise to “look mournfully into -the past,” for we know that “it comes not -back again.” But it were well to ponder, -deeply ponder, the history of our past lives, -and analyze the motives which have ever influenced -our conduct. How little can we -remember, which will be of service to us, -when we are called to die. But how many -things there are, the remembrance of which -inclines us to shed penitent tears, and heave -the sigh of regret. Ours is a frail and sinful -nature; not a day passes away, that does not -take with it the record of many sins, which -we have committed in word, thought, and -deed.</p> -<p>How many unkind words have we spoken -to our parents, who have chided us for unworthy -conduct; to a sister or brother, who -have thwarted us—unconsciously, perhaps, or -<span class="pb" id="Page_258">258</span> -for our own good, in our thoughtless and -head-strong desires; to some squalid beggar, -whose misfortune it was to solicit our aid, -when we were perplexed with the cares of -business, or absorbed with some dream of -opulence and renown; to a party of innocent -children, who have chanced to disturb our -moroseness by a natural and heartfelt shout of -happiness and a laugh of joy; and even to our -Maker, in the form of an oath, when we have -been disappointed in some of our ambitious -designs. Lightly spoken, it may be, were -many of these words, but they are not lightly -considered by our Creator, as we shall know -at the judgment day.</p> -<p>How many selfish thoughts have we cherished -in our bosoms, which we knew were -desperately wicked, and which we would have -blushed to proclaim; thought of hate and -revenge, of hypocrisy and pride, of envy and -sensuality. Do not the nature of these, and -their great number, make us ashamed to own -ourselves the lords of the brute creation, creatures -made in the image of God?</p> -<p>How many wicked and debasing deeds have -we committed which we would fain recall, or -annihilate, but for which we must at last -<span class="pb" id="Page_259">259</span> -render a reasonably excuse, or suffer, unless -the recording angel in heaven should drop a -tear upon the page, where they are written -down, and blot them out forever. In a fit of -anger we may have rudely struck a friend or -brother; we have flattered the unsuspecting -only to deceive and make them wretched; -we have trifled with the misfortunes of the -poverty stricken, the deformed, and the ignorant; -in a thousand ways we have broken -the commandments of our Lord and Saviour, -and instead of God, we have worshipped -Baal; we have not loved our Bible, the holy -sanctuary, and the duty of prayer; we have -misimproved our time, neglected many opportunities -for doing good, and instead of giving -a portion of our money to the poor heathen, -who are perishing for the want of the bread of -life all over the world, we have spent it all -in administering to our own sensual -gratifications.</p> -<p>Yes, it is too true, and the recollection of it -should make us humble ourselves in the dust, -that the words, thoughts, and deeds of our -past lives, which we have reason deeply to -regret, are more in number than the sands -upon the sea-shore. But because they cannot -<span class="pb" id="Page_260">260</span> -be numbered, we must not omit to remember -and meditate upon them. We should use -them as a medicine, not in too great abundance, -lest they make us sick, and not too -sparingly, less they produce not their desired -effect.</p> -<p>Unenviable indeed is the condition of that -man, who can dwell upon his moral character -for a series of years, or even for a single week, -and not find much to mourn over and regret. -Sin and sorrow are our inheritance, and it is -natural, therefore, and good for us, to have our -cheeks occasionally moistened by regretful -tears. Sometimes, too, there is a luxury in -tears, which the breaking heart alone can -know; and that proud man who is ashamed -to weep, deserves to have pointed at him the -finger of scorn.</p> -<p>At the mention of that word regret, memory -calls up a long array of beings whom I -once loved most tenderly, but who are gone -away to a country whence they can never -return. Some had just pushed their little -bark upon the stream of time, which flowed -onward with a murmur “soft, gentle, and -low,” and whose banks were covered with -flowers. Some were in the strength and -<span class="pb" id="Page_261">261</span> -buoyancy of youth; others in the full vigor of -manhood; and a few were tottering along, -“wrinkled and bent, and white with hoary -hairs.” I knew them, I loved them, and they -died. I regret that they are gone, because -they were the friends and counsellors of my -early days. Deeply, indeed, do I mourn their -absence, but I would not, even if I could, call -them back again, for they have been transformed, -as I trust, into the glorious image of -their Creator, and his bosom is their home. -In my hours of loneliness I am always -strengthened by the hope, that when I too -shall have passed the troubled waves of -Jordan, I shall meet them again, and remain -with them forever. O! yes, it is a nameless -feeling of regret that oppresses me when I -think, that upon the earth never more shall I -listen to their voices, who once charmed my -ear, and look upon their smiles, who once -gladdened my heart. But often in my dreams -do I behold them in their angelic robes, hovering -in the ethereal atmosphere of heaven, and -they are always beckoning to me, and pointing -to a great white throne, whose foundations are -everlasting. They are calling me away, but I -cannot go, for my earthly pilgrimage is not -<span class="pb" id="Page_262">262</span> -yet ended. To secure the crown of Immortality, -with which they endeavor to allure me, -is my chief ambition; and though a thousand -regrets are the burden of the song of Memory, -yet I feel and hope that I shall at last obtain -it, through the mercy and love of my -Redeemer.</p> -<p>Lo! the voice of Memory is speaking to me -in another tone, mournfully pleasing to the -soul. It is telling me of the morning of life, -which was cheerful as the singing of birds, -and loving as the opening of spring, when not -a cloud arose to mar its beauty, or obscure the -bright sun of innocence and youth; when -every sense was gratified, every flower was -sweet, and every rose without a thorn; when -every kiss was a pledge of affection, and every -friend was true; and when my cheeks were -blooming with health, and my eyes beaming -with joy. True, the sun has not yet reached -the meridian, but far different from those of the -morning are the associations of the early noon. -Alas! it is with regret I remember the truth, -that “I am not now that which I have been.” -Weary and heavy laden as I am, my course is -onward, and my heart is strong.</p> -<p>Memory is telling me of my childhood’s -<span class="pb" id="Page_263">263</span> -home, the dearest and most lovely spot on the -face of the earth, and I regret that I can visit -it only in my dreams. It is telling me the -thrilling legends which fascinated my boyish -imagination, when, with my bow and arrows, -and clad in my hunting garb, I used to visit -the Indian villages of Michigan. The better I -have ever become acquainted with the red -man of the wilderness, the more deeply have I -loved him, and the more highly have I honored -his character; and I regret that I cannot -now, as of yore, chase with him the bounding -deer, and paddle the light canoe. I regret that -he is an exile and a stranger in the very land -which gave him birth, and which, by the laws -of nations and of God, is rightfully his own. -Memory is telling me of those matchless lakes, -Superior, Michigan, Huron, and Erie, whose -every inlet almost I have explored, and from -many of whose cliffs I have watched the most -glorious of sunsets—those lakes with whose -waves in summer it was my delight to sport, -and over whose icy-plains in winter I took -the lead in skating, and used to drive the swift -Canadian pacer in the swan-like carriole. Of -those rivers, too, the Detroit, the St. Clair, the -St. Joseph, the Huron, and the Raisin, in -<span class="pb" id="Page_264">264</span> -whose transparent waters I have often caught -the sturgeon, the pickerel, and the bass, and -along whose borders I have hunted the plover -and the duck. Of those glorious forests, the -homes of solitude and silence, where I was -wont to be so happy alone with my God. Of -those prairies, “boundless and beautiful, for -which the speech of England has no name,” -where I used to wander in dreamy mood, -gathering the richest of flowers, with which to -adorn the neck and forelock of my favorite -steed. These are but the beginnings of the -innumerable scenes, which are the themes of -my memory. I regret that it is my lot to live -so far removed from all these things, which -are fast passing away, and that my pursuits -compel me to live in a world of art, of business, -and fashion.</p> -<p>And now come the recollections of the past -summer, which I have attempted to commemorate -in the foregoing letters. I know not with -what feelings you may have perused them, but -to me they are very dear, on account of the -feelings and conceptions with which they are -associated, and these are a kind of treasure, -that my heart cherishes as the miser does his -gold. Much of the time, during my various -<span class="pb" id="Page_265">265</span> -journeyings have I been alone, and I have held -a blessed communion with my mother nature,—not -only in the morning and at noon, but in -the calm evening and in the most holy night. -Thou hast, O Nature, instructed me in the -“magic of thy mysteries,” and given my -spirit an idea of its immortal destiny. I thank -thee for having, even in my infancy, consecrated -my affections to thy rational worship. -Next to those of revealed religion are thy -consolations. Thou art the Empress of a -world of poetry, and yet the great human -world is familiar only with thy name. Next -to my Creator, thou hast proven thyself my -most faithful friend, and when I cease to love -thee as I now do, may my right hand forget -its cunning, and the silver cord of my life be -forever loosened. In all my mortal pilgrimage -may I be influenced by thy teachings, so that -when I come to be an immortal, I may be -fitted for a station at the footstool of God.</p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_267">267</div> -<h3 class="generic">JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY -<br /><span class="smaller">ARE PUBLISHERS OF</span> -<br /><span class="large">NOTES ON CUBA.</span></h3> -<p class="center">Containing an account of its Discovery and Early History; a description -<br />of the face of the country, its population, resources -<br />and wealth, its institutions, and the manners and -<br />customs of its inhabitants; with directions to -<br />travellers visiting the Island.</p> -<p class="center"><span class="sc">By A PHYSICIAN.</span></p> -<p class="center">12mo. pp. 359.</p> -<p>“The main purposes of this volume is to serve as a guide and a -companion to invalids, travellers, and others who may visit Cuba. -There is no other work of this character in the English language, -nor in any language is there a book which embraces the information -which is contained in this. The directions to travellers for their -guidance, comfort and conduct, are very full, and we may add, very -necessary. Then we have a methodical arrangement of matter -which presents us with a complete and exceedingly interesting narrative, -seeming to anticipate every question, and to draw a full picture -of the country, of its inhabitants, their employments and characteristics. -The towns upon the island, with its general scenery, -curiosities and striking objects, are described in full. The history, -the geology, the government and commerce of the island, are noticed -at length, and present the results of an evidently laborious investigation, -and a faithful use of the eyes. The resources which a traveller -or visitor will find for occupying his time, or for amusing himself, -have their full share of space. The whole volume, coming -from a source which stamps it with a high authority, is a valuable -addition to our libraries, and will be much prized by those who read -it.”—<i>Christian Register.</i></p> -<p>“A well written, carefully printed, and instructive book, by a -Physician. No invalid who seeks the blissful climate of Cuba, -should leave home without this best of all guides and counsellors. -We are delighted with the valuable contribution which he has made -to history, as well as with the intelligence and good judgment he -evinces as a physician. In recommending the Notes on Cuba to -medical readers and voyagers, it would be unjust not to recommend -it also to the whole reading community.”—<i>Boston Medical Journal.</i></p> -<p>“Notes on Cuba, by an American Physician. This is a truly valuable -and interesting book, both to the invalid intending to visit -Cuba in search of health, and to the general reader, and supplies a -gap in literature which it is surprising has not long ago been filled. -The work is well written, and affords very pleasant reading. The -author is known to us, and we can assure the readers of the work -that it is entirely authentic, and entitled to the most entire confidence.”—<i>New -Bedford Bulletin.</i></p> -<div class="pb" id="Page_268">268</div> -<h4 class="c"><span class="small">JAMES MUNROE AND CO.’S PUBLICATIONS.</span> -<br /><span class="large">TWICE TOLD TALES.</span> -<br /><span class="small"><span class="sc">By</span> NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.</span> -<br /><span class="smaller">FIRST AND SECOND SERIES.</span></h4> -<p class="center">2 vols. 12mo., elegantly printed on clear type and fine paper, and neatly bound in cloth, gilt.</p> -<p>“To this little work we would say, ‘Live ever, sweet, sweet book.’ -It comes from the hand of a man of genius. Every thing about it -has the freshness of morning and of May. * * * * The book, though -in prose, was written by a poet. * * * A calm, thoughtful face seems -to be looking at you from every page. * * One of the most prominent -characteristics of these tales is, that they are national in their character. -The author has wisely chosen his themes among the traditions -of New England. * * Another characteristic of this writer is the exceeding -beauty of his style. It is as clear as running waters are. Indeed -he uses words as mere stepping-stones, upon which, with a free -and youthful bound, his spirit crosses and recrosses the bright and -rushing stream of thought. * * In speaking in terms of such high -praise as we have done, we have given utterance not alone to our own -feelings, but we trust to those of all gentle readers of the Twice Told -Tales. Like children we say, ‘Tell us more.’”—<i>North American -Review.</i></p> -<p>“The Tales are worth <i>twice telling</i> and a dozen readings.”—<i>Boston -Courier.</i></p> -<p>“A book like this, evincing a mind of such peculiar organization, -may, or may not become popular; but whether they read it or not, -the public may be assured, that in this unpretending volume by a -countryman and neighbor, they will find more of that which indicates -thought in the writer, and begets thought in the reader, than -in nine-tenths of the English reprints, which are so eagerly devoured.”—<i>Boston -Daily Advertiser.</i></p> -<p>“Mr. Hawthorne’s style is rich, refined, and graceful, and the present -volume is an ornament to the literature of our country.”—<i>Boston -Atlas.</i></p> -<p>“This modest volume, which comes before us without preface, or -any sort of an appeal to the public regard, is well calculated to stand -on its own merits, and to acquire enduring popularity. The author -possesses the power of winning immediate attention, and of sustaining -it, by a certain ingenuous sincerity, and by the force of a style -at once simple and graceful. In all his descriptions, whether of -scenes or emotions, nature is his only guide. In short, in quiet humor, -in genuine pathos, and deep feeling, and in a style equally unstudied -and pure, the author of ‘Twice Told Tales’ has few equals, -and with perhaps one or two eminent exceptions, no superior in our -country. 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