AMERICAN SCENERY, WiM AK © 0 T. ADDISON RICHARDS, N. A. WITH THIRTY-TWO EHQ-RA VINOS OH STEEL. lUto fork: PUBLISHED BY LEAVITT AND ALLEN, 379 BROADWAY. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, By Leavitt and Allen, In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. Bii.lin A Brothers, Printers and Stereotype™, 20 North William street, N. Y. I LLUST RATIO N S . 1. LAKE GEORGE, .... . Frontispiece. 2. MOUNT VERNON, .... Before Title. 3. FALLS OF TALLULAH, GA., No. 1. 9 4. ELKHORN PYRAMID, UPPER MISSOURI, 13 5. THE PARK FOUNTAIN, N. Y., . 21 6. THE NARROWS, FROM STATEN ISLAND, . 81 7. BIRTn PLACE OF WASHINGTON, . 41 3. NEW YORK, FROM WEEIIAWKEN, 53 9. WASHINGTON CROSSING THE ALLEGHANY, . 65 10. MEDICAL COLLEGE, GA., .... 71 11. FALLS OF TOWALAGA, GA., . . 81 12. CASCADE OF TUCCOA, .... 91 13. LOVER'S LEAP, CHATTAHOOCHEE RIVER, . 99 14. CATARACT OF TALLULAH. No. 2, 109 15. SCENE IN THE BACKWOODS . . 119 16. COLUMBIA BRIDGE, ON THE SUSQUEHANNA, 127 17. RIVER SCENE IN TI1E SOUTH-WEST, . 137 18. LOG HUT ON LAKE CnAUDIERE . 147 19. TOWER ROCK, ON THE MISSISSIPPI, . . 157 20. ST. REGIS, INDIAN VILLAGE, ST. LAWRENCE, . . 165 21. MONTREAL IN THE DISTANCE, ST. LAWRENCE, . 173 22. BISON AND ELK, UPPER MISSOURI, 181 23. CINCINNATI, OHIO, .... . 187 24. THE OHIO CAVE-IN ROCK, 195 25. NAVY ISLAND, .... . 203 26. NIAGARA FALLS ..... 211 27. BURLINGTON, VERMONT, . 223 2S. LAKE IN THE ADIRONDACK8, N. Y., 235 29. ROCK MOUNTAIN. . . 245 30. THE SUSQUEHANNA, .... 257 31. RESIDENCE OF JUDGE HALI BURTON, . 271 32. THE CONNECTICUT RIVER. 295 In the following discursive pages the author has taken a brief, but he hopes an intelligent, glimpse at the varying characteristics of the beautiful natural scenery of our country. It has been his endeavour, throughout, so to relieve the gravity of fact with the grace of fiction, as to present at the same time an in- structive topography and an entertaining romance. The better to accomplish this difficult end, he has assem- bled around him a company of accomplished and genial travellers, who discuss the subject familiarly in all its phases, each from his own peculiar stand-point and after his own individuality. It is not necessary that the reader be here presented to these gentlemen, since they will shake him by the hand, and tell him what manner of men they are, in the first chapter, — which subserves the usual role of a preface, but is too much an integral and important part of the narrative to be so called. It is not the least of the author’s hopes, that his labour may serve, in a humble , measure, in the further development of the already very high appreciation of our wonderful scenery, and in the culture of the pop- ular love of that charming Art — which is, at the same time, its interpreter and its chronicler — the Art of the Landscape Painter, from the more legitimate study of which he has turned aside, in leisure hours, to this ac- cessory toil. And it is as such an accessory to the province of his own profession, rather than as a trespass upon the fields of the sister art of letters, that he thus ventures to exhibit his work. University, New York, CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE Re-union in the Author’s sanctum — His despondency, in view of the task before him — Sympathy of his friends, and cheering promises of assistance — The theme of his proposed book announced— The romance and the reality of American landscape: its physique and morale, its historic tradition, its poetic legend, its incident, adventure, and suggestion— General and hearty approbation in the assembly of the subject, and varied expression of opinion upon its importance, availability, and interest — Departure of the guests, with a pledge to reassemble at intervals, and aid the author with their respective knowledge and experience X 3 CHAPTER II. Second convocation of the Club — Selection, as the text of the evening, of the picture of the Park Fountain — The Chairman’s historic memories of foun- tains and aqueducts — Mr. Vermeille’s poetic view of the matter — History of the Croton Aqueduct — The pleasing and graphic material it offers for an autobiography — Mr. Flakewhite’s romance of “TnE Smile op the Fountain” Mr. Brownoker’s droll anecdote of the “Man in the Fountain” 21 CHAPTER III. The party starts southward — Visit to Virginia— Extraordinary attractions of the historical associations of the country — The great men of Virginia The birth-place of “Washington; Mr. Blueblaek’s visit to the spot — General absence of commemorative monuments in America; reflections upon the 10 CONTENTS. cause aud consequence, importance and interest of such memorials, and illustrative anecdote by the Chairman — The extent, variety, and beaut}’ of the scenery of Virginia; the springs, and western hills, aud rivers — Megilp’s disastrous adventures in Weir’s Cave, and at the Natural Bridge — Blue- black’s tale of “ Little Emma Munnerlin” — Brownoker’s brief story of “Tom, Dick, and Harry, or Woman’s Constancy” 41 CHAPTER IY. Still in Virginia — Gossip about the uses and pleasures of social re-unions — Mr. Deepredde’s reflections upon the historical incident of the “Crossing of the Alleghany in the expedition of 1753 his account of the adventure in the story of “The Man of Duty”— Flakewhite’s dramatic historiette of “ Gabrielle de St. Pierre” CHAPTER Y. The travellers proceed to the Carolinas and Georgia — Conversation upon the prospects of art in America, and the influences at work for its development and advancement — Mr. Vermeille’s tale of “The Mothers of the Revolution,” and Mr. Deepredde’s Mesmeric Visit to “ Margaret House sequels to the stories of “The Man of Duty” and “Gabrielle de St- Pierre” — Glimpses of the scenery of the South-eastern States, from the lowlands to the moun- t a i ns — Halt at the Falls of Toccoa — “The Old Legend of Toccoa” 91 CHAPTER YI. The Falls of the Tallulah, in Georgia; offerings of the poets — Nacooeliee, and other neighbouring beauties — Ignorance of the mountaineers in the South- east and difficulties of travel — Megilp’s wicked tricks upon the natives — Mr. Brownoker’s exploits as a Frenchman — Flakewhite’s story of “Kitty, the Woodman’s Daughter” 109 CHAPTER YII. The South-west — Romantic adventures and sufferings of the early explorers — De Soto, and his companions — Mr. Asphaltum’s account of his visit to the Mississippi — Local oddities of Western character — Tale of “Mistletoe Hall” 137 CONTENTS. 11 CHAPTER VIII. Tower Rook, on the Mississippi— Continuation and conclusion of “Mistletoe Hall” PAGE of the romance 157 CHAPTER IX. Progress of the Club to the Great 'West— Megilp’s recollections of the Missouri River; his adventures at the “Gates of the Rocky Mountains”— The great Prairies— California and Oregon — Modes of hunting the bison Megilp’s “First and Last Buffalo Hunt” CHAPTER X. The West— 1 The Ohio River and Diamond Island— Cave iu the rock— Mammoth Cave— The livers of Kentucky— Scenery of the States touching the north bank of the Ohio— Peep at Minnesota, Iowa, Michigan, Wisconsin, and the Great Lakes— Megilp’s adventure, which proves to be “Nothing after all!” 195 CHAPTER XI. Return of the travellers to the North, and visit to Lake George— Extent and beauty of the lake-Scenery of New York and New England— Pre-eminence of Horicon— Its characteristics in relation to foreign lake-views— The moun- tain shores and islands of Horicon — Social pleasures of the region Historic memories— Mr. Asphaltum’s story of “The Scout of Horicon, or Rogers’s Slide”— Mr. Brownoker’s tale of “Diamond Isle, or The Stray Glove” 211 CHAPTER XII. Visit to the Adirondacks and the famous Saranac Lake region— Its celebrity for picturesque beauty, and for its capacity as a hunting and fishing ground —Boating on the mountain-lakes— A bear-adventure— Blueblaek’s doleful encounter with a wild-cat, in the great Indian Pass— The hunters, and their manner of life— Anecdotes of a sporting parson— Adventurous passage through the woods, from the Sarnnacs to the Adirondacks — Mr. Asphal- turn’s recollections of “Tiie Hermit of the Adirondacks” 12 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XIII. PAGE The Middle States— The Hudson— The Catskills; favourite summer studio of the artists : landscape-painters Cole, Durand, and others — The Erie Railway and the Delaware River—' Valley of 'Wyoming and scenery of the Susque- hanna— The Juniata, the Schuylkill, and the Lehigh— Scenery of Delaware, New Jersey, and Maryland — Coal-beds and Canals of Pennsylvania Tale of “Love’s Labouk Won”—' The Chairman’s narrative of “Mr. Brown’s Strategy” 257 CHAPTER XIY. Our travellers and their wanderings, with a brief excursion into New England— Ease and profit of travel there— Partition of the route ; Mr. Megilp retracing his rambles in Maine; Mr. Yermeille exploring the white hills and lakes of New Hampshire; and Mr. Flakewliite strolling lovingly amidst the rich valley-lands of the Housatonic and the Connecticut— Antiquity of New England; its stores of Indian and revolutionary reminiscence — Blueblack on the peaks of Mansfield and the Camel’s Hump, and in the valleys of Vermont Brownoker’s merry experience of the social characters and habits of New England — His graphic report of the anniversary festival of the society of “Woman’s Rights”— Mr. Megilp’s “Slight Mistake”— Farewell salutations of the guests, and the author’s valediction CHAPTER I. The wit and wisdom of a pleasant circle of gay friends who, while they never exceed, yet always quite fill up, the limits of becoming mirth, had, through a long evening, dashed a flood of laughing sunshine upon the sombre-hued walls of our antique studio. The sparkling coruscations of their mad humour availed, however, but partially to exorcise the heavy shadows which hung like a pall over our usually buoyant spirits. One disquieting thought oppressed us, and, as usual, awakened our entire schedule of ugly remembrances, which to be sure had no earthly relation- ship to the first intrusive visitor, yet came in that hateful gre- garious spirit to which misery is proverbially given. While the hours were flying in the brilliant, yet, as it then seemed to us, bootless pleasure of social gossip, we were thinking of duties deferred, of “ time misspent, and fair occasions gone forever by and in that wretched state of mental languor, which though it sees, yet is too feeble to confront and conquer difficulty, we were dreaming of our neglected duties — to you, reader; of the ways and means of fittingly acquitting ourself of the task of preparing these pages; wondering how on earth we could possibly do the deed, and that, too, within the brief time which our publishers 14 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. allowed us. We half regretted that we had so rashly assumed the labour. We obeyed the behest of Sir Philip Sydney, to look within our own heart and write, but we found, like Sir Charles Coldstream when he gazed disgusted into the crater of Vesuvius, that there “was nothing in it!” We had recently laid aside that charming bouquet of “Passion Flowers” which had just blossomed so sweetly in the literary parterre, and a lingering fragrance came to us, in the remembrance of the lines— “I never made a poem, dear friend, I never sat me down and said, This cunning brain and patient hand Shall fashion something to be read. “Men often came to me and prayed I should indite a fitting verse For fast or festival, or in Some stately pageant to rehearse, (As if, than Balaam more endowed, I, of myself, could bless or curse.)” The bricks, we felt, should be made, but, alas! where was ttio straw? In brief, we suspected ourself of decided stupidity, and could, in no way, reason us out of the grateful conviction. Our evil mood, though not virulent enough to check the humour of our guests, was yet sufficiently evident to attract notice and to elicit sympathy. A dozen clever and kind doctors were anxiously occupied with our moral pulse. We explained our symptoms, and were soon cheered and flattered into a more quiet and hopeful state. “The waters of your fancy,” said Mr. Brownoker, “will, by all hydraulic law, soon remount to the desired height; for, pardon the compliment, is not the reservoir lofty enough for all your needs ? Some vulgar trash temporarily obstructs the conduit — a buckwheat cake too much at breakfast, perhaps, or THE MEETING OF THE TRAVELLERS. 15 wine and walnuts too abundant at dinner. Rest assured, my dear boy, that what is poetically called “a mind diseased,” is, in the vulgate, often nothing more than pork and beans ad nauseam. We’ll soon blow away the blues, and bring you back to concert pitch !” “ Remember Mrs. Chick, and ‘ make an effort,’ ” said Mr. Brownoker. “ You have but to meet the enemy and he is yours,” added Mr. Megilp. “ Forget not Sir Joshua, 1 Nothing is denied to well-directed labour,’ ” said Deepredde. “ Or Richelieu calling back the spent lire and energy of his early years, ‘ In the bright lexicon of youth there’s no such word as fail.’ ” “ The sacred text, 1 As thy day so shall thy strength be.’ ” “ Caesar, ‘Veni, vidi, vici!’” Refreshed with this torrent of cheering words, our courage and hope were rapidly springing into life again, and when the last scrap of conclusive and flattering raillery, “Remember your- self, and ‘the country is safe!”’ came to our ears, the stainless pages before us seemed rapidly to pass from fair manuscript to corrected proof, and from proof to peerless volume. Countless editions followed each other through our brightening view, and for very modesty we closed our eyes upon “ the opinions of the press.” “Your book shall be finished as speedily as Aladdin’s castle! We will all lend you a hand,” cried our guests. “We will have a literary ‘ bee.’ ” “You shall cut out the work and we will ‘play tailor to the Muses !’ ” “ What is your theme ? Not metaphysics — aye ?” “Not sermons?” “ Not politics ?” 16 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. “ Not temperance?” chimed in one upon another, the associated face sensibly lengthening the while. “By no means!” we hastened to explain. “Neither phi- losophy, religion, nor morals. Heaven forbid 1 We have a more genial topic — the Romance and Reality of American Land- scape — its physique and morale, its historic tradition, its poetic legend, its incident, adventure, and suggestion. What say you to the text?” “ You could not have a happier one, and we, learned in the book of Nature, are the very preachers to discourse thereon. Are not you, yourself, are we not all, painters and poets — life-long worshippers of Nature? Have we not laid our souls \ upon her sacred altar ? Do we not ken her in all her thousand mystic utterances, and will she not lend us the living inspiration of her smile as we seek to chant her praise? Yerily a noble text, and now for the heads of the sermon !” “Our publishers,” we explained, “are happily possessed of a portfolio of pictures of many of the most charming and famous bits of American scenery — a portfolio which they laudably desire to give to the world— and we are pledged to play master of ceremonies on the occasion, to expatiate upon the panorama as it passes.” “ A pleasant task enough, in which, as we have said, we will all assist you. In our periodical conclaves here we will take subject after subject, and each one shall give up that which is most within him of his experience, adventure and imaginings of the several scenes. We could not have more delightful occupation as we sip our sherry and puff our havanas. As old Phocylides says — ■ “Tis right for good wine-bibbing people Not to let the jug pace round the board like a cripple, But gaily to chat while discussing their tipple.” 17 THE ROUTE AND ITS PLEASURES. “Nothing could be more agreeable,” said Mr. Vermeille, “ than, while sitting arouud our winter fire, to live our joyous summer rambles over again, to retrace our merry courses from Maine to Texas, from the Atlantic to the Pacific. We will emerge from the rank everglades of Florida and watch the buffalo as they scour the boundless prairie. Look from the proud summit of Mount Washington over the waters of Winni- piseogee and Squam, across valley and hill, village and city, to the ocean-bounded horizon. From the lyric peaks of the Catskills we will scan the windings of the peerless Hudson. On the Adirondacks we will drink in the beauties of Horicon and Champlain, and the verdant sweeps of the green hills. Our barque shall thread the tortuous path of the Mississippi and the Missouri. We will repose ourselves by prattling cascade, or listen to the sterner voice of Niagara 1 pouring its deep eternal bass in Nature’s anthem.’ ‘ Lord 1 what a tramp we’ll have !’ ” “We will rekindle our fancies,” added Mr. Flakewhite, “ with the wild legends which the red man has bequeathed to the scenes of his lost home, and strengthen our patriotism and virtue with remembrances of the gallant deeds of Trenton, Saratoga, Yorktown, Champlain, Bennington, and many other consecrated fields.” “ If our scene,” said a sculpturing friend, who had just returned to us after a long sojourn in Europe, “were but laid amidst the storied haunts of the Old World, and our characters culled from its peculiar and picturesque populations, we should have more plastic material to work with than we shall find in the rugged quarries of this new laud, untutored by the touch of Art, unsoftened by the breath of Time ; and a people too active and practical for poet’s uses.” “A mistaken notion of yours, my dear friend,” rejoined Mr. Flakewhite. “ I grant you that, to the common eye and feel- ing, the story of our battle-fields, the freshness and newness of 2 18 THE ROMANCE OE AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. our natural scenery, may seem tame, wanting the poetic veil of distance; maybe belittled by its contemporary character ; but we, I hope, are men of larger vision, possessed of that unpre- judiced and prophetic spirit which, like the catholic power of love, ‘ lends a precious seeing to the eye revealing to us the immortal essence of actions and things, stripped of all passing, degrading accessories. It is only your shallow-pated fellow for whom 1 too much freedery breeds despise.’ “ It is in the very freshness you condemn, added to the grandeur, scope, and vigour of our landscape, and to the same qualities in the morale of our people, that our strength lies : qualities pointing to a larger humanity, and to a higher and nobler civilization, than the world has yet been blessed with. We, as poets and artists, are favoured in being called upon to water this grander spirit rather than to expound the meaner though more dainty aims of the old art and thought. “ Now, last, though not least, were our land, in poetic and philosophic inspiration, a thousand times behind all other climes, rather than so gloriously before them, is it not our own land, and is not the offering of our love and service a duty, no less than a delight? 0, my native land! How sliouldst thou prove aught else but dear and holy To me, who from thy lakes and mountain hills, Thy clouds, thy quiet dales, thy rocks and seas, Have drunk in all my intellectual life, All sweet sensations, all ennobling thoughts, All adoration of the God in Nature ; All lovely and all honourable things — Whatever makes this mortal spirit feel The joy and greatness of its future being. There lives not form, nor feeling in my soul, Unborrowed from my country !’ ” THE ROUTE AND ITS PLEASURES. 19 But, will our subject, think you, interest the popular heart ?” asked Mr. Brownoker. “ Nothing more so,” responded Mr. Deepredde, “ for it touches a gentle and universal chord in the human soul. Since the halcyon days when Adam and Eve rejoiced with exceeding joy beneath the glorious skies of Paradise, Nature has ever shared bountifully in the love and adoration of man. This feeling is an instinct, no less than a refinement, in our souls. The degraded Guebre, and the poor Indian, with untutored mind, worship the elemental principles of Nature, bowing down in mystic rite to the sacred fire, or gazing up, with rapt vision, to the throne of the Great Spirit, the blazing sun; the wretched negro no less, as lie bows to the god of poisons, enshrined in the foliage of the poison tree, or prostrates himself before the omnipotence of the waters, in his prayers to the crocodile; so, too, the followers of Zoroaster, kneeling in the free and unpol- luted air of the grand mountain tops. “ From the lowliest to the loftiest spreads this all-pervading love. He, says Pindar, ‘deserves to be. called the most excel- lent, who knows most of Nature.’ ‘Nothing,’ Cicero tells us, ‘is so delightful in literature, as that branch which enables us to discern the immensity of Nature, and which, teaching us magnanimity, rescues the soul from obscurity.’ Horace dis- dained the glitter of Augustus’s court, in the quiet of his Sabine home. Then we hear of the ‘Olive-grove of Academe, Plato’s retirement, where the attic bird Trills her thick warbled notes the summer long.’ Where and when, indeed, have greatness or goodness astonished and blessed the world, unnurtured by the sacred manna which Nature, in her varied forms, provides?” At this point of his discourse, Mr. Deepredde was suddenly 20 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. brought up by a sacrilegious hint that the small hours were coming; and a general movement among our guests ensued. “A Mercredi!” said one of us. “We will not fail you!” cried another. “ Have your portfolio ready,” advised a third. * “ With the especial subject of the evening,” said a fourth. “ And we will each weave around it our garland of fact and fiction,” promised a fifth. “ And our word for it 1” sang out the last, as his form vanished in the outer darkness, “enough copy shall be elicited to satisfy the cravings of the most carnivorous 1 devil’ that ever worried the soul of poor author : and of a quality, too, let us flatter ourselves, to win the patient ear of many a pleased reader.” ■ / r - * CHAPTER II. Ok the appointed evening, our impromptu committee re-as- sembled. Mr. Deepredde was called to the chair, and the minutes of the previous meeting — that is, dear reader, the fore- going chapter — were read and “ ordered to be printed.” The portfolio was opened, and we selected from its stores the accompanying charming picture of the famous Park fountain : “We cannot do better than thus begin at home,” observed an original and profound thinker. “Let us avoid the vulgar error of undervaluing those beauties and delights which lie within our daily reach.” “Fountains,” solemnly observed the respected chairman, by way of initiating the subject of the night, “ have from the remotest periods, and among all people, been objects of especial interest. In varied shape and costliness, they embellished all the chief towns of ancient Greece. Old Pausanius has left us accounts of many of these favourite structures. Among others, he men- tions a most remarkable one at Epidemus, in the sacred grove of Esculapius ; and two yet more interesting at Messena, loved by the populace under the names of Arsinoe and Clepsydra. We read also of beautiful fountains in the city of Megara, in 22 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. Achaiai ; of tlie famous Pirene at Corinth, encircled by a marble wall sculptured with various grottoes, from which the waters flowed ; and of the Leina, also at Corinth, surrounded by a grand portico, under which were seats for the public ease and comfort in the sultry summer evenings. “ All of us have delighted our fancies, and many of us have blessed our vision, with these rich and classic altars of the water sprite in the art and nature-loving land of Italy. For my own part, though Pope seems to think it but a shabby sort of warming 1 to think on the frightful Caucasus,’ yet on many a scorching August night, in this salamander town of ours, I have cooled my brow and brain with the remembered sparkles and breezy drippings of the merry waters by St. Peter’s, at Frescati, and Termini, and Mount Janiculum ; in the dreamy gardens of the Belvidere, and at the lovely villas of Aldobran- dini and the Borghese. “ I doubt not that we all cherish equally grateful recollec- tions of the fountained beauties of Paris — that city of fountains — a title, let me observe, en passant, which I trust our own goodly city of Gotham will one day successfully dispute ; for surely, to speak after the manner of rude men, ‘ she has got it in her.’ As I was saying, though, we have lingered many a happy hour in the sweet watered groves and wilds of Ver- sailles, lounged delighted at St. Cloud, or strolled with outward and inward satisfaction through the passages of the Tuileries.” “ Our respected chairman, in his learned remarks,” observed Mr. Vermeille, “ has touched upon the poetry and sentiment of our theme, though very much more might be said on this head : much more (as frightened eyes glanced from all sides of the table) than I have any thought of now saying. That first and most perfect of women, our great mother, Eve, made her sinless toilet in the mirroring waters. The whispers of the fountain fell in cadence with the love-songs of Jacob and • • FOUNTAINS. — THE CROTON. 23 Rebecca. It was by the fountain side that our Saviour dis- coursed to the Samaritan woman. Fountains are associated with countless beautiful incidents and histories in the life of mankind. They have ever been a treasured theme and simile of the poets. The sacred writers forever sing of the fountains. Shakspeare alludes to them continually ; so Milton, Sidney, Shelley, and indeed all who have ever uttered the breathings of truth and beauty.” “ Before we fall into too discursive a gossip,” said a brother of an inquiring turn of mind, “ would it not be well to glance at the genealogy of our theme, by a brief review of the history of its great source, the immortal Croton ?” A general nod of approbation followed this suggestion, and all eyes turned intuitively to the chair. “Not to trespass upon your time, gentlemen,” commenced Mr. Deepredde, “ I will say nothing of the achievements of the Egyptians under Sesostris ; of Semiramis, in Babylonia ; of the Israelites in the days of Solomon and Hezekiah ; or of other stupendous aqueducts of ancient art and enterprise ; but come at once to our own — -a work which, in magnitude and value, may rank with the trophies of any period. As long ago as 1793, Dr. Joseph Brown proposed to supply our city with water by bringing the river Bronx to Harlem in an open canal, raising it to the required height by steam, and conducting it to the town in a six-inch pipe.” “ The doctor was an old fogy !” interrupted a progressive gentleman. “The Bronx and a six-inch pipe! pooh!” “ True,” resumed the chairman, “ that was the day of small things; but still we must not be unmindful of the Doctor: he planted the humble seed from which has grown the sturdy Croton. This seed first shot up under the culturing hand of our honoured fellow-citizen, Colonel De Witt Clinton, in the year 1832. In 1835 the bud was fully formed, and on the Fourth 24 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. of July, 1842 — many of you remember the merry clay and its rejoicings, gentlemen — the great work was completed ; and, with music and merriment, the Croton Lake, forty long miles away, was escorted over hill and valley to the firesides of our people, and endowed forever with the freedom of the city. This intro- duction, gentlemen, cost us some twelve millions of dollars.” “It has just occurred to me, Mr. Chairman,” said Mr. Yer- meille, “ that should either of us be in want of a theme for our muse, we might happily find it in an autobiography of the Croton. What an epitome of human happiness and misery its varied story would present ! What changeful experiences it must gather in its passage from the peaceful seclusion of its native hills through the thousand scenes of joy and sorrow, of virtue and vice, which it sees within the voiceless walls of this mad capital, to its final home in the great ocean of waters. Here, with gentle sympathy and sweet hope, it kisses the sinless brow of the babe at the holy font, and there sighingly seeks to cool the fevered tongue of the dying sinner. How it gives hearty greeting to the thirsty labourer, sings gaily in his humble kettle, boils his frugal dinner with a will, and anon, it shrinks from the hated association with the poisoned cup of the drunkard! Oh! a merry elf — a sorrowing slave — is the Croton!” “ You remember, gentlemen, no doubt,” said Mr. Flakewhite, “ that graphic Croton story of Hoffman’s, called the ‘ Man in the Reservoir,’ in which he so thrillingly and philosophically analyzes the varying emotions of his hero, plunged beyond help in the deep waters, and hour after hour, in the silent night, vainly seeking a means of ascent in the steep mural banks !” “ A capital and most effective picture ! Apropos, are there no legends or tales associated with the history of our fountain, or has its life been too brief to gather them ?” “ Enough, and winsome ones too, without doubt, if it could but speak for itself.” THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 25 “ Poor tiling ! Will not some imaginative brother speak for it? Brownoker, suppose you concoct us a ” “ No, a romance. It is quite in your line.” “ Not for the present occasion. The story of our fountain should be one of dainty sentiment. Flakewhite is your man.” “AVell, gentlemen,” said Mr. Flakewhite at length, and after much persistence on the part of his friends, “as my turn must come at some time, I submit. I do not vouch for the literal truth of what I am about to say to you. I tell the tale simply as it — comes to my fancy. Listen then to the romance of “ Not many years ago, a young lad came from the seclusion of the country to this bustling city, in confident quest of fame and fortune. This was no strange occurrence. Hundreds are thus daily coming, and disappointment, only, is but too often the sad reward of their bright and credulous hopes. Our hero was not of these unfortunates. He was doomed to struggle no less than they; but not, like them, to sink in the trial. He came unknown, unfriended, and with empty purse. He felt the cold charities of the rude world, and ate the bread of bitterness. He swallowed to the dregs the cup of hope deferred and toil too long unrewarded. His ambition was to be a painter; and though his sensitive and haughty spirit illy brooked the slavish labour, yet want and necessity compelled him to perform the humblest services — the lowest drudgery — of his art. “ He was a youth of strong heart and brave will. He was possessed of all that subtile delicacy and spirituality of feeling, that romance and beauty of soul, which instinctively seeks com- U Punch ?” 26 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. munion with all that is most gentle and exalted in our nature, and which finds its development in thought and action far above the common interests and pursuits of men ; yet no less was he imbued with that practical and philosophic spirit which, though it be but for the end’s sake, rightly estimates the value of the humble means by which the loftiest, no less than the lowliest, success must be won. He was eager to reach the goal, yet patient in the race. His gaze soared to heaven, but he forgot not the earth which sustained his feet. “ D a J after day, and, indeed, year upon year, he pursued his silent toil, renewing his hope and strength in communion with the pure and beautiful spirit of Nature as often as his wearying labours permitted him to seek the home of his heart in the sunlight and shade of the country. MThen, in process of time, the gay prattle of the new Park Fountain one bright sunny morning startled his wondering ears, in the very midst of the dull scenes of his daily life, his heart leaped up with the dancing waters, and their joyous voice spoke to his sou] then, as ever after, in glad whispers of sympathy and hope It brought back to his remembrance the smiling eyes of the mother he would never see again ; of the home from which he was an exile. It filled his spirit with indescribable emotions of pleasure, and, from that hour forth, exercised over him a strange and irresistible fascination. It was the bright far-off star of his wonder and love, bending down to his ear in familiar converse. No matter for cold or hunger, for exhaus- tion or despondency, he was ever, in his leisure hours, at early morn, and in the waning night, invincibly drawn by the magic spell of the fountain. The edge of the murmuring basin grew to be his home. Here he would sit through unobserved hours, gazing upwards at the pearly drops, or down into the darker floods, seeing, in each, fantastical or profound minglings of the light and shade of life. Many a touching history of joy and THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 27 sorrow, many an earnest lesson of cheer and of chiding, he read in this mystic page ; and though sometimes the sadder, he yet grew ever wiser and stronger by their teachings. “ One quiet summer evening, thus musing in pleased abstrac- tion, his face grew beautiful with the light of pleasure as his eye caught the reflection of a smile, sweeter than often blesses either the waking or sleeping vision of the dreamer. More than once before he had seen this spirit of the waters — for spirit only he seemed to think it, since it never had occurred to him to look up for the original of the sweet face. I know not how long he might now have continued to gaze upon the beauteous image, had not a light, merry laugh at his side recalled him to earth, and revealed to his startled perceptions the living form of the fair being whom he had worshipped only as a dream. . “ Frederic Marzan — so was the youth named — bowed slightly, half involuntarily, and half as in apology for the temerity of his intent gaze. “ ‘ You are a devoted dreamer, sir,’ said the lady. ‘ I have been looking in vain for the object of your search in the fountain. Pray, may I ask what you see there so charming?’ “ ‘ A vision of beauty, madam,’ answered Frederic, his truant speech quickly brought back by her gay and cordial voice and manner, and speaking with his wonted grace and gallantry, though with an earnestness and truth of expression not always the soul of such graces — ‘ a vision, madam, scarcely less fixed in my memory and fancy, now that I look upon your living face, than when I watched its smile in the fountain.’ “ The lady laughed merrily, though evidently not displeased with the bold compliment. “ ‘ Your courtesy, sir, is as graceful as it is long delayed,’ she rejoined, in a voice of frank coquetry which her patrician face and bearing could well afford. ‘I have often stood by 28 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. your side here, wondering what odd confidences you and the fountain were exchanging — what mad tales you were telling each other; yet never until now have you deigned to honour me with any consciousness of my presence.’ “ 1 1 never, madam, dreamed that the sweet smile that I beheld in the water was more than the image of my own teeming fancy. It ever brought in its train such a retinue of absorbing and happy thoughts and desires, as completely to withdraw my mind from all the actual about me.’ “ ‘ I am sorry then that I have broken the spell and released you from its grateful enchantment. Yet,’ she continued, in a more serious tone, not unmingled with a feeling of thoughtful sadness, as she glanced at the threadbare attire and the anxious face of the friendless student, ‘ I do you a good service in calling you back to earth. It is not well, nor wise, for you to waste your hours in dreams, still idle and profitless, bright and winsome as they may be. Your fortunes seem yet to be made, and to be awaiting none but your own strong and will- ing hands. This enchanted land is not the place for you, Sir Pilgrim. You should be in the busy, acting world. Musing and dreaming are in fitting measure the nurse of achievement ; in excess, they only kill. Gather strength and purpose at the fountain, if you will ; but do not, too, spend it there.’ “As the lady spoke, our hero’s surprise at the unexpected seriousness of her speech, and at the grave character of her rebuke and counsel, half restrained the feelings of wounded pride which were gathering in his breast. Still, there was no little haughtiness in his voice and manner, as he replied “ ‘ You misjudge me, madam. I do not spend strength and purpose here. Frederic Marzan is not of the vile herd who basely sigh for what they dare not seize. As you think, my fortunes are yet to be built, and by my own unaided strength. I ask no mean prize in the world’s gift, and I will have mv THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 29 asking! We may meet again, when you will not thus unjustly rebuke me.’ “‘I do not doubt it,’ said the young girl, looking stead- fastly into our hero’s eyes, sparkling with haughty pride and high resolve. “‘Forgive my grave and gratuitous lecture,’ she continued gaily, and kindly extending her hand, as she at length yielded to the impatience of her cavalier to resume their walk. “ ‘ Thanks, many thanks, for your gentle kindness and for your counsel. It is not gratuitous — not vain. It gives me an incentive to effort which will conquer though all others fail,’ said Frederic earnestly, as his burning lips touched her proffered hand. “‘Gone,’ mournfully soliloquized the youth, turning his eyes from the retreating figure he had been watching until lost to his sight. ‘ Gone forever the Smile of the Fountain ! She will not come back again ; and if she should, what is that to me ? I may not look into the actual face, and draw from it glad imaginings, as I have done from the vanished image ;’ and his brow darkened as he gloomily reviewed his own life and pros- pects, and thought of the great social gulf which he doubted not stretched between the stranger lady and himself. ‘ But,’ he resumed, after a pause, and as a new courage seemed to cheer his soul, ‘ a truce to all vain sighs and sickly dreams, and let us see if will and work cannot bring back the Smile of the Fountain !’ “ From this hour, the whole character of Frederic Marzan was changed, or developed, rather. He was a youth no longer; but a man, with man’s graver and deeper views of life, and with man’s higher and firmer wish and will. He still often visited the fountain, and looked earnestly into its waters, but the old smile never again greeted his sight. Many forms stood around him, but in none did he discover the one he sought. 30 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. Now and then his heart would beat more quickly, as light figures glided past him, and with inward trepidation he would seek to look beneath the veils which buried unanswering faces. “ Despite his stern resolutions, which were for the most time invincible, oppressive memories of faded hopes would spring up, and, swelling into irresistible torrents, would in a moment tear away the strong pillars of the iron bridge which he had, with so great effort, sprung over the gulf of all sad bygones. Still, in every changeful mood, the fountain was his sure recourse —his hope or his consolation. He felt the subtile, healthy influ- ence of its smile always around him. It seemed to bless his life. “ From the day of his rencontre with his unknown adviser his horoscope brightened. Pictures which had lingered in the shops were bought, and others found purchasers as fast as his pencil could execute them. His name began to be heard and honoured in the world. He made rapid strides in his profes- sional career. His fortunes brightened day by day; success followed success ; eager patrons surrounded him ; and the fame which once seemed to him at such unattainable distance, now came unsought and almost unwelcomed. His studio was the favourite resort of the beauty and fashion of the town. Many gay belles asked the immortality of his pencil ; many flattering smiles were lavished upon him ; but none whose light outshone the never-forgotten radiance of the Smile of "the Fountain. “ He mingled freely and incessantly in the social pleasures to which he was invited, and yet with an insouciance not quite suited to his brilliant prospects and early years. ‘“You seem marvellously indifferent, Marzan,’ said a fashion- able lounger to him one day, while filling the sitter’s chair, ‘ to the smiles of our fair belles. Do none of the arrows reach your heart, or are you impervious ? But then you have such incomprehensible notions about women. Now there’s that odd, **°w; r THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 31 haughty, but ruinously handsome and fearfully clever little witch, Edith Manners — I beg pardon of her stateliness ■ — Miss Edith Manners. If you can withstand her charms, I give you up as hopeless. By the way, how is it that you have never painted her portrait ? Why, my dear boy, you might paint our peer- less though perverse Edith, and then contentedly die. Why, ’pon my word, you are a Goth not to have done it long ago — the picture, I mean — not the dying.’ “ ‘ I have not the honour of Miss Manners’ acquaintance,’ said the artist, coldly. “ ‘ Mot the honour of her acquaintance !’ resumed the visitor. 1 Why, really, per hacco ! you astound me ! There is still a hope for you, when you do know her, as you soon shall. I’ll manage the thing for you. Nothing is ’ “ ‘ Pray do not trouble yourself on my account.’ “ 1 0, my dear friend, no trouble, I assure you : au contraire , a pleasure. Why, she is just the woman to suit you ; and I am positive — no compliment — that she will fancy you. Queer creature ! I don’t exactly understand her ; she has so many odd ways — does and says so many strange things ! Why, would you believe it, at Mrs. Dasha way’s, once, I joined a set of writing people, with whom she was talking about the character- istics of great men— Washington saving his country, and all that ; and when I said I hoped yet to have the honour of preserving my country, she said it was very possible, as Rome was saved by a goose! Then everybody laughed, and I reallv should have thought the impertinent little wretch was quizzing me, if she had not explained that she meant to say that, if a goose could save a capital like Rome, what might not I do ? Shockingly complimentary in her, wasn’t it? Well, well, she does obliging things sometimes, though more often over the left than the right. When she goes to the opera, she sits in a private box, where no one can see her. She says she goes to hear 32 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. the music, not to see a puppet show ! It must be a great bore. Queer creature ! Why she’ll turn her back upon any of our set — capital fellows they are, too — at any time, to talk to some old fogy of a D. D., or to some seedy poet, or to some poor devil of a painter — no offence — nothing personal ; you don’t belong to that sort, you know ; you’re one of us, though I must say you are not very sociable — indeed, I may say (excuse me), a little stiff.’ “ ‘ Shut your mouth, if you please.’ “ ‘Aye?’ “ 1 1 am painting the lips.’ “ 1 0, ah, yes ! very good, very ; he, he, capital, ’pon honour ! I must tell that to our fellows — he, he !’ “ Soon after this colloquy, or monologue, rather, the artist dismissed his sitter, and his thoughts lingered about the much discussed Edith. To tell the truth, he was not a little piqued that the most famous and spirituelle beauty of the city had never come to his studio, never invited his acquaintance, never even sought to meet him at any of the many reunions among their mutual friends : or even at the soirbes given expressly in his honour, and by her own circle. “ ‘It is,’ said Marzan, to himself, ‘un parti pris. She is too proud to follow the popular current, and she evidently avoids me simply because I am courted by all others. Keally, I am curious to see this fabled Edith Manners.’ “His eye at this moment rested upon a large canvass, which had long occupied such leisure hours as he could snatch from the toils of his manifold engagements. Gazing upon the picture, as he turned its face from the wall, an expression of sadness softened his look, and his thoughts flew far away from Edith Manners. “‘She must be a paragon, indeed," he mused, ‘if she can make me forget my little unknown patroness ! Shall I never THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN'. 33 see her again ? Will the fountain never more wear its old sweet smile?’ “The picture upon which he gazed was nothing less than a faithful memory of the scene at the fountain — the interview between Marzan and the young girl, which we have narrated at the beginning of our story. In every respect, it was a glo- rious production. Indeed, it was the artist’s chef-d'oeuvre, as the public enthusiastically pronounced it when it soon after enriched the Annual Exhibition of the National Academy. “ ‘ Strange !’ whispered the curious public, when it was told that the painter kept the work himself, refusing for it almost fabulous prices. “ Mr. Manners, who in the meanwhile had made the artist’s acquaintance, sought by every means to possess himself of the picture, without avail. “‘Surely,’ said the young misses and the old gossips, ‘it must have a history ! Marzan is as romantic as he is proud and reserved, and has, no doubt, had more adventures than it pleases him to relate.’ “ ‘ Have you never observed,’ said Clara B , ‘ how much the lad resembles Marzan himself?’ “ ‘ And, surely, I have seen the girl somewhere. Who can she be ? Dear me, how provoking !’ rejoined Julia G . “Marzan’s motive in exposing his picture of the Smile of the Fountain is of course apparent enough ; but it failed in its intent, giving him no clue whatever to the solution of the riddle of his life. The Exhibition closed, the picture came back, and months yet flew by, while no trace could be found of the stranger-lady. “Marzan’s acquaintance with Mr. Manners was followed by repeated invitations to his house, which our hero, however, from some cause, uniformly declined : though at length mere courtesv forbade the right to deny the urgent and personal solicitations 3 34 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. of the gentleman. 1 The party is to be a masque,’ said Mr. Manners. 1 It is a fancy of my wilful child ; and, to tell the truth, she is particularly desirous of your company. You must not refuse us.’ “ The hour for the much talked of entertainment arrived, and Marzan set forth, though reluctantly, to keep his engage- ment. If he felt any interest in the affair at all, it was in the promise it gave him of meeting one of whose graces and gifts he had heard so much. Still, this interest was not so marked as to bring the slightest feeling of vexation, when he learned that Edith was too indisposed to receive her guests. “ The evening wore on, with brilliant success. Frederic found no want of occupation. He was an especial favourite with everybody, young and old — with the gay and thoughtless, for his graces and wit, and with the grave and wise, for his sterling worth and wisdom. Many a fair masque greeted him, and sometimes he would be challenged by a whole bevy of madcaps. He played his part well, yet scarcely with the dclat which his reputation promised. In truth, his interest was con- centrated upon a fair form, simply clad, gliding hither and thither, and winning but passing notice from any. “‘Who is yonder solitary lady?’ he vainly asked of all he met. “ After a while, stealing away from the gay groups, he found himself, to his great relief, in a little boudoir at the end of the rich suite of drawing rooms. Much to his surprise, he saw among the decorations of the walls of this fairy bower, several of his own early pictures, which had been pur- chased in his humbler days by an unknown patron. He was gazing at these surprises — a thousand novel thoughts and fancies crowding his perplexed brain — when a hand was laid softly upon his arm, and, turning quickly, he beheld the figure of the humble masque. THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 35 “ 1 Are you a lover of art ?’ she asked, pointing to the pictures. As a child loves its mother ! Is it not the sunshine and soul of my life ?’ “ ‘ Ahj you are a painter then, sir ! How do you like my friend Edith’s gallery ?’ “ Erederic shrugged his shoulders, with an unaccountable want of complaisance ; but it seemed not rude to the lady, for she laughed gaily. “ ‘ Upon my word, you are no courtier,’ said she. 1 Cer- tainly, your ungracious verdict cannot grow out of professional jealousy. Come, be honest, and confess that he gives promise — rare promise.’ “ ‘ Certainly,’ returned Marzan, abstractedly. “ 1 Which he has nobly honoured,’ continued the lady, 1 in his famous picture of the Smile of the Fountain, for the works you see before you are from the easel of no humbler artist than Frederic Marzan.’ “ ‘ Fo you know,’ she continued, seeing that her auditor was little disposed to reply, ‘ why the artist so cherishes that picture of the Fountain ?’ ‘ Indeed, fair lady, how should I ?’ answered Marzan, con- descending at last to speak. ‘ Some caprice, perhaps, or ’ “ ‘ Or, perhaps, it may be the loving record of some story of his hidden life. You painters and poets, I know, sometimes, shrinking from fuller expression, indulge in the relief of such vague confidences. The artist, I am told, has traced his own features in the face of the hero; and they say, that his earlier life knew the poverty and struggle expressed in the character. I he heroine, too — if, as I doubt not, her portrait be drawn from nature— still remembers, if she ever felt, the Smile of the Fountain.’ “ 1 No, no !’ interrupted Marzan, sadly, 1 if such a memory 36 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. ever interested her heart, it must have been forgotten long ago. "Women are too changeable to love so unselfishly or so con- stantly.’ “ 1 Fie ! ungallant masque ! Did I know the artist, and know, too, the secret of his picture to be such as my romance has fashioned it, I would tell him that that fair face, his memory has recalled, is the index of a soul earnest and devoted as his own. There are women, sir, who can love from pure and truth- ful impulses — love, entirely and forever, from impulses at vari- ance with every lesson of selfishness. But men — are they capable of such noble disinterestedness? Your artist here, alas! has most likely forgotten, long ago, the Smile of the Fountain in the more brilliant smiles of flattery and fame. It lives now in his brain, and not in his heart. He remembers it as a graceful theme for the display of his genius.’ “ 1 Madam !’ gasped Marzan, impetuously, and as if utterly forgetful of all but one thought, ‘ do not desecrate the most holy memories by such light words. Spare me, I pray you ; I am that Frederic Marzan, and I loved the lady of the Fountain.’ “ ‘ And you still love her ?’ asked the stranger, in a low, tremulous voice. “‘Now and ever! Would that I could find her! And yet, it were better that I should not. Now, she is to me a thought of beauty : to meet her again would be only to kill that sweet memory ; to meet her, and find in her eye and heart no reflection of my own mad love.’ “ 1 Folly, sir ! Seek her, and you will find a reality more beautiful than your abstraction. Believe me, that if she ever loved you, she ’ “ 1 And why do you speak so confidently ? who are you ?’ asked Marzan, seeking to read the features of the lady through her masque. ‘ I am mad, no doubt ; but your earnest voice TOE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 37 — your merry laugh — I have heard both before ! Heard them in my dreams — am I dreaming now ? are you ’ “ ‘ An humble girl, not worth your better knowing. My face does not wear your lost smile.’ “ 1 Still, let me see it ! I must see your face.’ “ 1 If you so much desire it,’ the lady whispered, as she removed her masque. “ ‘ I knew, I knew it must be so !’ he cried, gathering the light form of the now laughing girl in his passionate embrace. 1 My long-sought treasure ! Mine again, and always — however poor and unfriended — however ’ “ ‘ Edith ! my daughter !’ exclaimed the astonished Mr. Man- ners, entering the little room at this surprising juncture. “ ‘ Edith Manners ?’ repeated the scarcely less bewildered artist. “ 1 Edith Manners !’ merrily echoed the beautiful girl, and giving him the hand which he had dropped — ‘Edith Manners, the Smile of the Fountain !’ ” Mr. Flakewhite here ended his romance, amidst the thanks and congratulations of his audience. “Rather highfaluted,” suggested Mr. Megilp. “Flakewhite must feel relieved, with such a weight off his mind.” “A little agonizing, I admit,” remarked the worthy chair- man; “yet I shall always look upon the old fountain hereafter with a new and loving interest, even though the association be but imaginary.” “And besides,” added Mr. Vermeille, “our book must have thought and fancy of every shade : which it will not lack, if we each express ourselves in our stories as Flakewhite has done. It is not likely that any two of us will think or feel in the same vein. Brownoker, for instance, would have painted the fountain in a very different tone.” 38 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. “Apropos,” said the gentleman just alluded to, “I must tell you — yes, I know that it is getting late, but I will detain you only a few minutes (this was addressed to Mr. Deepredde, as he took out his watch, with a deprecatory look at the speaker)- — a little reminiscence of our theme, not quite so in- tense as Flakewhite’s, but equally true. “ Passing through the Park one quiet moonlight night, (will that do for a beginning ?) I saw a citizen— whether Mr. Frederic Marzan, or not, I cannot say — gazing fixedly into the fountain, with a face and general expression of hopeless desolation which reasonably enough might have brought to mind the figure of Marius in the dumps at ruined Carthage. He had climbed over the railing, and was perched upon the very brink of the great basin. A few bubbles only fell from the jet to disturb the water, leaving the reflections of all the surroundings unbroken. “ 1 Good gracious !’ soliloquized the watcher, curiously peer- ing into the flood, ‘who the deuce has — -ger-got- into the fer- fountain ? I say, you there, ster-stranger, wer-what are you ber-ber — about, in there ? That’s a de-damp place, my fer-friend ! you’ll catch ker-cold, I am afraid. I ker-can’t hear wh-what he says, but I see his lips me-move. Wh-what an ugly ker- customer he is ! Wh-what a sh-shocking te-tile ! He must be de-drunk- — -drunk ! “ ‘ I say there— who’s ger-got into the fer-fountain ? Does yer m-mother know you’re ou-out ? — I m-mean does she know yu-you’re in? You mustn’t st-stay down there, old ch-chap ! Here, I’ll l-lend you a k-hand. It sha’n’t be ser-said that I d-didn’t help a f-fellow creature in der-distress ! Steady, now, st-stranger,’ — bending forward, and reaching down his arm to aid his submerged companion, — ‘ st-steady, or you’ll be up-s-set. Why d-don’t you take hold ? Now ! Aye ? — c-can’t reach ? you’re a der-darned fool ! THE MAN IN THE FOUNTAIN. 39 “ 1 Decidedly he’s d-drunk !’ soliloquized the watcher, as he rested a moment from his office as a member of the Humane Society — ‘ d-drunk as the d — 1 ; but — I’ll h-help him ! Per- perhaps he’s a lirst-rate f-fellow — he m-must be — he looks a good d-deal like m-me, when I’m excited. Here, old b-boy, take my h-hand !’ “ Here Marius, reaching over a little too far, fell forward, and had I not caught him by the tail of his swiftly vanishing coat, he would soon have found out who had ‘g-got into the f- fountain !’ “ ‘ Thank you, my f-friend, you’re a — b-brick,’ he said, as I sat him on his pins again. ‘ You’re another s-sort, you are, from that infernal s-scoundrel — d-down there in the f-fountain. When I lent the ugly d-dog a hand, to h-help him out, he p-pulled me in ! B-blame me if I ever h-help a f-fellow creature in d-distress again !’ ” A general laugh, and a general looking for hats, followed Brownoker’s “Smile” of the Fountain. CHAPTER III. “ Now, gentlemen,” said the respected chairman to the guests gaily chatting around our blazing fire on the memorably cold night of our next reunion, “if you are comfortably thawed, we will take our seats, and, giving rein to the steeds of Mem- ory and Fancy, prance along upon our journey.” “ And where, pray, are we to go to-night ?” asked Mr. Brownoker, stumbling, as he turned to say it, upon the tender toes of Mr. Blueblack. “ Go to ” “ Virginia,” we hastily added, by way of improving the unpleasant itineraire which Blueblack was evidently marking out for his awkward neighbour. “A pleasant destination enough, and sufficiently warn even for this wintry night,” returned Brownoker. “ Always count me in, where the Old Dominion is concerned ;” and the united lungs of the company merrily helped him through the chorus of “ Carry me back to old Virginny — to old Virginia’s shore !” “ ‘ Old Virginia’s shore !’ ” musingly echoed Mr. Deepredde, when the impromptu burst of melody had subsided — “ a noble theme, regarded in any and every light ; whether we consider 42 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. the- adventurous incidents of her early history, the bravery and gallantry of her people, and their signal services to our coun- try in every phase and period of its life ; or whether we explore its rich and varied stores of natural beauties and wonders.” “In the abundance and quality of her poetical and romantic reminiscence and suggestion,” said Mr. Yermeille, “Virginia is unquestionably the laureate of our sisterhood of nations. She was bora of the most gallant and creative spirit, and in the most daring and chivalrous age which the world has ever known —the memorable and mighty days of Elizabeth — herself, if you will, only the hard, ungiving flint, yet magically striking the light of thought and action from all the dormant genius and power which came within the range of her influence. Our queenly State grew up a worthy daughter of her great parent- age, and in all her history has evinced, as she still perpetu- ates, its noble spirit. Her whole story is replete with musings for the poet, and with philosophy for the historian. What a web of romance may yet be woven from the record of the dangers, trials, and hair-breadth ’scapes of her infant life ; from the first venture of the restless Raleigh, through all the bold exploits of the gallant Smith, the troublesome diplomacy of the wily Opecacanough, the dangerous jealousy of Powhattan, the plots of the traitorous Bacon, to the thrilling drama of the gentle Indian princess. And again, in older days — in the days of border strife, of bold struggle with the united strategy and cruelty of the French intruder and the vengeful red-skin — she gives us chronicles which, while scarcely yielding in dramatic interest to the incidents of earlier periods, rise higher in the force of moral teachings ; while yet again, onward and later, there opens to us the still more thrilling and more lofty story of her mature life, in the proud deeds and grand results of her participation in our eventful Revolution. The be-all THE TRAVELLERS IN VIRGINIA. 48 and the end-all of that achievement it is not our place now to ask. Much as the world has seen, and much more as it hopes, of mighty consequence, the stupendous effect is not yet felt, not yet dreamed of, perhaps ; but for what has come, and for what will come, to Virginia belongs much of the glory — the glory of striking the first blow, by uniting the colonies in resistance to foreign border encroachment ; while the last blow, thirty long struggling years beyond, fell also from hcT gauntletted hand, when the conquered Cornwallis laid down his shamed sword on the plains of Yorktown. Virginia then led the sounding shout of freedom and empire which has danced in glad echoes over the Alleghanies, skimmed the vast valleys of the Mississippi and the prairies of the great West, crossed the snow-clad peaks of the Eocky Mountains, and kissed the far- off floods of the Pacific— a shout which now, more than ever, fills the rejoicing air, and which must grow in grandeur and melody until it shall exalt and bless the heart of all the earth.” “It was all a mistake, my dear boy,” said Brownoker, grasp- ing the hand of the exhausted Vermeille, “ all an inexcusable mistake, that you were not yourself born in the shadow of the Blue Eidge ! You should have lineally descended from that pretty brunette, Pocahontas, and have figured in the family bible of the first of the first families ! Here ! light this pipe of Eappahannoc, and give yet another puff to the fair god- daughter of the virgin queen, and to the blessed memory of Sir Walter, for the inestimable gift of the fragrant weed. Truly you have said that the deeds of the ‘ Old Dominion’ supply volumes of romance and philosophy ;” and the grave Brownoker dropped into a brown study, and seemed to be rising to the height of the highest argument in each field, fact and fiction, with the dense clouds of smoke which he sent curling above his head. 44 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. Vermeille’s first impulse, upon this irreverent response to his eloquence, was to extinguish the offender with the “ rosy” at his elbow, as the good knight was “ put out” by his fright- ened servant, when all a-fire with the soul of old Virginia. But he thought better of it, and quietly added to his eulogy the suggested puff. “ I forgive your gross raillery,” said he, “ knowing, as I do, that beneath your seeming earthiness there yet lives the true spirit of poetry.” “ Else, my dear Vermeille, should I not, like yourself, and all of us here, spend my life in pursuit of the true and beau- tiful in Nature and life. We are brothers in feeling, believe me, though our thoughts do not patronize the same tailor Forgive my interruption, and let us proceed. Who speaks next? ‘Old Virginny never tire,’ as the poet has it.” “ Among the proudest boasts that Virginia may make,” said Mr. Flakewhite, picking up the lost thread of the discourse, “ is the extraordinary number of great men which she has given to the nation. During half the life-time of the Bepublic, its highest office has been conferred upon her sons, who have, in turn, nobly reflected back upon the country the honour they have received. Not only has she been mother of many and the greatest of our Presidents, but she has reared leaders for our armies and navies, law-givers for our senates, judges for our tribunals, apostles for our pulpits, poets for our closets, and painters and sculptors for our purest instruction and our highest and most enduring delight. Scanning the map of mid- dle Virginia, the eye is continually arrested by hallowed shrines, the birth-places, the homes, and the graves of those whom the world has most delighted to honour. Here we pause within the classic groves of Monticello, and look abroad upon the scenes amidst which Jefferson so profoundly studied and taught the world. There, in the little village of Hanover, the burning GREAT MEN OF VIRGINIA. 45 words of Patrick Henry first awakened the glowing fire of liberty in the bosoms of his countrymen ; and here, too, the great Clay was nurtured in that lofty spirit of patriotism from which sprung his high and devoted public service. Not far off, we may bend again, reverently, over the ashes of Madison and Munroe, of Lee and Wirt, and of a host of others whom but to mention would be a fatiguing task. “ Yet there remains unspoken, though not forgetfully, one other name — the first and greatest, not of Yirginia only, not of this wide Republic alone, but of the world' itself ; a name which may well and without other laurel glorify the brow of a nation — the immortal name of Washington! It is among the regrets of my life that, when in Yirginia, circumstances defiied me the coveted pleasure of visiting the sacred spot which gave birth to the noblest of our race. Some one of our number has, I hope, been more blest than I ; and to him I will now give place.” “ It is several years ago,” said Mr. Blueblack, after a pause, “ that I made a pilgrimage into the pleasant fields of West- moreland, and, upon the sunny banks of the Potomac, mused over the birth-place of Washington. The landscape, in its broad and simple, yet picturesque and genial character — in its spirit of solemn, yet happy quiet — induced reflection admirably harmonious with the temper of him whose life and deeds have cast over it an universal and unfading attraction and beauty. I need not say that the hours flew swiftly, as I recalled all the absorbing pages of that great history, of which the spot was the winning initial letter. Yet, with my pleasure, were mingled some regretful thoughts : meditations upon our want of that feeling of veneration and reverence by which the mem- ory of the past is kept green and its examples and teachings preserved. The destruction of the religious and poetic element under the crushing weight of the rubbish of that gross mate- V 46 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. rialism which we dignify with the names of practicality and action; — this unlovely phase of our national character was here strikingly evident, in the utter neglect of this the most hallowed spot in our land — a spot which should be adorned by the best efforts of our liberality and our art, and which should be a Mecca to our feet. And yet, of all our millions of people, rarely does a solitary pilgrim seek this holy ground; and not the poorest votive offering, not the simplest monument, marks the spot to recall to ourselves, or to our children, its beauti- fully suggestive story.” “Do we need such symbols?” asked Mr. Brownoker, “in this rational age, which very properly values and remembers action by its results only ? Feeling as we do, everywhere around us, the influences of great virtues and great genius, what matters it to us from whom or from where we have received them. In the dark and ignorant days of the past, monuments and statues may have been public instructors ; but we learn by better means. Do they not savour of that spirit of superstition ever akin to ignorance and weakness ?” “It is,” resumed Mr. Blueblack, “this very practical tendency, with its disdain for 'forms, which you commend, that makes it of the greater importance to cherish these outward symbols of the inner soul, lest with the one, the other shall cease to be remembered. In the same spirit, you would doubtless pull down, the soaring spires which direct our thoughts to heaven, cease the ceremonies of our sacred worship, and trust the preservation of religious and moral principle to the pure con- science of each man alone. But that, alas! may not be. The world is not good and holy enough to dispense with these monitors. Virtuous promptings and reproofs are still of use. If there be weakness confessed, and credulity evinced, in a regard for the forms and draperies of truth, let us still acknowledge that we are not gods, rather than, in losing all MONUMENTS AND STATUES. 47 sight and thought of virtue and beauty, show ourselves to be brutes. Besides, it is but just to those whose lives and deeds have blessed us, and to their children forever, that we should acknowledge and reward their services. It is but wise in ourselves to use the incentive to virtuous achievement, which we may find in the remembrance and hope of the honours they win.” “ ‘ The lives of great men all remind us we can make our lives sublime,’” suggested Professor Scumble. “Let us, in every possible way, venerate the past, lest the present come, in turn, to dishonour.” “Even denying,” said Mr. Flakewhite, “the great moral influence and need of such outward expression of our hearts, as we can make in the employment of monuments and kindred objects, they are still of inestimable value as missionaries of the refining and spiritualizing lessons of art : priceless even as ministers to our intellectual delight; to be dearly cherished if only for the innocent gratification which they bring to the senses.” “Permit me to relate,” said Mr. Deepredde, “while I think of it, a little anecdote illustrating the relative respect of our own and other nations for hallowed objects and scenes. The incident occurred rvhile I was once passing down the Potomac. Nearing Mount Yernon, the passengers were, as is customary, informed of the fact by the ringing of the bell, and soon most of them were gathered on the side of the boat. While our own people were gazing with idle curiosity or seeming indifference, some by the expression of their faces seeming to say, as they looked upon the home and tomb of the Father of his Country, ‘Well! what of it?’ and others, by their looks, evidently think- ing the whole thing but a shabby sort of affair: some passen- gers in the group — French gentlemen — gravely removed their hats and stood uncovered as the boat glided by : a deserved 48 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. rebake, which was keenly felt by every conscious scoffer and careless spectator.” “ By the way,” added the chairman, turning to us as he finished his story, “ is it intentionally, that you have led us to Virginia on this especial night of the memorable twenty-second of February, the anniversary of the chiefest event in her history?” “ Our sermon,” we returned, now for the first time producing our picture of the birth-place of Washington, “ has singularly enough followed its unknown text. Our choice has been made not accidentally, but with reference to the occasion, and with the thought that it would well follow the ceremonies and reflections of the day.” “ An admirable chronicle of the spot,” said Mr. Blueblack, as, with all the company, he bent over Mr. Chapman’s graphic drawing. “Let us thank Chapman,” said Mr. Vermeille, “for his monument to the birth-place of Washington. It is not very pretending, but yet it will, with its still small voice, speak pleasantly and usefully to many hearts.” “ In parenthesis,” said Brownoker. “ Chapman is himself a Virginian. He has given us a worthy token of his home love, in the picture of the baptism of Pocahontas, in the Bo- tunda of the Capitol. I could have wished that he had taken the more dramatic story of the rescue of Smith— an event of national interest, upon which turned the destiny of the State; while the baptism, however pleasing an incident, might or might not have occurred, and either way with no particular sequence.” “Apropos, of our picture,” said another speaker. “Is it not strange that while Virginia is no less singularly interesting in her physical than in her moral aspect, she has won so little of the attention of our landscapists? Despite the extent and THE LANDSCAPE OF VIRGINIA. 49 variety of her scenery, from the alluvial plains of the eastern division, through the picturesque hills and dales of the middle region, onward to the noble summits of the Blue Ridge, with their intervening valleys and mountain streams and waterfalls, the white-cotton umbrella of the artist has scarcely ever been seen to temper its sunshine, except in a few instances of par- ticularly notable interest — as the Natural Bridge, and the grand views near Harper’s Ferry. The landscape of Virginia is every- where suggestive ; and, even in the least varied regions, con- tinually rises to the beauty of a fine picture. There are the rich valleys of the James and the Roanoke rivers, said in many of their characteristics to resemble the beautiful scenery of the Loire and the Garonne ; and far off, among the hills, are the rushing and plunging waters of the great Kanawha, and the beetling cliffs of New River. Verily, we painters have too much neglected our duties and privileges in this case.” “Too much ‘renounced the boundless store of charms which Nature to her votary yields,’” echoed Professor Scumble. “The brother seems to forget,” said Mr. Brownoker, “that the field which we have to cultivate is of vast extent, and that numerous and gifted as are our landscape painters, they have yet scarcely had opportunity to look about them. In due time the forests and fields of Virginia, as of all the land, will find fitting record. That the landscape of the Northern States should first win the study of our artists, is natural enough, if but from the more ready access they have to it — the chief portion of them being gathered in this great centralizing city of New York. At present, the scenery of Virginia is better known to the general traveller than to the artist; which per- haps comes from the social attractions of the famous watering places, and the extraordinary number of eccentricities in the landscape; neither of which are greatly sought by the artist, much and properly so, as they may charm the mere pleasure- 4 50 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. seeking tourist. Every body goes to that wonderful place, the Natural, or, as in its massive grandeur and its strange form it appears to the astonished eye, the Unnatural Bridge ; while the most blasd curiosity is always raised in the ghostly halls of the great weird caves — Brownoker will take notice that no pun is intended.” “ You seemed,” interrupted Mr. Brownoker, “ to think the cave weird enough on that uni ucky visit we made last summer, when, after much vain effort to get out, we finally laid down to rest and to wait for daylight, — and kept waiting for forty-eight long hours, — waiting, afraid to step, lest we should jump from Scylla to Charybdis — waiting until our anxious friends discovered us, in a rayless nook of the Dragon’s rooms, exactly a dozen steps from the entrance and all out-doors! and it is not sur- prising that the terrible Bridge appeared somewhat wn-natural to you, when your self-sacrificing gallantry so fatally led you to climb beyond return, after the flower of a certain fair girl’s wish, and you hung like the samphire gatherer at his dreadful trade, the laugh, the jest, and riddle of the world — of merry and provoking eyes below you.” “I once,” said Mr. Megilp, “had the folly to venture, alone, amidst the dark and dangerous passages of Weir’s Cave, and I was lost to the world for four mortal days, during all which dreadful time I was vainly seeking a means of egress. My torches were all burnt out, and I went day after day, and night after night, wandering up and down from one ghostly chamber to another: now thumping my aching head against the pillars of ‘ Solomon’s Temple’ : now entrapped, apparently past all rescue, in the labyrinth of the ‘ Lawyer’s Office’ : now whirled around distractedly on the spacious floor of the ‘ Ball Boom’ : asking a bill of relief in the ‘ Senate Chamber’ : making the air vocal with my cries of distress at the base of ‘ Paganini’s Statue’ : and anon freezing to death in ‘Jacob’s Well,’ with ADVENTURE IN WEIR’S CAVE. 51 no vision of a ladder by which to escape. It was a fearful imprisonment, the very recollection of which, even at this re- mote day, makes my blood run cold. All my garments were tom fiom my back, and my flesh was horribly lacerated by continual rubs against the sharp angles of the stalactites. I—” “You must have had a very hard time indeed,” interrupted Blueblack, with an incredulous smile. “ How did you manage to live?” “To live?” “Yes: what did you find to eat through all that extra- ordinary four days?” “ Ah, yes ! I lived — lived — on fish !” “Tish! Where did you get them?” Get them ? Oh, you know — those odd chaps, the eyeless animals not equal to fresh shad, but still quite tolerable in an emergency— they taste a good deal like—” “You must make a mistake,” persisted Blueblack. “You could hardly have lived on the eyeless fish, since they are to be found not in Weir’s, but in the Great Mammoth Cave of Kentucky. Are you quite sure?” “Aye, well now, really, perhaps I may be wrong. But the fact is I lived— on something— let me see— but you know, I was so dreadfully alarmed at my extraordinary situation, that I really did not, do not, know how I lived — but that — ” You are dreaming, is very probable,” said the disbelieving Blueblack. “But come, you have told us a very capital story, and it shall have all the credit it deserves.” The company, assuring Mr. Megilp that they were not to be sold at so low a rate, rallied him merrily upon the painful ex- ploits of his fancy, and the grave current in which the talk of the evening had thus far run, changed to a strain of light humour and gay recollection; a strain which the reader would no doubt be pleased to follow, were we not inexorably com- 52 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. pelled to omit the entire record from our minutes, lest we should lack space and time to report the closing episodes of the night. Among these interesting passages was an imaginary peep into the eventful and dangerous life of the early days of Virginia, afforded us by Mr. Blueblack in his touching tale of UTittk (Emma Utinmxrliit. “ The hearts of the brave colonists were heavy within them. Misfortunes and afflictions had so thickened upon and crushed them, that they were fain, even, to look askance upon their old friend Hope, so often had Hope cruelly betrayed them. “At the time of which we speak, the numbers of the little settlement — few at best — were gradually growing less, under the triple scourge of famine, pestilence, and the vengeful hatred of their savage neighbours. The good ship which was daily expected to bring relief to the sufferers, came not. In vain, with each succeeding dawn, did they strain their watchful eyes to catch a glimpse of its distant sails, and turn again in despair to the supplicating faces of their dying friends. “It needed all the strength and courage of the bravest to support and cheer the weak and desponding ; and, happily, brave hearts were not wanting in the hour of trial, though they sometimes came from unexpected quarters. Vapouring strength soon burnt to empty ashes in the fiery furnace of sor- row, and the true heroism blazed forth under its humblest disguises. Among the strong souls which the exigencies of the times developed was that of our heroine, Little Emma Mun- nerlin, or Little Emma, as she had been always called, not so much from her physical diminutiveness, though she was but a wee thing, as from the quiet gentleness and the tender delicacy of her character. People lamented that a plant so W.H Barllett LITTLE EMMA MUNNERLIN. 53 fragile should not grow in a less rude soil; yet, as the dainty forest-flower lives unscathed on its Alpine rock, while the giant trees fall prostrate, so our little Emma withstood many storms to which sterner natures succumbed. “ Little Emma lived much among her own quiet thoughts and dreams. She seldom had a great deal to say, and her general humour was more pensive than merry ; yet when tongues were silent, and hearts grew heavy around her, smiles sprang into beautiful life upon her loving lips, and soothing and cheering words fell from them, abundant and grateful as jewelled drops of summer showers. “ Little Emma, in her modest humility, never ventured to question the wisdom even of her mates ; and yet now, when experienced matrons, and bearded men, and hoary-headed men were brought, they scarce knew how, to learn from her coun- sels, they stood in her simple presence with some such feeling of wondering reverence as that which filled the hearts of the Doctors while listening in the Temple to the preaching of the Holy Child. “ Little Emma was by nature, physically and morally, at most times, extremely timid and sensitive ; all ugly objects, all evil thoughts, all human suffering, brought pain to her delicate soul ; and yet now, no one was found so continually at the couch of the sick and dying, no one so unwearied in her sacri- fices, as she. From morn to night, she was the gentle dove bearing the olive-branch of hope from door to door; and but lately, she had saved the colony, by boldly venturing among the savage tribe into whose hands they had fallen, to exert the powerful influence which she had strangely won over them, through the stern heart of the young chieftain. “ This singular conquest of poor little Emma’s had long been as much a matter of fear as of rejoicing to the people ; for while they congratulated themselves upon the protection r 64 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. which it gave them, they shuddered at thought of the danger to which it might expose the gentle child. And now, when the extraordinary beauty and worth of Little Emma’s character was daily growing into the knowledge and the love of the people, they watched with terror the strengthening passion of the savage wooer, trembling lest it might at some time over- step the sacred bounds to which the same power which had inspired had thus far restrained it. “ Great as was the general concern on this score, there was one who, far above all others, was tortured by apprehension and dread — a worthy youth, who had been more prompt than others to discover the charm of Little Emma’s nature, or had rather, perhaps, been drawn unconsciously within the spell of its influence ; one whose assumed right to advise and guard her, she had never thought to deny. “ Often and earnestly did this privileged friend remonstrate with her upon the rash confidence with which she ventured among her savage admirers, and more especially did he warn her against the danger of her unsuspecting trust of the enam- oured chief. “ ‘ It is true,’ said he, 1 that he possesses a native dignity, chivalry, and refinement of nature unwonted to his people, and strange to all the circumstances and influences under which he has been born and bred — characteristics which his extraordinary esteem for you has wonderfully developed and exalted. Thus far, the truth and depth of his passion— for he loves you with a sincere and pure worship that would do honour to the most Christian soul — -has made him the humble and yielding slave to your will ; but have a care, my darling, lest he become mad in the tortures of hope delayed, and this same earnest- ness and truth which, thus far, have been your shield, should turn to your destruction. I tremble when I think of the terrible mine under your feet, and which a single spark of LITTLE EMMA MTOTNERLIN. 55 fancied scorn may spring. Believe me, Emma dear, that you are playing with a sleeping lion.’ “ These warnings, often repeated, were not without their effect upon the mind of Little Emma, especially when, as she sometimes did, she thought she discovered a growing expres- sion of restless and angry impatience in the dark eyes and the passionate words of her savage wooer ; yet she still con- tinued to meet him freely and frankly when he came, as he often did, to the village — as he had done, indeed, through all his life. “ 1 What have I to fear ?’ she said to her own heart ; 1 and if there is danger, I cannot, to save myself, bring down their fearful vengeance upon all my beloved friends. What is my poor useless life in comparison with the general hap- piness ?’ “ At length when, in one of these frequent interviews, Outalissi— so was the chief named — sat by the river-side, at the feet of Gentle-Heart, as in his poetic tongue he called our Little Emma, he told her the story of his love, in a voice so soft yet so earnest, and in words so simple yet so passion- ate, that her tender heart overflowed with intense interest and sympathy, as she sought to calm his wild emotion, and to teach him how impossible it was for the white dove to mate with the lordly eagle. “ Edward Harrison, the youth of whom we have before spoken, and who of late had never lost sight of his betrothed, had been for some time an unobserved spectator of this scene. He now stood forth, with pallid face and angry eyes. Outa- lissi started to his feet as he clutched the weapon at his side, and glared upon the intruder with all the savagery of his race. “ Little Emma sprang to cast her shielding arms about her lover, while she bent a reproachful and imploring look upon 56 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. the chief. The group stood thus, motionless and voiceless, fox some moments, when the Indian, with a bitter and meaning glance, which made the white youth tremble, and sank like ice into the heart of our heroine, turned slowly away, and was soon lost to sight in the darkening depths of the forest “ ‘ This can last no longer,’ said Edward, when his speech came back to him, 1 happen what may.’ “ 1 No, no !’ said the trembling girl, ‘ we must not madden him, and bring down the anger of his tribe upon our defence- less people, now, when they have so many other afflictions to bear. You must seek him — bring him back, and ’ “ ‘ Ha ! is it so ?’ said the lad, with a bitter, unnatural laugh. ‘You cannot part with him! He has then stolen away your treacherous heart ! You love this ’ “ 1 This — this from you, Edward !’ gasped the poor child, stung to the soul by his cruel words. 1 He — he might kill me, but he could not be unkind as you.’ ‘“Forgive me — forgive me, Emma! I did not mean to say that. I was mad, and knew not what I did. But promise me that you will see him no more ; promise me this, or’ “ ‘ Do not look upon me so ! I cannot bear it ! I — I promise !’ “Days passed on, and Outalissi came back. He met Little Emma in the streets of the village, but she avoided him. He sought her at her own home, but was denied. He sent her messages, but received no answers. A heavy shadow darkened his brow, and chilled the hearts of the affrighted people. Their distress was hourly increasing, and hope and heaven seemed to have deserted them when Little Emma smiled no more. “ As a last struggle against the famine which surrounded them, the best and bravest of the colonists now set forth on a forlorn quest for food. The vague forebodings with which they undertook their dangerous mission proved to be not unreal ; for LITTLE EMMA MUNNERLIM. 57 the last drop seemed poured into the cup of the sufferers at home when the intelligence was brought them, not simply that the errand was fruitless, but that their fathers and brothers and lovers were captives in the strong hands of Outalissi. “A cry of despair now arose from the hearts of all the devoted villagers, which was soon hushed into a strange ex- pectant stillness when the whisper grew that the exasperated chief refused all ransom for his captives but the willing hand of Little Emma. “‘Save us! Save my father, save my son, — my brother!’ was the universal and agonized voice, as the poor people gath- ered around the devoted girl, when she appeared calm as a statue, but as lifeless and as cold, in their midst. And then other thoughts and emotions rushing into their hearts, they forbade her to leave them, crying, 1 We will all die together.’ “With a look as fixed, and a tongue as speechless, as that with which she came, Little Emma went back to her silent home, where she refused all counsel and all companionship. “ The day for the payment of the exacted ransom, when, if it were not made, the captives were doomed to death, ap- proached, and an awful stillness reigned through the stricken village. All resistance was vain, and there was left but one hope — a hope of which they dared not speak or think. “ Painfully and terribly different was the scene in the camp of Outalissi. Here a wild revelry rung through the air, as the delighted savages danced and shouted around their expected victims. “ Casting a last eager but disappointed look into the gath- ering gloom, Outalissi turned to give the order for the massacre of his captives, when a shrill cry rose above all the mad con- fusion, and, the next instant, every sound was hushed as a 68 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. young girl sprung into the midst of the grim throng and stood before the chief. “ ‘ Stay — stay your bloody hands,’ she cried, ‘ I am yours — release your captives. Ah! Outalissi, is it thus you woo me?’ 11 1 It is well, maiden,’ he said, and in a few brief words he explained to the captives the terms upon which their lives and safety had been purchased. “ 1 You are free, my brothers,’ he added, as he took the passive hand of Gentle-Heart in his own. u 1 Never, wretch !’ cried Edward Harrison, as, breaking the thongs by which he was still bound, and snatching the hatchet from the hands of his guard, he sprung towards the chief. “ 1 Stop, stop,’ shouted Little Emma — ‘you will but slay us all ! He keeps his promise in setting you at liberty, and I — I must keep mine! Go home — go, Edward — go, my father — go, my friends, carry joy with you to many breaking hearts ! Pray for, but do not mourn for Little Emma !’ “ The solemn earnestness of the child’s words, and the lofty courage which spoke in her whole air and action, paralyzed the tongues and the hearts of her friends and excited the won- dering admiration of the disappointed savages. It was one of those supreme moments, which bring forth all the purest emo- tions of the human heart; and Outalissi felt its hallowed spell. With his native nobility and generosity of character, he again took the hand of Little Emma and placed it with a sad smile in that of his rival. “ ‘ Gentle-Heart may go back to her own people,’ said he. ‘ She is too good for Outalissi !’ “ I need not speak of the joy of the happy captives, or of the glad greeting which welcomed their triumphant return. Still less need I tell you how Outalissi faithfully protected Gentle-Heart and her people, for natures like his err only for a moment; or of the sunshine which lighted the after life of TOM, DICK, AND HAKRY. 59 Little Emma, for such souls as hers live always in sunshine — the sunshine of their own pure and beautiful thoughts.” We must omit the record of the congratulations and com- ments which followed Blueblack’s deeply affecting narrative, further than to mention a remark with which Mr. Brownoker introduced another and gayer story. “I have a high respect for 'Little Emma,’” said that gen- tleman, “ but I must protest against such agonizing histories, when one has no handkerchief in his pocket. I can give you a much more cheerful reminiscence of Virginia, if you would like to hear it, as of course you would— don’t shake your heads, for you must submit. My heroine is another kind of young person from Blueblack’s, but then you know it takes all sorts of people to make a world. ’Tis a little personal adventure — happened on a visit to the Springs. I call it Com, Slick, mtk |jarrji. “Dick Bones was about to be married, and I was on the road to the fu the wedding I mean. The affair was to come off at the White Sulphur Springs. I looked over the way-bill before stepping into the coach : found only one pas- senger — Brown ; but who the deuce Brown was, didn’t know — didn’t want to know : plump’d myself down on the back seat — and a bundle, which bundle on inspection proved to be Brown in person and in a passion — said ‘How are you?’ to him: don’t like to repeat what he said to me in reply. Tried to sleep, but what with the everlasting jolting over the hills — Byron was right in saying, ‘ High mountains are a feeling’ — 60 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. and Brown’s distressing dreams of a certain faithless Jemima, couldn’t manage it.