' " ' ' \'^^ c » ^ <■ < ,0o "^/. * i/ > ^^ '^>, - / - ■^o 0^ j5 -n*. .6-^ r • nO°<, ^^' ' o 1, "* A i^"*, ,, ,■** ^^% ■% ^' ,.^" ^Vi^ * 'J A-:s- '^•i. ■ * » I .^\ -< <■ '^ * » I » V V S » « , ^> * 3 N ■ > ^ V^ "I * \V '-t^ .^= ^V /\ .^<^<, "oo A .^? xO^. ^^-^^^ ^l'^'" •^P ^\^ . ■* /A .t\^^ -^^ v^ .^' .^^^ .-^^ xO^r. .^^^ aV 'S^r. - \- Ci-, •^oo^ l5^>/j (0.3^/^/>-y AMERICAN SCENERY. \*-*> •>*. ?• \ ^^.»' «!■ I -<**• AMERICAN SCENERY, S 2i Ej W S "ff la A f 1 i y T?^ADDISON KICHAEDS, N. A. WITE TSIRTY-TWO EFaEAVmOS ON STEEL feto llark: PUBLISHED BY LEAYITT AND ALLEN, 379 BROAD Wi\Y. ^\%^n?:i ^' Kntered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S54, By Leavitt and Allen, In the Clerk's Office of tlie District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. '-^y >' BiLLi.N & Brothers, Printers and Stereotypera, *20 North WUIinm street, N". Y. ILLUSTEATIONS LAKE GEORGE, .... MOUNT VERNON, . . . . FALLS OF TALLULAH, GA., No. 1. ELKHORN PYRAMID, UPPER MISSOURI, THE PARK FOUNTAIN, N. T., THE NARROWS, FROM STATEN ISLAND, . BIRTH PLACE OF WASHINGTON, NEW YORK, FROM WEEHAWKEN, WASHINGTON CROSSING THE ALLEGHANY, MEDICAL COLLEGE, GA., . FALLS OF TOWALAGA, GA., . CASCADE OP TUCCOA, LOVER'S LEAP, CHATTAHOOCHEE RIVER, CATARACT OP TALLULAH. No. 2, SCENE IN THE BACKWOODS . COLUiMBIA BRIDGE, ON THE SUSQUEHANNA, RIVER SCENE IN THE SOUTH-WEST, LOG HUT ON LAKE CHAUDIERE . TOWER ROCK, ON THE MISSISSIPPI, . ST. REGIS, INDIAN VILLAGE, ST. LAWRENCE, MONTREAL IN THE DISTANCE, ST. LAWRENCE, BISON AND ELK, UPPER MISSOURI, CINCINNATI, OHIO, THE OHIO CAVE-IN ROCK, NAVY ISLAND, NIAGARA FALLS . BURLINGTON, VERMONT, LAKE IN THE ADIEONDAOKS, N. Y., ROCK MOUNTAIN, THE SUSQUEHANNA, RESIDENCE OF JUDGE HALIBURTON, THE CONNECTICUT RIVER, Frontispiece. Before Title. 9 13 21 81 41 53 65 Tl 81 91 99 109 119 127 137 147 157 165 173 181 187 195 203 211 223 235 245 257 271 295 In tlie following discursive pages the author lias taken a brief, but lie 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 aftei- 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, — ^wliich subserves the usual role of a j^reface, but is too much an integral and important part of the narrative to be so called. ( 8 ) It is not tlie least of tlie 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. Univeesity, New York, July Ut, 1854. M COITENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGB 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 tlieme of his proposed book announced — The romance and the reality of American landscape : its pihj-siqxie 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 13 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 Ci'oton Aqueduct — The pleasing and graphic material it offers for an autobiography — Mr. Flakewhite's romance of "The Smile of 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. Blueblack's visit to the spot — General absence of commemorative monuments in America; reflections upon the 10 CONTENTS. PAGE cause aud consequence, importance and interest of such memorials, and illustrative anecdote by the Chairman — The extent, variety, and beauty 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 " LriTLE Emma Munnerlin" — Browuoker's brief story of " Tom, Dick, aud Harry, or "Woman's Constancy" 41 CHAPTER IV. 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 tlie Alleghany in the expedition of 1*753 ;" his account of the adventure in the story of "The Man of Duty" — Flakewhite's dramatic historiette of " Gabriblle de St. Pierre" 65 CHAPTER Y. The travellers proceed to the Caroliuas 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- tains — Halt at the Falls of Toccoa — "The Old Legend of Toccoa" 01 CHAPTER VI. The Falls of the Tallulah, in Georgia ; offerings of the poets — Nacooehee, 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 VII. Tlie South-west — Romantic adventures and suff"erings of the early explorei's — 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 PAGE Tower Rock, on the Mississippi — Coijtiimation and conclusion of the romance of " Mlstletoe Hall" 157 CHAPTER IX. Progress of the Club to the Great "West — ^Slegilp'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" 181 CHAPTER X. The West — The Ohio River and Diamond Island — Cave in the rock — Mammoth Cave — The rivers 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 "K'othing 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 Sardnac 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 — Blueblack's dolefid encounter with a wild-cat, in the great Indian Pass — The huntei-s, and their manner of life — Anecdotes of a sporting parson — Adventurous passage through the woods, from the Saranacs to the Adirondacks — Mr. Asphal- tum's recollections of "The Hermit of the Adirondacks" 235 12 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XIII. PAGK 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 Scluiylkill, and the Lehigh — Scenery of Delaware, New Jersey, and Maryland — Coal-beds and Canals of Pennsylvania — Tale of "Love's Labour "Won" — The Chairman's narrative of "Mr„ Brown's Strategy" 257 CHAPTER XIV. Our travellers and their wanderings, with a brief excursion into New England — Ease and pi'ofit of travel there— Pai'tition of the route ; Mr. Megilp retracing his rambles in Maine ; Mr. Vermeille exploring the white hills and lakes of New Hampshire ; and Mr. Flakewhite 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 205 CHAPTER I. The wit and wisdom of a pleasant circle of gay friends wbo, while thej never exceed, yet always quite fill np, tlie 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 difiiculty, 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 EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. allowed us. We lialf 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 nevei" jnade 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 tho straw? In brief, we suspected ourself of decided stupidity, and could, in no way, reasoii us out of the grateful conviction. Our evil mood, though not virulent enough to check the humour of our guests, was yet sufiiciently evident to attract notice and to elicit sympathy. A dozen clever and kind doctors were anxiously occupied with our moral pulse. We explained our symj^toms, 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. Eest 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 !" " Eemember 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, ' Nothing is denied to well-directed laboui',' " said Deepredde. " Or Eichelieu calling back the spent fire and energy of his early years, 'In the bright lexicon of youth there's no such word as fail.' " " The sacred text, ' As thy day so shall thy strength be.' " " Cassar, ' Veni, vidi, vici !' " Eefreshed 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 i^aillery, "Eemember 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 KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. " Not temperance?" chimed in one upon anotlier, the associated face sensibly lengthening the while. "By no means!" we hastened to explain. "Neither phi- losophy, religion, nor morals. Heaven forbid ! We have a more genial topic — the Eomance and Eeality 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 wo 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 test, and now for the heads of the sermon!" "Our pubhshers," 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 ail 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-bibbiog people Not to let the jug pace round the board like a cripple, But gaily to chat while discussing their tipple." '^ THE ROUTE AND ITS PLEASURES. 17 "Notliing could be more agreeable," said Mr. Yermeille, " 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 ' pouring its deep eternal bass in Nature's anthem.' ' Lord ! 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 land, 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 OF AMERICA17 LANDSCAPE. our natural scenery, may seem tame, wanting tlie poetic veil of distance ; may be belittled by its contemporary cbaracter ; but we, I liope, are men of larger vision, possessed of tliat unpre- judiced and prophetic spirit whicli, 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 ' 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? '" O, 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 I' " THE ROUTE AND ITS PLEASURES. 19 "But, will our subject, think you, interest tlie 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 he 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 np by a sacrilegious bint tbat the small hours were coming; and a general movement among our guests ensued. "J. Mercredi P'' 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 !" 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 '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." CHAPTER II. On 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. Acliaiai ; of the famous Pirene at Corintli, 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, u.nder which were seats for the public ease and comfort in the svdtry 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 ' 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 ]^ccssant, 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 bappy hour in the sweet watered groves and wilds of Yer- 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. Yermeille, " has touched upon the jDoetry 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 FOUNTAIN'S. — THE CROTON". 23 Eebecca. It was bj tlie 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, Thej 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 Ilezekiah ; 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 tro^^hies 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 EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. of July, 1842 — many of you remember tlie merry day 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. Ver- 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. Now 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 Eeservoir,' 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 tliino- 1 Will not some imaginative brother speak for it? Brownoker, suppose you concoct us a " " Punch ?" " 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." " Well, 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 C^e ^mile of tlje I'auittiuit. " 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 Avas 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- 26 THE EOMANCE 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. " Day 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. When, 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 soul 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. JSTo 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 a-t 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 historj- of joy and m 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 ev^er 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 m.ight 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 3^our 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 Avonted 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 KOMANCE OF AMEEICAN LANDSCAPE. your side "here, wondering wliat 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.' " ' I 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 my THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 29 asking ! 'We may meet again, "wten you will not thus unjustly rebuke me.' " ' I do not doubt it,' said tlie 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 jonr 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. %\: 80 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAIN LANDSCAPE. Kow and then liis 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 vfere 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 Avhose light outslione 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, THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 31 haugl%, 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 Avay, 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. " * Not the honour of her acquaintance !' resumed the visitor. * 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.'* " ' 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 -^vays — does and says so many strange things! Why, would you believe it, at Mrs. Dashaway'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 really 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 / 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 82 THE ROMAIilCE 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 — caj)ital 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?' " ' I am painting the lips.' " ' 0, ah, yes ! very good, very ; he, he, capital, 'pon honour I I must tell that to our fellows — he, he !' " Soon after this colloquy, or monologue, rather, the artist dismissed his sitter, and his thouglits 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 soirees given expressly in his honour, and by her own circle. " 'It is,' said Marzan, to himself, 'ww parti pris. She is too proud to follow the popular current, and she evidently avoids me simply because I am courted by all others. Eeally, 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 ! Sliall I never THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 83 see lier 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 m.uch the lad resembles Marzan himself?' • " ' And, surely, I have seen the girl somewhere. Who can she be ? Dear me, how provoking !' rejoined Julia Gr . " Marzan's m.otive in exposij:ig 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 courtesy forbade the right to deny the urgent and personal solicitations 8 34 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. of the gentleman. ' The party is to be a masque,' said Mr. Manners. 'It is a fancy of my wilfal 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 occiipation. 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 eclat 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 " ' Are you a lover of art ?' slie asked, pointing to tlie pictures. " ' As a child loves its mother ! Is it not the sunshine and soul of my life?' " ' Ah, you are a painter then, sir ! How do you like my friend Edith's gallery ?' "Frederic 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. ' 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. " ' Which he has nobly honoured,' continued the lady, ' 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.' " ' Do 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 ' " ' Oi', 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. The heroine, too — if, as I doubt not, her portrait be drawn from nature — ^ still remembers, if she ever felt, the Smile of the Fountain.' " ' No, no !' interrupted Marzan, sadly, ' 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.' " ' Fie ! ungallant masque ! Did I know the artist, and knoAv, 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.' " ' 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 tliought 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.' " ' Folly, sir ! Seek her, and ^^ou will find a reality more beautiful than your abstraction. Believe me, that if she ever loved jow^ she ' " * And why do you s]3eak 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 THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN", 37 — your merry laugli — I have heard both before ! Heard them in my dreams — am I dreaming now ? are you ' " ' An humble gu-1, not worth your better knowing. My face does not wear your lost smile.' " ' Still, let me see it ! I must see your face.' " ' 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. ' 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. " ' 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. "Eather highfaluted," suggested Mr. Megilp. "Flakewhite must feel relieved, with such a weight off bis mind." "A little agonizing, I adnjit," 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 ihe fountain in a very different tone." 38 THE EO:\[ANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. " Apropos," said tlie 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 (tliis was addj^essed to Mr. Deepredde, as be took out liis Avatcli, witli 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 cluxibed over the railing, and was perched upon the very brink of the great basin. A few bubbles only fell from the jet to distui'b the water, leaving the reflections of all the surroundings unbroken. " ' Good gracious !' soliloquized the watcher, cuiiously 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-diamk — 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 1-lend you a h-hand. It sha'n't be ser-said that I d-didn't help a f-fcllow 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-damed fool ! THE MAjST m THE FOUNTAIN. 89 " ' Decidedly lie's d-drunk !' soliloquized the watclier, as lie 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 first-rate f-fellow — he m-mnst 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 himv by the tail of his SAviftly 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 neighbotir. " A pleasant destination enough, and sufficiently warm 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 1" " ' 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 joeople, 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. Vermeille, " Yirginia is unquestionably the laureate of our sisterhood of nations. She was born 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 jDarent- 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 Ealeigh, 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 Eevolution. The be-all THE TRAVELLERS IN VIRGINIA. 43 and the end-all of that achievement it is not our place now to ask. Much as the world has seen, afid much more as it hojDes, 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 ; whik the last blow, thirty long struggling years beyond, fell also from her 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 o-rave Brownoker dropped into a brown study, and seemed to' be rising to the height of the highest argumeat 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 Eepublic, its highest of&ce 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 liis 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 fatisfuinoc task. " Yet there remains unspoken, though not forgetfully, one other name — the first and greatest, not of Virginia only, not of this wide Eepublic 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 anions: the regrets of my life that, when in Virginia, circumstances denied 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 historj^, 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 tlie 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- 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 enougli 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. 4.7 sight and thought of virtue and beantj, 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 inen 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 denjdng," 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. Deei^redde, " 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 while I was once passing down the Potomac. jSTearing Mount Vernon, 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 iipon the home and tomb of the Father of his Countrv, '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 Iiats and stood uncovered as the boat glided by : a deserved 48 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. rebuke, wliich 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 Yirginia 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 gi^aphic drawing. "Let us thank Chapman," said Mr. Yermeille, "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 Yirginian. He has given ns a worthy token of his home love, in the picture of the baptism of Pocahontas, in the Eo- tuuda 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 Yirginia 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 1:he alluvial plains of the eastern division, through the picturesque hills and dales of the middle region, onward to the noble summits of the Blue Kidge, 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. Yerily, 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 laadscape 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 pleasui'e- 4 50 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. seeking tourist. Every body goes to tliat wonderful place, the ISTataral, or, as in its massive grandeur and its strange form it appears to the astonished eye, the Unnatural Bridge ; while the most blas(^ 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 unl 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 1 and it is not sur- prising that the terrible Bridge appeared somewhat ?/?z-naturai 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 ventui'e, 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 Eoom' : 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 ivliicli 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 torn from 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 !" "Fish! 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 KOMANCE 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 ITittk femii PEitiierliii. " 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 LITTLE EMMA MUNNERLIN. 53 fragile should not grow in a less rude soil ; yet, as tlie dainty forest-flower lives unscathed on its Alpine rock, while the giant irees 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, Avhen 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 54 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. wliich 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, ' 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 O has been born and bred — characteristics which his extraordinary esteem for joix has wonderfull}^ 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 MUNNERLIK. 55 fancied scorn may spring. Believe me, Emma clear, tliat yon 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. " ' What have I to fear ?' she said to her own heart ; '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 overflov/ed 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 EQirrison, 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 sjoectator 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 u|X)n 56 THE ROMANCE OF AMEEICAN LANDSCAPE. the chief. The group stood thus, motionless and voiceless, foi 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 forelt " ' This can la^t no longer,' said Edward, wlien his speech came back to him, ' happen what may,' " ' 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 ' " ' This — this from you, Edward !' gasped the poor child, stung to the soul by his cruel words. ' 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 noAV set forth on a forlorn quest for food. The vague forebodings with Avhich they undertook their dangerous mission proved to be not unreal; for LITTLE EMMA MUNNEELIN", 57 the last drop seemed poured into tlie cup of tlie sufferers at home when the intelligence was brought them, not simplj^ 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 theu' hearts, they forbade her to leave them, crying, ' 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 tlie 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 58 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. young girl sprung into tlie 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 ?' " ' 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. " ' You are free, my brothers,' he added, as he took the passive hand of Gentle-Heart in his own. *' ' 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. "'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 HARRY. 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 Yirginia, 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 C0111, Sick, aii!^ Ictrrg. " 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 rejoeat 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 KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. and Brown's distressing dreams of a certain faithless Jemima, couldn't manage it. " ' She never loved me !' muttered Brown. " ' Served you right,' said I. " ' Peace, peace, weary heart !' he continued. " ' Yes, peace, peace, for heaven's sake,' I answered. But there was no peace till morn, when, just as I was wondering what 'perilous stuff' was weighing upon the heart of my fellow traveller, I caught a glimpse of his sad phiz, and to my amazement recognized my old, long-absent friend, Harry, who, as it turned out, was, like myself, going to 'assist' at the sacrifice of our mutual crony, Dick Bones. " ' Alas, poor Dick !' said I, as the conversation turned upon the fate of our friend. ' This is a world of vicissitudes ; who would have thought it?' " ' Cut down in the flower of his youth !' said Harry, with a commiserating sigh. " ' Yerily, we know not what an hour or a day may bring forth,' I answered. 'Even you, Harry — you, the high priest of our bachelor faith, are not secure. Some treacherous Jemima — ' "'Jemima!' cried Harry, with a look of conscious guilt that confirmed my suspicions of his backsliding. " ' May yet come to break your virtuous rest and disturb your innocent dreams.' " ' Did I dream last night, Tom, and aloud ?' " ' Yery loud, about ' " ' Say no more, Tom — I own up ! I have been weak, but it's all over, long ago, and Harry is himself again. But the temptation was great' — so were Brown's sighs, as he continued. ' The beauty and graces of my Jemima might have tried the sternest virtue; and when she persuaded me that her dainty heart was all my own, and that she could live only in the light of my dear love, what could I do but ' TOM, DICK, AND HARRY. 61 " ' Think it all gammon, as became the spirit of your bachelor creed.' " ' As it all proved, indeed, to be ; for when, on my recent return from China, whither I went to win a fortune for the darling girl, I rushed to receive her welcoming embrace, what should I learn but that, while writing everlasting fidelity to me, she had been talking devoted love to another, and at that moment was dying for a third happy man — some richer prize than either myself or my unknown fellow sufferer. She and her innocent victim, whom she is soon to marry, are now, I am told, at the Springs, where we may have the pleasure of meeting them,' " ' And this, then, Harry, is your heroic recantation of error !' said I; but I had not the impudence to rally my poor friend very severely, not being myself too strongly armed in honesty; for the fact is, I, too, had once fancied myself the light and life of a Jemima's soul, only to find myself put out, as I might have expected, by the first brighter luminary which crossed the Jemima orbit. All this I generously confessed to Harry, much to his delight and comfort ; and we talked for hours about the vanity of women and the fallacy of love, rejoicing at our own lucky escape from their insidious snares, mourning over the mad credulity of our benighted friend, Dick, and becoming more " inexorable bigots in the bachelor faith than ever. Promising ourselves no little amusement in rejoining our fickle goddesses at the Springs — for there, too, I expected to find my Jemima — the day wore on, and our journey came to an end. "We arrived, fortunately, in season to greet and rally our devoted friend, Dick, before the hour of sacrifice. We did not spare the fellow, I assure you ; indeed, we were the more im- placable in the stinging remembrance of our own short-comings. " ' That's all very well, boys,' said Dick, with an imper- 62 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN" LANDSCAPE. turbable and complacent smile. ' But let me tell you, scoffers as you are, that if the time has not yet come, it may come, when each of you will have " some plan To -win himself a loving -wife, And be a married man." When that hour does come, I only hope that you will find as beautiful and pure a shrine at which to confess your sins as I have. But come, I must present you to my jewel. It will be a pleasant surprise to her, for you must know that Jemima is acquainted with you both.' " ' Jemima again !' I exclaimed. " ' Jemima !' echoed Harry. " ' Jemima know me !' cried both of us. " ' Come, come along, boys !' interrupted Dick impatiently, dragging us towards a gay circle, and presenting us to its bright particular star. " ' Jemima, my love, I have the unexpected pleasure to bring you our old friends, Tom and Harry.' "As the lady turned to greet us, I stood petrified at dis- covering the very Jemima of my own love, and looking round at the sound of a stifled laugh at my elbow, I found Harry Brown choking with glee. " Harry looked at me, and I looked at Harry, and we both looked at Dick, and Dick looked at Jemima, and Jemima looked at all of us, and a more striking tableau, altogether, it would be very difficult to imagine ! " ' Aye, how ?' said Dick at last, nervously. ' What does all this mean, boys?' " ' That the lady should have been off with the old love before being on with the new,' said I. " ' That she should, pursuant to promise, have died long TOM, DICE, AND HARRY. 63 ago, all for tlie love of poor Harry Brown,' said my travelling friend. " But tlie scene wliicli followed was entirely too dramatic for my poor powers of description ; and I Avill simply add, tliat Dick very soon saw through the whole affair, and the bride elect was given to understand that he was not generous enough to content himself with a third place in her heart, and was too unselfish to stand in the way of his old friends ! " The match was broken oif, and from that day to this our glorious triumvirate of bachelors has continued intact and in- vincible; so much so that we are known among our acquaint- ances by the soubriquet of the Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego of celibates, having all passed through the burning fiery fur- nace of love unscathed. " You will, perhaps, suppose that with this triple weight of blighted affection on her memory, Jemima soon died of a bro- ken heart, but I assure you that she is still alive and as ready as ever for a first, fresh, and undying affection." On motion, meeting adjourned. CHAPTER IV. Having expressed a fear that our friends would grow weary of their self-imposed task, and most heartily wish our book at the — ^printers, we were cheered by a unanimous assurance of a deep and increasing interest in our reunions. " We need," said Mr. Deepredde, gravely, " in our profes- sion, as in all, and indeed in our whole social economy, more such fraternal association. It is the moral and intellectual sunshine which warms the hidden germ of thought into life, and matures it into the most thorough and successful achieve- ment. It is, in its multiform applications and uses, the lever which, of all others, must pry our poor sunken world out of its quagmire of ignorance and evil, and bring about — if it is ever to be brought about — the much talked of perfectibility of our race." " It strengthens those bonds of mutual esteem and love," added Mr. Flakewhite, " which smooth the rude places in our path, and make us hopeful and daring in the armour of the assured sympathy and appreciation of our confreres. How much more should we painters not do, if there dwelt between us that brotherly love which filled the soul of Gainsborough, when he "^5 QQ THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. joyfully exclaimed to the friends gathered about his dying couch, ' We are all going to Heaven, and Vandyke will be of the party !' " " At any rate," said Brownoker, " such reunions as om-s, whatever they may be more assthetically considered, are in- valuable, if but for the pleasure they bring while they last. They cheer the present hour, and if we could be rational enough to content ourselves with this power, always within the reach, of enjoying the present moment, without, like the silly pendulum in the fable, burthening it with the thought of la- bours and trials not yet arrived, the aggregate would be a life-time of gladness. How the mountain of our miseries would sink, would we but cease to throw upon it the sorrows of the past, which we cannot recall, and the fears of the future, which is beyond our foresight or control." "Well, gentlemen," resumed Mr. Deepredde, as he sought to make himself more permanently comfortable in his chair of state, " now that we have satisfied ourselves that it is good for us to be here, let us convince our readers that it is salutary for them also, by continuing the special discourse for which they have so kindly yielded to us their patient buttons. Spread out your map, my dear host, and let us define our position." " We have one more tramp to make in the Old Dominion, as we follow Washington through the icy floods of the Alle- ghany," we replied, producing Mr. Huntington's picture of that memorable adventure. The members having duly studied the sketch of the evening, unanimously called upon the chairman for a resumd of the cause, course, and consequence of the event which it recorded. " The incident which our picture commemorates," said Mr. Deepredde, "had a great effect upon the fortunes of our coun- try, and was very significant of that high principle in the character of Washington — his conscientiousness and lofty respect THE ALLEGHANY; OE, THE MAN OF DUTY. 67 for duty — from wbicli cliiefly sprung the virtues and successes of his hfe. It may be less tedious, perhaps, if I make my narra- tive in the fashion of a romance." A general cry of approval followed this suggestion, and the enth'e table seemed not a little curious to witness the dtSbut of the grave chairman on the treacherous stage of fiction. " Pray don't drown yourself in pathos," said Brownoker, laughingly. " Or disappear in the mystic labyrinth of plot and strategy," added Yermeille. " Or kill us outright," continued Flakewhite, " by being, like Holmes, as ' funny as you can.' " " Above all be truthful, and do not exceed sober fact," added the conscientious Megilp. " Gentlemen," said the afflicted novelist elect, " you must expect neither pathos, plot, humour, nor dramatic effect from me. They are not in my line. The truth, however, you shall have — and it seems to me a truth worth treasuring — which we may read in the story of All tongues were hushed, and an unwonted gravity spread over the company, as Mr. Deepredde thus solemnly and omi- nously announced his text. The general breathing, however, was more free when he thus beo;an: — " A hundred years have gone since the incidents which I am about to narrate transpired : a long, long lapse, gentlemen, in our country's brief life, and full of changes as the interval between childhood and manhood. " Gazing pensively into the passing floods ' of the Eappa- 68 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. hannoc, as if asking of the murmuring waters the story of her fature life, sat a fair maiden, apparently of some sixteen tender summers. " ' "Would he leave me thus,' said she, ' if indeed he loved me? Does true love bend to any stronger passion? He talks to me of honour and duty! What is honour, what is duty, when ' " Here the soliloquist abruptly stopped, as a bounding step broke the quiet of the still night, and brought a stalwart and handsome youth to her side. " ' Honour and duty, my dear Martha,' said the lad, bending over her with an expression of kind yet grave reproof, 'are, not the rivals but the kindred of love. It would be a joy indeed for me to be always near you, but that may not be. Life has its labours and its sacrifices, in the manly and hon- est discharge of which we may earn a generous relish for its pleasures.' " ' And must you go then, dear Greorge ? What is the necessity for this dangerous and wearisome expedition? Why cannot some other perform the task as well as you?' " ' Ah ! do not tempt me ! You do not speak with your characteristic generosity. Eemember that the welfare of our country demands the labour and services of all her sons, and of her daughters, too,' he added, kissing her fair brow; 'and your only feeling on the subject should be one of pride that our worthy Governor has honoured me with so important a trust.' '"I am proud,' said the girl, ' of the high confidence reposed in you, and I am sure that you will prove yourself in all ways deserving of it. Heaven will protect you, and bring you back to me in safety. I have been told many stories, before the present, of your brave obedience to the calls of duty, and such a trait cannot but lead to success and happiness in THE ALLEGHANY; OR, THE MAN OF DUTY. 69 life. But not to-morrow, George — you do not go to-morrow? You will give me one more day?' " ' To-morrow, Martha, at dawn, we must begin our marcli. The journey through the wilderness will be long, and it is important to the colony that we reach the French posts on the Ohio without unnecessary delay, that we may seasonably check their ambitious and aggressive schemes to hem us in on this side of the mountains.' " ' And have we not room enough ?' '"Plenty, at present,' laughed the lad; 'but a hundred years hence, we shall stretch our giant arms far beyond the Ohio — perhaps even to the distant waters of the Pacific. Who can read the destiny of this new and aspiring land?' " ' Well, well,' sighed the young girl. ' I do not quite understand these things, but I can sympathize with your en- thusiasm and your courage, and I will pray earnestly for your success.' " Long and lovingly did the youthful pair stroll up and down the noiseless river banks, until the lapse of time com- pelled the lad to guide his betrothed to her home hard by, and to seek that repose he himself so much needed before repairing to Williamsburg, to receive his instructions and com- mence his perilous explorations. " On the following morning, the 81st of November, 1753, a morning which, happily, was auspicious in its brightness, the good Governor Dinwiddle and the people of Williamsburg gave our adventurer God speed, and he set out ^Yith his few companions on his dreary traverse of the great untrodden wil- derness. Those who pass, at the present day, over the route which our young ambassador pursued, will scarcely infer from its condition now, the dangers which then beset it; with no path but the rough guidance of the compass, and with no inhabitants but wild beasts and scarcely less wild savages. 70 THE ROMANCE OF AMEEICAN LANDSCAPE. "During the first fortnight, the little party traversed alter- nate forest and settlement, passing over the ground where now stand Fredericksburg, Alexandria, and Winchester. At the expiration of this period, they reached the last verge of civi- lization, at the junction of Wills' Creek and the Potomac, now occupied by the busy streets of Cumberland, in Maryland. At this period, the spot was marked by the poor settlement only of the famous hunter, Christopher Grist. Here our travellers proposed to halt for slight repose, and to increase the strength of their party by the enrolment of some Indian guides, and more especially with the good companionship of the stout old Kit himself. They had not, thus far, entered upon the more toilsome and hazardous part of their journey ; and yet the eyes, even of the veterans of the expedition, brightened, as they descried the curling smoke of the hunter's cabin, and as the delight of human intercourse beyond the range of their own circle came again within their reach. " ' Well, say no more on that point, my boys ; I give in. It's rather hard to leave the old woman and the youngsters, low as they are, just now, with this cussed fever, but since you say the thing is important — and, to tell the truth, I've been a good deal of that way of thinking for some time past — I'm at your service. But it's no child's errand you are going on. Them mountain peaks can't be got over in Idd slippers any time, and just now a hard winter is coming on us : the ground is already covered with snow, and the rivers and creeks are big enough to show pretty strong fight.' " ' We do not expect a pleasure trip, good Christopher, and whatever we might do alone, certainly in your company we shall not turn cowards.' " ' Well said, my lads. These are no times for dainty gen- tlemen, and I'm glad to see you so ready and hearty to serve your country. And, as I was saying just noAV, you are none THE ALLEGHANY; OR, THE MAN" OF DUTY. 71 too soon. These cussed Frenclimen will steal a marcli on us if we don't keep a bright eye, and a strong hand too, on 'em. I havn't been at the settlement lately, but I've heer'd from some of my red-skins, whom I can trust — and you can't trust many on 'em — they're mighty slippery ; that that shrewd old villain, St. Pierre — though. I must say for him he's dreadful civil spoken — is making a powerful wig^vam of that old fort, Le Boeuf ; his people is winding themselves down from Canada and up from Louisiana; and before we know it, they'll join hands from north to south, and dance a jig around his majesty's colonies to a tune it will be terrible onpleasant to hear.' " ' That is the opinion of the Governor and his Council,' said our minister, ' and, since we are by ourselves, I will tell you that my errand is to check this progress of the French; first, by politely telling your civil friend St. Pierre that his room is more desirable than his company, and next, should he not accept my invitation to return home, to learn the best way of making him do so. To accomplish this, I need your assist- ance, not only to reach the Fort at the earliest moment, but to inform myself of the strength of the enemy in every way, and, above all, to secure the good-will of the Indians.' " ' We'll soon get to the old dog's kennel, and see what bones he's got to live on; but as to the red-skins, as I told you, they can't be trusted; though of the two, I rather think they like our people the bcvst ; still they're not such fools that they can't see that between both sides they may lose every- thing themselves. An old warrior asked me once, if the French were to hold all the lands west of the AUeghanies, and the English all to the eastward, what then would be left for him?' " ' A difficult question to answer, certainly,' said our trav eller, laughing, 'but we must secure their friendship in the best way we can. Where is Tanacharison now?' 72 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. " ' We shall probably find him near Logstown, which will be the best place to assemble the chiefs. But we must be care- ful : St. Pierre will hear of lis long before he sees us. His spies are about thick as copper-heads, and about as troublesome to meet, too.' " ' We'll be a match for them,' said our traveller, cheerily, ' and now, good Christopher, you, not less than the rest of us, must lay in some supply of sleep before morning.' " After thus dismissing his council of travel, our young hero, wakeful in his anxiety and earnestness, stole out of the cabin, and for a long while paced thoughtfully up and down the half-cleared space in front. In the midst of his medita- tions his quick ear caught the sound of a stealthy step, and, turning abruptly, he descried the figure of an approaching Indian. " ' What does my brother want ?' he quietly asked, not, however, without grasping his sword in a not very brotherly manner. " ' Messiker is a friend to the white chief,' said the red-man ; 'he comes from the great wigwam.' " ' And what news does my brother bring ?' " ' He comes to tell the brave that his white rose is fading.' " ' Ah ! what new trial is this !' said the traveller, in a fal- tering voice, his thoughts flying back to the weeping girl he had left on the banks of the Eappahannoc. But he seemed to grow reassured, when, after closely questioning the messen- ger, he was led to doubt the truth of his alarming reports. "'Perhaps,' ran his thought, 'the fellow is but an emissary of St. Pierre, seeking to defeat or to delay my mission. My poor Martha ! Would that I could return to her ! But no, that may not be ; duty calls me, and I must, at all sacrifice, obey, trusting to heaven to protect her and me ;' and, recover- ing his habitual grave composure, the Man of Duty, conquering THE ALLEGHANY; OE, THE MAN OF DUTY. 73 tliis new temptation, dismissed the pretended envoy, and sought new strength in the sure panacea of sleep. " "When our hero mentioned the visit of Messiker to his trusty companion, Gist, as the party pursued their rude way through the forest on the following day, old Christopher saw nothing to fear in his story beyond the intimation which he thought it gave that, even here, their movements were watched by their vigilant foes. " I need not pause to describe our adventurer's weary days of painful travel, his privations and sufferings in the wild winter forests, and his continual exposure to the cruelty and treachery of the savage red-men, since all these things are matters of written history; no less, the successful assembling of the Indian chieftains, and the conferences which secured their promised friendship. "Suffice it to say, that, emboldened and sustained by his convictions of duty, our hero gallantly braved and conquered every obstacle and danger until his journey was accomplished, and he found himself the honoured guest of the redo'ubtable Monsieur le Gardeur de St. Pierre, knight of the Order of St. Louis, and commandant of his French Majesty's forces on the Ohio. "The kind hospitality and the refined social pleasures of Fort Le Boeuf, were as grateful to our travellers as they were unexpected in this remote and wild region. Monsieur de St. Pierre and his family had brought with them into the wilder- ness all the graces of their native land — graces attractive enough in their ordinary influence, but dangerously seductive when ex- erted to aid the accomplishment of a much-desired end. "But all the pleasures of the commandant's household, his own solicitous regard, and the flattering persuasions of the ladies, were powerless to detaiu our ambassador an instant from the path which his sense of duty marked out. His mission 74 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. achieved, lie turned a deaf ear to all solicitations to protract his stay, and to all the representations of the increased dan- gers of a return through the forests. That these representa- tions were not unfounded in truth, he was persuaded by the unsatisfactory result of his mission, and the evident desire of the commandant to delay and obstruct his return. This con- viction made him more eager to execute his task. " Bidding adieu to his host, in all apparent kindness and confidence, he sallied forth again under his banner of duty to brave the peril of the woods and the snares of hidden foes. From both, as from a thousand dangers in after life, he was so marvellously shielded, that the superstitious foresters learned to look upon him as under the special protection and love of the Great Spirit. " It was on this returning voyage that the famous passage of the Alleghany, depicted in our sketch, was achieved. To facilitate their progress, the party had separated, some taking charge of the horses and baggage, and our hero, with his staunch guide, Kit, courageously venturing into the forest alone. Coming to the waters of the Alleghany at night, their expec- tation of crossing readily on the ice was sadly disappointed on finding the river frozen but a few feet beyond the shores. In the emergency, they set about constructing a raft, on which frail craft they trusted themselves and their fortunes, with the resolution of all the Coesars, to the angry current. But the current, like everything else, was resolved to thwart their pur- pose, and, in the effort to stem its strength, they were plunged into the rapid floods. With desperate struggles, they at length reached a rocky island in the middle of the stream, where, in cold and darkness, they patiently awaited the dawn, when they were happily enabled to reach the opposite bank, on the ice which the severe frost of the night had formed, " In the midst of such trials and perils, our hero accom- THE ALLEGHANY; OR, THE MAN OF DUTY. 75 plished his arduous mission across tlie AUeglianies, and gave the first proof to the world of that unconquerable strength and integrity of character, that self-sacrificing love of right and res- pect for duty, which afterwards, in more lofty displays, so often and so greatly served the happiness and glory of his country, and which has embalmed his name as a blessing in the ever- lasting memory of mankind. " In conclusion," resumed Mr. Deepredde, " I will, instead of stealing your time with the idle story of our hero's happy return to Williamsburg, and the honours showered upon him by the government and the people " " To say nothing," interrupted Mr. Flakewhite, " about the loving greeting from certain tearful eyes, which were promis- ing enough at the beginning of your story, but have been too much overlooked since " " All that," continued the chairman, " can be more easily imagined than described — at least by my prosaic tongue — so, as I was saying, when the 'tearful eyes' put me out, I will simjDly add a word of historic moral, in telling you that this memora- ble expedition, which I have described to you in such light style, united the colonies in that friendly union which soon successfully resisted the border encroachments of the French power, and years afterwards grew into the strength which re- leased them from the oppressive weight of foreign rule. Ban- croft — ^hand me that volume of Bancroft, my dear Asphaltum — speaking of the border war which immediately followed the Alleghany expedition, tells us that the first gun then fired at the command of Washington kindled the world into a flame. * It was,' he writes, ' the signal for the first great war of Eevolu- tion. There in the Western forest began the battle which was to banish from the soil and neighbourhood of our Eepublic the institutions of the middle age, and to inflict on them fatal wounds throughout the continent of Europe. In repelling 76 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. France from the basin of the OHo, Washington bioke the repose of mankind, and waked a struggle which could admit of a truce only when the ancient bulwarks of Catholic legiti- macy were thrown down.' That's all, gentlemen," added the chairman, closing his book and his lips at the same time. "Deepredde might have made his story more interesting," said Mr. Flake white, "and at the same time might have added a higher light to the picture of his hero's stoical virtue in with- drawing so doggedly from the social pleasures of Monsieur de St. Pierre's family, if he had told us something of the bewitch- ing smiles of the old commandant's daughter, the beautiful Gabrielle." "Grabrielle de St. Pierre," said the astounded chairman. " Upon my word, I did not know that the commandant had a daughter. I do not recollect ever to have seen her name in Bancroft, or Hildreth, or " "Perhaps not; but you may read it, by and by, in 'Flake- white,' for I am going to put on record the true and touching history of the belle of Le Boeuf — " We will begin, gentlemen, by drinking to the memory of the fair Gabrielle. If she had lived at the present day, when books occupy so much of the time of her sex, she might have been called a strong-minded woman — living when she did, she was simply a clear-headed, brave-hearted girl, intensely despising the frivolous life to which the habits and conventions of French society condemned her, and fearlessly asserting and GABEIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 77 maintaining her right to think and act as she herself best pleased. " Thus it is not to be wondered at that when her indulgent papa was ordered to breathe the pure and free airs of the "Western forest, her filial affection and her love of liberty made her the determined partner of his exile — not to men- tion the strong desire to get away from the annoying devotions of a certain enamoured cousin, whom she abominated the more intensely because her friends were determined to force him upon her. However much she might have loved him if left to herself-^for he was a very good sort of fellow — she now perfectly detested the very sight of him. " This change of scene and circumstance happened at the best possible moment for a temperament like Mademoiselle Gabrielle's : at a moment when she was best prepared to profit by all its good influences, and to escape its dangers; not before she had seen and learned enough of the graces and refinements of pol- ished life, to keep her above the rude habits and manners of the uncultured foresters, and just in time to turn the strong imaginative and romantic tendency of her nature from an idle and corroding sentimentalism, into a deep and pure current of healthy poetic feeling. Here, in the solemn ministrations of God's first temples — the grand primeval forests — and amidst the dangers and privations with which she had to contend, she grew up a thoughtful and truthful sjoirit, with earnest and daring purpose ; while a longer breathing of the poisoned and demoralizing atmosphere of the court of Louis, might have de- graded her into a reckless and unscrupulous woman of fashion and intrigue. " The character of our heroine was thus happily developing at the moment our story opens. " The gathering shades of night were deepening the spirit of quiet which always surrounded the little fortress of Le Boeuf, 78 THE EOMANCE OE AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. on the wild banks of the far-off Ohio, as the eyes of a small party of way-worn and weary wanderers grew bright with hope at the first glimpse of its hospitable walls. " ' There,' said an old veteran, who aj^peared to be the guide of the party, ' is the lion's den. You must have a care of his paws, my lads.' "'Never fear, good Christopher,' replied the leader of the group, a tall, handsome youth, who seemed but little given himself to fear, ' the watchful Providence which has brought us thus far through all the dangers of the wilderness wall protect us to the end.' " The faith of the speaker proved, even as the words fell from his lips, to be well grounded. An arrow, aimed at him by a stealthy hand, not before seen in the dusky recesses of the woods, was suddenly and opportunely struck aside, and the momentary apparition of a lurking foe was followed by the strange appearance of a young and beautiful girl. So unex- pectedly did she come, and so quickly disappear, pausing only to bestow a reproving look and word upon the treacherous savage, that our travellers scarcely knew whether to consider her a real visitant, or a pleasing deceit of their fancies, '"Another lucky escape, my dear George,' said young Fair- fax. ' Truly, heaven seems to love you, sending down its angels in propria personoe for your protection. Who can the dear fairy be ?' " ' Some member of the Governor's household, I suppose,' said the leader, ' whom he has suffered to grow wild in this untamed land.' " ' She has, at least, learned to be generous and daring,' continued Fairfax. ' You owe her your life, and if you were not already pledged to the fair Ma ' " ' Nonsense, Harry ! I thank the girl heartily, but I have graver thoughts to occupy my mind than the silly whispers of GABEIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 79 every passing romance. I leave it to you, better fitted for sucli tilings, to seek amusement and pleasure in following up tlie adventure.' " ' Thank you. If the girl has wit and wisdom equal to her bravery and beauty, I shall not, I promise you, be in any great haste to recross the rugged Alleghanies. While you are discussing the subject of your belligerent mission with the com- mandant of Le Boeuf yonder, and persuading him that it will be better for his political health to pull up stakes and remove with his people far away from the Ohio, and the vicinage of our good Governor Dinwiddle, I may find it agreeable to make war upon the heart of this mountain sprite.' " ' Suppose, Harry,' answered his friend, laughing, ' suppose you carry her back with us, as a hostage for the faith of these slippery Frenchmen !' "With such cheerful chat and jest, the party at length passed the sentinels and entered the precincts of the lonely fort, where they were cordially greeted by the expectant host, Monsieur le Gardeur de St. Pierre. " ' I am happy, gentlemen,' said the courteous Frenchman, 'to eongratulate you upon the safe termination of your fati- guing and hazardous journey, and to welcome you to my humble quarters, which I trust will long be cheered by the pleasures of your society. I hope you bring me good news from Virginia, Mr. Washington, and pleasant messages from your excellent Governor, my old friend, Dinwiddle; your young companion ' " ' Mr. Fau'fax,' interrupted our ambassador, as he introduced his colleague. " ' Must forget the privations of the forest as much as pos- sible in such poor pleasures as he may be able to find in our rough home. Ah! my old friend Gist, too. I am glad to shake your hardy honest hand once more ! But pardon mo I 80 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LAInTDSCAPE. must present yoii to the ladies,' he continued, summoning an attendant. " ' Tell Madame that our expected guests have arrived, and send Mademoiselle Gabrielle to me, if she has returned to the Fort. My wild daughter, gentlemen, will give you a cordial welcome, for she sees but too little society suited to her station and education. It is surprising that you should not already have made her acquaintance. Few things happen here of which she is not the first informed, and such an unusual event as your approach ' " ' Has not, I dare say, escaped her vigilant notice,' said Washington, as he interrupted the commandant with an account of the good service done him by the mysterious fairy of the forest. "'Ha, ha! my mad Gabrielle, unquestionably! You will find her a lawless creature, gentlemen, but still rich in all the softest traits of woman's nature — ^buried somewhat, perhaps, but not lost under the rough habits of her wild life. It is singxilar what an influence the united strength and delicatesse of her character have given her over our jealous and intractable Indian neio-hbours. She is a greater protection to our settlement here than all my garrison, and I conld give you no passport through the savage tribes, for leagues around, half so authoritative as her simple name. But here she comes.' "As Gabrielle entered, with an ease and grace not surpassed by what our travellers had already learned of her courage, they hastened to express their thanks for her late good offices, which her hasty retreat had prevented their making at the time. " ' Indeed, gentlemen,' answered the mischievous girl, ' you owe me no thanks; but you must be more heedful of your path, or your brave Governor in Williamsburg may lose some ornaments to his ball-room.' "'Nay, Mademoiselle,' said Fairfax, half amused, half angry, GABRIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 81 * we are perliaps not as daring and dauntless foresters as your fair ladyship, but we have been reared, believe me, to better ends than simply to figure in a minuet.' " ' You are happy,' continued the laughing Gabrielle, ' in living in a land and among scenes which develop a stronger and truer manhood than we often find in the worn-out life of our old civilization ; though my honoured father does not agree with me on this point.' " ' But do you not. Mademoiselle, sometimes grow weary of your isolated life here, and sigh for the gay pleasures of your native Paris, which your youth and wit and beauty so admirably fit you to enjoy ?' " ' Nay, nay, my youth and beauty are much better ex- . pended here, where they are ever preserved and renewed by healthful occupation and innocent thought. The hills and val- leys and waters repay my wit with much more instructive and agreeable talk than the silly tattle of the drawing-room. The song of the birds is pleasanter to me than the false flatteries of heartless admirers, and the fragrance of the pure mountain air more grateful than the perfume of lovers' sighs. Besides, I have still sufficient companionship in the love of my parents and friends; and books and papers teach me all the best thouo-ht of the world, and show me its most brilliant spectacles, while I am relieved from the fatigue, of walking in the painful pro- cession.' " More than once, and in various ways, did Gabrielle, as the days passed on, give expression to this haughty spirit of contempt for the wonted pleasures and passions of her sex ; and yet, despite her exalted philosophy, she lingered, with each successive hour, longer and longer in the society of lier new friends, seldom, indeed, following her old life in the woods, except when they accompanied her. " Harry Fairfax seemed to have kept his threat to make 6 82 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. war upon the redoubtable heart of the mountain maid ; for while his companion was indefatigably prosecuting the ends of his mission, he was following the deer with her over hill and dale^ or strolling by her side along the quiet margin of the great river. Whatever may have been the themes of their discourse at such moments, Gabrielle was as gay and intractable as ever in the hearing and presence of others. " So precisely was her manner what it had always been, that none could suspect her heart and fancy to be less free than before. Harry himself, indeed, seemed uncertain whether any change had come over the spirit of her dream; and this uncertainty did not, from some cause or other, increase the gaiety of his humour, " On the contrary, it gave him a most perceptible uneasi- ness of feeling, which grew every moment as the time for the departure of the expedition drew nigh. The truth is, he had given half his heart to the fair mountaineer at their first inter- view, and the ingenuous frankness of her manner, which made no secret of her delight in his companionship, had soon stolen the rest. "But Avhether she had given him anything more than friendly and sisterly regard in return, was a question he hesi- tated to ask even himself There was always so much of mad badinage, mischievous satire, laughing irony, and inex- plicable contrariety in her words, that he found it utterly im- possible to read the real nature of her feelings. Whenever his own speech became too plain an index of his heart, she seemed innocently unconscious of its drift, or, with wonderful ingenuit}^, misinterpreted it, or wickedly turned the talk into some oppo- site and most outrageously irrelevant current. At such, to poor Harry Fairfax, solemn moments, she would, too, often affect a sighing remembrance of the devoted cousin, whose breaking heart she had so rashl}^ left in Paris, launching out with ex- GABRIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 83 travagant eulogiums of his graces and gifts, whicli were always precisely the very graces and gifts which of all others she admired in a man ; regretting her cruel conduct towards him, and wishing that opportunity were still left her to repair her errors ; half resolved to leave the woods and return to old scenes and loves in France, and then gaily anticipating her afflicted cousin's threatened visit to America, and, worst of all, kindly proposing to read to Harry some of her old admirer's exquisite letters. " All this was deplorably heart-rending to our tortured traveller, but his last hour approached, and, nerving himself to the momentous trial, he determined to bring affairs to a crisis and solve all his crushing doubts. " Unhappily, the solution left him not only a Aviser, but a sadder man, as the closing words of a long and earnest dia- logue, in the moonlight which fell upon the ramparts of the lonely fort, on the eve of their separation, may show. " This dialogue, which on the part of the lady had at first been most wickedly and vexingly bantering, grew, at length, grave and serious when the final moment of adieu arrived. " ' Have I then so bitterly deceived myself, and must our parting be forever?' said Fairfax, despairingly. " ' That must be as heaven wills. I am not insensible to the high compliment you bestow upon me; I do not despise your love ; but, even did I return it, I should still mistrust my own heart. We have been thrown together under such peculiar cir- cumstances—circumstances so admirably suited to bring out all the sentiment and romance of our nature — that it would be rash to trust our present feelings. Did I love you now, I might forget you in other scenes; as you, doubtless, will think no more of the rude mountain girl when you fall again under the influence of brighter eyes.' " ' I can never forget you, Grabrielle ; so entirely does the 84 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. whole current of my being set towards you, that no power can turn it aside !' " ' Well, well, go now, and if we should meet again — ^years hence — and you should still remember me, return me this token,' said Gabrielle, taking from her finger a ring rudely sculptured by some untaught genius. It was given to me by a young chief, whose life I saved, and it will be useful to you in your wanderings among the red-men of this region,, who all know and obey Gabrielle de St. Pierre.' " ' And this,' said Fairfax, as he kissed the ring and offered her another in return. ' This gift from my mother — wear it, as a token of ' '"Of your pleasant visit,' added Gabrielle in her old gay manner, as others came at that instant within hearing. " When our travellers were again in their own home, the altered manner of Harry Fairfax excited no little curi- osity among his young companions to learn more minute particulars of the expedition to Le Boeaf than were given in the official reports. More especially were they interested in the mysterious history of the ugly looking ring which he never ceased to wear and to contemplate with most devoted and rapt vision. "Washington, when appealed to on the subject, laughingly ascribed the change of his friend's humour to ill health — the results of a violent cold caught in the adventurous passage of the mighty floods of the Alleghany; and the ring, he gravely hinted, concerned certain secret results of their diplomacy which the interests of the colony imperiously required should not for the present be divulged. Even the gentle Martha— so touch- ingly presented to us in Mr. Deepredde's romantic drama of GABRIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 85 the ' Man of Duty ' — failed to win from the wily diplomat any more explicit confidence. " Altogether, there was no surprise whatever felt at the extraordinary interest which Fairfax took in the military ex- peditions which the late mission set on foot — expeditions to effect by force of arms that expulsion of the encroaching French from the banks of the Ohio which Washington had failed to accomplish by negotiation. " At length, in one of these sorties — which particular one, and its exact history, our worthy chairman will tell you — our hero held a command, to which he did high honour by his bravery and forbearance through the hot struggles of a change- ful day. "Night was coming on apace, and the fortunes of the fight were against the colonists ; yet Harry Fairfax still battled man- fully at the head of his gallant troops. " It might have been the excitement of the hour and the passion of the soldier, or the depth of his patriotism, which nerved his arm and strung his heart ; yet the close observer — had there been such an one — 'WOuld perhaps have suspected some other impulse to move him, on seeing his daring always exalted whenever his eye rested upon a young officer in the opposite ranks, whose sole business, as he kept aloof from the general conflict, seemed, singularly enough, to be, not to conquer, but to protect, his foe ; for more than once had he, by the exertion of some secret power, stayed the arm and weapon raised against him. Possibly he was mortified at this gratuitous service on the part of the stranger " By and by the growing darkness put a stop to the con- test, and hid his mysterious protector from our hero's sight. As he was about to retire from the bloody field he turned back for an instant at the sound of a thrilling cry for quarter, and angrily stayed the brutal passions of his men "vVho were 86 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. about to finisli tlie unliappy captive. His surprise was great when, bending over the prostrate soldier, he recognized the person of his unknown protector. But yet greater was his astonishment, and new and deep his emotions, when a nearer glance showed him the ring of love with which he had parted from Gabrielle de St. Pierre. " ' Alas ! my fancy told me so !' he said abstractedly. ' So like herself! Yes, it must be he! that — that — too happy cousin! And he has come at last, and, as I feared, stolen away the love of Gabrielle! What right has he to be generous to me? He's my foe — my mortal, deadly foe — let him die !' continued the wretched lover, as he madly grasped his sword. " ' No, no ! He shall live ! I will not be such a wretch ! He shall live, for her sake ;' and he ordered the wounded man to be carefully borne to his tent. No particular care, however, was needed, since scarcely were they arrived at Fairfax's quar- ters before the youth recovered his scattered senses, and proved to be unhurt, beyond the swoon which had followed a slight contusion received in falling from his horse. "When fully aware of the position of things around him, the captive seemed no longer interested in our hero. His thoughts took another direction, and other objects. '"My father — my father ! let me seek him !' he cried. " ' Of whom do you speak ?' asked Fairfax. " ' Of my poor father. Monsieur de St. Pierre.' " ' Monsieur de St. Pierre !' echoed our hero. ' St. Pierre — your father?' " < Yes— no, not my father — my— let me go ! Ah ! heaven grant that his life be safe !' " ' Yes, yes,' muttered Fairfax, ' I comprehend it all now : his father — the father of Gabrielle !' "Without another word, Harry and his prisoner returned to the now deserted field, and, by the faint light of the newly- GABRIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 87 risen moon, sought in silence for tlie body of the old com- mandant. Their pious labour was not long unrewarded. They found the object of their search, still living, but too plainly, alas ! mortally wounded. " ' my father !' sobbed the prisoner, as he cast his arms wildly about the neck of the old soldier. " ' Thank God,' gasped the dying man, ' that you are safe. Gabrielle — my child !' " ' Gabrielle !' exclaimed the bewildered Fairfax. ' Are you indeed Gabrielle ?' And even in the midst of this solemn scene, he was not too unselfish to look with more pleasure than before upon his mother's ring on the finger of his captive. "'Who, who is with you, my child? My sight is dim, and I cannot see him ; but his voice — it is familiar to me ! Who is he?' " ' It is he, fother !' " ' He ?' " ' Yes, he — Harry — Harry Fairfax, father !' " ' Ha ! Fairfax ! Does he love my poor daughter ?' " Harry took the hand of Gabrielle, and they knelt together at the old man's feet. " ' Heaven bless you, my children ! I have forgiven you, Harry, for wishing to take away my home, but never for rob- bing me of my daughter's heart and happiness. You took both with you when you left Le Boeuf. It has been but a sad place ever since. She has always loved you, and to-day has risked her life, in the maddest way, and despite my commands, to protect you.' " ' And you, too, father.' " ' Yes, yes ! You have always been, in all your wilfulness and folly, a dutiful and loving daughter, and you will be — a good — and truthful — wife !' 88 THE ROMANCE OF AMEEICAN LANDSCAPE. "When the old soldier slept quietly in his grave, Fairfax conducted his gentle prisoner to his own home, where he placed her under the affectionate surveillance of the tender Martha, beloved, as Mr. Dcepredde has intimated to us, by his dear friend and travelling companion, Washington. In process of time he accompanied her on a visit to her childhood's home, where they passed a happy month under the roof of that mischief-making cousin several times referred to in my narra- tive, and at this period a joyous father of an interesting family. The gay pleasures of the French capital did not, however, obliterate the loving remembrance of their forest-home in the New World, to which they soon returned, and where they lived in peace and prosperity, as all virtuous heroes and heroines of romance ought to do. "When the Ee volution broke out, years afterwards, Gabri- elle, then a g^ave matron, offered her sons as a willing sacrifice npon the altars of that Freedom she never ceased to love." "Have you got entirely through, now?" asked Mr. Ver- meille, as Flakewhite relighted his cigar. "Of course I have. Is not my heroine happily married and settled with a whole nursery of babies at her heels ! What more can you want?" "Nothing, only I have a mind, now that Blueblack has given us a peep at the romance of the colonial life of Virginia, and you a very charming imagining of her wars with, the French and Indians— I have a mind, I say, to treat the com.- pany to a little glimpse of a later period, by telling them something of the history of Gabrielle de St. Pierre, as one of the ' Mothers of the Eevolution.' " So deeply had our guests grown interested in the character and fortunes of the fair lady of Le Boeuf, that a general accla- GABRIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 89 mation of assent followed this proposition ; wlien Mr. Deepredde reminded them that the hour had grown so late, that the story could not be pursued longer at that time. It can be resumed, we added, at our next meeting. To be sure, our field of study will then be transferred to a point yet further southward; but, as Virginia is a kindred theme, we may tarry there long enough to pay our brief respects to Mademoi- selle Grabrielle. Satisfied with this compromise of the matter, the company dispersed. CHAPTER Y. " AsPHALTUM, my dear boy, you must excuse my fear that your undue love of the past and the venerable warps your impressions and estimate of the new and the present. Your sight is dimmed by the accumulated fogs of the dark old centuries into which you are everlastingly peering, I cannot but think that you look falsely, when you look despondingly, upon the condition and prospects of American art." " If I see around me," answered Mr. Asphaltum, " nothing but hopeless chaos after contemplating the glories of past tri- umphs, it is only as one's sight may be obscured when turning from the dazzling light of the sun ; but have we not already said enough on this point, considering that it is not quite ger- main to the matter in hand?" " There you are again strangely in error. What can be more relevant to our theme — the history, the poetry, the man- ners, and the scenery of our country — than the prospects of that art which, of all others, must record, illustrate, and per- petuate them? Still, important as is its relation to the purpose of these reunions, yet, I grant you, it is not the precise subject itself, and I will but remind you before we pass on to the usual 92 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. gossip of travel and fancy, tliat common as it is to liear tlie most hopeless lamentations upon the lack of popular taste and popular encouragement of Art, very brief reflection will show us that if due, nay, if an extraordinary degree of appreciation of the Beautifud has not been already developed — though per- chance unperceived at present in the overwhelming brilliancy of our country's progress in other ways — still we may be sure that the germ lies in the heart and in the head of the people, and will shoot up ere long with a rapidity and strength the very contrast of its past inertness. "We have not to look to the olden patronage of the religious sentiment, or to the pomp of arbitrary rule and of plethoric wealth, but we trust to a surer and nobler suj)port promised us in the morale of our people and in the nature of our social and political institutions : a blessed economy which scatters knowledge over the land as the tempests spread the dust, inducing a universal intelligence and taste which will give us a whole nation of sincere and lov- ing patrons, in lieu of the often cold and selfish support of the few crowned heads, the limited aristocracy, the collectors, and the public institutions, which alone nurse the arts in other lands. Our governments, perhaps blameably neglectful of Art, so far as direct support goes, are yet unconsciously doing it the best service in the encouragement of popular education. This is the only soil in which it can thrive and maintain its proper dignity. The improving popular taste will elevate Art, and, in reciprocation, will be by Art refined and exalted. "With these two powers, already so strong, and each continually adding to the other, what of distinction and glory in Art achievement and in Art worship, does not the future promise us! We, the art- ists of America must work as every thing here works — for the people — and, believe me, the intelligence and taste of the peo- ple will reward us. Of what avail had been the patronage of Pericles without the Athenians' innate and cultivated perception THE MOTHEES OF THE EEVOLUTION-. 93 of tlie Beautiful? How widely different the result under dif- ferent influences: how great the contrast between Athens and Sparta: the latter placed under the same sky as the former having the same language and religion, the same mythic tradi- tions, but, wanting her intellectual culture, utterly indifferent and neglectful of Art." As Mr. Deepredde— for it is the worthy chairman, most martyred reader, who has been preaching so long— paused for breath and brandy — and water, we mean— vre called the at- tention of our guests to some of the trophies of our own professional rambles— mementoes of the beautiful Falls of the Tallulah in Georgia. "Before we start, however," said Mr. Megilp, "as our host desires, on a pilgrimage to the old Pine State, we must, accord- ing to agreement at our last meeting, hear the continuation of the history of Gabrielle de St. Pierre, in Mr. Yermeille's prom- ised story of €\}t 9;at[]m of tlje '"^eWtttioit. " The skies Avere dark above them," said Mr. Yermeille at once beginning his narrative ;." storms were gathering in every direction, and the gallant hearts of the people of Virginia, like those of their brethren all over the land, were dying within them. "It was that dark hour which precedes the dawn — the agony going before relief; but the gloom and the pain only were seen and felt, not the hope of light and life. "In a small shed, the miserable wreck of a once elegant mansion, which had been ruthlessly burned by the cruel min- ions of King George, sat a VAoman of distinction evidently. 94 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. from her mien and air, despite tlie marlcs of sorrow on her face, and of poverty around her. By her side was a young girl whose lovely featm-es suggested the charms which must once have belonged to the elder lady, so many traces of a similar beauty did her countenance yet bear. " 'Ah, Gabrielle!' said the matron, as her young companion looked up, after a long and thoughtful reverie; 'you are, per- haps, all that is now left to me of my many beloved treasures. Do not look so sad, my daughter : misfortunes, it is true, over- whelm us now, but, by and by, God will send the sunshine again. I have been afflicted before, without hope in the world, and yet the bright days have come back. Bless you, my child ! I love to see you smile upon me thus. It recalls so vividly all the active scenes of my own wikl, thoughtless girl- hood, when I hunted the deer among the Indians in the forests of the Ohio : when I first met your father — don't look sorrowful again, Gabrielle, he died in a worthy cause — ^and learned that there were other and dearer objects and hopes in life, than the indulgence of my own thoughtless pleasures.' '"You have often promised me, mother, to tell me of those days : do so now. The story will cheer you, and help to beguile these dreadful moments of uncertainty and fear.' " ' Not now, Gabrielle. Let us rather speak of this young Derwent, who seeks your hand and offers you fortune. He is not quite indifferent to you?' " ' Once, mother, he was not. But he has betrayed his country, and I love him no longer! And yet, mother, if this poverty is so painful to you ' " ' God forbid, my chikl !' " ' Or, if it may serve the happiness of my poor brothers ' '"No more, my own true Gabrielle! You speak bravely, as I knew you would. Let us be poor and despised, if heaven se]ids the trial, while our honour and conscience remain unsul- THE MOTHERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 95 lied. But hark ! is not tliat tlie tramp of horses ? Surely tliej will not drive us from this poor shelter; thej cannot— take from me— my child!' and, as the ominous sound of the approach of armed men grew louder, mother and daughter clung more closely to each other. "As they made no answer to the loud knocking which almost immediately followed, some heavy blows were angrily bestowed upon the frail door, which soon shook it from its hinges. " ' Pardon this seeming lack of ceremony, madam,' said the leader of the intruders, ' but I am impatient to have the answer of your fair daughter. She will, I presume, be but too glad to exchange this vile hovel for a lordly mansion; and then like a dutiful child she loves her mother and brothers, I am told!' " 'At least she loves -not you, bold, bad man! Begone, sir! how dare you thus insult me ? Begone, I say !' '"Beware, proud lady, that you do not anger me too much!' '"I do not fear you, sir! I fear only God, in whom I trust for protection !' '"Then let Him protect you, for by Himself I swear the girl shall be mine!' and, as he spoke, he rudely seized the arm of the defenceless maid. " Starting to her feet, as if poisoned by his touch, she darted upon him a look of such haughty indignation, such sublime defiance, that even his boundless impudence was for a moment cowed and appalled, " ' Stand back, traitor ! I, Gabrielle Fairfax, love a craven like you? I love squalid penury, pain, death — a thousand deaths ; but you — you I loathe !' " ' Ha, ha !' laughed the villain in his bitter mortification, and regaining his wonted audacity. ' That is all very fine, fair lady, but it won't do for me. Here, my men ! help me to 96 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. take care of this poor girl, who does not know when she is well off!' " Scorning the prayers of the mother, and deriding the anger of the daughter, they were forcibly dragging away their victim, when a stranger, bursting into the room, dealt the cow- ardly leader a blow which sent him staggering against the wall. "'Brother, brother I' cried Gabrielle joyfully, as she flew to the arms of her rescuer. " ' God be praised that you are safe, my son !' said the widow. ' But you have escaped one danger only to confront a greater. You come in vain, alas ! come only to draw upon us all the remorseless vengeance of yonder daring wretch.' '"You speak sensibly at last, madam,' said Derwent, recov- ering from the stunning effects of young Fairfax's unexpected greeting. ' You shall, indeed, pay for this ! Leave the girl, now, my lads, and bring along that -insolent cub : bring him to the first tree !' Vr "Jt TT w 7v TT w " ' There is no hope, my child ! no hope but in God ! His will be done ! I cannot choose between you. Your brother would never permit the sacrifice ! You would both die broken- hearted I' " ' No, mother, I shall be happy — happy in saving his life — happy in your happiness !' " ' It cannot be ! Think of it no more, Gabrielle ! Never again breathe his infamous name !' " ' But my brother ? — he must be saved, at any cost !' "'I will seek General Washington!' cried the widow, as her eyes brightened with new hope — ' your father's friend and com- panion. For the sake of old loves and old scenes, he will save us in our extremity ;' and, at the instant, she prepared a message, which she soon after found an opportunity of despatch- ing to the neighbouring quarters of the commander-in-chief. THE MOTHERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 97 "Scarcely, however, was the note sent, when the sufferers were again frightened by the reappearance of the hated mis- creant, Derwent. '"The rebels % !' said he in haste. 'They are losing Yorktown, and with Yorktown they lose all. Yonr son there is slain, and the other is my prisoner! You would not be childless, woman ? Give me the girl, and take back your boy ! Quick, quick, your answer ! Let her sign this contract !' " ' Grive me the paper,' said Gabrielle in a steady voice ; and in a moment she had calmly signed away her freedom and her life. '"ISTow, then, to the church!' he cried triumphantly, half dragging with him the passive girl as he moved away. ' There is no use putting off until to-morrow what may be done to-day, and you may not always be as wise as you are at this moment. Come, come, don't look so much as if you were going to the guillotine: this, remember, is your own free act!' "As the group approached the neighbouring church they were surprised at the unusual crowd gathered about the old edifice, and still more so at the boisterous and happy humour which prevailed among them. To the hearts of the widow and her daughter the rejoicing brought new fears, while it seemed to exhilarate their oppressor.. " ' The people are assembled to do honour to our bridal fair Gabrielle,' said he. 'Meet them, if you please, with a smiling face !' "But the feelings of all suddenly changed when, as they drew near, the voice of the multitude resolved itself into glad shouts of 'Long live Washington ! long live the Union!' '"What does this insolence mean?' said Derwent, half in anger, half in apprehension. ' Surely the rebels dare not thus openly ' '"Eebel and traitor yourself !' cried one voice after another 7 98 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE, as he entered among tlie crowd. ' Know you not that the vic- tory is ours ?— that Cornwalhs is taken, and the country is free ?' " The joy of Gabrielle and her mother now became almost oppressive in its intensity as they were joined by young Fairfax, whom we left in the vengeful power of the recreant Derwent. '"You, too, come back to me, my son, safe and free! Truly, heaven answers my prayers !' " ' Yes, mother, you may well rejoice ! "We are all free again, and forever ! My brother, too, is safe, and will soon be with us. And yet, had that scoundrel there,' he added, as his eyes rested upon the trembling Derwent, ' succeeded in his traitorous schemes, our cause would have been lost ! But how is it that you have come to share the joy of the people, since you seem not until this moment to have heard the news?' "Gabrielle, pointing from Derwent to the church, said with a smile of hope, 'We were going there, brother, to save your life !' " ' Where we will still go, sweet Gabrielle ! I have your pledge, and I shall not release you so easily,' added Derwent, making new efforts to push his way through the people. " ' Not so fast !' interrupted a new comer, who had a few moments before joined the group. ' I have other bands for you, sir, than the pleasant bands of wedlock ! You are my prisoner, Mr. Derwent !' " At the sound of the familiar voice which here reached her ears, the widow quickly turned and welcomed her eldest son, whom she had mourned as lost in the late struggle. " Handing his prisoner over to proper surveillance, Captain Fairfax— for the lad had come back with this new honour^ — returned with his now happy family to the glad walls of the old shed; which they soon exchanged for a more comfortable abode, when their patrimony, of which Derwent's machinations had deprived them, was restored." MARGARET HOUSE. 99 "All's well that ends well!" said Professor Scumble, approv- ingly, as Mr. Yermeille finished his little tale and relighted his cigar. " But it is not ended," added Mr. Deepredde, " for I have yet to continue the history, in a peep at the present period of Virginia life — these weak, piping, planting times of peace and plenty, as you might perhaps express it. I shall make no apology for my sketch, since it will be as characteristic of the region we are to visit to-night, and of all the old South, as of Virginia." " Good gracious ! is madam to come to life again ?" inquired the Professor. "Not a great deal; but if yoa will all close your eyes, clairvoyantly, I will transport you to a comfortable mansion in the heart of rich fields — once the impenetrable forests of the Old Dominion. There you will see Copley's picture of the beautiful Gabrielle de St. Pierre, chief among the old family portraits of urgarrf f)mBt. "It is Christmas night, and though the winter is kindly, a genial fire sparkles on the generous hearth, bright as the smiles of pleasure in the eyes of the numerous party, young and old, gathered around it. " Everything within the hospitable mansion reiterates the goodly promise of its old-fashioned comfortable exterior, speak- ing with equal eloquence of young hope and placid age. "A fine remnant of the old regime, is the venerable yet jolly gentleman so contentedly sipping his egg-nog as he talks to a fellow ancient, and watches the mazy movements of the young folk, as they whirl round in the merry dance. 100 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. " ' Very different times, my old friend,' lie says, ' to tlie trying days of our grandmothers, there on the walls ! What would Harry Fairfax and his blooming Grabrielle say, could they now revisit the busy banks of the OhiOj and, stepping into a rail-car, in a few hours dash through the fertile fields where once grew the old forests of the AHeghanies? Would not such a glimpse of the present happiness and glory of their country, richly repay the blood and life they so freely lavished in its defence?' "Now the reverend seigneurs — turning from the past to the present — have got upon other themes, and are earnestly dis- cussing the crying need of a railway to the Pacific and the influence of the United States upon the current of the dawning war in Europe. " Eine, manly looking fellows, those, leaning over the an- tique sideboard, and so heartily discussing the pleasures of the chase, as they review the adventures and successes of the past hajDpy day. " ' What would our respected sires saj^,' asks one of the joyous group, ' could they step from their dusty frames and join us in such free and unmolested sport as we have had to- day? Gabrielle, yonder, would regain her fabled youth and beauty and fall in love again with the gallant Harry ! Here's to the memory of both, boys, not in exports of Champaigne, but in sparkling Catawba from the sunny and peaceful vine- yards of their own Ohio !' " Promising lads, those, grouped yonder in the deep recesses of the old oriel window, and glad on their temporary escape from the college — not from far-off Cambridge or Oxford, but from their own classic halls in Charlottesville. " ' No such field now-a-days, boys,' says one of the most aspiring of the number, ' for gallant deeds, as in the stirring times of our worthy ancestors there ! I should like to be a MARGARET HOUSE. 101 brave soldier, like old grand-daddy Fairfax, and win tlie love of a daring girl like Gabrielle !' " ' I,' replies a more thougktful, yet less imaginative youth, ' am going to Congress to maintain and exalt the freedom and fame they so nobly bequeathed to us!' " What are the matrons talking about so mysteriously, a« they sip their tea, and ply their knitting needles? " ' I am afraid,' says an elderly dame, ' that in the midst of the pleasures and luxuries and indulgences which surround them, our children will forget the virtues and high characters of their fathers and grow degenerate and useless.' " ' Not if we properly teach them the story of Gabrielle and the sufferings with which she so heroically contributed to the purchase of their happy lot, and the duty it imposes upon them to respect and perpetuate her memory and fame.' " Here, too, are the bright eyes of the maidens bent in pride and pleasure upon the honest faces of their pictured pro- genitors. " ' Gabrielle in her dangerous forest life and the wild battle- field,' says one, seeking a moment's rest, 'could not dance as gaily and unconcernedly as we do now.' " ' Or forget the troubles and trials with which her life was beset,' adds another, marking the page of the dainty vol- ume she closes, ' in the pleasures of the world of charming books which teach us so pleasantly what she learned by harsh ex- perience.' " ' Or love with such confident hope of realizing her dreams as we can,' whispers a youth in the ear of the fair student, as he approaches to learn what on earth the girls are so busily talking about. " ' Every body,' says old Ccesar, turning to a happy grouj) of fellow servants, ' is looking at de portraits of old Massa Fairfax and Miss Gabrielle, and they seems to feel mighty 102 ■ THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. proud of 'em!' and the virtue and heroism of Csesar and his ebony mates grow greatly, even in the reflected beauty of the high and pure emotions which fill the souls of the good people of Margaret House, as they gaze upon the voiceful fea- tures of their ancestors, and recall the fragrant memory of their noble lives." " The chairman," said Mr. Yermeille, " has drawn a very graceful moral from the checkered history of Mademoiselle Gabrielle ; and now, if the poor lady may be permitted to rest quietly in her grave, perhaps we had better be off for Georgia, and take a peep at our host's pictures of Toccoa and Tallulah. He knows as much as any of us about that region, and I hope he will favour us with a few remarks initiatory of the subject," In reply to this demand we made a hasty reference to the several characteristics of the scenery of the South ; jumping as rapidly as possible, from the elfish beauties of the mystic swamps, the wild intricacies of the dense cane-breaks and the luxuriant rice-fields, onward to the higher lands of the golden maize and the snowy cotton ; and, finally, bringing up amidst the picturesque grandeur and beauty of the varied mountain region. Our words were of the briefest — said with no end but to awaken the memories of our guests, whose thoughts we were more desirous of hearing than to record our own. " My own preference," said Mr. Asphaltum, as we left the subject on the lips of the company, " is for the dreary humour of the sleeping lowlands; not so much for the contrast it offers to the general character of our scenery, as for its own intrinsic charms. There is to me a marvellous attraction in the beauty of the broad savannas, seemingly interminable in the hazy at- mosphere which wraps them in such peaceful and poetic repose ; and which, with the luxuriant vegetation and the wealth of SOUTHERN SCENERY. 103 forest flowers, soothe tlie feeling and fancy, but yet keep tliem delightfully wakeful and active." " My favourite haunts," said Mr. Blueblack, " are the dark and poisonous lagunes which lead into the mysterious heart of the ghostly swamps. Creeping in my canoe through these dismal passages — their black waters filled with venomous snakes and lurking alligators, and shut out from the light of day by the intervening branches of the cypress, the dark foliage of the magnolia, and the inextricable veils of rampant vine, with the gray trailing moss pendant everywhere in mournful fes- toons — my fancy has run riot through a thousand wild and dreary imaginings which it would harrow up your soul to hear!" "Pray don't mention them," said Mr. Brownoker; "such dismal scenes may suit your sombre temper; but for my part, except to follow the deer, and to hunt the wild fowl, which I am told abound in these horrible jungles, I should, when once I had exhausted the novelty of the thing, make my way out, and think pleasanter thoughts, with Asphaltum, under a jasmine bower, or in the quiet shadow of the great live-oaks. Still better, should I prefer the fresher airs and the more healthful beauties of the uplands." "And better again," interrupted Mr. Deepredde, "the glo- ries of the wild mountain regions; to which, by the way, I think that it is high time we turn our thoughts." "Despite the many pictures, with both pen and pencil which our host has from time to time given us of our South- ern Landscape,"* said Mr. Yermeille, "its beauties are yet very inadequately known. How few, while traversing the hio-h roads through the monotonous pine woods of North Carolina think of the grand Apalachian peaks, and the world of kindred * In this mention of our own humble labours, Mr. Vermeille very kindly employed various flattering adjectives, which we are com2)elled to omit. 104 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN" LANDSCAPE. charms which delight all the western part of the State ; the soaring crown of Black Mountain, rising higher above the val- leys around, than even the famous snow-clad summit of Mount Washington ; and the wild passage of the French Broad through forty miles of rugged gorge, to the peaceful and fertile valley of the Tennessee !" " Then again," said Mr. Flakewhite, " there lie, hard by, the hill-beauties of the Palmetto State : Bang's Mountain, famed in Eevolutionary record; the grand palisaded flanks of Table Mountain ; the bold crest of Ceesar's Head ; and the many lovely little valleys and waterfalls which surround them — the Saluda, and Jocassee, Slicking, and White Water." "Bringing us at last, and by easy stages," said Mr. Megilp, " to the third and most attractive division of the mountain scenery of the south-eastern States — the northern part of Geor- gia. All this northern part, by the way, abounds in noble hill and valley views — from the grand summit of Look-out Mountain, overlooking the magnificent plains of the Tennessee, to the thick cluster of delicious scenes in the north-eastern counties, of which Toccoa and Tallulah are the centre and chief — the one a dainty, l,aughing, little brooklet, making one merry, bounding leap over a precipice of nearly two hundred feet; and the other a foaming torrent, urging its mad way through a deep and jagged mountain chasm," " The late Judge Charlton, one of the South's sweetest poets," added Mr. Flakewhite, "said of this gentle cascade of Toccoa, that it reminded him, more than any scene he had ever beheld, of the poetic descriptions of fairy land; and he has recorded this fancy of his in a graceful poem, a passage from which — if our host has a copy of his "Georgia Illustrated" — I will not hesitate to read to you. " It runs thus," continued Mr. Flakewhite, opening the vol- ume, which we pulled down from its dusty nook : — SOUTH-EAST. 105 "'Beautiful brook I — when the moonlight's gleam Glistens upon thy falling stream, And the varied tints of thy rainbow vie With the brightest hues of the evening sky — The woodland elf, and the merry fay, Chant on thy banks their roundelay; And with fairy sword, and tiny spear. Fight o'er their bloodless battles here. The dro-wsy bird, from its leafy nook. Peers on the whole with an anxious look; And the cricket uplifteth its cheerful voice. And the bats at the merry sound rejoice; And the fairy troop, on their sylvan green. Frolic and dance in the moonlight's sheen.' " "But few scenes in the South," said another speaker, "have been so beloved by the poets as this prattling little brooklet. A few of many lines sung in its praise by a native bard,* come to my memory at this moment. " ' ToccoA I OR, THE Beautiful I this name To thee was given by the tawny Indian girls. When, with the summer's sultry noon, they came To bathe their bosoms, where thy water curls Around the mossy rocks in countless pearls; Or, when in autumn, seeking o'er the hill From which thy eddying current lightly whirls, Brown nuts, their baskets of light reed to fill, Tliey loved to pause, and gaze upon thy beauties still.' " "As 'capping verses' seems to be the play of the moment," said Mr, Vermeille, "perhaps you will allow me to repeat a sonnet to our brook from another pen.f " ' In the brown shadows of a mountain wood There flows a crystal stream scarce kjiown to song, * Hon. Henry R. Jackson. f "William C. Richards, Esq. 106 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAJST LANDSCAPE. Tliat to its own sweet music glides along, Charming the else unbroken solitude ! "lis called Toccoa in the Indian tongue, And never yet was name more fitly given : The Beautiful I beneath the smiling heaven No lovelier stream the poet ever sung; Tlie forest boughs above it interweave, And through their leafy fret-work sunbeams stray. And on the dancing ripples tremulous play, As golden threads the glancing shuttles leave ; — Thus bright and musical the streamlet goes, And on its marge the scented wild-flower blows.' " " Toccoa," said Mr. Deepredcle, " is a scene as exhaustless in its morale, as it is simple in its physique. It needs few words to describe it intelligibly, while volumes Avould not suf- fice to tell all the thought and fancy it creates. Has not some one a story or tradition with which to close our recollections of the spot?" " There is an old legend appertaining thereto," said Mr. Brownoker, " but it's a gloomy, tragical sort of affair. How- ever, if Blueblack will do it up for us in his Eembrandtish style, it may be effective." "Come, come, Blueblack!" said several voices, as that gen- tleman shrugged his shoulders in dissent, " there's no appeal here ! You must touch up " Well, I'll start you !" said Brownoker, as Mr. Blueblack continued to hem and haw and knit his unwilling brows. " Give us your hand and step along ! " It was a fearful night — I suppose night vnll be the best hour, won't it? — black darkness overspread the land; the mut- THE OLD LEGEND OF TOCCOA. 107 tering tliunders and tlie vengeful lightning shook tlie tremblinccurred to herself to make. " A cordial companionship was soon established between Kitty and her guest. Her merry, pleasant society, often be- guiled him from his studies, and she was not unfrequently the sharer of his long forest- walks. He taught her the mystery of the pencil, as his sister had before initiated her into the de- lights of music. Sometimes, too, he playfully helped her in her household cares, even to the making of the pies, and the milking of the cows. " Our slighted Davy looked with an evil eye upon this unwelcome intimacy, but he knew not how to check it. If he were cross, Kitty would scold, and Charles would laugh; but so kindly, that he felt himself compelled to gratitude, rather than to resentment. Indeed, despite himself, he soon grew to like Charles, and to become his constant and willing attendant in his rambles, as he sketched or hunted. Perhaps he was not unconscious of the advantage which the association was to him, for he had something of Kitty's own gift of as- similation, a gift which was now manifesting itself in a way which surprised even Kitty hersel:^ since she had never con- sidered Davy a genius, either developed or undeveloped. " As the weeks rolled by, and, especially, as new guests came to her father's house, Kitty's manner towards Charles underwent a very noticeable change. She did not meet him with the same sisterly frankness, or in the same merry humour. Charles, at such times, thinking he had unwittingly offended her, would seek to atone by greater kindness for his fancied faults. Little suspecting his real, though unintentional crime — the theft of the poor girl's simple heart — his attempted repara- 9 130 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. tion but increased his guilt; for the more he sought to regain the ground he fancied that he had lost in her esteem, the more she loved, and the more she still avoided him. " On one occasion, to call back her truant gaiety, he showed her some of his pictures which she had not yet seen. Among them was a portrait of his sister, with which Kitty was espe- cially delighted. "'And now,' said he, with a smile, 'you shall see another picture — that of my sister's best friend ;' and, after a moment's hesitation, he displayed another face of such winning sweetness, that Kitty silently wondered if there could be any living woman so beautiful ! " ' It is,' said Charles, reading her unspoken thought, ' not half so lovely as the original ! I am sure you will love her- self much more than you admire her picture !' " ' I,' said Kitty. ' How shall I ever see her ?' " ' She is coming soon.' " ' Coming here !' " ' Yes, with my sister. Why don't you congratulate me, Kitty ?' " ' Because, because,' answered Kitty, blushing. ' Because I ' " ' Now be a good Kitty, and say that it is because they will take me away with them ! "Well, Kitty, there can be no pleasure without its pain; and, I assure you, that to leave you and all these beautiful scenes, where I have lived so long, and enjoyed myself so much, is a great drawback to my plea- sure now.' " Kitty made but an awkward reply, either to the raillery, or the regard, in Charles' speech ; for a new and absorbing thought grew in her mind, as she still looked at the picture. " ' And is she the lady who writes you so many letters ?' she asked at last, with a faint smile. KITTY, THE WOODMAN's DAUGHTER. 131 " ' Ah ! what an inquisitive little Kitty ! Has Davy never written you any letters?' " ' Davy ! write me letters !' *" Oh ! I remember, he has never been away from you ! But 0, Kitty, the ink and paper he would have wasted, if he had been!' " ' Davy — write— me — letters !' said Kitty, again, in increased astonishment. " ' Why, he looks a hundred letters to you, every time he brings me one 1' " ' I hate him !' cried Kitty, with sudden vehemence. " ' Hate him I Hate good, honest Davy !' said Charles, gravely. 'But that is a pity, for he loves you dearly.' " ' No, no, never ! I hate him !' repeated Kitty, giving vent to the fast flowing tears, as she hastened out of the room. "While rapidly passing through the general sitting-room on her way to her own apartment, she was stopped by some strangers, who had at that moment arrived; and in an instant she was in the arms of her friend Nora, whose efforts to kiss away her unwonted tears, were seconded by the fair original of Charles' treasured j)ortrait. " ' And my brother, Kitty, have you taken good care of him? Ah, if you have not, Caro' here, will help me scold you, as she has just helped me kiss you !' " ' He, he is — in his room,' said Kitty, as she hurried away, on hearing Charles' bounding step following the sound of his sister's voice. " Her abrupt flight was unnoticed, in the glad meeting of Charles and his friends, and neither of them thought of her again, until they met her at the tea-table, when her strange and abstracted mood was a matter of general and curious remark. " ' What,' said Nora, when she was again alone with Charles 132 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. and Ciiro'~as she called her companion — ' What is the matter with Kitty? So different from Avhat she was last summer!' " ' And to what she has been until to-day,' said Charles. ' Some quarrel, I suppose, with Davy !' "'Davy!' said Nora, 'that reminds me how greatly he has improved since my last year's visit! And is he as much devoted to Kitty as ever?' " ' He loves her to distraction,' said Charles, ' and I do not doubt but that she loves him, for he is almost the only one of her swains whom she admits to her intimacy. We must manage to effect a reconciliation between them.' And then Charles broke out into a long catalogue of the praises of Kitty, extolling her as the sunlight of his life at the Falls. " Caro' listened silently and thoughtfully, divining at once a secret, which Charles had failed to read, plainly as it had been shown to him. But, then, Charles' and Caro's interest in the matter was widely different. " In the days which followed, Caro' devoted herself to Kitty, with assiduous kindness, and soon drew from her, without her Icnowledge, sufficient confirmation of her fears. Without seem- ing to do so, she sought, with all her powers, to cure her of \\QV unhappy passion, and to make her sensible of the worth and the love of her ill-appreciated Davy. This she did for Davy's own sake, as well as for Kitty's ; as she really felt for his generous character all the respect she was so careful to show. " Kitty's nature was too gentle to cherish unkind thoughts, and she had, excepting at moments of egarement, too much '>:ood sense to struggle against impossibilities. She soon loved Caro' too earnestly, even, to wish to stand in the way of her happiness; and she felt that her own rash dreams were vain cnouo-h, when she contrasted the accomplished and beautiful !ady with the ignorant country girl. KITTY, THE WOODMAN'S DAUGHTER. 133 '' And yet, all this was no panacea to her stricken heart, in which all was still dark and hopeless. She had loved without reason, and so she now grieved and despaired. At wilder mo- ments, she even consoled herself, in the same mad way as she sought to believe, that, after all, Charles might love her ; that his interest in Caro', and hers in him, was only a terrible dream. " It was while suffering the feverish excitement of an illusion of this kind, that she one day stealthily followed Caro' and Charles, in their stroll to the Falls. Having lost sight of them when she came to the bed of the ravine, she again sought the fatal rock where Charles had so opportunely arrested her falter- ing steps. She looked, as she then stood, long and thought- fully, into the angry waters. A strange smile stole to her lips, and quickly passed, as she caught the sound of familiar voices, close to her, on the other side of the rock. Caro' was speaking. She listened with painful intentness. "'I tell you, Charles, the poor child loves you!' said the lady, 'and, but for the egotism of your love for me, you would have discovered the truth long ago !' "'Nonsense, Caro', dear! she could not be so silly, so mad! she has too much good sense — she loves Davy, I tell you, which is a much more rational exploit !' " Kitty's life — the spark, which alone was left — went out, at these words. Had time been left her for reflection, she would have struggled, and successfully, against the dark feelings which now filled her wretched soul ; — but she gave only a despairing glance at the bitter past, and at the desolate future, and, in a moment, the sinister smile returned to her lips ; and springing, without a cry, from the precipice, her fair form was buried beneath the white-crested water. " Amidst the din of the rapids, no sound of this dark deed, which their words had hastened, came to the ears of the lovers • 134: THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. but tliere was an eye which, unobserved, had watched the whole fatal scene. " This vigilant sentinel was none other than our useful friend Davy. He had not failed to notice the recent deplorable change in Kitty's humour, nor to guess the cause. Suffering scarcely less than herself, he had seen her follow in pursuit of Caro' and Charles, and had himself joined the chase, though at a prudent distance. As she approached the Falls, her speed- ing figure was alternately present and lost to his sight, as his changing position enlarged or contracted his viev/. Beaching an overlooking bluff, he had, with terror, for a moment seen her standing upon the scene of her former misadventure ; and his fright increased to agony when his next glimpse of the rock showed it unoccupied. Terrible as was his interpretation of the mystery of her sudden disappearance, he could find no other explanation. Acting upon his fearful thought, he flew, almost breathless with dismay, toward the fatal spot. " Finding no trace of the fugitive, hope returned for a mo- ment to his heart, still but faintly ; and he continued his search, forebodingly, and minutely exploring every recess of the neigh- bourhood. At length, he thought he saw something white entangled in the bushes which overhung the opposite edge of the cascade, and boldly plunging into the torrent, he secured the object, and drew towards the shore the lifeless body of his cherished Kitty. The unfortunate girl was cold and motionless, her eyes open and staring. Davy, in his horror, made the woods echo with his shouts, but without avail. At one mo- ment, he thought that he would die with her ; but the next, fancying, as he pressed her cold form to his own throbbing heart, and bathed her marble lips with his warm kisses, that she still breathed, he abandoned the idea of dying, and set vigorously to work to recall his charge to life. It was a lono- time, however, before any certain hope of returning conscious- KITTY, THE WOODMAN'S DAUGHTER. 135 ness blessed his efforts. It was too far to carry lier home, if her condition had permitted such an attempt ; so he made a swel- tering fire, and half buried her in the warm ashes ; breathing, the while, with the full force of his strong lungs, the breath of life into her pulseless veins. It was a joyous moment for Davy when she at last raised her arms, and they fell upon his neck. " ' Where — where am I ?' were the first words she asked. " ' You are safe — safe, at last, dear Kitty. I saved you !' " ' You, Davy — you — saved me !' said the poor girl, faintly, and trying to recall her wandering faculties. ' Ah ! I — I re- member — now!' and she clung more closely to her faithful protector. " The alarm of the good people at the cabin was extreme, when hours passed away without any sign of the return either of Kitty or Davy. Charles remembered to have caught a glimpse, once or twice, of a woman, on his way to the Falls, and though he did not remark her particularly at the time, he now thought that she might possibly have been Kitty. He imparted his doubts to the old woodman, and they all set off, ill at ease, towards the ravine. " The fears, which more than one of the party had felt, yet dared not express, were realized when, passing down the stream, they found Davy's hat, and a part of Kitty's dress, clinging to the bushes ; but their joy was without alloy when, directly after, they heard Davy's voice, in reply to their strong cries, and, almost at the same moment, came upon the spot where Kitty' was, slowly, yet surely recovering. " ' Gently,' said the youth, extending his arms as a shield, when Kitty's friends pressed closely about her ; ' gently — she's only half alive yet.' " The feeble girl looked the thanks she was yet unable to speak, and, soon after, they all started homeward. Davy still 136 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. bearing his precious cliarge, she seemed in no need of the assistance which Charles offered ; and Kitty, herself, declined the service, as she smilingly pointed him to Caro'. " A long illness followed Kitty's accident, and weeks passed before she was able to leave her bed ; but Charles and his friends delayed their departure until all danger was over, when they returned to their homes, in the lowlands. " " And Kitty and Davy," said Mr. Brownoker, as the nar- rator paused in his story, "what became of them? "Was she cured of her romantic passion, and did she marry the devoted lad?" " Precisely what I asked my host," said Mr. Flakewhite, " when he reached that point of the tale I have told in my own words. ' Hush !' said he to me, as his good wife was then entering the room where we sat, ' hush — not a syllable about the story, which you may end for yourself. There is Kitty, and poor Davy sits by your side !' " CHAPTER TIL " I MUST beg you, gentlemen, to take a long breath to-night, for our route of travel is bringing us towards wide and adven- turous fields. We must suppose ourselves to bave made a world of cliarming observation, and to have gathered thick tomes of topographical lore, in our passage since our last meet- ing, from the grand waters of the Terrora, through the wild mountain region of northern Georgia, and among the frank and hearty, yet rude people, thinly scattered over the still desolate interior of Alabama and Mississippi ; for we are now passing the threshold of the great West." " And must keep a sharp eye on the alligators, and a bright lookout for snags," added Mr. Brownoker, taking an observation of the picture which the chairman was scruti- nizing, as he spoke, "for here we are, in the midst of the swamps and cane-breaks of Louisiana, and yonder roll the waters of the mighty river, stained with the travel of a thou- sand leagues." " Flowing now," said Mr. Vermeille, " in our sight, as they flowed three hundred years ago to the worshipping gaze of the forest tribes, when the chivalrous De Soto and his hardy 138 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE, companions reared above them tlie towering cross in prophecy of their future greatness." " Yermeille is right," continued Mr. Flakewhite, looking at the picture of the evening, as, in passing from hand to hand, it reached his own, " to recall the name of the gallant Span- iard, as our eyes fall upon the glorious waters which his daring enterprise first revealed to the world. It is an event of long, long ago, to be sure, but yet in my frequent passages of the Mis- sissippi, it ever comes to my thoughts in all its wild romance, as distinctly and gratefully as if passing at the moment, and I an actor therein. The deeds of De Soto form the poetic period in the history of the great valley of the "West ; a poetry of fact which the most lawless fancy might seek in vain to exceed, "We talk much of the enterprise and progress of the present day ; while we are but timid snails compared with the impetuous and indomitable spirits of three centuries back ; when Columbus resolutely grasped a world, though opposed by the ridicule and sneers of all Christendom ; when Cortes and Pizarro conquered kingdoms and empires, and enriched Europe by their chivalry and prowess ; when great armies flocked to the fearless standards of De Leon, De Narvaez, and De Soto, laughing in their enthusiasm at all obstacles and perils. The story of those days and those men, so much does it surpass our own boasted times and achievements, seems to us but as a tale which is told. ' It was,' says Mr. Irving, in his . Conquest of Florida, ' poetry put in action ; it was the knight-errantry of the old world carried into the depths of the American wilderness; indeed, the personal adventures, the feats of individual prowess, the picturesque descriptions of steel-clad cavaliers, with lance and helm and prancing steed, glittering through the wildernesses of Florida, Georgia, and Alabama, and the prairies of the far West, would seem to us mere fictions of romance, did they not come to us recorded in THE south-west: early DISCOVERERS. 139 matter of fact narratives of contemporaries, and corroborated by minute and daily memoranda of eye-witnesses.' How the tale of California, whicli our people take so much pride in rehears- ing, dwindles by the side of these magnificent exploits, though their fruits did not mature so soon as our own buds of ad- venture." "Your last allusion," said Mr. Blueblack, "throws a heavy shadow over the glowing picture you have displayed to our view ; a shadow, however, which only serves to deepen its brilliancy. I always think in sadness of the hapless fate of the brave old Ponce De Leon, finding only an exile's grave where he so confidently and resolutely searched for the foun- tain of youth. Perhaps he found the fabled waters, though, after all ; for is not the new world which he won, such an elixir to the decrepitude of the old nations? Then there is the fearless Diego Miruelo, and Lucas Yasquez de Allyon, and Pamphilo de Narvaez, and Alvar Nunez, and after them the grand De Soto, mad with will and energy, breasting a hundred crushing storms, and conquering a thousand incredible obsta- cles, in their resolute march through unknown wildernesses and among treacherous and implacable foes, only to perish miserably and alone, one after the other, in the height and glory of their gorgeous hopes. " What a contrast the splendid array of De Soto's army, in all its rich apparelling, as it set forth amidst the huzzas of the multitudes, makes with its shattered and war-grimed aspect some time afterwards, in its stealthy traverse of the MississijDpi, when ' the numerous and gallant host,' again using the words of Irving, 'had dwindled down to less than three hundred and fifty men ; their armour once brilliant, now battered and rusty ; their rich silken garments now reduced to rags and tatters ; some covered with skins like the native savages ; with hopes once so buoyant, now forlorn, and despair depicted in every 140 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. countenance. How mournful this picture, and that — the young and ardent De Soto, passing rich in fortune, fame, love, and ambition— the sorrow-stricken and broken-hearted soldier, dying in the sunshine of his manhood, hopeless amidst the very scenes Avhich were to have realized his golden dreams : his poor remains stealthily removed from one unconsecrated sepul- chre to another, lest they should be exposed to the ignominious vengeance of his foes ; and, at last, buried fathoms deep, in the midnight darkness, beneath the cold floods, once to his eye so bright with joyous promise.' " "I am glad, gentlemen," said the chairman, at this point of our gossip, "to hear you recall these interesting scenes, holding as they do so high a place in both the stern reality and the bright romance of our country's story; but we must of necessity be brief, in this, as indeed, in all our reminiscences; and, it is now time that we speak of our subject in its present aspect. Asphaltum must have become intimately acquainted with the Mississippi, in his search for the materials of his ad- mirable panorama; and will be obliging enough, perhaps, to favour us with an introduction." "Always remembering," said Mr. Brownoker, laughing, "that the merit of a narrative does not, like that of a pano- rama, lie in its length. ' Three miles long,' may look inviting on his show-bills, but would be fearful at our round table!" " If I should relate to you, gentlemen," began Mr. Asphal- tum, "all the details of my explorations of the Mississippi, in my slow and patient voyage from the Falls of St. Anthony to the levee at New Orleans, you would, long before I finished, wish that our friend De Soto had stayed quietly at home, instead of opening the way for my wanderings ; or, that I were peacefully sleeping with him beneath the deep waters. You would grow wearied with the devious windings of the capricious current, and be crazed with the mere fancy of the mosquitoes THE MISSISSIPPI. 141 and miasmas against which I have had to battle. Mj journey, which extended, winter and summer, through a whole year, was made in an open boat, now floating lazily down the stream, or merrily gliding among the swift rapids ; painfully urged against an opposing current, or gallantly towed by a high pressure steamer. " In the course of the voyage, of three thousand miles, from north to south — there is no other river in the world which traverses, latitudinally, so vast an area — of course I experienced every change . of climate, and all possible variety of vegetation, from the airs and products of the frozen, to those of the torrid zone ; and, of course, also, I filled my portfolio with every sort of landscape, from hills, woods, and waterfalls, to deep swamps and boundless prairies ; and met with adven- ture and fare as contrasted as the habits and characters of the rough and ready frontier squatters and hunters of the one part, and the luxurious and lazy sugar-cane growers of the other part. " The source of the Mississippi is in a network of innu- merably oozy streams, looking something like the two hundred miles of alluvium which is watered by its countless mouths. By one or other of these streams we may reach waters which will carry us to the Great Lakes, or, if we please, far off to Hudson's Bay. " Above the mouth of the Missouri, the turbid river is comparatively clear and limpid, and its course is through an extremely varied and beautiful country, full of picturesque highlands and fertile valleys, skirted by a shore delightfully broken with forest glades and rocky bluffs. Below the Falls of St. Anthony, the navigation is but little obstructed except by shoals and sandbars. The Missouri past, the river deepens and widens; large islands divide the current and spread the waters over a breadth of miles. At Point Coupee it takes 142 THE ROMAjSTCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. a more commanding and majestic aspect, wliicli it tliencefor- ward preserves and- heightens. " Passing the mouth of the Ohio, in our descent, we see the more southern characteristics of the Landscape. The hill shores, excepting in an occasional bluff, disappear, and the wide marshes and the rich alluvial plains present themselves. Here rises the gaunt form of the cypress, lord of the lagunes, and the long festoons of the Spanish moss warn the traveller to show proper respect to the night air. " East of the river, and near the margin, lie long strips of rich land, timbered with various species of oak, hickory, sweet gum, sassafras, poplar, cotton-wood, willow, maple, sugar-cane, palmetto, and other trees, and shrubbery. The shore is broken with bayous, giving the appearance, when seen from an elevation, of a long, irregular chain of lakelets. These marshes, and th$ rich tracts which lie behind them, are succeeded by ranges of higher and more diversified ground, where the vegetation of the pine family flourishes. " The low and marshy character of the country continues, with occasional variations, onward to the Gulf of Mexico ; be- coming often an inextricable maze of earth and water ; a per- fect Babel of wild and rank jungle and morass, and a confused interlocking of lagune and bayou. "These swamps resemble each other so much that strangers sometimes lose themselves in their labyrinthine passages, and waste days in vain search for an exit. Sir Charles Lyell relates an adventure of a German emigrant in the Devil's Swamp, seen from the heights south of Fort Hudson. ' One day, after felling some lofty cypresses, he made a false turn in his canoe, and, by mistake, entered a neighbouring bayou. Every feature was so exactly like the scene where he had been toiling for weeks that he could not question the identity of the spot. He saw all the same bends, both in the larger THE MISSISSIPPI. 143 and smaller channels ; lie made out distinctly tlie same trees — among others, the very individual cypresses which he had cut down. There they stood, erect and entire, without retain- ing one mark of his axe. He concluded that some evil spirit had, in a single night, undone all the labours of many weeks ; and, seized with superstitious terror, he fled from the enchanted wood, never to return.' " The same author to whom I am indebted for this anec- dote, tells us of a visit he made to Lake Solitude, one of the crescent-shaped bayous formed by old deserted bends of the river. There is, he says, in this lake a floating island, well wooded, on which a friend of his once landed from a canoe, when, to his surprise, it began to sink with his weight. In great alarm he climbed a cypress-tree, which also began imme- diately to go down with him as fast as he ascended. He mounted higher and higher into its boughs, until at length it ceased to subside ; and, looking round, he saw, in every direction, for a distance of fifty yards, the whole woods in motion. Sir Charles, wishing to know what foundation there could be for so marvellous a tale, found that, during floods, large floating logs had entered the lake by the channel which at such times connects it with the main river ; that these logs had formed a raft which had become covered with soil, sup- porting shrubs and trees. At first, this green island was blown from one part of the lake to another by the winds, but a cypress springing from the soil had sent down strong roots, many yards in length, so as to cast anchor in the muddy bottom and thus enable the poor island to settle down in peace and quietness. " In some portions of this low country, especially near Atta- kapas, there are wide tracts of floating lands, called ' quaking prairies.' Cattle are pastured here, and you might imagine yourself on good terra firma, unless you should happen to 144 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. dig down for a couple of feet, wlien you would find sea-fisli quietly disporting in tlie subterranean waters. "The two sliores along tlie lower part of the river are of very similar character, excepting that the western is more broken with the debouchure of large streams, and less enliv- ened by human habitations. Beyond the marshy borders stretch alternate plains of grass and woodland — now a forest, and anon a boundless prairie— until at last the mountains are again seen. " Immense injury is often done to the plantations on the Mississippi, through the breaks which occur in the embank- ments. Yaluable fields are flooded, and not unfrequently entirely destroyed. -The water rushes through such breaches with great force, " oftentimes sucking in heavy boats, and carry- ing them miles away into dense, swampy jungles, from which they do not always succeed in extricating themselves. "There is not that same danger in the navigation of the Mississippi, as in narrower southern rivers, of coming in collision with the branches of overhanging trees, when floods swell the current and lift the boat high above the usual level. It is a startling sight to see the huge crafts of these waters, while sweeping down the rushing torrent, suddenly, in fogs or dark- ness come in crashing contact with a forest of sturdy tree-tops. "The wrecks of old boats and barges, left high and dry by receding floods, are common and picturesque habitations all along the Mississippi. In my rambles, I have often rejoiced at the shelter and hospitality I have found even in such homely quarters. Such occasions have served me also to im- prove my acquaintance with that peculiar class of the denizens of the great river, the renowned flatboatmen. "Passino- by the attractions of the gay metropolis of this part of our country, I will set you ashore some few miles below the city, on the memorable battle-ground of 1815." "With so vast a theme," said Mr. Deepredde, "we could WESTERN CHARACTER. 145 not have refused you treble the time you have occupied. Wq often, in jest, speak of our home as a ' great country ;' but when we speculate upon the future of this immense valley and its tributary regions, the joke becomes most serious earnest. The Mississippi is, I believe, the largest and longest stream in the world, whose whole course lies within one sovereignty. With its vassals, it drains a country of almost a million and a half of square miles, which, when peopled even less densely than the New England States, will hold a population of a hundred million of souls." " And a rare population it will be," said Mr. Megilp, " if it preserves the honest, earnest, and dauntless traits of the parent stock. I do not refer to the national weakness for long rifles, quarter races, cards, whiskey, bowie-knives, and re- volvers : these fancies are the mere froth of the strong, pure spirit beneath, and in due time will be no more seen. The moral exterior of the great "West is at present rugged and tough as its own bisons, but the soul within is large and rich as its great prairies. We laugh at the extravagance of expression in the people of the West ; but there is a deep moral significance in their lawless hyperbole. It is, in its roughness, as indicative of strong action, as the dainty and perfumed metaphor of the Orient is expressive of deep feeling and fancy. • "You may take it for granted that a man who talks to you about his using the forks of the road for a boot-jack, won't submit to be kicked very patiently ; and he who whips his weight in wild cats, and dodges chain lightning, will at least try to accomplish what he undertakes. He who has a soul as big as a court-house, may very safely be trusted ; and there is genuine piety in the breast of the old hunter, who economizes time by begging every Sunday morning that Heaven will bless 'its earthly table bounties and crittur kumforts, throughout the 10 146 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAJST LAJSTDSCAPE. week !' I like the veteran, wko, when asked if he was not afraid of the rattlesnakes, numerous in this vicinity, nonchalantly answered, that he generally 'slept over 'em;' and the gallant captain, too, who, when racing with an opposition boat, sits on the safety valve to keep it down with his weight; or, who, when the watch cries out ' man overboard !' asks if he has paid his passage, and being answered in the affirmative, sings ' all xicr}xt — s:o ahead !' I do not think that such a man, who, though he can sail his boat on a wet blanket, or in the morn- ing dew, would hesitate to launch out into deep waters!" " As Megilp is himself a Western man," said Mr. Blueblack, " we must give him elbow-room, even to find a virtue in the follies of his brethren. Perhaps he will commend us next to the universal predilection of his people for betting and gam- bling." " In a measure," answered our young Lochinvar, " though the vice belongs more to strangers among us, than to ourselves. If it is an evil, as abstractly considered it of course is, it is at present a necessary evil, necessary by reason of the fermenta- tion stage of our society. In its practical results it is not without its advantage, just now, saving us as it does from yet greater misfortune. Many a dispute is now amicably deter- mined by a bet, which would otherwise end in blows, and we are so undisguised in the expression of our thoughts, that we must dispute; so resolute is our nature, that we must main- tain our position; thus, settled it must be, in some way or other." " Leaving Megilp's logic for farther consideration," said Mr. Brownoker, "permit me to add a word here, of fact, not phi- losophy. I have, in my travels westward, been often amused at the universal love for betting. I have found even children of the tenderest years addicted to the practice. A bo}^ no sooner gets a sixpence, than he must risk it upon some venture WESTERN CHARACTER. 147 or other. If nothing else offers, he will bet you that he knows the ncame of the steamboat approaching from below, or, that he can tell which way the wind Avill blow to-morrow, or per- chance, next week ; and, it is a common practice for a group to sit quietly abound a table, each with a lump of sugar before him, the possession of the stake to be given to him on whose lump a fly may first happen to alight ! *' A friend of mine, once showed me a graphic sketch of an old trapper instructing his child in the use of cards. The precious pair were seated on a bank in the vicinity of a church, the hour, evidently, Sunday morning ; and the name of his picture was — ' A "Western Sabbath School I' " " All these anecdotes," said Mr. Deeprcdde, " are charac- teristic only of a portion, and that the humblest, of the Western people. The better classes are as free from such provincial- isms, as the most generous education and the most refined as- sociations can make them. More especially, the inhabitants of the South-west ; the region to which our thoughts to-night must be chiefly directed." " Suppose," said Mr. Blueblaek, " some gentleman tells us a story in further illustration of our subject: some tale touch- ing upon plantation life and manners. Now I think of it, I have heard Vermeille speak of certain incidents of the sort which I should like much to hear again, and more circum- stantially." Mr. Vermeille, upon this hint, and at the entreaties of the whole company, told the following story of 148 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. t^lktce |)all " I can imagine nothing more grateful, to one who appre- ciates the quiet pleasures of social life in a genial domestic circle, cast, by its isolation from the great world, upon its own willing and sufficient resources, than a leisurely sojourn at the home of one of our Southern planters. Especially when your host happens to be a man of large wealth, large soul, large intelligence, large family, large fields, and large house, as are many of the class — as is he, at least, whom we are about to visit. " If you can sufficiently withstand the enervating influence of a Southern sun to make the necessary effort, run — no, stroll, we never run, here — to the crown of that sandy knoll, covered "with shady pines, and you shall overlook a pleasant bit of Southern landscape. The great savannas sweeping far around you, their rich many-hued carpetings of grain, and grass, and flowers, stirring lightly in the gentle morning breeze, will long win your admiring gaze, before it wanders yet further on, towards the forests of the sugar-cane, skirting the inextricable winding of the great lazy river — the venerable father of waters, "What a winsome sentiment of repose and comfort, ease, and content, its broad, lawless course, seemingly without beginning and without end, brings to the heart; and, how pleasantly this feeling is at once heightened and relieved by the bold bluffs here and there on the shore, where some rampant eastern range of hills abruptly stops, as if suddenly conscious of its trespass upon strange and enchanted ground ! Yonder, the fringed cypress grows from the moisture of the dark and dank lagunes, and, there, among the orange groves and the massy clumps MISTLETOE HALL. 149 of the live-oak, peep the roof and the latticed piazzas of the planter's home, with its innumerable surrounding of smaller buildings — the cabins of the negroes. So many are their houses, that, but for the tropical vegetation and the soft airs, you might almost fancy yourself gazing from the top of Mount Tom, over the village-studded meadows of the valley of the Connecticut. " If distance, here, lends enchantment to the view, nearness you will find, as you descend from your height and wander through the riant plains, increases that enchantment. The myriad charming details of the scene will fill your heart not less agreeably than the broad general view. The solo of the merry bird in yonder myrtle tree, is as sweet as the vague murmur of music through the air ; and the snowy-plumed cotton-twig, the gallant cane-stalk, the courtly rice plant, the broad leaf of the tobacco, the waxen boughs of the orange, the myrtle, the magnolia, and the thousand flowers, and vines redolent with seductive perfumes, will each, in turn, of itself satisfy your thirst for the beautiful. It will surprise you to find so much eager life beneath so listless an exterior. " Entering the broad avenues of live-oak, which so fre- quently make the approach to Southern houses, and at last resting your tired limbs on the easy lounges of their piazzas and parlours, you will revel still in the same feeling of quiet, yet by no means torpid life. " The picture upon which we have been looking from the sand-hills — the flowery lawns which we have traversed, the oak shades, the rambling mansion, and its cosy couches — is not a mere idle fancy, but an actual scene, none other than the plantation and homestead of Mistletoe Hall, the residence of Colonel Hayward, our host elect. " You will feel, at once, how very happy is the poetic name of the venerable seat, as your eye detects the luxuriant 150 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. clusters of that impudent squatter, the mistletoe, peeping every- where from amongst the autumn-thinned leaves of the numer- ous oaks. One of these trees, you will curiously observe, is distinguished above all its fellows, not only by its massive size and noble form, but by the extraordinary quantity of the famous Christmas bough, to which its generous life gives nou- rishment ; and which, in grateful return, drapes it, Avhen its own leaves pass with the passing season, in a new and richer garniture of green; thus making the old tree an oak for half the year, and a mistletoe for the rest. There is an old custom in the family here, one in which the Colonel delights no less than the youngest of his tribe, of semi-annually re-christening this old fellow — in the spring with one baptismal, and in the autumn with the other ; now ' the oak,' now ' the mistletoe.' This pleasant ceremony is always performed with every proper holiday accompaniment of the mazy dance and other merry making. " Now, then — for, despite the early morning and the breeze, you have walked far enough to make rest welcome — we will enter the mansion, especially since that little ebony troop of -laughing urchins have already announced our approach, and the worthy Colonel himself has come forth upon the piazza to welcome us. Of course, we will revise our toilettes, and, as the Colonel begs us to do, sit down, without ceremony, at his hospitable table. Ah, what an abundant repast, to be sure, is spread upon the board; and with what rational leisure the good folks are discussing it! The peacock fans of the little black waiters make the temperature as grateful as the broad shadow of the rose-covered porch. We are at home at once, and feel quite as much at liberty to think and act as we please, as if we were in our own house. So, while we eat our eggs and hominy, we will take a quiet survey of our host and our fellow-guests. MISTLETOE HALL. 151 "The Colonel — where he gets his title we do not know; such things are as plentiful here as ' something to drink ' — the Colonel is in all respects a fine specimen of the Southern gentleman. His gallant person — he is still in the blossom of strong manhood — has been developed by habitual indulgence in out-of-door exercise and all manly sports ; and his acute mind has been cultured and catholicized by liberal studies, and by observant travel in all lands and among all people ; while his generous heart has been warmed and expanded, not chilled and narrowed, by the possession of wealth and power. His wide and absolute authority he wields, even over the humblest of his slaves, more as a kind father than as a des- potic lord. The native fire of his character has been tempered, not extinguished, by sorrowful experiences of life : among these griefs is, no doubt, the loss of his wife — the Colonel is a widower — whom he devotedly loved ; while another of these gentle softeners of the heart is his boundless affection for his daughter, the pride of his soul. And well, indeed, may he be proud of her ; for a more beautiful creature, even among the queenly maidens of the South, it would be rare to find than Clara Hayward. " Deprived of a mother's care, even in infancy ; petted and indulged by her fond father ; the sovereign mistress of a thou- sand submissive hearts ; flattered, as beauty and wealth always are, by every voice they hear ; Clara might have grown up a spoiled, heartless, vain, imperious woman, without any blame to herself. "Whether these very reasonable results from such a dangerous position followed, in the present instance, we shall see in the development of our story. Certainly, nothing but what is lovely and of good report appears in her gracious greeting to our intrusive selves, as we sit down to breakfast ; or in her kindly manner towards any of her numerous guests ; or toAvards the slaves, who seem so happy to anticipate and 152 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAZST LANDSCAPE. perform her will. She treats all, and the characters are various, with graceful and considerate attention and care. " If she has a feeling of dislike for any one, she seeks, and successfully, to conquer it, as beneath the dignity of her nature. " Thus, in the impartial share of her regard which she bestows upon Madam Bernard, the bold, handsome French woman by her side, you cannot suspect the little quantum of love and sympathy which she really feels for her. Madam is, or rather has been, her governess. She has taught much which Clara has well and gratefully learned ; and much, too, which she has wisely used as a beacon, instead of a guide, to her steps. " With what becoming grace, and yet with what womanly propriety, she listens to the flattering tattle of that supercilious young patrician, Lieutenant Hutton. She is by no means blind to the real poverty, mental and moral, beneath his smooth coat of virtue and wisdom ; and she has wit enough to sound this shallowness of his, were she not too proud or too kind to use it. Tlie Lieutenant is one of those lucky gentlemen 'known, because his fathers were,' and possessing, besides, with the pass-key of fortune, the entree of 'society.' He has used these advantages now, in a long visit to our host, avow- edly attracted by the graces of the fair hostess. His horoscope is not promising. "Long association, and long relationship, as teacher and pupil, may exact a certain degree of respect and deference from Clara to Madam Bernard : as the social position and not unpleasing manners of the young Lieutenant may naturally give him a claim to her cordial courtesy. But none of these demands upon her consideration are made by the last of our characters, who is neither a Colonel nor a Lieutenant ; who has neither family nor fortunS to commend him, and who is not MISTLETOE HALL. 153 ^ even a privileged dependant, but simply a poor, unknown stu- dent, who, through the Colonel, has been prevailed upon to leave his college halls in New England, to earn means bj the toil of a tutor to pursue and complete his preparation for the struggle of life. And yet Clara is, if possible, more regardful of the humble student than of others, though not with the galling kindness of the patroness, for he is not one to be patronized. The Colonel, who, though not free from the pre- judice and pride of caste, is a wise and just man, sees and acknowledges the worth of his modest guest, and meets him on an equal footing of gentleman with gentleman. Madam Bernard's respect for the tutor is not extreme; and she would not, if she dared, hesitate to say so. As to the Lieutenant, he has not, thus far, deigned to recognize the stranger's exist- ence, who, to tell the truth, has himself wasted no reverence hi admiration on the Lieutenant. "The tutor, himself, is perfectly at his ease; and, though modest enough in his demeanour, has the self-assured bearing of a man certain of his position, and perfectly satisfied of its dignity. To the Colonel's eye, this simple manner is an evi- dence of a strong, manly character; to Madam Bernard's, of mixed servility and arrogance; to the Lieutenant's, as far as he has observed it, of unbearable impertinence; to Clara's, of a gentleman, with more esteem for his own honourable self than for the adventitious apparrelling of rank and fortune. " I do not mean to say that Miss Clara is waiting to throw her hand and heart at the tutor's feet, for she is not without both pride and ambition ; or, that the Colonel would approve of such Quixotic generosity, for he has his ideas of propriety in such matters, despite his respect for the stranger. Besides, such a thing could not be, since it would kill the Lieutenant outright, with astonishment, if a broken heart should yet leave him alive. Moreover, Clara's hand, not counting the suit of 154 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. the Lieutenant, is already engaged. Don't understand me to say that my heroine would give her hand, any where, without her heart. By no means! Her position is simply this: Colonel Hayward has a friend in Virginia, the widow of an old college crony, who has an only son, as the Colonel . himself has an only daughter ; and it has ever been a favourite project of the heads of the two families, to cement their interests by a union between this son and this daughter; to say nothing of a whispered penchant between the 'heads' themselves, which, it is thought, may come, to something, if the first plan shall prove successful. It will be nice if both the schemes prosper, for Mrs. Danville and her son Mark possess large estates, con- tiguous to the Colonel's domain, and the Colonel could keep a much better eye than he even now does upon these estates, were they ' all in the family.' "You may ask what Miss Clara and 'young massa Mark' say to this arbitrary disposition. The truth is, the arrange- ment has been always seduously kept from their knowledge, but somehow they have both got at the secret, until it is, at this moment, openly and often spoken of, and that, too, as a fixed fact. " The young people, to this day, know nothing of each other, excepting by report ; and, though they say nothing- Clara at least, and no doubt Master Mark as well — they are inwardly resolved to dislike, in the precise ratio in which they are expected to like, each other." Here Mr. Yermeille was interrupted in his narrative by the chairman, who, looking regretfully at his watch, reminded our guests of an engagement, which made it necessary to defer the rest of the tale until another reunion. More than one desire was expressed to cheat old Time of MISTLETOE HALL. I55 a few more minutes, but thej were all overruled, and tlie Jiistorian himself said that lie should be glad of a reprieve. In our next chapter then, good reader, we shall see what further happens at Mistletoe Hall. r"""i"'^''i!iii CHAPTER VIIL "While unfolding my panorama of the Mississippi at our last reunion," said Mr, Asplialtum, "I oddly enougli forgot to speak of that remarkable feature in the scenery of the river the renowned Tower Eock, or Grand Tower, as it is otherwise called. To neglect all reference to this interesting object, would be unpardonable in any circumstances, and doubly so, when, as I find that it does, it makes the theme of one of our pic- tures, " Though I know that you are impatient to hear the sequel of Mr, Yermeille's nouvellette, I must beg a few minutes to atone for my sins of omission. " The Grand Tower is a singular, rocky bluff of about fifty feet elevation. It stands near the village of Cape Girardeau and is a short distance, say a hundred miles — a step only, you know, on the great river — below the mouth of the Missouri. The hills on both sides of the stream seem to converge in this vicinage ; and from the appearance of other huge mural frag- ments, it is supposed that a cataract once existed here. In form the Great Eock is nearly circular, bearing a few stunted cedars upon its crown. Of course, a change in the point of 158 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. observation varies the aspect of the scene greatly; and most visitors will view it very differently from our artist. Perched upon its lofty heights, I have often gazed in delight upon the extraordinary picture before my wondering eyes. The mazy windings of the giant floods, sometimes in their magnificent detours, traversing miles upon miles without perceptible ad- vance, the huge steamers sweeping on in their rapid and noisy flight, the lazy progress of the floating rafts and the uncouth flat-boats; and, reaching far away in the interminable distance, the rank forests and the silent prairies." After this mention of Tower Rock and sundry other rem- iniscences which the subject called up, but which we shall not pause to record, our guests prepared themselves to hear the conclusion of the tale of Histkttte iall " Many weeks have passed since our introduction to Colonel Hayward's family," said Mr. Yermeille, resuming his narrative, "weeks not barren of incident, claiming our attention. One of these items is the non-appearance of Mr. Mark Danville, much to the surprise of everybody, and to the disappointment, at least, of one. Not Clara, for she, we shall find, has grown every day less and less interested in the doings of the expected visitor ; not the Lieutenant, for he can live and be happy without him; not Madam Bernard, for she has nothing either to hope or fear in his coming; not the tutor, since Mr. Dan- ville's absence rather furthers his views than otherwise; but the Colonel — the worthy Colonel, is grievously vexed at the little respect which Mr. Mark shows toward himself and his daughter. He begins to fear that his long-cherished plans will MISTLETOE HALL. 159 after all end in nothing. He is greatly disappointed, and sorely chagrined. He begins to dislike the ungracious Mark, and he thinks, too, with a sigh of that proposed tie between himself and Madam Danville, which must fail with the failure of his other hope. Besides these thoughts, there are other, very natural, though less worthy ideas, annoying the Colonel's brain. He is thinking of heavy pecuniary losses which he has had to struggle against for some time past, and particularly, within the last few weeks; the repeated failure of crops for several years, and more lately, sickness and death among his servants, and injury to his estate by rains and freshets ; an accumulation of losses which are beginning seriously to embarrass him, and which make him regret the withdrawal of the relief which Clara's marriage with Mark, no less than his own with Mrs. Danville, would have brought him. "Neither the Lieutenant nor Madam Bernard have much sympathy for the Colonel's sorrows, despite their show of interest. Indeed, we cannot expect that Hutton, being himself an aspirant for Clara's hand, should be over and above eao-er to meet so formidable a rival as Mr. Mark. "The tutor has gradually grown to be a man of weight and influence in the daily, social drama, having won for him- self much consideration, of a differing sort, from all the mem- bers of the household. • "The regard with which Clara treats him seems to be that which he the most highly prizes. However that may be, it is, clearly enough, more than reciprocated. In his hours of leisure he is ever by her side, as they sit together in the shade of the perfumed vines, sipping the sparkling current of some 'antique rhyme;' or, as they stroll in hght or ' idyl-thoughted ' converse through the oak and orange groves, in the merry morning or the dreamy eventide. Even when occapied with his pupils, Clara is still often near him, finding charms in 160 THE KOMAKCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. Yirgil ^\-bicli Madam Bernard never showed her in the pages of Tasso or Eacine. Indeed, she seemed to be herself his chief, certainly his favourite, pupil. 'How pleasant,' his thought appears to say at such moments, ' the of&ce of the tutor, when the student comes with intelligence and sympathy to the task;' ' and how delightful,' says she, ' the labour of the pupil, when the teacher bears her up on the soaring wings of his own enthusiasm.' It is not strange that our scholar should thus yield to the fascinations which he finds in the strong and beautiful character of his fair hostess, or that she should be attracted by a nature so much deeper and richer than she has been accustomed to meet, and so sympathetic with her own. Their intercourse, in its simple unreserve, seems to be more that of brother and sister than of lovers. There can be no confessed passion in their young hearts, or dark thoughts of the future would sometimes overcloud the unbroken sunshine of the present hour. Their heedless steps would now and then halt, in doubt or fear, on the now unseen brink of that deep social gulf which lies between them, and which neither could overleap without a sacrifice of much pride and preju- dice. " The Colonel sees that his child is happy in the society of his young friend, and he is content, never dreaming that their mutual interest may pass the convenient bounds of friend- ship; or, if he has at moments such thoughts, burying them far out of his sight in. the shadow of that inexorable gulf into which we have but just now looked. The Lieutenant, too, is not unobservant of the path in which the careless pair are strolling, and he is not so blind as the Colonel in regard to its course: but he sees, yet more distinctly than he, the obstructing precipice; and he, too, is, in a measure, content — more than content, indeed — for, little understanding Clara's high nature, he inwardly derides the idea of a rival in the poor MISTLETOE HALL. 161 tutor, while he thinks to turn his presumption and Clara's indulgence to the furtherance of his own hopes, widening by their help the misunderstanding which already seems to have been formed between her and the only obstacle he sees in his way — Mr. Mark Danville. "Still, the undisguised preference which Clara shows for the tutor's society over his own, is a bitter mortification to the pride of the Lieutenant — a mortification which, every passing day, is in many little ways so sorely deepening, that there is growing up in his soul a feeling of revengeful hatred which, much as it is his cue to do, he can scarcely all conceal. " This dislike is only increased by the lamentable issue of the few manifestations of it, which, despite himself, he is con- strained to make. Every hour and every incident teaches him greater hate and higher respect for the student — teaches him more and more how much he has under-estimated the strength, and how much he may have to fear in the rivalry, of his despised foe. He finds himself surpassed by the niodest tutor, not alone in accomplishments which he affects to despise, but in all those gentlemanly graces in which he deems himself without a peer. He might forgive the student for writing songs, but it is a mortal offence to sing them as he does. He would permit him to walk, but not to ride by Clara's side, with so much careless ease: to adrnire the beauty of the flying deer is pardonable, but to arrest that flight with an aim more certain than his own is insufferable! What business has the man of lexicons and grammars with these arts of the idle gentleman ? " Clara does not fail to perceive the vexation of her guest at the ever new exhibition of gifts, which surprise her scarcely less than him; for she, too, is still advancing in her knowl- edge of the tutor's varied accomphshments, though with more satisfaction than the Lieutenant. It amuses her to watch the 11 162 THE ROMAKCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. struggle between these opposing powers: to witness the imper- tinent sneers of the one withered by the cool sarcasm of the other. "She shares the student's playful malice, as, when Hutton rudely intrudes upon their tete-a-tetes, he leads the conversation into fields far beyond his pursuit or sight. "Such a scene is now passing, and the tutor is brought back from his metaphysical flight by the entrance of one of his pupils in search of light upon some dark problem in his algebra. As the lad withdraws, the Lieutenant sneeringly in- quires if the tutor uses the birch in his school discipline. " ' Most assuredly, sir, when it happens to be needed.' " ' On the little boys, I suppose,' continues the Lieutenant. "'Or the great boobies!' answers the tutor, with a quiet but significant smile. "'You see,' says Clara, laughing, 'what a sad martinet our friend is, Mr. Hutton! How fortunate you ought to esteem yourself in not being one of his unhappy scholars !' " Now the Colonel's family are assisting in the gaieties of a ball at the residence of a neighbouring planter. ' Here,' thinks the Lieutenant, as he approaches Clara to solicit her hand for a waltz, 'here, at least, I am secure from the impu- dence of that infernal pedagogue! His legs are too much cramped beneath his desk to figure in the dance !' But, alas ! alas for the gallant soldier's vain dreams, the inexorable tutor has already cast his arm around the fair girl, and is whirling her through the hall, to the admiration and marvel of every- body but the Lieutenant himself He turns on his heel in disgust and through the rest of the evening ' doesn't dawnce !' "It is one of the brightest of bright sunny mornings, and the party, Madam Bernard and the Lieutenant, Clara and the tutor, are starting for a ride. Hutton has distributed the horses among the cavaliers, and the tutor is about to mount, when MISTLETOE HALL. 163 Clara protests against his venturing upon the back of the most unmanageable creature in her father's stables. " ' HoAV could you think of giving any one such an animal, Mr. Hutton ?' she asks, half angrily. "'Oh!' says the Lieutenant, with a sneering, laugh, 'I sujd- posed that Mr, Lawson was bold and skilful enough to tame a bison if it so pleased him. But, of course I will find a gen- tler nag for him, if he is afraid !' '' ' Xot at all,' cries the student, as he springs gracefully into the saddle. ' You have hit my fancy exactly, Mr. Hut- ton ; I've noticed this fiery fellow often, and thought that I should like to try his mettle. I ' " But yonder fly horse and rider, helter-skelter over bush and break, while the ladies look after them pale with fear. Which of the unyielding spirits shall conquer? For a while the question is a painfully exciting one ; but, at last, it is an- swered, and Clara laughs at once in derision of the Lieutenant and in welcome of the tutor, as he returns with his foaming but conquered steed. " Not quite subdued though, for as he draws near he makes a sudden plunge, frightening the Lieutenant's horse and dash- ing the rider from his carelessly held seat, " This, however, is his last caper ; and Mr. Lawson, as he leaps to the ground, with proffers of aid to the unhorsed gen- tleman, makes a world of apologies for his unpardonable awk- wardness, which he assures him cannot possibly happen again, as he has now got the perverse animal entirely under his control ! " The party, remounted, now move on, while the tutor is patting his trembling horse, and still condemning his own want of skill, which led to the late little misadventure; while the Lieutenant is trying to swallow his double mortification as best he can ; and while Madam Bernard, scarcely less than 164 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. Clara, is vainly striving to hide a laughing face with a deco- rous veil of gravity. "But let us see how our young hero gets along with the Colonel ; see if his character and his versatile accomplishments have made him a personage of as much importance and influ- ence with the host, as with the daughter and the guests. So it certainly seems to be, judging from the long and animated dialogues they so frequently hold together — from the earnest conversation now going on between them, as they stroll yonder over the narrow dikes of the rice-fields. " The Colonel admires the gifts of the scholar and the graces of the gentleman, and these attractions have not failed to draw him toward our hero, but certain other merits, which neither Clara nor the Lieutenant have observed, have yet more won his confidence. The Colonel has found in his tutor an unlooked-for, and most welcome sympathy, in his views and habits of life, and a strange knowledge and interest, practical, no less than theoretical, in all his business occupations. He has found him thoughtful and just in his views of the social and political condition and prospects of his cherished home; and as judiciously learned in the whole subject of his agricul- tural operations, as though he had spent his life in such studies. Thus it is not surprising that the Colonel has given the tutor his esteem and confidence, even so far as to seek his sympathy and counsel in the difiiculties in vrhich, as we have hinted, his pecuniary embarrassments were involving him. It is such confidences that have elicited the dialogue in which they are at this moment engaged. Let us see what it is all about. "'And so,' says the student, thoughtfully, 'you have had recourse to the assistance of Mr. Hutton, which he has urged upon your acceptance ?' " ' With all the generous warmth of a true friend. He has his faults, my dear sir, no doubt. But he is interested in JIJlilliliiliiililIlilllllllliilW:i!»'''''''i^^ MISTLETOE HALL. 165 my fortunes, even at the expense of his own. I owe this somewhat, of course, to his love for my daughter, which you cannot have failed to observe ; though, poor fellow, there is but little hope for him. Clara does not fancy him much.' " ' And he holds your notes, at sight, too, for all these heavy sums?' persisted Mr. Lawson, as though turning a tough problem over in his perplexed thoughts. 'Have you no fear of his some day troubling you with them ?' " ' Oh, dear, no ! not the least. You wrong him. He is not that sort of man at all. It is a mere matter of form between us — the notes. With prosperous crops, I shall be at ease again in another year, and if not — why — it will only increase my obligation, which will be a pleasure, more than a disappoint- ment to him.' "So the tutor seemed to think, but he says, 'Perhaps there is no danger; but why, if you will permit me to ask, have you not rather called upon your dearer friends, of whom I have heard so much, the Danvilles?' " ' I thank you for the spirit which prompts your question, but I must beg that you will not again allude to such a thought. Once, indeed, it might have been different, but now, they are the last to whom I would turn. They, who the mo- ment adversity comes upon me, desert me!' " ' Desert you ?' • •' ' Yes : what is it, but my failing fortunes, which keeps the young Danville from hastening to fulfil the contract be- tween our families, or, at least, of making the visit he promised us?' " ' Your troubles make you unjust, my dear Colonel. This cannot be — there may be many reasons.' ' " ' Not so ! Lieutenant Hutton ' " ' The Lieutenant again ! ' \t ' 166 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. " ' Has more than once hinted as much, and he corresponds with young Mark, though he has never met him.' " ' Yes, I know,' said the tutor, with a smile, quite incom- prehensible to the good Colonel. " ' How should jou know ?' " ' Pardon me, no matter — and so Mr. Hutton thinks that Mrs. Danville and her son shun you on account of your mis- fortunes? Where have they obtained their information?' " ' That I cannot imagine, unless it be through your friend, their overseer. This seems to be Hutton's idea.' . " ' I think he is mistaken. However, such intelligence tra- vels on the air without visible carriers.' " ' It has reached their ears at any rate, and the Lieutenant has half hinted to me, that young Dan^-ille has said that I am seeking to pass a dowerless bride upon him as an heiress! You will not wonder now, why I do not ask aid from the Danvilles.' " ' This is growing serious,' said Mr. Lawson, as he knit his brows and clenched his hands angrily, ' and the scoundrel shall pay for it!' " ' Nay, nay, my friend : I do not know why I have told you all this, but I do know, that I cannot suffer you to share my quarrel with Danville, should you happen to meet.' " ' Danville ! Oh, you mistake ! It is not he of whom I am thinking.' '• ' My only consolation,' continues the Colonel, not notic- ing the musing air of his companion, 'is in the love of my daughter, who does not know, as I trust she never will know, aught of these things, and in the counsel and sympathy of ' " ' Your humble friend.' " ' That is much to me,' says the Colonel, warmly pressing the tutor's hand, 'but I referred to Madam Bernard.' MISTLETOE HALL. 167 " ' Ah, Madam Bernard ! and does she think of the Dan- villes as the Lieutenant does?' " ' On the contrary, she hopes that he is wrong.' '"Ah! she ho]}es P '"I do not understand your incredulous manner,' says the Colonel, with an inquiring look. " ' Pardon me, dear sir, if I allude to matters of a delicate nature. Have I not heard that you may, possibly, give your hand to Mrs. Danville, should your daughter wed her son?' " ' Such, indeed, was once my thought' '"And, never, while Miss Hay ward shall remain unmarried?' " ' Never ! that I have vowed.' " ' And would Madam Bernard rejoice to see your hopes fulfilled? Would there be no personal disappointment? Would ' '"No more, my dear friend, in this vein. If, as you hint. Madam Bernard has so much honoured me, she will not seek the accomplishment of her wishes by any false means. If she would, she would second, not contradict, the suspicions of the Lieutenant.' " ' Well, well, my dear Colonel. I have nothing ungallant to say of Madam, whom, indeed, I know only as a very agreeable woman; but I warn you against Lieutenant Hutton. I cannot think him so much your friend as he would seem !' " ' You are prejudiced — ^unjustly jDrejudiced.' " ' So, indeed, I may be, so I hope I am ;' says the tutor, suddenly remembering that any censure of Hutton, from his lips, may be placed to wrong motives; 'so I hope I am;' and here, where the road forks, he bids adieu to the Colonel, say- ing to himself as he walks away : — " ' Well, well ! this is a pretty mess I am brewing ; but I must even let it ferment, that I may see what spirits, good and bad, come from it I But of a certainty this Lieutenant is 168 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. a precious villain ; and I would not swear that Madam is immaculate. Neither of them will, I fear, come out of the trial unscathed. But Clara ! she, at least, is all truth and goodness ! Even should she not love the poor tutor enough to sacrifice for him all the pride and vanity she would sur- render with her hand, yet will I, at least, save her from that scoundrel Hutton ! He shall be unmasked, before I leave him !' " Thus musing, he wanders on towards the house of Mr. Granger, the overseer of the Danville estates. He does not proceed far, before his ear catches the sound of familiar voices, coming, as it seems to him, from the recesses of a jasmine arbour near by. Thinking himself at liberty, under the cir- cumstances, to play even the doubtful part of spy, he cautiously approaches the bower, and quietly putting aside the branches, is not surprised to see the Lieutenant and Clara's favourite maid, Pricilla, or 'Cilia, as she is generally called. He is curious to learn the purport of this conference, and well screened as he is by the thick leafage, no less than by the growing dusk of evening, he ventures to pause a moment and listen. The Lieutenant is speaking with impatient and vexed voice. " ' So, so, then ! in ridding ourselves of this impudent young sultan, who fancies that he has but to come and throw down his imperial handkerchief when he pleases, to set the world in a struggle as to who shall have the honour of pick- ing it up — in getting rid, I say, of Danville, we have but fallen into another difficulty!' " ' And a much, greater one, too, let me tell you,' says 'Cilia. 'Miss doesn't care a picayune.for Massa Danville, and wouldn't have had him if he had asked her ever so sweet 1' " ' And you think that she loves this itinerant pedagogue — this Mr. Lawson ! bah ! you're a fool I' MISTLETOE HALL. 169 "'Maybe, I am,' says tlie girl, witb. a sneering laugli — ' as I was when I listened to your fine talk !' " ' Pooh ! don't vex me ! What makes you think so, you little fool ?' "'Why, are they not always together? Do they not ride, read, sing, walk, talk together, all day long, from morning till night ?' " ' Oh, that is only to spite me ! She is too proud ever to think of marrying such a fellow !' " ' Spite you, indeed ! Mighty little, to be sure, she thinks of you ! And it is to spite you, I suppose, that she is always thinking of him, and talking about him in her sleep. Too proud ! Yes, she is too proud not to please herself, whatever you or anybody else may say or think. So proud is Miss Clara, that she would marry the man she loves, though all the world should laugh at her, and though she had to work with her own white hands, hard as any nigger on the planta- tion.' "'Umph,' says the Lieutenant to himself; 'that's not much! Kone of the knaves hurt themselves with labour! I should like to see them turned free for a while in the streets of Phila- delphia or Boston, where, I warrant, they would earn more kicks than coppers.' Then, turning again to the girl, — " ' Have you done as I told you, and been seen with him often ?' " ' Yes, I have.' " ' And does she suspect ?' " ' 0, ho ! that's it, aye ? That's why you wanted me to run after Master Lawson so much! I thought there was some mischief or other at the bottom of the mystery!' says 'Cilia, laughing outright at the new idea which possesses her. 'So you want to make her jealous ? Miss Clara jealous of 'Cilia ! he, he, he !' * 170 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. " ' Stop your folly !' cries Hutton, striking the girl in his fury, so that she screams with pain, " 'You kill me, you brute ! — kill me, when you should love me best !' " ' It is not I who have loved you too well ! Do you understand, girl? It will be bad for you, let me tell you, if you do not!' "As the poor girl's eyes gleam with resentful passion the man tempers his anger, and tries to speak in a gentler tone : to win her, when something tells him it will not be quite safe to command. This new tone is more successful, for she seems still to love, while she half despises, her unfeeling be- trayer. As the tryst seems to be ending, when 'Cilia reluctantly promises to do his bidding, the tutor makes a hasty but cautious retreat, and continues his walk towards the overseer's. " For a while his thoughts are wholly and happily occupied with the grateful proofs which 'Cilia's words have given him of Clara's love, and his fancy runs through a thousand gay imaginings. But a graver spirit seizes him, and he mutters as he walks — " ' Things are indeed taking a serious aspect ! I may be able to refute the calumnies against Danville, but as to the poor, friendless tutor, that is another affair. I must look to this girl ! She evidently still loves this scoundrel, despite his cruel treatment of her ; but it is as clear, too, that she is not wholly depraved, and may, be used to punish, instead of to aid, his villainy. What will come nest, I wonder I Truly I am getting to be a veritable Asmodeus, peeping into the hidden secrets of this family, so quiet to all outward appearance, and yet so turbulent within !' " His soliloquy is now interrupted by the sound of approach- ing steps, and, looking up, he meets the eye of Mr. Granger, the Danville overseer, the very man of whom he is in quest. MISTLETOE HALL. 171 "They talk together, long and gravely, but in a voice too low for our ears, even did it concern us to know the nature of their communications. As they are about to separate, the tutor still detains his friend, to tell him of the colloquy under the jasmine vines. "'Umph!' says the overseer; 'this is very bad! We must be careful, or we shall get into a snarl from which it will be rather difficult to extricate ourselves. Indeed, I am half sorry that we have ventured at all in the ' " ' No fear, my good friend !' says the tutor gaily. ' All will end well !' '"Yes, there is great fear! "What if you should lose the confidence of the Colonel ! Then Hutton's influence will be without a check, and others besides yourself may suffer.' '"That is very true; but, at the worst, I can tell him all!' " ' Too late, perhaps !' " ' Too soon, at present, anyhow,' says the tutor hopefully. " ' But be cautious,' urges the doubting overseer ; ' you have wily and unscrupulous foes to deal with.' "'What, 'Cilia?' ""Cilia! pooh! Hutton and the governess!' " ' You are persuaded, then, that Madam Bernard is con cerned in the matter?' " ' Certainly ! Does she not seek the hand of the Colonel, and will she not be glad of any means to break oif, or to delay the affair with Mrs. Danville?' " ' True ; but not that with the son, poor Mark. On the contrary, it is her cue to dispose of Miss Clara to somebody, since it is well known that the Colonel will never marry before his daughter.' " ' Of course. But that somebody is neither Danville nor yourself The Lieutenant has a plan, you remember ; and if he serves Madam, Madam must, in return, serve him. But mv >iiillliliiiliiiiliiiiijiiiiiiiiiiiiii!iiiiiiia MISTLETOE HALL. 173 from the scene. He is called away abruptly by intelligence of tlie serious illness of liis mother. In his filial anxiety every thing else is forgotten, and waiting only for the opportunity of a private interview with Clara, and Mr, Granger the overseer, he takes the earliest boat down the river to New Orleans. " His parting with the Colonel is so cordial as to allay any apprehensions which his interview with the overseer may have raised, though he does not quite understand the looks of in- telligence which pass between his host and Clara and the Lieutenant, as he makes his adieus with a kind word for each — to the numerous servants who gather around him, and par ticularly as he takes leave of 'Cilia, who seems much more affected than the occasion demands. " His host and the Lieutenant accompany him to the land- ing ; and as the boat moves off, a heavy weight seems to move from Hutton's heart, and he breathes more freely, as a smile of satisfaction crosses his lips. " ' You will, I doubt not,' says the Lieutenant, as they ride quietly homewards, ' soon see more than one good cause to congratulate yourself upon having got rid of the school- master. You observed how much the negroes seemed to like him as he bade them good-bye, and his familiarity with them. Indeed, he has always had a good deal more to say to them than he ought ; and then, you know how freely he has often spoken about the evils of our slave system.' " ' That is true. But it has been of such evils as we shall do well to remedy ; such evils as I see and condemn myself. He is sound enough in cardinal points.' " ' Of course, he would be a fool not to appear to be so ; but now that he is gone, I will tell you of some matters that, out of kindness to him — for I rather like some things about the fellow — I have thus far hesitated to reveal. I may be wrong in not speaking to you on the subject before, but I 174 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. did not wisli to bring him into trouble unnecessarily, even if he is really to blame, as, after all, he may not be.' " Why, "what new phantom frightens you, my dear boy ?' " ' No phantom. Colonel, or a very dangerous one. It is nothing less than a suspicion I have long had, that your re- spected tutor's residence here has been of no good to your servants.' " ' "Why ?' says the Colonel, in surprise. ' You have not found any real grounds for your absurd fancy that he is an abolitionist ?' " ' Nothing more,' says the Lieutenant, quietly, ' than his questionable familiarity with the negroes, and certain anti- slavery tracts which 'Cnia tells me she has seen in his room, and which I myself have found in the cabins of some of those who are able to read them.' " ' Indeed : but this is a very serious charge, and I am surprised that your mistaken kindness should have led you to keep it so long to yourself But, you must be wrong. If your other idea, that . he has been bold enough to aspire to my daughter's hand, be true, he could not at the same time seek to ruin me !' " ' 0, you do not know to what absurd lengths the fanati- cism of these people will carry them.' " ' And, Granger ! He and the tutor are strangely inti- mate! Surely, you do not think that he is concerned in any thingc of the kind !' " ' I have thought much of that, but I do not know what to make of it. But, perhaps,' continues the Lieutenant, laugh- ing, as a new fancy comes up, ' perhaps it is only an ingenious plot of theirs to injure me.' " ' Injure you ! How ?' " ' Why, by making me seem the offender ! You may lauo;h at such an idea, but now that Lawson no longer fears MISTLETOE HALL. 175 the rivalry of Mr. Danville, he would not stop at any means to get rid of me.' " The Colonel seems to enjoy this thought of the Lieu- tenant's as a capital joke, and the Lieutenant himself finds it droll enough, as they continue to discuss it, until they again reach the hall. "Little dreaming of the daring machinations against him, upon which Hutton had ventured under the security of his absence, our hero is equally astonished and exasperated, when a letter from Mr. Granger informs him of the new turn in affairs that followed the dialogue, which I have repeated, between the Colonel and the Lieutenant, as they were return- ing from the landing on the day of the tutor's departure. The overseer's communication informs his correspondent, not only of the strange suspicions against him, but, that the testimony of 'Cilia, and other servants of Madam Bernard, and the dis- covery among his baggage remaining at the hall, of inflam- matory papers, has made the doubts certainties in the belief of everybody. But there is other news in Mr. Granger's letter, which affects the reader even more than the story of the infamous slanders which Hutton has so successfully circulated; the news of the reported engagement of Clara and his rival. " ' In this gossip, at least,' says the writer, ' there is much show of truth. I fear that Hutton has not only won the heart of our credulous friend, but, that he has him in his power through the heavy loans which he has made to him, and, that he makes his power felt. Though she may seem to do so, I cannot think that Miss Hayward likes her suitor better than before, but, we do not know what sacrifice she might be led to make for her father's happiness.' " This startling intelligence, coupled with his repeated dis- appointments in Clara's neglect of her promise to write to him, fills him with most painful alarm, and makes him doubly 176 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. impatient at the circumstances wliicli have kept him so long away from the Hall. Happily, these circumstances are passed, and the renewed health of his mother permits him to return without longer delay. Advising Mr. Granger of his immediate coming, and, enjoining upon him to take no measures in his vindication, which may betray the secret between themselves, our hero is again on his way to New Orleans. '' On his arrival here, his ill-fortune seems to pursue him more tenaciously than ever. New letters from Mr. Granger inform him that the Colonel has suffered additional and crush- ing losses, in the destruction of much of his estate by the ravages of a terrible crevasse, which losses leave him wholly at the mercy of his chief creditor, Hutton ; and he is advised not to return at present, lest the violent feeling against him should endanger even his life. " This advice has, of course, no weight with him ; on the contrary, he does not lose an instant in the completion of his journey. Fortunately, he arrives at the Hall in safety, and demands to be confronted with his accusers, and to be heard in his defence. Though his old friendly greeting is wanting, the Colonel yet receives him with courtesy, and assures him that he shall have every opportunity to clear himself of the accusations against him. But it is now late, and the inquiry must be postponed until the morning. "It is a singular scene that is now before us in the old dining-room of Mistletoe Hall. Such a silent, and such a varied group has never before gathered within the cheerful walls. There sits the Colonel, with a sternness of look quite foreign to his nature. Hutton's bold and confident air is not unmixed with visible symptoms of uneasiness, particularly when his eye hap]3ens to meet the steady, composed gaze of the tutor, as he stands yonder, with haughty and indignant bearing, more befitting a judge than a culprit. Madam Ber- MISTLETOE HALL. 177 nard moves about witli marked nervousness ; and Clara, witli 'Cilia by lier side, is eagerly, tliougb sadly, awaiting tbe de- nouement of tbe scene. Mr. Granger, too, tbe overseer, is also present, quietly expectant. " As tbe Colonel signifies to tbe tutor tbat be is ready to bear bis explanation of tbe grave cbarges be bas been grieved to find so strongly preferred against bim, our bero bands bim a package of letters, addressed to Mr. Mark Danville. " ' You once told me,' says be, ' tbat Mr. Hutton, tbougb a stranger, was in correspondence witb our friend Mr. Danville. You were quite rigbt. Tbey bave corresponded during my residence bere, and you now bold all tbe Lieutenant's letters! A basty glance will sbow you tbat Mr. Hutton saved botb myself and Mr. Granger tbe trouble of informing Mrs. Dan- ville of certain matters, tbe knowledge of wbicb you suppose to bave influenced ber to tbe forgetfulness of old friendsbip. Tbey will teacb you, also, tbat if tbere really is any cbange in Mrs. Danville's or ber son's feeling towards you and your family, tbey are only sucb as you migbt expect to follow tbe curious tales wbicb Mr. Hutton's vivid fancy bas told tbem.' " Yarious cbanges pass over tbe Colonel's countenance, as be long and silently, tbougb eagerly, peruses tbe epistles. Be- wildered witb tbe stories tbey tell of tbe sinking fortunes of bis family, of bis own desire to be released from bis engage- ments to tbe Danvilles, and Clara's openly expressed contempt for Mark, be looks up inquiringly now and tben at tbe Lieu- tenant, wbo is ill at ease beneatb bis searcbing gaze. " ' A strange tale !' be says, at last, ending bis reading, ' and certainly in your band, Mr, Hutton I' "'Tbey are forgeries!' cries tbe Lieutenant, 'forgeries wbicb lie' — pointing to tbe tutor — 'bas invented to injure me and screen bimself ' " ' It is possible,' says tbe tutor, ' tbat Mr. Danville's replies 12 178 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. to these gratuitous communicationg, may be found in Mr. Hutton's possession — in his trunks, if he is not afraid to have them explored, lest at the same time there should be discovered some remains of the papers and tracts he has managed to place in my own !' " Come, come, Colonel !' says the Lieutenant, with an ill- affected air of indifference, 'this would be too insufferable if it were not too absurd ! If there are such papers in my pos- session, which is possible, since Mr. Lawson seems so well informed, it is without my knowledge, and can prove nothing except a plot for my ruin.' " ' A plot, indeed, for his ruin — a fatal plot,' says the tutor, calmly, 'but one laid with his own hands, and that of his accomplices, 'Cilia, and, I regret that I must say it, Madam Bernard !' " All eyes were now turned upon Madam, who indignantly denied the charge, but Mr. Granger now offered such conclu- sive proofs against Hutton and herself, supported by the con- fessions of 'Cilia, that the consciousness of guilt was too evident in the looks of both, to admit further doubt. "'Cilia's story, which was now retold, of the manner in which, by the Lieutenant's order. Madam Bernard and herself had distributed the condemning tracts, and had bribed the slaves to accuse the tutor, was so circumstantial, and so thoroughly corroborated by other confessions, that further ex- amination seemed qnite unnecessary, and the Colonel at once adjudged the Lieutenant to be guilty of the crimes wrongly and maliciously imputed to the tutor. The justice of this decision was well sustained by the rash and self-accusing vio- lence with which the Lieutenant turned upon the Colonel with threats of vengeance, in the immediate demand of pay- ment of the heavy bonds he held against his estate. " Colonel Hay ward hesitated for a moment at the fears MISTLETOE HALL. 179 ■wliich tliese angry threats called up in his heart, when Mr. Granger informed the rude creditor that he need be under no apprehension on that score, as he was even then prepared to satisfy all his demands, having been furnished with the necessary means by his employer, Mr. Mark Danville. " ' Such means and such instructions have long been in my hands,' Mr. Granger adds, in explanation, to the wondering Colonel, ' my own reports to Mrs. Danville and her son hav- ing led them to fear that they might at some time be needed. So you see. Colonel ITayward, that your friends have not for- gotten you.' "At this new mortification, the infuriated Lieutenant has abruptly left the Hall, and Madam Bernard, too, has withdrawn in stately indignation. The Colonel is heartily apologizing to the tutor for his false suspicions, and thanking him for the service he has done him in exposing the real character of the Lieutenant. '"And now,' cries he, joyfully, 'we may again hope to see our friend Mark ! Aye, Clara, my darling ! We must welcome him the more heartily, when he does come, in remembrance of the kind and generous service he has just offered us through Mr. Granger,' " ' I shall be glad to see Mr. Danville, father,' says Clara, as she, too, offers her hand in congratulation to the student ; ' but my heart ' '"Your heart, huzzy! Where is that, pray?' " ' Here, father, where it has long been, in the keeping of ' " ' My tutor ? Impossible ! You do not mean to say that you love ' " ' Your tutor, certainly. Colonel,' says our hero, as he draws Clara yet nearer to his side, ' but, at the same time, your — can my romance be forgiven ? — ^your friend, Mark Danville !' 180 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. " ' "Well, I'm heartily glad that the cat and I are out of the bag at last ! He speaks truly, Colonel, and is none other than what he claims to be !' cries the overseer, in a tone of glad relief ' Mark Danville, as sure as I am William Gran- ger and this old castle Mistletoe Hall !' " We need not depict the general wonder and delight at this extraordinary revelation ; the explanations and excuses which our hero makes about the fancy which prompted him to pay his court to Clara, unprejudiced pro or con by adven- titious circumstances ; the pardons which are accorded to him ; the suspicions, ' all along,' that he was not exactly what he seemed, which suddenly come to everybody's memory ; or, finally, the closer reunion which at a later day takes place between the seemingly estranged families of the Danvilles and of Mistletoe Hall." At the conclusion of Mr. Yermeille's history our guests prepared to depart, but lingered yet awhile longer to hear a highly moral sequel, in which Mr. Brownoker dealt most poetical justice to the fugitives. Madam Bernard and Lieu- tenant Hutton, whom he thought the narrator had suffered to escape too easily. CHAPTER IX. " If you have sufficiently drained the Mississippi, gentle- men," said Mr. Deepredde, putting a sudden stop, with the authoritative rap of his official knuckles, to the irrelevant talk of our assembled guests, " we will make our way, via the Mis- souri, yet further into the heart of the great West. Here we have some pictures by the admirable painter-naturalist, Karl Bodmer, delightfully suggestive of wild adventure and stirring sport." "Ah, ah, 'The Elkhorn Pyramid'*— ' Herds of Bisons on the Upper Missouri ' " — read Mr. Megilp, scanning the graphic drawings which now passed round the board. " Appetizing texts, indeed ! Flakewhite may muse, and ' smile,' if he will, by the grassy edge of the cag^d fountain, or Yermeille may plot mis- chief in the shade of his umbrageous oaks ; but give me the music of the rifle in the untrodden wilderness, and let me gossip with the red-man, the bison, and the bear. What is the crackle of anthracite to the blaze of the burning prairie, or the strains of a guitar compared with the jocund serenade * Fronting Chapter I. 182 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. of hungry wolves ! Here, far away from tile conventionalities and the artificial needs and cares of life, is the place* for gennine enjoyment. Here, where your trusty gun may bring you dainty meats for food and warm skins for clothing, be- yond which you feel no other wants !" "Your conception of the spirit and poetry of our present neighbourhood is the true one," said Mr. Deepredde ; " for though the westward course of empire is rapidly scattering the seeds of other characteristics than those of forest life over the whole vast area of the wild plains which border the Missouri, their chiefest features are still those of Nature in her wild primitive life. Looking then, as we always should, for the individualities of the lands we visit, it is as proper that we be hunters and trappers west of the Mississippi, as that we should play the role of courtly gentlemen in Broadway. The travellers of the next generation will find a very different spirit in this our "Western landscape, so rapid is the growth and extension of the population here. A few years hence, and Mr. Megilp will almost forget that he ever chased the buffalo over the plains which he will then find covered with peaceful firesides and smiling gardens. Such is the certain prediction of the weird voice of the impetuous locomotive, impatient to traverse the gorges of the Rocky Mountains ; so says the murmur of that great city growing on the margin of the far-off Salt Lake ; and such is the significance of the angry contentions, rife at this hour in our National Legislature, for the possession of the desert wilds of remote Nebraska. "And now, gentlemen, with this perhaps too long exordium, we will make a hasty survey of the present physical aspect of the boundless regions commanded by the interminable Mis- souri and its many great afiluents." "Megilp," said Professor Scumble, "has travelled the coun- try all over, and is just the showman we want." GATES OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. 183 " I will soon make tlie voyage for you," said that gentle- man, in read_w response to the Professor's demand, " though it is not a very short one, being no less than four thousand miles from the springs whence the great river flows to its confluence with the Mississippi. Though there are, of course, many points of extraordinary interest in all this long transit, yet, for hundreds of miles, the scenery is monotonous and stupid enough. "We must, however, expect Nature to nod a little in such a jaunt. Here the waters roll through vast stretches of arid and sterile land, and yonder they are bor- dered, on either shore, by the rich alluvial fringe of the prairie meadoAvs. Each of these prevailing aspects is interesting enough while novel to the eye, and the wearying excess of them may well be borne in consideration of the beauty of the bold bluffs, and yet more charming surprises, with which their monotony is frequently relieved. " Such a surprise is the wonderful scenery at the famous 'Grates of the Eocky Mountains,' four hundred miles below the source of the river. Here, through a passage of a couple of leagues, the giant rocks rise perpendicularly from the water's edge to the towering height of twelve hundred feet. For miles, the dark waters in their narrow bed wash the base of these huge walls, so closely that not a foot-hold is anywhere to be found. It is a ghostly gorge on the sunniest day; but when its habitual gloom is deepened by the shadow of a stormy sky, its sentiment of solitude grows painfully impressive. Let a thunder-peal reverberate, as often happens, in a thousand wailing voices through the rocky windings of the glen, and let the blackness of darkness be increased by the vanished gleam of the lightning flash, and you think you have left this fair world far behind you. " I was once, with some friends, traversing this passage at such a fearful moment as I have described, when we became 184 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN" LANDSCAPE. aware that we were pursued by a party of Indians. ISToise- lessly and breathlessly we urged on our canoes, pausing at intervals only to ascertain the progress of our foes, hope and despair alternately filling our hearts as we seemed, at one moment, to be gaining, and, at another, losing ground. It was only now and then that we caught a glimpse of the savages, and the sound of their unceasing and unearthly yells came to our ears with such uncertainty, that it gave us no clue to their position. The excitement of the struggle was intense as their random arrows flew about our ears, and as the deadly effect of our fatal shots was told to us in the death-cries from their own ranks. "We took fresh courage, as the increasing light spoke our approach to the terminus of the glen, and gave us hope, once on terra firma, of distancing our foes. New fears, though, seized upon us, lest our scanty supply of ammunition should be exhausted before we reached the prayed-for sanctuary. Happily the dread vanished, as the arrows of the savages sen- sibly decreased in numbers, and the chorus of their infernal shrieks died away. " When we at last leaped panting upon the open shore, not a sound of pursuit was to be heard, leaving us the glad hope that we had slain them all, or so many as to secure us from further danger. But not stopping to verify this sup- position, we made all possible haste to reach the camp which we had so gaily left a few hours before. Once safe among our companions, we mentally vowed to be wary henceforth how we ventured within the Gates of the Eocky Mountains ! "But I am forgetting my office of topographer. Some hundred miles or so below these colossal Gates — I wish Samp- son had been with us at the time of the adventure I have narrated, that he might have toppled them down on the heads of our rascally pursuers — ^is yet another scene of equally grand THE FAR WEST. 185 tliougli very different character — the ' Great Falls,' a worthy peer of Niagara itself The river at this point descends, by a succession of cascades and rapids, no less than three hun- dred and fifty-seven feet in sixteen miles. The perpendicular falls, commencing down the stream, are first, one of eighty- seven feet, and others, successively, of nineteen, forty-seven, and twenty-six feet. Between and below these are continual rapids, from three to eighteen feet descent. " Below the Great Falls there is no serious obstacle to navi- gation, excepting in the shallowness of the waters during seasons of drought. At such periods the steamboats often meet Avith much difficulty in ascending the river. The current of the Missouri is much stronger than that of the Mississippi, and so turbid as to have given it its name, meaning ' mud river.' " Numerous as are the objects of interest in the landscape of this section of our country, which tourists have already dis- covered, there are doubtless yet hidden within the mountain fastnesses, many undreamed-of wonders, whose fiime is still to be made. We must remember that Missouri is a new State, and its tributary country still a wild and unexplored region. Its great capital city of St. Louis is described in the Gazetteer of Dr. Beck, no longer ago than in 1823, as ' a flourishing post-town !' " Not taking into account that omnipotent ' manifest des- tiny,' to which we all so confidently look for many grand results, besides the settlement of our whole Western territory, Missouri possesses sources of wealth which must make her march to power quick and notable. She has a magnificent area of productive soil, suitable for every species of vegetation, excepting that of the tropics, and an abundance and variety of mineral stores already famous the world over. " All this for the future — for the present, this grand terri- tory is a perfect paradise to the hunter, yielding him in abuu- 186 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. dance every species of game, from partridges to panthers, from prairie liens to shaggy buffaloes." " There is one very striking feature of this region, which Megilp has very strangely omitted to mention," said the Pro- fessor, recalling the gossip which was straying towards other subjects, when Mr. Megilp intimated the close of his story. " I allude to the marvellous fissures which sometimes so suddenly open in the immense arid plains or steppes, that stretch down by such slow and imperceptible descent from the snowy peaks of the Eocky Mountains. I find a graphic description of these remarkable scenes, in Mr. 'Kendall's Santa Fe Expedition,' which you will, perhaps, permit me to read. The traveller is passing the grand Piano JEstacado, which sweeps from the base of the mountains to the head waters of the Arkansas and other rivers. He has already wended his wandering way through one of these fearful chasms, and is rejoicing to find himself once more on the open sun-lit prairie, when, without the slightest intimation in tree or shrub of a change in the monotonous landscape before him, he finds himself at the mouth of a yawning gorge, which exceeded in grandeur any- thing he had yet beheld. " ' One by one,' he says, ' we left the double-file ranks, and lost in amazement, rode up to the verge of the terrible abyss. In depth, it could not be less than eight hundred feet, was from three to five hundred yards in width, and at the point where we first struck it, the sides ^were nearly perpendicular, A sickly sensation was felt by all as we looked down, as it were, into the depths of the earth. In the dark and narrow valley below, an occasional spot of green relieved the eye, and a small stream of water now rising to the view, then sinking beneath some huge rock, was foaming and bubbling along. Immense walls, columns, and, in some places, Avhat appeared to be arches, were seen standing, modelled by the wear of the THE FAR WEST. 187 water, nudoubtedly, yet so perfect in form that we could with difficulty be brought to believe that the hand of man had not fashioned them. The rains of centuries falling upon our immense prairies had here formed a reservoir, and their work- ings upon the different veins of earth and stone had made these strange and fanciful shapes. " ' Before reaching the chasm, we had crossed numerous large trails leading a little more to the west than we were travelling ; and the experience of the previous day had led us to suppose that they all terminated at a common crossing- near by. In this conjecture we were not disappointed, for a trot of half an hour brought us into a large road, the tho- roughfare, along which millions of Indians, buffaloes, and mustangs had evidently travelled for years. Perilous as the descent appeared, v/e well knew that there was no other near. The leading mule was again urged forward, the steadier and older horses were next driven over the sides, and the more skittish and intractable brought up the rear. Once in the narrow path which led circuitously down the descent, there was no turning back, and our half maddened animals finally reached the bottom in safety. Several large stones were loosened from their fastenings by our men during this frightfal descent; these would leap, dash, and thunder down the pre- cipitous sides, and strike against the bottom far below us, with a terrific and reverberating crash. " * We found a running stream on reaching the lower end of the chasm, on the opposite of which was a romantic dell, covered with short grass and a few scattered cotton-woods. A large party of Indians had encamped on this very spot a few days previous, the wilted limbs of the trees, and other signs, showing that they had made it a resting place. We, too, halted a couple of hours to give our horses an opportunity to graze and rest themselves. The trail, which led up on the 188 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. opposite side, was discovered only a short distance above ns, to the south, winding up the steep and rugged sides of the acclivity, " ' As we journeyed along this dell, all were again struck with admiration at the strange and fanciful figures made by the washing of the waters during the rainy season. In some places perfect walls, formed of reddish clay, were seen standing, and were they anywhere else, it would be impossible to be- lieve that other than the hand of man had formed them. The veins of which these walls were composed were of even thick- ness ; very hard, and ran perpendicularly ; and, when the softer sand which had surrounded them was washed away, the veins still remained standing upright, in some places a hundred feet high, and three or four hundred in length. Columns, too, were there, and such was their appearance of architectural order, and so much of chaste grandeur was there about them, that we were lost in wonder and admiration. Sometimes the breastworks, as of forts, would be plainly visible; then, again, the frowning turrets of some castle of the olden time. Cum- brous pillars of some mighty pile, such as is dedicated to religion or royalty, were scattered about ; regularity was strangely mingled with disorder and ruin, and Nature had done it all. Niagara has been considered one of her wildest freaks, but Niagara sinks into insignificance when compared with the wild grandeur of this awful chasm — this deep abys- mal solitude, as Carlyle would call it. Imagination carried us back to Thebes, to Palmyra, and to ancient Athens, and we could not help thinking that we were now among their ruins.' " His passage out of this place, Mr, Kendall tells us, was made with the greatest difficulty, after being completely shut out from the world during six long hours. When he again found himself upon the level prairie, and, after proceeding HUNTING THE BUFFALO. 189 some hundred yards, looked back, not a trace of the immense chasm could he discover." "It is," said Mr. Megilp, "one of the favourite modes of hunting the " " Pardon me for interrupting you a moment," said the chair- man, "but I would remark, before the conversation turns from the topography of our subject, that, having already travelled so far westward, it would be very agreeable could we cross the snow-covered crests of the great Eocky Mountains, and, after a peep at the wonders of California and Oregon, look out upon the wastes of the Pacific. Despite the but partial explorations yet made of these wild territories, enough of beauty and interest has already been found, to lure thither the hunter of the picturesque, in the teeth of all the dangers and difficulties of the journey. I should like to look upon the * stern and rock-bound coast ' of our newly -found Dorado, and watch the rising and the setting of the sun from the crests of her mighty hills, clad in everlasting snow. Think, gentlemen, of the Cascade Mountains of Oregon, with an elevation of four- teen thousand feet ! There's a morning stroll for you ! After such a feat, you might do the Camel's Hump, or Mount Wash- ington, in a quiet evening walk ! Then, there are the Grand Dalles or basaltic precipices of the Columbia river, in its pas- sage through these same giant hills; and I know not what other marvellous things ; no one knows, as yet. Years hence long after we shall have laid down our worn-out pencils, the artists of America will revel in the rich beauties of this now unknown Western world. "Now, Megilp, if your speech has not spoiled by keeping," continued the chairman, "let us hear what you have to say about the buffaloes." " It is a common method of hunting those animals, among the prairie tribes, I was about observing, to drive the infuriated 190 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. herds over the edges of those great chasms, of which Professor Scumble has been talking, where, bounding from crag to crag down to the dark bed of the horrible abjss, their torn carcasses are heaped up in frightful hecatombs of death. " Another process of securing the buffalo, is that knoAvn as the ' Prairie Surround.' Mr. Webber, in his admirable book about 'Wild Scenes and Wild Hunters,' graphically describes this mode of hunting. 'The widely scattered line of the sur- round,' he says, 'inclosing some valley containing a herd, is rapidly closed up by the yelling warriors composing it, who drive the frightened animals from its circumference, urging towards a centre, where, precipitated in the headlong crush upon each other, the helpless mass sways, bellowing, while amidst the cloud-dusts of their collision, the forms of the war- riors, who have leaped from their horses upon the backs of the buffaloes, may be dimly seen treading the horned tumult with fierce gestures, and wielding the long lance as a rope- dancer does his balance pole, with the slight difference, that with nearly every step they thrust its sharp point down through joint and marrow, between the spine and scull of some new victim, whose shaggy back they have but pressed in passing with their moccasined feet. Thousands are thus slaughtered in a few minutes. This scene, as weird and wild as it is real, tamed, by contrast, all midnight phantasmagoria, beneath the blaze of noon-tide." "Megilp has no doubt slaughtered many an infuriated bull, in his day," said Mr. Brownoker; "perhaps managed an entire 'surround,' all alone. He is a 'mighty hunter' before— him- self! What say you, gentlemen, shall we have megilp's experience in buffalo-hunting. 191 " To tell the truth," answered Nimrod, " I never accom- plished much in the buffalo line, having attempted it only once, and then with but indifferent success. Indeed, I believe that I rather lost, than gained, by the operation. We had pitched our tent near the edge of a great prairie, on the eve of an eventful day, and our hearts leaped at the approaching realization of that most romantic hope of forest-life, a buffalo- hunt. As we sat, to a late hour, talking, in the quiet moon- light, of the valiant deeds the morrow was to witness, a half incredulous, half sneering smile would come occasionally to the grim lips of the swarthy rangers, whom we had secured as guides and tutors. With the thousand cautions and hints which they gave us touching the process of the expected chase, they maliciously mixed up many tales of bloody mis- adventure, which might have intimidated less resolute souls than ours. " When we sallied eagerly forth, under the glittering light of an early morning sun, our warlike aspect — armed as we were, some with lances pointed with sharp blades, others with mur- derous rifles, and others, again, with that yet more fatal weapon — when in skilful hands — the Indian bow — contrasted vividly with the quiet sentiment of the verdant plains over which we were moving, glittering and redolent as the happy landscape was, with the rainbow-beauty and the Araby odours of myriad beautiful flowers. It did not seem possible that so smiling an Eden could be the home of creatures uncouth and wild as the burly bison; still less, that it could ever be the terrible theatre of such scenes of deadly struggle as that we were anticipating. 192 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. " For a while, as we vainly looked for signs of the enemy, we felt that the time and scene were indeed unsuited to our cruel purpose; but there, at last, far away across the broad savannah, looking in the hazy distance like a small black cloud upon the horizon, were the grazing herds, quite uncon- scious of the fate awaiting them — and so they continued to be, as, spurring our trusty nags, we scoured the plain in hot pursuit. It was not until we had approached quite near to them, that they became aware of their danger; when suddenly pausing in their rough gambols, they raised a bellowing thun- der of affright, and dashed in mad panic over the prairies. Now, indeed, we felt that we were in that fairy land of which our childhood and youth had so often and so wildly dreamed: and when the first clear ring of the rifle, was followed by the death roar and heavy fall of a ponderous bull, and a perfect frenzy of blind terror had seized upon the swaying herds, we forgot . everything, but the all-absorbing passion of the hour. Blood, blood, was the terrible cry of our hungry souls, as if we had never had gentler nutriment in all our life. On we bounded, now after, now in the midst of the maddened brutes. Carcass after carcass fell panting upon the torn and trampled plain, under the fatal balls, or the no less sure lances of the veterans of our party: but as yet neither my amateur compan- ions nor myself had done more than keep out of the way of the ugly beasts. " This ' masterly inactivity,' said I to myself at last, may have answered well enough for Fabius, but will never do for Megilp ! And raising a mental cry of ' Liberty or death !' I put after an astounding creature, big and black as the devil himself. " ' Only chuck a little salt on his tail, and you'll get him sartain,' cried an old ranger, sarcastically, as he observed the culmination of my desperate purpose. megilp's experience in buffalo-hunting. 193 " ' Sing liim a liymn ; give him " Old Hundred" in bis right ear,' shouted another, maliciously, ' that '11 fetch him at wonst, sure as snags,' " ' Coax him gentle, and you'll saddle him nice,' laughed a third, as an unlooked for lunge of the creature, brought him so near to me, that for an instant, half losing my seat, I fell upon his shaggy back. In a twinkling, however, I shied off, and raising my 'weapon,' let fly both the barrels at once, with such unexpected success, that down came the buffalo with a bel low and a crash, that made me for an instant, think that the prairie had ' bust.' Unfortunately, though, he keeled over the wrong way, and dropped plump under my horse's nose, placing me in imminent jeopardy of impalement on his ugly horns. I began to feel a higher esteem for Fabius, when a timely arrow whizzed by my swimming head, and entering that of my victim, saved my life — but not my breeches. The 'en- vious Casca' had made sad work there, and the laugh which I had levelled, not long before, at the grotesque costume of our guide, was now, most vexatiously turned back upon myself "'Ain't the gentleman afeard of catching cold?' asked one tenderly. " ' I'm blasted sorry I ain't got a handkerchief to lend him,' said another with almost tearful sympathy. '"What a pictur' he'd be in the settlements,' added a third. "'Never mind, don't cry,' said a fourth. 'It's rayther un- pleasant of course. But the hide will make you a new pair, and one more to be depended on than them woman's duds.' " However, I managed to bear up against all this laughing raillery, when I considered how much worse the event might have been ; and other thoughts drew the attention of my com- rades from my misadventure. Then the chase over, there fol- lowed the preparations for taking care of the fruits — I mean 13 194 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. tlie meats of our butchery, and tlie care of concocting the re- past, for wliicli our appetites were so well sharpened. '"But I assure you, gentlemen,' said Mr. Megilp, as he closed his anecdote, " I never sacrificed another pair of trow- sersat a buffalo-hunt." CHAPTER X. " In our passage homeward from tlie far West, we shall find it very desirable, if not necessary, to traverse the waters of the beautiful Ohio," said Mr. Deepredde, " and this episode will not, I assure you, gentlemen, prove the least interesting in our journey. " Did the scenery of la belle rivihe not offer to the eye so many a winding bout of linked loveliness as we delight in here, there is yet matter for a world of pleasing thought in the contemplation of the prosperous fortunes of the many great States which lie upon its banks, and whose resources it has so much served to develop. As we sail, we gaze in charmed surprise, upon the thriving towns and the fertile fields of Illinois and Indiana, Ohio and Kentucky, all wilder- nesses half a century ago, and now "holding, in wealth, popula- tion, and power, the highest rank among the nations of our vast confederacy. I must confess that I should like to dwell long upon this glorious picture of human enterprise and happi- ness, but that such a portrait, however seductive, would carry us beyond the scope of these reunions. And I am impatient, moreover, to read to you a graphic description of the pictorial 196 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. attraction of our river, in some extracts from an unpublished letter to our estimable host. The writer is an intelligent lover of Nature,* and is thoroughly familiar with the scenes of which he speaks. " ' John Eandolph,' he says, ' had the misfortune upon his only trip to the Ohio, to find, going and coming, ice upon one occasion, and low water upon the other. ' So this is your beautiful river !' he cried ; ' frozen one half of the year, and dried up during the other !' But this sarcastic note of our grumbling Virginian must be taken with a due degree of allowance for his usual extravagant style. Though the Ohio is not as free from ice as the Eio Grande, nor as deep as the Hudson, yet it was not inaptly that the early French explorers called it ' the beautiful river.' " ' For a thousand miles it flows from the rising towards the setting sun, in almost the same parallel of latitude, and, while it has not the broad, sweeping banks of the Mississippi, not the palisaded heights and the bold mountain borders of the Hudson, each shore offers a grateful medium between the abruptness of the one, and the level monotony of the other. " ' Two long Ikes of gentle hills mark its course from its source, almost without interruption, to its confluence with the father of waters; between these two picturesque ranges, it pursues its quiet way, undisturbed, excepting at Louisville, by rapid or cascade whatever. The bed of the stream is usually a yellow sand, thickly sprinkled with blue and gray pebbles, with occasionally a few shells of periwinkle and bivalve mus- cles, which being left upon the sand-bars by the falling of the waters in August and September, afford a rare feast for the crows and the congregations of buzzards, who wheel and circle gracefully through the sultry autumnal air, or sit upon the * W W. Fosdick, Esq. DIAMOND ISLAND. 197 dead boughs of tall trees, sunning their outstretched wings. At this season may also be seen poised in mid air upon flapping pinions, like a king-fisher, the great fish-hawk, who often, through cowardice, loses his game to the bald eagle, the monarch of all that feathered world. Here and there, knee deep in the slow current, the blue heron stalks carefully along in fear of frightening his victims, the buffalo-perch or the red-horse, which are waving their fins as they lie sucking upon the bottom ; or standing upon some snag which protrudes from the water, is the lesser bittern, drawn up into the smallest possible space, apparently fast asleep; but let some uncon- scious minnow or silver-side unfortunately swim by, and in an instant an arrowy neck is shot out, and Mr. Silver-side snapped up by our sleepy acquaintance. " ' The banks of the Ohio are, perhaps, more indebted for their beauty to the majestic forests with which they are clothed than to any other feature ; and, like great emeralds set in the silver stream, the exquisite islands which dot all its course, are the best evidence of the rich alluvion that has fed these forests from time untold. Civilization has made, and is makino- many ravages and inroads upon the beauty of these islands, but those who have seen them in their primitive state can never forget their charms. Blennerhasset's Island is a famous and favourite spot, but the crown-jewel in this cluster of the Ohio brilliants, is the beautiful Diamond Island in the vicinage of Louisville. " ' This island is a microcosm of the valley of the Ohio — an arboreal and floral epitome of its productions. I saw it when not an axe had touched its primeval forest growth, nor the foot of domestic cattle crushed the green watery leaves which covered the ground. Here, in the latter end of April or the beginning of May — according as the season was hot or cold — could be seen a sight, in the way of flowers, which surpasses 198 THE ROHANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. fable. Over an area half a mile in widtli and two miles in breadth, stretched one unbroken bed of blossoms — one mass of multi-coloured bloom. Stately Indian turnips held up their striped purple tulip bowls ; bright yellow golden-cups touched glasses, and drank the morning dew with the broad-leaved blue-bells. A carpet of violets, azure, white, and gold, over- laid the dark floor of this beautiful island ; and with dainty crow-feet, red-spiked pinks, and such familiar flowers, were commingled a multitude of strange and nameless blossoms of rarest form and hue. But it is in its forest trees that this spot presented the most wondrous sight; here the pawpaw — usually but a shrub — rose from out this rich soil to the high dignity of its proudest woody peers, and mingled its broad green leaves and brown blossoms with the box elder, the water-willow, and the red-bud ; while rising far above these, and towering to a height which no tree ever attains in the eastern portion of our Union, could be seen the black-berry, the cotton-wood, the black walnut, the red elm, the white-armed hollow sycamore, and that glorious monarch of all Western trees, the gigantic yellow poplar — often five feet in diameter and a hundred and fifty feet in height — rose here in its full majesty. But to those who have never seen the original forests of the "West, it will be impossible to convey an idea of the extent and luxuriance of the wild grape vine. Every tree was interlaced with its winding folds, and its great tendrils, frequently more than a hundred feet in length, disported themselves in the sunshine upon the crowns of the tallest trees ; or, when winter had stripped the forest of its foliage, the clustering frviit hung thickly in purple bunches; while, like trees of very fire, the Indian arrow bushes flamed through all the island, with their scarlet berries, giving a most startling and brilliant effect in times of snow. " ' But these scenes are passing ; the primitive forests melt THE CAVE IN THE ROCK. 199 away ; the deer is no longer to be seen bounding through the yellow blooming spice-wood bushes ; the black and glossy wild turkey cannot be seen scratching among the dry leaves for beech-nuts; nor is the thunder of the pheasant's drum to be heard upon the mossy log at even-tide. " ' The raftsmen who used to come down lazil}^ upon their loads of lumber and shingles, floating with the tide, are dis- appearing ; and with them, the flat-boatmen and the wood- boatmen are fast being lost sight of, as their predecessors the keel-boatmen have been long since; steamboats have taken their place, and the old fellows who used to wind their long tin horns and send their merry music up through the hills, have vanished, feeling, that for them, " Othello's occupation's gone !" " ' The last of these pioneers of the waters of the Ohio that I saw, was the old knot of fishermen who used to camp upon the pebbly sand-bar which stretched up from the head of Diamond Island — in their weather-beaten tent, drawing their seines by night, and hunting or sleeping by day. But the gray squirrel that fed upon the walnuts, and the wild pigeons that plucked the purple clusters of the grape, are gone. The game, too, has fled, and the idle, harmless hunters and fishers with their blue striped or red flannel shirts are to be seen there no more. The axe has been busy. Cattle and hogs have trodden upon the wild flowers' richest bed, and the bloom has gone from Nature's garden forever. Art cannot restore it. Cultivation and science may make new plants to spring up, but the Eden beauty of the scene is past away, beyond the ingenuity of man to restore. Its vanished loveliness, though, will ever dwell in my memory, as the Hesperian Island of the Occident.' '' " Our correspondent has made no mention," said Mr. Brown- oker, "of the notable object on the Ohio which forms the study of our evening's sketch. The famous cave in the rock 200 THE KOMANCE OF AMEKICAN LANDSCAPE. is one of the curiosities of Illinois. Its grand mural portico, presents, as we approach, a very picturesque aspect. "We en- ter the cavern, under a semicircular arch of about eighty feet span, and twenty-five feet in height, and, ascending gradually from the bed of the river, we are enabled to penetrate readily to the terminus, at a distance of less than two hundred feet. Though the scene is one of no slight pictorial beauty, its great attraction lies in the tales which it tells of adventure and crime. At different periods it has been the dreaded haunt of various bands of murderous vagabonds. In years gone by, the stout-hearted boatmen of the Ohio passed the lawless spot with nervous trepidation." "Speaking of caverns, a common commodity hereabouts," said Mr. Asphaltum, "we are now on the threshold of the great Mammoth Cave, the boast of Kentucky. This surpri- sing freak in the handiwork of Nature is one of the most re- markable of its class in the world. Its spacious chambers must have made fitting dens and lairs for the mastodons and other giant animals which once flourished here. It is the wondering work of days to follow the windings of this mighty Tartarus, and examine its numberless chambers, galleries, sta- lactites, mounds, and streams. It has been explored for many dark miles, without any sign of a terminus. The scale of this strange subterranean architecture, may be inferred from the grand dimensions of its stupendous halls ; one of which covers an area of two acres, and is arched by a single rocky dome a hundred and twenty feet in height. This famous cave is the resort, not only of the curious lover of Nature, but of invalids who seek the benefit of its equable temperature. Human bones are found here to such extent, as to lead to the belief that the cave was a place of sepulture to the races which formerly occupied the land." " Kentucky," said Mr. Blueblack, " is deservedly honoured KENTUCKY. 201 with the possession of this wondrous scene. This hardj State is the oldest of the Western nations, and the most attractive of the Ohio group, both in picturesque charms and in historical record. Under the indomitable Boone, Kentucky led the peril- ous van in the settlement of this region, suffering for her sister States all the fearful hardships and bloody wounds which are ever the lot of the bravest. It is a thrilling story, that of her early life: dyed with the blood of her ill-fated people. " The physical aspect of the country is, in many parts, of remarkable interest, displaying long ranges of mountain height; while the noble rivers which she sends into the Ohio, far excel, in beauty, any portion of that great water. The Kanawha, which we visited while in Virginia, the Cumberland, the Tennessee, the Kentucky, and the famous " Salt Kiver," of political waggery, all, at intervals, abound in noble themes for the pen and the pencil. I do not remember ever to have seen a more inspiring sight than that which I once enjoyed, gazing abroad from "the summit of the Lookout Mountain, in the ex- treme north-western nook of Georgia, over a rich and limitless valley where flowed the winding waters of the Tennessee! The Kentucky Eiver, in its long course, makes many grand passes through the hills, forming rich examples of wild river view — chasm, crag, and waterfall : you remember, perhaps, Mr. Willis's glowing, yet truthful memories of a recent visit to the banks of the Kentucky. " The States bordering on the northern shore of the Ohio — Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio itself — do not possess any very striking pictorial interest beyond the novel impressions which tlie stranger will receive gazing upon the great flowered prai- ries. To Illinois may be applied much of what has been said here about the Mississippi Valley, of which it is a portion. The shores of the Illinois Eiver offer, here and there, bluffs of commanding heights; famous among which are the sandstone 202 THE EOMANCE OF AMEEICA?>r LANDSCAPE. precipices of Starved Rock, The Lover's Leap, and Buffalo Eock. The "Cave" of our portfolio, as we have said, apper- tains to the domain of Illinois. " In Indiana, the chief notabilities are the specimens of those subterranean abodes so abundant in the "VYest. The great cavern called the Wyandotte, is claimed to rival the grandeur even of the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky. The Wabash, the principal river, flows chiefly through table and swamp lands, and comes in the same pictorial category as the streams of the South West. Here is that famous battle ground of Tippecanoe, where General Harrison repulsed the Shawnees in 1811, and won a watchword to beat the Democrats in the Presidential struggle of 1841 — ^for all remember, gentlemen, the magic refrain of 'Tippecanoe and Tyler too!' Lake Michi- gan skirts the north-western part of Indiana for some forty miles, and opens to it the valuable commerce of our vast in- land seas." " Apropos," said Mr. Deepredde, "Blueblack's allusion to the Great Lakes reminds me that we shall not find a better oppor- tunity than the present, to make the hasty visit due from us to the States of their vicinage. Here we shall shake hands with little Michigan, not a very handsome lass, and with buxom Wisconsin, and her Western neighbour, the younw Iowa. The surface of the last mentioned States is generallyniomposed of great rolling prairies — the pastures where the Great Spirit of the red-men feeds his flocks and herds of buffalo, and elk, and deer. Wisconsin is fruitful in objects of antiquarian in- terest: earth-works fashioned in the shape of men and animals, and evidently the achievement of races, antecedent to our Indian tribes. At Aztalan, there is a venerable fortification, five hun- dred and fifty yards long, nearly three hundred feet wide, and between four and five in height. Another work, resembling a man in a recumbent attitude, one hundred and twenty feet {7^. ^ ^C^'l THE FAR WEST. 203 long, and tbirtj feet across the trunk, is to be seen near the blue mounds. And at Prairie, another, like unto a turtle, fifty-six feet in length ! Some of these remains resemble the extinct mastodon, while others are so defaced, as to entirely obscure the design of the architects. A part of that beautiful expansion of the Mississippi, called Lake Pepin, lies in this State. Among the links of the mural precipices, which en- close the waters of Lake Pepin, is the celebrated Maiden's Eock, a charming cliff of five hundred feet, which Mr. As- phaltum forgot to show on his panorama of the Mississippi. Nearly all the rivers of Wisconsin present attractive pictures of rapid, and waterfall, and mural bluff: and like the Territory of Minnesota, too, of pond and lake. "In the last mentioned feature, Minnesota is wonderfully rich. The north-eastern corner of the map of this Territory is completely riddled with the little black holes which stand for these sparkling eyes of Nature. Not to mention Lakes Supe- rior and Michigan, on its northern and eastern boundaries, respectively, there is Lake Pepin, the Lake of the Woods, Eainy Lake, Eed, Devil, and Spirit Lakes, and many others. These clear pebbly waters sometimes cover an area of no less than forty miles. "Minnesota, too, has many picturesque rivers, flowing into the Missouri on her western limits, eastward into the Missis sippi, and northward into Hudson's Bay. "In Michigan, there are many small lakes, Avhich give beauty, here and there, to her generally flat and uninteresting surface. The Straits of Mackinaw, which divide the northern and southern peninsulas, and connect the waters of Lake Michi- gan and Lake Huron, are replete with attractive scenery. The bold shores of the Island of Mackinaw in these Straits, rise to a perpendicular height of nearly two hundred feet. Not far off, is the narrow channel of St. Mary's, linking the floods of 204 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. Huron and Lake Superior, and opening to us a view of the far-famed Pictured Rocks, formed of parti-coloured sand-stone, and calling up dreams of vanished or fabled architecture, in their fantastic fashionings." " The Pictured Rocks," said Mr. Megilp, the talk here coming to a halt ; " that reminds me of an adventure of mine, thereabouts, which, if you are, as I think jou must be, tired with your long travel, I will relate. It promised to be a squally affair, but turned out S;otI]hg after ^IL " You remember what I said to you, at Tallulah, about my propensity to quiz the natives, in assuming all sorts of charac- ters and professions? At the time to which I now refer, I took a fancy to be deaf as a post, making it necessary for my companion, and all whom I met, to bellow like bulls, in order that I might hear and understand them. In this way I often sorely perplexed and confused the worthy people. Thus, our hostess would ask if I liked my tea seasoned — referring to a proposed admixture of sugar and cream — when I would very innocently tell her that they were all very well when I left home, excepting the twins, who were teething, and had the measles terrible hard. " ' No, no ! not the children ! I asked, ' would you like ' " ' Thirteen altogether, at present, and a good prospect for more, thank you ! As likely a looking squad of boys and girls as you would wish to see very near you. Though, to be sure, the twins are ' " ' You must speak loud, madam,' my friend would say, in- NOTHING AFTER ALL. 205 terposiug at such moments. ' He is very deaf, and can scarcely liear a thunder storm.' " Retiring one evening to my quarters, in a wayside hut, after a play of this sort, I found myself separated from the bed of some fellow travellers, only by a scanty wooden partition, so slight that, despite my deplorable deafness, I could dis- tinctly hear every word they uttered. " Now I did not particularly fancy this close neighbour- hood, for we had met these men before on our journey, and taken a decided and distrustful aversion to them. Why, I know not, beyond the generally suspicious style of their physi- ognomies. It was only the day previous, that they had watched me with curious eyes, while I was making a trade for a horse, to supply the place of one I had just lost. I thought then that my well-filled purse was a grateful object of contempla- tion to them. They had, too, asked a very long blessing at the supper table, which did not reassure me, and scarcely less, the manner in which they kept apart from the rest of the family through the evening. " Arranging my pillow, I resolved to keep my eyes and ears open for a while, and, if possible, learn a little more of these unknown gentry; a resolve which was not abandoned, when I heard one of them caution the other against talking so loud as to awaken the man^ in the next room — meaning my watchful self — and the answer, that there was no danger, since I was too deaf to hear even Gabriel's trumpet. " Though I could not understand all that was said, since they spoke in a very low key, either from habit, the influence of the silent hour, or an undefined fear, after all, that they might be overheard; yet I picked up enough to assure me that my companion and myself were the subject of their dialogue, and what I did hear was not at all calculated to allay my curiosity. 208 THE EOMANCE OF AMEEICAN LANDSCAPE. liad passed the night; and the smile deepened, when it was remarked that we had seemingly quite lost our appetite. " The worthy landlord quickly divined that all was not exactly right; so, the meal over, we poured into his bewil- dered ears the grand secret of our night's experience, and our scheme for bringing the villains to justice. " ' What !' he cried, at last, when his astonishment per- mitted him to speak, 'the men who were here last night, robbers, murderers?' " ' As sure as Gospel,' said we. " ' Ha, ha, that's just it,' screamed our host, his surprise giving way to an uncontrollable fit of mirth. ' Gospel ! Why they are preachers of the Gospel !' " ' Are you sure ?' we asked — a lurking suspicion, that we had ' sold' ourselves, forcing its way into our heads. ' And the burial in Murderer's Hollow?' " Here the host laughed more ohstreperously than ever. ' The burial !' he cried, half choking. ' Why, that's Tom Nu- gent, the old hunter, who died the other day, and is to be put into the ground this morning ! These men, you have taken for highwaymen, are the greatest preachers in these parts. They are going to officiate at old Tom's funeral this morning, on their way to the camp meeting at . Why, I heard them say that they should be glad to have your com- pany on the journey, especially through Murderer's Hollow, as you seemed to be well-armed, and the road was not so safe as it might be. They said they should go ahead, so that they might attend the funeral and be ready to join you when you came along. Ha, ha, ha !' " ' Ha, ha, ha !' we repeated, but not quite so roysterously as Boniface ; for as the women and children, gathering around, had managed to pick up the thread of the story, and now joined heartily in the merriment, we felt sorry that we had NOTHING AFTER ALL, 209 not got the start, instead of our liigliwaymen, and were now in the very deepest and most lonely glen of Murderer's Hollow ! "This annoying adventure cured me of my deafness for a while, and read us a lesson upon the immorality of eaves- dropping, which I commend to your most serious reflection." 14 CHAPTER XI. Mr. Deepredde put on his spectacles, and peered gravely into the map of New York, which we had placed under his erudite nose. " I am afraid, gentlemen," said he, " that out of the abundance of your pleasant memories, you will all speak at once, when I ask you to send back your thoughts to that charming feature of the landscape of the Empire State, its ex- haustless lake scenery. The name of these exquisite idyls in the poetry of Nature, in our own State, as in all the northern part of the Union, is legion. ' They lie,' says Willis, ' in the midst of the wild forests, like silver mirrors, tranquil and lovely, mingling a refinement and an elegance with the bold character of the scenery, which contrasts, like Una with the couchant lion.' " Everywhere, these silver mirrors repeat the picturesque beauties of the New England hills and forests. In the wild solitudes of Maine the noble stag looks fearlessly into the wa- ters of Moosehead, Umbagog, Oquosuck, Moosetucmagantic, and Molechumkea-merek ; the names of Winnipissiogee and Squam always bring pleasant recollections of New Hampshire, and equally grateful is the memory of the fairy ponds of western 212 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. Connecticut. Beautiful lakes, of every variety of extent and character, are to be found in all parts of New York, while through the northern division, there extends an unbroken chain of them, over a distance of nearly two hundred miles. The finest part of this chain lies among and around the Adir- ondack hills, and the queen of them all is the particular subject of our consideration to-night— the far-famed Horicon, as the Indians had it. Lake Sacrament according to the French, and, again, in plain English, Lake George." "The chairman," said Mr. Yermeille, "may very properly speak of fair Horicon as the gem of the lake views, not of our own State alone, but of the Kepublic. Indeed, I have heard the most intelligent travellers confirm my own opinion, excepting in the subtle charm borrowed from the embellish- ments of art — the fairy chateaux and crumbling tower — ^its beauties are not rivalled by any sister scenes in the old world. Here, with your permission, I will turn to a passage in Mr. Willis's 'brief mentions' of American Scenery, which I see upon the table. 'Loch Katrine,' he says, 'at the Trosachs, is a miniature likeness of Lake George. It is the only lake in Europe that has at all the same style and degree of beauty. The small, green islands, with their abrupt shores— the emerald depths of the water, overshadowed and tinted by the tenderest moss and foliage; the lofty mountains in the back-ground, and the tranquil character of the lake, over which the wind is arrested and rendered powerless by the peaks of the hills and the lofty island-summits — are all points of singular resemblance. Loch Katrine can scarce be called picturesque, except at the Trosachs, however; while Lake George, throughout all the mazes of its three hundred and sixty-five islands — there are said to be just this number — preserves the same wild and racy character of beauty. Varying in size from a mile in length to the circumference of a tea-table, these little islands LAKE HORICON. 213 present tTie most multiplied changes of surface and aspect — upon some only moss and flowers, upon others a miniature forest, with its outer trees leaning over to the pellucid bosom of the lake, as if drawn downward by the reflection of their own luxuriant beauty.' With one more extract, I will cease my trespass on Mr. Willis's pages. 'The mountains on the shores of this exquisite lake, consist of two great ranges, bor- dering it from north to south. The western range passes west- ward of the north-west bay, at the head of which, a vast spur shooting towards the south-east, forms the whole of the peninsula between the bay and the lake. Both these ranges alternately approach the lake, so as to constitute a considerable part of its shores, and recede from it again to the distance, sometimes, of two or three miles. The summits of these moun tains are of almost every figure, from the arch to the bold bluff and sharp cone. In some instances, the loftier ones are bold, solemn, and forbidding; in others, they are clothed and crowned with verdure. It is the peculiarity of Lake George, that while all the world agrees to speak only of its loveliness, it is surrounded by features of the highest grandeur and sub- limity. The Black Mountain is one of these ; and there is every variety of chasm, crag, promontory, and peak, which a painter would require for the noblest composition of mountain scenery.' " The peninsula mentioned here, as forming the north-west bay, extends southward, within a dozen miles of the head of the lake. This point is very appropriately 'called the Tongue; and in the angles and interlacings which it makes with the long line of hills on either side, is the most serviceable ingre- dient in the fine compositions, presented at every step of progress, by Avater or by land, through the lower part of the lake. Eastward of the Tongue, lies that contracted portion of Horicon called the Narrows, a passage which, seen from Sab- 214 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. bath Day Point, at its northern terminus, offers one of the noblest pictures to be found in the whole thirty-six miles of the voyage down the lake." "While our Horicon," said Mr. Flakewhite, taking up the discourse, "wins admiration by its triple beauty of unrivalled hill, island, and water, it has also, its trio of moral charms, in its highly poetic humour, its social life, and its historic and legendary tales. The scenery of Lake George, under every aspect and every light, cannot fail to delight and quicken the dullest fancy. Its social pleasures, for it is the summer home and haunt of thousands of amiable and intelligent tourists, must soothe and content the most ennuied soul ; while the most thoughtful and the most imaginative mind will find abundant matter for reflection and for speculation in its tradition and romance. From one or other of these points of inspiration, some of our improvisators will, I hope, be able to draw for our amusement either song or story." "Well, gentlemen," said Mr. Asphaltum, after a pause, " so fruitful a subject as ours, to-night, should not go begging for chroniclers ; and, as I cannot lisp in numbers, I will tell you a tale of the heroic period of Horicon — a memento of our particular theme, the shrewd exploits of the brave Major Eogers — which gives name to the scene of our picture, and suggests the baptismal of my story of C|e ^mxt of Uaricon ; or, fvogers's Slik. " A century ago, when the French and English colonies of America were contending for the mastery, they made the now peaceful waters of our winsome lake, the scene of their wild and bloody deeds — deeds, which terrible as they were at the THE SCOUT OF HORICON. 215 time, now serve to spread a halo of deep historic interest over every wave and island, and hill of the neighbourhood— from the once busy forts of Edward and William Henrj, to the far-famed walls of Ticonderoga, now left in a picturesque beauty worthy of older and more storied lands. " The period of which I speak was one of unwonted activity throughout the length and breadth of the American colonies. The people now no longer solely occupied, as in earlier days, in the protection of their fire-sides against the cruelties of their Indian neighbours, were awakening to the loftier and more extensive spirit of heroism, incident to a united struggle against a powerful foreign foe ; that spirit of national individu- ality and dignity, which henceforward continued to increase and strengthen, until the country broke away from the bond- age of foreign rule and became one of the great powers of the earth. At first glance, we are apt to underrate the character of the men of those days, in so homely a garb is it exhibited to us; and yet, it was grander and more eventful than the thought and achievement, which in other days and circum- stances, won the applause of solemn senates, and the acclama- tions of the swarming populace. The deeds of the simple, yet lion-hearted rangers and partizans of the colonial and Eevolu- tionary wars, fill as interesting, if not as sounding a page in the world's history, as those of 'the noblest Eoman of them all.' Among these humble, yet memorable names, are those of the indefatigable and fearless Marion, the brave Putnam, the daring Stark, and the gallant Eogers. "As I was saying, these were stirring days throughout the colonies. Virginia and Carolina had led the van in pushing back the French intruders, and now New York and Massachu- setts coming to their aid, the scene of the war was transferred to their territory, and the chief operations centred, henceforth, on Lake George. 216 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. "The enemy in tlie stronghold wliicli they had built at Ticonderoga, were in possession of the great highway between their territory in the Canadas and the possessions of the colo- nies. The great aim of the colonial operations was to secure this important post, and many and divers-fated were the expedi- tions sent out for this purpose. Under the nature of the circumstances and situation, the movements of these expeditions were guided solely by the information gathered by the wary and intrepid scouts. The whole country being a wilderness of most difficult access, and swarming with the hidden spies and parties of the enemy, the enterprise of collecting such information was as hazardous as it was of great pith and moment. None but such self-sacrificing patriotism, and such exalted daring as that which animated the souls of our gal- lant rangers, could have ventured upon the task. "The journals of these scouts present us with graphic pictures of the nature and risk of their labour, and the brave spirit in which they performed it. Some of these interesting ' reports' are preserved in the pages of the Documentary His- tory of our State, a copy of which I see is in the possession of our worthy host. If he will hand me the fourth volume, I shall be certain to interest you by the reading of an extract or two. " Here," continued Mr. Asphaltum, turning over the leaves of the tome, which we placed before him, "here is a passage from the journal of our hero, himself, dated Lake George, October 14th, 1755. 'I Embarked,' he writes, 'in a Birch Canoe, at the Camps, on the South End of Lake George, with Four Men beside my self, k sailed twenty-five miles, and Landed on the west side of the Lake, then travelled by Land, and on the Eighteenth Day I arrived on the Mountains on the West side of Crown Point ; there I lay that Night, and all the next Day, and observed the Enemy's motions there JOURNALS OF THE SCOUTS. 217 and about Crown point, and observed Ambreseers Built upon the Mount, about Thirty Eods To the southwest of Crown point fort ; in the Evening went Down to the Houses that was built upon the Lake to the South of Crown point, & went into a barn that was filled with wheat & left three men, & proceeded with one man To make further Discoverjs at the fort, and found a good place to Ambush within Sixty Eods of the fort, & Imediately went back and took our part- ners and ambushed at the proper place we had found, and there we lay Till about Ten of the Clock, & observed several canoes passing up and down the Lake and sundry men that went out To work about the secular affairs, & Judged the whole that was in the fort to be about five Hundred ; at length a frenchman Came out of the fort Towards us, without his gun, and Came within fifteen Eods of where we lay ; then I with another man Eun up to him In order to Captivate him, but he Eefused to Take Quarter, so we Killed him and Took off" his Scalp in plain sight of the fort, then Eun and in plain view about Twenty Eods & made our Escape, the same Night we Came Eight west of Tianderago about three Miles and upon a Mountain in plain sight of their fort & see large Incampments Eound it & heard a vast number of small arms fired. Judged there to be Two Thousand men at Tian- orago ; and on the Twenty -first Day Grot to our Canoes about Eight of the Clock in the Morning & found all safe, and about Nine of the Clock in the Evening Arrived all well at our Encampment where we set out. The above is the Chief Dis- covery that we made at Crown Point and Tianargo.' "In another 'report' to head-quarters, our hero Avrites, 'Set out with a Party of fifty men with' orders to Look into Crown Point and the Advance Batterj^s that is Built Eound it, the first Day we march'^ Down the Lake George about Eighteen Miles k Camp