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OUR NATIVE LAND: 
 
 OR, 
 
 GLANCES AT AMERICAN SCENERY AND PLACES, 
 
 WITH 
 
 SKETCHES OF LIFE AND ADVENTURE. 
 
 WITH THREE HUliDHED AM) THIRTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS. ^^^ ^ ' ' 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 
 
 1, 8, AND 5 BOND STRKET. 
 
 \ Uof 30 1882 1: 
 
 
~>v 
 
 COPYRIGHT BT 
 
 APPLETON AND COMPANY, 
 
 1882. 
 
 c \ 
 
 v^ 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The striking features of American scenery, society, industry, and social life have 
 more and more stamped themselves on the interest of the world during the last half- 
 century. For many years this curiosity on the part of intelligent Europeans was 
 retarded by a reluctance to accept the jihases of civilization in the New World at 
 their full worth. Discussion of the great empire which had grown up on the West- 
 ern Continent was pointed with a sneer at what was rude and crass in our social 
 forms and the ferment of a jjolitical life, the bottom impulse of which was at odds 
 with those that vitalized methods, habits, and beliefs in Europe. 
 
 Since our late civil war, foreign opinion has shaped itself into a new and more 
 serious attitude. The great influx of travel has crowded every nook and corner of our 
 country with keen and competent observers, whose reports have been for the most 
 part fair and just in intention, and comprehensive in treatment. The feeble snarl has 
 been lost in big notes of amazement and pleasure at the wonders scattered profusely 
 by the hand of Nature, and the no lesser marvels wrought by the energy of man. 
 The possession of a standard of comparison, too, has had its use in giving foreign books 
 on America something of the vivid and picturesque not easily attainable otherwise. 
 
 A common reproach addressed to intelligent Americans abroad is, that they have 
 seen so little of their own country, their critics forgetting that the country is so vast 
 in extent that some of its most wonderful scenery is difficult of access. Foreigners 
 coming to America as tourists, on the other hand, with the express purpose of making 
 themselves acquainted with the striking aspects of life and nature which it furnishes, 
 travel with a distinct end in view, while the journeys of the American in his own 
 country are naturally limited for the most part by the exigencies of business or the 
 bounds of a short summer- tour for himself and family. It is the purpose of the 
 present volume to bring together intelligent and animated descriptions of the more 
 picturesque and sublime phases of scenery in our great country, interspersed with epi- 
 sodes of travel and adventure, and glances at some of the great industries which 
 present aspects interesting to the imagination as well as to the sense of utility. No 
 attempt has been made to follow any consecutive order in the narrative. So the reader 
 may fancy himself on the magical carpet celebrated in the " Arabian Nights, " which 
 whisked the traveler from place to place and from scene to scene with the swiftness 
 and caprice of fancy itself. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 FAeE 
 
 The CaSons of the Colorado ......... 3 
 
 Major Powell's expedition down the Colorado River in boats — Sketch of the perils and results of his 
 
 ■ preWous journey in l&71-'7ii — The canons of the Green River, one of the sources of the Colorado — -The 
 
 Colorado proper and its >tHpendous walls— Marble Caiion — The wonders of Grand Canon — A river 
 
 with walls nearly seven thousand feet high — Interesting Indian tribes, the Moquis Pueblos, the dying 
 
 remains of a lost civilization. 
 
 The Hudson Kiver ........... 31 
 
 Characteristic features of river scenery — The Palisades — Tarrytown, its traditions and associations — 
 The home of Washington Irving — The Highlands — The legendary interest of tlie region — West Point, 
 our great military school — How the cadets live and study — The charms of West Point and its surround- 
 ings—The scene of Drake's " Culprit Fay " — The story of the poem, and how it was suggested — The 
 literary associations of the region about Cornwall— Idlewild, the home of N. P. Willis — Newburg and 
 its surroundings — The Catskills, and their charm as a summer resort — The upper Hudson — A river cele- 
 brated throughout tlie world for its beauty. 
 
 80ENBRT OF THE Pacific Railways. — Part I. Omaha to Oodbn . .64 
 
 The noblest scenery of the West adjacent the great transcontinental lines — A bird's-eye view of some 
 of the greatest natural wonders of the world — The former sufferings of emigrants over a long and dreary 
 trail — The present luxury of travel over the same route — Omaha, the eastern terminus of the Union 
 Pacific— The first glimpse of the Western Plains— Cheyenne and its surroundings — A typical Western 
 town in its growth — The Black Hills — The Great Laramie Plains — Twilight in the desert — Incidents of 
 railway-travel — The great dividing ridge of the continent — The wonderful color and shapes of the rocks — 
 The marvels of Red Canon — Green River — The Uintah Mountains — Gilbert's Peak — Hayden's Cathedral 
 — The wonderful church — Buttes of Wyoming — The borders of Utah — Utah the home of much of the 
 noblest Western scenery — A desert turned into a garden by irrigation — Early Mormon life — Echo Caiion' 
 and its great precipices — Welwr Canon — Lofty walls of rock painted by Nature in the richest colors and 
 carved in every variety of shape — All this region once a grand internal ocean — The Thousand-Mile Tree 
 and the Devil's Slide — The Devil's Gate and Ogden Canon. 
 
 SOENERT OF THE PACIFIC RAILWAYS. — PaRT II. OsDEN TO SaN FrANOISCO . . .96 
 
 Ogden and its strange types of life — Salt Lake City — The Great Salt Lake — The junction of the Cen- 
 tral and the Union Pacific roads— Nevada, the desert State — The Sierra Nevadas- The valley of the 
 Truckee River — Lake Tahoe — Virginia City — Donner Lake and its tradition — The western slope of the 
 Sierras — The great snow-sheds — Blue Caiion and Giant Gap — Water as a means of mining — Cape Horn — 
 The Sacramento Valley — Sacramento and San Francisco. 
 
 A Glimpse of the Far Northwest ........ 125 
 
 Characteristics of scenery in Wa.shington Territory — Luxuriant primitive beauty and wildness — 
 Strange mixture of civilization and barbarism — The principal towns of the Territory — Early traditions 
 and history — Forests, lakes, and mountains — The future of Washington Territory — Charactfiristics of 
 the water-falls of the far Northwest — Cascades and cataracts in Oregon — Snoqualmie Falls, Washington 
 Territory — Shoshone Falls, Idaho — Sioux River Falls — Falls of the Missouri. 
 
vi CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Yellowstone Valley .......... 148 
 
 A wonderland of the West — Interesting traditions and adventures — The journey into the valley — 
 Mammoth Hot Springs and Mud Springs— The Mud-Volcano — The Falls and Grand Canon — Wonders 
 of the Fire-Hole Eiver — The Lower Geyser Basin — The great attraction of the Yellowstone Park — The 
 geysers of the Upper Basin — The Giant and Giantess — Theory of geyser eruptions — The Yellowstone 
 Lake. 
 
 Sketches of Indian Life . . . . . . . . . . . 179 
 
 The red-man of the plains— The Indian dandy at the trading-post— IIow the post-trader treats the 
 savage — Condition and traits of Indian women — An Indian carnival — Religion and customs — Funerals, 
 and the Indian reverence I'or the dead— Love-making — The Indian as a hunter — Methods of pursuing 
 the elk— Buftiilo and moose hunting — Getting salmon on the Columbia Eiver— The eraft and skill of 
 the red-man. 
 
 Scenes in Nevada and Oregon ......... 203 
 
 Features of Nevada scenery — The Sierras and their forests— Characteristics of the mountains — Val- 
 ley of the Truckee Kiver— The Sierras of Nevada— The desolation of the plains — Humboldt Mountains — * 
 The beauty and fertility of Oregon— A voyage up the Columbia River— Castle Rock and Cape Horn— 
 The Cascades and Dalles City — Salmon Falls. 
 
 SuMMEK Haunts by thic Sea ......... 225 
 
 Striking characteristics of the upper New England coast — The cliffs of Grand Miinan — Mount Desert 
 and its remarkable fascinations — Sea-shore, forest, mountains, and lakes happily united — The Eastern 
 Shore — From Portland to Portsmouth — The Isles of Shoals and their traditions— Quaint old historic 
 towns — Nahant and Swampscott — Newport, the queen of American watering-places — Its former commer- 
 cial glory and historic importance — The ocean scenery about Newport — Social life at Newport — Coney 
 Island, the antipodes of Newport — A typical democratic watering-place. 
 
 OuE Inland Pleasure-Places ......... 261 
 
 Among the Catskills — Saratoga and its life — Lake George and Lake Ohamplain — Lake Memphrema- 
 gog— The White Mountains— Trenton Falls— The lakes of Central New York— Watkins Glen— Niag- 
 ara Falls — The beauties of the Thousand Islands — The Saguenay River — Minor watering-places of the 
 interior — Put-in-Bay — Lake Erie. 
 
 The Great Lakes ........... 295 
 
 Buffalo, the head of our inland seas — The historic interest of Lake Erie — Cleveland, Toledo, and 
 Sandusky— Lake Huron— The Straits and Island of Mackinac— The western shore of Lake Michigan- 
 Chicago and Milwaukee — The situation and grandeur of Lake Superior — The Pictured Rocks ; the 
 varied wonders of its shores — History and legend — The Hudson Bay (Company — Mining on Lake Su- 
 .perior. 
 
 The Mountains of the North ......... .325 
 
 Some characteristic scenes in the White Mountains— Mount Mansfield and the Green Mountains 
 of Vermont — The Adirondack region of New York — Mountain, lake, forest, river, and water-falls, most 
 picturesquely blended — The Catskills and their peculiarities — The Delaware Water-Gap — The Blue 
 Ridge of Pennsylvania — The beauties of the Juniata region — Mauch Chunk, the most picturesque of 
 mountain towns. 
 
 The Mountains of the South ......... 364 
 
 The mountains of Virginia — Harper's Ferry and its surroundings — The Peaks of Otter — North Caro- 
 lina scenery — The highest mountain of the Atlantic coast — The Linville Range — Mount Pisgah — The 
 French Broad and its beauties — Cherokee traditions— Alum Cave, Smoky Mountain — Cumberland Gap — 
 Lookout Mountain, Tennessee — Mountain-scenery in Georgia — The valley of the Owassa — Tallulah 
 Chasm. 
 
 The Land of Orange-Groves ......... 398 
 
 The American Italy — Situation and climate — Jacksonville — .\ trip up the St. John's and the Ockla- 
 waha — St. Augustine: its history and traditions — The St. Augustine of to-day — The gardens and fruits 
 
CONTENTS. Tii 
 
 of Florida — The banana, and how it grows — Tlie orange-culture — Florida vegetation — The "cracker" 
 class — The principal points of interest in the State — Key West — Indian River — Hunting in Florida — 
 Lake Okechobee — The Everglades. 
 
 Colorado ............ 432 
 
 Tlie mountains of Colorado — The city of Denver — Boulder Canon — Mountain raining cities — Idaho 
 Springs and Georgetown — The ascent of Gray's Peak — Monument Park and the Garden of t^e Gods — 
 Colorado Springs and Pike's Peak — The natural parks and their characteristics. 
 
 The Yosemite ............ 461 
 
 Approaches to the Yosemite Valley — How it was discovered — The big trees of Mariposa — Descent 
 into tlie valley by the Mariposa trail — The Bridal Veil Fall and Cathedral Koeks — Sentinel Rock and 
 Dome — Yosemite Falls — The inhabitants of the valley — The gorge of the Merced — Tonaya Canon — View 
 from Cloud's Rest — Accommodation for visitors. 
 
 The Lowlands of the South ......... 477 
 
 South Carolina scenery — Early settlements of the State — Charleston — The rice-culture — Savannah — 
 Characteristics of a lovely Southern city — The lowlands of Alabama — The forest-wilderness of Pasca- 
 goula — The mouth of the Mississippi — Romantic history of the Father of Waters — The Mississippi 
 below New Orleans — The cypress-swamps — New Orleans, the " Queen of the South" — Sketches of life 
 in New Orleans — Mississippi navigation — The magnolia-forests and Spanish moss — The sugar-plan- 
 tations — Characteristic impressions of the lower Mississippi — Inundations and crevasses — The cotton 
 industry. 
 
 The Ohio and Upper Mississippi ......... 515 
 
 The beginning of the Ohio at Pittsburg — Early history of the river — Characteristics of the river and 
 its navigation — The interesting towns on its borders — Ohio and Kentucky — The early romance of Ken- 
 tucky history — Cincinnati, the "Queen of the West" — The city of Louisville — The junction of the 
 Ohio and Mississippi — St. Louis and its more astonishing features — The mineral wealth of Missouri — 
 The upper Mississippi — Its peculiarities as distinguished from those of the lower river — Rock Island and 
 Davenport — The beautiful scenery of the river — Quaint Dubuque — La Crosse — Features of river-naviga- 
 tion — Trempealeau and Lake Pepin — St. Paul and the State of Minnesota — Head-waters of the river. 
 
 The Metropolis and its Eastern Sisters . . . . . . . . 548 
 
 The sitixation and approaches of New York — Commercial and industrial greatness — Scenes in lower 
 New York — Characteristics of Broadway — Social life in New York — The water-front -Central Park and 
 its attractions — Boston and its early colonial history — Importance as a commercial and manufacturing 
 center — Boston Common — Characteristics of the various portions of the city — Suburbs of Boston — The 
 City of Brotherly Love — Its position among American capitals — Scenes and features of interest — The 
 beauties of Fairmount Park — Baltimore and its situation — Principal features of the city — Its monuments 
 and its pleasure-grounds — The political center of our country — Its foundation and beginnings — The na- 
 tional Capitol — The White House and other public buildings — Characteristics of Washington life. 
 
 Our Natural Resocroes .......... 588 
 
 Extent and diversity of the United States — Its advantages of coast-line, rain-fall, and internal water- 
 ways — The great cereal crops, wheat, corn, etc. — Their annual product and value — Possibilities of the 
 future — The cotton, rice, tobacco, and sugar States— Statistics of production — Our animal fruit-crops — 
 The tbrests of the country — Present condition of the liunber industry — The enormous possibilities of 
 the Pacific coast in lumber — Coal production in America— Our iron-mines — Coal and iron only in 
 their infant development— The yield of the precious metals — How gold and silver are distributed — 
 Our deposits of copper, lead, quicksilver, aud the minor metals — Petroleiun-oil and its distribution — 
 Enormous value of our sea-fisheries — Importance of fish-culture — Mackerel, cod, shad, herring, salmon, 
 etc. — The oyster-beds of American waters — Total value of our fisheries — Our resources capable of twenty- 
 fold their present production. 
 
 Appendix : Statistics of Population and Area ...... 607 
 
 I. Population of one hundred of the largest cities and towns in the United States. 11. Census by 
 States at each census, 1T90-1880. III. Statistics of area in square miles. 
 
 Index of Places .......... 611 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS, 
 
 The CaSons op the Colorado : 
 
 Echo Rock .... 
 
 Start from Green River Station 
 
 Horseshoe Canon 
 
 CaCon of Lodore 
 
 Bonita Bend .... 
 
 Light-House Rock 
 
 Running the Rapids 
 
 Marble Caflon 
 
 Head of Grand Cation 
 
 Grand Caflon, looking down 
 
 View in Grand Caflon 
 
 Grand Caflon, showing Amphitheatre and Sculptured Buttes 
 
 Street in a Moquis Village 
 
 Navajo Indians 
 
 The Hudson River : 
 
 Day-Boat leaving New York 
 
 View of the Palisades from Eastern Shore 
 
 A Pinnacle of the Palisades 
 
 Palisade Mountain House 
 
 Yonkers ..... 
 
 Sunnyside .... 
 
 Nyack ..... 
 
 Tarrytown .... 
 
 Old Dutch Church, Sleepy Hollow 
 
 Old Bridge, Sleepy Hollow .... 
 
 Palisades above Nyack, with Distant View of Sing Sing 
 Croton Point ...... 
 
 Stony Point and Haverstraw Bay 
 
 Entrance to the Highlands . 
 
 lona Island and Anthony's Nose 
 
 View from Fort Montgomery 
 
 Sugar-Loaf Mountain. — A Storm in the Highlands 
 
 Cozzens's Hotel and Buttermilk Falls, West Point 
 
 West Point ..... 
 
 View at West Point, north from the Artillery-Grounds 
 
 West Point, from Fort Putnam . 
 
 Cold Spring, from Constitution Island 
 
 Breakneck Mountain, from Little Stony Point 
 
 Under the ClifE of Cro' Nest 
 
 Cro' Nest and Storm-King from Cold Spring 
 
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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 The Highlands, from Cornwall 
 The Highlands, south from Newburg 
 Catskill Mountains, from Tivoli 
 The Hudson at Glens Falls 
 Source of the Hudson 
 
 Scenery of the Pacific Railways: 
 The Union Pacific Depot at Omaha 
 The Platte River, near North Platte 
 Black Hills, near Sherman 
 Maiden's Slide, Dale Creek . 
 Red Buttes, Laramie Plains 
 Emigrants' Cam]), Laramie Plains . 
 Elk Mountain . 
 Banks of the Platte River 
 View on the Platte River 
 Giants' Butte, Green River 
 Cliffs, Green River 
 Uintah Mountains . 
 Church Buttes, Wyoming 
 Bear River Valley . 
 Echo Caflon, Utah 
 Castle Rock, Echo Caflon 
 Pulpit Rock, Echo Caflon 
 Hanging Rock, Echo Caflon 
 Weber Caflon 
 
 Devil's Slide, Weber Canon 
 The Witches' Rocks, Weber Caflon 
 The Devil's Gate, Weber Caflon . 
 Ogden Caflon 
 Ogden, and the Wahsatch Range . 
 Salt Lake City, from the Wahsatch Range 
 Black Rock, Great Salt Lake 
 Bear River, Utah 
 
 Great Salt Lake, from Promontory Ridge 
 Indian Camp in the Great American Desert 
 Humboldt Wells and Ruby Mountains 
 Devil's Peak, Humboldt Palisades 
 Lake Tahoe .... 
 Donuer Lake, from the Snow-Sheds 
 Donner Rock 
 Lake Angeline . 
 Emigrants crossing the Sien-as 
 Lower Cascade, Yuba River 
 Cedar Creek, Blue Caflon 
 Giant's Gap, American Caflon . 
 Great American Caflon 
 Hydraulic Mining, Gold Run . 
 Cape Horn .... 
 Lake Merritt, Oakland . 
 San Francisco, from Goat Island 
 Central Pacific Wharf . 
 The Cliffs, and Cliff House, San Francisco 
 Chinese Quarter, San Francisco 
 
 PAGE 
 
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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 XI 
 
 A Glimpse of the Far Northwest: 
 
 New Tacoma, Mount Rainier in the Background 
 
 Olympia, on Puget Sound 
 
 Cascade Range, from Puget Sound 
 
 Scenery of Puget Sound 
 
 Snoqualmie Falls 
 
 Saw-Mill, Port Gamble . 
 
 Rogue River Falls . 
 
 Falls of the Willamette 
 
 Southern Side of Willamette Falls 
 
 Palouse Falls 
 
 Spokane Falls 
 
 Shoshone Falls, Snake River . 
 
 Island Falls, Snake River . 
 
 The Yellowstone Valley: 
 The Yellowstone River . 
 Map of the Yellowstone National Park 
 Cliffs of the Yellowstone 
 Mammoth Hot Springs 
 Liberty Cap 
 Mud Springs 
 
 Grand Caflon of the Yellowstone 
 Upper Falls of the Yellowstone 
 Column Rocks . 
 Lower Falls of the Yellowstone 
 Tower Falls 
 The Great Geyser Basin 
 The Giantess 
 The Giant Geyser . 
 Yellowstone Lake 
 Hot-Spring Cone 
 
 Sbletches of Indian Life : 
 
 Indian Dandy .... 
 
 Store of the Trading-Post . 
 
 Women Water-Carriers 
 
 Indian Women Bathing 
 
 Frontier Fort .... 
 
 Indian Funeral 
 
 Indian Widow at her Husband's Grave 
 
 Indian Lovers 
 
 Hunting the Elk . . . 
 
 Indians Elk-Hunting in Masquerade 
 
 Indians Buffalo-Hunting in Masquerade 
 
 Hunting the Buffalo on Foot 
 
 Catching Salmon in the Columbia River 
 
 Killing the Snow-bound Moose 
 
 Scenes in Nevada and Oregon : 
 Column Mountains, Nevada 
 Summits of the Sierras 
 Pyramid Lake, Nevada 
 Star Peak, Nevada . 
 Lake in the Humboldt Range, Nevada 
 
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xii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Sculptured Cafion, Humboldt Range, Nevada 
 
 Granite Bluffs in Wright's Cafion, Humboldt Range, Nevada 
 
 Castle Rock 
 
 The Cascades 
 
 Mount Hood 
 
 Salmon Falls 
 
 Corvallis 
 
 Yaquina Bay 
 
 Summer Haunts by the Sea : 
 
 Grand Manan 
 
 Castle Head, Mount Desert 
 
 Cliffs at Mount Desert 
 
 The " Spouting Horn " in a Storm 
 
 Cliffs, Portland Harbor 
 
 Isles of Shoals . 
 
 A Picnic at the Isles of Shoals 
 
 Caswell's Peak, Star Island 
 
 Bass Rocks, Gloucester 
 
 Cedar-Tree at Cape Ann 
 
 Marblehead . 
 
 Pulpit Rock, Nahant 
 
 Cottage and Shore at Nahant 
 
 Old Fort Dumpling, Newport . 
 
 Scenes at Newport . 
 
 The Drive 
 
 The Walk on the Cliff 
 
 A Newport Cottage 
 
 Narragansett Pier . 
 
 Scenes at Coney Island 
 
 Scenes at Coney Island 
 
 The Drive at Long Branch 
 
 Our Inland Pleasure-Places : 
 Catskill Mountain-House 
 View of the Catskills 
 Scenes at Saratoga . 
 Scenes at Lake George 
 Lake George, from Glens Falls Road 
 Lake Champlain, from Fort Ticonderoga 
 Split Rock, Lake Champlain 
 Lake Memphremagog . 
 Mount Washington, White Mountains 
 Trenton Falls .... 
 A Nook near the Foot of Lake Canandaigua 
 Entrance to Watkins Glen 
 Glen Cathedral 
 Horseshoe Falls, Niagara 
 Rapids above the American Fall 
 Cave of the Winds, Niagara 
 Among the Thousand Islands 
 Point Crepe, Saguenay River . 
 Put-in-Bay, Lake Erie 
 Kelly's Island, Lake Erie 
 
 PA*;E 
 
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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 The Great Lakes : 
 
 Light-House, Bulialo 
 
 Shi])-Canal, Buffalo .... 
 
 Mouth of C'uyahoga River, Cleveland 
 
 Lake Erie, from Bluff, Mouth of Rocky River . 
 
 Perry's Lookout, Gibraltar Island . 
 
 Detroit River, from Fort Wayne (belovr the City) 
 
 Scene on the Shore of Mackinac 
 
 Lover's Leap ..... 
 
 Mouth of the Chicago River 
 
 Shore of Lake Michigan 
 
 Sail-Rock, Lake Superior . 
 
 Grand Portal, Lake Superior . 
 
 Island No. 1, Lake Superior 
 
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 The Mountains of the North : 
 
 White Mountains, from the Conway Meadows 
 
 Gate of the Crawford Notch 
 
 Profile Mountain .... 
 
 The Flume ...... 
 
 Mount Kearsarge .... 
 
 Monadnock Mountain, from North Peterboro 
 
 Confluence of Saco and Swift Rivers, Conway 
 
 East Mountain, from Robbe's Hill, Peterboro 
 
 Glimpse of Lake Charaplain, from Mount Mansfield 
 
 The Adirondack Woods . . . ' . 
 
 The Ausable Chasm 
 
 Gothic Mountain, from Ausable Lake 
 
 The Adirondacks, from Placid Lake 
 
 A Carry near Little Tupper Lake . 
 
 Catterskill Falls 
 
 Sunset Rock, Catskill Mountains . 
 
 Delaware Water-Gap 
 
 View from Horseshoe Curve, Kittanning Point (Early Morning) 
 
 In the Pack-saddle, on the Conemaugh 
 
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 The Mountains of the South : 
 
 Harper's Ferry 
 
 Loudon Mountain and the Shenandoah 
 
 Peaks of Otter 
 
 Lookout Point . . . . 
 
 Linville River 
 
 Linville Pinnacle 
 
 Mount Pisgah 
 
 The French Broad 
 
 Cliffs on the French Broad 
 
 Hawk's-Bill Mountain . 
 
 Alum Cave, Smoky Mountain 
 
 Cumberland Gap, from Eagle Cliff 
 
 View from Lookout Mountain 
 
 View on the Owassa 
 
 Tiillulah Chasm, Georgia . 
 
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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 The Land op Orange-Groves : 
 St. John's River, Florida 
 Night Scene on the Ocklawaha River 
 A Florida Swamp 
 A Scene on the Ocklawaha River 
 View on the Upper St. John's . 
 The City Gate, St. Augustine 
 Watch-Tower, St. Mark's Castle 
 A Street in St. Augustine . 
 A Florida Garden 
 The Date-Palni 
 
 Growth of the Banana-Leaf and of the Fruit 
 A Florida Orange-Grove 
 A Palmetto-Grove 
 Florida Pine-Barrens 
 Light-House on Florida Keys . 
 Indian River 
 A Hunter's Camp 
 Lake Okeechobee . 
 An Island in the Lake . 
 
 Colorado : 
 
 • A Glimpse of the Rocky Mountains 
 Glen Doe 
 Long's Peak 
 
 Mouth of South Boulder Cafion 
 Boulder River 
 
 The Falls, North Boulder Cafion 
 Dome Rock, Middle Boulder Cafion 
 Idaho Springs . 
 Georgetown 
 
 Clear Creek, below Georgetown 
 Green Lake .... 
 Gray's Peak 
 Snake River 
 Clear Creek Cailon 
 Pike's Peak 
 Monument Park 
 
 Tower of Babel, Garden of the Gods 
 Major Domo, Glen Eyrie 
 William's Cafion 
 Rainbow Falls, Ute Pass 
 The Snow-clad Peaks of the Rocky Mountains 
 
 The Yosemite : 
 
 Half Dome, from the Merced River 
 
 Descent into the Valley 
 
 Yosemite, from Mariposa Trail 
 
 Valley Floor, with View of Cathedral Spires 
 
 Sentinel Rock and Fall . 
 
 The Yosemite Falls 
 
 Gorge of the Merced 
 
 General View of Yosemite, from Summit of Cloud's Rest 
 
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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 xy 
 
 The Lowlands op the South .- 
 
 A Live-Oak on the Ashley 
 
 Glimpse of Cliarleston and Bay 
 
 Ashley River 
 
 Unloading Rice-Barges 
 
 On the Savannah River 
 
 A Savannah Street- Scene 
 
 A Home on the Pascagoula 
 
 At the Mouth of the Mississippi 
 
 A Cypress Swamp 
 
 New Orleans, from the River 
 
 A Magnolia Swamp 
 
 Gathering Spanish Moss 
 
 Cutting the Sugar-Cane 
 
 A Mississippi Bayou 
 
 A "Crevasse " on the Mississippi River 
 
 Gathering Cotton 
 
 A Planter's House on the Mississippi . 
 
 The Ohio and Upper Mississippi : 
 
 The Ohio River, below Pittsburg . 
 The Ohio River, from Marietta 
 Vineyards on the Hillsides 
 Cincinnati . . . . 
 
 View on the Rhino, Cincinnati 
 Louisville, from the Blind Asylum 
 The Upper Mississippi, near St. Louis 
 St. Louis . . . . 
 
 Eagle Blufi, near Dubuque . 
 At the Mouth of the Wisconsin 
 Scenery above La Crosse 
 Approach to Trempealeau 
 Lake Pepin .... 
 Near St. Paul . . . . 
 
 Falls of Minnehaha 
 
 The Metropolis and its Eastern Sisters : 
 
 New York, from Fort Wadsworth, Staten Island 
 View of New York from the Bay . 
 Broadway, south from the Post-Office 
 Scene on Fifth Avenue 
 View of the Bay from the Battery 
 Tlie Mall, Central Park 
 The Obelisk, Central Park 
 View of Boston from the Harbor . 
 Public Garden, Boston , 
 Boston, from Mount Bowdoin 
 Chestnut Street Bridge, on the Schuylkill 
 Tower, Independence Hall, Philadelphia . 
 Fairmount Water-Works 
 View on the Schuylkill 
 Washington Monument, Baltimore 
 1 
 
 
 479 
 
 
 . 481 
 
 
 483 
 
 
 . 485 
 
 
 486 
 
 
 . 490 
 
 
 493 
 
 
 . 494 
 
 
 496 
 
 
 . 501 
 
 
 503 
 
 
 . 504 
 
 
 507 
 
 
 . 508 
 
 
 513 
 
 
 . 514 
 
 
 515 
 
 
 . 519 
 
 
 531 
 
 
 . 522 
 
 
 534 
 
 
 . 537 
 
 
 .529 
 
 
 . 531 
 
 
 535 
 
 
 . 538 
 
 
 540 
 
 
 . .541 
 
 
 543 
 
 
 . .544 
 
 
 546 
 
 
 . 548 
 
 
 550 
 
 
 . 553 
 
 
 555 
 
 
 . 557 
 
 
 561 
 
 
 . 564 
 
 
 566 
 
 
 . 568 
 
 
 570 
 
 
 . 572 
 
 
 574 
 
 
 . 576 
 
 
 577 
 
 , 
 
 . 379 
 
xvi LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PACE 
 
 Baltimore, from the East ......... 581 
 
 The Capitol at Washington .......■• 583 
 
 The White House . . . . . • • . • • .585 
 
 Treasury Department ...... = ••• 586 
 
 War and Navy Building ......... 587 
 
OUPv NATIVE LAND 
 
 THE C'ANONS OF THE COLORADO. 
 
 Major Powell's expedition down the O-lor.ido River in boats — Sketch of the perils and results of his previous 
 journey in lS71-"72 — The canons of the (ireen River, one of the sources of the Colorado — The Colorado proper 
 and its stupendous walls — MarWe Canon — The wonders of Grand Canon — A river with walls nearly seven 
 thousand feet hiprh — Interesting Indian tril'cs, the Morjuis Pueblos, the dying remains of a lost civilization. 
 
 Nature has strewed over the North 
 American Continent lier boldest mas- 
 terpieces of beauty and sublimity, but 
 nowhere has she wrought more won- 
 derful works than in the canons of the 
 Colorado River. The walls of these 
 cafions are for more than a thousand 
 miles, where they rear themselves in 
 perpendicular cliffs, never less than a 
 thousand feet high. The Grand Cailon 
 is, for a distance of two hundred miles, 
 at no point less than four thousand feet 
 deep. This the adventurous explorer, 
 Major Powell, calls "the most profound 
 chasm known on the face of the globe." 
 In the years 1540-'42 expeditions sent 
 out from Mexico reported, on their re- 
 river with banks nine miles deep, and so steep that the 
 Two hundred and thirty-four years later (1776), 
 
 EcJu> RoeJc. 
 
 turn, the discovery of a 
 water-level could uot be reached 
 Padre Escalante, a Spanish priest, with about one hundred followers, was the first to 
 look upon the Grand Canon at the point now known as the '' Old Ute Crossing," 
 but named originally by Escalante •* Vado del Padre," or "Priest's Ford." Esca- 
 lante's graphic description is as follows: "A rock, when lying in the river and seen 
 from the cliff, appeared no larger than a man's hand ; but, when the descent of more 
 than a mile vertical had been made to the water-level, it was found to be as large as 
 the cathedral at Seville." The map constructed by the padre still shows clearly the 
 point at which he crossed. 
 
4 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Fremont and Whipple had seen tlie canon, and Ives, in his expedition of 1857- 
 "58, saw the Kanab, one of its hirgest branches ; but it was not till Major Powell's 
 voyage of exploration, in 1860, that the river, hitherto practically almost as unknown 
 as the sources of the Nile, was revealed in all its wonders to the world. The same 
 intrepid explorer made a second expedition, under the auspices of the Government, in 
 1871, and added fresh material for wonder to tlie results of his earlier voyage. In no 
 
 ^tart from 6reen-Rii<er Station. 
 
 way can the marvels of the Colorado River be more vividly presented than by follow- 
 ing the adventurous exploits of the last Powell expedition. 
 
 The Colorado River is formed by the junction of the Green and Grand Rivers, in 
 the eastern part of Utah, from which it flows southward into the Gulf of California. 
 From Green River Station, which is the point of departure, the distance by the course 
 of the stream to the junction of the rivers is a little more than four hundred and 
 eighty-eight miles. The canons begin very soon after leaving the railway, and increase 
 
THE CANONS OF THE COLORADO. 5 
 
 in grandeur till they reach their climax in the Grand Canon of the Colorado River. 
 The juncture of the two rivers pours into the mighty gorges of the Colorado a flood 
 of waters equal in volume to the flow of Niagara. The cations on Green River, 
 before it unites with the waters of the Grand, are known successively as Horseshoe, 
 Flaming Gorge, Kingfisher, Red, Lodore, Whirlpool, Yanipa, Desolation, Gray, Laby- 
 rinth, and Stillwater. Those on the Colorado proper are Cataract, Narrow, Glen, 
 Marble, Grand, and Kanab Canons. 
 
 The Powell expedition, whose journey we are about to retrace, explored a water- 
 route of about four hundred miles on the Green River and nearly five hundred miles 
 on the Colorado. The journey was made in boats, each containing three water-tight 
 compartments, in which were packed provisions, instruments, extra clothing, etc., and 
 the party consisted of eleven persons. They started from Green River City on May 
 22, 1871, and the swift current of the Green River, gliding at the rate of ten miles 
 an hour, soon hurried them from friendly sight onward toward unknown perils. 
 
 The first fifty miles ran through an undulating sage-brush country, whose only 
 advantage was found in the abundance of game, deer, antelope, otter, and beaver offer- 
 ing themselves at every turn to the hunter's rifle. Until the arrival at Flaming Gorge, 
 there were no caflons, but at this point massive cliffs began to show themselves, her- 
 alding those stupendous gorges which were later to amaze the eye and imagination 
 with a vertical ascent of nearly a mile and a half. Seven days after starting, the 
 party reached Horseshoe Caflon without any accident more than the upsetting of One 
 of the boats, and the penalty of wet jackets for the crew. At Horseshoe Cafion 
 the scenery begins to approach the sublime. The walls, composed of beautiful i-ed 
 and yellow sandstone, rise vertically to the height of nearly two thousand feet. Six 
 miles' journey through the Horseshoe, during which time there were many upsets and 
 impromptu baths in the swift rapids, landed the party in a charming little valley 
 appropriately called "The Hunter's Paradise." Rich green turf, countless beautiful 
 flowers, deliciously cool springs embowered in deep groves of box-elder and cotton- 
 wood, herds of deer, antelope, and mountain-sheep roaming in fearless innocence, made 
 a graceful and fascinating picture. After spending two days in this Elysium, our 
 travelers embarked again, and soon entered Red Canon, so called from the brilliant 
 vermilion hue of its walls. Here the perils of the journey began in dead earnest. 
 Let us take a leaf from the diary of one of the party, which gives one a vivid idea of 
 their experiences : 
 
 " To-day our hard work and lively times commenced. Pulled out into the stream 
 at 7 A. M. Ran four very bad rapids in going one mile, then landed to bail out the 
 boats, which were nearly full of water. After making everything secure again, started 
 out, and soon came to a sudden bend in the river. The water, having worn a passage 
 far under the rocks, sucked everything into it like a whirlpool. In passing the corner, 
 the Nellie Powell was drawn under by this mighty current-force and capsized. The 
 crew narrowly escaped drowning, but managed to reach the shore without great damage, 
 and soon had the boat in trim for another trial. 
 
6 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 " Tlie Emma Dean also struck a wall and carried away a rowlock, but the ('anonita 
 rounded the turn successfully, and her crew came out Happing their wings like young 
 roosters. One mile farther on we passed four fearful rapids, through which the boats 
 plunged at a terrific rate, each nearly filling with water. The walls of rock are clos- 
 ing in as if to immerse us in a monster tomb, and a certain terror fastens on a man's 
 vitals as the grim shadows deepen, yet life itself seems not to fascinate so much as 
 that unknown water-track beckoning us on. 
 
 "Camped at 11 A. M. for dinner amid the most awful solitude one can imagine, 
 the walls of the caflon rising on either side to the height of two thousand feet. 
 Pulled out again at 2 p. m. ; found the river very rough ; ran one mile, sliip])ing 
 large quantities of water, and came to the first rapid that had as yet successfully dis- 
 puted our passage. Here we made our first portage, unloaded the Emma Dean, and 
 carried the things over the rocks on our shoulders, letting the boat down with ropes. 
 
 "The other boats made the passage in the same way, but without unloading their 
 cargoes. All hands, wet, cold, and hungry, camped on the same spot that the party 
 of 1869 did just two years ago to-day.* The current of the river is very swift liere, 
 running twenty miles an hour. Remained in this camp two days for the purpose of 
 taking topographical observations of the rivers and mountains and obtaining views, 
 and pitched our next camp on what we christened Ant Island, from the myriads of 
 these industrious little insects that infested it, and whicli overran us and our food 
 with surprising alacrity. At this point we passed an old boat with quite a little his- 
 tory of its own. It was left here in 1869 by a party of Green Eiver miners on their 
 way to Brown's Hole. This company started several weeks after the Powell party of 
 the same year ; but, not using the same care and precaution, they were wrecked near 
 this island, and lost one of their number by drowning ; and so, satisfied with the 
 beauties of navigation, they abandoned their boat, took to the mountains, and arrived 
 at their destination after three weeks of laborious toiling and climbing, having made 
 a distance of fifteen miles, which we accomplished in less than two days. I mention 
 the above incident not only from its own interest, but as showing the jjcrils of such 
 river navigation." 
 
 Again we read : " The day has been full of excitement, not unaccompanied by 
 imminent danger, for we have run twenty fearful rapids in coming six miles. Imagi- 
 nation can not create an enjoyment so full of nervous dread and daring as the dash 
 through these rapids at the rate of thirty miles an hour. One gets so to love the 
 rush and roar that to effect landings between, to bail and make ready the boats, is 
 an unwelcome delay, though the physical man be on the verge of exhaustion." 
 
 Before entering on the greater dangers of the canons, the Powell party spent a 
 couple of days for rest and preparation at the head of a pretty park-like valley 
 called Little Brown's Hole, so called from an old trapper who had once lived the life 
 of an anchorite at tliis spot. Fragrant mountain roses and luxuriant grass carpeted 
 the earth, and made a delightful contrast to the savage grandeur of towering walls 
 
 * Keferring to Major Powell's first expedition, two years befoi'e. 
 
THE C'ASOJVS of THE COLORADO. 
 
 Morseehoe Canon. 
 
 through which they had passed, and wliicli they were to witness in still more start- 
 ling forms of Nature's handiwork. The river flows onward from this spot for about 
 thirty-five miles through this channing Eden set in the mountains, full of lovely 
 
8 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 scenery, tliat rests and soothes the eye and fancy. Groves of cotton-wood alternate 
 with sweeps of meadow, and everywhere are seen grass and flowers. Two miles back 
 on either side the mountains tower four thousand feet toward the clouds, their snow- 
 capped summits glistening in the sun like burnished silver, and contrasting beautifully 
 with the vegetation and colored I'ocks at their base. This lovely valley, surrounded 
 by high and almost inaccessible mountains, is hardly known even to the hunter, so 
 difficult of access is it except by boat. 
 
 After emerging from the open, sunny valley into the gloomy shadows of the great 
 walls, a few hours' time brings our party of tired voyagers to the head of the far- 
 famed Cafion of Lodore, appropriately named from Southey's poem, "How do the 
 Waters come down at Lodore ? " This canon is very narrow at its entrance, being only 
 one hundred and fifty yards wide. The walls, rising perpendicularly to the height of 
 two thousand feet, consist of brilliant-red sandstone, mottled and rainbow-tinted. 
 When descending, the explorer finds the river falling one hundred feet to the mile, 
 and the walls rising higher and higher, till, five miles farther down, at the head of 
 Disaster Falls, they reach the height of three thousand feet. Thus, shut in by stupen- 
 dous walls, our party haul their boats in close to the beetling rocks to spend the night, 
 and get rested for the perilous passage of the rapids on the morrow. It was here that 
 Major Powell lost a boat and her crew, and narrowly escaped drowning himself, in 
 1869. At Disaster Falls a party of daring trappers, in 1850, ignorant of what was 
 before them, dashed heedlessly ahead, and were carried over the cataract, losing nearly 
 all their party. The survivors, one of whom was Jim Bridger, Kit Carson's com- 
 j)anion, clambered up the rocks, and sustained life for three weeks on berries, lizards, 
 and snakes, in the attempt to extricate themselves, which they finally accomplished 
 after desperate climbing and crawling along the face of the terrible crags. 
 
 Disaster Falls consists of two steep descents, fifteen feet each in height, and about 
 fifty yards apart, below which, for several miles, the river presents a continuous sheet 
 of boiling foam. It was deemed best to surmount this obstacle by a carry, which took 
 two days, the boats being let down by ropes. Two more carries were necessary, at 
 Triplet and Bowlder Falls, several miles below, and so the whole jiassage of Lodore 
 Canon was accomplished by eight days of hard labor, the distance being thirty miles. 
 
 Echo Park, where the Powell party remained for a week, takes its name from the 
 wonderful echo there. At first, total silence follows the discharge of a gun ; then 
 suddenly the echo is heard far away, and it is swiftly repeated in rajiid reverberations 
 as if leaping from glen to glen, growing louder and louder till it culminates in a 
 thunderous crash of sound. The park is a valley about a mile square, surrounded by 
 walls twelve hundred feet high, and only accessible by water. From this point to 
 Whirlpool Canon, only a few miles, the river makes a rapid descent of thirty feet to 
 the mile, and forms a varying picture of rapid current, rocky bowlders, fathomless 
 pools, and milk-white foam. In the heart of the Whirlpool Cafion is a beautiful little 
 group of islands covered with cotton-wood, on both sides of which the rock-walls rise 
 straight three thousand feet in the air. The fanciful shapes of these dainty islets. 
 
THE CAJ^ONS of the COLORADO. 9 
 
 buried amid .such weird and solemn surroundings, give them an aspect of something 
 uncanny. The most distinct of the optic resemblances they present is that of a 
 schooner under full sail, but the eye finds as many likenesses in them as in the glow- 
 
 Canon of Lothrt, 
 
 ing coiils of a Christmas fire. On the eastern side the shore is rich with shrubbery, 
 where the cailon temporarily breaks, and the effect of sunshine and shadow on the 
 water is described as being very beautiful. 
 
10 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Yampa, also known as Split-Mountain Cafion, is a gorge from two thousand eight 
 hundred to three thousand live hundred feet in height, where the river has cut its 
 way into a mountain running parallel with it for six miles. From the summit of 
 the mountain a bird's-eye view of the whole length of the cafion is obtained, stretching 
 like a silver ribbon far into the valley of the Uintah Mountains, while on the west 
 are seen the snow-capped peaks of the Uintah range and the valleys of Utah. The 
 photographers of the party climbed to the summit for the purpose of taking obser- 
 vations, and, overlooking the giant gorge, saw far down its mighty depths, when 
 
 the boats, though two miles 
 down the river, seemed al- 
 most under the feet of the 
 observer, and the voice of 
 Major Powell giving orders 
 came uj) as clear as the 
 notes of a bugle. Near the 
 mouth of this caflon were 
 found carved on the over- 
 hanging rocks picture-writ- 
 ings of the ancient Aztecs, 
 whose primitive seat is sup- 
 posed to have been some- 
 where in this region, repre- 
 senting deer, buffalo, bear, 
 elk, and different kinds 
 of birds, accompanied with 
 cabalistic inscriptions, the record, perhaps, 
 of some great event in tlie history of that 
 mysterious race. It may be remarked in 
 passing, as the reader sails with o>ir party 
 T^ ■■ J.<B from canon to canon, that there is rarelv a break in the walls of 
 these Titanic gorges, the division being marked by differences in 
 their geological structure. 
 
 Approaching the head of the Canon of Desolation, the country 
 gradually rises along the lateral river-bottoms until it reaches a flat surface. The 
 canon is appropriately named, for from its top as far as the eye can reach nothing is 
 visible but a desert of sand and rock, interspersed with a few stunted cotton-wood 
 trees and clumps of sage-brush. Our party passed the first fifteen miles of the gorge 
 without a rapid, but soon the water became shallow and dangerous, and several acci- 
 dents of upsets occurred. The walls are from eight hundred to three thousand feet 
 high, generally sloping backward, and the country level, except where a lateral gulch 
 runs toward the river. The lower part of Desolation is known as Cole's Cafion, and 
 altogether the length is about one hundred miles. To pass this cafion it was neces- 
 
THE CAJ^ONS OF THE COLORADO. 
 
 11 
 
 sary to ruu one liuudred and twenty rapids, and the bold voyageurs had many nar- 
 row escapes from drowning, and were never without wet jackets. On clearing this 
 fatiguing and dangerous passage, Powell and his men camped at Gunnison's Crossing, 
 so called from a Captain Gunnison who in 1854 was killed hereabout by the Ute 
 Indians while leading an exploring party. Before his tragic fate, it was known as 
 Old Spanish Crossing, being on the direct trail from Santa Fe to Los Angeles. 
 
 Labyrinth Cafion, one of the lower gorges of the Green River, has comparatively 
 low walls, but they are 
 perpendicular and impass- 
 able. Indeed, from Gun- 
 nison's Crossing, one hun- 
 dred and sixteen miles 
 above the junction of the 
 Green and Grand Rivers, 
 to the running out of 
 the Grand Caflon, a dis- 
 tance of five hundred and 
 eighty-seven miles, there 
 are only two places, and 
 these but a mile apart, 
 where the river and its 
 imprisoning gorges can be 
 crossed. At one point in 
 the Labyrinth Canon the 
 river makes a long bend, 
 in the bow of which it 
 sweeps around a huge cir- 
 cular butfe, whose regular 
 and towering walls look as 
 though they might have 
 been laid by a race of 
 giant craftsmen. At a 
 distance the pile looks 
 like a vast turret-shaped 
 
 fortress ruined and deserted. This point in the river is known as Bonita Bend. 
 Adjoining this is Stillwater Canon, which is. as the name indicates, smooth and 
 placid, undisturbed by fall or raj)id. 
 
 Near this spot Major Powell found the ruins of an ancient Aztec city, deserted 
 perhaps ten centuries ago. The history of this people, so far as we know it, is of 
 singular interest. They were once a powerful nation, making and giving laws, peace- 
 able, and inclined to agriculture. They were finally attacked by the nomadic tribes 
 of the North, and such as survived were driven from their homes on the plains and 
 
 LigM-Noiise Boch in C'nnori of DesolnMofi. 
 
12 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 forced to seek shelter in the mountain fastnesses of the rocks and river-canons. Many 
 wild legends are told of their struggles with the fierce red-man, before they succumbed 
 — how, besieged in their natural fortifications, they were finally reduced to a few 
 hundreds, who now occupy seven small towns, built on high rocks, in Arizona. This 
 residue is industrious, cultivating the soil, raising flocks of sheep, and making pot- 
 tery of no inconsiderable artistic beauty. Major Powell found many of their houses 
 perched on ledges of rock several hundred feet up the caflon-walls. These houses 
 are built of rocks filled in with mortar, and generally contain two or three rooms. 
 The walls are covered with beautifully painted inscriptions, in many cases represent- 
 ing natural objects with not only correctness but grace of outline, and showing a 
 notable degree of artistic taste. Previous migrations of the race are supposed to have 
 passed southward into Central America and Mexico, over which latter country it 
 finally became dominant. 
 
 Little more than four months after starting, the Powell party arrived at the con- 
 fluence of the two streams which constitute the now famous Colorado River. Let us 
 borrow the description of the river at this initial point given by one of the explorers : 
 "It is at its source three hundred feet wide and very deep. The canons rise six- 
 teen hundred feet on either side, the view from the top being very extensive and 
 novel. As far as the eye can reach, a smooth, fiat rock spreads out in every direc- 
 tion in unbroken monotony, save when and where a biitte or pinnacle looks up like 
 some stern guardian of tlie stony waste. Many of these pinnacles are from three 
 hundred to one thousand feet high, composed of the most exquisite party-colored 
 sandstone, and cut and washed by the sand-storms into the most grotesque and fan- 
 tastic forms. On some portions of the plain they are grouped so as to present the 
 appearance of a grove ; others resemble ruined cities and castles in the distance, and 
 still others are like the mammoths and saurians of by-gone ages quietly browsing. 
 Standing among these weird piles, we were reminded of Irving's ' Ruins of the Al- 
 hambra,' and a strange feeling, such as the prophet might have experienced, returning 
 after a thousand years to walk alone amid the desolated piles of Tyre and 8idon and 
 the cities of the plain, came over us. Some parts of this table-land, being rent into 
 great fissures, are difficult to explore. Climbing up and down smooth rocks at an 
 angle of forty-five degrees is a work for tooth and nail, and it requires some nerve to 
 leap across a chasm six or eight feet wide, so deep that the bottom is not discernible. 
 Often we would stop and throw large bowlders down. For several moments we could 
 hear them bound and rebound against the sides ; then a dull thud would announce 
 that they had struck bottom. A misstep in a place like this is something not pleasant 
 to contemplate." 
 
 Cataract Canon, the first great gorge on the Colorado proper, is about forty miles 
 long, and the descent of the stream is so great, and the velocity of the water so 
 tremendous, that it can only be compared to tlie rush of an express-train. Great 
 buttresses of the walls stand out in the rushing flood at intervals, turning the swift 
 current into boiling whirlpools, threatening destruction to any adventurous voyager. 
 
THE CAJ^ONS OF THE COLORADO. 
 
 13 
 
 At the foot of Cataract Cauon the walls of the chasm approach each other, and for 
 a distance of seven miles the flood pours through Narrow Canon at the speed of forty 
 miles an hour. 
 
 This dangerous passage was accomplished by Powell and his men after great diffi- 
 culty and labor, and constant risk of sudden death. The difficulties of navigation in 
 some places among the rapids are shown in the fact that it sometimes took a whole 
 day to go three miles. It was very difficult to resist the swiftness of the current and 
 
 Rtinmnff the Kapids. 
 
 go slowly, and exceedingly dangerous to go any faster. The difficulty of running 
 these rapids is derived from the fact that the walls, rising perpendicularly from the 
 water's edge, prevent the use of ropes in letting down the boats. Care and skill, how- 
 
14 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 evw, carried Powell and his men through. Oftentimes tierce sand-storms, driving 
 through the gorge, would threaten to sink their frail craft, and at night, as they 
 tossed and swung on these almost subterranean waters, which hissed and boiled beneath 
 them, the inky darkness made a gloom and depression almost unbearable. Then, again, 
 gleams of light from moon or stars would shoot down their welcome brightness, and 
 transform the foaming river into a great phosphorescent caldron quivering with a 
 weird and witch-like movement. 
 
 Just before reaching the mouth of the Paria River, which empties into the Colo- 
 rado, the party landed one day for dinner near what is called the Musical Temple. 
 This temple is a grotto extending five hundred feet into the mountain, with walls 
 three hundred feet higli, and so arched that the sky above seems a vein of blue glass 
 ritnning through the rock. The entrance is narrow, but the diameter is at least two 
 hundred and fifty feet. A pool of clear, cold water bubbles uj) and forms a rill bor- 
 dered with flowers and running vines, and near it a tiny, throne-shaped stone impresses 
 a full-grown man with the awkwardness of having invaded Titania's bower. The rever- 
 berations of voice are startling, and quite as wonderful as in some of the chambers 
 of the Mammoth Cave. Every sound, even to the dropping of a small pebble, is 
 echoed from the nooks and crannies of the j)lace, as if a legion of fairies mocked 
 one's every movement. Such dainty caprices of Nature as this only made more sol- 
 emn the sublime surroundings in which they were set. 
 
 The junction of the Paria River was the terminus of the Powell explorations for 
 the season, as the provisions of the party had given out, their instruments were mostly 
 lost, and the cold weather was setting in. The rest of the ]jerilous voyage was made 
 the next year, the boats having been carefully concealed and protected from the winter 
 storms. 
 
 The daring explorers, on returning the following season, passed through still more 
 arduous experiences, for the greatest of the canons were yet to be conquered. The 
 most beautiful of the caflons begins at the mouth of the Paria, and extends to the 
 confluence of the Little Colorado (or Chiquito, as it is called by the Indians) with the 
 greater river. This is known as Marble Cailon, and is sixty-five and a half miles long. 
 The walls are of limestone or marble, beautifully carved and polished, and the forms 
 assumed have a most deceptive resemblance to mined architecture. The colors of the 
 marble are various — pink, brown, gray, white, slate-color, and vermilion. No pencil- 
 drawing could possibly express the beauty and grandeur of this gorge— only the painter's 
 brush could reproduce anything closely truthful to the combination of the splendid 
 and terrible exhibited in the sculpturing, the colors, and the awful depth of the Mar- 
 ble Cafion of the Colorado. 
 
 It will be of interest to the reader to get some clear idea of the way in which 
 these wonderful formations were wrought. We can not do better than use the words 
 of Major Powell, who has given more study to the subject than has any other scien- 
 tist : " To a person studying the physical geography of this country without a knowl- 
 edge of its geology, it would seem very strange that the river should cut throiigh the 
 
THE CANONS OF THE COLORADO. 
 
 15 
 
 mountains, when apparently it might have passed around them to the east thi-ough 
 valleys, for there are such along the north side of the Uintas, extending to the east 
 where the mountains are degraded to hills. Then why did the river run through 
 
 Marble Co/ion, 
 
 these mountains ? The first explanation suggested is, that it followed a previously 
 formed fissure through the range ; but a very little examination will show that this 
 is unsatisfactory. The proof is abundant that the river cut its own gorge — that the 
 cafions are gorges of corrasion. Then why did not the river turn around this obstruc- 
 
16 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 tion ruther thuu pass tlirough it ? The answer is, that the river had the right of 
 wav ; in other words, it was running ere the mountains were formed ; not before the 
 rocks of which the mountains are composed were deposited, but before the formations 
 were folded so as to make a mountain-range. The contracting, or shriveling, of the 
 earth causes the i-ocks near the surface to wrinkle, or fold, and such a fold was 
 started athwart the course of the river. Had it been suddenly formed, it would have 
 been an obstruction sufficient to turn the water into a new course to the cast beyond 
 the extension of the wrinkle; but the emergence of the fold above the general sur- 
 face of the country was little or no faster than the progress of the corrosion of the 
 channel. We may say, then, that the river did not cut its way down through the 
 mountains from a height of many thousand feet above its present site, but, having 
 an elevation differing but little perliaps from what it is now, it cleared away an 
 obstruction by cutting a canon, and the walls were thus elevated on either side. The 
 river preserved its level, but the mountains were lifted up ; as the saw revolves on a 
 fixed pivot while the log through which it cuts is moved along. . . . The upheaval 
 was not marked by a great convulsion, for the lifting of the rocks was so slow that 
 the rains removed the sandstones almost as fast as they came up. The mountains 
 were not thrust up as peaks, but a great block was slowly lifted up, and from this 
 the mountain was carved by the clouds — patient artists who take time to do their 
 work. Mountains are often spoken of as forming clouds about their tops : the clouds 
 have formed the mountains. Lift a district of granite or marble into their region, 
 and they gather about and hurl their storms against it, beating the rocks into sand ; 
 and then they carry tliem out into the sea, carving out cailons, gulches, and valleys, 
 and leaving plateaus and mountains embossed on the surface." 
 
 The Marble Gallon runs out at the junction of the Chiquito and the Colorado, at 
 which point the Grand Cailon begins. The head of the Grand Cation is in the northern 
 central part of Arizona, and it runs out in the northwestern part, lying wholly within 
 that Territory. Its general course is to the west, but it makes two great bends to the 
 south. It is two hundred and seventeen miles long, and the walls vary in height 
 from four thousand to six thousand two hundred and thirty-three feet. Tliere are in 
 the canon no perpendicular walls more than three thousand feet high. At that ele- 
 vation from the river the sides slope back, and rise by a series of perpendicular cliffs 
 and terraces to the level of the surrounding country. In many places it is possible to 
 find gorges or side-canons cutting down through the upper cliffs, by which one may 
 approach to the edge of the perpendicular wall of tlie river-gorge. At three thousand 
 feet above the river the chasm is only a few hundred feet wide. At the highest eleva- 
 tion the distance across is from five to ten miles. At various places the chasm is cleft 
 through the primal granite rock to the de])th of tAventy-eight hundred feet. In such 
 parts of the canon, which are many miles of its whole extent, the chasm is narrow, the 
 walls rugged, broken, and precipitous, and the navigation of the river very dangerous. 
 
 In no way can so vivid an idea of the Grand Canon and its wonders be so clearly 
 conveyed as by following in detail the experiences of Major Powell and his party in 
 
THE CAJ^OWS OF THE COLORADO. 
 
 17 
 
 i<i^^,,.:^.:iliimt 
 
 Head of Grand Canon at the Junction of the Chiquito and Colorado liivers. 
 
 its exploration. After a rest of a few days at the mouth of the Chiquito, •where 
 Marble Canon ends, the intrepid explorers embarked in their boats again, on their 
 way down the Great Unknown, whose perils perhaps they would scarcely have ventured 
 to face had they fully known them in advance. The first day passed without incident, 
 but at daybreak of tlie second they found themselves in the jaws of a mighty granite 
 gorge, narrower than any they had yet seen. The water became exceedingly swift, and, 
 though the channel was free of broken rocks, the walls were set on either side with 
 pinnacles, crags, and sharp angular buttresses, bristling with wind- and wave-polished 
 spires extending far out into the river. Ledges of rock Jutted into the stream, their 
 tops sometimes just below the surface, sometimes rising many feet above, while pinna- 
 cles and towers broke the swift current into chutes, eddies, and whirlpools. A few 
 
18 OUR XATIVE LAND. 
 
 hours of this joiimoying, to which danger that could bu overcome by sluirp vigihinco 
 lent a ]\een zest, had passed, when their ears caught a loud roar ahead, that became 
 louder and louder as the swift current swept their boats onward with great velocity. 
 Soon they fouud themselves approaching the verge of a long, broken fall, full of dan- 
 gerous obstructions and boiling rapids and whirlpools, making a descent of about 
 eighty feet in nearly a third of a mile. There was no possibility of making a portage, 
 so there was nothing to be doiie but to trust themselves to fate. On they sped, tossed 
 and battered by the augi'y breakers, spun around by the whirlpools like tops, all but 
 submerged at times by the big waves. But they all managed to get through safely, 
 though with their clothes wetted through, and with a feeling that they had looked 
 pretty closely into the face of death. 
 
 The walls of the canon were now more than a mile in height, a thousand feet 
 through granite crags tlieir slopes and perpendicular cliffs rising one above the other 
 to the summit. Down through these gloomy depths the boats glided, the vojagers 
 listening always with intent ear, for the mad waters kept up a continual roar, and the 
 narrow canon was so winding that they could only see a few hundred yards ahead. 
 But, with all the unknown danger before tliem to absorb their attention, the gigantic 
 scenery of this solemn, mysterious way diverted thought from mere personal ])eril. 
 " Even as we went," we are told, " there was some new pinnacle or tower, some crag 
 or peak, some distant view of the upper plateau, some deep, narrow side-canon, or 
 some strangely shaped rock."' Above all was the stunning conception of the height 
 of the walls that locked them in — about the distance of Grace Church, New i'ork, 
 from the corner of Canal Street and Broadway ; or of the Treasui-y Building, in Wash- 
 ington, from the Capitol ; or of tlie Union De])ot. Chicago, from the Lake Street 
 bridge. 
 
 Major Powell speaks of the sttikiug effects of the clouds floating above these great 
 depths : '• Sometimes they rolled down in great masses, filling the gorge with gloom ; 
 sometimes they hung above from wall to wall, covering the canon with a roof of im- 
 pending storm, and we could peer long distances \\\i and down this canon corridor with 
 its cloud-roof overhead, its walls of black granite, and its river bright with the sheen 
 of broken waters. Then a gust of wind would sweej) down the side-gulch and make 
 a rift in the clouds, revealing the blue heavens, and a stream of sunlight poured in. 
 Again, the clouds drifted away into the distance, and hung around crags and peaks 
 and pinnacles and walls and towers, covering them with a mantle that lifted from 
 time to time and set them all in sharp relief. . . . Then the rain came down. Little 
 rills were formed rapidly above ; these soon grew into brooks, and the brooks into 
 creeks, which tumbled over the walls in innumerable cascades, adding their wild music 
 to the roar of the river. The waters that fall during the rain on these steep rocks are 
 gathered at once into the river ; they could scarcely be poured in more suddenly if 
 some vast spout ran from the clouds to the stream itself." 
 
 On some days the course of river-travel was found so dangerous that many portages 
 were necessary in advancing a mile, and a whole day would be exhausted in making a 
 
THE CAS'ONS of the COLORADO. 19 
 
 very little progress. The portages were often only a trifle less dangerous than the 
 river-travel, for the boats had to be carried up and around ledges and shelves of rock 
 where a misstei3 would have been fatal ; but the pluck of the explorer was proof against 
 everything, in spite of the murmurings of some of his men, daunted by the perils 
 they had to undergo, and the danger of their supply of rations giving out before that 
 dreadful journey through the Grand Caiion could be finished. Often, while his men 
 were engaged in making a portage of the boats around some impassable fall, Major 
 Powell would climb, by circuitous and painful as well as perilous paths, to the top of 
 the gorge. On one of these occasions he thus describes the appearance of the eafion : 
 " I climbed the wall on the northeast to a height of about twenty-five hundred feet, 
 where I could get a good view of a long stretch of eafion below. Its course was to 
 the southwest. The walls seemed to rise very abruptly for twenty-five hundred or three 
 thousand feet, and then there was a gentle sloping terrace on each side for two or 
 three miles, and then cliffs rising from fifteen hundred to twenty-five hundred feet. 
 From the brink of these the plateau stretches back to the north or south for a long 
 distance. Away down the eafion on the right wall I could see a group of mountains, 
 some of which appeared to stand on the brink of the eafion. The effect of the terrace 
 was to give the appearance of a narrow, winding valley with high walls on either side, 
 and a deep, dark, meandering gorge down its middle." 
 
 In some places the stream had not excavated its channel vertically through the 
 rocks, but had cut obliquely, so that one wall overhung another. In other places it 
 was cut obliquely below and vertically above, or vice versa, so that it was impossible 
 to see overhead. The gigantic caprices wrought by the water-saw which liad thus 
 cleft its way down through the bowels of granite, limestone, and slate, thousands of 
 feet, were almost numberless. At one place, near the center of the canon, were dis- 
 covered remarkable traces of volcanic action. Masses of lava, some of them shafts a 
 hundred feet high, stand in the river for a distance of several miles. Just over the 
 edge of a fall on the brink of a canon was observed a cinder-cone, or extinct volcano, 
 with a well-defined crater, from which vast floods of lava must have been poured into 
 the river, and just where it poured over the canon-side is the fall. 
 
 Just opposite the volcanic cone on the other side of the river, from a huge fissure 
 in the towering wall, at the height of a hundred feet above the river, mammoth 
 springs burst forth, pouring a great cascade of salt water into the river. The phe- 
 nomena relating to this flood of lava excited Major Powell's attention. He thinks 
 the canon had been filled, to a depth of perhaps fifteen hundred feet, by more than 
 one outpour of the fiery stream. This would dam the water back, and, in cutting 
 through this great lava-bed, a new channel was formed, sometimes on one side and 
 sometimes on the other. The cooled lava, being of harder texture than the other 
 rocks, remains in some places ; in others a nan-ow channel was cut, leaving a line of 
 basalt on either side. In some places all the lava is gone, leaving a few patches only 
 clinging to the sides of the walls. Sometimes the flow ran out into side-canons, 
 showing the basalt in fine columnar forms, or concentric prisms, repeating the shapes 
 
20 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 which make the beauty and wonder of Fingal's Cave, on the Isle of Staffa. What a 
 conflict of water and fire there must have been ! Imagine a river of molten rock 
 running down into a river of melted snow ! Through the whole length of the Grand 
 
 Gnind Cuiioii, tookiiiij down 'Tii'v Thousand Feet. 
 
 Canon the gorge is diversified by remarkable side-canons, crowded with colossal and 
 fantastic rock-forms, out of which the imagination can make all kinds of curious 
 parallels, domes, pinnacles, towers, thrones, chambers, statues, banqueting- tables, etc.. 
 
THE CA:^0NS of the COLORADO. 21 
 
 piled together in reckless confusion, as if by the hands of the Jottins of JSTorse mythol- 
 ogy. Over these side-canons often burst magnificent cascades, but at other times not 
 even the sound of falling water disturbs the silent mystery of these palaces of the 
 giants. 
 
 The dangers of the subterranean water-way over which Major Powell was journey- 
 ing were so great and so full of surprises that it was necessary to make frequent ascents 
 u]) the almost impassable face of the great gorge. All the skill and audacity of the 
 accomplished cragsman were necessary, and the leader, who had lost one arm during 
 the late war, met many hair-breadth escapes in reaching points of outlook. One of 
 these adventures he thus describes: "We came to a place in the river which seemed 
 much worse than any we had met in our whole course. We landed, but could see no 
 place where we could let down, and to run it (the fall) would be sure destruction. 
 Then we crossed to examine it on the left. High above the river we could walk 
 along on the top of the granite, which was broken off at the edge and set with crags 
 and pinnacles, so that it was very difficult to get a view of the river at all. In my 
 eagerness to reach a point where I could see the roaring fall below, I went too far on 
 the wall, and could neither advance nor retreat, and stood with one foot on a little, 
 projecting rock, and clung with my hand fixed in a little crevice. Finding I was 
 caught here, suspended four hundred feet above the river, into which I should fall if 
 my footing failed, I called for help. The men came and passed me a line, but I could 
 not let go the rock long enough to take hold of it ; then they brought two or three 
 of the longest oars. All this took time, which seemed very precious to me. But at 
 last the blade of one of the oars was pushed into a little crevice of the rock beyond 
 me in such a way that they could hold me pressed against the wall. Then another 
 was fixed in such a way that I could step on it, and I was rescued." 
 
 It was found that a lateral stream had washed bowlders into the river so as to 
 form a dam, over which the river made a broken fall of eighteen or twenty feet ; 
 then there was a rapid beset with rock for two or three hundred yards, while on the 
 sides points of the wall projected into the river. There was a second fall below no 
 less dangerous, and beyond that a rapid, filled with huge rocks for several hundred 
 yards. At the bottom of this a great wall projected itself half-way across the river. 
 It had a sloping surface up-stream, and the water, coming down with all the momen- 
 tum gained in the falls and rapids above, rolled up this inclined plane many feet, and 
 tumbled over to the left, forming a perilous whirlpool. Here were a Scylla and a 
 Charybdis combined with a vengeance. This complication of perils was overcome by 
 letting the boats down over the first fall by ropes, running the rapids below, passing 
 the second fall by a chute or a break in the rocky dam, and pulling the boats across 
 the stream just below, with all the strength of the crews, to avoid being swept down 
 on the great rock and the whirlpool. Only great skill, resolution, and quickness of 
 stroke saved them from ruin in this attempt, and, though they were upset and got 
 wet jackets, they piilled through safely, as they had all previous dangers. 
 
 Before this part of the river was passed, three men of the expedition had become 
 
22 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 so discouraged by the dangers they had suffered and tlie unknown threat of what was 
 to come, that they determined to leave the party and make the best of their way toward 
 the settlements. Though Major Powell made calculations showing that they could not 
 have more than eighty or ninety miles more of travel through the Grand Caflou be- 
 fore emerging into a more open country at the confluence of the Rio Virgen, where 
 it would be easy to get back to civilization, the rebels could not be persuaded. So 
 the rations were fairly divided with them, a duplicate set of the records of the expedi- 
 tion intrusted to their care, in case Powell should be lost, and they set out with a 
 (irod-speed from their forsaken comrades. These deserters had a tedious and difficult 
 time, and, as Fate would have it, did not reach the settlements till after Major Powell. 
 
 Nearly every day brought fresh difficulties to be overcome, and one can hardly blame 
 the faint-hearted three for giving up the enterprise which the indomitable Powell and 
 his followers persisted in carrying out to the last. An experience similar to the one 
 already described, and even more thrilling, we give in the explorer's own language : 
 
 ■' Just after dinner we came to another bad place. A little stream came in from 
 the left, and below there was a fall and still another fall. Above, the river tumbled 
 down over and among the rocks in whirlpools and great waves, and the waters were 
 white with foam. We ran along the left above this, and soon saw that we could not 
 get down on that side, but it seemed possible to let down on the other. So we pulled 
 up-stream for two or three hundred yards and crossed. There was a bed of basalt 
 on the northern side of the canon, with a bold escarpment that seemed a hundred 
 feet high. We could climb it and walk along the summit to a jioint where we were 
 just above the head of the fall. Here the basalt seemed to be broken again^ and 1 
 directed the men to take the line to the top of tlie cliff and let the boats down along 
 the wall. One remained in the boat, to keep her clear of the rocks and prevent her 
 line from being caught on the projecting angles. I climbed the cliff' and passed to a 
 point just over the fall and descended by broken rocks, and found that the break of 
 the fall was above the break of the wall, so that we could not land, and that still 
 below the river was very biid. and there was no jjossibility of a portage. Without wait- 
 ing further to examine and determine wliat should be done, I hastened back to the 
 top of the cliff to stop the boats from coming down. AVhen I arrived 1 found that 
 the men had let one of them down to the head of the fall : she was in swift water, 
 and they were not able to pull her back, nor were they able to go on with the line, as 
 it was not long enough to reach the higher part of the cliff which was just before 
 tliem ; so they took a bight around a crag and I sent two men back for another line. 
 The boat was in very swift water, and Bradley was standing in the open compartment 
 holding out his oar to prevent her from striking against the foot of the cliff's. Now 
 she shot out into the stream and up as far as the line would permit, and then wheel- 
 ing drove headlong against the rock ; and then out and back again, now straining on 
 the line, now striking against the cliff. As soon as the second line was brought we 
 passed it down to him, but his attention was all taken up by his own situation, and 
 he did not see what we were doing. I stood on a projecting rock waving my hat to 
 
THE CASONS of the COLORADO. 
 
 33 
 
 View in Grand Oafvon 
 
24 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 gain his heed, for my voice was drowned in the roar of tlie falls, when just at that 
 moment I saw him take out his knife from its sheath and step forward to cut the 
 line. He had evidently decided that it was better for him to go over with his boat as 
 it was, than to wait for her to go all to pieces. As he leaned over the boat again 
 sheered into the stream, the stern-post broke away, and she was loose. With perfect 
 composure Bradley seized tlie great scull-oar, placed it in the stern row-lock and 
 pulled witli all his might — and he was a strong fellow — to turn the bow of the boat 
 down-stream, for he wished to go bow down rather than to di'ift broadside on. Only 
 two strokes were made, a third just as she went over, and the boat was fairly turned ; 
 she went down almost beyond our sight, though we were more than a hundred feet 
 above the river. Then she came up again on a great wave, and down and up, then 
 around behind some great rocks, and was lost in the tumultuous foam below. 
 
 "We stood speechless with fear; we saw no boat ; Bradley was gone. But now, away 
 below, we saw something coming out of the waves. It was evidently a boat ; a moment 
 more and we saw Bradley standing on deck, swinging his hat, to show that he was all 
 right. But he was in a whirlpool. The stern-post of his boat remained attached to 
 the line which was in our possession. How badly she was disabled we knew not. I di- 
 rected Sumner and Powell to run along the cliff and see if they could not reach him 
 from below. Rhodes, Hall, and myself ran to the other boat, jumped aboard, pushed 
 out, and away we went over the falls. A wave rolled over us, and our craft became 
 unmanageable ; another great wave struck us, the boat rolled over and tumbled and 
 tossed I know not how. All I know is that Bradley was soon picking us up. Before 
 long we had all right again and rowed to the cliff, and waited until Sumner and 
 Powell came up. After a difficult climb they reached us, when we ran two or three 
 miles farther, and turned again to the northwest, continuing till night, when we ran 
 out of the granite once more." 
 
 On August 29th they emerged from the Grand Cailon, whose stupendous portals 
 they had entered on the 13th, and well might they give thanks that a journey, 
 encompassed with terrible dangers, Avhere death had stared them in the face almost 
 every day, was safely over. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Moran, the artist, and a companion, made a visit to two of the most 
 interesting portions of this caflon in tlie summer of 1873, accompanied by guides from 
 Major Powell's party, some of whom were still engaged in completing the results of 
 their survey, and a further brief description from this source will be of interest : 
 
 "Our first journey," we read, "was to the Toroweap Valley. By following down 
 this valley, we passed through the upper line of cliffs to the edge of a chasm cut in 
 red sandstone and vermilion-colored limestone or marble, twenty-eight hundred feet 
 deep and about one thousand feet wide. Creeping out carefully to the edge of the 
 precipice, we could look down directly on the river, fifteen times as far away as the 
 waters of Niagara are below the bridge. Mr. Hillers, who passed through the caflon 
 with Major Powell, was with us, and he informed us that the river below was a 
 raging torrent ; yet it looked from the top of the cliff like a small, smooth, sluggish 
 
THE CAS'ONS of the COLORADO. 
 
 25 
 
26 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 river. The view looking uj) tlie eiifion is magniticeut, and beyond the most extrava- 
 gant conception of the imagination. In the foreground lies a profound gorge, witli 
 a mile or two of tlie river seen in its deep bed. The eye looks twenty miles or more 
 through what ajipears like a narrow valley formed by the upper line of the cliffs. 
 The many-Colored rocks in which the valley is carved project into it in vast head- 
 lands two thousand feet high, wrought into beautiful but gigantic architectural forms. 
 Within an hour of the time of sunset the effect is strange, weird, and dazzling. 
 Every moment, until light is gone, the scene shifts, as one monumental pile passes 
 into shade and another, before unobserved, comes into view. . . . Our next visit 
 was to the Karbal Plateau, the highest plateau through which the river cuts. It was 
 only after much hard labor, and possibly a little danger, that we could reach a point 
 where we could see the river, which we did from the edge of Powell Plateau, a small 
 plain severed from the mainland by a precii)itous gorge two thousand feet deep, 
 across which we succeeded in making a passage. Here we beheld one of the most 
 awful scenes on the globe. While on the highest point of the plateau, a terrific 
 thunder-storm burst over the cailon. The lightning flashed from crag to crag. A 
 thousand streams gathered on the surrounding plain, and dashed down into the depths 
 of the caflon in water-falls many times the height of Niagara. The vast chasm which 
 we saw before us, stretching away forty miles in one direction and twenty miles in 
 another, was nearly seven thousand feet deep. Into it all the domes of the Yosemite, 
 if plucked from the level of that valley, might be cast, together with all the mass of 
 the White Mountains in New Hampshire, and still the chasm would not be filled." 
 
 The country through which the Colorado cleaves such a Titanic gash is interesting 
 aside from the remarkable physical features of it. Major Powell made many interest- 
 ing excursions during his different explorations in Arizona, and our knowledge of 
 several highly interesting Indian tribes has been materially advanced by the interest 
 lie has shown in studying these remnants of earlier races. The Navajos, a tribe belong- 
 ing to the Apache stock, acquired many arts from the partially civilized Indian races 
 who early inhabited New Mexico and Arizona, and they still continue their friend- 
 ship with the Moquis Pueblos, an Indian people now nearly extinct, but believed by 
 Major Powell to be descended from the Aztec race. The Navajos cultivate the soil 
 rudely but extensively, and have large herds and flocks of horses, cattle, sheep, and 
 goats. Their women also spin and weave cotton and wool with great skill. The 
 celebrated Navajo blankets are probably equal if not superior to any made in the 
 world, being so closely woven that they are absolutely water-tight. In 1873 the 
 Navajos, on the reservation near Fort Defiance, numbering 9,714 souls, had 1.30,000 
 sheep and goats, 10,000 horses, and a corresponding number of cattle ! They have 
 lost their old Indian dialect, and now speak only Spanish. A fine-looking, robust race, 
 their men are models of athletic vigor, and many of their women of no little beauty. 
 They dress decently, covering their whole body in textures of their own weaving, gen- 
 erally of bright colors. The warriors wear a helmet-shaped deer-skin cap, and their 
 arms are in the main bows, lances, and rawliide shields. This fine Indian tribe has 
 
THE CAJ^ONS OF THE CO LOB A BO. 27 
 
 made considerable advance in education, as they have a Presbyterian mission and 
 school among them, which have wrought with good results. 
 
 But the most interesting of the Indian peoples visited by Major Powell in his 
 
 Street lit a Moqtii-i VUlitge. 
 
 explorations of the caflons of the Colorado are the Moquis Pueblos. The ruins of 
 cities, bearing upon their dismantled walls the strange records of a population swal- 
 lowed up in the darkness of the past, found among the cliffs and caflons of the Colo- 
 rado, have given great interest to the section of Arizona wliere the Moquis Indians 
 
28 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 are found, who, whether or not a remnant of the ancient Aztecs of Mexico, differ 
 from all the other Indian races of North America. In 1530 Nino de Guzman, Gov- 
 ernor of New Galiciia, was excited by curiosity, and stories of great treasures prevalent 
 among the Indians, to fit out an expedition to go in search of the seven cities sup- 
 posed to exist between the Gila and the Colorado Rivers. Much of the romantic 
 cliarm investing these ruins and unknown towns is the outcome of the fact that, as in 
 the course of nature this country became barren and sterile, and the waters through 
 different causes were dried up, it became necessary that the inhabitants should move 
 to other regions. They could not move their cities, hence the ruins still found in 
 the desert of Arizona. But these people and their ruins, whether Moquis or Aztecs, 
 liave an interesting place in the archaeology of the continent. 
 
 The towns are generally built upon an eminence commanding a view of the sur- 
 rounding country, and so situated that they can only be approached through a narrow 
 defile or through a chasm in the rocks. The houses are formed of mud and stone, 
 two or three stories high, and ranged in the form of hollow squares. The first story 
 is built solid without any opening in the walls, and the second, being somewhat smaller, 
 forms a kind of terrace where the entrance is constructed, and access was had from 
 the outside by means of ladders. These wei'e drawn up after use, thus making the 
 place secure against attack. The lower stories were used as store-rooms, and the 
 remains of corn-cobs still found in them prove that the ancient occupants relied on 
 agriculture as well as the chase for a subsistence. In many cases, as has been stated 
 in previous pages, houses have been found built on the rock-terraces of such almost 
 impassable spots as the gorges of the Colorado. These probably were erected by scat- 
 tered fragments of the tribe, after they had been driven out of their towns by the fate 
 of war or the inhospitality of Nature. 
 
 The inhabited towns of to-day are seven in number, occupying twenty-five miles 
 square, and are governed by separate chiefs, who mix with one another very little. 
 Although one people, and known to the world as the seven Moquis Pueblos or Dying 
 Cities, each has a distinctive name, and is entirely independent of the others. 
 
 Mr. Beaman, one of the Powell party, who visited the village or city of Oribay, 
 writes as follows : "On the morning after my arrival I was awakened by the con- 
 fused ringing of bells, from the deep-toned cow-bell to the silvery tinkling of the 
 miniature chimes of Santa Claus's reindeer-team. So terrific was the din that I 
 thought there must be a fire, and had a sleepy idea that a fire-engine was rattling 
 over the stones. The only engines that appeared, however, were copper-colored Injins, 
 elaborately dressed in their aboriginal skins, with strings of bells girdled at their 
 waists. The novelty of tlie sight was an eye-opener, and I set to watching their 
 movements. The roofs of the houses were covered with people bowing toward tlie 
 rising sun, and paying not the slightest attention to the bell-men, who started off at 
 full speed, and after rvmning a mile returned. Turning to Lie (the Indian guide) 
 for an explanation of these strange manoeuvres, I was informed that an old tradition 
 existed among his people that at some future day Montezuma will come from the 
 
THE CAl!tONS OF THE COLORADO. 
 
 29 
 
 skies to restore to his children their former glory and power. They expect him to 
 come from the rising sun, in which his spirit is supposed to dwell, and for this 
 reason they send out messengers to meet him daily in the pomp and circumstance 
 which has been described." 
 
 The people believe that the sooner their villages go to decay the sooner their 
 deliverer and rebuilder will come ; therefore everything is left to go to decay. The 
 
 Navajo Indians. 
 
 introduction of improvements is considered an unpardonable sin against their faith, 
 and they refuse to accept any annuities from the United States, so as to obviate all 
 contact with the white man. Yet the Moquis are most skillful weavers of cotton and 
 wool, make highly artistic pottery, have considerable knowledge of smelting and forg- 
 ing metals, are excellent agriculturists, and show attainments superior to those of any 
 
30 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 other tribe of American Indians. They dress in a style simihir to that of the Nava- 
 jos, though with less gaudy colors. The women are characterized by superior beauty, 
 this charm being specially noticeable among the younger ones. One of the marked 
 peculiarities is the style of head-dressing prevalent among the maidens. As soon as a 
 girl comes of a marriageable age, her crowning glory is miffed upon either side of the 
 head in two distended bat-like wings, somewhat resembling the fans of a proiieller or 
 windmill. These wings are about a foot long, and, i^rojecting from the head of a 
 bright-eyed Indian girl, a lover might fear lest in a gale of wind his chocolate-colored 
 Venus should be borne aloft. When a girl becomes a wife, these wings disappear. 
 The purity of womanhood, so strictly maintained in this tribe, is in marked contrast 
 to other Mexican races. The Moquis matrons are above suspicion, while frailty is 
 unknown among their daughters. 
 
 One remarkable fact observable in the Moquis villages is the decoration of the 
 walls of their houses and their rolls of bark, which appear to be records, with pic- 
 torial representations not only of objects in nature, but hieroglyphics, of shape not 
 unlike those of Egypt. These are drawn and often colored with marked artistic 
 skill, and there are certain members of each community who devote themselves entirely 
 to this work, mostly old men, who appear to belong to some priestly caste, and to be 
 treated with great respect by the other Indian villagers. These things would indi- 
 cate, an origin different from that of the other Indian tribes, and go far to justify 
 that belief in Aztec descent held by Major Powell and other archaeologists who have 
 studied their customs and characteristics. 
 
 The wonderful Colorado canons have excited, perhaps, a greater interest among 
 scientists during the last few years than any other physical phenomena of our land, so 
 rich in natural wonders. Probably their parallel is not known on our globe, and only 
 their difficulty of access has prevented many curiosity-seekers and tourists from pene- 
 trating to a region so characterized by marvels. This difficulty, however, is likely soon 
 to disappear, as a railroad from Salt Lake City is planned, which will take the trav- 
 eler within a day's journey or so from the magnificent Grand Caflon, which surpasses 
 all the others in magnitude and sublimity. AVhen this projected route is completed, 
 it will be as easy to reach this masterpiece of Nature's power as to go to the Yo- 
 semite at the present time. Perhaps the time will come in the not distant future when 
 these great canons will be spoken of almost as familiarly as the falls of Niagara or 
 the Mammoth Cave ; or, it may be, tourist parties will be organized to picnic on the 
 topmost cliffs of the almost immeasurable gorges, at the bottom of which, more than 
 a mile below, the swift and turbid Colorado rolls its angry flood. 
 
Day-Boat leaving New Tork. 
 
 THE HUDSON RIVER. 
 
 Characteristic features ot river scenery — The Jfali- ' 
 sades — Tarrytown, its traditions and associations 
 — The home of Wasliington Irving — The High- 
 lands — T)ie legendary interest of the region — 
 West Point, our great military school — How the 
 cadets live and study — The charms of West Point 
 and its surroundings — The scene of Drake's 
 " Culprit Fay " — The story of the poem, and 
 how it was suggested — The literary associations of 
 the region about Cornwall — Idlewild, the home 
 of N. P. Willis — Newburg and its surroundings 
 — The Catskills, and their charm as a summer 
 resort — The upper Hudson — A river celebrated 
 throughout the world for its beauty. 
 
 Travelers from abroad have freqiieutly fouud the fault with American scenery 
 that while in it.s grander aspects, especially in the far West, its wildness is almost 
 terrible, its gentler phases lack that gentleness and softness of tone wliich comes of 
 tasteful and careful culture, and an intelligent jjursuit of the art of landscape-gar- 
 dening. This element of the unkempt and ragged, which sometimes repels an admi- 
 
32 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 ration that would otherwise be attracted by picturesque beauty, is generally absent 
 from the scenery of the Hudson River. Many, indeed, have been free to admit that, 
 in varied and pictorial charm, it excels the world-famed Rhine, though it lacks that 
 powerful appeal to the historic imagination which comes of ancient and time-honored 
 ruins associated with important .events in the growth of civilization. Yet we may 
 
 
 View of the Pulmidts from Eastern SliOre. 
 
 say that the Hudson River is not 
 altogether deficient in this regard, 
 for many an interesting old colo- 
 nial legend and Revolutionary event 
 gives its banks a quaint historic 
 charm. Mr. George William Cur- 
 tis says, in comparing the Hudson 
 with famous European rivers, "The 
 Danube has in part glimpses of such grandeur, the Elbe has something of such deli- 
 cately penciled effects, but no European river is so lordly in its bearing — none flows 
 in such state to the sea." 
 
 The surpassing charm of this river can uot be gainsaid, and it is beautiful 
 indeed under any guise. Seen by soft moonlight from one of the spacious night- 
 boats which ply in summer between New York and Albany, one can hardly resist the 
 conviction that its weird and fairy-like charm can not be repeated under the garish 
 
THE HUDSON RIVER. 
 
 33 
 
 light of the sun. 
 Yet to see it to 
 advantage for the 
 first time the tour- 
 ist should take one 
 of the morning- 
 boats, whose sump- 
 tuous fittings go far to justify the epi- 
 thet of floating palaces so often applied 
 to American river-boats. Supposing the 
 tourist to have consigned himself to one 
 of these day-boats, and secured a good po- 
 sition on the forward-deck, whence both 
 shores can be seen at a glance, we will 
 ask permission to accomjDany him, and 
 will endeavor to add to his enjoyment by pointing out, not too obtrusively, the more 
 salient features of the double panorama which will speedily begin to unfold itself. 
 
 A Piuruicle of tht HiUsa^ 
 
34 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 ^ 
 
 ir:?*' 
 
 Seated now in our chosen positions, secured by be- 
 ing early on board, we turn from the arid defiles of 
 the city streets and the serried ranks of houses, and, 
 looking out upon the broad, rippling river, we remind 
 our companion that he is viewing, perhaps, the most 
 animated harbor-scene in the woi-ld. Nowhere, we as- 
 sure him, can be seen such a i)icturesque variety of 
 craft, from the huge steamships that link the Old 
 AVorld with the New, down to tlie snorting, restless 
 little tug-boats and the diminutive 
 yachts and pleasure-boats, a unique 
 
 feature being given to the 
 whole by the uncoiith ferry- 
 boats swinging from shore to 
 shore, and the great tows of 
 canal-boats and barges. 
 
 The characteristic features of ri\cr seen 
 ery begin a few miles above the piit of IScu 
 York where Washington Heights on the one 
 side and Fort Lee on the other side of the 
 river arrest the attention. At Fort Lee, a 
 promontory now stripped of its warlike ap- 
 pointments and known as an agreeable pleas- 
 ure-resort, begin the Palisades, a wall of per- 
 pendicular cliffs from three hundred to six 
 
 hundred feet in height, which line the western bank of the river for nearly twenty 
 miles, and form one of the most striking features of its scenery. The face of the 
 
 ^^^- 
 
 Palisade Mountain House. 
 
THE HUDSON RIVER. 
 
 35 
 
 frowning wall is naked and ragged, but the summit is a pleasant table-land clothed 
 in thick woods. The Palisade Mountain House, four miles above Fort Lee, crowns a 
 tall escarpment of the cliff, and occasionally a cottage may be seen peeping through 
 the trees; but as a rule 
 the solitude of the preci- 
 pices as seen from the 
 river appears as unbro- 
 ken as the gloomy cliffs 
 of the Saugenay. 
 
 The stern monoton}' 
 of this wall of precipice 
 makes an admirable foil 
 to the soft beauty of the 
 opposite New York shore. 
 The eastern bank of the 
 river is really a continu- 
 ous suburb of New York, 
 and the hills are crested 
 with innumerable villas 
 and cottages, the tree- 
 clad slopes furnishing a 
 charming picture of well- 
 kept lawns and gardens. 
 At Yonkers and Tarry- 
 town these suburbs be- 
 come considerable towns, 
 but even as towns they 
 do not lose that rural as- 
 pect which pervades the 
 whole. The largest of 
 them remind the river 
 voyager quite as much 
 of parks as of cities. 
 
 The first town seen 
 after leaving the city is 
 Riverdale, which is sim- 
 ply a group of elegant 
 mansions, aristocratic in 
 their exclusiveness. The 
 city of Yonkers, now 
 a beautiful and thriving 
 place, was for a long 
 
36 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 time an old-fashioned Dutch village, but by the opening of the Hudson River Rail- 
 way became a favorite suburb of the metropolis, and is one of the best examples of 
 a prosperous American semi-rustic city. It contains among its relics of the olden 
 time the Philipse manor-hall, a quaint and spacious stone edifice, formerly belonging 
 to the lords of the Philipse manor, but now converted to municipal purposes. The 
 manor-house was built by Frederick Philipse, who came to New York in the time of 
 
 SunnyHcle. 
 
 Governor Stuyvesant. He purchased large tracts of land from the Indians and secured 
 grants from the Government, and this vast estate was formally erected by roj^al char- 
 ter under the name of Manor Philipsburg. Two manor-houses were erected, one at 
 Sleepy Hollow and one at the present site of Yonkers. The third lord of the manor 
 endeavored to preserve a strict neutrality during the Revolutionary War, but he was 
 finally attainted of treason and his property confiscated. At Hastings, twenty-one 
 miles from New York, the shore is so thickly dotted with country villas that it is not 
 
THE HUDSON RIVER. 
 
 37 
 
 easy to mark the beginning or 
 the end of the town. Opposite 
 Hastings, at Indian Head, the 
 Pahsades reach their most pict- 
 uresque point, and at Piermont 
 they recede from the shore and 
 cease to make a feature of the 
 river scenery. At this point, 
 also, the river broadens into a 
 beautiful bay, ten miles long 
 and from two to five miles wide, 
 renowned as the Tappan Zee. 
 
 As the steamer jjIows through 
 the middle of this noble expanse, 
 the scene on both sides of the 
 river is very beautiful. On the 
 western shore extends a line o: 
 undulating, richly wooded hills 
 at the foot of which nestles th( 
 picturesque town of Nyack. Oi 
 the eastern side, which rises ii 
 graceful, receding slopes, are th( 
 pleasant villages of Irvington 
 Tarrytown, and Sing Sing, whiL 
 handsome villas abound on ev- 
 ery hand. A little above Irving- 
 ton and near the river, though 
 hidden from view by the dense 
 growth of shrubbery, is Sunny- 
 side, the former home of Wash- 
 ington Irving, and now one of 
 the classic memorials of Ameri- 
 can literature. It is a stone 
 structure made of many gables, 
 the eastern side embowered in 
 ivy, the earlier slips of which 
 were presented to Irving by Sir 
 Walter Scott at Abbotsford. The 
 original house was built by Wol- 
 
 fert Acker, a privy councilor of Peter Stuyvesant, who had inscribed over the door the 
 Dutch motto, "Lust in Rust" (pleasure in quiet). The house was thence called Wol- 
 fert's Rest, corrupted afterward into Wolfert's Roost, and is made the subject of one 
 
38 
 
 OUR NATIVE LA AW. 
 
 of Irving's sketches. A few 
 miles above Irvington is Tar- 
 rytown, the (luaint designa- 
 tion of which, we are told by 
 Irving, was given in former 
 times by the good housewives 
 of the neighboring country on 
 account of the inveterate hab- 
 it of their husbands to linger 
 about the village taverns on 
 market-days. Not long ago 
 Tarrytown was little more 
 than a quiet river settlement, 
 with a single wharf, where 
 sloops received and delivered 
 merchandise. It has become 
 a large, well-built town, and 
 the hills that overlook it are 
 adorned with beautiful resi- 
 dences which are set in charm- 
 ing grounds. We are now 
 viewing these shores and the 
 towns from the deck of a 
 steamer, but no one can fully 
 appreciate the charms of the 
 river who does not explore 
 all the varied and picturesque 
 places that abound on it ; who 
 docs not ascend the hills, note 
 all the elegance and cultivation 
 that wealth and taste have lav- 
 ished on them, and get varied 
 glimpses of the river itself as it 
 flows beneath liim covered with 
 white sails and many forms of 
 picturesque boats. Western riv- 
 ers have little more than steam- 
 boats and a few rafts. On the 
 broad bosom of the Hudson are 
 grand steamboats, brilliant, bird-like yachts, broad-sailed sloops and schooners, and 
 groups of barges and canal-boats in tow of a steam-tug. The variety and number of 
 the river-craft are so great that the scene is always an animated picture. 
 
THE HUDSON RIVER. 
 
 39 
 
 Tarrytown, like all this region, is historically ideutified with the story of Arnold 
 and Audre. It was upon a spot now within the town that Andre was arrested, while 
 returning to the British lines, after a visit to Arnold ; and at Greenburg, three miles 
 
 Old Dutch Ohvrch, Sleepy Hollow. 
 
 east of the town, a monument has been erected, commemorating the event, lajTOn 
 which the inscription gives the date of the capture, and the names of tlie three patri- 
 ots — Paulding, Williams, and Van Wart— who, resisting all bribes, seized the unhappy 
 Andre, and thereby saved their country. 
 
 Another great interest that Tarrytown possesses is in its identification with Wash- 
 ington Irving. Sunnyside is so near Tarrytown that that renowned author always 
 attended Christ Church at the latter place ; of this church he was warden at the 
 
40 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 time of his death ; and upon its walls a handsome tablet has been erected to his 
 memory. 
 
 But a greater interest attaches to the old Dutch church at Sleepy Hollow. "Not 
 far from Tarrytown," Irving has written, "there is a little valley, or rather a lap of 
 land, among high hills, which is one of the quietest places in the whole world. A 
 small brook glides through it, with just murmur enough to lull one to repose ; and 
 the occasional whistle of a quail, or tapping of a woodpecker, is almost the only 
 sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity. If ever I should wish for a 
 retreat, whither I might steal from the world and its distractions, and dream quietly 
 away the remnant of a troubled life, I know of none more promising than this little 
 valley." At the opening of the Hollow, by the side of a winding lane, stands the 
 ancient church, which dates back to the year 1699, and is the oldest religious edifice 
 in the State. It is a quaint little building, with a tiny spire inclosing a bell, on which 
 is inscribed in Latin, "If God be with us, who can be against us?" Close by there 
 is a cemetery, in which the remains of Irving are buried. 
 
 It is only a short distance to the old bridge, made famous by Irving in his legend 
 of Ichabod Crane. As we walk over it, how many delightful memories are revived ! 
 We laugh again at the escapade of the school-master, witli his " soft and foolish heart 
 toward the sex," and withal we can not help liking his rival in love for Katrina — the 
 stalwart and muscular Brom Bones. " Once upon a time," the legend goes, " Ichabod 
 taught the Dutch urchins the three elementary R's, and at the same time paid court 
 to the fair Katrina, who was the daughter of old farmer Van Tassel. Brom Van 
 Brunt, nicknamed Brom Bones, loved the same maiden, and resolved to drive the 
 school-master from the village. One dark night Ichabod started home from the Van 
 Tassel house in very low spirits. The hour was as dismal as himself. Far below 
 him, the Tappan Zee spread its dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with here and 
 there the tall mast of a sloop riding quietly at anchor under the land. In the dead 
 hush of midnight he could even hear the barking of the watch-dog from the opposite 
 shore of the Hudson ; but it was so vague and faint as only to give an idea of his 
 distance from this faithful companion of man. . . . 
 
 "Now, a belief was extant in a specter called the Headless Horseman of Sleepy 
 Hollow, supposed to be the spirit of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried 
 off by a cannon-ball. Near the old church this horrid ghost made its appearance in 
 pursuit of Ichabod, who was bestride an inflexible horse named Gunpowder. The 
 terrified school-master made all haste to reach the old bridge, passing which he would 
 be beyond the reach of the ghostly pursuer. He spurred old Gunpowder forward, 
 but, looking back, he beheld the specter close beside him, in the very act of throwing 
 his head at him. The crash came, Ichabod rolled on the ground, and the specter 
 and Gunpowder rushed by him in a whirlwind. A shattered pumpkin was found the 
 next day in the road, and not long after Brom Bones led the fair Katrina to the 
 altar ; but Ichabod was never afterward seen or heard of. " 
 
 Mr. Lossing, describing the old church, says : "Let us climb over the stile by the 
 
THE HUDSON RIVER. 
 
 41 
 
 Old Bridge, Sleepy Hollow. 
 
 corner of the old cliiirch into the 3'ard where so 
 many pilgrims of the earth are sleeping. Here 
 are many stones, with half-obliterated epitaplis, 
 marking the graves of the early settlers. . . . 
 Let us pass up this narrow, winding path, and 
 cross this almost invisible boundary between the 
 
 ^^ _, , _ ^ ^ old grave-yard and the new cemetery. Here, 
 
 well up toward the summit of the hill, near the 
 receiving- vault, upon a beautiful sunny slope, is an inclosure made of iron bars and 
 privet hedge, with open gate, inviting entrance. Here, in line, stand several slabs of 
 white marble, only two feet in height, at the head of as many oblong hillocks, covered 
 with turf and budding spring flowers. Upon one of these, near the center, we read : 
 
 WASHINGTON, 
 
 SON OF 
 
 WILLIAM AND SARAH S. IRVING, 
 
 DIED NOV. 28, ISflO, 
 
 AGED 76 TEARS, 7 MONTHS, AND 28 DAYS. 
 
 "This is the grave of the immortal Geoffrey Crayon. Upon it lie wreaths of with- 
 ered flowers which have been killed by frosts and buried by drifts of lately departed 
 snow. These will not remain long, for all summer fresh and fragrant ones are laid 
 upon that honored grave by fair hands that pluck them from many a neighboring 
 garden. . . . This lonely burial-spot, from which may be seen Sleepy Hollow, the 
 
43 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 ancient church, the spark- 
 ling waters of the Po-can- 
 te-co spreading out into a 
 little lake above the pictur- 
 esque old dam at the mill of 
 Carter Philipse, Sleepy Hol- 
 low Tavern, Tapjian Bay, 
 and all its beautiful sur- 
 roundings, was chosen long 
 ago by the illustrious au- 
 thor of • The Sketch-Book ' 
 as his final resting-place." 
 
 Above Nyack, on the 
 western shore, the Palisades 
 come down once more to the 
 riser's edge, and form a pre- 
 cipitous bluff which bears 
 the name of Yerdrietigh 
 Hook, also called Point No- 
 Point, owing to its decep- 
 tive appearance when seen 
 from the river below as a 
 great headland. Sing Sing, 
 on the opposite side, is rec- 
 ognized by the massive stone 
 bixildings, which constitute 
 the famous State prison. 
 At the ujiper end of the 
 Tappan Zee the river nar- 
 rows sharjily, and the vine- 
 clad Croton Point separates 
 the Tappan Zee from Hav- 
 crstraw Bay. which is an- 
 other lake-like widening of 
 the river, with the village 
 of Haverstraw on its west- 
 ern shore, and a long line of 
 white limestone cliffs. As 
 the steamboat crosses this 
 beautiful bay, the Highlands begin to loom up boldly in the distance; and at its 
 upper end, where Verplanck's Point on the east and Stony Point on the west contract 
 the river to a comparatively narrow channel, the outlines of the mountains have become 
 
THE HUDSON RIVER. 
 
 43 
 
 quite distinct. Stouy Point is a bold, rocky eminence, with a liglit-liouse on the sum- 
 mit. During the Kevolutionary War it was the site of a fort which had been captured 
 by the British. Mad Anthony Wayne was ordered to recapture it, and this lie did by 
 
 Croton J^oini. 
 
 a daring assault. AVith two columns of picked men he advanced close to the enemy's 
 picket-guard undiscovered. With a fierce rush the Americans charged on the fortifi- 
 cation, and in one hour's time the fort and entire garrison were captured. The steam- 
 boat now safely rounds these two points, and emerges at the pretty town of Peekskill, 
 
 Stony Point and Ilavvrsf 
 
 < ''hove. 
 
 so named after a Dutch navigator, Jan Peek, who, according to popular tradition, in 
 ascending the river, took the creek on which the town stands for the main stream, 
 but who, becoming enamored of the spot, settled here and named the creek Peek's 
 Kill. The town was the headquarters of General Putnam during the Revolution; 
 
u 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 and here he hanged a 
 British spy, an event 
 specially remembered 
 on account of the curt 
 reply of "Old Put" 
 to the British Hag of 
 truce that interposed 
 in the prisoner's be- 
 half : "Edward Pal- 
 mer, an ofiBcer in the 
 enemy's service, was 
 taken as a spy lurk- 
 ing within our lines. 
 He has been tried as 
 a spy, condemned as 
 a spy, and will be 
 executed as a sjiy. 
 P. S.— 4 p. II. He is 
 hanged." 
 
 We are now en- 
 tering the Highlands, 
 which, from this point 
 to Newburg, a dis- 
 tance of seventeen 
 miles, is unsurpassed 
 by any river-scenery 
 in the world. To the 
 left may be seen Dun- 
 derberg, or Thunder 
 Mountain, whose steep 
 sides are perpetually 
 invoking gusts of wind 
 and rain on its rugged 
 and bold crest. As 
 the legend goes, it is 
 the home of a boister- 
 ous little Dutch gob- 
 lin, in trunk-hose and 
 sugar-loaf hat, for an 
 again to Irving: "The captains of river-craft 
 declare that they have heard him, in stormy weather, in the midst of the turmoil, 
 giving orders in Low Dutch for the piping up of a fresh gust of wind, or the 
 
 ■ ^Trx\ 
 
 account of whom we must turn 
 
THE HUDSON RIVER. 
 
 45 
 
 rattling ofE of another tlumder-clap ; that sometimes he has been seen surrounded 
 by a crew of little imps, in broad breeches and short doublets, tumbling head-over- 
 heels in the i-ack and mist, and plaj'ing a thousand gambols in the air, or buzzing 
 
 ^ifc^' ':^ 
 
 t*^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 lona Island and " AHthoni/''s Nose." 
 
 like a swarm of ilies about Anthony's Nose ; and that, at such times, the hurry-scurry 
 of the storm was always the greatest. One time a sloop, in passing by the Dunder- 
 berg, was overtaken by a thunder-gust that came scouring round the mountain, and 
 
46 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 seemed to burst just over 
 
 the vessel. Though tight - •"'i's ^- --. 
 
 and well ballasted, she la- 
 bored dreadfully, and the water came over the 
 gunwale. All the crew were amazed, when it was 
 discovered that there was a little white sugar-loaf 
 hat on the mast-head, known at once to be the 
 hat of the Dunderberg. Nobody, however, dared 
 to climb to the mast-head and get rid of this 
 terrible hat. The sloop continued laboring and 
 rocking as if she would roll her mast overboard. 
 In this way she drove quite through the High- 
 lands until she passed Pollopel's Island, where it is said the jurisdiction of the 
 Dunderberg spirit ceases. No sooner had she passed this bourn, than the little hat 
 whirled into the air like a top, carried all the clouds up into a vortex, and hurried 
 
 Vieii\fro7?i Fori Montgomery^ looking south. 
 
THE HUDSON RIVER. 
 
 47 
 
 them back to the summit of Dunderberg, while tlie sloop sailed ou over waters as 
 smooth as a mill-pond. Nothing saved the sloop from utter wreck except the fact 
 that she had a horseshoe nailed to the mast-liead, a wise precaution against evil 
 spirits adopted by all the Dutch captains that navigated this haunted river." 
 
 Looking across the river, Anthony's Nose appears — a bold promontory, over twelve 
 
 tiuijar -Loaf Muunt'iut. — A .'Stoi-iii in tJu JJt'jIil'Uuh, 
 
 hundred feet high. It is massive in form, sharp in outline, and has no peculiar 
 likeness to the feature after which it is named ; but it is the subject of one of the 
 legends recorded by Irving, which add so much to the pleasure of the traveler. Be 
 it known, then, that the nose of Anthony, Governor Stuyvesant's trumpeter, was 
 decked with the true regalia of a king of good fellows. "Now it happened that, 
 bright and early in the morning, the good Anthony, having washed his burly vis- 
 
48 
 
 UR NA TI VE' LA ND. 
 
 age, was leaning over the quarter-railing of his 
 galley, contemplating it in the glassy wave below. 
 Just at this moment the illustrious sun, breaking 
 m all his splendor from behind a high bluff of the 
 Highlands, did dart one of 
 his most potent beams full 
 ' upon the refulgent nose 
 
 — " _ _ of the sounder of brass — 
 
 ' ' . ■ - ' the reflection of which shot 
 
 -.-" straightway down, hissing- 
 
 hot, into the water, and 
 
 Cozzens's Hotel and Buttermilk 
 Falls, West lUnt. 
 
 killed a mighty sturgeon 
 that was sporting beside the 
 vessel. This huge monster 
 being, with infinite labor, 
 
 hoisted on board, furnished a luxurious repast to 
 all the crew, being accounted of excellent flavor, 
 excepting about the wound, where it smacked a 
 little of brimstone ; and this, on my veiacity, 
 was the first time that ever sturgeon was eaten 
 in these parts by Christian people. When this 
 astonishing miracle became known to Peter Stuy- 
 
 vesant, he, as may well be supposed, marveled exceedingly ; and, as a monument 
 thereof, he gave the name of Anthony's Nose to a stout promontory in the neighbor- 
 hood, and it has continued to be called Anthony's Nose ever since that time." This 
 mountain is tunneled at the river-edge, for the Hudson River Railway. 
 
THE HUDSON RIVER. 49 
 
 Near this point is a picturesque island, called loua, of some three hundred acres 
 in extent, lying within a triangle formed by Dunderberg, Anthony's Nose, and Bear 
 Mountain. Grapes are grown extensively upon the island, and the uncultivated por- 
 tion is a favorite picnic-ground for excursion-parties from New York. On the western 
 bank of the river, near the base of Dunderberg, is a picturesque inlet named Mont- 
 gomery Creek, which has its source in a mountain-stream that tumbles over a cascade 
 about half a mile from its mouth. Fort Montgomery and Fort Clinton stood on each 
 side, their guns commanding a wide range. They were constructed at the beginning 
 of the Revolutionary War, and played important parts during the autumn of 1777. 
 
 Following the river in its curve to the northeast, a fine view is obtained of the 
 symmetrical cone of Sugar-Loaf Mountain, at the foot of which stood Beverley House, 
 where the traitor, Benedict Arnold, was breakfasting when the news of Andre's capt- 
 ure was brought him, and whence he fled to the British war-vessel anchored in the 
 stream below. From this j^oint, also, a distant glimpse of Fort Putnam, of Revolu- 
 tionary fame, may be had, crowning the heights on the left ; and on the right we 
 come in sight of Buttermilk Falls, descending over inclined ledges a distance of one 
 hundred feet, and forming at times a fine cascade, though the heats of summer are 
 aj)t to dwindle it to insignificance. On the summit of the cliff above is the spacious 
 Cozzens's Hotel, one of the favorite summer retreats of New York pleasiire-seekers. , 
 
 We have now arrived at West Point, the famous Military Academy of the United 
 States. West Point in summer is the theatre of an endless round of pleasant dissipa- 
 tions. Distinguished visitors crowd in here in July and August, and the hotels are 
 filled to overflowing. A prominent element of the visitors is the young-ladydom of the 
 country, and the life of the cadets, who live in camp during this period, is enlivened 
 with innumerable picnics and evening parties. As the steamboat ap^jroaches the land- 
 ing, it is crowded with people and vehicles, which have come to receive the new 
 arrivals. Bright parasols and dainty bonnets blossom in reflection on the water, and 
 peals of merry laughter ring in the air. 
 
 The neighboring country, for a distance of thirty by forty square miles, was origi- 
 nally granted by Governor Fletcher, of New York, to Captain John Evans, of the 
 Royal Artillery, and was known as Evans's Patent. This right of possession was va- 
 cated by an act of the Provincial Legislature in 1699, and the heirs of the now pro- 
 prietors of the land disposed of 2,105 acres to the United States in 1826. Until the 
 War for Independence, says Lossing, to whom we must acknowledge our indebtedness 
 for many valuable historic facts, there appears to have been no dwelling or settler on 
 the tract excepting such as was necessary to secure the patent. But in May, 1775, 
 it was resolved to establish a military post in the Highlands, and fortifications were 
 built, at several points, including Forts Clinton and Montgomery. These were of good 
 service, and when the boom and chain stretching across the river above Peekskill were 
 destroyed by Sir Henry Clinton, another contrivance of the same kind was placed at 
 West Point. An additional fort was also built, and was called Fort Arnold, together 
 with several extensive water-batteries. 
 
50 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 The garrison was successively commanded by McUougall, Heath, Howe, Arnold, 
 and Knox. General Knox remained in command until 1785, when he was appointed 
 Secretary of War. In 1787-88 the redoubts were dismantled, the otiier buildings 
 sold, and thus ended the occupation of West Point as a garrisoned post. 
 
 The scheme of a 
 training-school for sol- 
 diers had already been 
 mooted in Congress, 
 but it was not until 
 1812 that an act was 
 passed authoiizing the 
 establishment of the 
 Military Academy on 
 its present broad foun- 
 dations, and since then 
 there has been a steady 
 improvement in its or- 
 ganization and apjioint- 
 ments. 
 
 A picturesque road 
 leads from the landing 
 to the grounds, and, 
 arrived there, visitors 
 are allowed to ramble 
 through the massive 
 buildings and beautiful 
 avenues at will. The 
 Cadets' Barracks is the 
 most imposing struct- 
 ure. It is of stone, 
 castellated in the style 
 of the ancient Tudors, 
 and it contains one 
 hundred and seventy- 
 six rooms, of which 
 one hundred and thir- 
 ty-six are cadets' quar- 
 ters. Each room is 
 small, and very ])lainly 
 furnished, the same 
 principles being adopt- 
 ed here as at the An- 
 
THE HUDSON RIVER. 
 
 51 
 
 View at West Rnnt, nc-rth from the ArtilUrij -Grrounih. 
 
 napolis Naval Academy. No luxuries are permitted, and the students are trained to 
 endure all the rigors of the active military life for which they are preparing. 
 
 Two persons are assigned to each room, and the entire furniture consists of two 
 
53 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 iron bedsteads, chairs, tables, and a few other necessary articles. The cadet is not 
 allowed to have a waiter, a horse, or dog, but is required to make his own bed and 
 keep his quarters tidy. He is aroused at five o'clock in the morning by the gun. 
 At half-past five his room must be in order, bedding folded, and wash-bowl inverted. 
 "Woe betide him if he is dilatory ! He is visited by a superior, who reports his 
 delinquency, or, as he would more vividly say, " skins " him. From half-past five 
 until seven he is supposed to be occupied by studies, when twenty-five minutes are 
 allowed him for breakfast ; then half an hour for recreation, and then five hours 
 for recitations, class- parades, and other duties. The time between noon and two p. m. 
 is allowed for dinner and recreation. Work is over at foiir o'clock, and the rest of 
 the day is occupied by amusements and dress-parades. Lights are extinguished in 
 quarters at ten, and the embryo soldier is supposed to go to sleep. 
 
 The class-rooms are situated in a stone building three stories high, and include a 
 chemical laboratory, gymnasium, artillery model-room, mathematical model-room, pict- 
 ure-gallery, and gallery of sculpture. The Mess Hall is another building of fine 
 proportions, one hundred and seventy feet in length and sixty-two in width. There 
 are also an observatory and library, which in style and material resemble the bar- 
 racks, and a little to the west of these is the chapel, built in 1836. It contains a 
 fine painting over the chancel, and trophies taken from the British and Mexicans. 
 On the walls are several black-marble tablets, bearing the names, in gilt letters, of 
 generals of Revolutionary fame. Benedict Arnold's has only the words " Major- 
 
 General , born 1740," with furrows in the stone, as if the name had been cut 
 
 out. The administration building, south of the chapel, contains the offices of those 
 in charge of the school. 
 
 Each step brings the visitor into the presence of some interesting object. On a 
 pleasant grass-plot may be seen a chain composed of links of the great iron boom 
 which once crossed the river, which now inclose the brass mortars caiitured from 
 General Burgoyne at Saratoga. In the cemetery, under massive sarcophagi, lie the 
 remains of General Winfield Scott, General Bowen, and General Eobert Anderson, 
 the defender of Fort Sumter. A short distance from Officers' Row is a bronze statue 
 of Major-General Sedgwick, killed in the battle of Spottsylvania, which was erected 
 by the Sixth Army Corps to the memory of their old commander. 
 
 The grounds are laid out with great taste, and exquisite views present themselves 
 at every turn. No one should miss seeing Flirtation Walk or Kosciuszko's Garden. 
 The former is a secluded path, overhung by trees and shrubbery, and extending along 
 the river. It is a most romantic promenade, and much used by the cadets and their 
 pretty guests. Kosciuszko's Garden is said to have been the spot where the gallant 
 Pole, who fought so bravely for Amei'ica, and who was intimately associated with West 
 Point, was wont to spend his hours of meditation. A fountain bubbles into a marble 
 basin here, fronting some picturesque rocks which also bear Kosciuszko's name. 
 
 Tlie country about West Point abounds in lovely scenery of every descrijition — cas- 
 cades pouring beneath leafy colonnades ; glens nestling in primitive wildness ; mountains 
 
THE HUDSON RIVER. 
 
 53 
 
 ■who've pcak> are sentinels of 
 the f,uu'-t LuiiKcapes . and 
 winding brooks, fringed 
 with ferns and mosses. In that sentiment of quiet 
 repose, not very common in American scenery, the 
 lover of Nature will find the surroundings of West 
 Point almost matchless. The sportsman, the fash- 
 ionable idler, the tourist, and the artist, here meet 
 on common ground, and find abundance of mate- 
 rial to furnish amusement or inspiration. From 
 an eminence just in the rear of the parade-ground 
 may be had a superb view of the Highlands, in- 
 cluding the Storm King, Cro'nest, and Breakneck 
 Mountains ; the river, shining like a plain of rippling silver ; Newburg Bay, and the 
 Fishkill Range. In Revolutionary times Fort Putnam stood here, with guns threaten- 
 ing the enemy at all points. It was the most important of the Highland fortifica- 
 tions, and was erected by Colonel Rufus Putnam, under direction of Count Kosciuszko. 
 
 Weit Po%nt, ttom Fart Pitnam 
 
54 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 A portion of the walls and some 
 of the casemates, grass-grown 
 and picturesque in their ruin, 
 still remain as an interesting- 
 memorial of the past. 
 
 Opposite West Point, on the 
 east bank, is Cold Spring, chiefly 
 notable for its iron-foundries, 
 the chimne}'s of which pour out 
 wreaths of smoke, and it was 
 here that Major Parrott cast 
 the celebrated guns which did 
 such good service during the 
 war of the rebellion. But, at 
 night-time, when the furnaces 
 glow in the darkness, and throw 
 mjTiad sparks toward the sky, it 
 is weirdly picturesque, and sup- 
 jilies a cheerful color to the view. 
 Night in the Highlands, indeed, 
 is scarcely less lovely than the 
 day. The river breaks with the 
 faintest murmur on the preci})i- 
 tous shore ; the walls of the 
 mountains are an impenetrable 
 blackness, against which the 
 starry path overhead looks the 
 more lustrous. Trembling ech- 
 oes strike the hill-sides plain- 
 tively, as a great steamer cleaves 
 her way up the stream, or a 
 tow-boat, with a string of ca- 
 nal-boats in her wake, struggles 
 against the tide; while fleets of 
 sailing-vessels drift past. 
 
 Near Cold Spring, on an ele- 
 vated plateau, is "TJndercliff," 
 the home of the late George P. 
 
 Morris, so well known as the author of "Woodman, spare that Tree," and who was 
 
 so long associated with N. P. Willis in various literary ventures. 
 
 Just above the village there are two majestic hills separated by a narrow valley. 
 
 The nearest is called Bull Kill, or Mount Taurus, and is over fifteen hundred feet 
 
THE HUDSON RIVER. 
 
 55 
 
 high. It is said that long ago the neighborhood was troubled by a wild bull, and 
 that the Dutch farmers of those days formed a party to destroy the fierce beast. 
 They hotly chased him for many a mile, and at last the brave Knickerbockers drove 
 him into the river. 
 
 Breakneck Hill, Just north of Cold Spring, is over eighteen hundred feet high, 
 and formerly a huge rock stood out on its front, bearing a wonderful resemblance to 
 
 Sreakneck Mountain, from Little Stony Point. 
 
 a human face. The picturesque mountain of Cro'nest is the scene of one of the 
 most charming of American poems. In the summer of 1816 Fenimore Cooper, Fitz- 
 Greene Halleck, Joseph Rodman Drake, and a friend, were strolling through the 
 Highlands, when the conversation turned on the availability of Scotch streams and 
 mountains for the uses of poetry. Drake, in opposition to his friends, took the ground 
 
56 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 that Americau scenery was not less suggestive in stimulating the fancy. To jirove 
 this he wrote, in three days, the charming poem of ''The Culprit Fay," the poet 
 being then only twenty-one years of age. 
 
 The story is simple in construction, but full of the most quaint and graceful 
 fancy. The fairies who live on Cro'nest are called together at midnight to sit in 
 Judgment on one of their number who had broken his vow. He is sentenced to per- 
 form a most difficult task, and all the evil spirits of land and water appose him in 
 the performance of his penance. He is sadly baffled and tempted, but at length con- 
 quers all difficulties, and his triumphant return is hailed with dance and song. 
 
 These Cro'nest fairies are a dainty and luxuri- 
 ous race. Their lanterns are owlets' eyes. Some 
 of them repose in cobweb hammocks, swung on 
 tufted speai's of grass, and rocked by the zephyrs 
 of a midsummer night. Others have beds of li- 
 chen, pillowed by the breast-plumes of the hum- 
 ming-bird. A few, still more luxurious, find 
 couches in the purple shade of the four-o'clock, 
 or in the little niches of rock lined with daz- 
 zling mica. Their tables, at which they drink 
 dew from the buttercups, are velvet-like mush- 
 rooms, and the king's throne is of sassafras and 
 spice-wood, with tortoise-shell pillars, and crim- 
 son talip-lcaves for drapery. " But the quaint 
 shifts and the beautiful outfit of the Culprit him- 
 
 #fi 
 
 I'lnl,!' th. Cli-f "/■ I'ldUu'd. 
 
THE HUDSON RIVER. 
 
 57 
 
 self," says a writer od 
 Drake, ''comprise the 
 most delectable image- 
 r}- of the poem. lie is 
 worn out with fatigue 
 and chagrin at the very 
 commencement of his 
 Journey, and therefore 
 makes captive a spot- 
 ted toad, by way of a 
 steed. Having bridled 
 her with a silk-weed 
 twist, his progress is 
 made raj)id by dint of 
 lashing her sides with 
 an osier - thong. Ar- 
 rived at the beach, he 
 launches fearlessly up- 
 on the tide, for among 
 his other accomjilish- 
 ments the Fay is a 
 graceful swimmer; but 
 his tender limbs are 
 so bruised by leeches, 
 star-fish, and other wa- 
 tery enemies, that he 
 is soon driven back. 
 
 " The cobweb lint 
 and balsam dew of sor- 
 rel and henbane speed- 
 ily relieve the little 
 penitent's wounds, and, 
 having refreshed liim- 
 self with the juice of 
 the calamus - root, he 
 returns to the shore, 
 and selects a neatly 
 shaped mussel -shell, ♦■ 
 
 brilliantly painted without and tinged with a pearl within. Nature seemed to have 
 formed it expressly for a fairy-boat. Having notched the stern, and gathered a coleu- 
 bell to bail with, he sculls into the middle of the river, laughing at liis old foes as 
 they grin and chatter around his way. There, in the sweet moonlight, he sits until 
 
58 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 
 a sturgeon comes by, and 
 leajjs, all glistening, into the 
 silvery atmosphere ; then, 
 balancing his delicate frame 
 upon one foot, like a Lili- 
 putian Mercury, he lifts the 
 flowery cup, and catches the 
 one sparkling drop that is 
 to wash the stain from his 
 wing. 
 
 " Gay is his return-voy- 
 age. Sweet nymphs clasp 
 the boat's side with their 
 tiny hands and cheerily urge 
 it onward. 
 
 " His next enterprise is 
 of a more knightly species, 
 and he proceeds to array 
 himself accordingly, as be- 
 comes a fair}' cavalier. His 
 acorn helmet is plumed with 
 thistle - down, a bee's - nest 
 forms his corselet, and his 
 cloak is of butterfly's wings. 
 With a lady-bug's shell for 
 a shield, and a wasp-sting 
 lance, spurs of cockle-seed, 
 a bow rhade of vine - twig 
 strung with maize-silk, and 
 well supplied with nettle- 
 shafts, he mounts his fire- 
 fly and, waving his blade of 
 blue grass, speeds upward 
 to catch a glimmering spark 
 from some flying meteor. 
 Again the spirits of evil are 
 let loose upon him, and the 
 upper elements are not more 
 friendly than those below. A sylphid queen enchants him by her beauty and kind- 
 ness. But, though she played very archly with the butterfly cloak, and handled the 
 tassel of his blade while he revealed to her pitying ear the dangers he had passed, 
 the memory of his first love and the object of his pilgrimage kept his lieart free. 
 
THE HUDSON RIVER. 59 
 
 Escorted with great honor by the sylph's lovely train, his career is resumed, and his 
 flame-wood lamp at length rekindled, and, before the sentry-elf proclaims a streak in 
 the eastern sky, the Culprit has been welcomed to all his original glory." 
 
 Turning the corner of the Storm King, the trareler's eye falls on an elevated reach 
 of table-land stretching from the shores of Newburg Bay to the base of the western 
 hills. On the range of this terrace, near the southern extremity, is the many-gabled 
 cottage of Idlewild, once the home of N. P. Willis, the Beau Brummel of American 
 letters. 
 
 "My cottage," Willis wrote, "is a pretty type of the two lives which they live 
 who are wise — the life in full view, which the world thinks all, and the life out of 
 sight, of which the world knows naught. You see its front porch from the thronged 
 thoroughfare of the Hudson ; but the grove behind it overhangs a deep-down glen, 
 tracked out by my own tangled paths and the wild torrents which they by turns 
 avoid and follow — a solitude in which the hourly hundreds of swift travelers who pass 
 within echo-distance effect not the stirring of a leaf. But it does not take precij)ices 
 and groves to make these close remotenesses. The city has many a one — many a 
 wall on the crowded street, behind which is the small chamber of a life, lived utterly 
 apart, Idlewild, with its viewless other side hidden from the thronged Hudson, its 
 dark glen of rocks and woods, and the murmur of its brook, is but an example of 
 every wise man's inner life illustrated and set to music." 
 
 Mr. Willis made vagabond and tourist alike welcome to the liberty of his grounds. 
 He was wont to say: "To fence out a genial eye from any corner of the earth 
 which Nature has lovingly touched with that pencil which never repeats itself ; to 
 shut up a glen or a water-fall for one man's exclusive knowing and enjoying ; to lock 
 up trees and glades, shady paths and haunts along rivulets — it would be an embez- 
 zlement by one man of Nature's gifts to all, A capitalist might as well cut off a 
 star, or have the monopoly of an hour. Doors may lock, but out-doors is a freehold 
 to feet and eyes." 
 
 On Newburg Bay, which opens its wide expanse as the steamboat rounds the base 
 of the Storm King, is the charming village of Cornwall, crowded with hotels and 
 summer cottages, built apparently one over the other on the slope of a hill named 
 Island Terrace by N. P. Willis. Here the Moodna, a brawling stream, sparkling 
 from its dash down the hills, pours into the Hudson. It was once named Murderer's 
 Creek, in memory of a savage Indian massacre. Four miles north stands the thriving 
 city of Newburg, which is built on a hill-side with terraced streets. The river-front 
 is lined with capacious docks, where lie a fleet of sloops, schooners, and canal-boats. 
 Many of the streets are sheltered by shade-trees, and the houses embowered in shrub- 
 bery. The house in this city where Washington had his headquarters was the scene 
 of important events toward the close of the Eevolutionary War, and is now a museum 
 of numerous interesting relics. The central room of the old gray mansion is a quaint 
 old place, with antique chairs and tables and a famous fire-pkce with glistening brass 
 andirons, on which in the old days the pine crackled and blazed in a royal way, while 
 
60 
 
 QUE XATIVE LAND. 
 
 the gi-eat commander of the Continental forces sat with outstretched feet, meditating 
 on the battles which decided the fate of the country. Above Xewburg Bay, the river 
 narrows, and the banks are high, though not precipitous. Soon the boat approaches 
 the city of Poughkeepsie, seventy-five miles from New York. Below it is the village 
 of Milton Ferrv, where lived the patriotic blacksmith who forged the iron links of the 
 
 The Highlaiidk, south from Newbiirff. 
 
 chain that stretched across the river at Fort j\Ioutgomcry. This service to his coun- 
 try he afterward ex])iated in the British prison-ships. Poughkeepsie was an old Dutch 
 town, settled at the close of the seventeenth century. It is now widely known, though 
 otherwise a prosperous place, as the seat of the celel)rated women's college founded 
 by ilatthew Vassar, at which three hundred and fifty women receive an excellent 
 collegiate training. The college buildings cover an area of fifty thousand square feet. 
 
THE HUDSON RIVER. 
 
 61 
 
 and the park in which they are set, originally made picturesque and romantic by 
 Nature, has been further adorned at great expense and with excellent taste. A short 
 distance beyond this thriving city a first glimpse is caught of the Catskill Mountains, 
 whose blue peaks silhouette the horizon on the northwest, and for thirty miles an 
 almost continuous panorama of mountain scenery, to which distance lends a peculiar 
 enchantment, may be enjoyed. 
 
 The Catskills, which now lend their peculiar charm to the river, form the termi- 
 nation of a ridge of the Appalachian chain which enters the State from Pennsylvania 
 and extends through Sullivan, Ulster, and Greene Counties. They rise abruptly on 
 their eastern side, and are ascended by a winding road at the edge of a deep glen, 
 near the head of which is an amphitheatre, inclosed by lofty ridges, where Eiji Van 
 Winkle fell into his long sleep. This legend has been made familiar wherever the 
 English language is spoken by Irving's exquisite fancy and Jefferson's acting, and the 
 fate of the village ne'er-do-well constitutes an episode of fancy most delicious to every 
 
 one's sense of humor. Catskill Landing is one hundred and eleven miles from New 
 York, on the western shore. The Catskill River enters the Hudson near by, i-ushing 
 between rocky bluffs in a deep channel, which close to its mouth is navigable for 
 large vessels. Here Henry Hudson anchored the Half Moon on the 29th of Septem- 
 ber, 1609, and was visited by the Indians. 
 
 Beyond the city of Hudson the scenery is not striking, and nothing demands 
 attention until the steeple-crowned heights of Albany break on the eye, one hundred 
 and forty-five miles from New York city. So ends a river-voyage which, taken for 
 all in all, has but few rivals in the varied delights with which it feasts the love of 
 the beavxtiful and picturesque. 
 
 At Troy, six miles above Albany, tide-water ceases, and beyond this the river is a 
 rapid, rocky stream, navigable only for small craft. At Glens Falls, fifty miles from 
 Albany, on the way to Lake George, the tourist may again see the Hudson in one of 
 its most picturesque phases, where, as in a brawling mountain-torrent, it rushes in a 
 series of tumultuous rapids and cascades down eighty feet of stony and precipitous 
 
62 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 The Hudson at Glens Falls. 
 
THE HUDSON RIVER. 
 
 63 
 
 descent. Glens Falls will recall to the memory of the admirer of Cooper one of the 
 most exciting adventures in the novel of "The Last of the Mohicans." By leaving 
 far behind him the more civilized appliances of travel, the tourist may penetrate to 
 the heart of the Adirondacks, where, in the great gorge known as the Indian Pass, in 
 whose cold depths the ice of winter never entirely melts, he will reach a crystal spring 
 whose waters plash softly over its pebbly bottom. Here he will find the source of the 
 Hudson — at one end a lonely mountain-brook, wliere the wolf, the deer, the panther, 
 and the bear quench their thirst ; at the other, three hundred miles away, a magnifi- 
 cent city, one of the imperial centers of the world's wealth and civilization. From 
 one extreme to the other the traveler may pass in little more than forty-eight hours. 
 Such is the Hudson, a noble stream, bearing on its silvery bosom the commerce of a 
 continent, and set in such a superb frame of beautiful scenery as to make it world- 
 famous. History and legend have contributed, too, to invest its hills and forests with 
 the mellow jierspective of fancy, and jieople its lovelj' slopes and frowning cliffs with 
 the most fascinating associations. To him who makes his first journey on these waterSj, 
 the excursion will remain as one of the pleasant events of his life. 
 
 Sonrce of the Hudmn. 
 
SCENERY OF THE PACIFIC RAILWAYS. 
 
 PA RT I. 
 
 OMAHA TO OGDEN. 
 
 The noblest scenery of the West adjacent the great transcontinental lines— A bird's-eye view of some of the greatest 
 natural wonders of the world— The foitner sufferings of emigrants over a long and dreary trail— The present 
 luxury of travel over the same route— Omaha, the eastern terminus of the Union Pacific— The first glimpse of 
 the Western Plains— Cheyenne and its surroundings — A typical Western town in its growth — The Black Hills 
 — The Great Laramie Plains — Twilight in the desert— Incidents of railway-travel— The great dividing ridge of 
 the continent— The wonderful color and shapes of the rocks— The marvels of Eed Canon— Green Eiver — The 
 Dintah Mountains— Gilbert's Peak— Hayden's Cathedral— The wouderful church— Buttes of Wyoming— The 
 borders of Utah— Utah the home of much of the noblest Western scenery— A desert turned mto a garden hy 
 irrigation— Early Mormon life — Eclio Caiion and its great precipices— Weber Canon— Lofty walls of rock 
 painted by Nature in the richest colors and carved in every variety of shape — All this region once a grand 
 internal ocean— The Thousand-Mile Tree and the Devil's Slide— The Devil's Gate and Ogden Canon. 
 
 Much of the noblest scenery of the West lies adjacent to the tracks of the Pacific 
 Railways, and the tonrist in search of the beautiful has within easy reach of his vision, 
 from the almost interminable bands of iron which complete the links binding the 
 Pacific to the Atlantic, such views of the sublime and picturesque in Nature as may 
 satisfy the passion of the most curious and eager of sight-seers. The sage-plains of 
 Colorado and New Mexico are repeated wearisomely between Omaha and Cheyenne, 
 and in the great Humboldt Desert ; the miraculous mesas, or table-lands, of the Black 
 Hills and the Yellowstone, with their broadly defined strata of crude color, have their 
 counterparts on the borders of Green River; the fantastic erosions of sandstones that 
 have made the Monument Park of Colorado famous, crop out on the line so fre- 
 quently that they cease to excite any wonder ; and the grandeur of the abrupt cafions 
 that cleave the heart of the main Rocky range may be judged from the sheer walls 
 and purple chasms of Echo, Weber, and the American River Caflons. 
 
 The first revelation of the mountains is inspiring, indeed, and one is conscious of 
 a thrill of excitement as the solemn line of peaks slowly rises above the sharp horizon 
 with its patches of intensely white snow, that glitter with rainbow-hues in the sun- 
 shine. A stranger marvels when he is told how distant and immensely high the 
 nearest of the pinnacles is, and that from one of them a hundred and fifty others, 
 each over twelve thousand feet high, can be seen. Yet they seem to be neither very 
 high nor very far off. No mountains in this land of lucid skies ever do, and it is 
 
OMAHA TO OGDEN. 
 
 65 
 
 7'Ae Union. J'acijic Depot at Omaha. 
 
 only by reference to experience that we can convince oui'selves of their truly great 
 altitude. As we continue to look at them — the hollows holding pools of blue haze — 
 and the innumerable intermediate ridges become visible, it dawns upon us by degrees 
 how vast they are. 
 
 The desert between Ogden and Truckee is duller than that between Omaha and 
 Cheyenne— duller than Sahara itself — a sterile basin locked in by sterile mountains, 
 and overcast by the brooding despondency of a wintry sea. Who, left to himself, is 
 proof against e^mui here ? Who is not affected, more or less, by the sadness and 
 stillness of the purple mountains ? It is a fortunate thing that the length of the 
 
66 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 journey admits of a degree of intimacy between the passengers, and that the outward 
 ugliness may be forgotten in social intercourse. A great river is sucked into the 
 thirsty sand, and all Nature shows a resolute opposition to fertility. 
 
 One of the curious rocks of Green River, Echo, or Weber Oailon, set up in Eng- 
 land, or any part of Euroj^e, would make a popular resort ; but strange geological 
 developments are multiplied indetinitely along the line of the Pacific Railways — and 
 we soon learn that the mere oddities of creation have no lasting charm. In these 
 caflons, however, there is superlative grandeur, both iu the enormous bluffs a thou- 
 sand or more feet high, and in the barriers of rock that would seem impenetrable 
 were it not for the positive evidence of the long tunnels, cuttings, and bridges. 
 Probably this is the grandest railway scenery in the world, and it certainly is among 
 the grandest scenery of the American Continent. From the yellow-green plains we 
 are borne down a steep slope into the very heart of the Wahsatch Mountains ; through 
 a red-walled rayine, by a frothing mountain-stream, among wind- and water-worn 
 miracles of sandstone and granite, and out into the beautiful valley of the Great Salt 
 Lake, as the warm haze of sunset is mellowing the circling peaks and flooding the 
 gardens of Ogden with its gold. Whatever the territory may be beyond the belt of 
 Utah traversed by the Union Pacific Railway, it is the best-looking agricultural region 
 between Iowa and California. Yellow hay-ricks, waving fields of corn and wheat, 
 and plethoric orchards, make a most grateful relief to the wonder-land of rocks 
 through which the traveler has come ; but they are soon passed, and the train 
 whirls out from Ogden into a white alkali plain bordering the Salt Lake. The 
 next day's journey is the most wearisome of all. The Humboldt Desert throws up a 
 stifling cloud of dust, and the few little sandy stations are the only evidences of 
 civilization ; and these stopping-places, aside from the needs of the railroad, appar- 
 ently only serve to supply a few beastly and besotted -looking vagrants the means to 
 get drunk on wretched whisky. During the, following evening and night the pas- 
 senger crosses the Sierras, and on the next day, the last of the journey, makes the 
 passage of the American Canon, Cape Horn, and the fertile valley of the Sacramento. 
 Such in epitome is the ground over which the reader is invited to accompany us in 
 a trip across the continent, which, now accomi)lished in four days from Omaha to 
 San Francisco, was not many years ago a desperate undertaking of such difiBculty, 
 exposure, peril, and hardship, that even the hardiest recoiled from it with a feeling of 
 dread. The sufferings of overland emigrants, in the days when this arduous journey 
 was made with ox-teams, were almost beyond conception. Tlie bones of hundreds of 
 poor wretches, who starved or thirsted to death, or were massacred by the Indians 
 or the then equally savage Mormons, lie bleaching along this whole track of death 
 and despair. The stories of heroic daring and adventure, of patient suffering and 
 persevering toil, which fill tlie record of the progress of that vanguard of civilization 
 who crossed the Western Plains in emigrant-caravans, make up a fascinating nar- 
 rative, though sad in its constantly recurring episodes of struggle against Indian 
 butchery and the still more insidious perils of hunger and thirst. What a contrast 
 
OMAHA TO OGDEJV. 67 
 
 does to-day furnish ! The luxurious traveler is whirled along at the rate of thirty 
 miles an hour in richly furnished palace-coaches, and he has hardly time to fairly 
 enjoy the passing glances at the magnificent scenery when he finds himself in the 
 metropolis of the Pacific coast. 
 
 Omaha, at which point we start on our long journey, is a prosperous city of more 
 than twenty thousand population, an increase of seventy-five per cent in ten years. 
 It is on the western side of the Missouri Eiver, which is spanned by a bridge twenty- 
 seven hundred and fifty feet long, and its principal industries are in breweries, 
 distilleries, brick-yards, smelting and refining works. The Union Pacific depot is a 
 handsome structure, that was built a few years ago. It contains every convenience 
 for the traveler, including waiting-rooms, restaurants, a money-exchange, and ticket- 
 ofiBces. The scene of the departure and arrival of the transcontinental train is of 
 the liveliest kind. There is a mingling of many races and many costumes. Sleeping- 
 car porters and conductors, brakesmen, news-agents, railway-police, emigrants, soldiers, 
 plainsmen, fashionable tourists, commercial travelers, and occasional Indians, give 
 spice and variety to the throng, and towns-people crowd in to share the excitement. 
 But the consequences of the confusion are helped by the admirable system for the 
 rechecking of baggage, etc., and the intelligence of the railway attendants. The 
 least experienced of ti'avelers is sure to find himself comfortably seated when the 
 train starts, leaving the city behind and entering the rich farm-lands of Nebraska 
 without a care, as far as the journey is concerned, on his mind. 
 
 The verdant farm-lands are soon succeeded, however, by the plains, the monotony 
 of which is excessive. Billow follows billow of land into the uncertain gray of the 
 horizon, speckled with rings and tufts of faint green, and jeweled with little patches 
 of wild-verbena. On the dreariest day at sea the tossing of the waves gives an exhila- 
 rating sense of motion, and the eye is gratified by the prismatic flashings of sunbeams 
 among the spray. On the plains the hilly waves are repeated, but they are paralyzed 
 and dumb, and communicative of blight only. The prevailing color is a greenish 
 yellow ; the sense touched is that of vacancy. Occasionally the land seems to sink 
 into a basin surrounded by hogsheads, a form of rock which presents a steep and 
 rough escarpment on one side, and on the other slopes off by easy gradations to the 
 level. But there is no great elevation, and the spectator rather gets the idea of con- 
 traction than of immensity. At intervals of twenty or thirty miles a red tank with 
 a creaking windmill marks a water-station, at which the passengers alight to gather 
 prairie-flowers ; and still farther apart some little white towns, with names reminis- 
 cent of frontier-life, tell a story to which the copper-skinned, dirty mendicants, 
 crowding the stations, are a fitting pendant. In some places wagon-trains of emi- 
 grants may be even yet seen toiling along in their dusty route not far from the 
 track, though now under conditions of far less peril than of yore. 
 
 At Omaha the elevation is nine hundred and sixty-six feet above the sea. At 
 Cheyenne, a distance of five hundred and sixteen miles, the elevation is six thousand 
 and forty-one feet. The peculiarity of the Eocky Mountains is, that they rise in a 
 
C8 
 
 OUR XATIVE LAXD. 
 
 gradually ascending plateau for this distance so gently that the trayeler is hardly 
 conscious of the change except by the difference in the temperature till he reaches 
 Hillsdale, twenty miles east of Cheyenne, when he catches a glimpse of the Rocky 
 ifountains proper, and at Clieyenne they have so far loomed upon tlie horizon as to 
 form a massive background to the landscape. Between Omaha and Cheyenne we are 
 carried through sixty-eight stations which have but little to recommend them to the 
 notice of the traveler. Nearly all these stopping-places have the same characteristics. 
 They have been of rapid growth, and vary in population from several thousands to a 
 score or less. Between them the plains rise and fall monotonously, keeping the trav- 
 eler's interest only half awake by prairie-dog villages and herds of antelope. The 
 North Platte River only breaks the sameness. Buffaloes have long since disappeared 
 from tlie vicinity of the tracks, and the passengers rejoice when the undulations are 
 broken by the first glimpse of the Rocky Mountains. The train passes under snow- 
 
 TJit I^latte Rice',\ ntnr Aort/i I'l'ittc, 
 
 sheds and between snow-fences, and presently stops at Cheyenne, where the Denver 
 branch of the Kansas Pacific Railway connects with the Union Pacific, affording tour- 
 ists a chance to visit every noted place in Colorado. 
 
 Cheyenne is only fourteen years old, the first house having been l)uilt in 18G7. 
 A month afterward building-lots wei"e sold for one hundred and fifty dollars, and 
 tiiree months from that time resold for twenty times that amount. The air now 
 resounds with the click of the hammer and the tap of the trowel, and the first 
 wooden buildings are rapidly giving way to structures of brick and stone. The 
 car-shops of the Union Pacific road are located here, an industry of considerable im- 
 portance to the place. 
 
 After leaving Cheyenne the snow-fences and snow-sheds become more frequent, 
 indicating how terrible the winter storms are. A plaintive look of fear may be 
 seen on the faces of tlio immignints in the forward cars, and an occasional mutter is 
 lieard. A stock-raiser points out an ominous little valley in which several thousand 
 
OMAHA TO OGDEX. 
 
 69 
 
 sheep were frozen to death 
 in one night, and a scat- 
 tering of bleached bones 
 
 confirms his story. Here we cross a shallow caflon, 
 and the track is hedged on both sides by a fence. 
 The wind blows with such fury in winter that it 
 lifts the snow up out of this ravine iind over the 
 bridge on which the railway is carried. Bleak and 
 profitless hills of loose sand, strewed with bowlders 
 and ribbed witli buttresses of weathered granite, 
 limit the prospect ; and the high peaks of Colora- 
 do, wliich were visible as we approached Cheyenne, 
 are hidden by the intermediate ridges. But in the 
 neighborhood of Sherman, thirty-three miles from 
 Cheyenne, these superb mountains reappear, stretch- 
 ing a hundred miles or more to the southward, bathed in white vapor near the sum- 
 mits, profoundly blue as they slope down to the foot-hills, checkered with broad streaks 
 
 Jilack Hills, near Shermnn. 
 
70 
 
 OUIi NATIVE LAND. 
 
 of light, dazzling snow- 
 fields, and spreading shad- 
 ows. Their appearance 
 during one hour eludes recognition the next. At 
 one season and in one condition of the atmosphere 
 they are enormous masses of bare and rugged 
 rock, noticeable only for their great size ; again, 
 they are dense masses of blue thrown up against 
 the horizon like an impending storm ; and, on 
 a clear evening, the passionate western sun sets 
 them ablaze with a glowing crimson that (|uickly 
 changes to a jiallid gray before the approaching 
 night. 
 
 The Black II ills that we are gently ascending, 
 
 and that extend into the north, have little or no 
 
 poetic charm. They ai"e insignificant in height and dnll in color. A few stout 
 
 pines and firs, dwarfed by the inclemency of the weather, struggle out of the crev- 
 
 Maiden's Slide. l>ale Vrenk 
 
 
OMAHA TO OGDEN. 
 
 71 
 
 ices between detached masses of tempestuous rock, and these are the only touclies of 
 yegetation that can be discovered. 
 
 We now arrive at a station which has a height of somewhat more than eight 
 thousand feet above the sea. Sherman is said to be one of the higliest railway- 
 stations in the world, but so gradually do we ascend that it is difficult to realize the 
 
 lied Bifttt^-^, Laramie Plains, 
 
 fact. From this point to the Laramie Plains the traveler is carried through an 
 amazing region of rock diablerie, where the granite and sandstones are cast in such 
 odd shapes that they seem to be the work of goblin architects or the embodiment of 
 a madman's fancy. Pillars which caricature the forms of man and beast ; circular 
 and square towers that might have been parts of a mediajval stronghold ; massive 
 
72 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 structures tliat liave no small resemblance to the fortress itself ; and absurd shapes 
 unlike anything seen on earth or heard of in heaven, barricade the track on both 
 sides. Sometimes these are honey-combed with tiny cells like worm-eaten wood ; 
 sometimes tliey are yellow-ochre in color or pale green ; and again they are a vivid 
 crimson, or the several strata are marked with different tints. In Dale Creek Cafion, 
 only two miles from Sherman, the railway crosses by a long trestle-work bridge one 
 hundred and twenty-seven feet high. Here, among other rock-wonders, is a great pile 
 called, for some strange reason, the Maiden's Slide, and another pile bears the ghastly 
 name of Skull Rocks, from its curious resemblance. The Red Buttes, at the western 
 end of the bridge, are queer rock statues, misshaj)en and grotesque, and crimson in 
 color. 
 
 The great Laramie Plains, which we are now about to cross, are some forty miles 
 wide and a hundred miles long, between the Black Hills and Medicine Bow Mount- 
 
 MmigranW Camp, Lnnimu' Plaiiin. 
 
 ains. They furnish the best grazing in the United States, and they are overrun by 
 enormous flocks of sheep, who find here the most juicy and fattening grasses. Slieeji- 
 herding is the great industry of this region, and some large fortunes have been made 
 by the ranchmen of the Laramie Plains. We find the immigrant trail following the 
 railway closely through this part of the route. C!anvas-covered wagons drawn by ox- 
 teams are often passed, sometimes alone, sometimes in a train. The whole establish- 
 ment of a migrating family — men. women, and children, furniture, cattle, and pets — 
 is included in the caravan ; and in the evening it is not uncommon to see the wan- 
 derers drawn up by the side of a spring or brook for the night — the women busy 
 over the camp-fire, and the men attending to the cattle or smoking under the shel- 
 ter of the wagons. The Indian wigwams, which in the early days of the railway 
 might have been seen clustered along the track or close on the outskirts of the newly 
 settled towns, have now disappeared, and tlie filthy, copper-hued vagabond who once 
 
OMAHA TO OGDEN. 73 
 
 begged pennies at the stations is now nearly as scarce as the buffalo that once black- 
 ened these plains with their swarms. 
 
 Arriving at Laramie City, which is on the river of the same name, we find a well- 
 built place of about three thousand peoisle, and adorned with fine public and private 
 buildings. Rich deposits of antimony, cinnabar, gold, silver, lead, plumbago, and other 
 minerals are found within thirty miles of the city, and it has all the aspects of an 
 active mining-town, as the miners come here to get their stores and spend their 
 money. Between the miners and the cow-boys, or ranchmen, there are times when 
 Laramie City is like a pandemonium witli its drunken, fighting desperadoes, and even 
 the presence of the troops at Fort Landers, near by, seems to have but little influence 
 at the times of these periodic "sprees." Looking west from the city, we see Elk 
 Mountain, one of the Medicine Bow range, rising 7,152 feet above the sea. 
 
 Soon after passing Laramie, and while we are still rolling over the fertile plains, 
 the night sweeps up from the east in a smoky-looking cloud and overtakes the speed- 
 ing train ; but, before the relapse of light into final darkness, there is the brief gloi-y 
 of the western sunset, with its splendors of crimson and gold, its dying gleams of 
 opal light, and peaceful blues and grays. No ugliness can assert itself in this part- 
 ing look of the day. The mean little dug-out and the low hovel of the mines are 
 redeemed from their squalor and unshapeliness, and changed until they become pleas- 
 ant to the sight. The low-lying plain and the swampy sti-eam meandering it borrow 
 color from the expiring light ; the plain is a red-brown, and the river is overcast 
 with a skim of brassy yellow. The distant mountains are folded in a wonderful blue 
 or purple — which it is we can scarcely tell — and every bend and peak in their summit- 
 line is lit up with startling distinctness. The clattering train does not break the 
 spell of silence and loneliness that settles with twilight on the land, thougli it sug- 
 gests civilization and the fast-beating pulse of commerce ; on the contrary, it adds 
 weirdness to the scene as it twists among the hillocks, disappearing under a snow- 
 shed for a minute, and reappearing with a roar and a blaze. It is like a ship adrift 
 at sea ; whence it has come is only indicated by the clogging wreath of smoke that 
 hangs low upon the earth behind it, and its destination is unforeshadowed by the 
 gleam of a human habitation in the dusk ahead. At this time the work of the 
 railway company in projecting an iron pathway into so wild and desolate a region 
 impresses us as it has not imjiresscd us before. 
 
 We pass from stretch to stretch of plain, bounded by the same whited peaks, and 
 not different in any important particular from the stretch before it. The telegraph- 
 poles are the only projections nearer than the mountains, and a flock of birds, or 
 sheep, or a herd of cattle in the neighborhood of a roughly timbered ranch, is the 
 only reward of the patient tourist, who sits in pensive martyrdom at the car-window 
 with a praiseworthy but foolish resolve to comprehend the whole country. The wheels 
 of the train beat their humdrum on the iron rails ; the novel is again taken up ; and 
 the game of whist, euchre, or casino is resumed, as the -passenger gives up the task 
 of sight-seeing in despair. 
 
74 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Travelers who are thrown together in this long railway trip soon become as socia- 
 ble as if they had known each other all their lives, and the most oddly dissimilar 
 people strike up hearty friendships that last for a life-time afterward. We meet tour- 
 ists from all parts of the world, who become jolly companions at once. That well- 
 
 Efk JJou/itdi/i. 
 
 bred, quiet-looking man in gray tweed we find to be an English carl, though it is a 
 good while before the fact comes out, and then in a merely chance way. He is as 
 l)leasaut and affable as a commercial drummer, and far better mannered. The hale, 
 lilunt, stout man in the ojjposite seat is a Kent or Hampshire farmer from the old 
 country, who, with his wife and daughter, that bloom like two dahlias, is taking 
 the holiday of a life-time ; 'and, though as English as the Tower of London, he won- 
 ders that any one should take him to be a .John Bull. Ilis praise and blame of 
 
OMAHA TO OGDEN. 
 
 75 
 
 what he sees are divided between the depth of the soil and the impudence of tlie 
 charges at the eating-houses on the route. The round-faced man in spectacles is a 
 German professor, who has come from some great uuiversity-town in Hanover or 
 
 Prussia to see with iiis own eyes the wonders of the 
 .'' Western world; and sitting in the same seat with 
 
 him is a lean, dark-skinned Frenchman, who perhaps 
 fought against him at Gravelotte or Sedan. So we 
 make ourselves acquainted with people of nearly every 
 country in Europe as we are whirled along on the ap- 
 
 jiarently endless iron track. 
 - Occasionally some episode 
 
 ^^'^■"^^^^"^^^^^ym^ 
 
 will attract the attention of the trav- 
 elers. The engine entei's a narrow 
 valley and startles a herd of deer 
 drinking on the banks of a rivulet, 
 the apparition of the thundering iron horse, the timid 
 ereatui'es flee with tlicir utmost speed. The engineer 
 
 Hunks of the I'iatte River. 
 
76 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 blows his whistle and ojtens the throttle-valve farther. The deer, still further alarmed, 
 leap still faster in the race until they reach the open country, when they spring to 
 one side beyond rifle-range and gaze with dilated eyes at their fast-disappearing 
 enemy. These races between deer or antelope and the Pacific trains were once ((uite 
 common, but the timid animals now for the most part avoid the vicinity of the 
 railway-track. 
 
 At Fort Fred Steele, a little less than seven hundred miles west of Omaha, the 
 passengers, if they are still awake (for it is probably midnight when the train arrives), 
 may see flowing near the banks of the railroad the broad waters of the Platte River, 
 clear, deep, and unsullied, as it is at its source among the perpetual snows of Long's 
 Peak in the North Park of Colorado. Every military post which we pass, even if it 
 be a mere shed for the troops, with a store-house of supplies, is governed with the 
 strictest discipline. The reveille is beaten and the guard mounted with the same un- 
 
 ritw on the Jiotte Rii'tr. 
 
 failing precision as at Governor's Island, New York, or San Francisco, and both offi- 
 cers and men are as careful and neat in their dress as a regiment marshaled for review 
 before the commander-in-chief. 
 
 About forty miles west of Fort Fred Steele is the divide, which turns one part of 
 the water of the continent into the Atlantic and the other part into the Pacific. But 
 this ridge-pole of the North American Continent is so unimpressive in appearance and 
 in actual height — being less than seven thousand feet above the sea-level — that no one 
 would suspect the interesting fact. 
 
 We pass through scenes monotonous and utterly lacking in anything to please the 
 eye or stir the fancy till we arrive at Green River, which is eight hundred and forty- 
 six miles from Omaha. The river, which receives its name from the color of tlie 
 strata of earth through which it passes, rises in the Wyoming and Wind River Mount- 
 ains, and flows south till it joins with the Grand to make the Colorado. The scenery 
 is marked by very quaint and beautiful sandstone cliffs which crop out close to the 
 railway. These are called by scientific men tlio Green River Shales, the sediment 
 being arranged in different layers, from the tliickiicss nf :i knife-blade to several feet. 
 
OMAHA TO OGDEN. 
 
 77 
 
 m 
 
 iriaufs Mtftte, irreeii River. 
 
 The castellated cliff and the Giant's Butte, which are shown in the illustrations, are 
 landmarks that strike the ej'e of every tourist. The broad and well-defined bands 
 
78 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 (-'fijf'-'^, Grttit Jt'/rcr. 
 
 of color, looking as though they had been applied by a painter's brush ; the countless 
 spires and turrets eroded in the front of the main rock ; and the grotesque element 
 
OMAHA TO OGDEN. 79 
 
 that finds expression in a hundred inconceivable and indescribable shapes, force us to 
 believe that we have left earth behind, and have strayed into goblin-land. 
 
 Beautiful impressions of fish are seen on the shales, sometimes a dozen or more 
 within the compass of a square foot. The molds of insects and water-plants are 
 also found, and occasionally a greater wonder still, such as the feather of a bird, can 
 be traced in the heart of a rock several hundred feet high. 
 
 At Flaming Gorge the water is of the purest emerald, with banks and sand-bars 
 of glistening white, and it is overlooked by a perpendicular bluff, banded with the 
 brightest red and yellow to a height of fifteen hundred feet above the surrounding 
 level. When it is illumined by the full sunlight, Flaming Gorge fully realizes its 
 name ; and it is the entrance to the miraculous Red Caflon, which furrows the mount- 
 ains to a surpassing depth. 
 
 Another grand rock is the Giant's Club, a towering mass almost round, that rises 
 to a great height, and was at one time, according to scientific men, on the bottom 
 of a lake. In the layers of sandstone many fossils of insects and plants have been 
 discovered, and also the remains of fishes belonging to fresh water, though now 
 extinct. 
 
 Thirteen miles from Green Eiver, and two hundred feet higher than that station, 
 is Bryan, where the railway touches Black's Fork, a stream which finds a way, from 
 its source in the Uintah Mountains to its junction with the Green, through an un- 
 lovely valley of sage-brush and greasewood — two shrubs which, instead of enriching 
 the earth with the brightness of vegetation, overspread it with a tangle of unsightly 
 gray and ragged branches. The sage-brush is peculiar to much Western scenery. So 
 pallid and parched is it, that its life-sap might have been absorbed in those heart- 
 burnings of the earth whose results are seen in many a pile of volcanic rock ; its 
 small, pale leaves are never fresh, and its limbs are always twisted and gnarled ; but, 
 despite these symptoms of scanty life, it holds to the soil with extreme tenacity, and 
 it crops out in great abundance over miles and miles of territory. Among the foot- 
 hills and along the river-bottoms there are knots of pines and firs, and groves of 
 aspens and cotton-woods — not enough, however, to relieve the sage-brush, which spreads 
 itself over the landscape to the farthest horizon like a bank of mist. 
 
 About this time, while the train is moving through tedious miles of desert, we are 
 prepared to agree with Hawthorne, that meadows are the pleasantest objects in natural 
 scenery : " The heart reposes in them with a feeling that few things else can give, 
 becaiise almost all other objects are abrupt and clearly defined ; but a meadow stretches 
 out like a small infinity, yet with a secure homeliness which we do not find either in 
 an expanse of water or of air." 
 
 The apology usually offered for the least attractive land in the far West is, that, 
 no matter how sterile it may be to look at, it is " rich in the primary elements of 
 fertility," a fine-sounding phrase, which, though we listen to it at first with divided 
 feelings of amusement and doubt, proves on investigation to have some truth in it. 
 No plain is so sandy and barren that it is not amenable to the irrigating ditch, and 
 
80 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 the introduction of ii little stream of water is often followed by an outbreak of what 
 seems to be natural verdure, wonderfully bright and hardy, which shows how fruitful 
 the soil may become under favorable treatment. At Fort Bridger, eleven miles south 
 of Carter, the third station westward from Bryan, three hundred bushels of potatoes 
 have been raised from half an acre of ground, and the ground there is as hopeless to 
 all appearances as that in view from the railway. 
 
 Beyond the yellow and gray folds of the nearer land, among which strange-looking 
 masses of rock occasionally loom up, the Uintah Mountains, extending eastward and 
 
 Uintah Mountains. 
 
 southeastward from Utah, now arise, and bound the |)rospect with a line of dee]i. dark 
 blue. They are visible for hours ; sometimes when the train rolls over a high crest 
 they are revealed from their jiurple bases to their snowy summits, and then, as it 
 
OMAHA TO OGDEN. 81 
 
 •descends into the hollow, they are hidden in all save the highest tips. The j^eaks, 
 or cones, dark as they seem at this distance of seventy or eighty miles, are most 
 distinctly arranged in layers, and rise two thousand feet above the springs that feed 
 the streams in the foot-hills below. They are vast piles, resembling Egyptian pyramids 
 on a gigantic scale, without a trace of soil, water, or vegetation. Such, at least, the 
 peaks are ; but the lower slopes are covered with thick forests, which are succeeded 
 nearer the timber-limits by pines that have been dwarfed down to low, trailing shrubs, 
 and the ridges inclose some large basins of exquisitely clear water. One of these, 
 called Carter's Lake, is held in on one side by a round wall of sandstones and slate, 
 and on the other side by a dense growth of spruce-trees. The hollow for the gather- 
 ing of the water, says a United States geologist, was caused by an immense mass of 
 rock sliding down from the ridges above ; springs oozed out from the sides of the 
 ridge, snows melted, and so the lake was formed. Carter's Lake is 350 yards long, 
 80 yards wide, and 10,331 feet above the level of the sea ; and it is, like many other 
 natural reservoirs, embosomed in the valleys of these mountains. 
 
 One of the highest peaks in the mountains — Gilbert's Peak — is named after General 
 Gilbert, and is plainly marked by layers of red-sandstones and quartz inclining to the 
 southeast. It is uplifted abruptly from a lake about fifty acres in extent, and has 
 the remarkable elevation of 13,250 feet above the sea-level, the lake itself being eleven 
 thousand feet high. Another notable peak springs out in isolation from the pyramid 
 already mentioned, and has been called, from its resemblance to a Gothic church, 
 Hayden's Cathedral. The foot-hills are clothed with pines, varied by that most beau- 
 tiful of all Western trees, the quaking asp, which, with its silver-gray bark and 
 tremulous, oval, emerald leaves, stands out in shining contrast to the sad foliage of 
 the evergreens. 
 
 Near by this region begin the so-called " Bad Lands," on the old overland stage-road 
 ten miles to the south. The modern road of iron rails touches this old route from 
 time to time in its winding course ; but the glory of the days when the pony express, 
 the fast coaches, and the hundreds of immigrant trains passing every day raised the 
 dust in choking clouds, has only a reminder in the tottering telegraph-poles out of use 
 and unstrung, and the deserted ranches, which once furnished rest and refreshment. 
 
 The wonderful Church Buttes of Wyoming Territory are one hundred and fifty miles 
 east of Salt Lake City, the capital of Mormondom, and are nearly seven thousand feet 
 above the sea-level. They consist of soft sandstone and colored clay in jjcrfectly level 
 layers, and one of our eminent scientific men, Profes.sor Marsh, has discovered in them 
 the remains of huge creatures now extinct, such as turtles twenty feet long, gigantic 
 birds, etc., the jaws of some of these great animals of an earlier age measuring nearly 
 five feet in length. Eemains of the rhinoceros have also been discovered. Rattle- 
 snakes are found here in great numbers, and their rattling sounds are as noisy as the 
 buzzing of grasshoppers in a hay-field. 
 
 The interesting features of Church Buttes and the Bad Lands are the bands of 
 ■color formed by the successive layers containing animal remains, which in some in- 
 
83 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 stances, as at Green River, are exceedingly vivid, and seem to have been drawn by a 
 human hand. As we stand upon one of the summits it is diflScult, indeed, to con- 
 vince ourselves that these stone piles so beautifully adorned are not the result of hu- 
 man workmanship. The elements striving with the centuries may cause strange forms. 
 
 -55^"=^,^ 
 
 ■•t, 
 ■p.* 
 
 Church Butter, Wyoming. 
 
 but it is incredible that senseless rain-drops and 
 gritty sand, without mind and without a special 
 design, can have carved the shapely theatres and 
 temples that appeal to our eyes with the grandeur 
 of an ancient Rome or an Athens — hard to believe 
 that the mere process of "weathering," as the 
 geologists call it, can have shaped such masterpieces out of chaotic rock. The very 
 pillars that clasp the portico of that temple yonder and dwindle away, through their 
 hundreds, into a dim perspective, are built with exactness, and uphold a filigree cor- 
 nice whose dainty carving bespeaks the chisel of a sculptor. The lonely pillars and 
 obelisks are without flaw ; the domes that cap some of the buildings are perfect half- 
 spheres ; the flutings of the columns are uniform in depth and width, and the broad 
 terraces of steps are the same in distance from each other. The desert's sand-blast 
 and the constant action of the rain-drops may have worn the rocks on Laramie Plain 
 and Dale Creek into their present uncanny look, but we can hardly believe the scien- 
 tific talk and the testimony of our sight as we look down from the distance upon 
 the strange architecture of the Bad Lands. A nearer view, however, dissipates our 
 illusion : then we notice defects that were not visible before, and observe how spouts 
 
OMAHA TO OODEJSr. 83 
 
 and drops of water have furrowed the jiliant material of the rock, tunneling and 
 grooving with resistless industry, and imparting the color of the strata to the sur- 
 rounding streamlets. But it is not all illusion ; the resemblances often prove to be 
 real, and are marvelous beyond the conception of any one who has not seen them. 
 
 We now arrive at a station called Hilliard, which attracts attention by its curious 
 nest of low houses that might be almost mistaken for Indian wigwams or Chinese 
 huts. These are charcoal-furnaces. Another tiling which makes people wonder as to 
 its possible iise is a high, narrow trestle-work bridge, supporting a huge trough in 
 the shape of a V — an object familiar to people living on the Pacific coast, but a 
 strange sight in more easterly regions. It is known as a flume, and the wood burned 
 in the kilns is floated through it for a distance of twenty-four miles from the mount- 
 ains. Over two million feet of lumber were used in its construction, and from its 
 head to its mouth it falls two thousand feet, the stream rushing through it and 
 sweeping the logs on its bosom with a rapidity and ease that make us wonder why 
 people ever haul wood in cumbrous wagons. The mill at the head, where the pine- 
 trees are sawed down into the convenient shape in which they arrive at Hilliard, has 
 a capacity for sawing forty thousand feet of lumber every twenty-four hours, and the 
 kilns consume two thousand cords a month, producing a hundred thousand bushels 
 of charcoal. When the train crosses the Bear Eiver, a few miles beyond this station, 
 the eye of the traveler rests on a lovely valley, noticeable on account of its great 
 beauty. 
 
 The various industries whicli have sprung up along the Union and Central Pacific 
 Railways and their branches in the last ten years, mostly, it is true, connected with 
 the mining interest, are quite marvelous, and perhaps excite one's sense of wonder 
 even more than the evidences of enterprise in the more settled regions of the coun- 
 try. The contrast between the bleakness and savagery of the adjacent region and the 
 mills, workshops, etc., which spring so rapidly around many a railway - station or 
 plant themselves so sturdily in some remote region of the mineral - bearing hills, 
 strikes the fancy with great force. Ten or twenty years ago a desert of arid plains 
 or steep and inaccessible mountains — now paying tribute to the luxuries and needs of 
 mankind by yielding freely to his hand ; then a lair of wild animals and a hunting- 
 ground for the painted savage, now a firmly settled outpost of civilization. The 
 pluck and push of the American people have shown themselves in great works for a 
 whole century, but at no time are they pictured more vividly than in the sights 
 which unroll like a panorama before the traveler across the continent as he is hurried 
 from ocean to ocean by the power of steam. 
 
 As the tourist approaches the bouadary-line between Idaho and Utah he passes 
 through a country most attractive on account of its natural beauty and its game. 
 To sportsman, naturalist, and artist the catalogue of its wonders is almost without 
 limit. The brooks which flow into the main streams are full of trout, and the for- 
 ests are full of deer, bear, foxes, wolves, grouse, and quail, while such game as the 
 panther, or puma, as it is called in the West, gives a keener zest of danger to the 
 
84 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 adventurous hunter. A lake of considerable size near the station of Evanston sur- 
 passes even the Yellowstone in the beauty of its rocks ; and through this ])retty body 
 of water, nearly six thousand feet above the sea, the line which divides Utah from 
 Idaho passes. At the big bend of the Bear Eiver, which the railway crosses in this 
 vicinity, we find a most interesting group of warm soda-springs which are likely in 
 the future to be frequented as a watering-place 
 and sanitarium. There are many basins of ex- 
 tinct springs in the vicinity far larger than any 
 now existing, and these are called petrifying 
 springs by the settlers, as they contain large 
 masses of plants so beautifully coated with lime 
 tliat they retain the form of leaf and stem to 
 jierfection. 
 
 The last station on the railway line within 
 
 Wyoming is Evanston, a town of consid- 
 *^v^ erable importance, because in its vicinity 
 are large and rich coal-deposits, one mine 
 alone giving an annual yield of one hun- 
 dred and fifty thousand tons. At this station we are brought face to face with the 
 problem of Chinese labor. The pigtailed Celestials work on the railway, tend at the 
 bars and restaurants, do tlie cooking (and, needless to say, the wasliing), and alto- 
 gether crowd out the labor of Ireland and Deutscliland ; but those who employ this 
 labor seem to be perfectly well satisfied, and the hungry tourists who swarm into the 
 
OMAHA TO OGDEK 
 
 85 
 
 Eiliv r,i,-,„„, n,,h. 
 
 railway eating-house certainly have no reason to complain of their treatment on the 
 part of these smiling, polite, attentive, white-aproned Orientals. 
 
86 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 The gi'andest scenery on the Un- 
 ion Pacific road is found in Utah 
 within a stretch of sixty miles, and 
 every passenger traveling with us is 
 on the alert to enjoy the lavish 
 feast of beauty and sublimity which 
 Nature spreads before us. 
 
 But, before viewing the wonders of the counti\, i 
 brief glance at the history of the Territory will oe in- 
 teresting. It was acquired by the United States as a 
 result of the Mexican War, in common with California, 
 New Mexico, Arizona, and the larger part of what is 
 now known as the Pacific coast. When the Mormons ■ ~^ " ' 
 
 were driven out of Illinois, in 1846, they appropriated 
 
 this then utterly wild region, and named it the State of Deseret. The name was 
 shortly afterward changed to Utah, the State of Nevada then being included in it. 
 
OMAHA TO OGDEN. 
 
 87 
 
 Puljnt Boclc^ Echo Canon. 
 
 Utah contains about fifty-four million 
 
 acres, of which some half a million are 
 
 under cultivation. The Mormons, with 
 
 all their abominable faults, their system of polygamy, 
 
 their bigotry, and the crimes of murder and spoliation 
 
 which have stained their past, have always been a 
 
 thrifty and hard-working people, and they have made 
 
 many parts of the desert bloom like a rose by their skill 
 
 in agriculture and the completeness with which they have carried out their system of 
 
 irrigation. The products are chiefly grain and fruits, including apples, pears, peaches, 
 
 plums, grapes, and, in some portions of the Territory, cotton, figs, and pomegranates. 
 
 The climate is variable, but hot days are always followed by cool, refreshing nights. 
 
88 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Hanging Jioeh^ Echo C'aii&n. 
 
 The yield of the precious metals is 
 also large, and, when the mining in- 
 terests of Utah are fully develojjed, 
 it will probably equal any of the 
 Western States in its production of 
 gold and silver. 
 The difficulty between the Mormon government, set 
 up by the leaders of the church, and the United States, 
 resulted in many terrible crimes on the part of the Mor- 
 mon fanatics. The Gentiles, as all outsiders were called, 
 were made the victims of every species of persecution ; 
 ^ and, as Utah was difficult of access before the building 
 
 of the Pacific Eailways, it was not easy for the United 
 States to protect the emigrants who went to this Territory to settle. The massacres, 
 either committed by the Mormons themselves, or by the Indians instigated by the 
 
OMAHA TO OGBEN. 
 
 89 
 
 Mormons ; the deeds com- 
 mitted by that band of 
 miscreants and brigands 
 
 organized by the Mormon chiefs under the name of the 
 Danites ; tlie robbery and plundering which went on 
 so universally ; and the utter contempt shown for the 
 judges and other officials sent out by the Government at 
 Washington, finally led to the armed expedition which, 
 under the command of General Albert Sidney Johnston, 
 crossed the deserts and penetrated to the vicinity of Salt 
 Lake City, the capital, in 1852. The difficulty was at 
 last compromised without coming to the final test of 
 
 battle, and the Mormons submitted to the United States authority, though the 
 lar power has always practically remained in the leaders of their churcli. 
 
 Let us now return to our journey across this remarkable region. For four 
 after entering Utah there is not a moment of lagging interest to the traveler 
 
 secu- 
 
 hours 
 as he 
 
00 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAXD, 
 
 
 passes the wonders of Echo, 
 Weber, and Ogden Caflons. 
 All down the southern side 
 of Echo Caiion it is a well- 
 rounded range of hills, with 
 enough gi-ass to show some 
 soil and a few bold masses 
 of rock. But on the north- 
 ern side there is a sheer 
 bluff, or escarpment, from 
 five to seven hundred feet 
 in height, of a reddish 
 color, which increases in 
 warmth till it fairly glows 
 with living heat. The 
 scene has every element 
 of power to impress the 
 fancy, strong rich color, 
 massive forms, and a nov- 
 el weirdness of effect. The 
 descent into the canon be- 
 gins soon after dining at Evanston : the mountain 
 air is inspiring ; the afternoon light grows mellower, 
 and all the conditions are favorable to our highest 
 enjoyment. 
 
 That most amusing of travelers, the Baron de 
 Hiibner, has described his impressions of this part 
 of the overland journey as follows : " The descent to 
 the Salt Lake is done without steam, merely by the 
 weight of the carriages, and, although the brake is 
 put upon the wheels, you go down at a frightful 
 pace, and, of course, the speed increases with the weight of the train ; and, the train 
 being composed of an immense number of cars and trucks, I became positively giddy 
 before we got to the bottom. Add to this the curves, which are as sharp as they 
 are numerous, and the fearful precipices on each side, and you will understand why 
 most of the travelers turn pale." 
 
 This picture is overdrawn, and the impressions are those of a highly nervous person ; 
 but the real exj)erience is sufficiently exciting as the train sweeps dowm and sways 
 from side to side with increasing speed, now threatening to hurl itself against a solid 
 cliff, then curving off like an obedient ship in answer to her helm. 
 
 Just eastward of the head of the canon the country is undulating and breezy ; 
 farther westward it becomes more broken ; the foot-hills present craggy fronts ; and 
 
 DeviVs Slid4. Weber Canon. 
 
OMAHA TO OGDEN. 91 
 
 detached masses of rock, curiously colored aud carved by the weather, excite our 
 wonder. 
 
 We must observe quickly to apjireciate all the varied beauties and curiosities that 
 follow in swift succession. The high, abrupt wall on one side, so smooth that it 
 might have been cut by a saw, and the glimpes of mountains on whose upper flanks 
 the snow never melts, are most impressive and interesting, but they are not the only 
 things which make a journey through Echo Canon memorable. 
 
 The great rocks often assume the likeness of an artificial object, as at Green Eiver 
 aud among the Bad Lands ; it seems, as we round some butte, shaped like a castle, 
 that we must be in an old country ; that feudal labor, not the patient carving of 
 rain-drops and the sand of the plains, must have shaped the pinnacles which taper with 
 such fineness, and the towers so fierfectly round that they closely resemble human 
 handiwork. 
 
 At the head of the cafion there is a formation called Castle Rock, which imitates 
 an old, dismantled fortress, and near by is another formation, called the Puliiit, on 
 account of its likeness to the object of its name and by virtue of a tradition that 
 from it Brigham Young preached to the Mormons as he led them into their 23romised 
 land. The railway curves around Pulpit Eock, and an outstretched arm from the car 
 might touch it. Next comes Sentinel Eock, an obelisk of conglomerate about two 
 hundred aud fifty feet high, which shows the influence of "weathering," i, e., the 
 action of the elements ; and seven miles from Castle Eock is Hanging Eock, from 
 which jwint of view a much better idea of the wild tumult of shapes into which the 
 country is tossed can be had than from the bed of the caQon, The earth is split by 
 a score of cross-ravines, which extend like blue veins from the main artery and map 
 the face of the country with shadow ; lonely columns, positive and brilliant in color, 
 stand without a visible connection with the main rock from which they were origi- 
 nally broken oft' ; odd groups of conglomerate, much like inverted wine-glasses in shape, 
 and plainly banded with several layers of color, sprout out like so many huge mush- 
 rooms hardened into stone ; and, clasping all within their basin, are the circling 
 mountains of the Wahsatch and Uintah ranges, silvered with perpetual snow on their 
 pointed peaks and impenetrably blue where the pines are. These two chains are 
 among the most picturesque of all the Western mountains. They fairly bristle with 
 peaks and side-ridges shooting out like sj^urs, and they soar from the plain at a 
 bound, as if they would cleave the very skies. 
 
 The swift waters of Weber Eiver wind by the track through a channel overhung 
 with bright shrubs ; and the immigrant road, on which large caravans are still found 
 traveling, crosses and recrosses the iron pathway, which, from one of the adjoining 
 heights, looks like a thread of silver, while the train appears to be a mere child's 
 toy in contrast with the mighty rocks between which it is rushing. A sharp curve 
 around an immense sandstone butte on the right hand of the canon now changes the 
 scene. The gorge opens into a wide valley completely surrounded by mountains, in 
 which are much cultivated land and thriving settlements — a little garden of Eden 
 
92 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 I 
 
 by contrast with the desohitc and gloomy grandeur tlirough which we have been 
 jiassing. 
 
 Emerging from the valley, between Echo and Weber Canons, we can now see 
 the portals of the latter flanked on the southwest by a mighty dome-shaped cliff of 
 brilliant red, nearly one thousand feet high, which is the first in a chain of simi- 
 lar formations extending 
 southward, and presenting 
 abrupt fronts all the way 
 down. There are small 
 alcoves betfleen them, and 
 they jut out obliquely, 
 like the prows of a fleet 
 of iron-clads. The idea 
 of this belt of flaming 
 red amid the green sur- 
 roundings, and with the 
 gray and white mountains 
 
 
 above it, gives an impression of startling contrast, 
 which makes one of the most forcible features of 
 Western scenery. 
 While the curiotis rock-shapes of Echo Cafion are still in mind, we are inclined 
 to repeat what we have said before of the transient pleasure which mere oddity in 
 nature affords. It is to be granted that a curiosity will attract many, when a thing 
 of beauty passes unnoticed ; and people who could gaze on one of the purple peaks 
 of the AVahsatch range, or on one of the terrific cliffs of Echo, without a touch of 
 feeling, go into ecstasies in watching a rock with a likeness to something merely 
 
OMAHA TO OGDEN. 
 
 93 
 
 The Deril's Gate, Weher Cailon. 
 
 strange. It is noticeable how often the crowd of observers on the rear platform of 
 the car in passing through the caQons let slip the sublime and grasp what is merely odd. 
 
94 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 just as, with some audiences in the theiitre, Hamlet's deep sorrows are immediately 
 forgotten in the funny gossip of the two grave-diggers. These oddities of rock give 
 the utmost delight to the average spectator, and it would be a pity to overlook them, 
 as they are especially characteristic of the West ; but they soon weary the better taste, 
 and it is a still greater pity when they are allowed to absorb the whole attention. 
 
 It is not possible, though, for the most careless mind to pass unmoved the cliffs 
 of Weber Cafion, through which we are now going. They are absolutely perpendic- 
 ular walls of rock ; the prevailing color is a bronze green, but green is not the sole 
 color. Masses of bright-red conglomerate, pale-gray limestones, bluish granites, and 
 vari-colored stratifications, also crop out in towers, crags, and caverns. We plunge 
 into tunnels cut through the solid mountains ; the high peaks that have hitherto 
 been distant descend into the caflon at an angle of eighty degrees, and loom directly 
 above us ; lateral ribs of rock project from the slopes, and some of them are of fan- 
 like formation. The Weber River flashes through the ravine, and breaks into a 
 wrathy white as it leaps from ledge to ledge ; even above there is no calm, and the 
 clouds are torn into shreds, and contribute to the general wildness of the scene as 
 they drift to the east. 
 
 In all probability, says a well-known authority, the vast area i;sually described as 
 the Great American Desert, between the Wahsatch Mountains on the east and the 
 Sierra Nevada on the west, was one great lake, in which the mountains rose as 
 islands, and the lakes, large and small, which are scattered over the basin at the 
 present time, are only remnants of the former inland sea. The deposits which cover 
 the lowlands are mostly lime and sand beds, and these are often filled with fresh- 
 water and land shells, indicating a very modern origin. 
 
 The range extends, with intervals in its continuity, far northward of the railway, 
 into Montana and Idaho, and many of the peaks are within the region of perpetual 
 snow. There are hundreds of canons with vertical walls from one thousand to two 
 thousand feet in height. 
 
 The Thousand-Mile Tree, on the left of the railway-track, marks the thousandth 
 mile west of Omaha ; and near this is a notable formation called the Devil's Slide, 
 two parallel ledges of granite, fourteen feet apart, projecting from the mountain-side 
 to a height of fifty feet. We soon emerge from the caDon into another fertile valley, 
 in which the river widens and courses through several channels. The vegetation is 
 abundant here, and there is some breathing-space between the mountains. Children 
 offer apples, peaches, and pears for sale in the stations ; and as we pass through, on 
 a warm, hazy afternoon of August, the orchards are bowed down with fruit. This 
 pastoral element in the midst of such stern sterility and wildness as the mountains 
 suggest is a grateful relief — a relief, because the giant cliffs and buttes of the cafion 
 are oppressive ; and a surprise, because the shallowness of the soil is very apparent. 
 
 The length of the valley is quickly traversed, and in a few moments we pass 
 through the Devil's Gate into Ogden Caflon, another giant chasm held in by rocks 
 from a thousand to twenty-five hundred feet in height. Ogden Caflon emerges in 
 
OMAHA TO 00 DEN. 
 
 95 
 
 Salt Lake Valley, and before long we change cars at Ogden, where the Union Pacific 
 road ends and the Central Pacific begins, completing the first part of our journey." 
 At this place also two other railways have their starting-point, the Utah Central and 
 the Utah Northern. 
 
 Ogden Oo^Mi. 
 
SCENERY OF THE PACIFIC RAILWAYS. 
 
 PA RT II. 
 
 OGDEN TO SAN FUANGISCO. 
 
 ■ Ogden and its strange types of life — Salt Lake City — The Great Salt Lake — The junction of the Central and the 
 Union Pacific roads — Nevada, the desert State — The Sierra Nevatlas — The valley of the Truckee River — Lake 
 Tahoe — Virginia City — Donner Lake and its tradition — The western slope of the Sierras — The great snow-sheds 
 — Blue Canon and Giant Gap — Water as a means of mining — Cape Horn — The Sacramento Valley — Sacramento 
 and San Francisco. 
 
 Ogden, next to Salt Lake City, is the most important town in the Territory of 
 Utah, its popiihition being abont .six thousand. It is built on a high plateau, with 
 
 Ogden^ and the Wahsatch Jiuiit/e. 
 
 lofty mountains in the distance, and is a very good attempt at a city. The scene 
 at the station on the arrival of the train is full of life and variety. Passengers flit 
 
OGDEN TO SAN FRANCISCO. 
 
 97 
 
 hither and tliither, prom- 
 enading or looking after 
 tlie transfer of their tick- 
 ets and baggage ; news- 
 boys shriek out the New 
 York papers ; eager bro- 
 kers, tlieir hands full of 
 coin, ply travelers with 
 offers of exchange for cur- 
 rency; dining-room gongs 
 are booming furiously, 
 and hotel agents are soli- 
 citing custom. The mov- 
 ing throng is curious in 
 its varieties of dress, man- 
 ner, and language. The 
 Ute Indian, wrapped up 
 in gaudy blanket, and 
 smeared with vermilion, 
 rubs elbows with the 
 sleek Chinaman in blue 
 blouse, cloth shoes, and 
 bamboo hat ; the negro 
 and the Spaniard, the 
 German and tlie Irish- 
 man, the gorgeously ar- 
 rayed "swell" of Vienna 
 and Paris, and the Scan- 
 dinavian peasant, mingle 
 in the most amusing con- 
 trasts. But what gives 
 the scene most interest 
 is not the crowd itself, 
 nor the variety of cos- 
 tume, but the situation 
 — the grand, vivid hills 
 on every side tinged with 
 fiery light, the broken 
 outlines of the peaks that 
 
 are glowing with passionate heat, the mountain-fields of perpetual snow, the green low- 
 lands, and. above all, the shining sky which is changing color every moment. There 
 are few lovelier sights than Ogden in a summer's sunset ; and, if, as the traveler pro- 
 
98 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 ceeds on liis westward journey, the moon should be near its full and should follow 
 the splendors of the dying day with its mild light, silvering the wide exjmnse of the 
 lake and turning to a whiter white the low rim of alkaline shore, it will seem to him 
 that he is leaving paradise behind. 
 
 Let us delay our onward journey to San Francisco long enough to take a brief run 
 to the capital of the Latter-Day Saints, Salt Lake City. The country between Ogden 
 and the Mormon metropolis is quite thickly settled, and the train stops at four Moi-- 
 mon villages, with nothing to mark them specially except the co-operative stores with 
 an open eye and the legend "Holiness to the Lord" painted over the door-ways. 
 
 The station at Salt Lake City is surrounded by grass, and the little cottages near 
 the track, such as in other cities are mean and filthy, are pleasantly rustic with flow- 
 ering vine and trellis. 
 
 The first street into wliich we emerge is an example of all the streets that divide 
 the city into handsome squares or blocks ; the road-way is firm and smooth ; the side- 
 walks would be no discredit to London or Paris. Clear streams of water trickle 
 along the curb at both sides, and feed the lines of shade-trees, not yet fully grown, 
 that are planted with the same exactness of interval as cogs are set upon a wheel. 
 Nothing is slovenly ; everything shows care and attention ; the unpleasant loafer, 
 whom we have come to look upon as a large part of the far Western railway town, is 
 invisible ; the horse-car and omnibus conductors are very ci\il ; the crowd at the 
 station and in the streets is a most respectable crowd. 
 
 The bigness of spaces is astonishing. All the streets are one hundred and thirty- 
 two feet wide between the fence-lines, including twenty feet of sidewalk on each side. 
 The blocks contain about eiglit lots apiece, each lot measuring about one acre and a 
 quarter, and the builders have been required to set their houses at least twenty feet 
 back from the front fences of their lots. Fifteen or twenty years ago there was 
 scarcely a structure of suf)erior material to the convenient adobe or baked mud ; but 
 now, when the harvest of the severe pioneer toil is being reaped, wood, brick, iron, 
 granite, and stucco, are brought into use. The iiopulation of the city is about 
 twenty-one thousand ; six newspapers are published ; the theatre is a popular insti- 
 tution, at which many stars and traveling companies perform ; and the Gentile is 
 allowed a freedom of speech which would once have cost him his life. Every house- 
 holder cultivates land surrounding his dwelling, and altogether the appearance is a 
 quaint mingling of country and city very pleasant to the eye and fancy. An eloquent 
 writer, Fitzhugh Ludlow, speaks quaintly of this feature of the Mormon capital : 
 
 " In some instances, the utilitarian element, being in the ascendant, has boldly 
 brought the vegetable-garden forward into public notice. I. like the sturdy self- 
 assertion of those potatoes, cabbages, and string-beans. Why should they, the pre- 
 servers and sustainers of mankind, slink away into back-lots, behind a high board 
 fence, and leave the land-owner to be represented by a set of lazy bouncing-bets and 
 stiff-mannered hollyhocks, who do nothing but prink and dawdle for a living — the 
 deportment Turveydrojjs of a vegetable kingdom ? Other front-yards are variegated 
 
OGDEN TO SAN FRANCISCO. 
 
 99 
 
 iu pretty patterns witli naturalized flowers — children of seed brought from many 
 countries : here a Eiga pink, which reminds the Scandinavian wife of that far-off 
 door-way, around which its ancestors blossomed in the short northern summer of tlie 
 Baltic ; here a haw or a holly, which sj»eaks to the English wife of Yule and spring- 
 time, when she got kissed under one, or followed her father clipping hedge-rows of 
 the other ; shamrock and daisies for the Irish wife ; fennel — the real old ' meetin'- 
 seed ' fennel— for the American wife ; and in some places where tact, ingenuity, 
 originality, and love of science, have blessed a house, curious little Alpine flowers of 
 flaming scarlet or royal purple, brought down from the green dells and lofty terraces 
 of the snow-range, to be adopted and improved by culture. Of all, I liked best a 
 third class of front-courts, given up to moist, home-looking turf-grass, of that deep 
 
 
 Black Bocky Greiit Salt Lake. 
 
 green which rests the soul as it cools the e3'es — grass, that febrifuge of the imagina- 
 tion which, coming after the woolly gramma and the measureless stretches of ashen- 
 gray sage-brush, makes the traveler go to sleep singing." 
 
 In summer the atmosphere would be sickly with the combined odors, were it not 
 for the stirring winds that are constantly blowing from the mountains ; and many of 
 the houses in the business-quarter of the city are covered by sweet-briers and vines, 
 which give them a countrified air in forcible contrast to the iron-and-brick realities 
 of the mercantile stores adjacent to them. 
 
 While at Salt Lake City, we must not forget to take a train on the narrow-gauge 
 road \\hicli will take us to the Great Salt Lake. The first glimpse of this is pleasing. 
 The waves are short and crisp, the air refreshing with the smell of brine. We expect 
 
100 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 to see a sullen waste, stagnating along low, reedy shores, '"black as Acheron, gloomy 
 as the sepulchre of Sodom." But, as we arrive on the borders in the fullness of a 
 fine August morning, we discover something far different in character. 
 
 " The islands, indeed, are mountainous and barren, but they are beautified by 
 rainbow hues. Nothing in Nature," says Ludlow, whom we again quote, " is lovelier, 
 more incapable of rendition by mere words than the rose-pink hue of the mountains, 
 unmodified by any such filtering of the reflected light through lenses of forest verdui-e 
 as tones down and cools to a neutral tint the color of all our Eastern mountains, even 
 though their local tint be the reddest sandstone. The Oquirrh * has hues which in 
 full daylight are as positively ruby, coral, garnet, and carnelian, as the stones which 
 go by these names. No amount of positive color which an artist may put into his 
 brush can ever do justice to the reality of these mountains." 
 
 There is very little verdure on the shore, the beach and the flats behind it are 
 crusted with white alkali, and the charm of the scene comes from the brilliant tints 
 lent by the air and sunlight to sterile rocks and soil. The circumference of the lake 
 is two liundred and ninety-one miles, and it contains six islands, the largest one, 
 Church Island, having on it a mountain-peak three thousand feet above the lake-level. 
 The water of Salt Lake is almost as heavy as that of the Dead Sea of Palestine. A 
 bath in the lake is said to be one of the most delicious and bracing of experiences. 
 The swimmer is almost forced out of the water by its buoyancy, and he glides over the 
 water instead of through it. When he emerges his skin tingles as if he had been 
 soundly switched with birch-twigs, owing to the ])eculiar effect of the alkaline salts 
 with which the lake-water is so fully charged. But the after-efi'ect is most exhilarat- 
 ing, like that of an ocean-bath much intensified. 
 
 Returning again to Salt Lake City, and thence to Ogden, let us resume our long 
 journey toward the setting sun. The third station beyond Ogden is Corinne, a 
 Gentile town of considerable importance, being the third largest place in the Territory. 
 This place may be regarded as a prophecy of the time when polygamy and Mormon- 
 dom will have become things of the past. The early attempts of the Gentiles to 
 settle in Utah were opposed by the Mormons not only by craft, but by the most 
 murderous violence, and the price paid by a Gentile for the privilege of plain speak- 
 ing was a pistol-shot or a bowie-knife stab dealt in the dark, or an overwhelming 
 attack by a band of assassins. Even now a Gentile shopkeeper in a Mormon town 
 is annoyed and opposed in every possible way. But in spite of their hate the Mor- 
 mons dare not now resort to the means which found such a terrible agency in Porter 
 Rockwell and his band of Danites, or "Avenging Angels." The most that the Mor- 
 mon bigots can do now is to revile and curse Corinne and its inhabitants ; but it 
 thrives very well in spite of this wordy hostility. Near Corinne is seen Bear River, 
 and a few miles beyond it, at a station called Promontory, the Union Pacific Railway 
 coming from the east met the Central Pacific coming from the west on May 10, 
 1869, thus completing the long iron bands which tied the two oceans together. The 
 
 * The name of the mountain-spur which borders and almost cuts the Great Salt Lake in two. 
 
OGDEN TO SAN FRANCISCO. 
 
 101 
 
 Bear Jiivei'^ Utah, 
 
 last tie was made of California laurel, trimmed with silver, and the last four spikes 
 were of solid silver and gold. 
 
103 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 For more than one luiiidred and thirty miles we whirl by station after station^ 
 without seeing much of special interest, till we reach the boundary-line which sepa- 
 rates Utah from Nevada. The latter is, indeed, true to its name, the "Desert State," 
 and the dreariest day of the seven occupied in the overland journey is spent in cross- 
 
 Ui'eut Salt Lntr^ Jrom Promontonj Ridge. 
 
 ing it. Scientific men tell us that the Great Salt Lake is the last remaining pool of 
 a great sea which spread from the Wahsatch Mountains on the east to the Sierra 
 Nevadas on the west. The drying-up of that sea has left a wilderness than which 
 Sahara is not more desolate, nor a burned-out furnace more parched and dry. Out 
 of a vast yellow plain rise a few broken, melancholy ranges of mountains, looking 
 
 IniUan Camp in tlie Great American Detert. 
 
 woe-begone, as if they were ashamed of being found in such a country. They are 
 beautiful only as they recede in the distance, and catch color from the air and sun- 
 shine. The earth is alkaline, and is whirled up by the least wind in blinding clouds 
 of dust, and the only vegetation is that of the gray and ugly sage-brush. It is as if 
 
OGDEN TO SAN FRANCISCO. 
 
 103 
 
 a great fire had swept across and left it red and crisp, smoking with ashes and 
 cinders. 
 
 Occasionally the train stops at an important mining town such as Elko, but cer- 
 
 _tainly the tourist finds little to interest him at a passing glance, however important 
 
 the industry represented by the place ; and we are inclined to say, with the poet 
 
 Dante, when, in his vision of the realms of despair, his guide took him through one 
 
 most woful place, "Let us look and pass on witli a shudder." 
 
 In the midst of this desert is Humboldt Wells, where there are thirty springs in 
 a low basin half a mile west of the station. Some of the springs have been sounded 
 seventeen hundred feet without touching bottom ; and it is supposed that the series 
 form the outlets of a subterranean lake. This oasis in the desert, with its pure 
 water and excellent grass, was a source of great relief in the old days of overland 
 travel. Humboldt Wells has a background, the Kuby Mountains, whose purple peaks 
 
 Uuniboldt Vt'dh and Kuh/j ^fountains. 
 
 stretch away in the distance. Beyond this the sterile monotony is resumed till we 
 come to the magnificent cliffs known as the Humboldt Palisades, through which the 
 train passes along the banks of a deep stream, which flows down from the mountains. 
 A pleasant exception, however, greets the eye at Hiimboldt. The desert extends 
 from Humboldt in every direction — a pale, lifeless waste, that makes one understand 
 the meaning of the word desolation ; mountains break the level, and from the foot to 
 the crest they are devoid of vegetation and other color than a dull gray ; the earth is 
 loose and sandy ; nothing could surpass tlie landscape in its look of misery and bar- 
 renness ; but here at Humboldt, a little intelligence, expenditure, and taste, have 
 compelled the soil to yield flowers, grass, fruit, and shrubbery. Perhaps the grass is 
 not greener at Humboldt than at any other place in the world ; contrast may be the 
 force that makes it seem so to the dust-covered railway-traveler ; but we find it most 
 abundant and grateful. A pretty fountain, in the pool of which gold-fishes disport, 
 trickles and bubbles in front of the station hotel ; on tlie east side there are locusts 
 
104 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 and 
 
 well- 
 
 jioplars : 
 flavored 
 
 on the nortli vegetables grow, 
 apples. No wonder that, with 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 J 
 
 and an orchard bears good-looking and 
 our eyes smarting with the dust, bleak- 
 ness, and barrenness of the Ne- 
 vada desert, we fancy this to be 
 . . a little paradise, and bear away 
 
 - - a pleasant memory of it. 
 
 The contrast could scarcely 
 be sharper than it is between 
 the country in which we go to 
 sleep on the fifth night of the 
 overland journey and that in 
 which we awake on the sixth 
 morning. The scorched, brown, 
 bleak mountains, and the flat 
 
 DevWs Peah^ llumholdt PalUadm. 
 
OGDEN TO SAN FRANCISCO. 105 
 
 plains of the Humboldt River, are replaced in the view from the car-window by the 
 pine-clad Sierras ; the misty blue of deep canons ; the content of pasture-laud ; the 
 cold, brilliant surface of Alpine lakes ; and the rosy and white tips of sharply out- 
 lined peaks. At sunset wc were in a region silent and dreary beyond words, upon 
 which the intrusion of a railway seemed without excuse, so far-reaching and unbroken 
 was the barrenness. The sunset cast only a slight warmth on the blighted soil, and a 
 small patch of reluctant green marked the pool in which a wide river disappeared. 
 We have traveled steadily on through the night, stopping at a few gtations, which 
 hold on to existence by a thread ; and passengers, awaking while the train has been 
 still, have been startled by the complete stillness of these outposts. The drought and 
 desert have spread as far west as the eastern slope of the Sierras ; we have cut through 
 the mountainous barrier by the caflon of the Truckee River, and have crossed the 
 line which separates Nevada from California. 
 
 AVhen the curtain of night is lifted, we are spinning around huddled foot-hills at 
 an exhilarating height ; the earth is densely green, the sky intensely blue, and the 
 atmosphere full of vital snap. We are in the very heart of the Sierras, upon which 
 the snow falls to a depth of thirty feet, and in which the immigrants of old met the 
 last obstacle before reaching the golden lowlands of California. 
 
 Comparisons are suggested between the Sierras of Nevada and the Rocky Mount- 
 ains, the latter being much superior in height, and rougher in form, while the 
 former are more imposing in the view from the passing train ; the railway threading 
 them by more difficult passes than those near Sherman, by which the eastern range is 
 crossed. Another point of contrast is in the vegetation. A scattering of stubby 
 cedars and dwarf-pines, exhausted from the effort to sustain themselves, are the limit 
 of greenness in that section of the Rocky Mountains penetrated by the railway ; but 
 in the Sierras the pines are many in number and huge in growth, streaking the steep- 
 est mountain-sides with their straight, inflexible shafts, and toning the landscape 
 with their somber dark-green. Eighty, one hundred, and one hundred and twenty 
 feet are not uncommon heights for those forest stoics, which seem to grow for the 
 love of the mountains, independent of soil. Again, while the peaks are not so high, 
 the track approaches them nearer than it does those of the Rocky Mountains, and 
 the traveler may find himself among their snows when the lowlands are hot in August. 
 
 " For four hundred miles," says Clarence King, who has made extensive surveys 
 of the region, "the Sierras are a definite ridge, broad and high, and having the form 
 of a sea-wave. Butti-esses of somber-hued rock, jutting at intervals from a steep wall, 
 form the abrupt eastern slope ; irregular forests, in scattered growth, huddle together 
 near the snow. The lower declivities are barren spurs, sinking into the sterile flats of 
 the Great Basin. Long ridges of comparatively gentle outline characterize the west- 
 ern side ; but this sloping table is scored from base to summit by a system of parallel 
 transverse caQons, distant from one another often less than twenty-five miles. They 
 are ordinarily two or three thousand feet deep — falling at times in sheer, smooth- 
 fronted cliffs ; again in sweeping curves, like the hull of a ship ; again in rugged. 
 
106 
 
 OUE NATIVE LAND. 
 
 V-shaped gorges, or with irregular, hilly ilanks — opening, at last, through gate-ways 
 of low, rounded foot-hills, out upon the horizontal plain of the San Joaquin and 
 Sacramento. " 
 
 We are now in tlie valley of the Truckee Eiver, and approaching the end of the 
 
 Lake Tu/tor. 
 
 long journey over the continent. Less than three hundred miles intervene between 
 Eeno, where tourists may diverge to have a look at Virginia City, one of the most 
 interesting of Western mining cities, or at Lake Tahoe, and the city of the Golden 
 Horn, which is our goal. It will not do for us to miss Lake Tahoe, which, in some 
 
OGDEN TO SAN FRANCISCO. 107 
 
 respects, is one of the great wonders of the continent. A brief ride of thirty miles 
 on the Virginia and Truckee Railway to Carson, and thence by stage to the lake, the 
 highest navigable body of water in the world except Lake Titicaca, in the Bolivian 
 Andes, gives to the delighted eye a vision of great beauty. 
 
 After the stage has been toiling up-hill for two or three hours over a dusty road 
 partly strung across a precipice, upon which grow a swarm of pines, firs, oaks, wil- 
 lows, and such brilliantly contrasted shrubs as the manzanita, with its bright crimson 
 berries and brick-colored stalks, and the jiale white thorn, that, by tlie side of each 
 other, remind one of a bouncing country girl and a withered old man ; after a tire- 
 some journey, each moment of which has widened the outlook and brought a more 
 biting wind, with its strong smell of resin, against the face — we attain the top of 
 the divide and behold two extensive and very different; pictures. 
 
 With our gaze turned to the east, we see the smoky-red desert, with spiral columns 
 of dust rising out of it — a relief-map washed with one color of lifeless brown ; the 
 surface of the earth is crumpled with mountains to the extreme horizon, and the 
 mountains have no other beauty, no other variation to their pi'evailing tint, than an 
 occasional patch of snow. Now let us face the westward. Again there are mountains, 
 a sharply outlined chain drawn from the farthest north to the farthest south. But 
 these are of imposing height and varied coloring — blue, purple, olive, and gray. The 
 flat, wide valley of Clear Creek is interposed, and beyond this Lake Tahoe is dis- 
 covered—cold, lucid, quivering with light, and encircled by an edge of snow-tii^ped 
 peaks. No view of the Sierras from the railway is so fair and impressive as this, 
 which is one of the grandest in all the far West. 
 
 A rapid descent through a sunny cafion, thickly studded with pines and firs, 
 brings us to Glenbrook. on the shore of the lake, and thence the water may be cir- 
 cumnavigated b}' means of a little steamboat, which makes daily trips between May 
 and October. Tahoe is about twenty-two miles long and ten miles wide. One fourth 
 of it is in Nevada, and three fourths in California. The circumference is about 
 seventy miles, allowing for the winding of the shore. The water has been sounded 
 to a depth of over sixteen hundred feet, and is marvelously clear. Near the shore it 
 is a transparent emerald, flecked with the white of rounded granite bowlders imbedded 
 in yellow sand, and in deeper places it is a blue — not such an indigo-blue as the 
 Atlantic, but an unusual shade resembling the turquoise, its motion being as heavy as 
 that of oil, and the low waves falling from the prow of a boat like folds of silk. 
 There is a gloomy theory that the human body sinking in this serene depth is in- 
 gulfed forever, and it is a fact that the bodies of the drowned have never yet been 
 found. Beautifully clear as the water actually is in the shallows — the boats floating 
 upon it seeming to be suspended in the air as we look down upon them from the 
 landings, and nothing save a thin sheet of glass seeming to exist between the eye 
 and the bottom — it is apparently dense in the greater depths, a fancy which is only 
 dispelled by the gleaming spots of a stray trout sporting at a depth of thirty or more 
 feet. The lake is over six thousand feet above the level of the sea, and at times is 
 
108 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 so fiercely ruffled by the winds from the mountains that navigation has to be abruptly 
 closed. 
 
 It is also worth while for us, on returning from Lake Tahoe, to take a brief trip 
 to Virginia City, which by rail is fifty-two miles from Reno, though a bee-line is 
 only sixteen miles. So environed is Virginia City by massive mountains that the 
 curves of the track necessary to compass a distance of only sixteen miles as the bee 
 flies describe a circle of three hundred and sixty degrees seven times repeated, the 
 cost of erection having been two million dollars. Virginia City has nearly half 
 the population of the State, and is a place wonderful for its energy, its wickedness, 
 its wealth, and brilliant show. Splendid dens of vice rise side by side with churches, 
 banks, and fine private houses, and the devil is served with an open cheerfulness that 
 knows no shame. Here are the famous mines of the Comstock Lode, known through- 
 out the world for its enormous yield of the precious metals. The city is built across 
 the face of the mountain, which rises two thousand feet above, and falls two thou- 
 sand feet below it. The pitch of the ground is such that the first story of a house 
 becomes a second or third story in the rear, and looking eastward, northward, or 
 southward, we see an unbroken prospect of chain after chain of interlocked mountain- 
 peaks. During the earlier days of Virginia City the red record of murders became 
 so monotonous in its frequency that the newspapers, to save space, simply noticed 
 them in the death-column, as, for example : " Buckskin Joe, aged twenty-five, cut to 
 pieces with a bowie-knife yesterday, by Daredevil Pete"; "Daredevil Pete, aged 
 thirty, hung by the Vigilance Committee last night. Pete had killed more than two 
 dozen men." 
 
 The people of Virginia City are excessively fond of display, very active in busi- 
 ness, and hospitable. Tliat rough-looking man with buckskin trousers, red shirt, and 
 slouch hat, all covered with mud, is a dozen times a millionaire, and may yet be a 
 United States Senator, though he can not speak a dozen straight words of grammatical 
 English. The city is full of picturesque surprises, and is a most interesting study 
 for one curious in the oddities of human nature. To show the energy of the people, 
 it may be cited that in 1875 a fire swept the place from end to end, devouring ten 
 million dollars' worth of property. Within six months the whole city had been re- 
 built. Chicago is the only place we know which rivals this example of push and 
 pluck. To guard against another such disaster the people of Virginia City built a 
 series of hydrants and reservoirs, costing two million dollars, which fetch the water 
 a distance of thirty-two miles. Now it is easier to drown out the city than to 
 burn it. 
 
 Let us now resume our journey on the Central Pacific Railway to Truckee Station, 
 where curiosity induces us to leave the train again and ride three miles to Douner Lake, 
 a crystal sheet of water lying in the lap of the hills, with charming smaller lakes sur- 
 rounding it. The origin of the name is a familiar story. In the winter of 184C-'47 
 a party of eighty-two immigrants were overtaken here by snow ; their provisions gave 
 out, and thirty-six perished. Among the survivors, when relief arrived, was a Mrs. 
 
OGDEN TO SAN FRANCISCO. 
 
 109 
 
 Dormer Lake, from the Snow-ilheds. 
 
 DoDner, whose husband was so ill that he could not be moved ; she insisted upon 
 remaining with him, and a man named Keysbury chose to stay with her. The others 
 went to San Francisco, and when, in the spring, a party was sent to look for her. 
 
110 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Donner Peak. 
 
 Keysbury alone was found alive, and living on her remains, his motive in staying 
 with the Donners having probably been plunder and murder. A leading event in 
 Bret Harte's novel of "Gabriel Conroy" was based on this tragedy, and the opening 
 
OGDEN TO SAN FRANCISCO. 
 
 Ill 
 
 chapter of the same work contains a very graphic description of a snow-storm in the 
 
 Sierras. 
 
 Within a convenient distance are several other lakes, all of them offering attrac- 
 tions to the sportsman and lover of Nature. These are Lake Angeline ; Cascade Lake, 
 
 •T^ 
 
 
 
 ^•^^^ r.. >„ 
 
 Lake Angeline. 
 
112 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Til ■/; 
 
 n 
 
 't;?cr 
 
 near Lake Talioe ; 
 Silver Lake, whence 
 the water-supply of Vir- 
 ginia City is drawn ; Pali- 
 sade Lake, noted for its fine 
 trout ; and Fallen - Leaf 
 Lake, a little gem of pict- 
 uresque beauty. " There 
 can be no more perfect 
 scenery than that of the 
 western slope of the Sierras," it has been said very 
 justly. " The railway winds along the edges of great 
 precipices, and at sunrise the shadows are still lying 
 deep in the caflons below. The snow-covered peaks above catch tlie first rays of the 
 sun, and glow with wonderful color. Light wreaths of mist rise up to the end of 
 the zone of pines, and then drift away into tlie air and are lost. The aspect of the 
 mountains is of the wildest and most intense kind, for by the word intense something 
 
 Endyniittfi cross-lug the Sierras, 
 
OGDEN TO SAN FRANCISCO. 
 
 113 
 
 witchery 
 
 seems to be expressed of the 
 positive force there is in it, 
 that differs utterly from the 
 effect of such a scene as lies 
 passive for the imagination. 
 This is grand ; it is magnet- 
 ic ; there is no escaping the 
 wonder-working influence of 
 the great grouping of mount- 
 ains and ravines, of dense 
 forests and ragged pinnacles 
 of rock." 
 
 But in winter the overland 
 trains pass over this part of 
 the journey long before sun- 
 rise, and in summer the pas- 
 senger must leave his bed very early ir 
 A moonlight night, however, with wih 
 the greatest magic to the scene, surpassing the sun- 
 glare of daylight and the stronger colors of evening. 
 To stand on any commanding point of the mountains 
 when the moon is at the full, and the sky is clear, 
 reveals a charm in the nature of the lofty rocks at 
 variance with their aspect at any otlier hour. In the 
 first place, the sky itself never seems to be so blue 
 and clear elsewhere as it does over the Sierras ; it is 
 almost the blue of daylight, and the stars gleam in it 
 as thickly as the phosphorescence flashes in a tropical 
 sea. The mountains are enveloped from peak to foot 
 in a misty mantle of blue, and a sharp edge of light 
 
 traces their outlines in the shifting vapor. Their bigness and weight are lost ; mass- 
 ive as they are in reality, they seem to become mere shadows, and the snow on the 
 summits is like the daylight breaking over them. 
 
 Two hundred and forty-four miles from San Francisco we reach the station of 
 Summit, at the great height of seven thousand and seventeen feet above the sea, and 
 thence the descent is made into the Sacramento Valley. The down grade is now one 
 hundred and sixteen feet to the mile, and the train in many places, as it wheels 
 around sharp curves, pitches and plunges wildly, alarming the more timid souls, who 
 every moment expect to be dashed over a precipice. But the road is splendidly con- 
 structed, the engineer watchful and experienced, and the cars are solidly built, so there 
 is but little danger in this headlong ride down the Sierra-sides, though it almost seems 
 like challenging Fate. 
 
 Lower Cascade, Yuba Kiver. 
 
114 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 West of Truckee the snow-sheds become more frequent, and in one case they are 
 continuons for twenty-nine miles. They are of two kinds, the flat roofs built to hold 
 
 the weight of twenty-five or 
 thirty feet of snow, ajid the 
 steep roof designed to slide it 
 down tiie mountain. In some 
 cases the cost of building these 
 protections from the storms of 
 winter was thirty thousand dol- 
 lars a mile. So we may get 
 some idea of the vast amount 
 of money which it took to com- 
 plete the railroad connection 
 across the continent. There 
 are charming spots within a 
 short distance of the road, 
 among which are Kidd's Lakes, 
 which pour into the south 
 branch of the Yuba River, and 
 gorge of that river whose strik- 
 ing bluffs are called the New 
 Hampshire rocks. Should we 
 be beguiled into visiting all the 
 picturesque spots lying within 
 easy distance of the road on 
 the western slope of the Sier- 
 ras, our journey to San Fran- 
 cisco, though apparently draw- 
 ing to an end, would be pro- 
 longed for weeks. 
 
 A point worthy of notice is 
 called Emigrants' Gap, a try- 
 ing passage in the days when 
 the only vehicles that crossed 
 the Sierras were the canvas-cov- 
 ered wagons of the pioneers, 
 and the parlor-car was an un- 
 dreamed-of luxury. The old 
 emigrant-road, which occasion- 
 ally edges on the railway, is 
 not wholly deserted yet. The capacious wagons, with their arched roofs of white can- 
 vas, loadwl ten feet high with furniture and stores, are now and then seen toiling 
 
 C/ct/-, liliu C'.i 
 
OGDEN TO SAN FRANCISCO. 
 
 115 
 
 (riaitt'f' Gap^ American Oamju. 
 
 along at a pitifully slow rate, a small herd of cattle following, and the youngsters of 
 the family running a long way ahead, and skirmishing among the bordering woods 
 for squirrels, or anything else to shoot at. 
 
116 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 In spring, when the farm- 
 ers and stock-raisers of the 
 Sacramento Valley are tak- 
 ing their herds into the more 
 luxuriant mountain-pastures, 
 and at the beginning of win- 
 ter, when they are retreating 
 
 before the early snows into a safer region, the road is 
 lively with traffic, but not with such traffic as was 
 known between the years 1850 and 1860. At fre- 
 quent intervals the old taverns are found, their ample 
 
 apartments vacant, the windows and doors out, and . , , ,, fiH»^t " 
 
 the bar-room only remaining. This is an example of the " sv.rvn-al o the fittest 
 for the lonely red-shirted dispenser of bad whisky, though he has *'- ^^^ *« ^^ "f" 
 self still finds custom for the fiery stuff which fills his decanters. At the Gap the 
 road makes quite a sharp descent, in which the emigrant-wagons were formerly low- 
 
OGDEX TO SAX FRANCISCO. 
 
 117 
 
 cred by means of ropes that were fastened to the pines, which here are of immense 
 girth and height. 
 
 At various points along this portion of the road are saw-mills and shipping points 
 for lumber. One of these is Blue Canon, through which runs a wild, brawling tor- 
 rent called Cedar Creek, a place of bold 
 and striking beauty. The traveler, look- 
 ing in any direction, has a splendid view 
 before him of great hills, heavily timbered 
 with pine, and broken into sharp peaks, 
 upon which the snow remains all the year 
 round. How thick the pines are, and 
 how they streak the steep em- 
 bankments upon which they have 
 planted themselves like battal- 
 ions of infantry ! What an air 
 
 of deep gloom and mys- 
 tery they have ! Upon 
 some an emerald - green 
 moss has grown in rings and ir- 
 regular patches — a moss having 
 the appearance of an ostrich-feath- 
 er, which makes a striking con- 
 trast to the dark green of the 
 prickly foliage, and the dull red 
 of the bark. In the distance the 
 pines are blue, and at night they 
 are intensely black. Blue Caflon is the snow limit, and the water is considered the 
 purest and best in the mountain. A few miles farther comes Giant's Gap, one of the 
 grandest scenes on the road. A great chasm appears, worn by glaciers to a depth of 
 
 Hyd/raulic Mining^ Gold Run. California. 
 
118 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 two thousand feet, and ex- 
 tending about a mile to the 
 junction of the South Branch, 
 the walls narrowing and be- 
 coming perpendicular, and 
 the mountains inclosing it 
 in denser clusters than ever. 
 The suddenness of the ap- 
 proach and the grandeur of the prospect are not easily 
 described. Two thousand feet below flow the q^uiet 
 waters of the American River. 
 
 The chasm stretches westward and southward, the 
 distance broken by regiments of peaks on which the 
 pines swarm in forests, steeped in endless twilight. The evidences of the great ice- 
 glaciers grinding and polishing the rocks at an ancient period are numerous. "Look- 
 ing from the summit of Mount Diablo, across the San Joaquin Valley," a scientific 
 
OGDEN TO SAN FRAXCISCO. 119 
 
 man of California lias written, "after tlie atmosphere has been washed with winter 
 rains, the Sierra is beheld stretching along the plain in simple grandeur, like some 
 immense wall,* two and a half miles high, and colored almost as bright as a rainbow, 
 in four horizontal bands— the lowest rose-purple, the next higher dark-puri)le, the next 
 blue, and the topmost pearly-white — all beautifully interblended, and varying in tone 
 with the time of day and the advance of the seasons. The rose-purple band, rising 
 out of the yellow plain, is the foot-hill region, sparsely planted with oak and pine, 
 the color in a great measure depending upon clayey soils exposed in extensive open- 
 ings among the trees ; the dark-purple is the region of the yellow and sugar pines ; 
 the blue is the cool middle region of the silver-firs ; and the pearly baud of summits 
 is the Sierra Alps, composed of a vast wilderness of peaks variously grouped and 
 divided by huge caflons, and swept by torrents and avalanches. Here are the homes 
 of all the glaciers left alive in the Sierra Nevada." 
 
 All along the Sierra-slope the waters are used for mining purposes, being con- 
 veyed by ditches and flumes when the streams do not run in the right course. 
 Placer-mining and hydraulic mining are much the same thing on a different scale. 
 With a pick, a spade, and a dust-pan, his complete outfit packed on the back of a 
 tiny burro, or donkey, the poorest miner can go into the mountains, "prospect" 
 the rocks, and, if he strikes a rich lead, work it alone until it is exhausted or the 
 water drowns him out. Then he prospects further, or enlists capital, which is rised 
 in building a quartz-mill and pump over the mine. The bullion "dirt" which he 
 finds in his first operations is put into tin or iron vessels called dust-pans, over which 
 a stream of water is allowed to flow ; when it is completely saturated, it is stirred, 
 and the bullion gradually settles to the bottom, the top dirt being poured off from 
 time to time, until nothing remains except the gold and silver, and a fine black sand, 
 which is afterward separated from the precious metals by a magnet. The rocker or 
 cradle is another machine, of very simple design, used in winnowing gold and silver. 
 It is literally a cradle. The dirt is thrown in upon- a screen at one end ; water 
 passes over it, and, after setting the gold free, which falls to the bottom, carries the 
 worthless dirt away. The " long Tom " answers the same purposes. It is a box or 
 a sluice, into which the dirt is thrown and carried by a stream of water to a screen 
 at the end, where the gold settles to the bottom. The sluices are sometimes very 
 long, and several of them are ranged side by side ; what appear to be streams of gray 
 mud are constantly flowing through them, and at night the strong rays of a locomo- 
 tive head-light are thrown upon them to prevent stealing. The deposits of gold- 
 bearing dirt are occasionally several hundred feet deep, and the pick and shovel give 
 place to a hose, which tapers from a diameter of eight inches at the butt to two 
 inches at the orifice, and from which a jet of water is thrown upon the embankments 
 of earth with such force that immense bowlders and tons upon tons of earth are dis- 
 placed. A country thus torn and bared by hydraulic mining has an exceedingly rag- 
 ged and repulsive appearance. When gathered in quantities, the ore is treated in the 
 quartz-mills, and the result is delivered to the mints in bullion-bricks. 
 
120 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 As we speed along, watching with intent eye the succession of interesting objects 
 on the route, a sudden excitement is evident in the car. Even the old traveler, who 
 has gone over the route many times, wakes from his sleepy indifference. The train 
 is approaching Cape Horn, one of the grandest efforts of Nature in a region of 
 grandeur. The Cape is a precipitous blufE rising to a height of over two thousand 
 feet above the river-level, and the ledge along which the railway is carried was so 
 
 Lake Merritt, Oakland. 
 
 inaccessible that the first workmen had to be lowered from the top of the cliff by 
 ropes. Standing by the river-side we siioukl see the rugged wall of rock reaching 
 toward the sky ; great bowlders and a few twisted evergreens cling to the crumbling 
 face of the huge, naked precipice ; and the train, spinning along the frail ledge under 
 the trail of its own smoke, would be dwarfed by the height above and below it to 
 the likeness and size of a snake. 
 
 Swiftly the train darts down the steep slopes after it has rounded Cape Horn, and 
 
OGDEN TO SAN FRANCISCO. 
 
 131 
 
 I'll » ■ ^ 
 
 ill an hour's time we have descended into the valley of the Sacramento, and find our- 
 selves in the heart of California. Settlements become frequent ; the aspect of the 
 country is mild and peaceful, and orange-groves grow luxuriantly everywhere the eye 
 turns. It is a scene of exquisite peace, beauty, and contentment, which soothes the 
 
122 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 mind after the rugged and sublime aspects of Nature through which we have so 
 recently passed. Flowers crop out in profusion everywhere, and the fertile soil shows 
 
 Central I'luijif Wharf. 
 
 its richness in all kinds of wonderful productions. The atmosphere is no longer the 
 same as in the interior of the continent. There is nothing of the translucent clear- 
 ness, nothing of the wonderful light which kills all sense of distance. It is like the 
 
 The CUffs, and VliJ' JJu^ik, .Su-- F.^iu.ikm. 
 
 soft sky of Spain or Italy, with a blue, hazy horizon mingling with the purple curtain 
 of the mountains. 
 
 About noon of the fifth day out from Omaha the train rolls into Sacramento. 
 The city has broad streets, lined with charming villas and cottages, and shaded by 
 handsome trees. The Capitol building is a noble structure, with a front of three 
 
OGDEN TO SAN FRANCISCO. 
 
 123 
 
 hundred and twenty feet, and a lieight of eightj'. The dome is two hundred and 
 twenty feet high, surmounted hy a temple of Liberty and Powers's bronze statue of 
 California. We may go from Sacramento to San Francisco by boat, but, as we have 
 come through overland, 
 we will finish the jour- 
 ney by rail. The coun- 
 try which we traverse is 
 fertile almost beyond ri- 
 valry. Far reaching cat- 
 tle-ranches are varied by 
 vineyards and orchards. 
 Fruits and flowers are as 
 common as in the trop- 
 ics, and yet the climate is 
 moderate. Beautiful vil- 
 las and neat farm-houses 
 dot the landscape every- 
 where. Lavish prosper- 
 ity appears to have scat- 
 tered its blessings with 
 open hands. 
 
 We ultimately reach 
 our terminus at Oakland, 
 where we are transferred 
 across the bay in luxu- 
 rioixs ferry-boats to San 
 Francisco. Oakland is 
 richly embowei-ed in fo- 
 liage, and is one of the 
 most beautiful suburbs in 
 the world. Here many 
 of the richest men of 
 San Francisco have their 
 homes, and wealth has 
 been profusely employed 
 in beautifying the place. 
 Every house is surround- 
 ed by charming grounds 
 and flower - gardens, the 
 
 drives are delightful, and in Lake Merritt the residents have a beautiful sheet of 
 water in their very midst. 
 
 The Bay of San Francisco, which we cross by ferry-boat, is large enough to harbor 
 
 Chineee Quarter, San Francisco. 
 
134 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 the combined navies of the world, and it is bordered by mountain, city, and plain. 
 As we leave the Oakland wharf we see Goat Island on the right — a military reserva- 
 tion ; the Golden Gate is northward, and Alcatraz, a naval station, is at the end of 
 the gate. Angel Island, north of Alcatraz, is another military reservation ; and 
 northwest of this the towering peak of Mount Tamalpais may be seen. Southward, 
 the view extends over the bay toward San Jose ; and everywhere, except where the 
 city stands, and through the Golden Gate, it is shut in by mountains. 
 
 In San Francisco we are landed at the Market Street wharf, where transfer-vehicles 
 are ready to convey us in any direction. The population of the city is about two 
 hundred and seventy-five thousand ; it covers a territory of forty-two square miles, 
 aud those forty-two square miles are said by the inhabitants to comjirise a larger pro- 
 portion of wealth, beauty, and intellect, than the same area in any other city. San 
 Francisco is undoubtedly very charming. Its people are lavish in their hospitality 
 and in all their expenditures ; the hotels are palaces ; the places of amusement are 
 numerous and liberally conducted. There are two systems of streets. Market Street 
 being the dividing-line. The wholesale business of the city is done along the water- 
 front and north of Market Street ; and retail business of all kinds is found in Kearny, 
 Montgomery, Third, and Fourth Streets. The sidewalks are wide, and are princi- 
 pally of wood, though some are of asphalt and stone. The roadways are of various 
 materials. One noticeable feature is tlie number of bay-windows in the houses, which, 
 however agreeable they may be to the occupants, are often not so judiciously arranged 
 as to avoid spoiling the architectural effect. Among the pleasure-resorts of the city 
 are the Seal Kocks, at the mouth of the Golden Gate, where, from the balcony of 
 the Cliff House, seals may be seen disporting ; Woodward's Gardens, a combination 
 of museum, menagerie, theatre, aquarium, and botanic garden ; Lake Merced ; and 
 Golden Gate Park, which embraces about eleven hundred acres. Within the city 
 is the Chinese ([uarter. which presents some very interesting studies. 
 
 The i^roud inhabitants of the metropolis of the Pacific coast are wont to say that 
 its forty-two scjuare miles include more wealth, beauty, and brains, to the area, than 
 any other city. With this swelling vaunt on the part of the people of the city of the 
 Golden Gate, we will pass from the subject, except to refer the reader to the illustra- 
 tions we give of San Francisco and its surroundings. 
 
 We have thus crossed the continent from Omaha to the Pacific Ocean, and have • 
 found the scenery of the Pacific Railway to embrace examples of nearly all the 
 striking and curious phases of Nature to be found in tlie Western country — the 
 fantastically carved sandstones, the Bad Lands, the sage-plains, the wonderful canons, 
 and the various kinds of mountains. The trip is often tedious, but the few hours 
 spent in crossing the Rocky Mountains, in descending Echo and Weber Caflous, in 
 winding among the colored rocks of Green River, and, finally, in cutting the Sierras, 
 repay us many times ovct. 
 
Neio Tacoma^ Mount Rainier in the background. 
 
 A GLIMPSE OF THE FAR 
 NORTHWEST. 
 
 Characteristics of scenery in Washington Territory 
 — Luxuriant primitive beauty and wildness — 
 Strange mixture of civilization and barbarism — 
 The principal towns of the Territory — Early tra- 
 ditions and history — Forests, lakes, and mount- 
 ains — The future of Washington Territory — 
 Characteristics of the water-falls of the far 
 Northwest — Cascades and cataracts in Oregon 
 — Snoqualmie Falls, Washington Territory — 
 Shoshone Falls, Idaho — Sioux River Falls— Falls 
 of the Missouri. 
 
 The tourist who has exhausted all the charming scenery of tlie United States that 
 is easy of access, and visited the many beautiful landscapes which please the eye of 
 the European traveler, must not believe that Natiire has but little more to offer him. 
 He will speedily learn how the universal Mother pours out her wealth of resources in 
 forms of fresh and fascinating interest, by turning his footsteps to that grand domain 
 adjoining the Pacific Ocean, and stretching far into the interior, known as the "Far 
 Northwest." Here he will find a region larger than all Europe, Russia excepted, 
 which is to-day practically an unknown land ; an area which in charm of climate. 
 
136 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 beauty of color, variety of pastoral scenery, extent of forests, nobleness of rivers, and 
 grandeur of mountains will compare with any in the world, go where he may. Plant- 
 life presents new and strange forms growing in tropical profusion, and the animals 
 almost eomijare with those of Central Africa in abundance. Nature has showered her 
 blessings most freely throughout the whole region, for not only has she spread abroad 
 the most delightful and varied scenery, but the soil is so lush and warm that it only 
 needs to be "tickled with the hoe to laugh with the harvest." It would not much 
 overstate the fact to assert that the most charming features of other parts of the world 
 are here combined to form a panorama expressing every type and emotion of scenic 
 beauty. Washington Territory is, perhaps, the most attractive section of this noble 
 region. Its undulating face shows us the rolling prairie, the high plateau, the pictur- 
 esque dingle and the deep forest, the murmuring brook and the majestic river, the 
 sloping beauty of hill-sides and the snow-clad crests of towering mountain-ranges. 
 
 Let us take a short journey through this grand Territory, beginning at Ealama, a 
 hamlet on the Columbia River about a hundred miles from its mouth. This town was 
 laid out at the height of the Northern Pacific Eailway excitement in 1870, and it was 
 predicted by jn-ophets who had land to sell that the town would soon blossom into a 
 city which would make San Francisco look to her laurels. Everybody was wild with 
 speculation, and people thronged from all parts of the country to buy a foot or two 
 of the precious soil. Houses sprang up like magic in this El Dorado that was to be, 
 and great prices were paid for small town-lots. But the bubble burst, and the town 
 which had suddenly grown to a population of several thousands sank to as many hun- 
 dreds. It has still, however, some importance as the terminus of the Puget Valley Kail- 
 road. Here we are booked for a trip to the northern part of the Territory. 
 
 The train consists of a locomotive and one car, and we find it taken up by a very 
 small and select company, among whom may be mentioned a Chinaman, an Indian 
 half-breed, an ugly Flathead squaw, and a German immigrant family, whose greenish- 
 yellow hair and skim-milk eyes contrast most strongly with the coarse dark hair and 
 tawny faces of their comjianions. This curious commingling of races suggests to us 
 the lion and the lamb lying down together, though one fancies that the squaw eyes 
 Flie Celestial in a way to show that she would not object to adorning her person with 
 his long and well-braided cue. 
 
 We i^ass through forests which show the luxuriance of Nature in her primitive con- 
 dition. The lofty firs with their tapering forms tower up to a height of four hundred 
 feet, presenting a funereal aspect in their garb of gloomy green ; but here and there a 
 gay dingle of white-blossomed shrubs, bright-green maple, or graceful ash appears and 
 relieves the monotonous hue of the evergreens. One characteristic of the vegetation is 
 the brilliant coloring of the flowers which are of the most gaudy hues, generally of a 
 bright red or of a glaring yellow. After traveling about forty miles, we take stage and 
 go across-country fifteen miles away to Olympia, which is the capital of the Territory. 
 One mile before reaching this city we pass through the picturesque and thriving vil- 
 lage of Tumwater, which is the possessor of a charming little water-fall, known by the 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE FAR NORTHWEST. 
 
 127 
 
 sweet-sounding Indian name of Tumchuck, or " Sounding- Water.'' It comes bounding 
 ovei' a rocky ledge green with mosses and gay witli wild flowers, and tumbles into a 
 basin filled witli miniature waves of foam. The active villagers do not let it rest in 
 idleness, for they have built factories along its course, and its liquid sound is min- 
 gled with the sharp buzz of lumber-saws and the noisy splash of mill-wheels. Through 
 the broad central street of Olympia our stage dashes with a rattle that brings all 
 the loungers and idling merchants to the door to see the new arrivals. 
 
 The place has a population of two thousand, and is situated on Budd's Inlet, an 
 arm of Puget Sound. It is almost surrounded by water, while forests guard it on 
 
 Olympia^ on Puget Sou/id. 
 
 every side. As respects landscape, no 
 more charming spot could be selected 
 for a city. The placid bosom of Puget 
 Sound, covered with steamers, wheezing 
 tugs, and white-sailed boats, lies direct- 
 ly in front ; on both sides of the sound dense foret^ts, that extend to the horizon in 
 every direction, greet the vision ; while far to tlie north towers the Olympic Range, 
 whose snowy crest competes with the heavy masses of ffeecy, cumulus clouds for su- 
 premacy. This grand scene, illumined by the mellow light of the evening sun, pro- 
 duces a picture which can not be excelled in color, breadth, or motion. It presents, at 
 a glance, contrasts of light and shade, tranquillity and energy, action and repose ; yet 
 all blend harmoniously together. At night the pictorial effect is somewhat enhanced, 
 for at high tide the water forms several canals tlirough jiortions of the suburbs, and 
 
138 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 this reflects, with the most mi- 
 nute accuracy, the scintillating 
 lights of the city ; even persons 
 passing along its shores are seen 
 in the mirrored sea as if they 
 were walking on the star-dot- 
 ted sky. On moonlit nights 
 the heavy forests, changed into 
 spiral wreaths of foliage, and 
 the snowy range, nearly two 
 hundred miles to the north, 
 are reflected with photographic 
 minuteness, so that a person 
 need scarcely move from his 
 piazza to behold one of the 
 grandest scenes imaginable. 
 
 The city, so charming in its 
 surroundings of scenery, pos- 
 sesses a most agreeable climate, 
 for dui'ing the hottest season 
 of the year, July and August, 
 cooling breezes from the snow- 
 clad mountains and the frigid 
 waters of the sound fan the air 
 to a delicious freshness, which 
 leaves one nothing to desire. 
 One can always sleep under 
 blankets, and the twilight lasts 
 so long that one can read till 
 nearly ten o'clock at night with- 
 out lighting the lamp. If we 
 would revel in what the Ital- 
 ians call the "sweet doing noth- 
 ing," there are few places more 
 attractive. Here may be en- 
 joyed all the pleasures of the 
 rod and gun, for one needs 
 only to go a mile or two out 
 of town to try his rifle on 
 1)car or deer, while grouse and 
 other game-birds are so plenty 
 in season as to be easily killed 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE FAR NORTHWEST. 139 
 
 with sticks and stones. The sound and every stream pouring into it swarm with 
 fine fish, and the sportsman can hardly go amiss. 
 
 The contrast of civilization and barbarism in the Indian villages scattered along 
 the beach is very amusing. The "noble red-man" spends his time in lordly idleness, 
 and condescends to sell the products of his squaw's industry, with which he may hie 
 to some spot where he can purchase of that elixir which is his "open sesame" to an 
 earthly paradise. The result is, that Indian war-whoops and demoniacal yelling, worse 
 than a million cat-concerts, disturb the serenity of the night very often, and cause 
 the pale-faces to spend much of the time which ought to be consecrated to sleep 
 in breaking the second commandment. 
 
 The presence of the Indian population in this locality has affected the conversa- 
 tion of the whites to such an extent that the stranger would be at a loss to under- 
 stand many of their terms. It is not unusual, for instance, to hear a young lady, 
 who patters her French glibly, say that hiyou persons attended the last sociable ; 
 that Mr. Smith is a great (i/ee, or chief, in society ; that the Browns are elip 
 tillimims, or of the first families ; that a certain spot is a good picnicking ilMiee / 
 or that the last concert was a closh musical wa-wa — a good concert. The word 
 chuck is the most frequent term for water among the pioneers, and tyee for some 
 local celebrity. All the old citizens speak the Indian tongue, known as the Chinook, 
 as fluently as the natives themselves. This language, which is formed of Indian, 
 English, and French words, was originated by the Hudson Bay Fur Company, in 
 order that the coast tribes might have one language, which traders could under- 
 stand. The result of their linguistic efforts is, that any person now who speaks 
 the Chinook can travel among the Northwestern tribes with facility, as all, except 
 the very old people, will readily understand him. The missionaries have also found 
 it useful in giving instruction in Christian doctrines, and nearly all their sermons are 
 now delivered in that language. The most popular hymns have been translated into 
 Chinook, and the red-man, when not too much absorbed in the hunt after fire-water, 
 loves to troll these religious ditties, which are often curiously mixed up with profane 
 sentiments. For example, an Indian may be sometimes heard singing ecstatically how 
 little he cares for only one bottle of whisky ; then suddenly plunge into a prayer to 
 Omnipotence to give him his daily bread, and a seat in the heavenly Zion after death. 
 
 A run of twenty-four hours on the steamboat brings us to the hamlet of Steila- 
 coom, which is charmingly situated in the midst of flower-clad prairies and beautiful 
 groves, that look as if they might have been arranged by a landscaj^e - gardener. 
 All around, within a few miles, are pretty lakes, whose pellucid waters swarm with 
 fish and wild-fowl. In the distance may be seen the shining peaks of the Cascade 
 Eange clad with eternal snows. The town has some historical importance. It was 
 here that General Harney dispatched Lieutenant Pickett, since noted as a Confederate 
 general, to seize San Juan Island, then claimed by Great Britain. 
 
 The pioneers are wont to relate stirring anecdotes of these times with great gusto. 
 When Lieutenant Pickett took the Island of San Juan, the pompous British com- 
 
 9 
 
130 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 mander threatened to land soldiers from the English fleet, and capture his miserable 
 fortification. The American replied that the other was able to carry out his threat, 
 but it would be at the expense of many a red-coat's life. His careless and easy 
 bearing led to a prudent inactivity on the part of the Britons, and the island was 
 afterward ceded peacefully to the United States. When the island was for a time 
 occupied conjointly by the two nations, magistrates were appointed by both to mete 
 out justice to all. But the dignity of the British officials was so shocked by the con- 
 duct of their American brethren on the bench, that they soon retired from such vul- 
 gar company. We are told that the English judge appointed to the island circuit, 
 impressed with his own importance, appeared in court in faultless attire, and wearing 
 the most fashionable gloves. His Yankee brother, on the other hand, had on a suit 
 of rusty gray, a collarless flannel shirt, and his large and horny hands had never 
 known any other covering than a coating of dirt. The Britisher could hardly stand 
 such company, but a severe sense of duty kept him at his post. Finally, a last straw 
 broke the camel's back. The American jurist came into court one day with unkempt 
 hair and beard, the same dirty-gray suit, but arrayed in a pair of brand-new, yellow- 
 kid gloves of the most flaming hue, through which the hands seemed to have 
 sprawled. When seated on the bench he held up his hands with fingers outstretched, 
 and a broad grin on his face, and the audience so roared with laughter that no busi- 
 ness could be transacted. The mockery was so jsalpable and so successful, too, that the 
 Englishman vowed he would have nothing more to do with such a boor, and re- 
 signed. So thereafter the cases were tried before the rude and fun-loving American 
 justice alone. Such are the stories told by the Steilacoomers, who think their town 
 had no small share in the capture of San Juan, and the settlement of the boundary- 
 line. 
 
 Taking the train four miles from this little village, we now proceed to Tacoma, the 
 northern terminus of the road, the route lying through the same magnificent forests 
 that are found in the whole region lying west of the Cascade Range, an area embrac- 
 ing thirty thousand square miles. This embryo city is already a great lumbering-mart, 
 and is destined to be a place of notable importance. The houses of Tacoma have no 
 more order than if they had been dropped in a shower of rain, but the place has an 
 air of energy and thrift that augurs well for its future, which is prophesied by the 
 miles of logs scattered along the beach, the endless piles of sawed lumber, and the 
 number of ships in the harbor. The principal trees contributing to the lumber busi- 
 ness are the red and yellow fir. These forest giants are only surj^assed in size by the 
 California red-wood trees, of which we have heard so much. Some of them grow four 
 hundred feet high and fifteen feet through, single trees yielding eighty thousand feet 
 of sawed lumber. Out of the yellow fir are made the huge ship spars and masts which 
 the Territory exports to all parts of the world. Such are its qualities that the Euro- 
 pean governments have agents continually there to buy the quantity they may desire. 
 There are thirty lumber-mills along the sound, which cut about four million feet a 
 year ; and it is believed that this region alone is able to supply the whole world with 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE FAR NORTHWEST. 
 
 131 
 
 timber for years to come, and that it is likely to become some day the great lumber- 
 exporting and ship-building mart of the world. 
 
 From Tacoma all northern travel is by water, as railroads are very sparse in the 
 Territory. Little puffing steamboats stir up the waters of Puget Sound, and their long 
 pillars of smoke rising in the air may be seen floating over the picturesque expanse of 
 
 Scene?'!/ of Puget Sound. 
 
 water. Taking one of these little steamers, which if small are fast, we have a most 
 delightful water-journey to Seattle, some thirty miles to the north. The scenery is 
 made more interesting by the frequent sight of fishing hamlets, and fleets of Indian 
 canoes bound for the fishing-grounds. The charm of the splendid inland sea of Puget 
 Sound lies as much in its magnitude and the calm grandeur of its surroundings as in 
 merely brilliant efEects. On a fine day there are three strongly marked colors in the 
 view — the white of the snow-jieaks, the deep somber green of the fir-forests, and the 
 blue of the sky and water. When the rose-tints of the setting sun flush the scene, the 
 tints of water and sky, of mountain-peak and woodland, are so soft, varied, and deli- 
 cate, that they can only be compared to the changes of the kaleidoscope. Exquisite 
 contrasts of color, greatness of spaces, and sublimity of mountain outline, may be said 
 to be peculiarly characteristic of Puget Sound. 
 
 At Seattle we find a most interesting body of water in Lake Washington, as also 
 the largest of the territorial lakes. It is twenty-five miles long, and from three to five 
 miles in width, and, as an example of lakes buried in wooded regions, is one of the 
 
132 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 finest iu the United States. Heavy forests extending in unbroken ridges up the mount- 
 ain-sides surround it, and high ujj above all looms Mount Rainier, a snow-peak four- 
 teen thousand feet high. At one time it was believed that the Federal Government 
 would locate a naval station for ship-building here, as the lake could easily be con- 
 nected with the sound by a canal wliich would only need to be a mile long. The 
 banks yield coal, iron, and lumber in rich profusion, and the water is deep enough 
 to float the heaviest ships. It is by no means improbable that the great navy-yard of 
 the country may yet be located here, for every natural advantage appears to exist for 
 such a selection. 
 
 The city of Seattle has about three thousand population, and does a great busi- 
 ness as compared with its size. It has a university (so called), and excellent common 
 schools, and the people are immensely proud of its superiority as the territorial seat 
 of learning. Formerly it was called New York, but a fit of generosity, mingled 
 with a spasm of common-sense, caused a change of name to that which it now bears 
 in honor of Seatl-h, chief of the Duwamish tribe of Indians, who proved himself the 
 steadfast friend of the whites during the dark days of 1855-'56, when they could not 
 move out of the town without risking their lives. It was he who sent word to his 
 pale-faced brethren that they would be attacked by a large body of warriors on a 
 certain day ; and this timely information prevented not only a massacre, but was the 
 means of driving the warlike savages out of that section of country ; for, when they 
 attacked the settlement, they were received so warmly by the little garrison, and 
 shelled so vigorously by the sloop-of-war Decatur, that they never again attempted 
 the capture of any village along the sound. The old chief, who possessed a face 
 unusually kind and expressive for one of his race, lived to a ripe old age, revered 
 by all who knew him. From Seattle one may make an excursion to the Cascade 
 Range, only a few miles away. We find the richest alluvial lands, pretty mountain- 
 valleys, hidden amid rocky pinnacles, and foaming streams that burst from their 
 beds of snow to steal down as jjurling brooks through the meadows below. Such a 
 delightful primitive coiintry, where one is alone with Nature in the most cheerful 
 and picturesque woods, would almost reconcile the mind to the free barbaric life of 
 the red-man. Another pleasant excursion is a visit to Snoqualmie Falls, called by 
 some genius of a poetical turn the Niagara of the Northwest. The cataract is two 
 hundred and seventy feet high, and, when the river is strong, has a width of eighty 
 feet. Hemmed in by dense woods, enveloped at the base by huge crags of basalt 
 dark as the shadows of night, and fed by a swift river, it possesses many of the ele- 
 ments of the best scenes produced by falling water. The cataract is far more than 
 picturesque in the gloom and fury with which it jwurs over the precipice. The falls 
 are carefully avoided by the Indians, who believe that the roar of the water is the 
 wailing of the dead lamenting their sins, and that any intrusion on this" magic ground 
 would be punished by death. One of the legends of the falls is that a large band 
 of warriors from the mountains, at war with a coast tribe, attempted to surprise a 
 party of the latter encamped at the foot of the cataract. Unacquainted with the 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE FAR NORTHWEST. 
 
 133 
 
 river, tlieir war-canoes were hurled over the brink, and they were dashed to pieces 
 on the rocks below. Their death-shout, mingling witli the roar of the waters, was 
 the first intimation which the sleejDing camp below had of the nearness of their foes. 
 After the first fear was over, the suddenly aroused braves lighted fires, and went 
 searching for their enemies, scalping all they found, and mutilating the remains in 
 such a manner that any tribe who might discover them would be certain to know 
 
 Snogualmie Falls. 
 
 that it was the bravery of the Snoqualmie warriors that had sent so many foes to 
 the spirit-land. Having completed their woi'k, the proud band set out for their own 
 village, and entered it with shouts and songs of Joy, the envy of every man and the 
 pride of every woman who had not been present at the successful catastrophe. The 
 young chief who had controlled tlie party was admired so much for his good fortune 
 that he was appointed to the supreme command of tlie village, and from that day 
 
134 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 forth success attended the standard of the tribe. The fame of its warriors had be- 
 come so great that they were deemed invincible, and few foes dared to measure 
 spears witli them. The descendants of these invincibles must have deteriorated sadly 
 of late; for to-day they are as poor and plebeian a throng as ever wore moccasins, 
 and the last in the world to be taken for the descendants of high-spirited sires. 
 
 Among the animals found in this part of Washington Territory is one of curious 
 traits and ungainly form, which, so far as is known, is not found in other parts of 
 the world. It has some of the habits of the ground-squirrel, but it also resembles 
 the beaver in the manner in which it cuts roots and shrubs to get its food. The 
 showil, as it is called, is only about tl'iirteen inches long, and from five to seven 
 inches high, and lives for the most part in deep burrows. The claws are strong and 
 sharp, with great power as mining implements ; so, when pursued, the sliowtl tries to 
 dig a burrow to hide itself. It appears to be the only example of its kind known 
 with the exception of an animal a little like it in Australia, and to have the sole 
 use in the scheme of life to be the connecting link between the squirrel and the 
 beaver, to both of which it has some likeness of form and habit. The Indians have 
 a tradition that this little animal was the first creature endowed with life, and the 
 source whence sprang their own race. Nevertheless, they think its flesh a delicious 
 morsel, just as the African negroes, who revere the gorilla as their progenitor, also 
 love to feast on the meat of the huge ape. 
 
 Taking passage again on board of a steamer, we proceed among the islands of the 
 Washington Archipelago, and pass several thriving hamlets on the shores. The route 
 to the north reveals the same limitless sea of foliage and towering snow-peaks — whose 
 •solitude apparently has never been broken by the foot of man — which we have noticed 
 before. But soon the heavy smoke loitering over the tops shows that we are ap- 
 proaching the celebrated lumbering towns for which Puget Sound is famous. These 
 towns are occupied only by the hands engaged in the mills, outsiders being tabooed 
 for fear that they might engage in business transactions which would injure the trade 
 of the companies owning the factories and town sites. The most important of these 
 lumber-marts is Port Gamble, which boasts that it has the largest saw-mill in the 
 world, its capacity being one hundred thousand feet a day ! This is situated on 
 Hood's Canal, a branch of the sound noted for its pretty harbors and charming 
 scenery. Its bluffs are so bold that a ship could be ranged alongside and fastened to 
 a tree on shore without incurring any danger of running aground. The same thing 
 may be said of the whole of Puget Sound, and it is this fact that makes it the finest 
 and safest harbor in the world. 
 
 A large island in Puget Sound, called Whidby, which attracts attention from its 
 bold promontories, is remarkable for the peculiarity of its deer, nearly every one being 
 handsomely mottled, while some are pure white, an effect resulting from features of 
 soil and climate. The Indians in the northwestern portion of Washington TeiTitory 
 have for many years been peaceable, and have good schools, conducted by Catholic 
 missionaries, both priests and nuns. Their good works are manifest in the superior 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE FAR NORTHWEST. 
 
 135 
 
 character of the Indians of this portion of the Northwest. The pupils of the school 
 are not only taught the simpler forms of book-lore, but are carefully educated in 
 farming, gardening, and several of the trades, such as carpentering and blacksmithing, 
 while the Indian girls are instructed in cooking, dress-making, and similar household 
 arts. 
 
 In these random descriptions of the more settled and easily reached portions of 
 Washington Territory, but little has been said of its wonderful interior, which is 
 equally interesting for its beauty of scenery, the richness of its valleys and savannas, 
 the profusion and variety of its game, and the great forests which offer an almost 
 inexhaustible field for the lumberman. It will probably be many years before Wash- 
 ington Territory is much more settled than it is now, owing to the large extent of 
 desirable lands so much easier of access. For many years it will be rather known as 
 a paradise for the sportsman and a delightful resort for the invalid, than as a great 
 field for industry. But the time will surely come, so say those best acquainted with 
 
 
 Haw-Mi/l, Port Gamble. 
 
 the resources of this remoter portion of the United States, when its almost bound- 
 less advantages will make it one of the most prosperous and favored corners of the 
 land. 
 
 One of the most striking features of scenery in the far Northwest consists in 
 the character of its cataracts and cascades. These are formed by rivers that take 
 their rise in great mountain - peaks. They are marked by tlieir mighty leaps, the 
 
136 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 roughness of their surroundings, and their strange outlines. But these rugged feat- 
 ures lire often softened by the rich greenery that envelops them. The entire region 
 beyond the Rocky Mountains is of volcanic origin, and the rivers are narrow, deep, 
 and rapid, for it requires both volume and swiftness to cut through the rocks of 
 adamant which obstruct their courses. Thus these cascades possess features pecul- 
 iar to themselves. For example, numerous rocky islets check the flow of the water 
 before making its final bound, and thus produce a series of boiling eddies and small 
 
 leaps whicli add much to the strik- 
 ing effect of tlie main fall. Another 
 feature is the suddenness with which 
 the final leap is made, and the brill- 
 iaiiey of the rainbows which flash and 
 tlie so swiftly. The falls are gener- 
 ally convex in form, owing to the 
 velocity of the rush. The vigorous 
 motion gives them a pictorial effect 
 very striking. The cascades that jiass 
 through forests are usually narrow 
 and small in volume ; but they have 
 the greatest altitude, and such force 
 that they hiss fiercely as they bound 
 from their shallow bed to fall over 
 till' ]irccipice in a tissue of snowy 
 foam. Those that flow through open 
 or treeless spaces are broad, massive, 
 and dec]). The former brawl while 
 the latter roar ; one expresses the 
 picturesque, the other has a wild, 
 rude grandeur. 
 
 Beginning with the region bor- 
 dering on the Pacific Ocean, north 
 of California, we find the first impor- 
 tant falls iu Southern Oregon, known 
 as the Koguc Eiver Falls. They are 
 formed by the Rogue River, not far 
 from where it breaks through the 
 Coast Range on its way to the sea. This stream throughout its entire course is sur- 
 rounded by magnificent firs, pines, and cedars, which give it the appearance of an 
 undulating, silvery thread, stretched through a mass of foliage. Where it takes its 
 abrupt leap the forest is so dense as to be almost impassable in summer, owing to 
 the luxuriance of the shrubbery and undergrowth, mid so dark and cool even in the 
 warmest weather that one feels cold in a short time, as the place exhales a pal]iable 
 
 Sogiie Siver Falls. 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE FAR NORTHWEST. 137 
 
 humidity. This only adds to the weird oliarm of tlie falls ; for solitude and foliage 
 btit render such scenes the more interesting. 
 
 Looking upward from their base, they arc seen to emerge from a very nai'i'ow open- 
 ing between two huge masses of dark crags ; but, ere they reach the ground, they 
 seem to be divided into three sections of foamy spray, owing to the interruption of 
 the line of sight Ijy the dense and tangled foliage. The best and the only satisfactory 
 view of them that can be obtained is about ten yards on either side of tlie front, as 
 the woods are there more open. Their actual height is estimated at two hundred 
 feet (and it certainly seems all that from beneath), and their width at ten yards. Their 
 volume of water in summer is not very great, but during tlie s])ring freshets they 
 have a depth at the summit of ten feet. They are then in their finest condition, and 
 the stream possesses such powerful velocity that it whirls heavy crags along its course 
 as if they were mere pebbles. One of the most interesting features al)c)ut the falls is 
 the luxuriance of the mosses and lichens that grow wherever the si)ray is showered. 
 Their base is surrounded by cedars, junipers, alders, and willows, which are covered 
 with mosses to such an extent that the trunks and branches are almost concealed. 
 This, of course, prevents much leafage, so that they ])rescnt the appearance of a forest 
 of gigantic mosses. 
 
 Desiring to avoid tlie spray, we tear away some of the mossy covering from a tree, 
 and find between it and the trunk a capacious chamber, large enough to hold ten 
 persons, and thoroughly water-proof. In this snug retreat we have a fine opportunity 
 of studying the delightful scene before us. The water in its fall throws coj)ious 
 showers upon the firs, ai>d these produce a permanent rainbow in the forest, which 
 extends from the highest tree in the vicinity to the lowest shrubbery. This is a 
 charming effect, and most pleasing it seems, as tlie line of foliage through which it 
 passes is brilliantly illumined with all the prismatic hues. 
 
 Passing through the beautiful Rogue River Valley, which seems like a large copy 
 of the vale of Chamouni, and the romantic glens of the Umpqua, which stand alone 
 in their uniqueness outside of Norway, we find ourselves during the course of the 
 second day at Oregon City, perched on a bank of the Willamette River where it leaps 
 into a chasm thirty-sijf feet beneath. The falls are really a series of cascades for five 
 hundred yards, and, where they sweep downward instead of moving in a solid body of 
 water, they break into several falls, which vary in outline according to tlie foi-m of 
 rocks through which they force a passage. Extending from one bank of the river to 
 the other, a distance of about a quarter of a mile, they offer a grand view in early 
 spring as they bear onward an immense mass of water produced by the molting snows 
 of the mountains, and this, through the swiftness of the current, is hurled into the 
 chasm with such tremendous force that the spray is sent sailing upward to a height 
 of many feet. The general form is concave, or like the inner side of a horseshoe, 
 two ranges of basaltic crags forming the extreme bounds of the curve. In summer 
 rocky islets peer above the water at the place where it makes its leap ; but in freshet- 
 time each one is covered with a mass of boiling foam. So swift is the current that 
 
138 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 it has gradually swept away large islands once in the river, and is cutting away the 
 shores slowly but surely. 
 
 These falls can be apj^roached either by boat or rail, as they are only fifteen miles 
 from Portland, the capital of Oregon. The pleasantest route is by river, as charming 
 rural scenes greet the eye at every turn, and the first view of the falls from above 
 makes them seem higher and whiter than they really are, owing to the contrast 
 offered by the towering green firs surrounding them on every side. Steamers plying 
 on the river pass around through a canal, and in the half-hour of the passage we have 
 ample time to appreciate the beauties of the falls and to get dizzy with the boisterous, 
 whirling motion. For the disciple of old Izaak Walton, there is an excellent chance 
 
 Falls of the Willamette. 
 
 to make war on the finny tribes in the Willamette River during April and May, for 
 then the water is so thronged with salmon that they almost crowd each other ashore. 
 Thousands of fish are destroyed by launching themselves in the air in their attempts 
 to scale the falls. 
 
 A few miles from Astoria, the oldest American town west of the Rocky Mountains, 
 we find Young's Falls. We must sail down the Columbia River about a hundred and 
 ten miles to reach this point, leaving the steamer at Astoria, and taking thence one 
 of the pretty little yachts which always stand ready for the tourist's use. For a 
 short distance we must go on foot, too, as Young's River becomes too shallow for navi- 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE FAR NORTHWEST. 
 
 139 
 
 gation. After a foot-journey through the matted underbrush of rose and berry bushes, 
 armed with myriad thorns, which is slow and tedious, we suddenly emerge on this 
 charming water-fall, bounding suddenly from its dense undergrowth of bushes and 
 flowers and tumbling down 
 into a dark pool in a white 
 apron. It is exactly in 
 the shape of a child's pin- 
 afore, and is formed of two 
 leaps, the first ten and the 
 next seventy feet. 
 
 These falls are rendered 
 unusually interesting by 
 the number of birds that 
 frequent their vicinity, the 
 profusion of flora, and the 
 great height of the firs that 
 environ them. Many of 
 these firs are three hun- 
 dred feet high, and from 
 ten to fifteen feet in diam- 
 eter — regular forest-giants, 
 which are not excelled by 
 any trees in the world ex- 
 cept the Seqvoias of Cali- 
 fornia. The first white 
 visitors to these falls were 
 Lewis and Clarke, who en- 
 camped in their vicinity 
 in 1806, after completing 
 a survey of the Columbia 
 River from its source to 
 its mouth. They are now 
 frequented mostly by the 
 
 Chinook Indians, who pitch their tents near them in the berry-season to gather a 
 store of fruit for the winter. Tlie profusion of these berries is something marvelous, 
 embracing many varieties unknown in the Atlantic States. 
 
 Returning up the Columbia River as far as Portland, let us take the steamer that 
 runs to the Cascades of the Columbia, some sixty miles distant. The trip up this 
 noble stream is one of the most interesting that can be made. Heavy forests of firs, 
 which extend to the horizon on every side, greet the eyes, and are reflected in gigan- 
 tic spiral wreaths of foliage in the crystalline water, while far in the distance loom 
 several snowy peaks, with fleecy clouds hovering about their crests. These, and the 
 
 Southern Side of WiUamelte Falh. 
 
140 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 nearer, rocky, fir-clad mountains, are also reflected with so much fidelity that you 
 seem to be passing over them. Even the sky is so accurately jiictured that one at first 
 view instinctively withdraws from the railing of the steamer, as if he feared that he 
 would fall doivn into the unfathomable depths of the clouds. Several small mountains 
 of lonely and oddly shaped crags, and half a dozen water-falls, add much to the beauty 
 
 of the scenery, so that the attention is 
 steadily riveted but never wearied by the 
 glowing pictures that unfold themselves 
 in rapid succession. The most striking 
 and important of the latter are Multouo- 
 mah Falls, which plunge downward a dis- 
 tance of seven hundred feet in a ribbon 
 of white ; but long ere the waters reach 
 their craggy bed, or the heavy forests far 
 beneath, they are dissolved into snowy 
 drojis of spray, which are whirled in every 
 direction by the lightest zephyrs. After 
 uniting below, they plow their way in a 
 tortuous course through moss-lined banks 
 and tangled gorse until they make their 
 final leap into the Columbia in a broad 
 and thin sheet of silvery water. There 
 is something exceedingly lovely about this 
 miniature Niagara, as it seems like an en- 
 chanted scene, owing to the vivid emerald 
 hue of the luxuriant grass, and the densi- 
 ty of the coppices of young firs and cedars 
 which grow in wayward wildness about the 
 base of the first fall. These make one of 
 the most charming dells imaginable ; one 
 so fairy-like in character, that a person 
 would naturally select it as the abode of 
 those weird and pleasant nymphs of the 
 forest, the dryads and hamadryads ; for 
 what more could they require than a love- 
 ly spot which is never disturbed by any- 
 thing save the notes of the wood-thrush 
 and yellow-bird, or the purling cadence of the falling water, while around, on all 
 sides, are scenes that represent every variety of landscape beauty ? The popular local 
 name for this cascade is Horsetail Falls, owing to the supposed resemblance which 
 the two leaps bear to the equine appendage. 
 
 Continuing our way up the Columbia Kiver, a trip of forty miles by boat and 
 
 Pnlouse Falls. 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE FAR NORTHWEST. 141 
 
 rail lands ns at the moiitli of White River, a mountain-stream emptj'ing into the 
 Columbia. Securing a guide and horses, a ride of a few hours brings our little cav- 
 alcade to the end of the journey. At first it seems like a waste of time and energy 
 to have come here, for notliing is to be seen but a deep and gloomy precipice, from 
 which comes a brawling sound. By dismounting and crawling down the steep sides 
 of the great gorge, we suddenly find ourselves face to face with the White River 
 Falls. These are formed by three leaps ; the upper one about fifty, the second thirty, 
 and the third sixty feet. During the dry season the upper falls dwindle into broad 
 ribbons, which unite below and dash into a round basin cut in the rocks ; thence 
 they bound into a cool, dark pool some sixty feet beneath, whence the water pours out 
 into a rock-encumbered channel which lashes it into boiling fret and fume. 
 
 The cailon through which the river dashes has sometimes a depth of a thousand 
 feet, and, being quite narrow, produces such effects of sound that the brawling water 
 at the base is raised into a sharp and steady roar at the summit. The only vegeta- 
 tion visible near the falls consists of a few scrubby willows, that obtain a meager sub- 
 sistence on the loose, arid soil a few yards beyond them. As there is nothing to soften 
 the features of the black, rugged crags that environ them, their pictorial effect is not 
 so great as it otherwise would be. 
 
 Continuing up the Columbia, we find a series of cascades, water-falls, and rapids, 
 but none specially worthy of notice till we reach the Palouse and Spokane Falls. The 
 former are unicpie, on account of the strange character of the rocks which surround 
 them, assuming as they do the outlines of chimneys, columns of all shapes, broken 
 pinnacles, and sharp needles, while the banks are ranged in the form of terraces one 
 above another to the height of nearly two thousand feet. These falls are caused by 
 the Palouse River, nine miles from where it mingles with the Snake River, the largest 
 tributary of the Columbia. This stream flows witli great velocity through three caflons, 
 but it is the passage through the second which forms the falls. The caflon is only 
 thirty feet wide, and out of this the water pours with an angry hiss and plunges down 
 one hundred and twenty-five feet. Salmon ascend as far as these falls, and this causes 
 the spot to be chosen by the Palouse Indians as a fishing-ground. Their numerous 
 canoes add much to the pictorial charm of the scene, while the half-naked red-men 
 with lances poised, or bringing from the water the struggling salmon, give it a most 
 animated appearance. 
 
 The falls of the Spokane consist of two leaps, the first of twelve feet, the second 
 of a hundred. They seethe, roar, and boil for some distance before making their big 
 plunge, and continue the turmoil for quite a way after reaching tlie chasm which 
 receives them. This cascade is also very picturesque, and surrounded by rock-ter- 
 races rising many hundred feet above them. The Spokane fall completes the most 
 important series of cascades along the Columbia and its feeders, though there are 
 several more which surpass the falls of Minnehaha in height and width, though not 
 in beauty of surroundings. 
 
 It is in West Washington Territory that we find a noble cataract far surpassing 
 
142 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 any of the preced- 
 celebrated Snoqual- 
 meution has been 
 ing pages. During 
 ets these falls have 
 feet, and fall two 
 ent}', thus making 
 blest water-falls of 
 These are reached 
 noeing trip up the 
 
 Spokane Falls. 
 
 ing. Of this, the 
 mie Falls, passing 
 made in preced- 
 the spring fresh- 
 a width of eighty 
 hundred and sev- 
 them among the no- 
 the United States, 
 by a fifty miles' ca- 
 Snoqualmie River, 
 
 which has its outlet in Puget Sound, the journey taking three days. Mr. Murphy, a 
 traveler, who wrote an account of this fine cataract in an article contributed to 
 "Appletons' Journal," gives a graphic description of his visit : 
 
 " By noon of the third day we came to a series of boisterous, foaming eddies, 
 that extended over a distance of seven miles, and to pass these we had to ply pole 
 and paddles with the utmost vigor. By making herculean efforts, we managed to 
 crawl over them in eight hours ; but, once past, we had tranquil waters until we 
 came within hearing of the deep roar of the falls, which were now two miles distant. 
 The large space over which they can be heard is due to the acoustic properties of the 
 surrounding woods, and the echoes of the low, rocky hills beyond them. The res- 
 onance of these forests is something marvelous, and on first acquaintance rather 
 startling, as an ordinary tone of conversation is heard several yards away, a laugh 
 rings in vibratory undulations for a distance of at least an eighth of a mile, while 
 the scream of the wild-cat is audible a mile off. It is this echoing characteristic of 
 trees that causes the falls flowing through wooded regions to be heard over such a 
 large area as they are ; so we find that the Snoqualmie Falls, with only a tithe of 
 the volume of Niagara, are heard many times the distance the latter are. 
 
 " Having found all further progress by water checked by masses of trap-rock which 
 
J GLIMPSE OF THE FAR NORTHWEST. 143 
 
 were hurled together in the wildest confusion, we pushed our canoe ashore and made 
 a comfortable encampment of boughs for ourselves under the umbrageous shelter of a 
 spreading spruce that must have seen several centuries of life. Having prepared sup- 
 per, and partaken of it with the keen relish peculiar to those who have labored hard, 
 my guides led me through a forest so dense that it only permitted a few straggling 
 rays of the moon to pierce its inky blackness in a few jjlaces. Our passage through 
 it proved to be an exceedingly difficult one, as the shrubbery, matted as usual, trijjped 
 us quite frequently, and sent us sprawling on all-fours into apparently unfathomable 
 masses of briers, while the tall and elastic undergrowth lashed our faces with incisive 
 vigor. It took us two hours to reach the falls, as we were compelled to make many 
 windings, and our only guide was their vibratory thundering. When I reached them, 
 however, my fatigue disappeared immediately, for my surprise was as great as it was 
 pleasing. I had expected much, but such a towering height, such rude grandeur, 
 such a volume of water, and such weird beauty, I was not prepai'ed to encounter in 
 this wild retreat. The scene was actually sublime and bewildering in its variety. 
 The water poured out of a deep caflon in a convex body of seething foam, and fell 
 on the black, shattered crags below in a yellowish-white mass of glinting globules. 
 After gazing at the magnificent picture, with its strong effects of light and shade, 
 for half an hour, I returned to camp, and, throwing myself on the ground beside the 
 bright fire, listened in silence for some time to the rumbling music that rolled toward 
 me in heavy volumes. Being struck by the wildness of the picture, I asked my 
 swarthy guides to move some distance into the woods, and chant the death-song of 
 their tribe, that I might make a comparison of melodies characterized by simplicity 
 and primitiveness, and the opposite of each other in color and expression. They 
 promptly complied with my request, and in a few moments from out the plutouian 
 depths of the forest issued their low, wailing song of sorrow. As this mingled with 
 the ponderous monotone of the falls, the effect was intensely striking. After singing 
 for half an hour in a deep, Gregorian tone, which harmonized well with the scene 
 and the wild and massive melody of Nature, they returned to camp, and a few 
 minutes later were rolled in their blankets and deep in the land of Somnus. I was 
 so impressed with my surroundings that it was far past midnight ere I fell into a 
 restless slumber, and then only to dream of strange and impossible water-falls and 
 stranger music. 
 
 "We were astir before dawn the next morning, and, after breakfast, again visited 
 the scene of the previous evening. I found that it seemed, if possible, more interest- 
 ing, as every feature was clearly prominent ; yet the misty haze of the night, which 
 threw some portions into shadow, and thus rendered them more weird in appearance, 
 was missed." 
 
 The grandest exhibition of Nature in the Northwest, in the way of water-falls, is 
 found in the Shoshone Falls of Idaho, for their volume, the highest on the continent. 
 Though inferior to Niagara in massiveness, they excel it in altitude some seventy 
 feet, two hundred and thirty feet being the estimated height. The falls can be 
 
144 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 readied from the east, over the Central Pacifie Railway ; from the west, by stage-ride 
 from Portland, Oregon, which takes six days. Some might consider it a waste of 
 time and energy to visit this grand spot, for it involves much fatigue and trouble ; 
 but, once attained, it repays any effort, for we may congratulate ourselves that, having 
 seen it and Niagara, we have feasted on all the forms of wonderful beauty and sub- 
 limity which cataracts can present. 
 
 Approaching by the western route, we quit the stage at Rock Creek Station, com- 
 posed of one log-cabin, where the passengers dine and the horses are changed. 
 Through the kindness of the agent of the stage company, we are here furnished with 
 mustang ponies, on which we are to ride to the canon of the Snake or Shoshone 
 River, where, at Springtown, a small and squalid mining hamlet, we secure a guide 
 to the famous falls. 
 
 After a ride of three miles our guide promises to show iis what he calls the 
 prettiest falls in the world, a place entirely unknown and unvisited. We strike an 
 Indian trail, which winds down blufE after bluff, till it reaches what is called the 
 Park, on the bank of the river. Opposite this, in the middle of the stream, is a 
 small island, covered with scrubby underbrush, and on both sides of it the river hurls 
 itself over a precipice about a hundred and ten feet high. By carefully crawling 
 over a shelf of loose stones and lying on the stomach, we are enabled to get a fine 
 view of these picturesque falls. On the farther side the water flows in a broad white 
 sheet ; on the near side it is confined within a convex mass — both of them spanned 
 with splendid rainbows. 
 
 This only sharpens our desire to see the Grand Falls, whose hoarse thunder can be 
 heard far away reverberating in the deep canons. Having reached the upper plateau 
 again, a two miles' hard gallop brings us very near the object of our ride, for the 
 back of a mustang pony, when going at speed, in an instrument of torture than 
 which the Inquisition had nothing more dreadful. 
 
 Looking down from our elevated terrace we can get a glimpse of the outline of 
 the falls, and around them all the elements of a beautiful landscape — an undulating 
 park decked with beautiful flowers and rich green grass, a placid river, and towering 
 terraces of bright-colored crags. Dismounting, and leading our horses down the 
 bluffs, we reach the lovely little park skirting the river, where the grass stands knee- 
 deep, and gaudy flowers are spread like a carpet. 
 
 Lookout Point juts over the bank directly where the river plunges downward only 
 four feet below our standing-ground. Glancing up the stream, we see its course for 
 half a mile, a mass of hissing rapids and small cataracts, dotted with bold crags rising 
 out of the bed of the stream, and with small islets all a-bloom with flowers. There 
 are eight falls in a distance of two hundred yards, which are from six to twenty feet 
 in height, all different in outline. Close to the shore the water makes deep canals of 
 bubbling cascades through the rocks, and their gentleness contrasts witli the turbu- 
 lence which adjoins them. As these diverging bodies of water approach the precipice, 
 they swing together to make the Grand Falls, which are only excelled by the falls of 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE FAR NORTHWEST. 
 
 145 
 
 the Missouri and Niagara in volume, while they are superior in height, in diversity of 
 form, and in beauty of surroundings. Massive in power, and vigorous in action ; 
 warm in color, yet environed by gloom ; picturesque in immediate background, yet 
 surrounded by savage grandeur — they possess all the elements .that make such scenes 
 attractive to the lover of the beautiful. Their very situation in the midst of a deso- 
 late plain, and hemmed in by cations whose dreary depths are unvisited by the sunlight 
 for many months in the year, adds to their interest and enhances their splendor. They 
 have a width of three hundred yards by following the curve of their outline, but in a 
 
 r" 
 
 Shoshone Falle, Snahe River. 
 
 straight line they will not much exceed two hundred. They are of an irregular con- 
 cave shape, somewhat like a reversed crescent ; but during the spring freshets they 
 assume a convex form, owing to the increased volume and swiftness of the water. 
 The pretty park, with its luxuriant grasses, flowers, and coppices of junipers, gives a 
 softness and color to the falls that are delightful to the eye, as they impart the 
 picturesque element so much needed ; but on the opjjosite side the dark and lofty 
 terraces of trap loom uj) against the sky in black masses, and convey the most strik- 
 ing idea of gloom and wildness. It is from the base, however, that one appreciates 
 the grandeur of a cataract best, and by a somewhat perilous scramble down the steep 
 
 10 
 
146 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 crags we finally work our way to the bottom. Every step must be watched, for a 
 slight mischance will plunge us into the boiling caldron below. At last, by clamber- 
 ing over rough bowlders, springing over fallen trees, making bridges of slippery trunks 
 covered with wet moss, stumbling through dense underbrush, we get within forty feet 
 of the cataract, where further advance would be death. Here the overpowering scene 
 
 fills the heart and mind with 
 its grandeur. The water, in 
 sweeping waves of white and 
 with a sound like that of a 
 thousand great mills in mo- 
 tion, thunders steadily down- 
 ward, and splendid rainbows 
 span the falls and river ; while 
 showers of vapory spray rise 
 languidly to a height of three 
 hundred feet, then lazily float 
 away in dark clouds. 
 
 The Snake Eiver boasts of 
 several other smaller cataracts, 
 the most important being the 
 American Falls, some thirty 
 feet higli ; but a few of its 
 tributaries display the most 
 unusual varieties to be found, 
 perhaps, in the world. Some 
 of these plunge down into the 
 earth a distance of two hun- 
 dred feet tlirough irregular, 
 rocky caves, and, continuing 
 their way under -ground for 
 several miles, come again to the surface in the form of a boisterous river only to 
 renew the leap. The most important of these are Lost Falls, some thirty or forty 
 miles from Shoshone Falls. 
 
 To reach the next great falls we must betake ourselves to the Yellowstone Park in 
 Montana, whose combined wonders make it perhaps unequaled in the world, and which 
 will hereafter be made the theme of a separate article. 
 
 From this region to find any other leaping water of importance we must make a 
 long journey to the Sioux River, which divides Iowa and Dakota. Opposite Sioux 
 City the river dashes over a ledge of bowlders in several streams and falls a hundred 
 feet into a rock-bound cavity filled with foaming whirlpools that seethe and struggle 
 to escape from their prison. These picturesque falls have also interesting surround- 
 ings of rocks shaped in very curious forms. In tlie time of the spring freshets these 
 
 Island Falls, Snake Siver. 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE FAR NORTHWEST. 147 
 
 falls are very striking, though far less grand than some which have been recently 
 noticed. They are always spanned with rainbows, and the crags through whicli they 
 pour have been carved into the most unique forms, while in the background are other 
 queer and suggestive rock-shapes. These fantastic images and a pleasant landscape 
 add no little to the attractive ensemble of tlie cascade. 
 
 The last but not the least of the water-falls of the Northwest worthy of description 
 are those of the Missouri, about five hundred and fifty miles from its source. These 
 falls are in reality a series of cascades, as their declivity in a distance of little over 
 sixteen miles is three hundred and fifty feet. This extent of river is one mass of 
 fierce rapids, which boil and roar with the greatest fury at all seasons of the year. 
 There are four cataracts in the distance, the first twenty-six, the second forty-seven, 
 the third nineteen, and the last eighty feet in height. The latter, known as the 
 Great Falls, as they extend the full width of the river, receive the waters of all the 
 tributaries of the river to the north. They are next to Niagara in volume, and sur- 
 pass it during the spring freshets. They are then grand, even terrible. They resem- 
 ble a fierce and mighty sea let loose rather than a shallow river, and even solid crags 
 can not stand their force. They have a savage grandeur that inspires awe ; and this 
 effect is heightened by the steep bluffs that surround them. They have none of the 
 qualities of a charming picture ; all is fierce action and untamable wildness. They 
 possess majesty, power, and strength, that convey the most complete idea of the might 
 of force, but they lack variety of outline and pleasing surroundings to lighten the 
 dreary landscape that environs them. They display a harshness that becomes dull 
 after a short time, for their impetuous action and dazzling hue can hardly make 
 amends for the flatness, tameness, and want of color, of their immediate background. 
 Were they fringed by a forest, or even a coppice or dell, their pictorial effect would be 
 increased immensely. 
 
THE YELLOWSTONE 
 VALLEY. 
 
 A wonderland of the West — Interesting traditions and 
 adventures — The journey into the valley — Mam- 
 moth Hot Springs and Mud Springs — The Mud- 
 Volcano — The Falls and Grand Cafion — Wonders 
 of the Fire-Hole Eiver— The Lower Geyser Ba- 
 sin — The great atti'aotion of the Yellowstone Park 
 — The geysers of the Upper Basin — Tlie Giant and 
 Giantess — Theory of geyser eruptions — The Yel- 
 lowstone Lake. 
 
 The wonderland of Nature, of which 
 our country presents so many grand ex- 
 amples, oilers nowliere greater attrac- 
 tions than in the valley of tlie Yellow- 
 stone Eiver. This has already become 
 a Mecca to which the lovers of science, 
 adventure, and travel have begun to 
 throng in large numbers, and to which 
 in future years pleasure-seekers will more 
 and moi'e tend as the means of approach become more easy. Time was, not long ago, 
 when the marvels and beauties of the Yellowstone could only be seen at the danger 
 of one's scalp, for the country was scoured in every direction by hostile Indians on 
 the outlook for spoil and murder. This peril has now practically ceased, but the 
 journey continues to be surrounded by considerable hardship. While this adds no 
 little flavor to the trip for those who enjoy a rough and adventurous life, the major- 
 ity of tourists, whose imaginations may have been stirred by stories of this interesting 
 region, will probably wait till the advent of a railway before they gratify their curiosity. 
 
 Th'^ Ydloaaion^i Eia-r 
 
THE YELLOWSro^E VALLEY. 
 
 149 
 
 The Yellowstone River, which has. a long, winding pathway of thirteen hundred 
 miles before it loses its waters in the bosom of the Missouri, has its source in a noble 
 lake situated in Wyoming Territory among the snowy peaks of the highest mountains 
 of the countrj'. The ujjper track of the river is through magnificent eaflons and 
 gorges, and many striking water-falls and rapids diversify its flow. The scenery pre- 
 sented at various points of its course may be justly called very remarkable, and worthy 
 
 Map of the Yellowstone Natioruil Park. 
 
150 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 to be compared with any found in the country. The entire region about the source 
 is volcanic, abounding in boiling springs, mud-volcanoes, soda-springs, sulphur-mount- 
 ains, and geysers, the wonders of which surpass those of Iceland. 
 
 This curious region, whicli has been set apart by Congress as a National Park, pos- 
 sesses, indeed, striking characteristics for the uses to which it has been devoted. It 
 exhibits the grand and magnificent in its snow-clad mountains and dark canons, the 
 picturesque in its tine water-falls and strangely formed rocks, the beautiful in the 
 charming woodland shores of its noble lakes, and the marvelous in its geysers, hot 
 springs, and sulphur-mountains. It is not an exaggeration, perhaps, to say that no 
 other portion of the known globe unites so many surprising features, so many condi- 
 tions of beauty and contrast to delight the artist, so many strange aspects to fascinate 
 and instruct the student of science. We are told in one of the legends of the "Ara- 
 bian Nights" of a miraculous valley concealed amid impassable mountains, where 
 Nature had lavished her most splendid works, and monstrous animals roamed such as 
 could be found nowhere else in the world. We may also fancy the Yellowstone Val- 
 ley a similar home of giant animals of now unknown forms, for as a grave-yard of 
 extinct races it presents the most striking aspects. When first discovered there were 
 found thickly scattered over its surface piles of huge bones which belonged to those 
 monsters that roamed the world in early geological periods ; and these scientific treas- 
 ures, though now gathered up from their more exposed tombs, still exist in great 
 quantities, buried not far down in the earth. The whole region seems to have been 
 once a highly favored haunt for walking wonders of beast-life, compared with which 
 the elephant and rhinoceros are small and trivial. 
 
 Though these old and terrible inhabitants have long since ceased to be, except as 
 curiosities in Nature's lumber-room, the strange region through which they tramped 
 and sought their prey still remains in all its primitive wonder. 
 
 This grand domain, extending nearly sixty-five miles from north to south and fifty- 
 five from east to west, is in the northwestern corner of Wyoming Territory, and 
 extends a few miles across the border into Montana. Lewis and Clarke, the earliest 
 Western explorers, seem to have known nothing of this region, save of the great lake, 
 of which they had probably been informed by the Indians. The famous trapi:)er, 
 guide, and mountaineer, Jim Bridger, claimed to have visited this region, and from 
 his rude descriptions grew the early stories about the supposed enchanted land. 
 
 Rumors circulated among the simple-minded mountaineers and early prospectors 
 for gold, whose imaginations were credulous and active, of an El Dorado, like that 
 marvelous laud which stirred the fancies of the early Spanish conquerors. There were 
 treasures and golden cities, trees of solid stone, splendid palaces and temples, lordly 
 castles, and glittering spires. It was believed by many superstitious frontiersmen that 
 all of the inhabitants had been punished for some mortal sin by being turned into 
 stone, and that these grim sentinels might still be seen standing as perpetual remind- 
 ers of supernatural vengeance. Strangely wrought and colored specimens, brought 
 down from these enchanted regions by some adventurous explorer, were belieA'cd to be 
 
THE YELLOWSTONE VALLEY. 
 
 151 
 
 
 
 a part of the war-implements of this 
 mysterious but doomed race. There 
 were glowing stories of diamonds and 
 gold existing iu inexhaustible quanti- 
 ties ; while rumors of burning plains, 
 smoking furnaces, boiling caldrons, 
 roaring springs of steam and hot 
 water, earthquakes and volcanoes, 
 excited the fear and awe of the red- 
 men and white hunters, alike super- 
 stitious and believing that the re- 
 gion was under the guardianship of 
 evil spirits. 
 
 When the immense tide of gold- 
 seekers poured into Montana, there 
 came a strong desire to explore this 
 mystic region, for the rumors, how- 
 ever mythical, could not be regard- 
 ed as altogether without some basis. ... i i. 
 An exploring party, under Captain 
 
 Reynolds, of the United States Army, tried to enter the Yellowstone Basin in 
 by way of the Wind Eiver ^Mountains from the south, but failed on account 
 
 1859, 
 of the 
 
153 OVR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 rugged route and the depth of the snow. In 1870 au exploring party under General 
 Washburn, escorted by Lieutenant Doane, succeeded in entering the valley, and from 
 this source came the first reliable accounts of the strange land. Then, in 1871, Pro- 
 fessor Hayden, the United States Geologist, with a party under Lieutenant Barlow, of 
 the United States Engineers, ascended the Yellowstone and traversed nearly the whole 
 region now included in the park. It was discovered by these exploring parties that, 
 wonderful as the Yellowstone region was, it was yet unfit for mining or agricultural 
 pui-poses ; so it was organized by Congress as a national pleasure-park. 
 
 The Yellowstone Lake lies near the southeasterly corner of the park, the river 
 flowing from its upper boundary and running almost due north. The lake is twenty- 
 two miles in length, and from ten to fifteen miles wide. It is seven thousand feet 
 above the sea, and its basin is surrounded by mountains reaching a height of over ten 
 thousand feet, the peaks of which are covered by perpetual snow. Along the shore of 
 the lake and of the river are found numerous hot springs. About fifteen miles from 
 its source in the lake the river takes two precipitous leaps known as the upper and 
 lower falls, and beyond cuts its way through a great caiion, the walls of which are in 
 some places fifteen hundred feet in vertical height. Near the western boundary of the 
 park, the Madison, an important tributary of the Columbia, takes its rise, and along 
 one of the branches of this river, known as Firehole River, are found extraordinary 
 geysers, some of which tln'ow volumes of boiling water two hundred feet high. In 
 the southwestern corner of the park, the Gallatin, another tributary of the Columbia, 
 has its beginning. 
 
 In our journey to visit the wonderful Yellowstone Park, let us enter from the 
 pretty and enterprising town of Bozeman, which is in the southern part of Montana 
 Territory on the borders of the reservation of the Crow Indians. The advance of 
 civilization in this region was moistened by the blood of many of the early settlers 
 and immigrants. Perhaps few portions of the far West have been more tragically 
 marked by Indian massacres. The town of Bozeman was founded in 1863 by a brave 
 adventurer of that name from the South, who led the first gold-hunting expedition to 
 the Gallatin Valley and located the town between the east and west forks of the Gal- 
 latin River. He met his fate in the usual tragedy wliich ended the careers of so 
 many of the early pioneers. A friend of his, who was obliged to go up the Yellow- 
 stone to Fort Smith on business, insisted on Bozeman accompanying him ; for it was a 
 dangerous route, and the presence of so bold an Indian fighter was a promise of 
 greater safety. Bozeman at first refused, but was at last persuaded, and on departing 
 he said to his friends that he should never return, as he appeared to have a presenti- 
 ment of his fate. The two proceeded on their perilous journey in safety for about 
 eighty miles, when one day, as they were eating their dinner, they saw a party of 
 Indians approaching, whom they supposed to be friendly. They soon discovered tlieir 
 mistake, and Bozeman's companion fled, leaving the other to fight his way out alone. 
 The gallant mountaineer, after making a desperate resistance, was overpowered and 
 put to deatli with many tortures. 
 
THE YELLOWSTONE VALLEY. 153 
 
 About two years before this, and at almost the very spot where the gallant Boze- 
 man fell, a thrilling episode occurred, which shows the dangers of that early period, 
 and illustrates the heroism so often brought out by these perils. In the spiing of 
 1866 a party of twenty persons, including two women and five children, were descend- 
 ing the Yellowstone in a boat, on their way back to civilization. They were attacked 
 by a large baud of Sioux Indians, and, after several of the party were killed, the rest 
 abandoned the boat with what they could carry and fled toward the settlements. 
 They sufEei'ed everything on their route, pinchingly cold weather, heavy snow, and 
 constant attacks from the Indians. Half clad, with but little to eat, they struggled 
 on in their terrible journey till they were almost given over to despair. Eight wretched 
 days and nights had jjassed, when several of the men proposed to abandon the women 
 and children. Our brave mountaineer started up in fierce rage at this craven proposal, 
 and swore that, though all the rest deserted the helpless ones of the party, he would 
 die with them, saying that he never could tell his wife and children that he had left 
 two poor women and their babes to perish in the wilderness. This gallant fellow 
 shamed the others into courage, and was made the leader of the troupe. By liis hero- 
 ism and watchfulness he finally guided the party into safety. Such courageous gen- 
 erosity as this has been frequent in the annals of the border, and relieves the rough- 
 ness and brutality of frontier life with noble deeds that shine like stars on a dark 
 night. 
 
 The valley which stretches along the Yellowstone for many miles from the town 
 of Bozeman is very fertile and beautiful. The climate is humid and mild, and the 
 country is eminently calculated to attract the settler. The Yellowstone, above the 
 mouth of Powder River, sweeps in long and majestic stretches, and the bosom of the 
 river is studded with hundreds of islets, many of them so rich and verdant as to look 
 like the lawn of a well-kept country-house. On the east side of the river is the res- 
 ervation of the Crow nation, embracing an area of more than six million acres, 
 abounding in ricli mineral lands, pasture-grounds, and fertile valleys. Little parties 
 of Indians may be seen nearly every mile of the route into the National Park, camped 
 out for hunting or fishing purposes, their tepees forming quite a picturesque feature 
 of the view as we ride along toward the wonderland which is before us. The Crows 
 have been friendly to the whites since 1865 — not, perhaps, because they love the pale- 
 faces any too well, but because their mortal and hereditary foes, the Sioux and Ara- 
 pahoes, have been intractably hostile to the white man. The Crows have furnished 
 more daring guides and scouts to the United States Army than any other Indian peo- 
 ple, and have always shown themselves trusty warriors in operating with their white 
 allies. 
 
 About forty miles of horseback - riding, partly up the river -bank, partly through 
 rugged, gloomy canons, after leaving the Crow agency, which is nearly opposite 
 Bozeman, brings us, weary and hungry, to tlie borders of the great National Park. 
 After a night's rest at a humble ranch, where simj)le but hearty food is served by 
 the owner of the cabin witli unbounded hospitality, we again mount our horses and 
 
154 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 press forward, and in a few hours reach the Mammoth Hot Springs, as they are gen- 
 erally known, though Professor Hayden gave them the title of the White Mountain 
 Hot Springs. Before any report had been made on this region, and Congress had set 
 it apart as a national park, two young adventurers from Bozeman, anticipating the 
 vakie of the springs as a place of resort for pleasure-seekers and invalids, had taken 
 possession of them. But any squatter-right of ownership thus obtained was, we be- 
 
 Mammoth Hot Springs. 
 
 lieve, abrogated by the action of the Government. We must be contented Tvith the 
 tent or bivouac during our stay in the Yellowstone Basin, for there are as yet no 
 accommodations for the tourist, though the time will doubtless come when large and 
 roomy caravansaries will offer their hospitable shelter and refreshment to the weary 
 traveler. 
 
 Before describing the wonderful Hot Springs, a few words concerning the Yellow- 
 
THE YELLOWSTONE VALLEY. 155 
 
 stone Basin will not be amiss. The basin proper, in which the greater number of 
 interesting scenery and wonders, which give charm to this imperial pleasure-ground, 
 occur, is inclosed within the remarkable ranges of mountains which give origin to the 
 waters of the Yellowstone south of Mount Washburn and the Grand Canon. The 
 range of which Mount Washburn is a conspicuous jieak seems to form the northern 
 wall or river, extending nearly east and west across the Yellowstone, and it is through 
 this portion of the range that the river has cut its way, forming the remarkable falls 
 and still more remarkable canon. The area of the basin is about forty miles in 
 length. A bird's-eye view of the whole basin, with the mountains surrounding it on 
 every side, without an apparent break, may be had from the summit of Mount Wash- 
 burn. The entire basin may be regarded as the vast crater of an extinct volcano. In 
 this gi'eat crater it is probable there were thousands of smaller vents, at the time 
 when volcanic action was at its highest activity, out of which lava, fragments of rock, 
 and volcanic dust were poured in enormous quantities. Hundreds of the cones of these 
 dead vents still remain, some of them rising to a height of ten or eleven thousand 
 feet above the sea-level. Mounts Doane, Langford, Stevenson, and more than a hun- 
 dred other peaks, may be seen from any high point on either side of the basin, each 
 of which was a center of volcanic action. The hot springs and geysers of the region 
 are merely the closing stages of that wonderful period of volcanic activity which must 
 have made this region once so terrible. Probably the time will come when these 
 escape-valves will cease altogether to show any action. In the case of the Iceland 
 geysers and hot springs, many of them have entirely subsided within the last three 
 hundred years. 
 
 The Mammoth Hot Springs constitute a mountain of white and yellowish deposit, 
 made from the mineral solutions contained in the immense volumes of water gurgling 
 up from scores of boiling fountains. The first impression is that of a snowy mount- 
 ain beautifully terraced, and on these terraces appear to be frozen cascades, as if 
 the foaming waves in their rapid descent down the steep declivity had been suddenly 
 arrested by the iron hand of frost. There are about sixty of these springs, of varying 
 dimensions, extending over an area of a mile square, and remains of similar springs 
 extend for miles around, and high hills of the same dcjjosit now overgrown with pine- 
 trees. The water is at the boiling-point, and contains in solution a great quantity 
 of lime, sulphur, and magnesia, which have been slowly deposited in every form and 
 shape as the water flows along in its course down the mountain-side. 
 
 On each level or terrace there is a large central spring, which is usually surrounded 
 by a basin of several feet in diameter, and the water, after pouring over the beauti- 
 fully wrought rim, forms hundreds of basins or reservoirs of every size and depth, 
 the margins being delicately indented with a finish which resembles the finest bead- 
 work. The character of the formation depends on the heat and flow of the water, 
 as well as on the nature of the mineral matter with which tlie water is charged in 
 any particular place. Where the water flows slowly, and without much heat, the 
 smaller basins and terraces are formed, one below the other, with delicate partitions 
 
156 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 
 and graceful fringes ; but, where the flow is hot and swift, the basins are deeper and 
 larger and the ornamentation coarser. The Rev. Mr. Stanley, who gave an interest- 
 ing study of the Yellowstone Valley in his book entitled "Rambles in Wonderland," 
 has the following description of these hot springs : 
 
 "Where the water flows quite rapidly, the pools are tilling up, leaving the deposit 
 in wave-like forms, just like water congealed when flowing over a cascade. Under- 
 neath the sides of many of the basins are beautifully arranged stalactites, formed by 
 the dripping of the water ; 
 and, by digging beneath the 
 surface at places where the 
 springs are inactive, the most 
 delicate and charming speci- 
 mens of every character and 
 form can be obtained — sta- 
 lactites, stalagmites, grottoes, 
 etc., all delicately arranged as 
 the water filtrates through the 
 crevices and perforations of 
 the deposit. The larger pools, 
 before the erection 
 of bathing-houses, af- 
 forded a splendid op- 
 portunity to enjoy the 
 luxury of bathing, as 
 water of any temper- 
 ature desirable could 
 be secured. The sides ' 
 
 of the mountain for 
 
 
 IMerty-Cap. 
 
THE YELLOWSTONE VALLEY. 157 
 
 hundreds of yards in extent are covered with this calcareous incrustation, formerly 
 possessing all the ornamental attractions of the springs now in action. It is a scene 
 sublime in itself to see the entire area with its numerous and terraced reservoirs, and 
 millions of delicate little urns, sparkling with water transparent as glass, and tinged 
 with many varieties of coloring, all glistening under the glare of a noonday sun. But 
 the water is constantly changing its channel, and atmospheric agencies have disfigured 
 much of the work, leaving a great portion of it only the resemblance of an old ruin. 
 
 "Every active spring or cluster of springs has its succession of little urns and reser- 
 voirs extending in various directions. The largest spring now active, situated about 
 half-way up the mountain on the outer edge of the main terrace, has a basin about 
 twenty-five by forty feet in diameter, in the center of which the water boils up 
 several inches above the surface, and is so transparent that you can, by approaching 
 the margin, look down into the heated depths many feet below the surface. The 
 sides of the cavern are ornamented with a coral-like formation of almost every variety 
 of shade, with a fine, silky substance, much like moss, of a bright vegetable green, 
 spread over it thinly, which, with a slight ebullition of the water keeping it in 
 constant motion, and the blue sky reflected in the transparent depths, gives it an 
 enchanting beauty far beyond the skill of the finest artist. Here all the hues of the 
 rainbow are seen and arranged so gorgeously that, with other strange views by which 
 one is .surrounded, you almost imagine yourself in some fairy region, the wonders of 
 which baffle all attempts of pen or pencil to portray them. 
 
 " Besides the elegant sculpturing of this deposit, imagine, if you can, the wonder- 
 ful variety of delicate and artistically arranged colors with which it is adorned. The 
 mineral-charged fluid lays down pavements here and there of all the shades of red, 
 from bright scarlet to rose-tint, beautiful layers of bright sulphur-yellow, interspersed 
 with tints of green — all elaborately arranged in Nature's own order. Viewed from 
 the Tower Creek trail, which passes at the base, this section of the mountain has a 
 very architectural appearance." 
 
 Just below the base of the principal terrace there is a large area covered with 
 shallow pools, some of them containing water with all the ornamentations perfect, 
 while others are fast going to decay, the decomposed sediment being as white as 
 snow. Here we also find a remarkable cone about fifty feet in height and twenty in 
 diameter, which is known as the "Liberty-Cap." This is probably the remains of an 
 extinct geyser. The water seems to have been forced up with considerable power, and 
 without I'est, building up its own crater itntil the pressure beneath was exhausted, and 
 then it gradually closed itself over at the summit and perished. No water flows from 
 it now, and the layers of lime look like the layers of straw on a thatched roof. 
 
 As we continue up the mountain among the remains of dead springs we are 
 obliged to wade through beds of magnesia as fine as flour, and find places where 
 pure pulverized sulphur can be had by the cart-load. The mountain-side abounds in 
 fissures caused by the settling of the deposit, forcing the springs often to change 
 their channels. Then, again, we ,see mounds with deep cracks cleaving their sides. 
 
158 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Mud Sprittys. 
 
 within wliicli gleam delicate sulpliur-erystals, formed by the steam and gases emitted 
 from the boiling caldrons below. 
 
 Certain parts of the mountain abound in caverns once the scene of boiling lakes. 
 One of these, called "The Devil's Kitchen," has been partly explored; but the curious 
 traveler is quickly repelled by the cloud of warm, sickening steam that poiirs out, 
 and perhaps warned by the skeleton of a deer or an elk which had gone too near, 
 and, blinded and suffocated by the exhalations, died on the verge of the seething water. 
 
THE YELLOWSTONE VALLEY. 159 
 
 As we near these wonderful boiling springs, there is a natural hesitation about 
 approaching too close to the edge, but, finding the crust solid, one gets bolder, and 
 ventures to stand right over the steaming caldrons. There have been a few cases of 
 venturous visitors falling through into the hissing water, with results too horrible to 
 mention, but such accidents are soon forgotten. The various stalactites and other 
 interesting mineral forms found about the little reservoirs, and in the caves and 
 fissures, make fine cabinet specimens, and many place little baskets and picture-frames 
 in the water, where shortly they become beautifully incrusted witli sparkling vari- 
 colored crystals. 
 
 A ride of about twenty miles southeast from the Mammoth Hot Springs, through 
 towering mountains cut by deep gulches and canons, brings us to the famous Mud 
 Springs, whicli are not less curious than those just described. These are scattered 
 along on both sides of the river, extending on the hill-sides from fifty to two hun- 
 dred feet above. The first one we notice has a circular rim about four feet high, 
 within the basin of which boils up liquid mud. The diameter is about eight feet, 
 and the mud so fine that it might be compared to a huge pot of hot mush. The 
 escaping gas constantly throws up the mud, sometimes to the height of twenty feet. 
 Another of these basins, not far away, is forty feet in diameter, the water just turbid 
 and boiling moderately. Into it flow several small springs, thus lessening the heat. 
 In the reservoirs where the waters boil up with considerable force, the temperature is 
 only ninety-six degrees, showing the bubbling to be due to the escape of gas, for the 
 bubbles stand all over the thick, whitish water. In some of the smaller mud springs 
 the heat rises to the temperature of one hundred and eighty-two degrees. The mud 
 which has been wrought in these caldrons for hundreds of years is so fine and pure 
 that the maker of porcelain-ware would go into ecstasies at the sight. Often it is of 
 such snowy whiteness as to resemble, when dried, the finest meerschaum. The color 
 of the mud depends on the character of the ground through which the waters of the 
 spring reach the surface. Originally the springs were clear, perhaps geysers or spout- 
 ing fountains ; but the continual caving-in of the sides has finally produced a mud- 
 pot, just the same on a big scale as we see in a kettle of hasty-pudding. At first 
 clear and hot, the water becomes turbid from the mingling of the earth with it, 
 until at last it attains the character of thick mush, through which the gas bursts 
 with a dull, thud-like noise. Every variation is found, from a sort of milky thickness 
 to a stiff mortar. On the eastern bank of the Yellowstone are also seen several mud- 
 springs strongly charged with alum and sulphur. 
 
 Not far from these mud-springs is quite a remarkable siilphur-mountain and a 
 mud-volcano. Lieutenant Barlow gives the following description of these in his report 
 to the Government : 
 
 " Toward the western verge of a prairie several miles in extent, above the Yellow- 
 stone Falls, a hill of white rock was discovered, which on investigation proved to be 
 another of the 'soda mountains,' as the hunters call them. Approaching nearer, I 
 saw jets of steam and smoke issuing from the face of the hill, while its other side 
 
160 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 was hollowed out into a sort of amphitheatre, whose sides were steaming with sulphur- 
 fumes, the ground hot and parched with internal fires ; acre after acre of this hot 
 volcanic surface lay before me, having numerous cracks and small apertures, at inter- 
 vals of a few feet, whence were expelled, sometimes in steady, continuous streams, 
 sometimes in puffs like those of an engine, jets of vapor, more or less impregnated 
 with mineral substances. I ascended the hill, leaving my horse below, fearing that 
 he. might break through the thin rock-crust, which in many places gave way beneath 
 the tread, revealing caverns of pure crystallized sulphur, from which hot fumes were 
 sure to issue. The crystals were very fine, but too frail to transport without the 
 greatest care. A large boiling spring emitting fumes of sulphur and sulphuretted 
 hydrogen, not at all agreeable, was also found. The water from this spring, over- 
 running its basin, trickled down the hill-side, leaving a highly colored trace in the 
 chalky rock. Upon the opposite side were found a great number of larger springs. 
 One, from its size, and the power it displayed in throwing water to a height of sev- 
 eral feet above the surface, was worthy of notice. Near this was a spring having 
 regular pulsations, like a powerful engine, giving off large quantities of steam, which 
 would issue forth with the roar of a hurricane. This was in reality a steam volcano ; 
 deep vibrations in the subterranean caverns extending far away beneath the hill could 
 be distinctly heard. 
 
 " The country from this point to the mud volcano, a few miles above, was mostly 
 rolling prairie, intersected with several streams flowing into the river, some of them 
 having wide estuaries and adjacent swampy flats covered with thick marsh - grass. 
 Ducks were usually found in these sluggish streams, as well as in the little lakes so 
 numerous throughout the whole region. We camped on the bank of the river in the 
 immediate vicinity of the mud geyser. This being the first specimen of the true 
 geysers yet seen, it was examined with great curiosity. The central point of interest, 
 however, is the mud volcano, which has broken out from the side of a well-timbered 
 hill. The crater is twenty-five feet across at the top, gradually sloping inward to the 
 bottom, where it becomes about half this diameter. Its depth is about thirty feet. 
 The deposit is gray mud, and has been thrown up by the action of the volcano at no 
 very distant period. The rim of the ci'ater on the down-hill side is some ten feet in 
 height, and trees, fifty feet high and a hundred feet distant, are loaded with mud 
 from this volcano. The surface of the bottom is in a constant state of ebullition, 
 puffing and throwing up masses of solid mud and sending forth dense columns of 
 steam several hundred feet above the surrounding forests. This vapor can be seen 
 for many miles in all directions. Some four hundred yards from this crater are 
 three large hot springs of muddy water, one of which proved to be a geyser, having 
 periods of active eruption about every six hours. The phenomena attending these 
 eruptions are as follows : Soon after the violent period passes, the water in the pool 
 gradually subsides through the orifice in the center, the surface falling several feet, 
 the water almost entirely disappearing from sight. It then gradually rises again till 
 the former level is reached, during which occasional ebullitions of greater or less 
 
 1 
 
THE YELLOWSTONE VALLEY 
 
 161 
 
 magnitude occur. Great agitation then ensues ; pulsations of a regular interval of 
 a few seconds occur, at each of which the water in the crater is elevated higher 
 and higher, until finally, after ten minutes, a column is forced up to the height of 
 thirty or forty feet. Dur- 
 ing tliis period waves dash 
 against the side of the ba- 
 sin, vast clouds of steam 
 escape, and a noise like 
 the rumbling of an earth- 
 quake takes place. Sud- 
 denly, after about fifteen 
 minutes of this commo- 
 tion, the waves recede, 
 quiet is restored, the wa- 
 ters sink gradually to their 
 lowest limit, from which 
 they soon rise again and 
 repeat the same opera- 
 tion." 
 
 By riding up the riv- 
 er a few miles from this 
 point we reach the falls 
 and the Grand Canon of 
 the Yellowstone, which are 
 among the most wonder- 
 ful features of a wonder- 
 ful region. Not far from 
 the falls rises Mount Wash- 
 burn, a majestic mountain 
 which lifts itself to the 
 height of 10,480 feet, the 
 summit of which may be 
 reached on horseback with- 
 out much difficulty. The 
 prospect from the summit, 
 is grand, as it includes the 
 very crown of the conti- 
 nent, where the great riv- 
 ers, the Columbia, the Co- 
 lorado, and the Missouri, in small streams plunge down rocky defiles to the fertile val- 
 leys below, increasing in volume as they flow toward every point of the compass. To 
 
 the south and west mav be seen tlie summits of the Rocky Mountains, the great 
 11 
 
 Grand Canon of the I'eUowstone. 
 
162 
 
 OVR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 divide of the continent. Still farther to the south are the Three Tetons, rearing their 
 cloud-capped peaks far above their surroundings. To the west and northwest are the 
 Gallatin and Madison ranges, their tops seeming to m«lt away in the dim distance into 
 the very clouds. To the northward spread before us is the wonderful Yellowstone 
 Valley, with its thousands of boiling springs. On the eastward boundary of one's 
 vision may be seen the Snowy range, extending far southward to Emigrant Peak east 
 
 of the Yellowstone, mark- 
 ing the divide between that 
 stream and the Rosebud and 
 Big Horn. All around is a 
 chaotic mass of peaks, re- 
 minding one of leaning tow- 
 ers, pyramids, castles, and 
 here and there showing the 
 perfect profile of a human 
 face. To the south is the ba- 
 sin of the upper Yellowstone, 
 once the seat of a great in- 
 land sea ; then, again, the cen- 
 ter of volcanic powers, prob- 
 ably almost unrivaled in the 
 physical history of the globe ; 
 now the scene of mud - vol- 
 canoes, boiling springs, and 
 spouting geysers, which send 
 on high their pillars of steam. 
 In the southeastern portion of 
 the horizon lies Yellowstone 
 Lake, whose mirror-like sur- 
 face gleams like liquid silver 
 in the sunlight. Rising be- 
 yond the lake are the Wind 
 River Mountains, whose sum- 
 mits form the divide between 
 the Y'ellowstone and Wind 
 Rivers, the tops mantled with 
 glittering glaciers which human foot has never trod, and whicli the Indians consider 
 "the crest of the world." 
 
 According to the legend of the Blackfeet Indians, the red warrior may look from 
 these snow-crowned heights over into the happy hunting-grounds, with its enchanting 
 lakes and rivers, its delightful landscapes, balmy breezes, and cloudless skies, the 
 abode of the happy spirits, who chase for ever the antelope, elk, and buffalo — a land 
 
 Upper Fall* of the Tellowstoiie. 
 
THE YELLOWSTONE VALLEY. 163 
 
 where the intruding white man may not come. At our very feet toward the east 
 may be traced the outlines of the Grand Cailon, extending twenty miles down the 
 river from the falls. Great pine-forests stretch away in every direction as far as the 
 eye can reach, mantling the table-lands and undulating hills with rich green. Such 
 a magnificent outlook repays well, indeed, the toils of a not very difficult ascent. 
 
 A ride of ten miles from our camping-ground at the base of Mount Washburn, 
 following a zigzag track through fallen timber and dense pine-forests, brings us to 
 the head of the Grand Cafion of the Yellowstone. As we approach, the mighty roar 
 of the falls warns us that we are near, and we soon emerge from the last fringe of 
 woods and stand on the brink of the great chasm silent with astonishment. The Grand 
 Cailon is a ravine from one to two thousand feet deep, into which the river pours 
 over a precipice, making what is called the Upper Falls. The stream, after flowing 
 through a beautiful, meadow-like valley, and windmg along the shade of a charming 
 woodland with a current so clear that the swimming fish may be seen, is suddenly 
 compressed to one hundred and fifty feet in width, and dashes over a wall one hun- 
 dred and forty feet high. A quarter of a mile below it is again narrowed between 
 two walls, and makes the prodigious leap of three hundred and fifty feet into the 
 boiling abyss beneath, thus having a perpendicular fall of five hundred feet within a 
 few hundred yards. Far down the gloomy cafion the stream is narrowed, till it seems 
 a mere green ribbon dashing with arrow-like swiftness down rapids, spinning around 
 jutting rocks, and wasting its strength in boiling waves against the massive walls that 
 tower above them. From the gloomy depths of the canon the river finally emerges 
 at the mouth of Tower Creek, many miles below. 
 
 The two great water-falls have crept backward, gradually eating their way through 
 the lavas and leaving below them the ravine of the Grand Cafion. The weather has 
 acted on the sides of the gorge, scooping and carving them into a series of bastions 
 and sloping recesses, the dark forest above sweeping down .to the very brink on both 
 sides. Mr. Archibald Geikie, a well-known English scientist, gives us the following 
 impressions of the canon as seen in a recent visit : 
 
 "We spent a long day sketching and wandering by the side of the canon. Scram- 
 bling to the edge of one of the bastions and looking down, we could see the river far 
 below, dwarfed to a mere silver thread. From this abyss the crags and slopes towered 
 up in endless variety of form, and with the weirdest mingling of colors. Much of the 
 rock, especially of the more crumbling slopes, was of a pale sulphur-yello,w. Through 
 this groundwork harder masses of dull scarlet, merging into purple and crimson, rose 
 into craggy knobs and pinnacles, or shot up in sheer vertical walls. In the sunlight 
 of the morning the place is a blaze of strange color, such as one can hardly see any- 
 where save in the crater of an active volcano. But as the day wanes, the shades of 
 evening sinking gently into the depths blend their livid tints into a strange, mysteri- 
 ous gloom, through which one can still see the white gleam of the rushing river and 
 hear the distant murmur of its flow. Now is the time to see the full majesty of the 
 cafion. Perched on an outstanding crag one can look down the ravine and mark 
 
164 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 headland behind headland mounting out of the gathering shadows and catching up on 
 their scarred fronts of yellow and red the mellower tints of the sinking sun. And 
 above all lie the dark folds of jjine sweeping along the crests of the precipices, which 
 they crown with a rim of somber green. There are gorges of far more imposing 
 
 magnitude in the Colorado Basin, but for dimensions large enough to be profoundly 
 striking, yet not too vast to be taken in by the eye at once, for infinite changes of 
 picturesque detail, and for brilliancy and endless variety of coloring, there are prob- 
 ably few scenes in the world more impressive than the Grand Cation of the Yellow- 
 stone. Such at least were the feelings with which we reluctantly left it to resume 
 our journey.'' 
 
 The Upper Falls, though not so high, yet being nearer the world of sunlight, get 
 the play and flash of brightness on their waters, and for this reason have a pictur- 
 esque beauty peculiarly their own. Part way down tlieir lea)) the volume strikes a sort 
 
THE YELLOWSTONE VALLEY. 
 
 165 
 
 of bench, which breaks the mass into jets and showers of foam. The clouds of spray 
 glitter with crystal beauty, and enchanting rainbows arch the ascending mist. One 
 can easily descend to the foot of the precipice, and, though he will be drenched with 
 spray, there is such charm of color, form, and movement in the vision, that he is 
 loath to dejiart. The grass 
 and small shrubs grow jjro- 
 fusely wherever the mist is 
 scattered, and the deej) em- 
 erald hue makes a charm- 
 ing contrast to the glaring 
 white of the falls and the 
 somber look of the cafion- 
 walls. 
 
 But the Lower Falls, 
 owing to their great height 
 and the imposing surround- 
 ings, make the center of at- 
 traction. Here the canon 
 lifts its walls fully two thou- 
 sand feet above the bed of 
 the stream, the sides being 
 carved into the most weird 
 and grotesque forms, as well 
 as into architectural shapes 
 of great regularity, all ar- 
 rayed in the most varied col- 
 ors. The fall at first sight 
 does not look so high as one 
 expects, owing to the mass- 
 iveness of the canon, but its 
 grandeur grows rapidly on 
 the mind. It presents the 
 appearance of a symmetrical 
 and unbroken sheet of snow- 
 like foam, or silver tapes- 
 try suspended from the vast 
 pillars above, set in dark 
 masses of rock, on either 
 
 side forming a beautiful background, and disappearing in a cloud of ascending spray 
 which is tinged with mellow sunlight and colored with brilliant rainbows. Says Mr. 
 Langford, one of the first explorers : " A grander scene than the lower cataract of 
 the Yellowstone was never witnessed by mortal eyes. The volume seemed to be 
 
 
 Lower Falls of the Yelloivstone. 
 
1G6 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 adapted to the harmonies of the surrounding scenery. Had it been greater or smaller, 
 it would have been less impressive. The river, from a width of two hundred feet 
 above the fall, is compressed by converging rocks to one hundred and fifty feet where 
 it takes the plunge. The shelf over which it falls is as level as a work of art. The 
 height by actual line-measurement is three hundred and fifty feet. It is a sheer, com- 
 pact, solid, perpendicular sheet, faultless in all the elements of picturesque beauty." 
 The rocks on either side are beautifully decorated with vegetation and many-tinted 
 mosses, and on one side, overshadowed by the pine-crested wall, may be seen a bank 
 of snow which never melts. The volume and swiftness of the liquid mass in this 
 dizzy plunge cause the water to rebound for a considerable distance in the air. It is 
 thus dashed against the caflon-walls and churned into a perfect white whirlpool of 
 boiling foam. Perhaps we get a more vivid notion of tlie great force of this cat- 
 aract by watching it from below, to which it is possible, l)ut not easy, to scramble at 
 some peril of life and limb. 
 
 The view here is of the most impressive kind. The river, so small from above, 
 has become a madly raging torrent, lashed into foaming waves, while the stately pines 
 at the top of the wall appear dwarfed into little shrubs. We appear to be in a cham- 
 ber so vast as to stun and daze the fancy, the great walls of the gorge seeming to be 
 a fatal prison. The sides of them, delicately carved and painted with the richest 
 colors, are arched over by the blue sky, and the sunlight warms the upper part of 
 the picture with a mellow brightness that relieves the utter grimness of the gloomy 
 depths where we stand. The roar of the cataract echoes through the canon-walls, 
 mingling with that of the torrent below, while, above and beyond all, the eye and 
 imagination are fascinated by that immense solid sheet of foaming white which pours 
 down in unchanging volume in that astonishing leap of three hundred and fifty feet. 
 The spectacle is alike awful and beautiful, and calculated to stir in the mind of 
 every spectator feelings of astonishment and delight. 
 
 At the lower mouth of the Grand CaQon there is another deep and gloomy caflon 
 running into it laterally, which is known as "The Devil's Den." Through this flows 
 Tower Creek for about ten miles, emptying itself thi'ough this great defile into the 
 Yellowstone River. About two hundred yards before it empties its waters into the 
 main stream it leaps over an abrupt descent of one hundred and fifty-six feet, making 
 a most picturesque fall, though it excites but little amazement after having just seen 
 a grander example of Nature's handiwork. This is called Tower Falls. The softer 
 rocks on the sides of the canon have been worn away, leaving columns of volcanic 
 breccia of every size and form, from ten to fifty feet in height. They stand like old 
 castles and towers, or send up thin, slender forms, like church-domes, or the spiral 
 minarets of Moslem temples. One characteristic of all these caflons is the great 
 variety of color on the rock-walls, all the shades of red, brown, yellow, and green, 
 uniting with the numerous fantastic shapes to impress tlie imagination and charm 
 the eye. 
 
 Starting from camj) just below the upper falls of the Yellowstone, a ride west- 
 
 I 
 
THE YELLOWSTONE VALLEY. 167 
 
 ward carries us over the beautifiil prairie, matted with grass and spangled with flowers, 
 which for the most part fills the region between the Yellowstone and the Madison 
 Rivers. Mountains in the distance clad with somber pine-forests fringe the borders of 
 the prairie-park, and the air is touched with a delicious coolness from blowing over 
 the long stretch of snowy peaks. All along the route may be seen here and there 
 a hot spring, and the rich green of the verdure contrasts startlingly with the hard 
 and iron-looking crust which surrounds these seething little fountains. About a day's 
 travel — perhaijs forty miles — brings us to the verge of the most curious volcanic 
 exhibitions of the Yellowstone Valley, the famous geysers. The latter part of the 
 journey has been down steep mountain-sides and through almost impenetrable forests, 
 but the expectation of soon reaching a most interesting display of Nature's powers 
 dispels all fatigue, and keeps the mind keenly alert. Suddenly we find ourselves in 
 the Lower Geyser Basin, situated on the Firehole River, the principal branch of the 
 Madison. Hei"e is an open space of several square miles in the thick forest, which 
 grows along the foot of the neighboring hills, containing a great niimber of hot 
 springs, surrounded by all sorts of fantastic forms — lakes of hot water, genuine gey- 
 sers, and manifold curiosities — all the result of internal heat seeking an oiitlet. While 
 the springs here are much more numerous, they do not attain the grand proportions 
 of those of the Upper Geyser Basin, though a few of them throw water to the height 
 of fifty feet. Continuing our journey southward uj) the Firehole River, we arrive at 
 the Upper Geyser Basin, which, for most tourists, is the great center of attraction in 
 the National Park. 
 
 Let our readers fancy a clearing in a dense forest, where the trees have evidently 
 been destroyed by volcanic agencies, for numerous trunks and tree-branches are found 
 imbedded in the deposit around the geysers and springs, and indeed all over the basin. 
 The portion containing the principal geysers extends up and down the river about a 
 mile, with a width of from a quarter to a half mile, interspersed with scattered pine- 
 trees and little groves. The basin is covered with a whitish crust, ordinarily hard 
 enough to hold the weight of a horse, though here and thei'e are found boggy, treach- 
 erous places. Around the geysers and principal springs are various mineral deposits, 
 shaped into all conceivable forms — cones, pyramids, castles, grottoes, etc. Steam- 
 vents, from half an inch to five feet in diameter, everywhere perforate the surface, and 
 pour forth clouds from their thousand orifices, while caldrons of boiling water seethe 
 and roar all around. The bright sunlight pouring down on the steam-clouds trans- 
 figures them into the richest colors, making a picture to delight the eye of the painter. 
 The first geyser which attracts our attention is called the " Old Faithful," from the 
 regular intervals with which the water spouts. This geyser stands as a sentinel on an 
 eminence near the head of the basin, and on the west side of the river. The grand 
 display of subterranean water-works is as regular as the running of clock-work. The 
 crater of this geyser is about thirty feet above the common level, with a huge spout 
 projecting five or six feet higher, in the shape of a chimney. As we approach this 
 little steam-volcano, there are a sudden rumbling and ([uaking of the earth under the 
 
1(J8 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 'J,.u-ir Falh. 
 
 feet, followed by a rush of 
 steam and water from the cra- 
 ter, and in an instant there is 
 a grand eruption, a huge vol- 
 ume of clear hot water hurled 
 into the air about a hundred 
 and fifty feet high, while dense 
 clouds of steam rise up hun- 
 dreds of feet and slowly roll 
 away into the sky above. So 
 great is the force beneath which 
 impels the mighty steam - jet, 
 that the lofty fountain remains 
 undisturbed for several mo- 
 ments, only rocked to and fro 
 by the light breezes, while the 
 water pours down on all sides 
 and floods the slopes of the 
 mound. The spectacle is one 
 which fills the beholder with 
 amazement and pleasure, hard- 
 ly to be realized from mere de- 
 scription. The immense mass 
 of liquid ejected from the wa- 
 ter-volcano forms a perfect apex 
 at the top, and, having spent 
 its energy, descends on the out- 
 side of the ascending pillar, 
 giving it, when the wind drives 
 away the steam, the aspect of a 
 sugar-loaf. The sparkling wa- 
 ter-column, churned into foam 
 by its own force, and breaking 
 into millions of bright drops, 
 glittering in the sunlight, is a 
 spectacle of marvelous beauty. 
 The water frequently rises in 
 successive jets, each a little 
 higher than the preceding, as if 
 the force beneath were guided 
 by an intelligent will letting 
 on the power by degrees. Aft- 
 
THE YELLOWSTONE VALLEY. 
 
 169 
 
 er it has maintained its greatest altitude for a few moments, it descends in the same 
 way, till the power is spent. When the spouting monster becomes quiescent we ap- 
 proach tlie brink or orifice and gaze down its throat, and there, many feet below, one 
 hears the water fiercely gurgling and collecting its energies for another outburst. 
 
 Around the crater the deposit is incrusted, of metallic, grayish sand. The sides of 
 the mound are chiseled into Tariously shaped urns and basins in successive terraces, 
 like those of the Mammoth Hot Springs, all these reservoirs being full of clear water. 
 The borders of these water-bowls are exquisitely wrought, as if witli beads of pearl of 
 various tints. In some of them are to be seen in the water little stems surmounted 
 by caps, reminding the looker-on of vegetable growths like mushrooms or curiously 
 shaped flowers. Then, again, we see stalagmites and coral-like forms of every tint and 
 
 The Gi'eat Geyser Basin. 
 
 texture. Tliese delicate forms grow amid a cloud of water and spray, and their 
 colors are as bright and tlie lines as finely wrought as those of a butterfly's plumage, 
 though the material is so liard that it requires the blow of a hatchet to get a speci- 
 men. So beautiful and variegated in form and tint are they, that one might almost 
 fancy himself in fairy-land. 
 
 Leaving this geyser and crossing the river on a fallen tree, we find, about three 
 luindred yards distant, down the stream, a little cone perfectly symmetrical in form 
 some three feet high and four feet in diameter at the top, with a base of nearly 
 double the size. The aperture of eruption is eighteen inches, and its edges prettily 
 beaded. This is the Bee-hive Geyser, so named from the suggestion of its shape. 
 Though it acts only once in three or four days, the great beauty of its eruption makes 
 
170 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 it celebrated with visitors. The column of water aud steam ascends to an altitude of 
 two hundred feet in a perfectly graceful form, without any jerk or intermission,, and 
 continues in action tor fifteen minutes, during which the spectator has ample time to 
 study its beauties. 
 
 On the same side of the river, but about two hundred yards to the eastward, 
 on the summit of a little knoll, is the Giantess, which is one of the most magnificent 
 geysers in the basin, iu action, though very capricious in its times of display. The 
 orifice is about twenty-five feet in diameter at the surface, and filled to the brim with 
 water, which ordinarily remains just below boiling-heat. The casual observer would 
 think it merely a large mineral spring, did he not observe the huge channels carved 
 out of the slope by the descending torrents of hot water which have been hurled high 
 into the air. The geyser looks quiet and untroubled, and there is nothing to indicate 
 the terrible activity which it is able to assume so promptly. 
 
 An hour or two later all is changed. Repeated detonations, like claps of thunder, 
 shake the ground, and the roar finally becomes as regular as cannonading on the bat- 
 tle-field. The trembling of the earth and the crash of sound fill the unaccustomed 
 ear with terror, as if some great catastrophe were about to occur. There are a rum- 
 bling and rushing of water to and fro iu the deep reservoir, and a hissing as of the 
 escape of steam from powerful engine-valves. On approaching the geyser close to the 
 brink, we find the hitherto full pool emptied to the depth of fifty feet, and the water 
 heaving with a terrible convulsion, throwing occasional jets of water out of the crater. 
 The water, perhaps, recedes finally entirely from view, and the gloomy, grim, dark 
 walls are seen to their full depth. If a great eruption is about to occur, the water fills 
 the huge reservoir again with great rapidity to within a few feet of the surface ; there 
 is a fearful concussion that shakes the ground more violently than ever; immense clouds 
 of steam rise five hundred feet high, and the whole body of water, about twenty-five 
 feet in diameter, ascends in a column to the height of ninety feet. From the apex 
 five great jets shoot up, radiating outwardly from each other, to the astonishing height 
 of two hundred and fifty feet. The earth trembles with the descending deluge, and 
 a hissing as of innumerable serpents fills the air, while brilliant rainbows dance high 
 up on the ([uivering summits of the jets. The sides of the declivity are channeled by 
 the falling streams, and the steaming flood pours down the slope into the river. 
 After twenty minutes of this splendid exhibition the eruption subsides almost in- 
 stantly, the water lowers in the crater, and all is qiiiet again, as it was, a placid 
 pool instead of a fountain of boiling wrath and terror. All around this grand geyser 
 are small springs and caldrons, crowning little knolls, and nuiny of them spouting 
 little jets, like children emulating the examples of their elders. 
 
 By- crossing Firehole River again to the west side, and going a short distance 
 down the stream, we observe on the borders of a little grove an object somewhat like 
 the ruins of an old castle. This, in fact, is known as Castle Geyser, and consists of a 
 mound several feet high, crowned with a chimney-sliaped crater of ten feet in jieight 
 and perhaps eight feet in diameter. Ascending by regular steps, we come to the 
 
 \ 
 
THE YELLOWSTONE VALLEY. 
 
 171 
 
 orifice, which is three feet wide, and surrounded by globular masses, which look not 
 unlike coral. This geyser often sends up water to a height of twenty or thirty feet, 
 sometimes, indeed, rising to the elevation of fifty feet, and continuing in action for 
 several hours. It is be- 
 lieved that this geyser was 
 in its day one of the grand- 
 est of all, but it is now in 
 its decadence, though still 
 at times giving fine exhibi- 
 tions of spasmodic power. 
 The Grand Geyser is on 
 the east side of the river, 
 about an eighth of a mile 
 from the foregoing one, 
 and, unlike most of its 
 brethren, has no raised 
 cone, but only a funnel- 
 shaped basin sinking be- 
 low the level, and some 
 forty feet in diameter. 
 The water is very quiet 
 when not spouting, and 
 one would hardly suppose 
 that this, and not an ad- 
 joining one, called the Tur- 
 ban, which is continually 
 sputtering, was a gi-and ex- 
 hibition of Nature's pow- 
 er. But such, indeed, is 
 the case. The same spring 
 suddenly wakes to' terrible 
 energy, and its babbling 
 neighbor is reduced to si- 
 lence and insignificance. 
 It ejects a column of wa- 
 ter the size of its aperture 
 into the air to a height 
 of two hundred feet, with 
 
 dense clouds of steam, while the internal roarings seem to shake the earth to its cen- 
 ter. It spouts at intervals of twenty-four hours, and its action lasts fifteen or twenty 
 minutes. A traveler who was fortunate enough to see this geyser in action — for it 
 spouts at very irregular intervals — thus describes it : 
 
 'The Lrliintegs. 
 
172 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 " At daylight on the morning after our arrival I was aroused from a refreshing 
 slumber by fe;>rful subterranean reports, as regular as pulse-beats, just as though an 
 enormous hammer was being hurled witli wonderful force against the very foundation 
 
 of the earth immediately 
 
 — ^»=— "- ;— - beneath us ; and, giiided 
 
 ^^^g^_- ^^^^^^teii, by the noise, I arrived just 
 
 jfljl (J \ in time to see the geyser 
 
 in action. The basin was 
 i nearly full of water, agitat- 
 
 ed by the escape of dense 
 ^ masses of steam, when, all 
 ; at once, with another re- 
 yfiK , ^^ - port as if from the engi- 
 
 ■ - J^=^ ' W, neer below giving the sig- 
 
 nal to commence, and with 
 but little effort, a column 
 of water gracefully rose to 
 the height of nearly one 
 hundred and fifty feet, 
 and was kept in position 
 at that altitude for sev- 
 eral minutes, the descend- 
 ^ ing masses flowing away 
 in a large stream, and the 
 immense volumes of steam 
 ; lingering around, mantling 
 -? the beautiful fountain and 
 thus depriving us of a good 
 view. The column at first, 
 however, arose above the 
 " steam, and, after its force 
 was spent, retired within 
 i the funnel out of sight. It 
 »»fcir# I -yjrjjg j-^0^ Qjjg of ],pi. grand- 
 est efforts, but sufficient 
 — ' to give the spectator some 
 idea of its glory." 
 
 Not far from this spout- 
 ing fountain is an industrious geyser known as the Sawmill, which is in action at least 
 half the time, and the manoeuvres it performs are not a little comical. Tlie orifice is 
 only six inches, surrounded by a shallow basin twenty feet in diameter. Wlien in 
 action the basin brims over, and tlie steam, puffing up through the aperture, makes 
 
 The G-iaiit Geyser. 
 
THE YELLOWSTONE VALLEY. 173 
 
 a noise like steam escaping from the pipe of a saw-mill. It raises a large body of 
 water several feet, and tlien successive columns of steam raise it higher, till it reaches 
 twentj'-five feet, when it descends in a shower of crystalline spray. 
 
 Everywhere in this basin are springs, geysers, and small apertures, through which 
 jets of steam pour into the air. At times these steam-holes, as they may be called, 
 are inactive, and then there is no special mark of their function. Amusing stories 
 are told of incautious travelers sitting down on the ground in the shadow of some 
 friendly tree, and thinking themselves very comfortable till these subterranean steam- 
 pipes begin to play. Suddenly the weary tourist Jumps into the air as if a yellow- 
 jacket had stung him, and rubs the seat of his trousers. 
 
 Following the river down on the east side we pass numerous cones, hot and cold 
 springs, till we come to the Riverside Geyser, with an oddly formed crater. This is 
 almost constantly in action, but of moderate pretensions in the height of its column. 
 Not far away from here the trimly shaped crater of the Comet attracts the eye, a name 
 given from the appearance of the crater when in action. At the lower extremity of 
 the Upper Basin is the Fan tail Geyser, one of the most interesting spouters of the 
 region. Its working machinery is quite complicated, as it has five distinct orifices, 
 which send up as many jets of water and steam, sometimes to the height of a hun- 
 dred feet, which ascend and descend in such a fashion as to suggest the outlines of 
 a fluttering feather fan. It spreads its watery plumes three or four times a day, and 
 makes a display so fine as to be an object of great enthusiasm to the majority of 
 visitors. — 
 
 Let us recross the river once more and pursue our course up the west bank, a 
 short distance of a hundred yards, till we come to a cluster of springs, at one side 
 of which, on a bed of fine white sand, stands a gi'otesque mound about twenty feet 
 above the general level. This is the crater of the Grotto Geyser, noted chiefly for the 
 curious and irregularly shaped walls surrounding the orifice, and their beautiful effects 
 of form and color. The deposit is formed into pillars, arches, and walls, with projec- 
 tions and turrets so quaintly jumbled together as almost to defy description. One 
 might easily crawl through many of the openings in the sides of the walls when they 
 have sufficiently cooled after an eruption. This geyser throws up a great volume of 
 water three or four times a day to the height of sixty feet, and would be an object 
 of much interest were it not so near the Giant Geyser, which is only two hundred 
 yards away. 
 
 The latter geyser makes all its wonderful brethren commonplace, and is without 
 (piestion the most gigantic boiling fountain in the world, a phenomenon so grand as 
 in itself to make a trip to the Yellowstone Basin well worth the while. This mar- 
 vel is one of a group of three orifices, or craters, all in a row and in close proximity, 
 together with a small vent, a little way off, which continually emits jets of steam like 
 the discharge from the escape-pipe of an engine. They are grouped on a slight eleva- 
 tion about a hundred yards in diameter. The Giant, of course, is the great center of 
 interest and curiosity, and looks like the base of a broken horn, or it may be com- 
 
174 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 pared to the stump of some great hollow tree, the top of which had been broken off 
 by the sweep of a tornado. This huge stone stump projects about twelve feet above 
 the jjlatform, with a diameter of eight or ten feet at the top. Some unusually violent 
 eruption has torn away part of one side, while at the base irregular swellings and 
 ridges resemble the roots of an oak. As we clamber up the side and look down into 
 the vent, we see dark stains and protuberances, and hear the raging tumult of the 
 water and steam far down in their subterranean depths. 
 
 All the orifices are connected below, and belong to the same system. The continual 
 internal throbbings make one think of the firemen of the infernal regions engaged in 
 shoveling in fuel and getting ready for a display. Suddenly, as we watch with anx- 
 ious eyes, the little steam-jet, which is generally puffing, ceases its action, and the 
 geyser nearest begins to throw out great volumes of water to an altitude of some 
 thirty feet. It plays a few moments, and gives way to the next, which spouts bravely 
 for a short while. These are the heralds of the mightier force gathering its resources 
 for action. For a moment all is still, and then, with a rumbling and roaring as of 
 thunder, the Giant begins its work. The earth seems to groan, and the power to be 
 sufficient to tear the solid walls of the crater into a thousand atoms. 
 
 A volume of boiling water, of the size of the nozzle of the crater — that is to say, 
 of a diameter of about ten feet— is suddenly hurled to a great height, the action being 
 repeated several times. Then for a moment all is quiet again. But now it begins in 
 earnest, and the fountains of the subterranean depths seem to be broken uj) and 
 turned loose on the world. A steady column of water, graceful, majestic, and upright 
 as a pine-tree, except when swayed slightly by the passing breezes, is by rapid and 
 successive impulses impelled upward till it reaches the amazing elevation of two hun- 
 dred feet. At first it appeared to labor in lifting the great volume of water, but it 
 is now witii perfect ease that the stupendous column is held to its place, the water 
 breaking into jets on the topward curl of descent and returning in glittering showers. 
 For thousands of feet above, the dense clouds of steam are borne away on the winds, 
 shimmering with rainbows and swaying in a thousand broken and irregular forms. 
 The turmoil attending this grand spectacle is as the roar of artillery, the galloping 
 of a cavalry-charge, or the swee]) of a tornado throiigh the air. The performance 
 lasts for about an hour and a half ; during the latter portion of the time, however, 
 the emission consisting principally of steam. The force of the discharge may be 
 appreciated in the fact that heavy rocks thrown into the ascending flood are hurled 
 many feet into the air. The amazing beauty of such a sight as this is beyond the 
 power of words to describe, and all that can be done is merely to indicate the im- 
 pression it makes on the most unsusceptible minds. 
 
 We liave only attempted to notice the principal geysers of the basin, though 
 smaller ones exist by the hundred, spouting intermittently throughout the whole of 
 this region. The volcanic force which underlies these phenomena is now failing in 
 activity, and. a thousand or two years hence, the geysers will probably cease to be. 
 What the terrible grandeur of this region must have been once, when the internal 
 
THE YELLOWSTONE VALLEY 
 
 175 
 
 forces were at their greatest, can hardly be reached bj' the wildest stretch of the 
 imagination. 
 
 We owe to Chevalier Bunsen, who united so happily the gifts of the savant and 
 diplomatist, the true theory of geyser-eruptions, founded on a study of the Iceland 
 geysers nearly forty years ago. He proved by a series of careful experiments that the 
 heat of the water in the geyser-tube varies at different depths, and also at different 
 
 Yellinvstont Luke. 
 
 periods between two eruptions, the change always taking place in the same manner, 
 and with considerable regularity. Immediately before the eruption the greatest heat 
 at the bottom of the well was discovered to be about sixteen degrees less than what 
 would be the boiling-point of water at that depth. The water, therefore, in no part 
 of the tube was hot enough to generate steam under the conditions. But the higher 
 you ascend in the tube the lower is the temperature at which water will boil. If, 
 then, the column be thrown up by the generation of steam in the under-ground chan- 
 nels, the water at the bottom of the tube, which is near the boiling-point, is brought 
 to a height where it is sufficiently relieved from pressure to be converted into steam. 
 The water in the tube is lifted still higher till the steam condenses by contact with 
 the cooler water, to which it imparts its latent heat. Each condensation makes a 
 loud report — the explosion which precedes eruption. By successive efforts, enough 
 of the weight of the water above is thrown off to raise nearly all the water in the 
 tube to the boiling-point, until at last the relief from pressure permits the contents 
 of the tube to be ejected into the air to a greater or less height, according to the 
 volume of the steam which acts as the lifting power. 
 
176 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 From the geyser-region to the Yellowstone Lake the easiest trail or route is to 
 return hy the Lower Basin, thence across to the Mud Geyser, and so up the west 
 bank of the Yellowstone River to one of the most charming sheets of water on the 
 continent. The distance is easily within a day's ride, and both the scenery and at- 
 mosphere are delightful. Suddenly we emerge from the heavy forest, shaded by high 
 mountains, into a picturesque, grassy park in which lies this famous lake — for so it 
 has become by virtue of its beauty, however capacity for wonder and pleasure may 
 have been blunted by the strange sights which are so thickly scattered throughout 
 this region. This mountain reservoir is about fifteen miles in width, and twenty or 
 twenty-five miles in length. The shores are indented with bays and inlets which are 
 fringed with pine-forests, that contain now and then a meadow-like opening, to add 
 to the variety and beauty of the scene. Mr. Langford, for many years the superin- 
 tendent of the park, thus describes the beauties of this inland sea : 
 
 " Secluded amid the loftiest peaks of the Rocky Mountains, possessing strange 
 peculiarities of form and beauty, this watery solitude is one of the most attractive 
 objects in the world. Its southern shore, indented with long, narrow inlets, not 
 unlike the frequent fiords of Iceland, bears testimony to the awful upheaval and 
 tremendous force of the elements which resulted in its erection. The long pine- 
 crowned promontories, stretching into it from the base of the hills, lend new and 
 charming features to an aquatic scene full of novelty and sj)lendor. Islands of 
 emerald hue dot its surface, and a margin of sparkling sand forms its setting. The 
 winds, compressed in their passage through the mountain-gorges, lash it into a sea 
 as terrible as the fretted ocean, covering it with foam. But now it lay before us 
 calm and unruffled, save as the gentle wavelets broke in murmurs along the shore. 
 Water, one of the grandest elements of scenery, never seemed so beautiful before." 
 
 This lake reposes on the crown of our North American Continent, near the sources 
 of three great rivers of the United States, at a height of nearly seven thousand five 
 hundred feet, far above the loftiest clouds that cast their shadows over New England 
 homes, or float in the blue sky of the sunny South. Professor Hayden, who made 
 the first scientific survey of the Yellowstone region, tlius speaks of the lake : 
 
 '' On the 28tli of July (1871), we arrived at the lake, and pitched our camp on 
 the northwest shore in a beautiful grassy meadow, or opening, among the pines. The 
 lake lay before us, a vast sheet of quiet water, of a most delicate ultramarine hue, 
 one of the most beautiful objects I ever beheld. The entire party were filled with 
 enthusiasm. The great object of all our labors had been reached, and we were amply 
 repaid for all our toils. Such a vision is worth a life-time, and only one of such 
 marvelous beauty will ever greet human eyes. From whatever point of view one may 
 behold it, it presents a unique picture. AVe had brought up the frame-work of a 
 boat, twelve feet long and three and a half feet wide, which we covered with stout 
 ducking, well tarred. On the morning of the 29th inst., Messrs. Stephenson and 
 Elliot started across the lake in the Anna, the first boat ever launched on the Yel- 
 lowstone, and explored the nearest island, which wo named after the principal assist- 
 
THE YELLOWSTONE VALLEY. 
 
 177 
 
 ant of the expedition, who was undoubtedly the first vviiite man that ever set foot on 
 it. . . . Usually in the morning the surface of the lake is calm, but, toward noon 
 and after, the waves begin to roll, and the white caps rise high, some four or five 
 feet. Our little boat rode the waves well ; but, when a strong breeze blew, the swell 
 was too great, and we could only venture along the shore. The lake is about twenty- 
 two miles in length from north to south, and an average of ten to fifteen miles in 
 width from east to west. It has been aptly compared to the human hand ; the 
 northern portion would constitute the palm, while the southern prolongations or arms 
 might represent the fingers. There are some of the most beautiful shore-lines along 
 
 Jjut-^l>rui(j Cnrti. 
 
 the lake that I ever saw. Some of the curves are as perfect as if drawn by the hand 
 of art. Our little boat performed most excellent service. A suitable frame-work was 
 provided in the stern for lead and line, and a system of soundings was made that 
 gave a very fair idea of the average depth of tlie lake. The greatest depth discovered 
 was tlirce hundred feet. It is fed by the melting of the snows on the lofty mount- 
 ains that surround it on every side. The water of the lake has at all seasons nearly 
 the temperature of cold spring-water. The most accomplished swimmer could live but a 
 short time in it ; the dangers attending the navigation of it are thereby greatly increased. 
 The lake abounds in salmon-trout, and is visited by great numbers of wild fowl." 
 
 12 
 
178 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Professor Hayden tells us that on some portions of the lake -shore hot springs, 
 with their funnel-shaped craters, project out into the deep waters of the lake. Stand- 
 ing on one of these mounds, he caught trout in the lake, and dropped them into the 
 boiling water, where they were perfectly cooked without being taken off the hook. 
 The forests surrounding the lake abound with bear, deer, elk, and otlier noble game, 
 and offer the most attractive inducements to the hiinter. 
 
 But we can not linger mucli longer over this fascinating region. When the 
 Northern Pacific Kailway is completed, pilgrims in search of the beautiful and won- 
 derful from all portions of tlie world will resort hither. The climate is most pure 
 and invigorating during three months of the year, with scarcely any rains or storms. 
 But the thermometer often sinks as low as twenty-six degrees, and there is more or 
 less frost every month of the year. As a place of summer resort for invalids as well 
 as for mere tourists, it is believed that it will scarcely be surpassed by any portion of 
 the world. By the congressional act, which created this region a national park, pro- 
 vision was made for beautifying it in all ways consistent with the natural loveliness 
 and grandeur which it so richly possesses. The earliest tourists, who were drawn to 
 tlie Yellowstone Valley by reports of its wonders, met with thrilling adventures with 
 the hostile Indians ; and those who, ten years hence, are able to find luxurious hotel 
 accommodation, as seems now probable, will hardly be able to persuade tliemselves 
 that the lovers of the beautiful, who, only a quarter of a century before, penetrated 
 liither, had literally to fight their way in and out through a cordon of fierce 
 savages. 
 
SKETCHES OF INDIAN LIFE. 
 
 The red-man of the plains— The Indian dandy at the trading-post — How the post-trader treats tlie savage — Condi- 
 tion and traits of Indian women — An Indian carnival — Religion and customs — Funerals, and the Indian rever- 
 ence for the dead — Love-making — The Indian as a hunter — Methods of pursuing the elk — Bulfalo and moose 
 hunting — Getting salmon on the Columbia River — The craft and skill of the red-man. 
 
 In our wanderings over the plains and mountains, and among the forests of the 
 great West, tlie red-men, whether lounging in peaceful guise on their reservations, 
 or scouring the wilderness in their war-paint on the hunt for scalps or plunder, can 
 not fail to be of great interest, though an interest oftentimes mixed with disgust, 
 fear, and wrath — sometimes, perhaps, it may be, with pity and regret. The victims 
 of a treatment which apjiears to be common in the history of the world, wherever a 
 superior race comes in contact with a weaker one, they have much to justify the fre- 
 quent outbreaks and frontier wars which make life and property in certain jiortions 
 of the far West so insecure. Yet actual contact with the Indian in his daily modes 
 of life is far from begetting respect or liking, however much we may be interested or 
 amused. It is not our purpose now to consider the red-man as a warrior or the 
 avenger of wrongs, but to look at him in his pacific aspects. We shall find that, 
 however brutal and repulsive he may be in many ways, there is yet a good deal of 
 universal human nature in this " image of God " cast in red bronze. 
 
 Foremost among the acquired traits of the Indian is his passionate fondness for 
 fire-water. For a good supply of this he is willing to part with his buffalo-robes, his 
 ponies, his squaw, even his rifle, the possession of all dearest to his heart. To get 
 drunk is the paradise of the half -civilized Indian, who may be seen hanging around 
 the forts and trading-posts, and the dispenser of the delicious beverage commands 
 more of his admiration and homage than the Great White Father at Washington. Of 
 course, there are occasional exceptions to this rule, but the Indian who does not love 
 the inebriating cup is a rare being. 
 
 The visits of the red-men to the trading-posts or forts often afford many amusing 
 incidents, and give singular glimpses of the whimsical notions of this untutored peo- 
 ple. Next to the love of whisky, his fondness for showy garments is the most pre- 
 dominant quality. He is prone to seize on any cast-oS garment, any stray feather or 
 ornament he can find, beg, borrow, or steal, and with huge delight adorn his dusky 
 person with it without delay. A dandy is not exclusively the product of civilized 
 
180 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 life. The most degraded phases of Indian life are made amusing and ridiculous hy 
 genuine fops whose self-conceit overtops the "howling swells" who parade in Fifth 
 Avenue, New York, or Hyde Park, London. A "warrior'' chief on a strut is a 
 
 
 Indian Dandy. 
 
 fair rival for the most pufled-up turkey-cock that ever gobbled in a fanner's barn- 
 yard, though there is something formidable in the Indian's vanity, as it lies close to 
 blind ferocity when crossed or offended. Tlie illustration of an Indian dandy which 
 
SKETCHES OF IXDIAX LIFE. 181 
 
 we give was drawn from the life at a reservation trading-post in the far West. It 
 represents a youth of twenty, who has accompanied his tribe to the fascinating place. 
 From the proceeds of his mother's industry or some little labor of his own, j)erhaps 
 as a gift from some good-natured white man, our copper-skinned dandy finds himself 
 in possession of an old uniform coat with epaulets and brass buttons, a bottle of 
 whisky, and other civilized articles. His fine figure, well-made lithe limbs, and per- 
 fect satisfaction with himself, give a most grotesque and droll aspect to this display. 
 The strutting fellow looks around with eager eyes to notice the gaze of envy and 
 admiration which he thinks bis due. And the other Indian idlers do not fail to look 
 on this glorious and favored being witli unconcealed longing. One old "stager," 
 inspired with an ambition to shine, has borrowed a Scotch cap, an article which the 
 Indians delight in, and, crowned with this article of distinction and a huge club, he 
 waddles on in the rear of his younger and more shining rival. The most offensive 
 Indian fop is found among the male relations of some Indian belle who has married 
 a white man, especially if the latter has a store or is the agent of a fur comjjany. 
 At all seasons these hungry and thirsty expectants hang about like a flock of turkey- 
 buzzards, anxious for such trifling favors as fire-water, sugar, coffee, and similar gifts, 
 which the great man has the power of bestowing. 
 
 The store of a trading-post illustrates the method of the white man's average 
 dealings with his red brethren. Here we often find a number of hard-working squaws 
 who present themselves with a load of peltries or dressed furs, the result of an entire 
 season's hard toil, of hunting or trapping on the part of the "buck"; of curing, 
 drying, and tanning on the part of the woman. The buffalo, beaver, otter, mink, 
 and other furs, are beautifully dressed, mayhap wrought with beads and stitched 
 work. These tasteful specimens of the forest mother's and maiden's handiwork are 
 given to the heartless swindling trader for a few ounces of brown sugar, and that of 
 such vile quality that it seems to practiced eyes like mere grains of sand, stained 
 with molasses. The i^oor women, all of whom have a sweet tooth, and completely 
 ignorant of the true value of sugar as they are of that of the splendid robes and furs, 
 which will ultimately display their beauty in Central Park, New York, or on the 
 winter drives of European capitals, gladly assent to the bargain. In lieu of pockets, 
 satchels, and similar conveniences, the squaws tie the precious article up in small 
 parcels in the corners of their blankets. The full wickedness of the trader's bargain 
 oftentimes does not stop here. As he measures out his thickened treacle, according 
 to frontier commercial usage when dealing with Indians, he inserts his three fingers 
 into the shallow cup, which is the standard of measure, and only gives what little 
 substance finds room in the small space, not already occupied in this ingenious but 
 base fashion. While all this is going on, the Indian warriors or braves, as they call 
 themselves, lounge about, as seemingly unconscious of what is going on as if they were 
 so many bronze statues. They look disdainfully on all trafific, and would not degrade 
 themselves by showing the slightest interest in matters of the shop, things only fit to 
 be indulged in, they say, by the women. 
 
182 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 An Indian trading-post may be generally characterized as the headquarters of a 
 gang of robbers and swindlers, licensed by the United States Government to steal and 
 cheat, the victims of these operations being those whom the Government professes to 
 consider its wards, and whom it is under obligations to i^rotect. It may be safely 
 
 Store of the Tradiny-Post. 
 
 asserted that, if any white man sliould attempt the same things among his own race, 
 he would not long be out of State - prison. Stoical and unobserving as the red-men 
 appear to be, they have long since learned that the white man looks on them in his 
 commercial dealings as mere objects of plunder, and it is not strange that in their 
 outbreaks their untutored minds should see no harm in driving oti the white man's 
 cattle from his ranch. If the victims of this retaliation were only and always the ras- 
 cally traders, there would be no disposition among just-minded people to do aught but 
 to clap the Indian on his back. But, unfortunately, the innocent have to pay gener- 
 ally for the misdeeds of the guilty. It is not our purpose or province to discuss in 
 any way the Indian problem, which has for so many years perplexed the country ; but 
 this may be said in passing : if all tlie massacres, cruelty, and liloody barbarism of the 
 Indian were put in one balance, and all the perfidy, heartless oppression, and villainy 
 
SKETCHES OF INDIAN LIFE. 
 
 183 
 
 of the white man in the other balance, the scale, if it inclined either way, would be 
 in favor of the red-man. 
 
 The condition of the gentler sex is always a sure test of the progress of a race. 
 All barbarians are the same in this respect. As a nation advances in wealth, refine- 
 ment, and moral qualities, woman assumes her position as companion and equal. 
 When she belongs to the lower races, she is literally a slave. In her domestic life, 
 the Indian woman is the worker. She dresses the skins, which make the clothing 
 and tent-covering, she tills the ground and gathers the crops, if there be any tillage 
 of the earth, which is not common among the Western tribes, though it was among 
 
 Women Water- Carriers. 
 
 the tribes of the Eastern coast ; she hews the wood, draws the water, cooks the meals, 
 and performs all kinds of menial labor. When her tribe moves, she attends to the 
 striking of the wigwam, and the packing up of all the property. She often carries, 
 in addition to her household traps, an infant child, or papoose, as it is called, in a 
 wicker basket, held to her back by a broad strap, that passes across the forehead. 
 Thus burdened, she trudges on patiently in the rear of the cavalcade, driving on the 
 cattle and mustang ponies in front of her. In the mean time, the braves, mounted 
 on fleet horses, gallop along in ease and independence, as if their lordly minds were 
 unvexed by a single earthly care. 
 
184 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 As great as is the necessity of water, Indians seldom encamp directly on the bank 
 of a stream. The result is, that the labor of the women, children, and dogs, of 
 which animal the Indian always has many, is greatly enhanced, in their duty of 
 sup2)lying the lodges with the most imi^ortant of the needs of life. The modes used 
 are primitive in an extreme degree. Large earthen pots, which they manufacture 
 with no inconsiderable skill, ai-e triced on poles, the opposite ends of which are fast- 
 ened to the sides of a dog, and thus the faithful animal is made of some practical 
 use. The children walk in j)rocession to and from the river, each carrying a jar. 
 To the young women of the tribe are intrusted the horses, which, relieved for the 
 time of their hopples, are driven in droves to drink. In performing this last task, 
 many of the young squaws, mounting bareback, often race side by side, showing splen- 
 did equestrian skill, the literal personation of rival Amazons in living bronze. 
 
 Inditifi Women Bathing. 
 
 Though Indian women are frequently not a whiL more cleanly than their lazy 
 lords and masters, who seem to enjoy being overrun with vermin rather tlian other- 
 wise, yet tliey are fond of the pleasures of bathing. It is under such circumstances 
 that they make their most careful toilet. The scene often presents many novel feat- 
 
SKETCHES OF INDIAN LIFE. 185 
 
 ures. The mothers, while enjoying the bath, ornameat the trees and shrubs about 
 with their infants, which in their stiff bandages dangle from the branches, rocked to 
 sleep by the wind. The old and middle-aged women are generally so deformed by 
 hard labor and privation as to be precious sjiecimens of human ugliness, and can 
 scarcely be recognized as being of the same race as the lithe and graceful young 
 squaws, who often present forms of the most exquisite beauty and symmetry — forms 
 which, never having been subjected to tlie distortion of civilized dress, have grown in 
 that perfect mold which has come down to us in the Greek sculpture. While the 
 women are thus engaged in their aquatic sports, grave old men, warriors of established 
 position, armed with bow and arrow, or rifle, keep guard on the bank not far away. 
 And woe be to the curious young brave who would play the part of Peeping Tom ! 
 For he would certainly run the risk of getting a missile in a vulnerable if not vital 
 portion of his person. 
 
 The old squaws, during the whole history of Indian warfare, have shown them- 
 selves to be more hard and merciless than even the warriors. In their treatment of 
 prisoners they surpass the bloodiest contrivances of their lords, and the cruellest sug- 
 gestions have come from these old hags, who, on account of their age and their 
 superior ingenuity in torment, enjoy at such times a certain respect not usually ac- 
 corded to their sex. Yet, as hard and callous as the Indian woman becomes by age 
 and the suggestions of savage warfare, one observes among the younger ones at ordinary 
 times exhibitions of the caressing love and tenderness which have been such a sweet 
 phase of the feminine nature in all ages of the world. The love of the Indian 
 mother for her children shows itself in much the same way as that of the civilized 
 mother. She fondles and kisses and talks to her babe with the same devotion, and 
 seems to find in the gratification of these maternal instincts an alleviation of the 
 stern and harsh conditions of her life. Her pride in her offspring has often been 
 commented on by visitors to Indian encampments. While the young urchins are 
 practicing with the bow and arrow, the mothers often squat about, discussing the 
 merits of the little archers. When any one makes an extraordinary shot, the mother 
 will hug him in a transport of pleasure, just as the white woman will caress her 
 child when he has done something which gives her peculiar pleasure. 
 
 Occasionally, in times of peace, a frontier fort, especially if bounties are about to 
 be paid, is a very lively place. Then one may see thousands of lodges, and often 
 five times as many Indians together, as they flock in from their reservation in great 
 numbers. It is common, on such occasions, for the red-men to make a grand disj)lay 
 before the pale-faces, and they enter into a sort of Indian carnival ; for great joy and 
 hilarity are abroad, in anticipation of the annual presents from the Great White 
 Father. On these occasions the Indians will part with nearly everything — blankets, 
 fur robes, and necessary clothing — to buy trinkets and many-colored paints for the 
 exhibition. The wild and grotesque dresses of the savages on these occasions make 
 a very striking picture. Headed by a sort of grand-marshal, and divided into organ- 
 ized parties, the gayly dressed savages bear aloft at their lance-heads their insignia. 
 
186 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 consisting of tufts of party-colored threads, each one marking the division to which it 
 belongs with the same precision that flags and banners do among civilized people. 
 Every possible fantasy is indulged in — masks made of the enormous skin and beard 
 
 1 
 
 of the buffalo-bull ; plumes of the most brilliant feathers ; togas of brilliantly stained 
 and painted robes, thrown gracefully across the shoulders ; flowing head-dresses, and 
 waist-cloths that seem to be fashioned in shape and wearing after the sculptures of 
 Karnac and Thebes. So these fantastically painted and costumed human serpents 
 
SKETCHES OF INDIAN LIFE. 187 
 
 dash and prance, leap and run, engage in mimic combats, now as individuals, now as 
 parties, and give them up to the most wild and reckless enjoyment. Every possible 
 idea of the queer and fantastic seems to be exhaiisted ; yet, amid all this rollicking 
 barbarism, one notices many an Indian Apollo, whose figure, drapery, and fine jioses, 
 would make him a fit subject for the chisel of a Phidias or a Canova. 
 
 It is singular that, among tlie North American Indians, there lias never been dis- 
 covered any trace of idol-worship, though in the tribes of Mexico, Central and South- 
 ern America idolatry in its most cruel and repulsive shapes existed. The fancy that 
 tlie red Indians were the descendants of the ten lost tribes of Israel, which has found 
 favor with many, got its strength, in part, from the fact that the Indians, like tlie 
 Jews, never attemjit to represent God in any visible form, or carry images about with 
 them as charms. Yet, in spite of this, the Indians are among the most superstitious 
 of races, and see in every strange event some movement from the supernatural world. 
 They call God "The Great Spirit." Him they believe to be always good, and about 
 his mercy they have no doubt. But they believe that it is constantly necessary to 
 perform acts of severest penance and sacrifice to soften the malice and hate of the 
 evil spirits which are constantly at work to make the lives of men miserable. So 
 they trust in omens, and their "medicine-men," who act as their priests, are as absurd 
 in their demands on the credulity of their ignorant followers as the " fetich ''-men 
 among tlie African negroes. The red-man believes he gets hints of the future through 
 the flight of birds, the rustling of the leaves 'of trees, the tints of the setting sun, 
 and a thousand other natural signs. They are given to sacrifices and self-punish- 
 ments ; and they never go oiit on any of their great animal hunts, or enter on the 
 war-path, without going througli a series of ablutions, fastings, and often laceration 
 of the body. A striking example of this is in the annual sun-dance of the Sioux 
 and some other tribes. The young men, who are about to become warriors and go 
 on the war-path, drive sharply-pointed stakes into the ground, and impale themselves 
 by the arms or through the fleshy j)arts of the chest. They then struggle, and 
 writhe, and pull, till they have torn themselves loose, or else faint away, from pain 
 and loss of blood. 
 
 Boys who have reached the age of fourteen, and desire to be admitted to the 
 society of their elders, are obliged to give some test of their endurance. They 
 prove their ability to go without food, to bear the roughest exposure, and to con- 
 ceal physical pain with the utmost stoicism. One thing required of the candidate 
 for manly honors is, that he shall adorn his head with the plume of an eagle 
 that has lost its life without the shedding of its blood. To perform this difficult 
 task the young man builds a decoy on some high peak known to be visited by 
 the king of birds. Concealed in his hiding-place, he patiently awaits the com- 
 ing of the eagle. While thus engaged he must eat no food ; and instances are 
 known where the young brave has found his hiding-place his grave. Even when 
 successful, the young Indian's contest with the eagle is no trifling exploit, for he 
 must seize the fierce bird with his unarmed hands, and strangle it without draw- 
 
188 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 ing its blood, the talons and beak of the bird often inflicting the severest wounds on 
 his captor. 
 
 So from first to last the Indian's life is one of severe self-mortification, with inter- 
 vals of the greatest license. They are by nature moody and self -tormenting, and 
 hence, perhaps, their fondness for drinking. Whisky arouses their energies, fires their 
 imaginations, and takes them into dream-land — perhaps, indeed, turns them into fiends ; 
 and only in this drunken frenzy, or perhaps in the excitement of battle, is the Indian 
 ever lifted out of his stoical calm. He meets death \\itli firmness, for his life has 
 been one of suffering and pain, and he has been taught that he will be made per- 
 fectly happy in the glorious hunting-grounds of the future state, where, armed with 
 his trusty weapons, and accompanied by his faithful horse, he will enjoy eternal bliss. 
 
 The funeral, therefore, of the Indian partakes of these ideas. Instantly he dies 
 his friends proceed to make such preparations as will be most meet to prepare the 
 
 i_ _ _f/.0j1>!^^W^ TO 
 
 Indian Funeral. 
 
 dead man for his long journey. He must not go empty-handed. If a warrior, he 
 has his weapons, his insignia of rank, his trophies won in the chase and on the war- 
 path ; he must make a good appearance when he arrives in the Blessed Land. 
 
 When a sick warrior is past recovery, the young men start for the prairies, kill a 
 buffalo-bull, and secure the hide. On this the dead body is laid, and with it the 
 gun, bow, quiver of arrows, lance, tomahawk, and other implements of the departed 
 brave. Choice food for a long journey is also placed in the hide, and then all are 
 
SKETCHES OF INDIAN LIFE. 
 
 189 
 
 carefully rolled together and secured with strips of raw-hide. A few hours of sun- 
 shine dries up the hide, and its contents then appear to be cased in sheet-iron. Poles 
 are now brought and holes are dug, and, when everything is in readiness, the last 
 grand act in the impressive ceremony is performed. The eldest son — if the departed 
 
 
 Indian Widow at Jier Husband's Grave. 
 
 warrior has left children — or the nearest relative brings a wild horse forward, one that 
 has never been backed by man, and with a single blow of his tomahawk fells the ani- 
 mal alongside of the corpse. Thus the dead brave has a steed to carry him in state 
 to the happy hunting-grounds. 
 
 The body is now erected on poles and covered with a purple or scarlet blanket 
 to drive off the evil spirits, the poles themselves being hung with presents of food or 
 trinkets. The women cut their hair close to their heads as a sign of sorrow and 
 mourning, and, forming circles in the background, beat their bosoms and weep scald- 
 ing tears. The warriors, on the other hand, sit around under the dead body, and 
 recount in a strain of wild poetry the mighty deeds of the dead. They then punct- 
 ure the fleshy parts of the thighs with a lance, that they may shed tears of blood, 
 for real tears would be unmanly, and therefore not befitting an Indian brave. 
 
 The belief in the presence of the spirits hovering about the place of sepulture is 
 natural to the Indian mind, and leads to many curious customs. Widows and mothers 
 who have lost their children have been known to travel one and two hundred miles 
 through swamp and forest to visit the graves of those whom they have lost. Eeach- 
 
190 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 ing these sacred resting-places, possibly after a long residence elsewhere, they find 
 little left but decaying bones. These repulsive relics are carefully gathered up by the 
 hands of affection. If a husband's remains, the widow will address the vacant skull 
 in terms of affection, and repeat long stories of important events that have recently 
 occurred in the history of the tribe. If it is a mother, with the remains of an infant 
 child, she will take the little skull in her hands and press it to her bosom, and even 
 attempt to put delicate food in the gumless jaws. All the terms and arts of endear- 
 ment which could spring from the affection of wife and mother are lavished on the 
 senseless bones. At the end of these unusual rites the precious relics are carefully 
 packed in a bundle, taken to the tribe's new resting-place, and buried. 
 
 The greatest crime against Indian notions of right and wrong is in the desecration 
 of the grave. When the red-men dispose of their lands and move away, they linger 
 with the most touching grief over the burial-places of the tribe. In the eloquent 
 speeches so often made by their orators, the most touching plea made against removal 
 to another reservation is their reluctance to go away from the resting-places of their 
 beloved ones. As the Indians bury literally above-ground, they strew these places 
 with the property of the dead. It is common on the Plains to find Indian burying- 
 grounds, the center and neighborhood of which are covered with blankets, domestic 
 utensils, guns, bows, arrows, etc. Even hostile tribes at war with each other always 
 respect these memorials of death and the affection of the living. When these proper- 
 ties of the dead have in course of time disappeared, it is believed that they have 
 been inhaled and literally passed into another world. To destroy or appropriate 
 them is to deprive the departed of their wealth, and create sorrow in the spirit- 
 land, and is thus regarded as the most dreadful of all crimes. 
 
 Many of the bloodiest of the wars of the frontier have been caused by the thought- 
 less acts of the whites in desecrating these sacred places. Curiosity has prompted 
 many a white intruder to break down the resting-poles of these prairie biers, and 
 rip open the buffalo-skin coffin, to see if there is not something more valuable thau 
 decaying bones. Tlie trinkets have been taken away as curious relics, and the utensils 
 laid aside for use. An authentic story is told of a half-starved Indian who applied 
 at a trapper's hut for food. AVhile being served, the hungry red-man discovered 
 that the smoking platter in which the viands were served was a dish stolen from 
 the grave of his brotlier. The Indian's eyes fairly glared in their sockets with hor- 
 ror, and, being weak, and without weapons to avenge the deadly though innocent 
 outrage, he swiftly fled from the presence of one guilty of so great a crime, with 
 his hunger unsatiated. 
 
 Let us turn from these funereal customs to some of the more cheerful aspects of 
 Indian life. Though the career of the Indian woman after marriage is so hard and 
 cheerless, the days of youth are not without the sentiment and imagination which 
 make the passion of love such a powerful influence in civilized life. So we find this 
 most universal of all feelings taking its accustomed place in the social side of Indian 
 character. The fair prospect of domestic happiness is soon blasted by austere notions 
 
SKETCHES OF INDIAN LIFE. 
 
 191 
 
 of the warrior's dignity and of the woman's inferior place ; but the softness of manner 
 which would bring the man of mature age into contempt is pardoned in the youth. 
 
 Indian Lovers. 
 
 The Indian lover, in the interchange of sentiments of attachment with the dusky 
 maid on whom his heart is set, has no language, except that suggested by the nat- 
 \\v\x\ objects around liim. But his suit is none the less ardent and devoted. He may 
 not address the beloved one with the profuse and reckless promises so familiar to the 
 
19a OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 facile lips of the frequenter of drawing-rooms, but his pleas are often full of a touch- 
 ing and artless poetry. The legends of the Indian tribes are brightened and softened 
 by many a love-romance, not less interesting than those of civilized people, and their 
 history has been, in many cases, colored and shaped by the potent j^assion. Such an 
 incident as happened only a few years ago has often been paralleled by similar cases 
 in Indian life. A young man fell in love with a girl of a friendly tribe, but, before 
 the nuptials could be celebrated, war broke out between the two tribes. In the delays 
 of an attack, the Indian lover fastened a piece of birch-bark, covered with hiero- 
 glyjihics, depicting his passion and his wishes, to an arrow, and shot it into the 
 hostile camji. The message was evidently expected, for it fell into the right hands, 
 and that night the young lovers met, and escaped together to a tribe where their 
 amorous hopes were not disturbed by war's alarms. 
 
 The symbols used by the Indian lover are such as would be recognized anywhere. 
 The heart is a conspicuous object, as typifying the affections. The more delicate 
 sentiments are represented by birds, courage by the eagle, and anger and jealousy by 
 quaint caricatures of the ugly head of the bison. Our artist has given a literal 
 delineation of an Indian serenade. The red lover, on a bright moonliglit night, 
 charms the ears and heart of his mistress with the muffled notes of the drum and 
 the liquid notes of the reed — such a pipe as the god Pan is feigned by the Greek 
 poets to have made. It is plaintive music, for Indian life at best is more or less 
 sad, and one might almost fancy, in the tell-tale notes, the prophecy of a hopeless 
 future. But the custom is deeply interesting, as showing the universal reign of senti- 
 ment. Love, for the time being, subdues all fiercer passions, softens the savage heart, 
 and stirs the pulses of the simple children of the forest and plain, as it does the 
 emotions of those who wear silk and broadcloth. 
 
 It is in the pursuit of the game on which the Indian dejjends for subsistence 
 that we see many of the most interesting phases of his life and character. He ac- 
 quires, by long practice, the most accurate knowledge of the habits of the animals 
 that range the woods and plains, and of the fishes that swim in the rivers and lakes ; 
 and his senses, trained to the finest acuteness, detect meanings in sounds and ap- 
 pearances which, to the white man's coarser perceptions, have no significance. 
 
 Let us go with the Indian on an elk-hunting excursion, when he pursues the 
 crafty method which is known as snapping the twig. It is a still-hunt throughout, 
 and requires great patience and skill to baffle the alertness and quick resources of this 
 animal. The elk, while not as swift as some other animals, has the keenest scent 
 and the finest hearing. To hunt it successfully when resting through the day, with 
 every faculty wide awake, is a test of the hunter's craft, which the Indians along 
 the whole line from Canada to the Pacific feel justly worthy of a warrior's skill. 
 The habits of the elk are taken advantage of to find a trail made by him in going 
 to his regular drinking-place. The Indi;in hunters, one armed with a rifle, the other 
 with a dry twig, know that the elk spends the hours of daylight somewhere along 
 this trail, which may be half a mile long. So keen are the ears of the elk, that the 
 
 1 
 
SKETCHES OF INDIAN LIFE. 
 
 193 
 
 3^- ... 
 
 Hunting the Elk. 
 
 pursuers always have to approach the trail at a right angle with such precaution that 
 not a leaf is stirred by their footsteps. Coming to the trail they examine the foot- 
 prints, and no printed book is more plain in its story to the civilized man than these 
 natural signs to the children of the forest. For example, the hunters discover that 
 the elk is between the spot of the trail they have reached and the water it drinks. 
 Moving cautiously away at right angles, they make an immense circuit around until 
 they reach anotlier spot in the trail. The sign now is that the elk lies between the 
 first and last mentioned places. Again the Indians make another immense circuit, 
 and strike the trail this time near enough to make a gunshot calculation of the ani- 
 mal's resting place amid the high grass and undergrowth. Approaching the trail, the 
 third, possibly tlie fourth, fifth, or sixth time, this slow process at last rewards them 
 with a sight of the elk's immense antlers peeping from above the ambush of its 
 forest lair. The Indian now levels his gun, while his comrade snaps the dry twig 
 over his knee. The great elk springs to his forelegs and glares around. The sound 
 is not necessarily a suspicious one, for it might have been caused by another elk or 
 
 by a dry limb falling. For a moment the noble beast speculates, ready for flight, but 
 
 "13 
 
194 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 the hesitation is fatal. The rifle cracks, and the animal falls dead in his track, a vic- 
 tim to the superior wiles of man. 
 
 The Korthern Indians have a picturesque fashion of hunting the elk in masquer- 
 ade, something like that which the Indians of the Plains use in pursuing the buffalo. 
 The skin of an elk is carefully preserved, with the head and horns left intact. Two 
 hunters pass this heavy, unwieldy mass over their heads and shoulders, the skull and 
 horns often weighing some eighty pounds. Thus disguised, and armed only with 
 
 Indians Elk-hutiting in Masquerade. 
 
 bows and arrows, they hie straightway to some previously discovered feeding-ground, 
 where the elk in a drove are browsing on the sage-brush or on the limbs of the trees. 
 So perfectly do the cunning red-men carry out their masquerade that the sharji wits 
 of their victims are completely beguiled. Fearless of the intruders they go on with 
 tlieir cropping, unconscious of danger. A good point of vantage being gained, it is 
 not unseldom that the hunters slay two or three fine animals before they are alarmed, 
 for the deadly arrows do their work noiselessly. At last the herd take the alarm, 
 and with a cry of terror bound away, but not before the active hunters, who have 
 
SKETCHES OF INDIAN LIFE. 
 
 195 
 
 Indians Buffalo-hvriting in, Masquerade. 
 
 now tlirowii off their disguise, fire one or two deadly shots more. Such are the 
 novel contests called forth by the hunting-craft of the woods. 
 
 The buffalo, or bison, formerly covered the Plains in countless herds. But the 
 advent of the railway across the continent and the encroachments of civilization have 
 already confined this noble animal within narrower limits, and the spectacle of herds 
 reaching from horizon to horizon can now only be seen across the borders in Brit- 
 ish America, where the march of the white man, with his institutions and habits, has 
 been less swift. There is something very grand in the appearance of these huge 
 herds of shaggy creatures, these vast supplies of food not only for the Indians but 
 for all the wild beasts of the field and tlie vultures of tlie air. Following the buifalo- 
 herd at a respectful distance, and ever ready to pounce on a weakly or wounded 
 animal, may be always seen the large white wolf. This is one of the most rapacious 
 and cruel of all American animals of ]ircy. While feeding, the buffaloes keep the 
 cows and young in the center, and then, as pickets and skirmishers, have their 
 strongest and most powerful bulls to fight off the ever-ready enemies, among which 
 is the alert and prowling wolf. 
 

 196 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Tlie Indians are great students of Nature, the one book which it is their province 
 to read, and they study the habits of all animals with the shrewdest attention. A 
 favorite mode of entrapping the bufEalo within reach of their arrows is to conceal 
 their persons in the skin of the white wolf. In this masquerade they make their ap- 
 pearance on the Plains. Perfectly imitating the actions of the animals which they 
 represent, they travel on their hands and knees for miles if necessary, so as to ap- 
 proach the herd and its fierce guardians without exciting suspicion, ior the buffaloes 
 are such good judges of the habits of the wolf, that the slightest deviation would 
 defeat the red hunter's object. As a rule the hunter succeeds. It is a grand sight 
 to see the old veteran bisons stand on guard, jealously watching these disguised 
 enemies, rolling their red eyes in fierce wrath, and pawing up great clods of the 
 prairie. When the Indians reach shooting-distance, they suddenly rise up on their 
 knees and seldom fail to drive their keen arrows through and through the tough and 
 
 "'^^^!, 
 
 Hunting the Buffalo on Foot. 
 
 shaggy sides of their game. As the herd takes the alarm, the Indians drop their 
 wolf-skins and generally succeed in getting a number of successful shots before the 
 frightened animals get out of reach of a foe more terrible than even the dreaded wolf. 
 
SKETCHES OF INDIAN LIFE. 
 
 197 
 
 This method is pursued only when the buffaloes are few in numbers, and wary 
 from repeated hunts. Occasionally great herds will move toward an Indian village, 
 and then the red hunters slay with the blood-thirstiness of tigers. Possibly, some 
 stray animals may be surprised within sight of a lodge. On such occasions, young 
 warriors show their courage and fleetness by pursuing the animals on foot. The 
 scene is spirited, and, if it could be transferred to the painter's canvas, we should 
 have a naked Apollo, graceful in action, perfect in form, to contrast with the huge 
 and terrible-looking game. 
 
 What the buffalo is to the Indian of the Plains, the salmon is to the tribes that 
 live on the Columbia River and its tributaries. These streams are remarkable for 
 the plentifulness of their finny inhabitants. Those who have never witnessed the 
 extraordinary quantity of fish which, at certain seasons of the year, crowd the wa- 
 
 Catching Salmon in- the Columbia River. 
 
 ters of some of the rivers of our Pacific coast, can not understand their abundance 
 through any mere description. The salmon enter the mouth of the Columbia in 
 May, and work their way up the stream, in immense shoals, for a distance of twelve 
 
198 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 hundred miles, often being found in September at tlie very head-waters of tlie river. 
 The young fry pass to the sea in October, when they are nearly as large as herrings. 
 Different species of salmon have their different localities, and the Indians, by a casual 
 glance, will tell correctly in what particular part of the interior waters the salmon 
 were spawned. The same thing is also true of shad. A very little observation will 
 enable any intelligent person to select those from the Potomac, the Delaware, the 
 Hudson, or the Connecticut Rivers. Each stream stamps its local character on its 
 finny inhabitants — the result of a wonderful law of Nature. The salmon makes the 
 principal food for thousands of Indians inhabiting the northern portion of our conti- 
 nent, besides affording a great supply for all the white people of Oregon and Califor- 
 nia, and furnishing immense quantities for exportation to the fish-markets of New 
 York and the East. The immense salmon-canning establishments on the Columbia 
 have become, too, an important branch of industry, employing thousands of people. 
 
 To the Indians of the Northwest the salmon has ever been looked on as a direct 
 blessing from the Great Spirit, associated in their simple minds with the buffalo- 
 herds that throng the Plains. To them the land and sea were crowded with the 
 evidences of the goodness of Providence. Up to twenty-five years ago, it is probable 
 that few white men on the Pacific coast, out of respect to the traditions of the red- 
 men, and fear of provoking their enmity, had ever taken a salmon from its native 
 waters. While the Indians would not let the white men fish at all, they themselves 
 would not fish for some days after the first appearance of the fish in the river, lest 
 they should show an undignified haste in appropriating the blessing. In their 
 primitive state, the Indians would never eat a salmon without first taking out its 
 heart, which they carefully kept, till they had a chance to burn it. They believe 
 that, if the heart, which is considered sacred, were eaten by a dog, or otherwise 
 defiled, the fish would never return to the river, to comfort and bless them. In the 
 fishing-season, a favorite place for securing the coveted game is at the foot of some 
 gentle fall or other obstruction. Here the salmon, interrupted in their progi'ess 
 inland, often pile on one another, till those on the surface are crowded on the land. 
 With a simple hand-net and a spear the Indians will, in a few hours, load down 
 their canoes with the finest fish. The Oregon Indians have been so corrupted by 
 their contact with the whites that they have lost respect for their traditions, some 
 of which were of a gentle and refining nature. Their regard for the salmon, the 
 reverence in which they held its appearance, their days of abstinence from its con- 
 sumption, were all good and healthful traits. But now, those of the tribes who hold 
 any intercourse with the white ])eople have lost regard for everything but gain. 
 They have become so wickedly wasteful as to kill the noble fish recklessh', and often 
 the whole air for miles, in the vicinity of the river, is tainted with the decaying 
 flesh. But of this something has already been said before in an earlier chapter. 
 
 The Northern Indians, who live in regions frequented by the moose, in that vast 
 reach of wilderness which, from the Mississijipi River to the Pacific Ocean, stretches 
 along the British border, find in this splendid game a substitute for the buffalo, 
 
SKETCHES OF INDIAN LIFE. 
 
 109 
 
 though it has never existed in numbers at all equal. Living in a region where for at 
 least half the year the earth is covered with snow, the moose finds himself persecuted 
 by wild beasts and wilder men without ceasing. Possibly within the next quarter of 
 a century this splendid animal will have ceased to exist within the present boundaries 
 of the United States — a fate which will probably be that of the elk and bison also, 
 unless some stringent means are taken to check their wholesale slatighter. 
 
 Indians take advantage of the cold weather to drive the animal into the snow- 
 drifts, where it becomes a comparatively easy cajiture. So long as the earth is 
 
 KilUng the Snmv-hound Moose. 
 
 uncovered except by vegetation, the moose roams tolerably free from his many foes, 
 for he possesses, in an eminent degree, the wonderful scent which belongs to the deer 
 family, and so he smells danger from afar. Upon the smootli plain a very ostrich in 
 speed ; among the huge tangled wrecks in the forest, left by the tornado and the 
 storm, he moves with equal ease, his spreading horns brushing aside obtrusive limbs, 
 and his long legs and overreaching steps finding no obstruction to his progress in 
 the prostrated trunks of the giant trees of the northern wilds. But, when snow lies 
 deep on the frozen ground, the great animal finds his heavy body and long legs 
 destructive of all speed. When undisturbed, he paws away the snow, or shovels it 
 
200 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 aside with Lis massive horns, and finds in the lichens and mosses that keep green 
 and tender beneath the snow, abundant food. Tiiere is no reason for his making 
 long joui'neys, and the diiEculties of travel do not prevent his getting food. But the 
 position is altered if he scents the pursuing hunter. Conscious that he is taken at a 
 disadvantage, he stands trembling and half paralyzed at the hopeless struggle which 
 is before him. 
 
 The hunter, guided by infallible signs in his search for game, gradually approaches. 
 He walks over the lightly-packed snow as if walking on the solid ground. Where the 
 drift lies with its trembling surface, as if of a mass of eider-down, he finds firm 
 footing, as if borne in the air by some invisible power. But there is no miracle in 
 this swift, easy tramp over the unpacked snow. On his feet are snow-shoes, resem- 
 bling in shape a boy's kite. The frame-work is made of light, strong wood, of an 
 oval shape, and about three feet in length. Stretched on this frame is a delicate 
 wicker-work, made of strips of the moose-deer's hide. This ingenious contrivance is 
 bound to the foot by thongs around the ankle and instep, and, thus shod, the hunter 
 traverses the deepest snow-drifts without the slightest difficulty. 
 
 The Indian hunter thus makes swift headway as he slides nimbly over the snow, 
 while the wretched moose plunges and writhes in the treacherous element. In his 
 hand the red-man carries a spear with a shaft eight or ten feet long. The animal 
 has pawed up around him an extensive clearing, and piled the snow around his 
 feeding-ground, perhaps as a breastwork. The Indian sees his quarry and yells fiercely 
 to alarm the moose, already trembling with a foretaste of his coming fate. Instantly 
 the creature bounds over the barrier, and in a moment is struggling and stumbling 
 knee-deep in the snow. For a short distance perhaps he makes great headway. But 
 every successive plunge makes him more and more weak, and soon he is involved in 
 a cloud of reeking perspiration. Conscious that the fatal moment has arrived, the 
 despairing moose comes to bay. 
 
 The hunter's work is now mainly accomplished, and the passage at thrust and 
 defense is of short duration. For a few moments the moose parries the fatal lance 
 with his antlers. His large, expressive eyes, shining with exhaustion and terror, are 
 full of a veritable human passion, while the hair rises on his neck, and he seems 
 changed into a i)erfcct fury. But every attempt at attack or defense sinks the weary 
 animal deeper and deeper in the snow, and at last, helpless and exhausted, he dies 
 from a fatal thrust. His most terrible weapon, his sharp hoofs, which on bare 
 ground he could use with incredible agility and effect, are disabled, and he falls an 
 easy prey. There is but little glory accorded among the Indians to the successful 
 snow-shoe hunter. True, there is some wood-craft needed in tracing the moose to 
 his retreat, but the lack of danger to the pursuer in the final conflict makes the 
 feat commonplace. It is simply work performed to procure food in the struggle to 
 sustain a hard and profitless life. 
 
 The Indian in his continual wanderings over the great plains and mountains of 
 the West is subject to many mishaps, accidents by field and flood, which he either 
 
SKETCHES OF INDIAN LIFE. 201 
 
 meets with stoical calmness or averts by ingenuity and command of resources. As 
 an exam-pie of this may be instanced his method of dealing with rattlesnake - bites. 
 The rattlesnake is one of the most venomous serpents in the world, and exists in 
 great numbers scattered over the plains and mountains of the far West, and, if there 
 were no means of curing its attacks, would be a most dangerous pest to the red 
 nomads. But the Indian long since discovered a specific remedy, and is always pre- 
 pared to meet the danger. The observant traveler knows that, wherever the rattle- 
 snake abounds, there is sure to be growing in large quantities a common - looking 
 jjlant denominated black-root. This precious root is always kept in the Indian's 
 pouch, for by its wonder-working effects he becomes indifferent to the fangs of the 
 rattlesnake. The danger to the Indian of the plains is less to himself than to his 
 horse, without which this Centaur is only half a man. The horse has an instinctive 
 tendency to examine closely anything that attracts its attention along the road it is 
 traveling. An old horse learns from experience, and will carefully avoid what recalls 
 danger. For this reason the veteran shows signs of nervousness at the strong, aro- 
 matic scent peculiar to this snake. But the young horse will tlirust his nose toward 
 what surprises him, and will follow the action with a strong puff of wind through 
 his nostrils. The rattlesnake, always on the alert, offended by this apparent attack, 
 darts its fangs into the delicate membranes of the horse's nose. The animal starts 
 back as if conscious of some disaster. In a few minutes its sight becomes glazed, it 
 staggers from side to side, and, if not cured, would soon die. The Indian, with his 
 black-root, treats the matter with cool indifference. Hoppling the wounded animal, he 
 throws it to the earth ; he then builds a fire and makes a strong decoction of the 
 black-root, bathes the wound, and pours the remainder down the horse's throat. In a 
 short time the otherwise deadly poison is neutralized, the animal recovers its strength 
 and spirits, and goes on its way as if nothing had occurred. 
 
 The ingenuity of the Indian in the use of the very simple tools which he has at 
 his disposal is admirable. This is noticeable in the neatness and dispatch with which 
 he butchers the buffalo and other game. While savage and civilized peoples agree 
 as to what are the best parts for food of the bovine animals, there must be a great 
 difference in the manner of cutting them up, preparatory to their being consigned to 
 the pot and the spit. Our butchers, by the aid of machinery, hoist the dead body of 
 the ox with heels in the air, and proceed to take off the hide by making the first 
 incision under the belly. After the skin is removed, the carcass is split in twain, 
 and the different parts of the meat disjointed. 
 
 Now, the Indian kills a buffalo-bull, whose enormous weight is equal to that of a 
 stalled ox. He has no machinery for hoisting the body into the air, no tools except 
 his light hatchet and frail knife. Yet he does his work with scientific ease and ac- 
 curacy, and from time immemorial has jirobably cut up the carcasses of the monsters 
 of the plains with a neatness and skill that would call out the admiration of the 
 most expert butcher. From the peculiar structure of the buffalo, and the liberal 
 growth of hair about the shoulders and fore-legs, the chances are about equal that it 
 
202 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 will die resting on his chest instead of on his side. When this is not the case, the 
 Indian, unaided, but with much exertion, can bring the body to an upright condition. 
 He then proceeds to cut it up, which he does by opening the skin down the back, 
 and stripping it off, extending it on the ground in such a manner that it assumes 
 the appearance of a satin covering or blanket on which the carcass is exposed. The 
 knife and hatchet are used with such skill that in a few moments the choicest por- 
 tions are neatly disjointed and laid aside. This done, the Indian reverently turns up 
 the corners of the hide over the refuse portions, and leaves them to be the prey of 
 the buzzards and the wolves, who are not long in discovering the toothsome tidbits 
 thus fortunately left for them. 
 
 In all the exigencies of their savage life, the Indians show similar skill and power 
 of adaptation, and accomplish great results with small means. The red - man of 
 America may be safely pitted against any other barbarian of the world for display 
 of brains, ingenuity, courage, and fortitude, both of mind and body, as seen in his 
 wild state. But, under the effect of association with the white man, it is to be 
 feared that he has lost most of his savage virtues, while he has absorbed the worst 
 vices of the higher race. 
 
Column Mountains^ jyevada. 
 
 SCENES IN NEVADA AND OEEGON. 
 
 Features of Nevada Bcenery — The Sierras and their forests — Characteristics of the mountains — Valley of the Truckee 
 River — The Sierras of Nevada — The desolation of the plains — Humboldt Mountains — The beauty and fertility 
 of Oregon — A voyage up the Columbia Eiver— Castle Rock and Cape Horn — The Cascades and Dalles City — 
 Salmon Falls. 
 
 Nevada, in common with the entire region lying between the Sierras and the 
 Eocky Mountains, is an elevated region, having a general height of four thousand feet 
 above the sea. On the western borders of it lies the remarkable range of snow-clad 
 mountains so well denoted by the name, the Sierra Nevadas, while crossing the State 
 in nearly parallel lines are other ranges whose peaks vary in height from five to twelve 
 thousand feet. The sides of these mountains are everywhere cut by deep ravines or 
 cailons, most of them running from crest to base, and usually at right angles with the 
 general direction. The canons vary greatly in width, and some of them have rivers 
 flowing through them, while others are entirely destitute of water. The tops of the 
 divides between the lateral canons are sharp and ragged, the bare and splintered rocks 
 standing often far above the crest of the ridge, and looking in the distance like ranks 
 of giants in skirniish-liue, wlio had been transformed to stone by some magic force. 
 
204 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 The valleys sometimes extend more than one hundred miles, uninterrupted except 
 by an occasional butte or spur ; and frequently, when the mountains disappear or 
 contract, unite with other valleys, or expand into broad plains or basins, some of 
 which are unobstructed, while others are dotted with buttes, or covered with groups 
 of rugged hills. 
 
 Nevada, though it has fewer inhabitants than any other State, is the third in 
 area, Texas and California alone surpassing it. Its extreme length is four hundred 
 and eighty-five miles, and its extreme breadth three hundred and twenty miles, 
 though in the south it contracts to a point. It has on the north Oregon and Idaho, 
 on the east Utah and Arizona, from the latter of which it is jjartly separated by 
 the gi-eat Colorado River ; and on the west and southwestern borders lies the State 
 of California. 
 
 Nevada probably ranks first among the silver-mining States of the country, though 
 Colorado has of recent years seriously contested its precedence. The great Comstock 
 lode, which has produced altogether, it is said, nearly three hundred millions of 
 dollars, was for a long time the richest mine in the world, though now its produc- 
 tion has greatly fallen off. Virginia City, the capital of Nevada, which is reached 
 from Reno, on the Pacific Railway, by the Virginia and Truckee road, is still a great 
 mining town, though its swift rush of prosperity has been somewhat checked for the 
 last five years. It is built over the Comstock lode, which extends for some four 
 miles, and is on the side of Mount Davidson, about half-way between the base and 
 the summit. This unique town, besides its very curious natural features, possesses 
 that remarkable engineering work the Sutro Tunnel, which pierces the base of the 
 Comstock lode, drains the mountain of its water, and furnishes a ready means of 
 transporting the ore from the mines. 
 
 The ore is worked in two ways, by wet and by dry crushing, the former being 
 by far the more profitable, but unfortunately in many cases less practicable, than the 
 latter. Still, silver-mining, even yet, is experimental, and the application of science 
 to the solution of its problems has not yet achieved the great results we have reason 
 to expect in the future, from the improvement already manifested. It appears that 
 at only a few of the districts do they find ore that can be reduced by what is known 
 as the wet process, which can be carried on at half the expense of the dry crushing, 
 with roasting process. Moreov'er, the expense for roasting by the old reverberatory 
 furnace often runs as high as twenty-two dollars a ton, while the improved method 
 of roasting, to say nothing of the diminished first cost of the furnaces, has lessened 
 this expense to something like six or seven dollars a ton, whicli realizes from each 
 ton of ore this difference in cost, and also enables mining companies to work cheaper 
 ores, that otherwise must be thrown into the waste-dumps. When the mining-camps 
 were continuall}' changing, in virtue of every story of a new and rich discovery, the 
 popular mind was in a continual fever, and the gambling spirit unsettled all the ties 
 of social order. But we can not now linger longer on this feature of Nevada life, but 
 must return to a survey of the natural scenery of tlie State. 
 
SCENES IN NEVADA AND OREGON. 205 
 
 In many parts of the Sierras are found noble growths of pine forest, though in the 
 ranges which cross the State the mountain-sides are, for the most part, only covered 
 with a scanty growth of bunch-grass, and with patches of scrubby trees. Mr. W. H. 
 Rideing, who has written mucli of the West, gives us some vivid glimpses of the forests 
 of the Sierras. He says : 
 
 " Down the eastern slope of the mountains, leading to the Carson River, flumes 
 twenty and thirty miles long are carried over valleys and ravines on high trestle-work 
 bridges, and the wood is floated through them over another stage of its journey 
 toward the mines. 
 
 " One morning as I was riding through the Truckee Canon, a great wave and a 
 cloud of spray leaped from the river into the air some distance in front of me. I 
 went a few paces farther, when, by the merest chance, my eye caught what was in- 
 tended to be a sign — the lid of a baking-powder box tacked to a pine-stump, and 
 inscribed with dubious letters, ' Look out for the logs ! ' In which direction the logs 
 were to be looked out for was not intimated, and I paused a moment in uncertainty 
 as to whether security depended on my standing still or advancing. Suddenly my mule 
 shied round, and a tremendous pine-log, eighty or one hundred feet long and about 
 five feet in diameter, shot down the almost perpendicular wall of the canon into the 
 river, raising another wave and an avalanche of spray. 
 
 " This was to me a new phase of the lumber industry. A wide, strong, V-shaped 
 trough, bound with ribbons of iron which had beeu worn to a silvery brightness by the 
 friction, was laid down the precipice ; and out of sight on the plateau above some 
 men were felling the trees, which they conveyed to the river in the expeditious man- 
 ner aforesaid. 
 
 " On another morning a runaway mule caused us a wild chase over a range of 
 hills wholly cleared of trees and dotted with forlorn cabins, which had been succes- 
 sively abandoned as the lumbermen had moved from camp to camp. While the Com- 
 stock lode continues to jdeld its enormous treasure, the denudation will continue, 
 and whoever knows how beautiful the shores of Lake Tahoe are must regret that they 
 have not been reserved, like the Yellowstone and Yosemite Valleys, as a national park. 
 
 " Seen from the deck of the steamboat and from the summits of the surrounding 
 mountains, the banks of the lake are a prevailing brown. At these distances, the 
 luxuriance of the vegetation can not be seen ; but the vegetation is luxui'iant, and, 
 except on a few sterile spots, the willow, oak, cotton-wood, pine, fir, and spruce, multi- 
 ply every shade of greenness. Then there are two shrubs which occur in company, 
 and which remind us of an erubescent country-girl and a pallid old man — the man- 
 zanita, with its bunches of ruby berries, thick, olive, smooth-surfaced leaves, and pol- 
 ished, red-brown stalk ; and the white-thorn that clings to the earth in ghostly 
 leaves and branches, and that presents an obstacle in its toughness quite out of pro- 
 portion to its size. The oaks are small and pliant, and are not numerous. Some- 
 times, when the wall of the lake is a perpendicular cliff, as at Emerald Bay, and a 
 level margin of swamp extends from the rock to the water, a soft undergrowth is 
 
206 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 found, and grasses, vines, and shrubs, spring out of the oozy soil with a profuseness 
 not usual in so cold a zone as that of the Sierras." 
 
 For four hundred miles the Sierras stretcli broad and high. The hill-forms that 
 mark the base of the eastern slope are round or sweep in long ridges, broken by the 
 
 ^^i 
 
 ~*l 
 
 HummUs of the Sierras. 
 
SCENES IN NEVADA AND OREGON 207 
 
 river-caflons. Above this belt undulates another stretch of hills and forests, dotted 
 with a chain of mining towns, ranches, and vineyards. Then come the swelling mid- 
 dle heights of the Sierras, a broad, billowy plateau, cut by sharp, sudden caflons and 
 sweeping up in grand forests of spruce, fir, and pine to the feet of the summit-peak, 
 where an eternal barrier of snow sternly forbids further advance of vegetation. The 
 forest gets thin and broken, showing only a few Alpine firs, black shafts cowering in 
 sheltered slopes or clinging to the storm-swept faces of the rocks. Higher up a few 
 gnarled forms are passed, and beyond this the silent white peaks lifting in sublime 
 loneliness. Volcanic domes and cones, and granite crags of every regular and irregu- 
 lar shape, crown these summits, some of them so beautiful as to make one think they 
 must have been carved by the chisel of the sculptor. The upper Alpine gorges are 
 wide and open, leading into amphitheatres whose walls are either rock or drifts of 
 never-melting snow packed and beaten into icy hardness. The sculpture of the sum- 
 mit is evidently the work of that wonderful carver, the ice-glacier, and, though in the 
 past the work of this great force was much more powerful in extent and character, 
 yet the frequent avalanches of to-day and the freshly-scored mountain-flanks are con- 
 stant suggestions of the past. The Swiss Alps have long been regarded as the most 
 attractive and beautiful mountains of the world, but those familiar with the deep 
 recesses of the Sierras find hei-e all the beauties and marvels of Alpine scenery exist- 
 ing in even greater degree. 
 
 The noble forest-covering of the flanks of the Sierras is unequaled, perhaps, cer- 
 tainly not surpassed, in any mountains of the world. The tall, straight shafts of pine 
 and spruce rise to the height of those splendid trees which make the forests of 
 Oregon and Washington Territory so remarkable, and the dense mantle of deep green 
 lends great beauty to the slopes which shoot up above in snowy pinnacles. The 
 traveler by rail sees but little of the noblest scenery of the Sierras, as the vision is 
 closed in by the snow-sheds, which extend for so many miles. To enjoy it we must 
 be prepared to undergo hardship and fatigue, camping out amid the deep forests, or 
 on the mountain-sides, and prepared for all the rough accidents of frontier life. 
 
 We find among the caflons, and at the base of the Sierras, or flowing down the 
 flanks of the pine-covered slopes, charming little streams, even a few rivers of con- 
 siderable size, their clear waters brawling over a i^ebbly or, it may be, a bowlder- 
 strewed bottom, and alive with fine trout, of a size and gameness which would make 
 the heart of the Eastern angler dance with joy. Among these beautiful streams is 
 the Truckee River, which flows through the well - named Pleasant Valley. Such 
 bright mountain-rivers lend additional beauty to the scenery of the middle and 
 lower slopes of the Sierras, which combine so many varied beauties as almost to 
 justify the boast of many of the enthusiastic men of the Pacific slope, who are ac- 
 customed to say, with some degree of irreverence, that, after the Almighty had made 
 all the other mountains in the world, he made the Sierra Nevadas, as the final result 
 of all his experiments in creating what is grand and beautiful. 
 
 Leaving the Sierras, let us take a hasty survey of some of the other features of 
 
208 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Nevada. Most of the surface-water of the State is collected in lakes, none of them 
 of great size, most of them quite shallow, and all of them picturesque in their sur- 
 roundings. The largest that lie wholly within the State are Pyramid Lake, formed 
 by the waters of the Truckee River ; and Humboldt, Walker, Carson, and Franklin 
 Lakes, formed respectively by the waters of the rivers bearing their names. 
 
 Pyramid Lake, Nevada. 
 
 Pyramid Lake, which is the largest, gets its name from a jiyramidal rock near its 
 center, rising six hundred feet above the surface of the water. It is of considerable 
 depth, and is entirely surrounded by precipitous mountains, two or three thousand 
 feet high. It abounds in large trout. The scenery all around is very grand, 
 befitting a State which may be considered so remarkable for its landscape effects, 
 specially in the grandeur of its mountain-views. What is called the Great Basin 
 of Nevada is not a shallow depression, or even a broad valley, but a succession of 
 valleys, separated by parallel ranges running north and south. It is only a basin, 
 in the sense of being lower than the Rocky Mountanis and the Sierras, whose huge 
 masses form its borders. Of the mountain-ranges which traverse the general valley, 
 the Humboldt chain may be taken as a good example. 
 
 After leaving the Truckee River, which flows near the borders of California and 
 
SCENES IN NEVADA AND OREO ON. 
 
 209 
 
 Nevada, the traveler, journeying in a northeasterly direction, crosses an arid desert, 
 which is desolate in the extreme. He may stop to examine the hot springs, scattered 
 throughout the waste, but he will probably hurry till he reaches a point where 
 the distant view of the Humboldt Mountains cheers his heart with the thought that 
 his goal is nearly reached. The mountains look charming in their veil of azure mist, 
 but we must not be content with this. Well does it repay the effort to climb their 
 rocky summits, lunch beside their sparkling rivulets, to spend a night around some 
 blazing camp-fire in a mountain ravine, to rouse the echoes of the glens, or the fiend- 
 ish yells of coyotes by the ringing peal of the rifle, or the trolling of a joyous song. 
 
 Star Peak, Nevada. 
 
 Let our reader fancy himself on the divide from which the view of Star Peak, 
 which is given in our illustration, was taken. He will then be seven thousand feet 
 high. To the left of the picture is seen a great bluff of limestone, a portion of a 
 
 grand natural wall, at some points six hundred feet in height. This is of great 
 
 u 
 
210 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 length, and often steep and inaccessible. The small trees are junipers and mountain 
 mahogany, and the bushes on the hill-sides are the ever-present sage-brush. Al- 
 though Star Peak, a mountain 9,960 feet above the sea, which looms so grandly in 
 the distance, appears quite near, it is in fact about ten miles from us. But, owing 
 to the exquisite clearness of the atmosphere, even the little canons and ravines which 
 furrow its sides may be distinctly discerned. On the northern side of this mountain 
 exist caves of great interest and extent. 
 
 As we look back, the view of the desert and the adjoining mountain-ranges is 
 peculiarly beautiful. One barely perceives the roads crossing the plains and winding 
 among the distant hills, but columns of dust rise in the air a thousand feet high 
 
 w^^ 
 
 Lake in the Hwmholdt Jiajige, A'evuda, 
 
 from passing teams, which look like mere motes. The ashy hue of the landscape is 
 relieved by the dazzling whiteness of the alkiili plain gleaming in the sunlight like a 
 bed of snow. 
 
 Mr. Bowles, in his animated narrative of his ride "Across the Continent," speaks 
 eloquently of the scenery of Nevada. "Mountains are always beautiful, and here 
 they are ever in sight, wearing every variety of shape, and even in their hard and 
 bare surfaces presenting many a fascination of form — running up into sharp peaks ; 
 rising up and rounding out into innumerable fat inammillas, exquisitely shaped : 
 sloping down into faint foot-hills, and mingling with the plain to which they are all 
 destined ; and now and then offering the silvery streak of snow which is the sign of 
 water for man and the promise of grass for ox. Add to the mountains the clear, 
 
SCENES IN NEVADA AND OB EG ON. 
 
 211 
 
 Seulptured Camii, Hiimbuldt lumffe, Xevadu. 
 
 pure, rare atmosphere, bringing remote objects near, giving new size and distinct- 
 ness to moon and stars, oilering sunsets and sunrises of indescribable richness and 
 reach of color, and accompanied with cloudless skies, and a south wind refreshing at 
 all times, and cool and exhilarating even in the afternoon and evening, and you 
 have large compensations for the lack of vegetation and color in the landscape." 
 
212 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 The Humboldt Range presents many of the most interesting features of Nevada 
 scenery. Tliere are scattered through it pretty little lakes, encircled by high peaks, 
 which, reflected in the clear waters with great distinctness, make a second picture for 
 the eye not less striking than the original. Magnificent caflons and gorges, too, 
 cleave its solid walls. Some of these show on their sides such sharp and striking 
 carvings, the work of heat and rain and frost on the hard rock, as to make one 
 almost fancy it human hand-work. Among these one is specially known as Sculptured 
 Caflon, and is an object of considerable interest to tourists and explorers. 
 
 Of another caflon, Wright's, we have a very interesting description by Mr. W. W. 
 Bailey, who belonged to a scientific exploring party which made a thorough exami- 
 nation of Nevada. He says : 
 
 " In the autumn of 1867, after a very arduous geological campaign on the 
 Truckee and Humboldt Rivers, the party of which I was a member encamped in the 
 mountains, in order to escape the dangerous miasms of the valleys, from which we 
 had all more or less suffered. The larger part of our force, with its military escort, 
 was at the opening of Wright's Caflon, six miles from the Orecma, on the Humboldt. 
 We noticed here a fact which greatly alarmed us at first. The stream which supplied 
 us with water became perfectly dry at noon, and we began to fear that our supply 
 was exhausted. At night, however, to our great surprise, it began to flow again, 
 suddenly, and with much noise. The same thing was repeated every day. This is 
 the result, probably, of the great daily evaporation, which exhausts the water before it 
 can reach tlie plain. The equally powerful radiation which takes place during the 
 niglit, and possibly a direct condensation from the air, are sufiicient causes for the 
 restoration of the stream to its normal condition, if fluidity can be considered the 
 natural state of anything in tlie arid regions of the Great Basin. 
 
 "The more invalid portion of our party were wisely ordered to encamp a mile or 
 so farther up the caflon, and a rough mountain road or trail led to their airy retreat. 
 The horses, too, which had fared but poorly on the sage-brush and grease-wood of 
 the barren deserts, were removed to the same place, and by means of the scanty but 
 rich supply of bunch-grass were able to prolong their wretched existence. It is mar- 
 velous how these animals can sustain life in a country where there is apparently so 
 little forage ; but they do live and thrive. One day my friend the photographer and 
 myself determined to visit the invalids, and to explore the wonders of the hills. We 
 found our unfortunate comrades encamped in a most romantic spot, around which 
 rose the towering summits of the mountains. A series of bold and castellated ridges 
 of granite attracted our attention, and we resolved to scale them. The worst part of 
 our climb, the whole of which was arduous, was up a steep sage-brush hill, which 
 led to the base of the attractive rocks. We found the granite wall very fantastic in 
 outline, steep, and hollowed into a variety of curious caves. The weather, and per- 
 haps the wind-borne sand, which is a powerful agent in this country, had acted upon 
 it in a most peculiar manner. The surface of the cliffs in some places looked as if 
 the granite had once been licjuid, and a breeze gently blowing over it liad rippled 
 
SCENES IN NEVADA AND OREGON. 
 
 213 
 
 the plastic material, whicli had then been suddenly petrified. The actual cause of 
 the appearance is, however, quite different. It is doubtless owing to certain portions 
 of the rock having a more durable composition than the rest, whicli is consequently 
 eroded, leaving the harder parts standing in relief. Quite large junipers grew among 
 these rocks, and offered a refreshing shade. The wind blew furiously on the top, 
 and, owing to one especially dangerous-looking place, I informed my bolder companion 
 that I would proceed no farther. He succeeded in reaching the pinnacle. While 
 awaiting his return, I employed myself in gathering flowers, and was able to secure 
 
 Granite Muffs in WrighCs Carwii, Humboldt Banf/e, Nevada. 
 
 some rare and curious Alpine plants. The photographer reported the view from the 
 summit very extensive, and it certainly was grand where I beheld it. I was seated 
 upon the edge of a frightful abyss, and looked apparently a thousand feet down into 
 a small valley, whence the mass of the mountains rolled toward the plain in great 
 brown waves, unrelieved by a tree or any green thing, unless may be a straggling 
 juniper. The hills were covered with the sage, or artemisia, but even that is of an 
 ashy hue, in common with most of the desert plants. The great valley of the 
 Humboldt, stretching to the river and beyond, was equally barren, and then arose 
 the Trinity Mountains and other ranges, until a white cap here and there in the 
 
214 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 distance indicated the dim line of the Sierra Nevada. There was positively no color 
 in the scene, and yet it did not lack for beauty. The soft shades of neutral tint and 
 azure, and at evening the peculiar golden dust thrown over the mountains by the 
 setting sun, are effects that are unique and unsurpassed." 
 
 From the alkali wastes of Nevada, broken -with mountain-ranges, to green, fertile 
 Oregon, with its splendid forests, lakes, rivers, and valleys, a veritable paradise of nat- 
 ure, is indeed a change. What has before been said of Washington Territory may be 
 said also in great measure of Oregon, for they are the result of the same general 
 conditions, and equally merit the enthusiasm of those who pronounce this far North- 
 western corner of our country as presenting an almost perfect union of all the gifts 
 which Nature can bestow. In presenting some characteristic views of Oregon, we 
 can not select a more typical region than that traversed by one of the noblest of 
 American rivers, the Columbia, which most people living east of the Mississijipi 
 recollect with pleasure, if for no other reason, from the fact that it furnishes our 
 markets with tlieir chief supply of that finest of all fish, the salmon. The reference 
 to the Columbia made in the preceding article was, it will be remembered, of the 
 most casual kind, and did not attempt to sketch river scenery, of its kind, unsur- 
 passed anywhere. 
 
 A few miles up the river from its mouth, where a dangerous bar churns the waves 
 of the Pacific into terrible breakers which make the passage difficult except at certain 
 times of wind and tide, lies the little town of Astoria, founded by John Jacob Astor 
 as the headquarters of the fur company by which lie tried to dispute the supremacy 
 of the Hudson Bay Company. Here the stream is twelve miles wide, a noble expanse 
 more like a bay or a lake than a mere river. A writer thus describes this part of the 
 Columbia, as seen at early dawn : " The great river, still lake-like in breadth and 
 quietness, lay rosy in the dawn. The wonderful forests, whose magnificence our tame 
 and civil imagination could not have conceived, came down from farthest distance to 
 the very margin of the stream. Pines and firs two hundred feet in height were the 
 somber background against which a tropical splendor of color flickered or flamed out, 
 for even in this early September beeches and oaks and ash-trees were clothed with 
 autumn pomp ; and on the north, far above the silence of the river and the splendid 
 shores, four snow-crowned, rose-flushed, stately mountains lifted themselves to heaven. 
 For miles and miles and miles Mount Adams, Mount Jefferson, Mount Rainier, and 
 Mount St. Helen's make glad the way. Adams and Jefferson have an unvarying 
 grandeur of form, a massive strength and nobility as it becomes them to inherit with 
 their names. Mount St. Helen's rises in lines so vague and soft as to seem like a 
 cloud-mountain. Rainier, whose vastness you can only comprehend when you see it 
 from Puget Sound, looks, even from the river, immeasurable, lying snow-covered 
 from base to peak." 
 
 Portland, which is the goal of the San Francisco steamers, lies one hundred and 
 ten miles up the river, though not on the river, being twelve miles up on the Willa- 
 mette, one of the tributaries of the Columbia, a busy, thriving place. But it is not 
 
SCENES IN NEVADA AND OREGON. 
 
 215 
 
 the works of man, but of Nature, that we are now anxious to see. As we sail up 
 the broad stream we gaze with wonder on the mountain-shores, a mile and a half 
 apart, and shooting sharp and bold into the air thousands of feet. A solid wall along 
 the river for miles and miles, one can hardly see a rift or gorge in their huge sides 
 for a long distance. Then a canon suddenly opens, and you see, stretching far be- 
 
 Castle Rod. 
 
216 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 yond, other mountains, coming down to link themselves in an unending chain, and 
 glimpses of far-off reaches of meadow or gray fields of rock. Sometimes you are 
 dazzled by a glorious water-fall dancing out of the very sky — first a fluttering cobweb. 
 
 
 The Vtxsciid^. 
 
 then a gleaming ribbon, then a filmy veil of spray, tlien a swift cascade leaping from 
 rock to rock, then a resistless rush of water. 
 
 But the most beautiful thing of all is found in the great forest with its peerless 
 pine, spruce, and fir trees, many of them rising straight in the air three hundred 
 feet, with not a crook or bend in those symmetrical stems. This is the crowning 
 glory of Oregon scenery, and it may be safely stated that nowhere out of this region 
 can be seen such specimens of the trees on which hang our great lumbering interests. 
 But to enlarge on this would be only to repeat what has been said concerning Wash- 
 ington Territory. 
 
SCENES IN NEVADA AND OREGON. 217 
 
 Sometimes we find our river flowing straight and nutrovibled, sometimes it parts 
 on rocky mounds or islands, and runs shallow and dangerous. Sometimes it expands 
 into a chain of narrow lakes without any oiitlet, until, suddenly turning on our track, 
 we find a way out of the watery labyrinth. The river, along this part of its course, 
 shows the most astonishing caprices. Walls of basalt in vast ledges rise sheer from 
 the shore, overtopping the farther mountains. Huge bowlders like Castle Eock lift 
 themselves to a vast height from their broad, water-washed bases, while majestic ram- 
 parts like Cape Horn stand in columnar walls sometimes seven hundred feet high. 
 No architecture from the hands of man could be so impressive as these columns, 
 shafts, and obelisks, so profusely scattered in the river and along the banks. And 
 through such gi'and gate-ways we finally come to the Cascades. 
 
 These are fierce and whirling rapids where the river falls forty feet, dashing down 
 twenty feet at one bound. For five miles the water is a seething caldron of foam and 
 cixrl, and no boat, however stanch, could live in such a course. So the difficulty is 
 overcome in a short railway which makes the jjortage, but a railway which nans so 
 near the river as to make the whirling water plainly visible as it dashes madly down 
 in every variety of cascade and rapid. When we take steamer again, the brawling and 
 rage of the stream have been succeeded by a surface as smooth as a mill-pond. 
 
 By-and-by we get into the heart of the mountains, which tower higher and closer 
 to the river-brink as we proceed. The river narrows and again gets fierce and tur- 
 bulent, for the wind whistles through the gorges, and during the spring freshets the 
 surf roars in waves like those of breakers on a rock-bound sea-coast. Tlie cliffs on 
 the brink lift in walls of basalt from four hundred to twelve hundred feet high, with 
 occasionally a bold rampart of twice the height. As we look back through some 
 vista broader than common to the south, we see the shining, snow-covered Mount 
 Hood literally filling the horizon. With this foreground of river and forest, and all 
 this blaze of color set against the cold glitter of the ice-peak and the warm blue of 
 the sky above. Mount Hood is more splendid than pen and brush can delineate. 
 
 We now come to Dalles City, the second town in Oregon, and the base of supply 
 for the Idaho miners, and to which they send their gold for shipment. Now the 
 great cliffs disappear, and we enter the sand-region. Nature's scene-shifting on the 
 Pacific coast is one of her most curious phases. From forests as grand as those of 
 the tropics to desolate mountain-peaks, from placid lake to roaring cataract, from the 
 richest greenness to Sahara sands — it is but the work of a few minutes. One's thought 
 is stirred and delighted by such wonderful changes. 
 
 The wind now blows the sand in a fine rain that fills the eyes, the ears, and the 
 clothes, if there is a stiff breeze blowing ; or, if not, the vision takes in a wide plain 
 of glaring white sand, melancholy though still beautiful, as it is set against a back- 
 ground of green-belted, white-topped mountains. The fifteen miles of portage neces- 
 sary show superb river scenery wherever the sand will let you see it. Here the 
 Columbia is a succession of rapids, falls, and whirlpools, where the dalles, rough flag- 
 stones which give their name to the place, make crooked and narrow channels for the 
 
218 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 stream. We now see every form or tint, every caprice of motion, which water can 
 take on. Below the great fall the whole volume of the stream — whose branches 
 stretch north through British Columbia, east through Idaho and Montana, south and 
 
 Mount Hood. 
 
 west into Nevada, and reaching down gather in the icy rivulets of the Rocty Moun- 
 tains — pours through a gate-way not fifty yards in width, whose sides are steep preci- 
 pices, hewed as by a stone-mason's chisel. The smooth and glassy water slides by in 
 brown shadow, to be torn into ragged ribbons by the rocks below, even as it has been 
 
SCENES IN NEVADA AND OREGON. 
 
 219 
 
 dashed and beaten above at tlie great falls. Here the river is a mile wide, and 
 plunges over a wall twenty feet high, stretching from shore to shore. 
 
 These falls are known as the Salmon Falls, on account of their display of one of 
 the most wonderful facts of fish-life. The salmon come up here in incredible num- 
 bers, and shoot the falls on their way to the quiet river above, when about to s^jawn. 
 They leap up like flashes of light over the tumbling waters, and it is most fascinating 
 to watch them as we stand on the slippery stones, and see these scaly gymnasts charge 
 at the barrier. Up they come through the gleaming rapids, a solid army of fish, 
 
 Suhnon Falls, 
 
 making the whole river gleam with color. They no more mind precipice and torrent 
 than they would a summer pool. Swiftly they swim to the white whirlpool below. 
 Suddenly something bright and glittering is seen in the air, and something glides up 
 the stream above the fall. The daring fish has made its leap over rock and water-fall, 
 and has found shelter above. Or, perhaps, the flash in the air is in vain, and the 
 bruised creature, wounded on the sharp rocks below, floats bleeding down the stream 
 to die. So they come on in countless thousands, ever strong and fearless, and leap, 
 to win or lose, all the day and for half the days of the year. 
 
 The leaps of the salmon as they make their desperate efforts to obey the instincts 
 
320 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 of nature, are not the only evidences of life that we see about the falls. Dirty, 
 scantily clad Indians swarm close at hand with spears, and kill the leaping fish by 
 thousands. Not content with sufficient to satisfy their appetite or even to provide 
 against the future, the red-skins slay for the purpose of wanton bloodshed, and 
 throw the beautiful and delicious fish, fit for the table of a king, on the bank to 
 rot, and fill the aii' with an insufferable stench. The Oregon Indians, and particularly 
 those who live on the banks of the Columbia River, are perbai^s among the most 
 loathsome and repulsive specimens of their race. Most scantily clad, reeking with 
 vermin, thoroughly idle and worthless, imbued with the worst vices of the white man, 
 with no trace of his virtues, the red-man of this section is a nuisance and an eye-sore, 
 far inferior to the Indian who lives farther north or to the savage of the plains in the 
 south. It is with pleasure that the whites anticipate the extinction of these miserable 
 creatures, who, however they may have been wronged in the past, show such an utter 
 degradation to-day as to be but little above the animals which they pursue in the 
 chase. 
 
 Above the Dalles the forests disappear, and for miles on miles little else in the 
 way of vegetation can be seen than the thick brown grass which clothes the banks 
 with its sere and dismal line. The scenery has become tame, and the tourist no 
 longer has any inducement to proceed liigher than Wright's Harbor, which is two 
 hundred and fifty miles from the sea. Steamers, however, ply for four hundred 
 miles, and then a queer little boat runs up the Snake River in Idaho. When the 
 Northern Pacific Railway is finished, connecting the head-waters of the Missouri with 
 those of the Columbia, there will be opened an incalculable wealth to trade, and a 
 remarkable wilderness for the tourist to visit. 
 
 Eastern Oregon is a vast region which is now but comparatively little known. It 
 is, properly speaking, that region lying east of the Blue Mountain range which runs, 
 in a general way, parallel with the Cascade and the Coast ranges of mountains, the 
 latter being close to the sea-border, while the Cascade Mountains pretty nearly bisect 
 the State. Near the Idaho border there has been a very considerable overflow of the 
 mining population from the former State, but Eastern Oregon is for the most part 
 sparsely settled. 
 
 The lands in the valleys of Eastern Oregon may be divided into three classes : 
 the bottom-lands, consisting of alluvial lands of great depth and richness ; the foot- 
 hills, which furnish many thousand square miles of splendid wheat acreage ; and the 
 pasturage-lands of the upper hills, which are also good for wheat when irrigated. 
 These hill-sides furnish a very rich vegetation, a great variety of sweet and nutritious 
 grasses for sheep and cattle. In fact, the whole of Oregon is admirably adajited for 
 stock-raising and the growth of winter wheat. Through most of these valleys run 
 tributaries of the Snake River, which are the sources of life and vegetation. Between 
 the Blue and the Cascade Mountains lies a great stretch of open, rolling country — 
 bare, rocky hills, with hardly a tree or a bush to be seen, exce]3t bunch-grass and 
 sage-brush. The large flocks of sheep, which within a few years have been established 
 
SCENES IN NEVADA AND OREGON. 221 
 
 on different ranches throughout this region, have in great measure changed the char- 
 acter of the country, and now a richer order of vegetation has sprung up with the 
 close-cropping of the sage-brush by the great flocks which thrive and fatten where 
 other animals would starve. 
 
 The whole State of Oregon has an area of ninety-five thousand square miles, and 
 has average dimensions of three hundred and sixty miles by two hundred and sixty. 
 On the north is Washington Territory, from which it is partly divided by the Colum- 
 bia Kiver ; on the east is the great mining State of Idaho, the Snake River furnishing 
 a portion of the boundary ; and on the south are the States of Nevada and California, 
 while the huge billows of the Pacific dash against its western bounds. The western 
 half of the State is very mountainous, and superbly endowed with rich soil and 
 noble timber. The system of water-courses is diversified, and all the natural condi- 
 tions are eminently favorable for the growth of a wealthy and prosperous community. 
 
 Western Oregon is not only more easily accessible, but is most interesting to the 
 tourist on account of its natural beauty and its more agreeable social phases. A 
 majority of the inhabitants of the State are settled in the Willamette Valley, which 
 extends about two hundred miles south from Portland, the capital of the State, with 
 a widtli of some forty or fifty miles. The Willamette River runs into the Columbia, 
 about twenty miles above Portland. This valley, on account of its splendid climate, 
 admirable soil, and fullness of natural resources, is by far the most notable portion of 
 Oregon. 
 
 A little picture of an Oregon city, its population, and those characteristics which 
 belong, more or less, to all new places, may not prove devoid of interest to our 
 readers. Mr. Wallis Nash, who has lately written a book on Oregon, thus describes 
 the little city of Corvallis, which lies about a hundred miles below Portland, on the 
 Willamette River: "Just a mile from Corvallis, on a gently rounded knoll, we look 
 eastward across the town, and the river, and the broad valley beyond, to the Cascade 
 Mountains. Their lowest range is about thirty miles off, and the rich, flat valley 
 between is hidden by the thick line of timbei-, generally fir, that fringes the farther 
 side of the Willamette. Against the dark line of timber the spires of the churches 
 and the cupola of the court-house stand out clear, and the gray and red shingled 
 roofs of the houses in the town catch early rays of the rising sun. The first to be 
 lighted up are the great snow-peaks, ninety, seventy, and fifty miles ofE — a ghostly, 
 pearly gray in the dim morning, while the lower ranges lie in shadow ; but, as the 
 sun rises in the heavens, these same lower ranges grow distinct in their broken out- 
 lines. The air is so clear that you see plainly the colors of the bare red rocks, and 
 the heavy, dark fir-timber clothing their rugged sides. Ere the sun mounts high 
 the valley often lies covered with a low-lying, thin, white mist, beyond and over 
 which the mountains stand out clear. For some weeks in the late summer heavy 
 smoke-clouds, from the many forest and clearing fires, obscure all distant view. This 
 last summer fires burned for at least fifty miles in length, at close intervals of dis- 
 tance, and the dark gray })all overlay the mountains throughout. Behind the house. 
 
222 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 and ill easy view from the windows on either side, are the Coast Mountains, or rather 
 hills. 
 
 " Mary's Peak rises over four thousand feet, and is snow-crowned for nine months 
 in the year. The outlines of tliis range are far more gently rounded than the Cas- 
 cades, and timber-covered to the toji. Save for the solid line of the heavy timber. 
 
 CiyrvaUin. 
 
 the outlines of the Coast Range constantly remind us of our own Dartmoor ; and the 
 illusion is strengthened by the dark-red soil where the plow has invaded the hills, 
 yearly stealing nearer to their crowns. Mary's Peak itself is bare at the top for 
 about a thousand acres, but the tirs clothe its sides, and the air is so clear that, in 
 spite of the seventeen miles' distance, their serrated shapes are plainly and individu- 
 ally visible as the sun sinks to rest behind the mountain. 
 
 " Such sunsets as we have ! Last night I was a mile or two on the other side of 
 the river as night fell. Mount Hood was the first to blush, and then Mount Jeffer- 
 son and the Three Sisters in turn grew rosy red. From the valley I could not see 
 the lower Cascades, but these snowy jiyramids towered high into the sky. One little 
 fleecy cloud here and there overhead caught the tinge, but the whole air on the 
 eastern side was luminously pink. Turning westward, the pale blue sky faded through 
 the rainbow green into the rich orange surrounding the dei)arting sun. and tlie west- 
 ward mountains stood solidly and clearly blue in massive lines." 
 
 Throughout this region the eye observes a great numl)cr of while fiirm-houses, 
 almost as thick indeed as in New England. Near every farm-house is an orchard, and 
 
SCENES IN NEVADA AND OREGON. 223 
 
 of course a big barn, oftentimes bigger than the house. The liouses are of three 
 kinds, log-houses, box-houses, and frame-houses. The first sort is by far the most pict- 
 uresque, but it is fast becoming obsolete ; but it is now for the most part used as 
 a wood-shed or pig-pen. Still, the old-fashioned log-house, when at its best, is an 
 exceedingly comfortable building, with its low, solid, rugged walls, its overhanging 
 shingled roof, great chimney and fire-jDlace. By the side of the fire-])lace, from two 
 deer's or elk's horns fastened to the wall, hang the owner's rifle and other guns. 
 Over the mantel-shelf stands the ticking clock, and curtained off from the main room, 
 with its roughly boarded floor, are the low bedsteads of the family, covered with patch- 
 work. On the whole, it is a rude yet inviting scene. 
 
 Round the house is the home-field, generally tlie orchard, sown with timothy-grass, 
 where range four or five young calves, and a sow or two, with their hungry, rooting 
 youngsters. The barn, log-built also, stands near by, with two or three colts, or year- 
 ling cattle, grouped around. The spring of cold, clear water runs freely through the 
 orchard, but ten yards from the house-door, hastening to the "creek," whose murmur 
 is never absent, save in the few driest weeks of summer-time. 
 
 Snake-fences, seven logs high, with top-rail and crossed binders to keep all steady, 
 divide the farm from the road, and a litter of chips from the axe-hewed pile of fire- 
 wood strews the ground between wood-pile and house. Here and there, even in the 
 liome-fleld, and nearly always in the more distant land, a big black stump disfigures 
 the surface, and betrays the poverty or possibly the carelessness of the owner, who has 
 carved his homestead from the brush. As time progresses the log-hut is mostly 
 replaced by far more pretentious houses, and the farm-houses are as attractive as in 
 the long-settled States of tiie East. The Willamette Valley and various other parts 
 of Western Oregon present now as striking an exhibition of a highly advanced agri- 
 cultural community as probably can be found anywhere in America. 
 
 Between the Willamette Valley and the ocean there are beautiful minor valleys, 
 through which streams pour into the Willamette, and others again whose water-courses 
 feed the great ocean itself. Among the latter is the Yaquina Valley, which is a 
 scene of pastoral and woodland loveliness difficult to match. Let us again take a 
 description from Mr. Wallis Nash, who followed the course of the valley on horseback. 
 
 " Presently we leave the Yaquina River, which for over twenty miles we have fol- 
 lowed down its course ; for never a mile without taking in some little brook where 
 the minnows are playing in busy schools over the clean gravel, and the crawfish are 
 edging along and staggering back as if walking were an unknown art practiced for 
 tlie first time. The river has grown from the burn we first crossed to a tidal water- 
 course, with a channel fifteen feet in depth, and, having left its youthful vivacity 
 behind, flows gravely on, bearing now a timber-raft, then a wide-floored scow, and 
 here the steam-launch carrying the mail. But we climb the highest hill we have 
 yet passed, where the aneroid shows eleven hundred feet above the sea-level, and from 
 its narrow crest catch our first sight of the bay, glittering between the fir-woods in 
 the mornintj sun. 
 
234 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 "We leave the copse- woods behind and canter for miles along a gently sloping, 
 sandy road ; the hills are thick in fern and thimble-berry bush, with the polished 
 leaves and waxy-white flowers of the sallal frequently pushing through. We have got 
 used by this time to the black, burned trunks, and somehow they seem appropriate 
 to the view. But the sound of tlie Pacific waves beating on the rocky coast has 
 been growing louder. 
 
 "That dim blue haze in the distance is the morning fog, which has retreated 
 from the coast and left its outlines clear. On the right is the rounded massive 
 cape, on the lowest ledge of which stands Foulweather Light-house. The bare slopes 
 and steep sea-face tell of its basaltic formation, which gives perpendicular outlines to 
 
 the jutting rocks against which, some six miles off, the waves are dashing heavily. 
 Between that distant cape and the Yaquina Light-house Point the coast-line is invisi- 
 ble from the height on which we stand, but the ceaseless roar tells of rocky head- 
 lands and pebble-strewed beach. Below us lies the bay, a calm haven, with its narrow 
 entrance right before us, and away off, a mile at sea, a protecting line of reef, with 
 its whole course and its north and south ends distinctly marked by the white break- 
 ers spouting up with each long swell of the Pacific waves. Under the shelter of the 
 light-house hill, on the northern side, stands the little town of Newport, its twenty or 
 thirty white houses and boat-frecjuented beach giving the suggestion of human life 
 and interest to the scene." 
 
SUMMER HAUNTS BY THE SEA. 
 
 Striking cliaracteristies of the upper New England coa>t — Tlie cliffs of Grand Manan — Mount Desert and ite remark- 
 able fascinations — Sea-shore, forest, mountains, and lakes happily united — The Eastern Shore — From Portland to 
 Portsmouth — The Isles of Shoals and their traditions — Quaint old historic towns — Naliant and Swampscott — New- 
 port, the queen of American watering-places — Its former coininercial glory and historic importance — The ocean- 
 scener)' about Newport — Social life at Newport — Coney Island, the antijiodes of Newport — A typical democratic 
 watering-place. 
 
 The North Atlantic coast-line, which extends from the eastern boiuuiary of Maine 
 to Old Point Comfort, Virginia, j)resents to the pleasure-seeker scenes of the most 
 varied interest and fascination, whether he affects the gay resorts of fashion, or loves 
 the sweet and stimulating delights of the ocean and ocean-scenery for their own sake. 
 There is an embarrassment of riches offered to his choice which might well perplex 
 liim, and indeed causes many a one to flit from place to place on our grand sea-border, 
 catching fresh phases of enjoyment and suggestion at each of these charming summer 
 communities. The characteristics of the shore give a diiferent setting to almost every 
 mile of the coast, and hence each sea-side wateriitg-place has its own physiognomy 
 and character, and offers something odd and dissimilar to its fellows, in spite of cer- 
 tain general facts in common. Let us make a summer Journey to some of tlie ty])ical 
 watering-places of our Northern sea-coast, to those which are generally associated in 
 the public mind with the movements of the throngs of pilgrims who leave home and 
 business for the tonic of the salty air and tumbling sea-waves. In doing this, we shall 
 also ask our readers to give a passing glance at some minor places, in themselves no 
 less delightful than those which have been stamped with the seal of fashion, and 
 where quiet souls find, ])erhaps, a more perfect solace than in the much-frequented 
 resorts. 
 
 It is ditficult to plan a more delightful summer journey than along that portion 
 
 of the New England coast which extends from Portland to Boston, and which by a 
 
 stretch may also be made to include the sea-line east of Portland. This region is 
 
 known as the Eastern Shore. Irregular and rocky, deeply indented with bays of the 
 
 most picturesque outlines. Nature has supplied it with nearly every variety of beauty, 
 
 from frowning, jagged cliffs, to long, smooth, curving beaches, with their background 
 
 of greenery. The lover of the sea-side here finds a boitndless choice to satisfy his 
 
 most exacting taste. 
 
 As we pass along the coast we shall find evidence how kt'eiilv its wonderful beau- 
 is 
 
^ 
 
 22G 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Grand Mnnan. 
 
tiUMMER HAUNTS BY THE SEA. 227 
 
 ties are appreciated. Splendid villas thickly 'dot the irregular border ; here and there, 
 on breaker-beaten island or bold projection of the coast, hotels and cottages an- 
 nounce the summer watering-place ; while on the long stretches of otherwise unoccu- 
 pied beach, or on the grassy tops of headlands, may be often seen the gay tents of a 
 camping-out party. Nearly every mile some evidence presents itself, during the sum- 
 mer months, of the fascination exercised over the tastes and imaginations of visitors. 
 
 Let us begin our journey far away on the eastern border of Maine, at a wild and 
 rugged island out of the dominion of the United States — the Isle of Grand Manan — 
 the home of fishermen and wild sea-fowl, but abounding with every condition to 
 attract the artist and lover of Nature, the sportsman and all addicted to the breezy 
 and stirring pleasures of out-door life. It lies a little southeast of Eastport, and is 
 about 'twenty miles long by five miles wide. It has no mountains, but the shores 
 lift in tall, weird, scarred, strangely marked cliffs. At the northern end of the island 
 they are four hundred feet high, and the sea beats against their base in a ceaseless 
 conflict. 
 
 Manan is an Indian word, meaning "island." The French voi/ac/eui-, Champlain, 
 passed the island in 10()5, and speaks of the island as Manthane. Up to the time of 
 the Revolution it was only inhabited by Indians, but now a number of fishing villages 
 have grown on its shores, containing about eighteen hundred of the bold toilers of 
 the sea. Although it is only nine miles from the mainland, it often takes a week to 
 cross the narrow channel or sound. Fogs abound here ; the tides are terribly swift 
 and strong ; gales are frequent, and these often unite to retard the progress of a sail- 
 ing-vessel. WJien the big hotels go up, as they will some day on this wild, sea-girt 
 place, steamers, of course, will remove the difficulty, and make the place easy of 
 access. 
 
 There is a charm in grand sea-beaten cliffs which throws its magic over every one. 
 The sea chafes without rest at their base, tearing down great masses of rock, eating 
 out channels, and caves, and long galleries, carving pinnacles and other fantastic 
 shapes, as if with the chisel of a sculptor — the waves for ever hurling themselves on 
 the frowning wall, and the rocks for ever set hard and defiant against the restless 
 waves. Then the wild sea-birds that hover about the • rocky heights ; the strange 
 marine forms which are stranded by the retiring waves in caves and recesses ; the 
 fogs that sail up from the sea and shroud crag and headland, ships and water, sky 
 and space, in their dense veil : the breezes that blow rich with the salty flavor of the 
 Atlantic, and fill the lungs with a glow like that of chamjiagne in the blood ; the 
 freshness, the breeziness, the expanse, the wild ruggedness, the roar and break of the 
 sea, the stern defiance of the rocks, the sails that come and go with such free and 
 graceful wings over the blue outing — all these things thrill the blood and charm the 
 eye. 
 
 But, if we find such attractions at Grand Manan, we discover a still more potent 
 charm at Mount Desert. The bold and diversified coast of Maine presents aspects 
 which place it apart as a section of the Atlantic coast-line, and Mount Desert Island, 
 
228 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 (Mstlt Heiul. Mniiiit lif.vi-1. 
 
 which lies iu Frenchman's Bay. about forty miles southeast from Bangor, may be 
 regarded as one of the most striking types of this peculiar beauty. We reach the 
 island, which has of late years attracted more attention, perhaps, than any other sea- 
 side summer-resort in the country, by steamboat from Portland or Bangor — a brief 
 voyage, skirting a striking shore, and full of pleasant surprises as the boat winds 
 tlirough intricate channels and pretty islands which fringe the irregular line of the 
 coast. Mount Desert has an area of one hundred square miles, its dimensions being 
 fourteen miles in length and eight miles at its greatest width. At the northern end 
 it approaches the mainland so nearly that a bridge has been thrown across, and it is 
 almost pierced in two parts by an inlet known as Somes's Sound, which is seven 
 miles long. 
 
SUMMER HAUNTS BY THE SEA. _ 229 
 
 "The island,'' says Mr. Carter, in his '•Summer Cruise," "is a mass of mount- 
 ains crowded togetlier, and seemingly rising from the water. As you draw near they 
 resolve themselves into thirteen distinct peaks, the highest of which is two thoiisand 
 feet above the ocean. Certainly only in the tropics can the scene be excelled — only in 
 the gorgeous isles of the Indian and Pacific Oceans. On the coast of America it has 
 no rival, except perliaps at the bay of Eio Janeiro." The assemblage of jjicturesque 
 features at ilount Desert is quite remarkable. It is surrounded by seas, crowned with 
 mountains, and gemmed with lakes. On the bold, beetling cliffs of its shores the 
 breakers for immemorial time have guawed and bitten with furious attack. Here, in 
 one picture, are frowning cliffs echoing with the roar of restless breakers ; far reaches 
 of bay, dotted with lovely little islands ; pellucid mountain-lakes reflecting the preci- 
 pices that tower above them ; rugged gorges clothed with primitive forests ; and 
 slieltered coves where the wavelets dimple the shining beach. Masses of rock, heaped 
 on one another as if hurled by giants in their play, are piled up on the shores ; and 
 hard by one perceives wonderful sea-caverns, where the retiring waves have left sea- 
 creatures of the strangest form and beauty. On the mountains are frightful precipices, 
 far prospects of the glittering, restless sea, mazes of land and water, and magnificent 
 forests of fir and spruce. Such a union of landscape attractions Nature rarely 
 affords, even when in her most lavish humor. 
 
 Mount Desert was discovered by the French under Champlain in the early part of 
 the seventeenth century, and they gave its name, as exjiressive of the wild and savage 
 aspects of the mountains and cliffs that fmiit tlie sea. In 1(J19 the French formed a 
 settlement, which was named Saint Sauveur, but in a few years it met a cruel fate. 
 The Virginian settlers were accustomed to fish on the New England coast, and the 
 captain of an armed vessel, hearing from the Indians of the settlement, sailed down 
 on it, and with a single broadside made himself its master, some of the settlers being 
 killed and others carried into captivity. Abraham Somes made the first permanent 
 settlement in 17G1, and built a house at the head of the sound which now bears his 
 name. 
 
 There are now three townships on this island — Tremont, Mount Desert, and Eden ; 
 and of the several harbors the best known are Southwest, Northeast, and Bar Harbor. 
 The latter is on the eastern shore, opposite the Porcupine Islands ; and the village at 
 this harbor known as East Eden is the principal haunt of tourists and summer vis- 
 itors. Containing fourteen large hotels of more or less excellence, this village has 
 great advantages on account of the facilities it affords for boating and fishing, and its 
 convenient place with relation to the multitude of interesting sights and objects with 
 which the island abounds. The aspect of summer-life differs considerabl}- here from 
 that characteristic of other watering-places. The dolce far niente, the supine and 
 empty listlessness, the dawdling on hotel-piazzas by day, and the fashionable dissipa- 
 tion by night, give place at Mount Desert to alert and active enjoyment of all the 
 beauties of nature. Walking, sailing, and sketching parties keep the little summer 
 population in perpetual movement, and tlie pale-faced denizens of cities, under the 
 
230 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 influence of the bracing air, the stimulus of lovely scenery, and the life-giving effects 
 of exercise, soon become new men and women. Brown, bright-e3'ed girls, with short 
 skirts, huge straw hats, and mountain-staff in hand, may be seen skipping about in 
 every part of the island, and ready to dare almost any danger in climbing the rocks, 
 which are sometimes formidable, even to the experienced cragsman. At almost every 
 turn you will meet joyous parties bent on ex])loring every nook and corner, and re- 
 
 CUfa (it Mount Dtaert. 
 
 gardless of fatigue and peril. This hearty enjoyment of out-door life is the pervading 
 spirit of the summer visitors, and the most lazy and listless people soon feel the effect 
 of the influence. 
 
 The mountains of Mount Desert are seen to best advantage from the sea, and the 
 approach to the harbor gives a fine succession of scenic effects. The mountains are 
 in the southern half of the island, and lie in seven ridges running nearly north and 
 south. There are thirteen distinct i)eaks, the highest of which is known as Green 
 Mountain, and the next in size, separated from the other by a deep gorge, as New- 
 port. The western sides of the mountains slope gradually upward to the summits. 
 
SUMMER HAUNTS BY THE SEA. 231 
 
 but on the east they break off sharp in hujje precipices. Newport rises almost in 
 an abrupt line from the water's edge a thousand feet in height. 
 
 The exploration of Mount Desert affords a continual series of delightful surprises. 
 The ascent of Green Mountain rewards the climber with a panorama of land and 
 water difficult to match anywhere in beauty and picturesqueness. But jierhaps the 
 greatest pleasure is found in exploring the series of rocks and cliffs extending along 
 the shore. One of the notable places is known by the not very romantic name of 
 "The Ovens," which lie some six or seven miles up the bay. The shore at this point 
 has a delicious sei'enity and repose. The waters ripple calmly at the base of the cliffs, 
 and only when the wind is high do breakers dash against the sculptured rocks. Fine 
 trees crown the top of the perpendicular walls, and cast their shadows on the beach. 
 Grass and flowers grow along the range, and in the crevices of the rocky face rich 
 greenery and flowering shrubs may be seen, making a vivid contrast with the many- 
 tinted walls. "The Ovens" are cavities worn by the waves in the sides of the cliffs, 
 some of them being large enough to hold thirty or forty people. All these caves are 
 natural aquaria, where the visitor sees strange and beautiful forms of marine life, sea- 
 anemones, star-fish, sea-urchins, etc. The sunny bay, the white-winged yachts gliding 
 on the water, the peaceful shores, the imposing cliffs, crowned with the green forest, 
 make a picture of great loveliness. 
 
 When the winds lash the ocean into fury, the more exposed cliffs of Mount Des- 
 ert offer a grand spectacle. The following description of a storm as witnessed at 
 "Schooner Head" — so called from the appearance of its sea-face, which derives its 
 principal interest from the "Spouting Horn," a wide chasm in the cliff extending 
 down to the water, and opening to the sea through a small archway below high- 
 water mark — gives a forcible picture of such a scene : 
 
 '• The breakers hurl themselves with such wild fury through the cavernous open- 
 ing against the wall of rock, that their spray is hurled a hundred feet above the 
 opening at the top of the cliff, as if a vast geyser were extemporized on the shore. 
 The scene is inspiring and terrible. Visitors to Mount Desert but half understand or 
 appreciate its wonders if they do not visit its cliffs in a storm. On the softest sum- 
 mer day the angry but subdued roar, with which the breakers ceaselessly assault the 
 rocks, gives a vague intimation what their fury is when the gale hishes them into 
 tumult. At such times they hurl themselves against the cliffs with a violence that 
 threatens to beat down the rocky barriers and submerge the land ; their spray deluges 
 the abutments to the very top, and the thunder of their angry crash against the 
 rocks may be heard for miles. But at other times the ceaseless war they make upon 
 the shore seems to be one of defeat. Tlie waves come in full, sweeping charge on 
 the rocks, but hastily fall back broken and discomfited, giving place to fresh levies, 
 who repeat the first assault and, like their predecessors, are hurled back defeated. 
 The war is endless, and yet by slow degrees the sea gains on its grim and silent 
 enemy. It undermines, it makes channels, it gnaws caverns, it eats out chasms, it 
 wears away little by little the surface of the stone, it summons the aid of frost and 
 
232 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 heat to dislodge and pull down great fragments of masonry, it grinds into sand, it 
 gashes into scars, and it will never rest until it has dragged down the opposing walls 
 into its depths." 
 
 One of the pleasing features of Mount Desert is found in its striking cloud-effects. 
 The sun is shining brightly, when suddenly the mist begins to creep in over the sur- 
 face of the water, ascending in rapid drifts the side of the mountain, and gradually 
 enveloping the islands of the bay till the whole landscape is blotted out from view. 
 In another hour the veil is rent ; the mountains pierce the solid shadows ; the islands 
 again gleam in the sunlight, and the landscape glows anew with life and beauty. 
 For one sitting on the rocky headlands on the seaward side of the isle, on a day 
 when the fog and sun tight for supremacy, the pictures which the fog makes and un- 
 makes are weird and beautiful. Sometimes the fog-banks, blotting out the base of 
 the islands, leave only a slender line of tree-tops painted against the blue ether, like 
 forests in the sky. Then, again, vessels sail through the mist like shadowy ghosts, 
 tlie top-sails flashing like the white wings of huge birds. Suddenly the fog shifts, 
 and one single vessel stands out like a brilliant picture, all the rest being wrapped 
 up in the fog. The pictures thus formed are almost endless, and make a series of 
 dissolving views of the most unique soi-t. Again the eye observes the marvelous 
 exhibition of a mirage, when fleets appear sailing in the upper air. 
 
 To recount the many wonders and beauties of Mount Desert would take too much 
 space. Its mountains, its beetling, jagged walls of cliff, frowning on the sea-front, 
 suggesting old Norman keeps, cathedrals, ruined temples, and other wonders of 
 architecture ; its charming lakes and fine old forests ; its numberless views rewarding 
 the seeker with the greatest variety of effects ; its striking phases of atmosphere, fog, 
 and light, producing aerial pictures of the greatest beauty — all these make Mount 
 Desert a justly celebrated resort for the lover of Nature. It is only a few years since 
 the attractions of the island have become celebrated, and now it is one of the best- 
 known summer haunts of the United States, not because it furnishes the best hotels 
 and the gay show of fashionable equipages and costly dresses, but because it brings the 
 visitor in close contact with so many aspects of the sweetness and grandeur of Nature. 
 
 On our way toward Portland we pass by Castine and Pemaquid Point, both ex- 
 ceedingly picturesque in their surroundings, and even yet bearing the remains of the 
 old forts linked to interesting traditions of colonial and Revolutionary times. Near 
 the latter place is Monhegan Island, just off which occurred a gallant naval action 
 during the Revolution between the American ship Enterprise and the English ship 
 Boxer, resulting in the capture of the latter, and the death of both commanders. It 
 is this sea-fight of which Longfellow sings in his " Lost Youth " : 
 
 " I remember the sea-tight far away 
 How it thundered over the tide ! 
 And the dead captains as they lay 
 In their graves overlooking the tranquil bay 
 Where thev in battle died." 
 
SUMMER HAUNTS BY THE SEA. 
 
 233 
 
 The ''■Spouting Horn^'' in a Storm 
 
234 
 
 oril SAriVE LAND. 
 
 Notliiiif? can be moro striking; tliaii tlic occiin-sfciiery about I'Drtlaiul, or tho situ- 
 ation itself of tiiat iiiost rural of New Eiiffland cities, as it perches on its iiigli ciilt's 
 above bay. valley, island, and sea. Settled early in colonial history, its (juaint old 
 bouses colli iniifd lo mark many of the streets till Ihe lirt' of ISfiS, which svvc]il awav 
 the ancient aspect of the city, and made jilace for (he pretty modern town which 
 has taken its jilace. The pco])le of Portland may well hi' proud of their beautiful 
 city, for, in site, surroundings of landscape, perfection of harbor, and general clieer- 
 
 C/iJf'ii, Ihrtlaiiil llurlior. 
 
 fulness of aspect, it has Inil few rivals. The landscapes about I'orlland are rather 
 .soft and cbecrfid than grand and rugged. The islands which dot its bay are bright 
 in .summer with the greenest grass and foliage, and are so nunicrons that they are 
 said to C(pial Ihe days of the year. This beautiful bay has lieen comjiared lo the 
 Hay of Na])les. so broad is its I'xpanse. so charmingly fraincd in ranges of grt'cu. iiiidii- 
 latiiig hills. Cajie Elizabeth forms the outermost .southern [loint of Ihe h;i\. and is a 
 series of loflv. jutting clilTs. rising abruptly from the ocean and crowned with wood 
 
HrMMER HAUNTS HV Till': SEA. 
 
 235 
 
 anil slirtibhery, rclicviiif^ its gauntiioss. Two liglit-liousos stand on tlio end of tlio 
 capo, and from tlifse a charming view of the hay and harbor, of tiic distant city, iti 
 the innumerable islands lying between shore and shore, and, in the distance, of the 
 ragged and storm-ljeaten promontories to the north, may be obtained. Nearer Port- 
 land is I\'ak's Island, with its rich foliage, natural bowers, and lovely retreats; and 
 close by again. Diamond Island, a pet place for picnics, as it is famous for its 
 groves of fine trees, its rocky shores interspersed with pretty bits of beach, and its 
 natural lawns of deep-green turf. 
 
 Cushing's Island is one of the most attractive spots in the harbor. lligii cliffs, 
 crowned with slirubs and turf, hem it in, and liere and there a low, rocky shore or 
 graceful inlet. There is but one building on the island, a large hotel for summer 
 sojourners, and the view from this is very extensive. It includes the harbor, shij)- 
 channel, and city, on the one hand, and the 8tee[i cliffs (;f Cape Elizabeth on the 
 
 y*i.-.. v/ , j,.,(iU. 
 
 other. In the ncir distance are the frowning bastions of Forts Preble, Scammell, 
 and Gorges ; the busy wharves of the city, crowded with shipping, arc seen not far 
 away ; the islands present novel contrasts of shape and color ; the heavy sea-breakers 
 may be seen melting into the gentle ripple of the bay, and far away to the north- 
 west the dim outlines of Mount Washington and the New Hampshire hills. 
 
 (charming, old-fashioned, slumbering New England towns mark the coast every 
 few miles as we proceed on our way to the Isles of Shoals. If we choose to tramp 
 along the shore, knapsack on the back — for this is by far the pleasantest and most 
 satisfactory way of exploring the beauties of the Eastern Shore — we shall find it pleas- 
 ant to rest every few miles at these quaint old places. The town of Wells, about 
 thirty-five miles from Portland, is one continuous street, stretching for five or six 
 miles along the shore, and everywhere commanding a noble and unbroken ocean-view. 
 The little town l)ristles with history and legend, carrying the mind far back to the 
 
236 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 olden time. One of its founders was John Wheelright, the friend and college-mate 
 of Oliver Cromwell. Many a desperate Indian skirmish and foray was fought in its 
 vicinity. George Burroughs, one. of its early burghers, was a tierce and scornful 
 derider of the witch-persecution, which east such a stain on the early history of New 
 England. According to tradition, the ofiicers of the Bloody Council seized him as he 
 was coming out of church, and haled him away to Salem, where he was hanged on 
 Gallows Hill. The proof brought against Burroughs, who was very strong, was that 
 he could hold a musket out at arm's-lengtli by thrusting his finger into the muzzle. 
 He had once seen an Indian do this, and repeated the feat, swearing it was a shame 
 for a red-skin to do what a white man couldn't. 
 
 The long and beautiful beach, which we find crowded with summer idlers from 
 the hotels, has been the scene of many a direful wreck, and here and there the bones 
 of a lost ship protrude from the drifted sand, the grisly memorial of the terrible 
 battle of human life with the winds and waves. 
 
 On the way from Wells to Old York, we pass the grand precipice known as the 
 Pulpit. This is a perpendicular wall of rock about ninety feet high, and a hundred 
 and fifty feet long, a buttress against which the Atlantic beats with a ceaseless battle. 
 In severe storms it is said that the breakers dash their spray to its very top. and that 
 it is with great difficulty one can stand upright upon it. Underneath the cliff is a 
 curious basin hollowed out by the waves, in which a vessel of large tonnage could 
 float without touching a mast or spar. 
 
 We pass by Kennebunkport, which has extensive ship-yards, and is thronged with 
 pleasure-seekers in the summer, and after a brisk walk reach York, once known as 
 Agamenticus, a name still perpetuated in the solitary mountain which lifts itself like 
 a giant sentinel high above the surrounding country. The town is nearly two hun- 
 dred and fifty years old, and, in spite of the gayety which it puts on with the advent 
 of its summer jiopulation, still preserves many of its quaint old characteristics in the 
 appearance of the houses and the ways of its people. Old York is very interesting 
 in its relics of antiquity, and exceedingly quaint traditions hang about the old church, 
 jail, and other buildings. One of its early clergymen. Parson Moody, was the hero of 
 one of Hawthorne's most gloomy tales, in his "Mosses from an Old Manse." 
 
 Kittery is the most westerly town of Maine, and is separated from Portsmouth by 
 the Piscataqua River. Here is located one of the navy-yards of the country, on an 
 island in the harbor. All the surroundings of Kittery and Portsmouth are of great 
 beauty, and well worth a lingering stay on the part of the traveler in search of the 
 picturesque. Portsmouth is situated on the river-bank, about three miles from the 
 sea, and looks out on a spacious and noble bay. "There are more quaint houses and 
 interesting traditions," says one writer, "than in any other town of New England." 
 But this claim probably would be disputed by many another place proud of its colonial 
 traditions. It is truly an ancient and tranquil -looking place, with devious, deeply- 
 shaded streets, which seem as if they had been dreaming for centuries. Portsmouth 
 was settled in 1023, and took an im])ortant share in the stirring events of an early 
 
SUMMEIi HAUNTS BY THE SEA. 
 
 237 
 
 A Picnic <U the hies of Slioah 
 
238 ont NATIVE LAND. 
 
 period. It was first known as Strawberry Bank, from the great (juautities of straw- 
 berries growing in the vicinity : and was at one time fortified ;dl around by a wall 
 of palisades to jtrotect it from Indian attacks. 
 
 The chief natural attraction in the neighborhood of Portsmouth is the Isles of 
 Shoals, a group of eight rugged islands about eight miles from shore, and one of the 
 celebrated ocean resorts of the countrj', as several of them arc covered with fine 
 hotels and summer cottages. The isles are small — the largest, Apjiledore. only con- 
 taining about three hundred and fifty acres. From tiie mainland they ajipear like 
 low-lying clouds, but, as the little steamboat approaches, they separate into bleak and 
 barren islets, with jagged reefs running far out into the breakers. A})]iledoro rises in 
 the sha})e of a hog's back, about seventy-five feet above the sea, and is divided by a 
 picturesque little valley containing clumps of shrubbery, among which nestle the hotels 
 and the ])retty cottages attached to them. On these gaunt rocks the lonely beauty of 
 the ocean can be enjoyed to the uttermost, for here the only sounds are the lash 
 and murmur of the billows as they sweep and swirl around the ragged rocks. Close 
 by Appledoi-e is Smutty Nose Island, on whose perilous reefs many a gallant ship 
 has been broken to pieces. The traditions of shipwreck, which attach to all these 
 islands, indeed, are full of tragic interest, and from time immemorial they have 
 wrought destruction to the mariner. Smutty Nose has of late years had the shadow 
 of a still more gloomy tragedy hanging over it, for it was on this island that one of 
 the most sickening murders in the criminal history of our country was perpetrated 
 — the butchery of a fisherman's family by the Prussian, Wagner. Few events of this 
 kind have been more sensational, or sent such a thrill of horror through the country. 
 
 Like many another wave-worn, lonely place, these islands are full of the traditions 
 of Captain Kidd and other daring freebooters, and not without some stable foundation. 
 Here was known to be a favorite haunt of the captain of the famous Adventure gal- 
 ley, and some genuine discoveries of treasure, it is said, have been made among these 
 bleak rocks and caverns. The celebrated pirate, Blackbeard, who was sitch a scourge 
 to the Atlantic coast during colonial times, was in the habit of spending much time 
 on these islands, and his crew consorted with the half-savage fishermen, leaving a last- 
 ing impress on their moral and social habits. 
 
 Among the legends still told by the old fish-wives is that of one of Blackbeard's 
 comrades, a Scot, who gained nearly as bad a reinitation as his chief. His crew 
 believed him invincible, and followed wherever he led. At last, after the rich booty 
 of the Southern seas and the Spanish Main had filled his coffers to overflowing, he 
 arrived on his native coast. His boat was nuinned, and he went ashore, and soon 
 ■returned again bearing the almost lifeless body of a beautifnl woman. The pirate 
 cruiser set sail for America, and in due time came to anchor at the Isles of Shoals. 
 Here the crew passed their time in concealing their booty and in carousing. The 
 commander's portion was buried on an isle apart from the rest, and he dwelt with 
 iiis beautiful comjtanion, forgetful of his bloody trade, till one day a sail was seen in 
 the ofliing. Before the pirate-ship got under way to meet tiie stranger, whicli was 
 
SUMMER HAUNTS BY THE SEA. 
 
 239 
 
 a king's cruiser, the 
 outlaw revealed the 
 place of his buried 
 trpasure to his mis- 
 tress, aiul bound her 
 by a fearful oath to 
 guard the secret till 
 his return, if it should be delayed till the 
 crack of doom. 
 
 In the fierce battle wliich ensued between 
 the freebooters and their assailants, the for- 
 mer were beaten, and, driven to desperation, 
 blew up their powder-magazine, involving 
 themselves and th.eir foes in a common fate. 
 A few mangled and blood-stained survivors 
 reached the shore, and perished gradually by 
 cold and hunger. The pirate's mistress remained true to the last, till she too, per- 
 haps, succumbed to want and exposure. Report has it that she has been seen more 
 
 VamveWs Peuk, Star Mand. 
 
240 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 than once on White Island, a tall, shapely figure, wrapped in a sea-cloak, her head 
 and shoulders uncovered except by a profusion of golden hair. Her face is described 
 as exquisitely lovely and sad, and always gazing out at the sea in an attitude of 
 intense expectation. It is believed by the superstitious islanders that her ghost is 
 doomed to haunt these rocks till the sound of the last trump. 
 
 About a quarter of a mile from Appledore is the most picturesque of the cluster, 
 Star Island, which contains the quaint little village of Gosport, the quaint-towered 
 and steepled church of which crowns its highest point. On the west is Londoner's, 
 Jagged and shapeless, with a diminutive beacli ; while, two miles off, Duck Island 
 
 { 
 
 ^ r 
 
 Bats Sods, Glmicester. 
 
 raises its forbidding and dangerous form from the waters. Many of the ledges of the 
 latter are insidiously covered at high water, and at ebb-tide are seen lined with sea- 
 gulls, which avoid the inhabited islets. 
 
 These (juaint, bleak, wave-battered rocks have a charm all their own. and the 
 glamour of history and legend lends them an additional fascination, which fanciful 
 persons are (|uick to feel. Thousands of summer pleasure-seekers luive learned to love 
 the Isles of Shoals as a place of nni(iue delights. No one has written more lovingly 
 of the spot than Celia Tliaxter, the poetess, who was born on Appledore ; and we 
 can not better finish our brief ramblings than by a bit of description from her jien : 
 "Swept by every wind that blows, and beaten by the bitter l)rine for unknown ages, 
 
SUMMER HAUNTS BY THE SEA. 341 
 
 well may the Isles of Shoals be barren, bleak, and bare. At first sight nothing can 
 be more rough and inhospitable than they appear. The incessant influences of wind 
 and rain, sun, frost, and spray, hare so bleached the tops of the rocks that they 
 look hoary, as if with age, though in tlie summer-time a gracious greenness of vege- 
 tation breaks here and there the stern outlines and softens somewhat their rugged 
 aspect. Yet so forbidding are their shores, it seems scarcely worth while to laud 
 on them — mere heaps of tumbling granite in the wild and lonely sea — when all the 
 'sapphire-spangled marriage-ring' of the land lies ready to woo the voyager back 
 again, and welcome his returning prow with pleasant sounds, and sights, and scents, 
 that the wild waters never knew. But, to the human creature who has eyes which 
 will see and ears that will hear, Nature appeals with such a novel charm that the 
 luxuriant beauty of the land is half forgotten before he is aware. The very wildness 
 and desolation reveal a strange beauty to him. In the early morning the sea is rosy 
 and the sky ; the line of land is radiant ; the scattered sails glow with the delicious 
 color that touches so tenderly the bare, bleak rocks." 
 
 Between Portsmouth and Newburyport, Massachusetts, the ocean -shore is nearly 
 straight, without the rugged bowlders and storm-hewed rocks which have hitherto 
 marked the coast-line, and we find our journey over sunny stretches of beach instead 
 of skirting craggy headlands and sinuous inlets, or leaping over )'awning fissures and 
 shapeless projections. Eye, Hampton, and Salisbury, occupy most of the limited 
 coast of New Hampshire, and present charming reaches of sand, on which the waves 
 break with a musical plash instead of dashing in thunderous breakers against walls 
 of frowning rock. All along we find cozy sea-side cottages and summer hotels, and 
 the beach is, with few breaks, alive with carriages, saunterers, and bathers. 
 
 Some three miles up the broad bay, which serves as the mouth of the Merrimac 
 River, we espy the ancient historic town of Newburyport, built on an abrupt height. 
 Once a town of great commercial importance, its trade is now nearly dead, though 
 the people still proudly treasure the relics of their former glory. Newburyport was 
 famous for its patriotic spirit during the Revolution. The first tea destroyed was in 
 this town, having been taken from an old powder-house, where it had been stored 
 for safe-keeping, and burned by the citizens in the open square. The first privateer 
 was fitted out in this place, and the first company raised which joined the Conti- 
 nental army. 
 
 Though the business importance of the modern Newburyport has gone, it is a 
 place of great wealth and social importance. Many rich and prominent people live in 
 the town, and it contains a literary circle which includes not a few of the distin- 
 guished people in American letters, who have their summer homes here, a fact which, 
 in connection with the charm of the place, attracts not a few summer visitors. As 
 we pass down the coast, we find the quaint old towns of Gloucester, Salem, and 
 Marblehead, all of the deepest interest to those interested in our colonial history. 
 Gloucester is the great fishing town of Massachusetts, and its fleets ride the stormy 
 tides of the Atlantic in pursuit of the cod and mackerel to an extent unequaled by 
 
 16 
 
242 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Cedar-Tree at Cape Ann. 
 
 \ 
 
SUMMER HAUNTS BY THE SEA. 
 
 243 
 
 any other American town. The harbor is very picturesque, and the town, gradually 
 rising from the wharves, offers an appearance at once venerable and full of the activity 
 of the age. The scenes in the vicinity which curiosity and love of the beautiful have 
 sought out among the rocks and inlets are many and various. One of these is 
 "Norman's Woe," a somber, gloomy mass of rocks, lying just beyond the tree-lined 
 shore, where many a vessel has got its death during the terrible northeast storms 
 which sometimes work such havoc on this coast. Of one of these occasions Long- 
 fellow has written, in the •"Wreck of the Hesperus": 
 
 '• And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
 Through the whistling sleet and snow, 
 Like a sheeted ghost tlie vessel swept 
 On the reef of Norman's Woe." 
 
 A little northeast of Gloucester the promontory of Cape Ann juts into the ocean. 
 Its general appearance is rugged and rocky, with massive granite ledges, many of 
 them overgrown with wild forests. From one of its high hills, called Tompson's 
 
 Marhlthead. 
 
 Mountain, one has a noble view of the sea and coast, of Massachusetts Bay and Bos- 
 ton, the shining dome of the State-House looming on the southern horizon, and 
 Mount Mouadnock, in New Hampshire, lifting its heavy crown on the northwest. 
 All over Cape Ann are scattered flowery dells and winding brooks, orchards, meadows, 
 and fields of golden grain, with many a picturesqite tract of woodland. The outer- 
 most shore of Cape Ann presents magnificent ocean vistas, and some curious examples 
 of vegetation struggling for a place on the storm-washed, wind-swept coast. One of 
 
244 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 these is a famous ccdar-trcc, of wliicli we give an illustration. Such a growth is a 
 type of stern struggle and deathless tenacity. Says a writer : 
 
 "The feeble plant will for long years seareeiy lift its head above tiie surrounding 
 level, and then only to find itself shadowed by precipices that rise into the very 
 clouds. Throwing out its delicate suckers, it clings to its native barrenness, even 
 more closely for its poverty. The searching winds of a thousand storms straighten 
 its tendrils; the impacted snows of each returning winter scarcely disappear before 
 the summer's heat, ere our cedar is again bouml in an icy tomli. Kut silently, 
 steadily, perseveringly it grows. In time it reaches its head into the noonday sun- 
 shine, and its sappy trunk is chafed ami gnarled by the ever-recurring hurricane. 
 Sometimes, when the great pines in the jjcrturbed depths of the mountains groan 
 and fall under the hurricane, our cedar clings to its native rock, thougli lashed as a 
 whip-cord, but still intact. A limb occasionally falls from the effects of these perse- 
 cutions of the elements, or it is stripped of its feather-like foliage, but the tree 
 struggles on, growing more majestic, more grand, and more as if possessed of a 
 mental history ; for there is something suggestive of humanity in its scarred and 
 wrinkled front. On the coast of Cape Ann, under the results of having a compara- 
 tively flat surface for display, is a memorable specimen of one of these ' storm-kings " 
 of the vegetable world. It has drawn its substance from the flinty gravel and ada- 
 mantine rock, and its great, gnarled trunk looks as if it were made of ligatures of 
 brass. The most superficial observer of the grand works of Nature insensibly stops 
 and regards this tree, while the true artist beholds it as an inspiring fact. It is a 
 noble and natural monument of the weird waste it adorns, and a sentinel for obser- 
 vation on the rock-bound coast of New England." 
 
 Inside the large peninsula, at the end of which is Cape Ann, are Salem and Marble- 
 head harbors, separated from each other by a neck of land. Seven years after the 
 landing of the Pilgrims the district between the great river called Merrimac and the 
 Charles River was set off as a separate colony, and tiie capital was fixed at Salem, so 
 named from the "peace which they had and hoped in it." IToary antiquity is 
 stamped on every part of the old place beyond all other New England towns. The 
 quiet streets are lined with the old-fashioned mansions of the colonial and marine 
 aristocracy ; for there was a time when Salem port teemed with lordly East India- 
 men, and its warehouses were packed with the ricliest of fabrics and spices from far- 
 distant lands. Brimful of quaint traditions, almost every house is a museum of curi- 
 osities, or else historic in its associations. Here is preserved the original charter 
 granted by Charles I to Massachusetts Bay. Salem was the town of witches, and the 
 tragedies enacted here still invest the town with a somber memory. Witches' Hill, 
 where superstition sacrificed its victims, stands just out of the city. 
 
 Marblehead, which is close at hand, is but little less interesting than Salem in 
 quaintness and old-tinu- charm. Once a great fishing center, and one of the most 
 important places in New England, it has relapsed into a drowsy, dreamy town, where 
 one would feel trans])(n-ted back a hundred years, were it not for the factories which 
 
SUMMER HAUNTS BY THE SEA. 
 
 345 
 
 have been built iu some of its streets. This town was 
 one of the first settled in New England, and there are 
 many qneer old houses which antedate the Revolution 
 by many years. The sea penetrates the peninsula with 
 a deep, narrow harbor, and around this, on steep cliffs, 
 are built the houses, extending up the hills in terraces. 
 This town is the scene of Whittier's "Skipper Ireson's Ride," a poem which has made 
 the place more widely known to the peojile of to-day than any other cause. Many of 
 the early settlers were from the Channel Islands of Great Britain, and the peculiar 
 dialect spoken by the Marbleheaders separates them from all other New England 
 l)eople, even to this day. All these places along the Eastern Shore have become 
 favorite resorts for summer visitors, for, added to the charms of a picturesque sea- 
 coast, and of the ocean itself, are the quaint interests of the olden time, so fascinat- 
 ing to many minds. 
 
 Swampscott and Xahant. almost within cannon-shot of the Boston State-House, are 
 
340 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 
 Cott(ftjf' ami Shojr at XaJta/it, 
 
 attractive watering- 
 places, much affect- 
 ed by the people of 
 the "Hub." The 
 former place has its 
 hotel, a beautiful 
 stretch of beach, 
 aiul clusters of fine n 
 
 marine villas, on which art and wealth have been lavishly exjiended. Nahant probably 
 combines more varieties of marine scenery and general pleasure advantages than any 
 other watering-place on the Massachusetts coast. The peninsula, as it stretches out 
 from the mainland, is at first a narrow neck almost straight. It sweeps in a direct 
 line for some distance, and then curves in a short semicircle round the rocky cliffs 
 beyond which is Swampscott. The narrow neck broadens irregularly with here and 
 there masses of rugged rock, and finally becomes a rocky, uneven eminence, shaped 
 like a horseshoe. Here we find the most wonderful rock-formations, which have been 
 hewed and shaped by the forces of wind and tide, and the prettiest little beaches 
 lying below the jagged and battered cliffs. A writer, describing the rock-hewed beauty 
 
SUMMER HAUNTS BY THE SEA. 
 
 247 
 
 of Nahant, says: "The rocks are torn into such varieties of form, and the beaches 
 are so hard and smootli, that all the beauty of wave-motion and the whole gamut of 
 ocean- eloquence are here ofered to eye and ear. All the loveliness and majesty of the 
 ocean are displayed around the jagged and savage-browed cliffs of Nahant." Few 
 places are more charmingly adorned by art and taste. Noble sea-side residences, of 
 brick, stone, and wood, dot the beach and crown the rocky eminences, some shrouded 
 in ivy and other creepers, all having spacious bay-windows, and broad, sheltered piaz- 
 zas, giving delightful outlooks on the ocean. On the originally bleak peninsula have 
 been made to grow also beautiful lawns, gardens, and flower-parterres. 
 
 Among the natural wonders which the savage lashing of the waves has wrought out 
 of the Nahant rocks is Pulpit Rock. This is a huge, ragged mass, rising some thirty 
 feet above the water, with roughly square sides, but projecting at the top at an angle 
 of forty-five degrees. The upper part looks like an old-fashioned pulpit, and, if one 
 cares to risk a plunge into the boiling waters, he may, by scrambling up the slippery, 
 dripping sides, find a famous place to muse on the seii — sitting in the midst of its 
 
 Old Fort Dumpling 
 
 wash and roar. Another notable place is the Swallows' Cave, a gloomy chamber 
 scooped out by the beating of the tides, some eight feet high and seventy feet long. 
 The name is derived from the fact that colonies of swallows used to build their nests 
 in its somber crevices, and flit in and out, an innumerable multitude. But the 
 pleasure-seekers who explore the place in boats have driven out these winged denizens. 
 This cool haunt is a favorite resort on very hot days. Among other rock-wonders 
 are John's Peril, a great, yawning fissure in the rocks ; and a huge fortress-shaped 
 cliff called Castle Rock, which bristles with parapets, buttresses, and embrasures, 
 a natural counterpart of the castle-ruins of the Old World. Then there is a 
 wonderful Caldron Cliff, where the water boils and seethes furiously ; a Roaring Cav- 
 ern, which sounds a deep bass monotone ; and a noble, natural arch, known as Irene's 
 Grotto. The people of Boston have not far to go to find delightful spots for summer 
 recreation, for, at both Swampscott and Nahant, Nature and art have combined to 
 make sea-side paradises, to which men can go every night from their business in the 
 hot city. 
 
 South of Boston are Cohasset, Nantasket, and Scituate, pleasant resorts ; but, with- 
 
OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 
 
 
 
 i^^^ 
 
 (Scenes at Xeicporf. 
 
SUMMER HAUNTS BY THE SEA. 249 
 
 out stopping to dwell on these, we will come at once to the imperial watering-place of 
 America, Newport. It will be new to most of our readers that, one hundred years 
 ago, Newport, with the exception of one city, was the most important port in the 
 United States. There were at this time not less than five hundred vessels that 
 cleared from this harbor, carrying twent3'-two hundred seamen. She has always con- 
 tmued to wear the puqile, for, as her commercial importance gradually fell away 
 before stronger rivals, her social importance increased. Newport became the most 
 unique and delightful of American watering-places, even as she had formerly led 
 New York and Boston in the van of trade. From a far-back period, the center of a 
 proud colonial aristocracy, the gay French officers who came over with Rochambeau 
 and D'Estaing found here the most fascinating society they encountered in America, 
 and the fond regrets with which they left this charming spot are perpetuated in New- 
 port traditions, as well as in very interesting French memoirs. 
 
 In the old part of the town are still to be seen many evidences of the former im- 
 portance of the place. Merchants built splendid mansions by the water-side, with 
 wainscoted walls, mahogany stairways, and tiled fire-places. Gentlemen of wealth 
 and culture had their country-seats in the vicinity of the town, surrounded by flower- 
 gardens, orchards, fish-ponds, charming parks, and other features of rural luxury. 
 The salubrity of the climate, the beauty of the scenery, and the prosperity of the 
 place, attracted the finest elements which make social life delightful. 
 
 Fifty years ago Newport was a quiet, torpid place, for then its old jirosperity had 
 departed, and the new tide had not set in. Its trade was extinct, the streets were 
 deserted, the wharves had rotted and moldered away, its land was of no value, and its 
 population scarce. Strangers rarely found their way to the old port, and the weather- 
 worn, crumbling relics of a more splendid prime gave but little promise of what was 
 to come. What Newport now is, the world knows. A union of remarkable attractions, 
 equaled by no other watering-place on the continent, has once again drawn a great 
 prosperity to it, based not on commercial traffic, but the needs of recreation and 
 health. The most distinguished people of all professions and from every part of the 
 country ; the most brilliant and beautiful women ; the representative foreigners who 
 come to America for business or pleasure— all gather here every summer, and give 
 Newport a social aspect of the highest charm. While the spacioiis hotels ai-e crowded 
 with visitors, it is in the cottage-life of Newport that its distinctive character exists. 
 Houses of every description and in every style of architecture, from the modest and 
 pretty cottage to palaces that cost many hundred thousands of dollars, line the 
 spacious avenues, or nestle amid the foliage of the more secluded streets. The finest 
 steamboats in the world land their fiassengers here, while beautiful yachts and other 
 craft skim over the waters with their snowy sails. Every afternoon Bellevue and 
 other principal avenues are a perfect whirl of superb equipages ; and night and morn- 
 ing fine bands of music fill the air with melody. For those who are fashionably 
 inclmed, balls, receptions, garden-parties, dinner-parties, etc., etc., given on the most 
 lavish and tasteful scale, fill the passing days with excitement ; while, for quieter 
 
250 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 souls, unsurpassed scenery and a fine climate open the book of Nature at its pleas- 
 antest pages. 
 
 It need hardly be said that Newport is in Rhode Island, situated in the southerly 
 part of an island in Narragansett Bay. Frowning over the harbor with its massive 
 iiod threatening walls, stands Fort Adams, one of the great fortresses of the United 
 States, now the princij)al torpedo-station of the country. This is a favorite resort of 
 Newporters, and a throng of fine equipages dashes into the parade-ground every after- 
 noon to witness the ceremony of dress-parade. Opposite Fort Adams, on the other 
 
 Tht Dri 
 
 side of the harbor, is a small, dismantled, but j)icturesque fort, called Dumpling, 
 which i)layed some part in Revolutionary scenes, but which now is only an agreeable 
 resort for pleasure-parties and picnics. 
 
 Brenton's Cove, one of the striking spots of the Newport sliore. is approached by 
 a causeway leading to Fort Adams, and gives a splendid view of Newport. The tall 
 and delicate towers of the cliurches cut sharp against the blue sky ; the public build- 
 ings stand out in noble relief ; and the line of houses, as they rise one above another 
 on the hill-side, is broken by open grounds and clusters of shade-trees. Each spot on 
 
SUMMER HAUNTS BY THE SEA. 
 
 351 
 
 which the eye may chance to rest recalls some event that happened there in early 
 times. Not far away are the remains of the house built by Governor William Bren- 
 ton, the grounds of which were in his day adorned with rare and costly plants, 
 gravel-walks, groves, and bowers, and all that wealth and a refined taste could fur- 
 
 The W'lll- on the Cliff. 
 
 nish. Brenton's Cove and reef, in good weather, are as placid and serene as possible ; 
 but, when the heavy breakers dash in on this fatal spot, it is a ])lace of terror. Here 
 many a good ship has lieen wrecked, and many a dead man washed ashore by the 
 cruel waves. The moldering grave-stones all along the shore are humble records of 
 
252 OUR NATIVE LAXD. 
 
 tlie dire tragedies, the woful death-struggles which liave been transacted within a 
 stone's-throw of the smiling and beautiful shore, where gay crowds drive by every 
 pleasant summer afternoon. 
 
 Following along the southern shore, we come to what is called the Spouting Cave, 
 where, after a soTitheasterly storm, there is a good exhibition of marine water-works. 
 The construction of tlie cavern beneath the rocks is such that, when it is nearly 
 filled up, and a heavy wave comes rolling in, the imprisoned waters can find no relief 
 except by pouring through a sort of funnel into the air. It is not easy to tell when 
 the treacherous horn intends to blow, and anxious visitors are often wet to the skin 
 by a swift giish of the water forty or fifty feet in the air. But the ocean-view here 
 is so grand after a storm, that people are tempted to linger in spite of the spouting- 
 horn always lying in ambush for a victim. 
 
 Beyond the beach, where hundreds of bathers may be seen enjoying the surf on a 
 summer's day, is the rocky precipice cleft through and through by a great fissure, 
 known as Purgatory, and just beyond this a pleasant spot shaded by trees, and com- 
 manding a beautiful view, called Paradise. So the stranger is informed that, to reach 
 Paradise, he must pass Purgatory. The opening extends one hundred and sixty feet, 
 and is fifty feet deep, witli a varying width of from eiglit to fourteen feet at the top. 
 Among the legends connected with this place is that of an Indian woman who, in 
 the early days of the white settlements, killed a colonist for some affront. AValking 
 one day near Purgatory she was accosted by a person appearing to be an Englishman, 
 who proposed to fight with her. The plucky and athletic squaw was not unwilling, 
 and in the struggle she was gradually pulled to the verge of the cliff', when her 
 opjionent seized her in his arms and plunged into the abyss below. The cloven-foot 
 appeared at this moment, and the stranger revealed himself in his true person as 
 Satan. The prints of the demon's feet and the marks of blood are still visible on the 
 stones (so it is asserted). Another more credible legend is that of a beautiful but vain 
 young heiress, who was walking on these rocks with her lover, who was pleading his 
 suit with desperate earnestness. The giddy fair one, wishing to test the extent of 
 his passion, said, " I will marry yen, i'f you will prove to me the extremity of your 
 devotion, and your readiness to obey all my wishes, by leaping over this chasm." 
 Unhesitatingly he made the dangerous leap, and then, politely raising his hat, com- 
 plimented her on her beauty, told her what he thought of her character, and left her 
 for ever. After this the girl, who really loved the man whose esteem she had for- 
 feited, remained in mourning for him all lier days. So goes the tale. 
 
 Berkeley's Seat, within easy walking distance of the house once occupied by one 
 of the most famous of the English philosophers, is also a favorite resort for Newport 
 visitors. The sheltered opening in Paradise Rocks, now honored by Bishop Berkeley's 
 name, was fitted up with chairs and a table, and was said to have been the ]ilacc where 
 he wrote one of his celebrated books. Here, with the mighty roll of the waves on 
 the beach and the glorious prospect before him, he might well have been inspired to 
 his greatest thoughts. Those who now occupy Berkeley's Seat during the long, deli- 
 
SUMMER HAUNTS BY THE SEA. 
 
 253 
 
 cious summer days, i)robably discuss more romantic and sciitimoutal themes than the 
 non-existence of matter. 
 
 Such are a few of tiie noted sj)ots on tlic coast in and near Newport ; but, everv- 
 where one's steps go, the eye is delighted by picturesque groves and rocks and sandy 
 beaches, superb drives, and walks of charm almost unoijualed. Probably in the course 
 of a few years every available spot on the circuitous sea-line near Newport will he the 
 site of a splendid cottage, adorned with every resource of art anil taste which wealth 
 can command. 
 
 No one who has been in Newport has ever failed to be deeply interested in the 
 mysterious ruin known as the Old Stone Mill. This interesting structure dates back 
 
 A Xeu'poH Cottage. 
 
 to the prehistoric times of the colony. There is no record of its having been built 
 by any one, and its resemblance to some of the ancient stone buildings existing in 
 Norway and Denmark has given rise to the tradition that it is a relic of those ancient 
 Norse sea-rovers who are known to have visited this coast in early times, long before 
 Columbus discovered the New World. One theory is, that the old mill was originally 
 a portion of a temple ; another, that it was built as a tower of defense, and that, 
 after the walls had crumbled until they were reduced to their ])resent height, a 
 wooden mill was erected on the summit. It was of this tower that the poet Long- 
 fellow wrote when he sang of "the Viking old," who found his way from the "wild 
 
254 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Baltic strand " to our strange 
 .■ilu)rcs. and built here the " lofty 
 tower " by the sea : 
 
 "Thus weeks we westward bore. 
 And, when the storm was o'er, 
 Cloud-like we saw the shore 
 
 Stretching to leeward; 
 There for my lady's bower 
 Built I the lofty tower, 
 Which, to this very hour, 
 Stands looking seaward." 
 
 Probably this ancient stone 
 mill was, in reality, built by 
 the earliest Puritan colonists for 
 the purpose of grinding tlieir 
 corn, a use to which it has 
 been put in more recent times. 
 It was likewise devoted to the 
 storing of gunpowder in Kevo- 
 lutionary times, and was doubt- 
 less made ixseful in a variety of 
 ways. It is unpleasant to give 
 up the more romantic explana- 
 tion of a Korse origin. The 
 residents of Newport cling fond- 
 ly to the notion which links the 
 place to the exploits of the Scan- 
 dinavian sea-rovers of old, and 
 it is unfortunate that the more 
 prosaic is by far the more jirob- 
 ;ible theory. 
 
 The first authentic notice of 
 the edifice is found in the will 
 of a Mr. Benedict Arnold, dated 
 1077, in which he bequeaths 
 his stone-built windmill to his 
 heirs. It is singular that such a 
 strongly-built mill should have 
 Ijcen put up, but it is more 
 than ju-obable that it was de- 
 signed also as a fort in time 
 
SUMMER HAUNTS BY THE SEA. 255 
 
 of danger, and its appearance would be likely to impress the Indians as such in any 
 event. The various traditions give this old relic a peculiar interest, and it is likely to 
 endure for many generations, unless destroyed by lightning or an earthquake. Close 
 by the old stone mill, on the other side of the square, stands the statue of Commo- 
 dore Perry, erected by his son-in-law, Mr. Belmont, of New York. The material is 
 bronze, and, as a work of art, it stands high among similar memorial statues in our 
 country. 
 
 The streets of the old town of Newport continue largely as they always were, 
 narrow, and lined with quaint old wooden structures, and all the old historic features 
 will probably remain for a good while to come. So, also, the natural features of the 
 region will remain unaltered. But, what marvelous changes the hand of wealth and 
 taste has already made, and what equally striking changes will be made in the future, 
 jjrobably in the direction of improvement and ornamentation ! The same rocks fi'own 
 on the sea ; the same purple haze rests on the harbor at sunset ; the same ocean-mist 
 tempers the noontide brightness ; and the same turbulent breakers or gentle ripples 
 roll upon the beach. But the hand of man has, within the last twenty years, trans- 
 formed miles on miles of bari-eu pasture into lawns, and parterres, and verdant groves, 
 and millions of dollars have been expended in building splendid villas and stately 
 palaces. The tide of wealthy population has poured in like a flood. Probably, in 
 the not distant future, the summer population will spread over the whole southern 
 portion of the island, and by-and-by the entire area will become a perfect garden of 
 beauty. Newport, now the most delightful and aristocratic of our sea-side summer 
 haunts, can hardly fail to go on growing in wealth and importance, for climate, 
 natural beauty, and the bias of fashion, all combine to make it what it is, and give 
 it pi'omise of something even better. 
 
 A younger but growing rival of Newport is found at Narragansett Pier, which is 
 situated on the open ocean just around the western border of Narragansett Bay. Here 
 the broad Atlantic rolls in full force, and there is no land that can be approached in 
 an easterly direction till we reach the coast of Spain. The structure from which the 
 region takes its name, and the ruins of which may still be seen, was erected a few 
 years ago, at considerable cost, of heavy blocks of granite clamped together with iron 
 bolts. The curve of the wall made a small harbor, within which vessels could lie 
 safely and discharge their cargoes. A few great storms demolished this work of man, 
 and now the huge stones are a pile of ruins. 
 
 A quarter of a century since Narragansett Pier was a waste dotted with a few 
 fishermen's cottages. Now a thousand bathers may be seen on a warm summer day 
 crowding the beach once so solitary, and eighteen hotels and boarding-houses, some 
 of them vast and costly structures, have been erected on the shore. People from all 
 parts of the country flock liitherward to breathe the cool ocean air, to plunge in the 
 invigorating brine, and watch the grand breakers that dash against the rocks. Art- 
 ists say there are no rocks on our coast so rich and varied in their coloring until you 
 reach the Florida reefs. 
 
256 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 If Newport is the most aristoenitic of ocean resorts, we sliall find Coney Island no 
 less noticeable and uni<iue as the most democratic of watering-places. A few years 
 ago this sea-side ontlet of New York City was a barren waste of sand, with a few low 
 taverns, given up to the orgies of disreputable people. It is now crowded with magnifi- 
 cent hotels and all those attractions which make the sea-side delightful for a summer 
 day's visit. Of its kind there is no watering-place in tlie world which has so many 
 individual fascinations as the Coney Island of to-day. 
 
 Coney Island is the extreme western end of a great outlying bar of sand, broken 
 by inlets, extending along the coast for miles, other sections being known as Rock- 
 away, Long, Jones, Oak Island, and Great South Beaches. On the east. Coney Island 
 runs out to a sharp point, and it has the broad Atlantic for its southern boundary. 
 From the Battery, in New York City, to the wharf at the western end of the island, 
 is eight and a half miles in a bee-line. Previous to 1875 this fine stretch of sea- 
 beach, its splendid surf-bathing, and its convenient location with reference to access 
 from New York and Brooklyn, presented no attractions except to the lowest classes. 
 There was a small hotel at the western end of the island, to which two steamboats 
 made daily trips, and another at the end of the Coney Island road, to which driving- 
 parties from Brooklyn sometimes came. The wonderful facilities of the beach for 
 sea-bathing and the enjoyment of the ocean-breezes were absolutely surrendered to 
 the rough and dissolute, who turned the beautiful beach into a pandemonium. 
 
 In 187-1 a steam-road from Twentieth Street, Brooklyn, was built by an enterpris- 
 ing capitalist to what is now known as West Brighton Beach, and a large pavilion 
 and restaurant were erected at its terminus. The result proved that the enterprise 
 necessary to afford a convenient means of reaching the island was all that was neces- 
 sary to secure for the place the ]iosition to which its location and natural advantages 
 entitled it, as the most popular watering-jjlace in this country. At the present time, 
 eight steam-railways, one line of street-cars, and nine lines of steamboats, capable of 
 transporting at least one hundred and fifty thousand ])ersons to and from the beach 
 daily, are in operation. The beach itself is covered with light and airy buildings of 
 all sizes and for every conceivable purpose, and during the season the sands are black 
 with people daily. Three of the hotels are among the finest of their kind in the 
 world, and a number of others are fully equal to the best hotels at other watering- 
 places. The island is now divided into four parts, known as the West End, or Nor- 
 ton's Point, West Brighton, Brighton Beach, and Manhattan Beach. Beginning at 
 the West End, or Norton's, the island has been but little improved. The beach is 
 covered with the refuse thrown up by the tides, and the surface of tiie island is 
 covered with irregular hummocks of fine white sand, and an occasional growth of 
 beach-grass and laurel. The hotel here is an old, low, wooden building, back from 
 the .shore, and a wooden path leads down to a large pavilion, where accommodations 
 are provided for parties with lunch-baskets. Between this spot and West Brighton 
 Beach there are fourteen small hotels and pavilions. West Brighton Beach is suggestive 
 of a huge fair-ground. There is a broad plaza in the center, with green grass and 
 
 « 
 
SUMMER HAUNTS BY THE SEA. 
 
 ■Zbl 
 
 Scenes at Coney Island. 
 
258 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 
 
 ''^.' , ',;:7,W:'///',Y//M/'"///'' 
 
 /,ri ..i;.^.;..../l^A.A4,'■>-V : ,^^;- \^>->.. -x>-..--.'^ v 
 
 Scenes ut Cone!/ Jsland. 
 
SUMMER HAUNTS BY THE SEA. 259 
 
 flowers, traversed with wide modern jiavemeuts ; aud there are several other very 
 decent hotels clustered about. Every afternoon and evening a band plays at the 
 pavilion near by, and the scene at night is illuminated by the brilliant rays of the 
 electric light. A camera-obscura gives excellent views of the beach, which are well 
 worth seeing ; and an observatory, three hundred feet high, the top of which is 
 reached by large elevatqrs, affords a splendid outlook over the island, the bay, and 
 the adjacent cities. 
 
 One of the most striking features of this part of the island is the pier, one thou- 
 sand feet long, built of tubular iron piles, which runs out a thousand feet into the 
 sea. On it are three two-story buildings containing saloons, restaurants, and prome- 
 nades, twelve hundred bath-rooms, and stairways leading down into the water from 
 the pier. Steamboats from New York land at this pier nearly every hour all day. 
 
 A wide drive and promenade about half a mile long lead to Brighton Beach on 
 the east. Park wagons are continually passing to and fro to convey those too tired 
 or too lazy to walk. From a point about half-way between the two latter-named 
 beaches, an elevated railway will run to Locust Grove, connecting there with steam- 
 boats from New York. Brigliton Beach is one of the pleasantest parts of the island, 
 and is a favorite resort of Brooklyn people. 
 
 From this part of the island the grounds of Manhattan Beach extend two and a 
 half miles eastward. The hotels at both Brighton and Manhattan Beaches are among 
 the largest of their kind in the world, and very handsomely furnished. These great 
 summer caravansaries are able to feed from twenty to thirty thousand people a day 
 each, and it is a curious sight to watch the crowds of hungry visitors thronging the 
 dining-rooms and piazzas. In front of the hotels large and splendid orchestras play 
 during the afternoon and evening, and the grounds are prettily laid out with walks, 
 grass, and flowers. An immense gathering may always be seen in front of the hotels 
 listening to the music, which is of the finest, chatting, laughing, flirting, and other- 
 wise enjoying a delightful open-air concert, with its joyous surroundings. Many of 
 the visitors bring their own luncheon, or buy it in one of the numerous restaurants, 
 and enjoy it picnic fashion on the sands. 
 
 The bathing accommodations at Coney Island are of the most extensive sort. 
 Those at Manhattan Beach, for example, have twenty-seven hundred separate rooms, 
 and are in all respects convenient and well arranged. The beach in front is fenced 
 in and rigidly preserved for bathers. Large floats beyond the breakers afford resting 
 and diving places for expert swimmers, and life-boats patrol the beach at the same 
 point. An amphitheatre seating two thousand people overlooks the bathing-grounds. 
 
 Still farther eastward is another magnificent hotel, the Oriental, built by the Man- 
 hattan Beach Company for the use of permanent guests and families desirous of 
 escaping the noise, confusion, and variety of the throngs which make the most char- 
 acteristic feature of the place. 
 
 From this sketch it may be fancied that Coney Island is a most unique and pict- 
 uresque place. Within an hour's journey of New York, it furnishes thousands of 
 
260 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 people^ who can not leave the city during the summer months, except for a very 
 brief period, a chance for sea-side diversion, bathing, and fresh air, while every resource 
 known, which can gratify the most epicurean tastes, offers its seductions for the more 
 fastidious public. Indeed, many families formerly in the habit of going to more 
 distant points have of late adopted Coney Island as their summer home, enabling the 
 men to go in and out to their business. This, however, is only an incidental feature 
 of Coney Island life. It is from the great throng of daily pleasui-e-seekers, made up 
 of all classes, that the place gains its peculiar picturesqueness and animation. The 
 whole length of the beach, on a bright summer's day, is a never-ending procession of 
 people, from men and women of the highest social rank and position to humble 
 mechanics and laborers, out for a day's airing with their families. The contrasts of 
 life and character resulting from this heterogeneous assembly give Coney Island its 
 greatest charm, aside from the sea, air, and sunlight. 
 
 Other well-known watering-places by the ocean are, Long Branch, Atlantic City, 
 and Cape May, all popular resorts and possessed of many attractions, but having no 
 special value or significance as derived from scenery, tradition, or peculiar social con- 
 ditions, such as make places like Mount Desert, Isles of Shoals, Nahaiit, Newport, and 
 even Coney Island, peculiarly noticeable. 
 
 The Drut at Lofnj Braiich, 
 

 OUR INLAND PLEASURE- 
 PLACEfc. 
 
 \mong the CatskiUs — baratoga md it» lite — Like 
 
 Cieorge and Like Champlam — Lake Mtmphremi 
 
 feog— The White M untim — Tientoii Fills— Thi 
 
 lakes lI Central INew 'ioik— W atkms Glen— Niag 
 
 ara Falls— The beauties of the Thousand Islands— The Sague- 
 
 nay River — Minor watering-places of the interior— I'ut-in-Bay 
 
 — Lake Erie. 
 
 It is not necessary to go more than half a 
 day's journey from the city of New York to find a 
 delightful mountain-region full of varied attractions 
 and picturesque aspects. As you sail up the Hudson, 
 about one hundred and forty miles, from the sea, you 
 see the thick cluster of mountains to which the Dutch settlers gave the name 
 of the Catskills, only about eight miles away from the bank of the river. They 
 
 Catskill MuUidaiiL-Uonae, 
 
262 OVR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 make a short, broken sjiur, tlirown out eastwardly from that great mountain-chain 
 which, under various names, stretches from Xova Scotia to Georgia and Tennessee, 
 all being known under the general title of the Appalachian. The Catskills are like 
 an advanced bastion of this gi-eat rock}' wall, that stretches for nearly two thousand 
 miles. On the western side they slope gradually down toward the central part of the 
 State of New York, breaking up into innumerable sjiurs and ridges. On the eastern 
 side they rise abrujjtly to a height of more than four thousand feet, looking from 
 the river like a huge fist, the mountains representing the knuckles, and the glens 
 and cloves the spaces between them. Isolated from other mountains, they overlook a 
 great range of country, and the sweep of vision which the traveler gets is such as is 
 rarely attained from higlier elevations. The Catskills are famous, not only for this 
 bird's-eye view, but contain some of the most charming bits of mountain-scenery in 
 the world. These nooks of rock and forest beauty have been immortalized by Cooper, 
 Irving, and Bryant, and have inspired our landscape artists to do much of their finest 
 work. 
 
 As we ajjproacli the little village of Catskill. on the western bank of the river, 
 we see a series of tree-covered ridges, rolling away, one after another, eight or 
 ten miles, and, beyond the farthest, lifting their peaks up into the clouds, are the 
 Catskills. Yonder, to the right, we see Black Head ; then, in succession, North 
 Mountain, South Mountain, and Round Top, with High Peak towering over all. Be- 
 tween the last and South Mountain we observe a sharp notch or depression ; this is 
 the celebrated Clove, through which the Cauterskill comes tumbling and roaring 
 downward. High on the face of South Mountain, or rather between it and its 
 northern neighbor, the eye, by looking very keenly, sees a small speck, hanging 
 like a swallow's nest to a wall. If we look through a pair of good glasses, you 
 will see that it is a spacious hotel, and that on its piazzas are gathered perhaps 
 several hundred human beings, looking out over the magnificent landscape, which 
 spreads like a map below them, and watching the tliread of silver that gleams occa- 
 sionally in the far distance, marking the course of the Hudson. 
 
 On leaving the village of Catskill, we are borne away in lumbering old stages, 
 and speedily cross the bridge which spans the mouth of the Cauterskill. We are now 
 fairly on the road to the mountains. For a while we pass by meadows, where the 
 cows gi-aze peacefully, or hay-fields which send up a delicious fresh scent. The valley 
 rolls gradually up to the base of the mountains, which rise in the distance like a wall. 
 Soon the scarred head of the North Mountain comes into view, and the Mountain- 
 House is clearly defined against a background of pines. 
 
 Mountain-climbing is much the same everywhere, but in the Catskills it has 
 peculiar charms. Of course, the road is often rough and fatiguing, the tax on the 
 muscles severe, but there are frequent convenient resting-places and views of en- 
 trancing loveliness, as well as the most picturesque nooks. The route taken by the 
 stages to the Mountain-House winds around and upward over a road full of beauty. 
 Here a gorge, there a water-fall, arched colonnades of forest, steep escarpments of cliff, 
 
OUR INLAND PLEASURE-PLACES. 
 
 263 
 
 wide vistas of valley and lowland stretching far away, succeed one another rapidly. 
 Now you pass along the edge of a dizzy precipice, now you jilunge into deep, umbra- 
 geous woods, which look as if they might have been undisturbed from the very 
 creation. Winding around the side of North Mountain you suddenly come to a place 
 where you see the Mountain-House apparently not more than half a mile away. 
 Perched on a shelf of rock, which juts out far over the side of the mountain, glis- 
 tening white against the pine-clad shoulders of the mountain, the pile of buildings 
 
 
 -V}>1'-.iX^ 
 
 View of the Catehills. 
 
 makes a singular feature of the view. On the left of the picture we see the opening 
 of the Cauterskill Clove, between the sloping side of the South Mountain and that 
 of the more distant high peak, and, above the clouds, floating like fringes of gauze 
 about the mountain-sides, we stand and look on the valley of the Hudson, fading 
 toward the distant south. 
 
 A steady climb of three miles brings us to the jjlateau on which the hotel stands, 
 built on a flat rock on the very edge of the precipice. The cliff here falls perpen- 
 dicularly about eighteen hundred feet. The view from the piazza is wonderful. 
 Ridges of hills which rise nearly a thousand feet in height are dwarfed into nothing- 
 ness, and the country through which we have ridden up from the river looks almost 
 as flat as a table. Through the course of the distant plain the silvery Hudson winds 
 from the hills below Albany, on the north, to where the glittering ribbon disaj^pears 
 on the south, behind the highlands at West Point. 
 
 Directly beneath us we see the lovely valley, dotted with farms and clumps of 
 woodland, smiling in the sunlight, with waves of shadow chasing one another across the 
 green. Beyond, an amphitheatre of mountains rises on the eastern horizon, stretching 
 in broken lines from the southern boundaries of Vermont to Northern Connecticut, 
 rolling off peak after peak, wave after wave, of deepening blue, till they are lost in 
 the purple of the Berkshire Hills. 
 
2G4 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 ,SVy/u,v at SdViitoga. 
 
OUR INLAND PLEASURE-PLACES. 265 
 
 Such is the view which delights the eye from one of the higl)er points of the 
 Catskills, and similar prospects may be had from many a point. Hotels and boarding- 
 houses, of various degrees of excellence, are scattered throughout the mountains, and 
 in the summer season are crowded with visitors, come to enjoy the crisp, pure mount- 
 ain air, and the beauties so lavishly scattered by the hand of Nature. Picnic-parties, 
 walking-parties, pedestrians, single and in groups, and riding-parties, we find scattered 
 through these breezy heights and umbrageous forests at every turn. The nearness of 
 the Catskills to New York and the economy with which the mountain-trip may be 
 made make this beautiful spur of our great coast-range a favorite spot, and it may 
 be observed that those who frequent the Catskills appear to care little for the behests 
 of fashion, but to give themselves up wholly to the delights of out-door life and the 
 pure, sweet recreations of Nature. In another chapter of this book the reader will 
 find a more extended mention of special features of Catskill scenery. 
 
 If the Catskills are noticeable as a summer resort for the easy-going, unconven- 
 tional lives of the pilgrims in search of health and rest, we find the opposite ex- 
 treme at Saratoga, one of the famous watering-places of the world. Here fashion, 
 wealth, and extravagance reign supreme, and all the glitter and show of social life 
 make the summer months a whirl of gayety and dissipation. Probably at no water- 
 ing-place in the world is there more brilliancy than at this spa. Aside from the 
 element of fashion and social excitement so noticeable at Saratoga, the salubrity of 
 the air and medicinal value of the waters contribute to attract many of the most 
 distinguished families in the country. One constantly meets men eminent in lit- 
 erature, politics, science, and art, who come together yearly here, as if at a great 
 club, by common consent, and who. though not mingling in the excitements of gay 
 life, love to watch the sparkling throng. The finest hotels in the world arc found at 
 Saratoga, and it is here that visitors generally stay. Cottage-life, which constitutes 
 the prominent fact in Newport society, is scarcely known at Saratoga, or, at most, 
 contributes but little to the leading characteristics of the place. 
 
 Saratoga is located about thirty-two miles northwest of Albany, and has a perma- 
 nent population of not less than fifteen thousand, which is doubled in the summer 
 months. There are in the town twenty-eight mineral springs, of which six are spout- 
 ing ones, some chalybeate, others impregnated with iodine, iron, sulphur, and mag- 
 nesia, and all powerfully charged with carbonic-acid gas. The most celebrated of 
 the springs are the Congress, Empire, Hathorn, High Rock, Geyser, Washington, and 
 Pavilion. Large quantities of the waters are bottled and sent to all portions of the 
 country. 
 
 The medicinal properties of the Saratoga springs were known to the Indians in 
 very early times, at least as far back as Jacques Cartier's visit to the St. Lawrence in 
 1535. In 1767 Sir William Johnson was carried hither on a litter by his Indian 
 retainers, and it is believed that he was the first white man to visit the springs. The 
 first log-cabin was built in 1773, by Derick Scowton, and the first farm-house in 
 1784, by General Schuyler. In 1693 a sanguinary battle was fought between the 
 
266 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 French and English at this jjoint, in which the English were completely victorious. 
 In fact, all the country about Saratoga was " bloody ground," as it was here that the 
 French and English disputed supremacy most fiercely, and all the atrocities of Indian 
 savagery were shown at their worst. It was here also, though not exactly on the 
 present site of the town, that the battle of Saratoga, the turning-]ioint of the Revo- 
 lutionary contest, was fought and won by the Americans. The name Saratoga is 
 derived from an Indian word which means '' the place of the herrings." which for- 
 merly passed up the Hudson into Saratoga Lake. 
 
 The city of Saratoga is splendidly built on two or three of its main streets, of 
 which Broadway is the chief, with hotels, banks, and other public buildings, and all 
 of the thoroughfares have a delightful rural aspect, in spite of the brilliant concourse 
 of carriages and massive structures, from tine elm-trees which shade the streets. 
 There are not many natural attractions of scenery, though parts of the lake, which 
 is little more than three miles east of the town, and is connected with the Hudson 
 River by a creek, are quite picturesque. Several fine country-houses, one or two of 
 them among the most costly and elegant in the land, have been built here. But it 
 is not to see picturesque scenery that the summer pilgi-ims who frequent Saratoga have 
 in view. It is rather to witness or take part in the unceasing and brilliant gayety of 
 a social life which, for activity and extravagance, is only equaled by that of Newjwrt 
 among summer places, and that of New York during the winter months. To this 
 must be added a certain proportion moved by considerations of health, or attracted by 
 the habits of many years' standing. It is jirobable that the average number of sum- 
 mer visitors at this favorite place nearly approaches fifty thousand, though but a small 
 number of them spend the whole season. 
 
 Leaving the fashionable gayeties of Saratoga, a journey of a little more tlian thirty 
 miles in a northeasterly direction brings us to a region of such picturesque charm and 
 loveliness as to be almost without a peer — the shores of Lake George, famous historically, 
 famous for natural beauty, and one of the best-known resorts to tourists and pleasure- 
 seekers. The Indians gave the name of Horicon to this most beautiful of American 
 lakes, the word meaning "silver-water," a title well applied on account of tlie pellucid 
 clearness of the water. The early French explorers, struck with the same characteris- 
 tic, called the lake " St. Sacrement," and so highly prized its water that they actually 
 sent it to Montreal for baptismal uses. 
 
 Lake George is located in Warren County, about sixty miles directly north of 
 Albany. It is thirty-four miles long, from one to four miles in width, and is said to 
 be at places nearly four hundred feet deep. In shape it is long and narrow, and 
 flows into Lake Champlain by a narrow rivulet, at the northern end, about four miles 
 long. Lake George is dotted with many small islands — one, it is said, for every day 
 of the year — and the shores lift themselves in bold highlands. The lake is literally 
 embowered among the hills, a brilliant mirror set in among cliffs and wooded mount- 
 ains, the rugged sides of which see themselves reflected in the clear and silent bosom 
 of the waters. 
 
OUR INLAND PLEASURE-PLACES. 
 
 267 
 
 The tourist approaches Lake George by the Saratoga Railway as far as Glens 
 Falls ; thence the journey is made by that most delightful method of travel in pict- 
 uresque regions, the stage-coach. The first glimpse of the lake is had as the coach 
 approaches Caldwell, its terminus. Suddenly the Fort AYilliam Henry Hotel, built on 
 the ruins of the famous old fort, comes in view, and the stage dashes into the OTOunds 
 up before the wide piazza thronged with people. On one side of the traveler all is 
 vivid life and animation ; on the other, a marvelous stretch of lake, moiintain, island, 
 
 Scenes at Luke Oeorge. 
 
 wooded shore — such a picture in charm, brightness, and fullness, as rarely delights 
 the eye of the tourist. One may linger many days at Caldwell enjoying the changing 
 beauties of the scenery. From the top of Prospect Mountain, on the southern border 
 of the lake, to which a good road ascends from Caldwell, a glorious picture of the 
 whole region is sjiread before the spectator. 
 
 There are several ways of enjoying the scenery of Lake George. A steamboat 
 makes a daily trip to its northern end, thirty-four miles away, returning the same 
 day. One may also hire a steam-launch for an independent exploration, or make the 
 
2(J8 
 
 OUIl NATIVE LAND. 
 
 I'litiiT ciiTuit of the sliorc in 
 a siiil- or row-lioiit. Tlu're can 
 be no more eliarniing excur- 
 sion than a sail around this 
 American Como, as it has fre- 
 (|uciitly been callctl. The rug- 
 ged siiorcs, the l)eautil'ul little 
 l)ay.s, the picturesque islands, 
 the soft glamour of the wa- 
 ters, the towering mountains, 
 make a delightful ]ianorama. 
 One may cani]) out at night 
 on island or headland, and 
 thus add vastly to the relish 
 of the excursion. Camping- 
 parties are very justly in vogue 
 at Lake George. 
 
 Let us now take the steam- 
 er which daily traverses the 
 length of " Silon AVater," and 
 start on our voj'age down the 
 hike. We pass island after isl- 
 and of the (juaintcst charm, 
 on many of which we observe 
 handsome villas or perhaps the 
 tents of a camping-out i)arty. 
 At what is called the Narrows 
 the course of the lake is shut 
 in by projecting points of land, 
 the contracted watery strait 
 lieing crowded again with isl- 
 ands, on one of which is a fine 
 hotel. A winding sail among 
 these wooded islets is delight- 
 ful. On the east shore we 
 see Black Mountain, the high- 
 est of the peaks that line the 
 lake. Densely wooded at the 
 base, the mountain stands out 
 rocky and bare at its summit 
 of nearly three thousand feet. 
 The vit'w from the summit, as- 
 
OUR INLAND PLEASURE-PLACES. 209 
 
 cent to wliicli is laborious, is magnificent. Beyond Black Mountain are its brethren, 
 Sugar-loaf and Buck Mountains. The next place of importance is Sabbath-day Point, 
 a tongue of land which juts out fmm a tall, precipitous hill, just beyond which is 
 another hill of corresponding height. Hero, as at so many other points on the lake, 
 the view is grand. Beyond this again we find Anthony's Nose, a bold, high hill ; and 
 Eogers's Slide, a cliff on the lake-side, which gets its name from the tradition of the 
 exploit of a bold hunter, who made a daring escape from the Indians at the time of 
 the old French wars. 
 
 Thus sailing by the most varied background of mountains and cliffs, amid charm- 
 ing islands, and over transparent waters, we finally reach the nortliern end of the lake. 
 From the steamboat-landing a stage conducts us to Ticonderoga, on Lake Champlain, 
 four miles away. The waters of Lake (Jeorge flow through a narrow channel, and mid- 
 way on their way to Champlain tumble down a rocky descent in a very picturesque fall. 
 
 Lake George is made interesting by history and legend, as well as by its superla- 
 tive beauty of scenery. Our great novelist, Cooper, peopled it with the creations of 
 his genius, and the names of Ilawkeye, Chin-gach-cook, Uncas, and of Alice and 
 Cora Munro, remain associated with it in the minds of all lovers of American litera- 
 ture. Legends of daring heroism in the old colonial wars belong to every island and 
 headland, and it was liere that some of tlie most important ante-Revolutionary events 
 in our history took place. Lake George first came into conspicuous notice during the 
 French war of 1745, though it had been discovered and explored as far back as 1G46. 
 During the first-named year, it became the great highway between the North and the 
 places southward, and armies tramjjcd back and forth, or met in fierce conflict on its 
 shores, and stained its silvery waters with the blood of battle. It was on this lake 
 that Sir William Johnson, commanding the English forces, met the Baron Dieskau, 
 commanding an army of French and Indians, in 1755, inflicting a bloody repulse on 
 the enemy. Scouting-parties at this period, from both sides, ranged u]) and down the 
 lake, and came together in endless collisions, which were full of romantic incidents. 
 Among these bold scouts was Israel Putnam, whose after-career became so notable. 
 In 1757 occurred tiie massacre at Fort William Henry, which gave Fcnimore (hooper 
 material for one of the most thrilling scenes in his romance, "The Last of the 
 Mohicans." Colonel Munro commanded at Fort William Henry, and here he was 
 besieged by the Marquis Montcalm, at the head of an overwhelming force of French 
 and Indians. The English held out gallantly till forced by starvation to surrender, 
 the conditions being that they should march out with the honors of war. But the 
 Indian allies of the victor were uncontrollable, and a horrible massacre ensued, leav- 
 ing a dark stain on the otherwise white escutcheon of Montcalm, which his heroic 
 death, on the Plains of Abraham a few years afterward, hardly effaced. 'I'wo more 
 English expeditions speedily ensued, the latter of which was successful in capturing 
 the French forts on Lake Champlain, and freeing the colonies permanently from the 
 fear of French invasion. Later, during the Revolutionary contest, this region became 
 the theatre of stirring scenes in the Burgoyne invasion. 
 
270 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 -V?? 
 
 Lakt. C'/uim/ihii/'^ fn'iii Fort Ticondeyoga, 
 
 A ride of four miles from the lieMil of I^ake George lands lis at Ticoiideroga, on 
 Lake Champlaiii. The fort still remains, a most picturesque old ruin, and has been 
 left unmolested except by the hand of Time. Few places in America have had so 
 many romantic associations, or undergone so many vicissitudes of war. After being 
 the center of many striking events prior to the cession of Canada in 17G3, it became 
 again invested with historic importance at the breaking out of the Revolution in 
 1775, when it fell into the hands of the Americans under the eccentric leader Colonel 
 Ethan Allen. It again passed into the hands of the British, where it remained till 
 the surrender of General Burgoyne at Saratoga. Lake Champlain was also the arena 
 of one of the most brilliant naval feats of tlie War of 1812 — the defeat and cajjture 
 of a British fleet by Commodore McDonough. 
 
 Between Lakes George and Champlain there is a striking difference, though each 
 is very beautiful in its way. The former, full of ex(iuisite .sylvan charms and almost 
 
OUR INLAND PLEASURE-PLACES. 
 
 271 
 
 dainty in its loveliness, is embowered by steep, overhanging hills, which are reflected 
 in the clear, shining waters. On Lake Champlain the vision takes in mountain-ranges 
 stretching far away to the right and left, with large areas of beautiful meadow and 
 farm-lands, smiling with cozy homes, sloping down to the lake. While this noble 
 sheet of water is not so large as to deny the pleasure-voyager views of either shore, it 
 has those sweeping expanses so essential to a really fine water-view. The length is 
 one hundred and twenty-six miles, the width about thirteen. North of Ticonderoga 
 the lake begins to widen, and at Burlington Bay expands into something like a sea. 
 
 Above Ticonderoga is Crown Point, which is closely connected in history with the 
 other fort. A few miles below Burlington a spur of the Adirondacks stretches down 
 
 Split Jiock\ Lnlce Champlain, 
 
 to the shore, making the only steep cliffs directly on the water. These cliffs terminate 
 in a point, known as Split Kock, where the rock is cut off by a huge fissure and 
 converted into an island. There is a broad expanse of water at this point, for sixty 
 miles, and at times the waves, under the force of a north wind, come tumbling in 
 with the roar of ocean-surf, and the spray is dashed over the tall light-house. The 
 distant mountain-views from this place are very imposing. On the one side are the 
 Green Mountains, purple in the hazy distance ; on the other the Adirondack Hills 
 mingle their blue tops with the clouds. One may see in the distance the highest 
 peaks in Vermont, Mansfield and Camel's Hump, and among the distant Adirondacks 
 the towering top of Whiteface. At Burlington Bay the wide surface of the water is 
 
272 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 dotted with numerous islands. From Burlington to Plattsburg the shores continue to 
 be of varying character, and full of jtleasant surprises. At Plattsburg the lake lias 
 its widest reach, though a long island breaks the expanse nearly midway between the 
 two shores. St. Albans is on the eastern shore of the lake, near the northern bound- 
 ary of Vermont. Rouse's Point is at the extreme western boundary of the lake, and 
 is on the border-line of Canada. From this point the waters of the lake flow into 
 the St. Lawrence by a narrow stream known as Sorel or Richelieu River. 
 
 From the day when the American fleet under McDonough and the army under 
 McComb inflicted such defeats on the British, on the waters and shores of Lake 
 Cliamplain, both battles being fought on the same day, unbroken serenity has rested 
 on this beautiful little inland sea. Fleets of vessels have traversed its waters, but 
 they have been on peaceful errands. Vast armies have sailed up and down its chan- 
 nels, invaded its towns, penetrated the forests, and assaulted the mountains that sur- 
 round it, but they have beeen armies of pleasure -seekers. Lake George and Lake 
 Cliamplain will always remain among the most favored goals of summer pilgrimage, 
 for, while their shores and waters are full of the most romantic beauty, the quaint 
 charm of the historic past lingers about them with a gentle twilight glow, full of 
 fascination for a susceptible fancy. 
 
 But there is another lovely lake, far up in Northern Vermont, which many enthu- 
 siastic tourists declare fully equal to Lake George in beauty. To reach this remote 
 but most charming spot we must cross from the town of St. Albans, which is on the 
 Vermont side of Lake Champlain, to Newport, a town at the foot of Memphremagog. 
 The railway-journey carries us across the Green Mountains, and through scenery of 
 the most jiicturesfjue character, which would repay us for the venture if we had not 
 Memphremagog to look forward to. This beautiful expanse of water, with its awk- 
 ward name, is overshadowed by mountains and bordered by dense forests and grassy 
 meadows. Partly in Canada, partly in Vermont, it is thirty miles long and two miles 
 wide. Deep and narrow, it is gemmed with pretty islands, and in its sparkling waters 
 speckled trout of great size tempt the angler's skill. 
 
 The puffy little steamboat, which navigates the placid lake in the interests of pleas- 
 ure-seekers, transports us by a continual succession of beautiful scenes. Here a nar- 
 row cape juts out amid the tossing, shining ripples ; there the land forms two bays, 
 with rounded outlines and wooded shores. Here the shore is high and clifi-guarded ; 
 there the banks are low and rolling, girt by a belt of yellow sand. The deep water 
 takes every color and form on its mirror-like surface, and reproduces them with the 
 greatest fidelity. Villages on the banks and islands, many of the latter cultivated and 
 inhabited, vary the scene, and lend a sweet human interest to it. Among these are 
 Province Island, a pretty garden of a hundred acres, and Tea-Table Island, which is 
 a great resort for picnic-parties. As we glide past, pleasant laughter and fancifully 
 painted row-boats moored to the little jetty speak of the presence of youth and hap- 
 piness. When we enter British waters and pass Canadian shores, the scenery does 
 not lessen in picturesqueness and beauty. Islands, promontories, and cliffs pass by in 
 
OUR INL.Wn I' LEASV RE-PL ACES. 
 
 273 
 
 swift succession. Some garrulous na- 
 tive tells us of many a local legend. 
 Here is a cave hollowed out in the cliff, 
 where, rumor has it, a great treasure 
 of gold and silver is hidden, though 
 jjersistent search has failed to tind it. 
 There is a rocky point where some old 
 hunter or Indian fighter performed a 
 great exploit. On the island we see 
 yonder was the den of a daring smug- 
 
 gler, who set at defiance for many a 
 long year the combined efforts of the 
 custom-house officers of both nations 
 to catch him. Pleasant summer hotels 
 here and there show their low, white 
 buildings on the lake-shore, and we see, 
 from time to time, a pretty villa rising 
 among the embowering trees, and get 
 glimpses of fine, park-like inclosures. 
 Owl's Head is the most prominent 
 
 18 
 
274 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 mountain on the lake, and is cone-sliaped. From a point hifjh up on its rocky side 
 ■we tjet a glorious view of the lake and its shores, of distant mountains and plains, of 
 cultivated stretches of farm-lands, of almost trackless forests far awa}' in the distance. 
 
 Mount Washington, White Mo'intaim. 
 
 and of other shining lakes and rivers. The summit itself is riven into four peaks, 
 deep ravines intervening between them. Once a year a lodge of Freemasons meets 
 here, and on the face of a wall of rock are inscribed some of the mystic symbols of 
 
Oril INLAND PLEASURE-PLACES. 275 
 
 the order. Other mountains on the lake are almost as imposing. Mount Elephantus, 
 resembling faintly an elephant's back from one point of view, changes into the form 
 of a horseshoe as we go northward ; and Mount Oxford, a fine peak, closely resembles 
 Owl's Head in shape. 
 
 On Lake Memphremagog, as at most lake-resorts, the mountains only furnish a 
 background for the charming lake-scenery itself, an element of visual pleasure sub- 
 sidiary to other more attractive features. To enjoy mountain-scenery for its own 
 sake, to fully realize the majesty and strength of these giant forms, which lift their 
 scarred and lightning-riven heads up amid the clouds, we must go to the great 
 mountain-region of New Hampshire, which, in many respects, is the most notable of 
 all the districts of high elevation east of the Mississippi. In treating of our inland 
 summer places, it is not our purpose to enter at any length into the charactei'istics 
 of White Mountain scenery, but to treat it only with reference to its attractions to 
 the pleasure-tourist. A more detailed sketch of mountain-scenery in New Hampshire 
 will be found under another head. Many fine hotels are scattered through the mount- 
 ains at the principal points of interest, among which are the Crawford and Glen 
 Houses, commanding the approaches to Mount Washington on opposite sides, the 
 Profile House, the Twin Mountain House, and the i'abyan House. These are only a 
 few of many which offer excellent or luxuriant accommodations to the tourist, as the 
 case may be. The height which stands jn-incipally in the public imagination as 
 typical of the White Mountains and White Mountain scenery is Mount Washington, 
 the loftiest peak of the range, and, with the exception of Black Mountain in North 
 Carolina, higher than any other east of the Mississippi ; and to this noble mountain 
 we will make a short summer pilgrimage in search of the beautiful. 
 
 Choosing among the valleys the one whose picturesque beauty begins the soonest, 
 we find ourselves at the head of Lake Winncpesaukee, with two lofty peaks, Whiteface 
 and Chocorua, towering in the distance. Departing from Centre Harbor, a summer 
 resort of some note, we start by stage-coach for Conway and the mountains, and are 
 soon winding among the higli, rugged hills, over the dark, frowning brows of cliffs, 
 through deep ravines, or across a lofty plateau which overlooks the amphitheatre of 
 hills. One watches the great hill-tops come up like billows from out the sea of 
 mountains, the soft puiple light resting over them like a thin veil. The balmy 
 fragrance of the resinous woods and of a thousand growing things delight one 
 sense, while the eye is enraptured with the beauty of the mountain-forms. Reaching 
 Conway, we again take stage, after a night's rest, for North Conway, which is on a 
 little plain near the base of Bartlett Mountain, and Mount Kearsarge, about a three 
 hours' ride from Conway. The mountain-scenery at North Conway is peculiar for its 
 loveliness. The curves of a snow-drift and the curl of a sea-wave are spoken of by 
 Ruskin as among the most beautiful lines in Nature, but they are not a whit more 
 beautiful than the curves of the mountain, as seen from the Arcadia of the White 
 Hills. Here Nature seems to have thrown aside her harsh and severe character in the 
 very granite heart of New England, and to have exulted in her most genial mood. 
 
276 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Starting in the morning from North Conway, wo wind along the iiiiiin till the 
 valley becomes narrow and broken, and the hills abrupt. Passing by the flunks of 
 grand hills, picturesque water-falls, and mountain pools, glimmering through the 
 foliao-e of tlw road-side, we soon find ourselves among the towering mountains whose 
 walls fall clear down to the carriage- track. By the middle of the afternoon the steep 
 sides of Mount Ci-awford bound the way on oue side, and, by the time wo reach the 
 little hotel under Willey Mountain, the low-down sun makes further journeying for the 
 night undesirable. From the Willey House to the gate of Crawford Notch the path 
 becomes narrower and sterner. The slojie of the mountains is very abrupt, and the 
 narrow ravine is almost unbroken for three miles till one has passed the gate of the 
 Notch, an opening hardly wide enough to allow the passage of a team of horses. 
 Just beyond this gate we come to the Crawford House, situated on a little ])lateau of 
 a few hundred acres. 
 
 The ascent of Mount Washington from this point by the bridle-path is more satis- 
 factory than any other, as it affords the finest views of mountain-scenery, and a most 
 exhilarating experience. We start on a sunny morning with thick garments, for we 
 shall find the air keen and nipping before we get to the top. When everything is in 
 readiness, the cavalcade — for we are not alone in the trip — sets off up through, the 
 trees, looking, in the motley costumes of the party, like a trmipi' of gypsies as it winds 
 along the shaded path, which ascends two thousand feet during the first two or three 
 miles. The corduroy path that we finally reach is so steep that those just in front 
 appear to be almost overhead. Here and there, tired and thirsty, we stop to quaff 
 the delicious cold nectar of the mountain-springs. As we ascend higher and higher, 
 the birches, maples, ashes, and poplars, give place first to pine, hemlock, spruce, and 
 fir, and finally to a sort of Arctic vegetation, and on the summit of Mount Clinton, 
 which we have been climbing on our way to Mount Washington, we find a region of 
 dead trees as white as ghosts. 
 
 As we begin to descend to the narrow ridge, which unites this mountain to the 
 next, wc catch a glimpse of a valley two thousand feet deep, at the foot of which 
 flows the Mount Washington Kiver, along the edge of a vast forest. At the left at an 
 equal dejith runs the Ammonoosuc, and we get our first vivid notion of mountain- 
 peril when the horses, planting their four feet together, are- obliged to jump several 
 feet to the rocks beneath, where a mistake would hurl the horse and rider hundreds 
 of feet down the mountain-side. Passing around the side of Mount Monroe, one gazes 
 into a frightful abyss, known as Bates's Gulf. C!louds and vapor hang against its 
 precipitous sides, and gigantic rocks strew the bottom of the gorge. From Monroe is 
 the first near view of Mount Washington, ^hich rises in a vast cone and shines with bare 
 gray stones fifteen hundred feet higher, across a wide plateaii strewed with bowlders. 
 This elevated plain is a mile above the sea, and in the crevices of rocks and jiatches 
 of soil we see hardy wild-flowers and straggling grass, and here and there a small 
 mountain-tarn. By turning aside a little, we see Tuckerman's Ravine, the most won- 
 derful gorge in the mountains, lying at our feet. Having crossed the plateau, the 
 
OUR INLAND PLEASURE-PLACES. 
 
 277 
 
 last four or five hundred feet are best climbed on foot, for the stones are loose and 
 the ascent perilously steep. 
 
 Soon we reach the top of the mountain, and. guarding against the violence of the 
 blast by getting to the leeward of a huge rock, we command a view more extended 
 and exciting than any east of the Rocky Mountains. A sea of heights stretches on 
 every side ; the near peaks, bald and scarred, are clothed with forests black and pur- 
 ple, and sloping to the valleys so remote as to appear insignificant. Beyond the 
 
 Trfiittiii FiilU. 
 
378 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 near peaks the more distant mountains, grand and solemn, fall away rapidly into every 
 variety of blue and purjile, glittering with lakes, till the eye reaches the sea-line ninety 
 miles away. 
 
 On another side of the mountain is the Mount Washington Railroad, which extends 
 from a little village called Marshfield to the summit, the distance being about three 
 miles. The grade is thirty-five hundred and ninety-six feet in three miles, and in 
 places one foot in three. There is a center rail in which fits a cog-wheel, that 
 fairly pulls the train uj) the mountain, and its safety is secured by self-acting brakes. 
 The time occupied in ascending is about an hour and a half, but one forgets time 
 in the magnificent panorama which ojiens more and more widely to the vision. An- 
 other route is by carriage-road from the Glen House ; but of all these different excur- 
 sions that by the bridle-path from Crawford Notch is the favorite one with lovers of 
 mountain-scenery. Within a few years railway communication with the White Mount- 
 ains has been much improved, and now the passenger may stop close to the Crawford 
 House and other adjacent hotels, but the genuine admirers of the picturesque still 
 very naturally prefer the old-fashioned method of the stage-coach. 
 
 From the White Mountains of New Hampshire the summer tourist finds a total 
 change in the character of scenery and the associations of travel by visiting the ])ict- 
 uresque water-falls and lakes of Central and Western New York. Trenton Falls, among 
 such natural attractions, is only less famous than Niagara, to which, while inferior in 
 sublimity, it is suj^erior in picturesqueness and variety. This superb chasm lies about 
 fourteen miles west of Utica, and the country surrounding the falls has a soft pastoral 
 loveliness not to be surpassed for those who love Nature in her quieter moods. The 
 falls are close to the hotel, and the visitor plunges almost at once into the heart of a 
 forest as he leaves the hotel-grounds. The light of the sun streams in golden lances 
 through the dim cathedral gloom as we follow the path, fringed with jjrofuse flowers. 
 Beyond, through the openings of the foliage, we get glimpses of noble hill-forms ; 
 but between them and us there is a great gulf. The ground rises higher and higher, 
 and suddenly our progress is arrested by the deep chasm whose presence has hitherto 
 been concealed by the gradual ascent and the great fringe of ti-ees on the border. 
 Down below we catch a glimpse of the Kanata River tumbling over its rocky bed. 
 
 Here the first descent is made by a series of wooden ladders, and we are landed 
 safely on the bank of the stream. We look ahead and see the first of the series 
 of falls, six in number, known as Sherman Falls, after the discoverer, a grandson of 
 Roger Sherman, of Revolutionary memory. Here the river has made an immense 
 excavation in the limestone, and falls about forty feet into its bed below, with a most 
 furious roaring. 
 
 The next water-fall has also a descent of about forty feet, but the i)recipice seems 
 to be broken into a seines of narrow shelves, and over this inclined lodge the waters 
 roll in a tumultuous mass of foam. But the other side of the fall, for it is duplex, 
 is seventy-five feet ; and here the stream falls in a thin, silvery sheet, broken into 
 cascades by projecting shales of limestone. In tlie very center of the ledge are frown- 
 
OUR IXLAXD PLEASURE-PLACES. 279 
 
 ing masses of limestone, rising like a bastion, wliich separate tlie full in two. At this 
 point the walls of the cliff ou either side rise for one hundred and thirty feet, and 
 through the strata of dark-gray limestone or of loose, crumbling shale, which make uji 
 the face of the huge rock-walls, there grow dwarf-cedars of low height, but of great 
 fullness of branch and foliage. Close to the bank, at whose foot the visitor creeps, is 
 the great glory of the chasm, for here the water pours over in one tremendous, arch- 
 ing flood. The color of the leaping water, which is impelled forward in the air as if 
 shot off some gigantic wheel, is an exquisite topaz in hue, and nothing can surpass 
 the beauty of its changing tints, as it lights up in gleams of sunshine. Great clouds 
 of spray rise up, lifting dancing arches of rainbow, and sail away into the upper air 
 in floating wreaths. 
 
 Most visitors, after scrambling up and down the stairways necessary to take, in 
 viewing the different beauties of Trenton Falls, find rest in a little wooden cottage 
 built on a rocky plateau under the shadow of the bank. The lovers of science find 
 wonderful fossil forms in the rocks about this spot, in number and curiosity rarely 
 equaled, which adds fresh attraction for those interested in such things, though the 
 majority of visitors care but little for the dead past, in the glory and beauty which 
 fill their senses with the overwhelming present. Next to the great fall, about two 
 hundred yards away, is another, called the Mill-Dam, from its sober and regular 
 descent over an inclined ledge of twelve feet. Then we come to the Alhambra Fall. 
 The rocks here, on each side, are very bold, and fringed from top to bottom with fine 
 cedars, the branches of which are thrust forward in pyramidal shape, with great full- 
 ness of foliage. The rock-ledge over which the water tumbles is fully sixty feet high. 
 The top shelves somewhat, and the flood pours over this in a superb amber stream 
 on the one side, while on the left is a wild cataract, where the stream rushes over 
 the various strata, arrayed like great stairs, in a succession of infinitely varied falls, 
 combining the forms ot the gentlest cascade and the most savage torrent. Tall cedars 
 swathe the whole cliff with a mass of impenetrable gloom on either side, far dow'n 
 the edges of the cataract, lending it an aspect of united majesty and beauty. 
 
 All about Trenton Falls the rock-forms — both the isolated ones and the cliffs — 
 are remarkable for their bold and eccentric shapes, and lend a peculiar accent of 
 wildness to the roar and glitter of the tumbling waters. Among these are the 
 Pinnacle, a cliff-form which shoots up like an obelisk, two hundred feet in height ; 
 a huge ijerpendicular cliff, called the Tarjieian Kock, around which the deep, dark 
 waters glide smoothly ; and a great column of limestone, which looks down on the 
 hills around it. The country in the vicinity of the falls is beautifully picturesque, 
 and the woods have a jjark-like charm, which make them a most attractive prom- 
 enade. Trenton Falls and their surroundings are quite remarkaljle for the diversity 
 of their beauties, ranging from the gentle and idyllic to the bold and sublime. 
 
 Somewhat southeast from Trenton Falls, and only a few hours' ride by stage and 
 rail, is the charming Otsego Lake, which Fenimore Cooper has made immortal in 
 our fiction, through his novel of '" The Pioneers." The shade of Leatherstocking 
 
280 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 haunts this chissic precinct, and has probably contributed largely to make the region 
 a favorite haunt of summer tourists, who make their headquarters at Cooperstown, 
 which is situated near the foot of the lake. In a northwesterly direction, a few miles 
 away from Cooperstown, is Richfield Springs, a notable watering-place, with communi- 
 cation from the former place by stage. Richfield Springs is a resort principally known 
 
 
 A Nool: ncir the Fo"f of Ijtlce Cnnantlmqitri. 
 
 for its sulphur-waters, though the scenery and surroundings are of an attractive char- 
 acter. We must go much farther west to reach tlie great lake-region of Central New 
 York, which, in its way, is as picturesque as any portion of the United States. The 
 principal of these lakes are Oneida, Cayuga, and Seneca, and among the smaller ones 
 are Canandaigua. Kcuka, iind Skaneateles. All these lakes have their main charac- 
 
OUR INLAND PLEASURE-PLACES, 
 
 381 
 
 teristics in common. They 
 are long and narrow, more 
 or less studded with little 
 islands, and surrounded by 
 high, bold hills, often dense- 
 ly wooded to the very wa- 
 ter's edge. 
 
 Let us take a brief glance 
 at the charming Lake Can- 
 andaigua, one of the smaller 
 ones of the group, as fairly 
 typical of the whole. The 
 lake lies among six towns, 
 one of which is named from 
 it. They look down on the 
 Sleeping Beauty, as the lake 
 has been sometimes called, 
 from a background of wood- 
 ed slope, or hill-side, smil- 
 ing with vineyards, and see 
 their images reflected in its 
 calm bosom. It reaches six- 
 teen miles from north to 
 south, and is nowhere broad- 
 er than a mile or two. The 
 jutting points and deep coves 
 frequently shut out most of 
 its little length. On it ply 
 two small steamboats and 
 craft innumerable, vehicles 
 of business or pleasure. The 
 mimic capes shoot out in 
 long, sharp tongues, and off 
 the outer edge you may of- 
 ten dive, if you will, into 
 four hundred feet of water. 
 The lake presents almost 
 every variety of scenery in 
 its surroundings of hills and 
 meadows, charming forests, 
 and vineyard-covered slopes. 
 For the sportsman and tour- 
 
 5^ 
 
 
 
 t li a 
 
282 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 UUii C'tthcdrai. 
 
 ist, Oanandaigua, in common with 
 its sister lakes, is a fascinating 
 s])ot, and its shores are usually 
 well jjatronized by summer pleas- 
 ure-seekers. 
 
 At the head of Seneca Lake is 
 the town of Watkins, which has 
 become famous to lovers of tlie 
 picturesque on account of its won- 
 derful glen. The town lies within 
 the shadow of Buck Mountain, and 
 as we pass up the main street, par- 
 allel with the mountain-sloiJC, a 
 walk of a quarter of a mile brings 
 us to a bridge wliich spans a nar- 
 row stream. This stream cuts its 
 way through tlie lower slope of the 
 mountain -range, and has formed 
 for itself a short pass or cul-de-sac, 
 which terminates abruptly at a dis- 
 tance of a few hundred yards in a 
 lofty wall that stretches across the 
 jiath and bars all further iirogress. 
 Behind this solemn gateway of natu- 
 ral niascjiiry lie the gloomy ravines, 
 the intinite variety of water-falls, 
 foaming rapids, and deep, silent 
 pools, wliich have become famous 
 under the designation of Watkins 
 Glen. The mode of entrance to 
 the glen is by rude stairways, run- 
 ning diagonally along the face of 
 the wall, strongly jjropped and 
 braced. Landing-places occur at 
 intervals, from which other stair- 
 ways sjiring. and thus the ascent 
 is made till we surmount the en- 
 trance to the gorge. 
 
 First, we come to Glen Alpha, 
 where the river pours and swirls in 
 cascades through the great chasm, 
 and dashes its spray high uji on 
 
OUR L\LAM) I'LEASrUE-PLACES. 283 
 
 the stoc}) Willis, '['he i)l,ace fi'row.s iiioro and more wcinl, aiitl wr seem to be aniid 
 the ruins of some wonderful jirimilive woi'ld. The rocks hike on the most grotesi|ue 
 forms, and the abyss, along whose sides we clamber on tlu^ rude stairways, sends 
 up a cold chill like that from a charnel-house. The walls over our heads rise tier on 
 tier to a height which shuts out all but a narrow strip of the blue sky. When we 
 liavo climbed out of this gloonij- but impressive gorge by the winding and narrow 
 stairways, we find ourselves on a shelf of the mountain, where an excellent hotel 
 invites the weary tourist. 
 
 From the Mountain-House a downward i)alli coiuliu'ts us almost to the bed of the 
 stream, and, after passing another series of cascades a,nd I'apids, we cross a bridge to 
 the other side of the gorge, where the cliffs are rent and torn into many strange 
 shapes. They finally expand into a wide anii>hitheatre, to which has been given the 
 name of Glen Cathedral. The circular walls, i-isiiig to a great height, are crowned 
 with dense green hemlocks. The floor of the amphitheatre is as smooth as if laid iiy 
 human hands, and the stream spreads over the lloor with hardly a I'ipple to break 
 its surface. As we pass on, fresh cascades reveal their beauty to us, and we have the 
 Glen of the Pools before us, so called from the extent and variety of its water-worn 
 basins. Cavern Cascade and Rainbow Falls successively charm the eye and the fancy, 
 as we sui'vey thon from tJic ladders and sl,airvvays on which we climb from puint 
 to point. 
 
 In this deep rift of the mountain the eye shifts from Ijeauty to beauty, from 
 marvel to marvel, with unsatiated sense of delight. The tumbling water- falls ; the 
 dark, silent pools ; the light abovc^ reflecting from cliff to clilT, and glancing with 
 rich beauty on rock and cascade ; the fantastic growths of trees at every j)oint of 
 vantage, and the interlacing branches above ; the picturesque bridges and stairways ; 
 the jwofound silence, only broken by the sound of the waters — all these conditions 
 nuike up a fascinating charm, that each succeeding i^icture varies in detail, but which 
 pertains with ecpial force to every part of the glen. The extreme length of the glen 
 is about three miles, and the cliffs at the deepdist part of the gorge have an altitude 
 of probably three hundred feet. Three miles south of Watkins is Havana Glen, 
 which is very picturescpie, but lacking in many of the elements which make Wat- 
 kins Glen so unique. 
 
 From Watkins Glen, which every year attracts tourists more and more, a journey of 
 a little more than six hours over a branch of the New York Central Railway, as far 
 as Rochester, and thence by the main line, brings us to a spot which, take it for all 
 in all, is one of the very greatest natural wonders in the world — Niagara Falls, a cata- 
 ract so supreme in all the elements which constitute sublimity that no other thus far 
 known to travelers is worthy to be compared with it. Here the accumulated waters of 
 four great inland seas hurl themselves madly over on their way to the ocean through 
 the Niagara River to Lake Ontario, and thence to the St. Lawrence. The territory, 
 whose drainage passes over this great cliff of limestone, is equal to the whole conti- 
 nent of Europe, many of the streams that feed Lake Superior being fully two thousand 
 
284 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 I 
 
 miles away. Hence the 
 volume of water is so 
 enormous as to produce 
 the most majestic ef- 
 fects ; and it may be 
 doubted whether Niaga- 
 ra would gain much by 
 any increase in height. 
 At present, the height 
 on tlie Anicrieau is one 
 hundred and fifty-four 
 feet, and on tlie Cana- 
 dian side one hundred 
 and forty-five feet. 
 
 The approaches and 
 surroundings of Niagara are 
 prosaic and commonplace in 
 the extreme. No charm of 
 the picturesque or beautiful 
 diverts the attention from the height of the imposing precipice and the thundering 
 flood of waters which jjours over it. No taste in landscape-gardening has been em- 
 jiloyed to beautify the village of Niagara, and everything has been left to those con- 
 
 Horse.'ihoe Falls, AuKjara. 
 
OUR INLAND PLEASURE-PLACES. 
 
 285 
 
 ditions imposed by the rapacity of the i)eople, who prey on the pockets and patience 
 of wonder-seekers from all parts of the world. Some movement has from time to 
 time been set on foot to transform Niagara into an international park, guarded by 
 the joint authority of Canada and the State of New York, but it has made little 
 progress since Lord Dufferin, the late Governor-General of Canada, who originated 
 the plan, was transferred to another field of duty. 
 
 The flow of the great volume of waters from Lake Erie through Niagara Kiver 
 into Lake Ontario has gradually caused the retrogression of the cataract from the 
 mouth of the Niagara River to the present location, the tremendous force of the 
 
 Bapids ubnve the American Fall. 
 
 waters having cut through the great limestone ledge and worn it back. It is sup- 
 posed that it has already taken thirty-seven thousand years to accomplish this, and 
 that it will take a much longer pei'iod to remove it back to the head of Lake Erie, 
 at which time the falls will be somewhat higher than they are now, as the slope 
 of the river-bed is considerable in its angle of descent. 
 
 Niagara Falls are divided into two cataracts— the Horseshoe Fall, which is on the 
 Canada side, and the fall on the American side. Between the two falls are Goat and 
 Luna Islands. The whole width of the river at this point is forty-five hundred feet, 
 of which the American fall occupies eleven hundred feet, Goat and Luna Islands 
 
386 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 fourteen hundred feet, and tlie Horseshoe two tliousand feet, though from the curvi- 
 linear shape of the latter its actual line is jirobably nearly twice as mucli. One does 
 not at first observe any detail, for the effect is of a stunning nature which blunts all 
 the faculties of observation, and indeed prevents a full recognition of the peerless 
 grandeur of the scene. We see the extraordinary volume of the flood and its deep, 
 rich color ; we see the vast clouds of smoke-like spray rising from the base of the 
 cataract ; we hear tlie booming thunder of the waters — that is all. It is only when 
 the eye and imagination Inive become a litttle familiarized with the scene that we 
 estimate the sight at its true value. 
 
 Tlie i-apids above the Horseshoe Falls are best viewed- from the top of Pi-ince of 
 Wales's Tower, situated on an island in the rapids above the fall. The scene is one 
 which gives the mind a vivid notion of irrepressible power, almost as much as the 
 vision of the cataract itself close at hand. The rapids extend from the verge of the 
 falls for half a mile, and so' furious is the impetuosity of the current that the center 
 is heaped up in a ridge-like form, and the waves on either side leap into the air like 
 huge fish. Great logs and trees come swooping down, taking leaps like greyhounds, 
 and dart along with the speed of a railway-train to the verge of the cataract. One 
 fancies a human being borne down by tliis irresistible current with a feeling of creep- 
 ing horror. 
 
 An excellent view of the American rapids is had from the Cataract House, which 
 is near the bridge connecting the American side with Bath Island, and thence again 
 with Goat Island. Here we see the rushing waters contrasted with innumerable small 
 wooded islets, giving an immense relief to the current, and exhibiting its rapidity in 
 the most vivid way. By moonlight this view is magnificent beyond description. The 
 white light shines over the very verge of the cataract, casting its beams over the tierce 
 rapids, turning the dark waves into ebony and the leaping foam into molten silvei-. 
 
 Crossing the bridge to Goat Island we find ourselves amid the fragrant delights 
 of a garden, for roses and heliotropes grow on every side, while the long, lush grass 
 makes a soft mat for the feet, and groves of fine trees offer agreeable shade. Sooner 
 or later this spot, smiling and fair amid the war of waters, will be carried away, for 
 year by year the torrent is gnawing into it. On the left side there is a bridge con- 
 necting the island with a firm rock on the very verge of the cataract. On this rock 
 formerly stood Terrapin Tower, which was removed in 1873 on account of its unsafety. 
 We venture to cross the short bridge, and from the slippery rock catch the sublimest 
 of all views of the falls. We see only the Horseshoe, to be sure ; but we see all of 
 that, and get a transcendent vision of the might of the cataract. The clouds of spray 
 mount up to us as if they were exhalations from some magician's den, and had power 
 to drag us down again with their shadowy, spectral forms. 
 
 We have seen the falls from above ; let us now dare the drenching spray and see 
 them from behind the vast flood of descending waters. Having donned oil-skin suits, 
 we descend the stairway from Termination Point, which abuts on the American fall, 
 and make our way carefully to the bottom of the rocks. Here we come to the famous 
 
OUR INLAND PLEASURE-PLACES. 
 
 287 
 
 Cave of tlu Winde. 
 
388 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Cave of the Winds, the great lion of tlie American Fall. We find bridges built from 
 rock to rock, under the very cataract, amid all its vapory spray and thundering 
 turmoil. We stagger blindly on, preceded by the guide, our eyes blinded by the tor- 
 rents of spray incessantly dashed against us. The concussion of the waters produces 
 a violent rush of air, against which it is difficult to stand. The slanting beams of 
 sunlight are broken by the mist into innumerable globes and bubbles of color, and 
 the cavern seems a palace of broken rainbows. But it is difficult to admire under 
 the beating of the madly-drifting columns and whirls of spray. So violent is the 
 storm that it almost knocks the breath out of the body, while the ears are deafened 
 by the noise as if by a cannonade. The cataract shrieks and groans and bellows 
 in fifty different voices at once, while over all is heard the deep-booming roar of the 
 distant Horseshoe Fall. Amid all this hideous turmoil of sound, too, may be heard 
 faint, inarticulate voices, which seem to the imagination full of imjiort — voices that 
 invite, murmur, and threaten with mysterious eloquence — such voices as the supersti- 
 tious German peasant hears in the depth of the midnight woods, when lie believes 
 the Erl-king and his demon-train are sweeping through the forests. 
 
 The Whirlpool is three miles below, and it can be best observed from the Amer- 
 ican side at the base of the cliff, to which we descend by an elevator. The width of 
 the chasm at the rapids immediately above the Whirlpool is narrowed to eight hun- 
 dred feet, and the depth of the river and the swiftness of the current heap up the 
 water in the center, from which foaming waves continually shoot into the air. The 
 Whirlpool is a vast semicircular eddy, which, meeting with some resistance at that 
 point from the bank, swirls around in a furious, boiling curve. Descending the rugged 
 cliff, wo find ourselves at the head of the whirling waters. They fairly hiss as they 
 seethe past us, seeming to have an independent life of their own, and to be animated 
 with human passions. Into this whirlpool, and into the smaller eddies which are 
 made by its reaction, great trees are sucked down head-foremost in a second, and 
 vomited out again with every vestige of branches and bark stripped off, and even 
 great splinters riven out of the hard wood. It is a veritable battle of the waters, 
 current fighting current, wave fighting wave, with a great uproar. 
 
 The longer one lingers at Niagara Falls the deeper the impression made on the 
 mind. Their might and majesty grow on the fancy with continued watching, and 
 weeks may be spent in studying the different glories of the cataract with ever-grow- 
 ing interest. This is the surest test of the highest degree of beauty or sublimity, 
 and nobly does Niagara meet it. Each fresh point of observation gives new pleasure 
 to the mind, and summer and winter have their corresponding effects of splendor. 
 Niagara will always remain one of the wonders of the world, a Mecca to which lovers 
 of the sublime will turn their feet for all ages to come. 
 
 No greater contrast can be presented to the fancy, after the sublimity of Niagara, 
 than the fairy-like beauty of the Thousand Islands, to which we will now journey. At 
 Niagara, we found ourselves awed and dwarfed by the might of Nature ; here, we are 
 eharmed and soothed by her serene, picturesque loveliness. Just at the point where 
 
OUR INLAND PLEASURE-PLACES. 
 
 289 
 
 Lake Ontario empties its 
 waters into the great river 
 St. Lawrence, a barrier of 
 granite rock bars its course. 
 Through the grooves and 
 depressions in this rock tlie 
 river winds its way by a 
 hiindred different channels ; 
 wliile all the higher mass- 
 es rise above the surface 
 of the water as tiny islets, 
 crowned with brush - wood 
 and Canadian ])ines. Ages 
 ago, during tlie great glacial 
 period, the ice wore down 
 
 
 Attiotig the TJiOitaiiuiI Ishinds, 
 
 the summits of these rocky bosses into smooth, 
 rounded domes ; and now they appear xipon the 
 river's edge like basking whales or huge ele- 
 phants' backs. You may trace the nuirkings of 
 
 the glacier on the scratched and worn granite, just as you may trace it on the wall- 
 like rocks of Swiss valleys, or on the grand slopes of our own Western Sierras. Some- 
 times the water has washed away the side into a mimic cliff ; but, more often, the 
 
 19 
 
290 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 rounded boss rises in a gentle curve above tlic blue waves, sliowing its red seamed 
 structure near the edge, and covered toward its summit by mold, on which grow low 
 bushes or tall and stately trees. 
 
 Some of the islands are big enough to afford farms for the industrious squatter, 
 who has made himself a title by the simple act of settling down bodily on his appro- 
 priated realm. Others, however, are mere points of granite, on which a single pine 
 maintains a struggling existence against wave in summer and ice-floe in winter ; while 
 not a few consist only of a bare, rocky hog's back, just raised an inch or two above 
 the general level of the water. But the most wonderful point of all is their number. 
 Most people imagine that the term " Thousand Islands " is a pardonable poetical 
 exaggeration, covering a prosaic and statistical reality of some fifty or a hundred 
 actual islets. But no, not at all — the jDopular name really understates the true feat- 
 ures of the case. A regular survey reveals the astonishing fact that no fewer than 
 three thousayid of these lovely little fairy-lands stud the blue exiianse to which they 
 give their name — the Lake of the Thousand Islands. All day long you may wander 
 in and out among their intricate mazes, gliding round tiny capes, exploring narrow 
 channels, losing your way hopelessly in watery culs-de-sac, and drinking in beauty to 
 your soul's content. Fairy-lands we called them just now, and fairy-lands they veri- 
 tably seem. Their charm is all their own. One may see wonderful variety of 
 scenery on this planet of ours, north, south, east, and west ; but we can never see 
 anything so unique, so individual, so perfectly sui generis as these Thousand Islands. 
 Not that they are so surpassingly beautiful ; but their beauty is so nnlike anything 
 that one may see anywhere else. Tiny little islands, placed in tiny little rivers, 
 crowned with tiny little chalets, and navigated by tiny little yachts ; it all reminds 
 one so thoroughly of one's childish dream-lauds, that we should hardly be surprised 
 to see Queen Mab or Queen Titania steji down, wand in hand, to the water's side, 
 and, a group of attendant faii-ies dance around her in a grassy circle. 
 
 Summering at the Thousand Islands would be almost like living in the fabled 
 land of the lotus-eaters, w-ere it not that out-of-door sports invite so persuasively that 
 the blood is kept in a constant state of exhilaration. Boating and fishing alternate 
 with enjoying the "sweet doing nothing" suggested by soft blue skies, gentle breezes, 
 and calm waters. Those who love the gay crowds of fashion may enjoy them at the 
 hotels, but to those of more robust tastes cainping-out will be far more agreeable. 
 Many of the uninhabited islands gleam with the snowy canvas of little parties, and 
 the out-door bivouac presents here less hardship than in other regions, as most of 
 the comforts and luxuries of life may be so easily obtained. This charming haunt 
 has so grown in favor during a few years that it is probable, before many seasons 
 have passed, that every island will be utilized for summer homes, where there is 
 enough ground to erect a little cottage, thus transforming it into a sort of Ameri- 
 can Venice, for the only means of communication between the denizens of this inland 
 archi]K'lago is by boat. 
 
 We must not leave the St. Lawrence, one of the noblest of American streams. 
 
OUR INLAND PLEASURE-PLAGES. 
 
 291 
 
 
 H 
 
 roi-nt Crepe, Saguenay Biva\ 
 
 though but little of it belongs to 
 the territory over which floats the 
 Stars and Strii^es, without jour- 
 neying down its broad expanse 
 ~:^ to the mouth of the Saguenay. 
 ^ Taking a steamer up the latter, 
 ■^ we must not fail to get a rapid 
 glimpse of a river which is quite 
 exceptional in the character of its 
 scenery, though there is a deep 
 tinge of gloom and solemnity in these strangely majestic cliffs. The early mariners 
 were so terrified by its massive, desolate banks, that they did not dare explore it. To 
 them it was a river of perilous currents, soundless depths, fierce storms, threatening 
 rocks, destructive whirlpools, and around it hung sad Indian legends that only deepened 
 the mystery of its natural surroundings. The whale and the walrus formerly disported 
 in its deep tides, but these have long since disappeared, and now lumber-rafts coming 
 down from tlie wilderness, or the paddles of excursion-steamboats, alone rufHe its 
 quiet. The river is formed by the junction of two outlets of St. John's Lake, which 
 lies far back in the Canadian wilderness. In its upper part the river passes over cliffs 
 
292 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 in several magnificent cascades, 
 and rnslies between rocky bluffs 
 from two hundred to a thousand 
 feet in height, and for a distance 
 of sixty miles from the mouth 
 the width is not less than a 
 mile. In some places soundings 
 are not found at three hundred 
 and thirty fathoms, and every- 
 where the water is exceedingly 
 deep and inky - black in color. 
 Fish exist here in great num- 
 bers, including salmon, sturgeon, 
 pickerel, and trout. The river 
 has no windings, few projecting 
 bluffs, and no farms or villages 
 t(U its banks. Nature was in her 
 most stern and uncompromising 
 mood, and lavished no smiling 
 graces on this offspring of earth- 
 ([uake and convulsion, for it must 
 have been in a monstrous out- 
 break that a mountain-chain was 
 cleft in twain, and the deep bed 
 formed for the passage of the 
 black waters of the Sagueuay. 
 All the forms are rude, awkward, 
 and gigantic, with no greenery, 
 no grassy meadows in sight, only 
 a few dwarfed pines standing 
 among the rock -clefts. It is 
 a river of gloom, branded and 
 blighted by primitive desolation. 
 Occasionally a ravine breaks the 
 walls, exposing in its darkening 
 hollow the white foam of a moun- 
 tain-torrent, where a shabby, un- 
 kempt saw - mill gives some hu- 
 man sign. Otherwise all is sav- 
 age and silent. No birds skim 
 the waters, and there is no sug- 
 gestion of animal life. 
 
OUR INLAND PLEASURE-PLACES. 293 
 
 When we pass Trinity Rock and Cape Eternity there is a flutter of pleasure 
 among the passengers, for these are among the most interesting sights of the voyage. 
 Tliese two monstrous capes, eighteen hundred feet in height, flank tlie entrance to 
 Trinity Bay, one of the estuaries of the river. Trinity, named from the three dis- 
 tinct peaks on its northern summit, presents a face of fractured granite, which appears 
 almost white in contrast with the somber, pine-clad front of Eternity. The boat 
 apparently passes within a few yards ; but a pebble hurled by a strong arm falls far 
 short of its mark. So our boat toils all day through a wilderness of bowlders, 
 precipices, and mountains. When we at last return again into the broad and cheerful 
 St. Lawrence, it is like emerging from subterranean gloom and mystery into yellow 
 sunshine ; yet there is a fascination about the black river and its giant walls which 
 few minds can resist, though the effect is far from exhilarating. The somberness of 
 the river itself is, however, partly lightened by the picturesque variety of the tourists 
 and travelers on the boat. American tourists, English tourists, Canadian tourists, 
 lumbermen and backwoodsmen in primitive garb, and blanketed Indians, with a sprink- 
 ling of gayly dressed ladies, make an amusing collision of individualities, which rarely 
 fails to produce entertaining incidents. 
 
 Other charming summer resorts, scattered through the great length and breadth of 
 our land, are almost too numerous to notice with more than a passing glance. The 
 various springs of Virginia are old-established watering-places, delightful in their scenic 
 surroundings, which have for the most part been famous for the last half-century. 
 Pennsylvania, with its beautiful rivers and fine mountains, has many a lovely spot 
 which capital has embellished with good hotels, and where Nature has lavished her 
 picturesque gifts witli no sparing hand ; and even in the West, where wealth and 
 civilization are more recent, popular and attractive resorts have sprung up of late 
 years, which now divert the interest of many who not long ago regarded the summer 
 trip eastward as an essential part of the year's experience. The romantic lake-region 
 of Wisconsin, where Nature sports in her most idyllic mood, contains many delightful 
 watering-places, where the visitors, if they do not go to the lengths of fashionable 
 dissipation characteristic of many Eastern resorts, find every resource of healthy and 
 rational enjoyment. 
 
 Of all the central summer resorts there is none, perhaps, so well known as Put- 
 in-Bay, Lake Erie, a few miles from Sanduskj'. This bay received its name from 
 the fact that Commodore Perry put in there with his fleet before and after the battle 
 of Lake Erie, during the War of 1813. It is a lovely sheet of water, with little 
 Gibraltar Islet nestled in its crescent, and on Put-in-Bay Island two larsfc, fine hotels 
 stand among the rich vineyards. So mild and equable is the climate at this favored 
 spot, that roses bloom in October. Several of the islands in this bay, among them 
 Kelley's Island, are famous for their wine-culture, and many of the best and most 
 popular American wines emanate from the splendid vineyards whose grapes drink in 
 the golden sunshine of this secluded nook. Here, in the shining autumn, when the 
 long aisles are full of vintage-gatherers, and the trellises are heavy with purple 
 
294 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 bunches, when the little steamers go away loaded with grapes, and the jiresses in the 
 wine-houses crush out their juice by day and by night, the islands are like an enchanted 
 land, watching the autumn out and the winter in with light-hearted joyousness. The 
 water is still and blue, the colored trees are reflected in its mirror, a golden haze 
 shines over the near islands, and a purple shadow reflects on those afar. 
 
 Owing to the mildness and salubrity of the climate, the season lasts much longer 
 here than in many other resorts, and many linger toward the very edge of winter, to 
 enjoy the merry vintage-season. 
 
 Kdlfi Island, Lake Erie. 
 
Light' Iboasti^ Buffalo. 
 
 THE GREAT LAKES. 
 
 Bufl'alo, the head of our inland seas — Tlic historic interest of Lake Erie — Cleveland, Toledo, and Sandusky — Lake 
 Huron — The Straits and Island of Mackinac — The western shore of Lake Michigan — Chicago and Milwaukee — 
 The situation and grandeur of Lake Superior— The Pictured Rocks ; the varied womlcrs of its shores — History 
 and legend — The Hudson Bay ('onipany — Mining on Lake Superior. 
 
 The five great sister lakes of America, the most extensive inland seas in the 
 world, which join hands from Minnesota to the ocean, pouring their waters through 
 St. Lawrence River to the sea, have all distinguishing characteristics of scenery and 
 suggestion. Thus. Lake Superior is the most mysterious of the chain, its northern 
 shores being even now only half explored ; and strange tales of gold and silver, rubies 
 and amethysts, copper and tin, are even yet brought down by the fur-traders and hunt- 
 ers from its remote shores. Lake Michigan, with its sea-green waters, its islands, its 
 shifting fogs, and its unsurpassed straits of Mackinac, is the most beautiful. The 
 blue Huron, with its pellucid depths, wild shores, and deep woodland solitudes, is tlie 
 most romantic. The charm of the placid Ontario is entirely dulled by the sublimi- 
 
296 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 tics of Niagara Falls and tlie picturesque loveliness of the Thousand Islands of the 
 St. Lawrence, with both of which it is in close proximity ; but it has the prosaic 
 advantage of being the safest of the lakes, a feature which the mariner duly enjoys. 
 Lake Erie has, aside from any beauty of scenery, the most historic interest. Its 
 relics, antiquities, and battles, fill an important place in the records of both our 
 colonial and national life. The lake has its heroes and sayings famoiis all over the 
 land. Pontiac"s spirit haunts the mouth of the Detroit Eiver ; Tecuniseh Hits through 
 the woods on shore ; the name of Perry is associated with the Western Islands ; and 
 the memory of Mad Anthony AVayne hangs over Presque Isle, now Erie. It was 
 on the nortii shore of Lake Erie that Tecumseh, bidding a despairing farewell to his 
 British allies, avowed his resolution to lay his bones on the battle-field without re- 
 treating. It was at Put-in-Bay that Commodore Perry wrote his famous dispatch, 
 "We have met the enemy, and they are ours." At Presque Isle Mad Anthony 
 Wayne, before going into the fight, gave his laconic field-order for the day to his 
 aide, "Charge the d — d rascals with the bayonet!" 
 
 Lake Erie is two hundred and forty miles long, witii a mean width of forty miles, 
 and is two hundred and four feet at its greatest depth. It is shallow comj^ared with 
 the other lakes, and the difference is well expressed in the saying, "The surplus wa- 
 ters poured from the deep basins of Superior, Michigan, and Huron, flow across the 
 plate of Erie into the deep boivl of Ontario." It is the most dangerous of the lakes, 
 from its liability to sudden storms and its short, chopping waves, its insecure harbors, 
 and huge sand-bai"s off the mouths of its rivers. All the vessels navigating the lake 
 are drawn into port by tugs, and the scene of confusion and turmoil in the lake- 
 ports is as great as in the harbor of New York itself. 
 
 The shores of Lake Erie are wooded, rising in many jilaces sixty feet above the 
 water. Through this barrier the brooks and streams pour down in ravines, and the 
 banks are full of springs and quicksands. The water is variable in color, according 
 to the direction of the wind — now green, now blue, now a dull, dirty brown. Mirage 
 is seen on the lake at times, but fog rarely, i^nless it be that soft haze of twilight 
 througli which the vessels steal by, I'esembling so many phantom-ships. In winter 
 come ice-fields, hummocks, and floes, while above tliem glitter the spears and banners 
 of the aurora in splendid array. The name of the lake was derived from the Indian 
 people first discovered by the Jesuit missionaries two centuries ago. They were known 
 as the Eries, or tribe of the Cat, and, thougli they were afterward exterminated by 
 the powerful Iroquois Confederacy, they transmitted their name to after-times. The 
 city of Buffalo takes its title from the American bison, which, as late as 1720, roamed 
 along the shore in great herds. The town was first .settled in 1801, though the 
 neighboring i)ost of Niagara was founded by the French under La Salle in 1769, j)re- 
 vious to which time there had been a few hunters and fur-traders, who had a little 
 stockade-fort here, and lived a perilous life amid the hostile Indians. Buffalo made 
 considerable progress before 1812 ; but in the war of tliat year it was burned to the 
 ground by the Britisli. When peace was declared the village was rebuilt, and in 1832 
 
THE GREAT LAKES. 
 
 297 
 
 it took its j)IacL', ranking as tlie third city in the State. The Buii'alo of to-day is a 
 large, bright, busy town, with broad streets of well-built residences and business-blocks. 
 It possesses a driving-park, and has annual races ; it has its club-houses, its brilliant 
 amateur theatricals, and well-supported theatre. But the most noticeable feature of 
 Buffalo is its method of handling grain in bulk by means of elevators. It is true 
 that Chicago and Milwaukee are no less well supplied with these monster appliances, 
 and that the city of New York necessarily has also an extensive elevator system. But 
 the multiplicity of interests is so great in New York that the traveler rarely notices 
 the grain-elevators, whicli are situated far away from the general track of observation. 
 
 Ship-canul^ Ji'ifi'fil't. 
 
 and it is at Buffalo that the westward-bound tourist is first led to study this won- 
 derful plan of loading and unloading ves.sels and cars. The wooden monsters who 
 perform this work stand with long trunks and high heads on the banks of the river, 
 waiting for their prey. Wlien the vessels and propellers laden with the spoil of West 
 ern harvest-fields are brought up to the wharves, swiftly out of the long neck comes 
 the trunk of the elephantine monster, and, jjlunging deep down into the hold of the 
 craft, it sucks out the grain till the last kernel is dischai-ged. Within this trunk are 
 two divisions ; in one the troughs full of grain pass upon a pliable band, in the other 
 they pass down empty. In the hold of the vessel or propeller are men who shovel 
 
298 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 the grain forward toward these troughs, so that they may always go up full ; and in 
 the granary of the elevator above are men who regulate the flow of the grain into 
 the shute, and cause it to measure itself on a self-registering apparatus, the whole 
 being adjusted by the touch of a finger. If the grain is to go eastward by canal, the 
 canal-boat waits on the other side. A man opens another door, and another trunk 
 is run down, through which the grain swiftly jMisses into its new receptacle. Most 
 Americans pass by these wonderful savers of labor with indifference, for they are 
 accustomed to them ; but to foreigners they are objects of the greatest curiosity. 
 Mr. Anthony Trollope, the English novelist, refers to them in the following language : 
 
 " An elevator is as ugly a monster as has yet been produced. In uncoutliness of 
 form it outdoes those obsolete old brutes who used to roam about the semi-aqueous 
 world and live a most uncomfortable life, with their great hungry stomachs and huge 
 unsatisfied maws. Rivers of corn and wlieat pass through these monsters night and 
 day ; and all this wheat which passes through Buffalo comes loose in bulk ; notliing 
 is known of sacks and bags. To any spectator in Buffalo this becomes a matter of 
 course ; but this should be exjjlained, as we in England are not accustomed to see 
 wheat traveling in this open, unguarded, and plebeian manner. Wheat with us is 
 aristocratic, and travels always in its private carriage." 
 
 Buffalo stands openly and boldly at the eastern end of Lake Erie, not on a sand- 
 bank, like Cleveland ; nor back on a bay, as do Toledo and Sandusky ; nor up a 
 river, like Detroit. It catches every gale and breeze from the blue waters of Erie, 
 and glimpses of the sparkling, dancing waves may be had from every broad street. 
 The harbor is one of the largest on the lake, but it is often the last gathering-place 
 for the ice, and the last to yield to the breath of spring. So inland transportation 
 sometimes waits a week or two for the clearing of Buffalo Harbor. 
 
 At first, after leaving Buffalo, we find the lake-shore bleak and monotonous, only 
 sand-dunes and unimpressive banks, with here and there a village or growing city, 
 with nothing to mark them but mere prosaic prosperity. When we reach the bor- 
 der line of New York, there is an agreeable change. Here begins what is called the 
 " Triangle," a stout elbow of land which Pennsylvania pushes out to vindicate her 
 right to a lake-port. In this triangle is the harbor of Presque Isle, now Erie, one 
 of the earliest of military posts on the lake. The situation of Erie is picturesque, 
 owing to the beauty of its bay and outlying island. The French erected a fort here 
 as early as 1753, and gave it the name of Presque Isle, making it one of the chain of 
 works designed to connect the St. Lawrence with " La Belle Riviere," as they called 
 the Oliio. In 1700 the fort surrendered to the English, and a few years later it. in 
 common with nearly tlie whole line of frontier posts, fell in the great Indian out- 
 break wliich burst like a thunder-bolt on the extensive lake chain of settlements. 
 The present town was incorporated in 1805. In its bay Commodore Perry built and 
 equipped the fleet with which he fought out tlie great victory of Lake Erie, having 
 in seventy days from the time the trees were cut and hauled to the water's edge con- 
 structed his squadron of ships. The remains of Perry's flag-ship, the St. Lawrence, 
 
THE GREAT LAKES. 
 
 299 
 
 now lie in Erie Harbor, and the old embankments of the French fort may still be 
 traced on the bank just outside the town. Erie is a very thriving j^lace, being the 
 outlet of the coal and iron district of Western Pennsylvania. 
 
 All along the coast we now observe picturesque light-house towers built on lonely 
 islets and rocky ledges, which stand as pillars of fire by night to warn the lake- 
 mariner of a treacherous coast. Passing the Pennsylvania line we reach the Westei-n 
 Eeserve of Ohio, as it is called, where Eastern emigration first began to settle in 
 the Buckeye State. This became the favorite locality for New-Englander settlers, 
 and so great became the mania for emigration that, to cure it, all manner of means 
 were used. Among them was a caricature, referring to the effects of fever and ague. 
 
 Mouth of Cuyahoga River, Ckoelaiid. 
 
 One represented a plump, smiling man on a sleek horse, with the motto, '' I am 
 going to Ohio " ; the other showing the same man, cadaverous to the last degree, 
 and leading a lean horse, with the satirical device, "I have been to Ohio!" But the 
 region thrived remarkably, and is now one of the most wealthy and prosperous por- 
 tions of the country. 
 
300 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Cle\eland is crenerallj' conceded to be the most beautiful city on the Great Lakes. 
 It lies on both sides of the Cuyahoga River, a narrow, crooked stream, whicli flows 
 through a deep valley into the lake, leaving on both sides the bluffs whose shaded 
 streets have gained tlie name of " Forest City." Tlie houses are embowered in foliage, 
 and it almost seems like a citv built in a wood. In tlie valley of the river is situated 
 
 Lak,! Erie, from Bluff, Month of Itoi-laj River. 
 
 a dense mass of iron-mills, lumber-yards, oil-rcfineries, and other factories and busi- 
 ness-places. From above only the wreaths of smoke nnd the tips of masts betray 
 what is occurring on the flat. The long avenues on the bluffs stretcli away in miles 
 of pleasant residences, gardens, velvet lawns, vines, and flowers. Each bouse is sur- 
 rounded with greenery, and many of the mansions seen out of town would be called 
 elegant country-seats. Even in its central square, with its i>ost-office. court-house, 
 business blocks, and horse-cars, there is an air of leisure. 
 
THE GREAT LAKES. 301 
 
 Stepping from the trim and beautiful rtis in urbe above to tlie verge of the hill, 
 we look down on Cleveland at work — Cleveland soiled with grime and sweat. Over the 
 oily, crooked river wind heavy-laden vessels, drawn by puffing tugs, and every variety 
 of lake-craft, from the scow to the large side-wheel steamboat. Cleveland is famous for 
 its oil-retineries, wliich line the river for miles, and the products of which are sent 
 to every portion of the world. While the population is largely made up of New- 
 Englanders, there is also an important German element. One of the early land-holders 
 wrote as follows in 1835 : ''If I make the contract for thirty thousand acres, I ex- 
 pect to send you with all speed fifteen or twenty families of prancing Dutchmen." 
 This Teutonic emigration must have begun early, for the city has miles of thriving 
 vineyards, flowers, wine, dancing, and music, which never came from Puritan stock. 
 Along the lake - shore are many German gardens, and thither the people resort on 
 summer nights, to sit on the grassy slopes, drink wine and beer, and watch the glory 
 of the lake sunsets. 
 
 The shore becomes more and more picturesque as we proceed westward from 
 Cleveland, the banks are high and precipitous, and the streams come rushing down 
 in falls and rapids. Rocky River is about seven miles from the city, flowing through 
 a deep gorge between high cliffs, that jut boldly into the lake, and offer a noble 
 pi'ospect, an extensive xinbroken view of the lake. Far away on the green curve of 
 the eastern shore glitter the spires of Cleveland, and far away toward the north 
 stretches the glorious expanse of water, on the horizon -line of which faintly gleam 
 dots of white sails, which are still in the middle of the lake, with miles of blue 
 water beyond. The silent sands of the shore hereabout have been a most important 
 witness of an interesting fragment of history. 
 
 When the great Indian hero, Pontiae, made his successful attack on all the lake 
 forts in 1763, the post of Detroit made a most determined resistance, and held out 
 through months of suspense and fighting. In the autumn an expedition under Major 
 Wilkins was fitted out at Albany, to relieve the far-distant garrison. After a most 
 toilsome journey, and constant fighting with hostile Indians along the route, the 
 soldiers reached the present site of Buffalo. The officers knew nothing of the treach- 
 erous nature of Erie, and embarked in bateaux, high in spirits, for the brilliant w.aters 
 and golden haze jjromised a speedy voyage and a successful result, as each heart 
 burned with the hope of saving the beleaguered garrison from the tender mercies of 
 Pontiae. But suddenly there arose a great storm, in which twenty bateaux, most of 
 the field-pieces, all of the ammunition, seventy men, and many of the officers, includ- 
 ing the surgeon of the regiment, were lost. When the disheartened survivors reached 
 the shore they turned back and made their way to Fort Schlosser, on the Niagara 
 River, without attempting in their crippled state to reach the Detroit garrison. The 
 locality of the shipwreck was not known until a few years ago, when there were found 
 at the mouth of Rocky River several bayonets, swords (among which was one most 
 elaborately finished with guard and lion's-head hilt of solid silver), an amputation- 
 knife, and other unmistakable relics of the lost expedition. 
 
302 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 A short distance west the lake has another store-house of relics. Here, in 1764, 
 Bradstreet's expedition was also wrecked during an autumn storm. The beach again 
 has spoken, and located an historic event. Portions of the bateaux have been found, 
 cannon-balls, a stack of bayonets, a number of perfect musket-barrels, silver spoons, 
 and not a few antique coins. Every storm brings fresh relics ashore, and they are 
 continually captured in fishermen's nets. After the storm and wreck, the American 
 soldiers, under General Israel Putnam, were left to find their way by land to Niagara, 
 four hundred miles away, through a wilderness crossed by rivers and swamps, and 
 swarming with hostile savages. The soldiers suffered severely, and many of them 
 died before reaching the protection of old Fort Schlosser. 
 
 West of Eocky River we find three rivers — the Black, Vermilion, and Huron — 
 flowing into the lake through ravines of great beauty. The first-named river at its 
 mouth falls over a rocky ledge, forty-five feet in height, in two streams, and its whole 
 course is full of picturesque beauties, making it remarkable among the Lake Erie 
 tributaries, which are for the most part quiet and tame, oozing through sand-bars 
 into the lake. Beyond the Black River stretch what are known as the "fire-lands," 
 which were set apart for the aid of sufferers by fire in New London, Norwalk, and 
 Fairfield, Connecticut, that State then owning the Western Reserve. An amusing 
 story is told of the determined efforts of the early settlers at sociability under the 
 conditions of privation which surrounded them. A fresh family having arrived, the 
 ilite of the "fire-lands" gave them a visit of welcome. The hostess prepared to 
 honor them with a feast, but she only had one fire-proof utensil — an old, broken 
 bake-pan. With this she set to work. First pork was fried in it to get lard ; then 
 doughnuts were cooked in the lard ; thirdly, short-cakes were made in it ; fourtlily, it 
 was used as a bucket wherewith to draw water ; fifthly, the water was boiled in it ; 
 and finally the tea was made in the same useful vessel, and the guests pronounced 
 the repast excellent. This very well illustrates the difficulties under which the infant 
 civilization of the West was nurtured into its present greatness and stature. 
 
 Sandusky, the "Bay City," has spread before it a charming view. It is not a 
 busy commercial place like Buffalo, nor has it the concentration of wealth which has 
 made Cleveland a city of splendid residences. But the lovely hay, with its gentle, 
 sloping shores and islands, the river sweeping past the town, the green peninsula 
 smiling with vineyards, and the expanse of the broad lake beyond, dotted with wine- 
 islands, suggest the characteristics of the serene and thriving little lake city. Here 
 one is not called on to calculate the profits on grain, coal, iron, or oil, but the poet 
 or artist miglit find a home on these blooming shores, and ask no fairer prospect. 
 
 The beautiful country around Sandusky was once the resort of a remarkable 
 Indian peojile, known as the "Neutral Nation," a confederacy whose habits were so 
 peaceful and benign as to stand out in amazing contrast to those of their red breth- 
 ren. Two "cities of refuge" stood on tlie Sandusky River, as asylums for all fugi- 
 tives, and these were guarded by armed bands of the Neutral Nation, who used their 
 prowess not for bloodshed and butchery, but for liumanity's sake. All who crossed 
 
THE GREAT LAKES. 303 
 
 their boundaries were safe from pursuit, and no one was denied who came in peace. 
 This sacred soil was never reddened, this pledge never violated, till the whites came, 
 and before their fatal presence the Neutral Nation gradually faded away. 
 
 Sailing out from the bay we pass unwieldy lumber-boats coming down from the 
 pine-woods of Huron, and a little fleet of fishing-smacks, and reach a group of isl- 
 ands, fifteen or twenty in number, which have come into notice recently, on account 
 of their wine-production. The first pioneers very naturally preferred the solid main- 
 land, and found euough to do in forcing their forest-fields to give them sustenance 
 without encountering the perils of the stormy lake. The Wine Islands, on which 
 there is now a population of several thousand people, were, not very many years ago, 
 only vaguely known, and their earliest inhabitants were fishermen, attracted by the 
 great number of the bass which have given name to a portion of the group, or by 
 wreckers, who gained a precarious and questionable livelihood by plundering the ves- 
 sels driven on them or the adjoining shore by the lake-storms. Kelley's Island, of 
 which we give an illusti-ation on page 294, is the largest of the American islands, and 
 contains about twenty-eight hundred acres. There is here an Indian writing on the 
 rock, which is said to be the best sculptured and preserved inscription in the West. 
 The ancient tribe of the Eries had a fortified retreat here, whose remains can still be 
 traced, and, according to the best opinions, the inscrijjtion spoken of above refers to 
 them and to their destruction by the Iroquois. 
 
 The historic mterest attached to Put-iu-Bay Island, of which previous mention 
 has been made (page 293), as a pleasant summer resort, suggests a brief recurrence to 
 the events which made the name of Perry prominent among our naval heroes. After 
 having built his war-ships in the harbor of Presque Isle, the young commodore made 
 sail for the head of the lake, and anchored in Put-in-Bay, opjjosite the British fleet, 
 whicli lay under the guns of Fort Maiden, on the Canadian shore. Here he remained 
 for several days, watching the movements of the enemy. At length, on the 10th of 
 September, about sunrise in the morning, the hostile fleet appeared off Put-in-Bay. 
 Perry made sail, but it was some hours before the combatants came within reach of 
 each other's guns, owing to the lightness of the winds. Slowly they drifted toward 
 that death-lock which was to give sucli a splendid victory to the Americans. On his 
 flag-ship, the Lawrence, Perry had hoisted a flag inscribed with the dying words of 
 Captain Lawrence, "Don't give up the ship!" Insignificant as this naval contest 
 may be, in view of modern ironclads, torpedoes, and guns with a range of seven 
 miles, it put new courage into a dispirited frontier, and gave the United States a 
 permanent and undisputed sway over Lake Erie. 
 
 Owing to the superior range of the English guns, and the impetuosity of Perry, 
 who sailed far in advance of his fleet, the Lawrence was exposed for hom-s to the 
 whole fire of tlie British shijDS, till she was completely disabled, and her decks fairly 
 ran with blood. The men worked their guns with undaunted spirit, till all were 
 killed or wounded, and the guns were dismounted. At length, about two o'clock, a 
 fresh breeze sprang up, and the Niagara came to the assistance of her suffering con- 
 
304 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 sort. Perry instantly took his colors under his arm, and crossed in an open boat, 
 amid the fiercest fire of the enemy, to tlie fresh vessel, which he then made his flag- 
 ship. Reaching the Niagara in safety, he renewed the tight, brought the other ves- 
 sels up into line, or- 
 dered a general engage- 
 ment, broke the British 
 line, and kept up his 
 fire till all the British 
 vessels struck their col- 
 ors. Commodore Bar- 
 clay, the British com- 
 mander, who had lost 
 an arm at Trafalgar 
 under Nelson, was se- 
 verely wounded. Af- 
 ter the battle the dead 
 were buried, and the 
 officers of both sides 
 were laid in a com- 
 mon grave, near the 
 beach of the island, the 
 mound being marked 
 by an ancient willow- 
 tree. There is a com- 
 memorative statue of 
 Perry at Cleveland, and 
 all the islands off San- 
 dusky are associated 
 with this historic tra- 
 dition. In Ohio, one' 
 county, four towns, and 
 twenty-four townships, 
 recall the name of the 
 gallant American com- 
 mander. On Gibral- 
 tar Island, which, lies 
 in the hollow of Put- 
 in-Bay, there is a bold 
 headland where it is said Perry used to go for the purpose of sweeping the wide 
 horizon with his glass, in expectation of his coming enemy. 
 
 The Wine Islands are now known in a more peaceful connection. Their vine- 
 yards have become celebrated, and many of the most excellent and palatable Ameri- 
 
 Pcrrifti Loolcout^ Gihraltai Island, 
 
THE GREAT LAKES. 305 
 
 can wines are made here. The inliabitants are mostly Germans from the Rhine 
 region, and the skill which they have brought to bear on their congenial occupa- 
 tion lias wrought surprising results, and promises still more important ones in the 
 future. 
 
 As we proceed westward from Sandusky, we enter on what is called the Black 
 Swamp, a district one hundred and twenty miles long, by forty in width. Its name 
 still clings to it, from the early pioneer dread of a magnificent stretch of dark forest, 
 and swamp of almost impenetrable wildness and luxuriance. Its gloomy de23ths were 
 tlie haunts of wild beasts who carried terror to the early settlers, and even to a com- 
 paratively recent time it was not made serviceable to the uses of man. The soil of 
 this region is now the richest garden of a rich State, and fine farms and thriving 
 towns and villages everywhere abound. The i^rincipal city of this region is Toledo, 
 which stands on the Maumee River, about four miles from Maumee Bay. The coun- 
 try south of Toledo was during the early days of the nation a fierce battle-ground, 
 where Americans, British, and Indians met in repeated conflict. The name of Mad 
 Anthony Wayne, called by the Indians the "Mad," because he "drives and tears 
 everything before him," is closely associated with the early traditions of this region. 
 General Wayne's decisive battle against the Indians was fought on the Maumee in 
 1794. 
 
 A few miles beyond Maumee Bay the coast turns sharply to the north, and soon 
 the boundary-line of Michigan is passed. The eastern end of Lake Erie comes to a 
 point at the place where Buffalo is, but the western end is blunt and unyielding. 
 The Detroit River has no gate-way, but pours at once into the lake from the broad 
 shore. Though its mouth is clogged with islands, there is nothing to indicate the 
 entrance of a grand strait. The northward sloping shore of Michigan, sixty miles in 
 length, between the Ohio boundary and the city of Detroit, is a green, fertile region, 
 of gentle aspect, with numerous little rivers flowing through it. All this territory 
 had two distinct settlements, the more ancient having been French. It was not till 
 1830 that the tide of American immigration freely flowed into Michigan Territory ; 
 and Ohio had a settled population of colonists from New England, and had sent her 
 pioneers into Illinois and Indiana. The Detroit . shore remained wholly French. The 
 unextinguished Indian titles, the foreign habits of the French settlers, and the gloomy 
 barrier of the Black Swamp, kept American settlers out of this beautiful land. The 
 little cabins of the French lined the river-banks, though the forest half a mile back 
 was unbroken and primeval. They were a gay, contented race, who lived on terms 
 of amity with the Indians, and never in their enjoyment of the day thought of the 
 morrow. 
 
 There are fifteen islands within the first twelve miles of the Detroit River. Father 
 Hennepin, who passed up the strait in 1670, writes in the following enthusiastic 
 terms: "The islands are the finest in the world ; the strait is finer than Niagara; 
 the banks are vast meadows ; and the prospect is terminated with some hills crowned 
 with vineyards ; trees bearing good fruit, groves and forests so well disposed tliat one 
 
 iiO 
 
306 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 
 would thiuk Nature alone could 
 not have made, without the aid 
 of art, so charming a prospect." 
 The river lias neither foam, rap- 
 ids, nor mountains ; it has not 
 that sweep to the sea, that in- 
 coming of the salt tide, that give 
 the ocean -rivers their majesty; 
 yet it is a grand strait, full to 
 the very brim of its green shores, 
 calm, deep, and beautiful. 
 
 The city of Detroit, with the 
 exception of Mackinac, the first 
 white settlement in the North- 
 west, was visited by the French 
 in 1610. Permanent settlement 
 was not made until ninety - one 
 years later, when a fort was built, 
 and named after the French colo- 
 nial minister, Ponchartraiu, whose 
 name is also perpetuated in Lou- 
 isiana. Some years later a col- 
 ony of French emigrants came out 
 from France, who, mingling with 
 the Indians, began that race of 
 half-breeds whose history is so in- 
 terlinked with that of the fur- 
 trade. Thus, originally organized 
 as a French military and trading 
 230st, it has always retained some 
 characteristics which to-day set it 
 apart from the other lake cities, 
 in its French customs and names. 
 Down the strait, in the early days, 
 came twice a year the canoes and 
 bateaux, laden with furs from the 
 far West and the Bed Eiver of the 
 North. Then came a period of 
 jollity and revel, music, dancing, 
 and drinking, ending with vows 
 and prayers in the little church. 
 Then Detroit was quiet again for 
 
THE GREAT LAKES. 307 
 
 another six months. In 1805 the old town was destroyed, and the new town which 
 arose on the site was laid out with more regularity, but in a way which utterly 
 destroyed the picturesqueness and quaintness that marked the old French settlement 
 of the early fur-trading regime. The flag flying over Detroit has been changed five 
 times, in the following order : French, British, American, British, American. It has 
 been the scene of one surrender, twelve massacres, and fifty battles — a grim record of 
 historic tragedies which few, if any, other American places can show. Detroit was 
 already a century old when Cleveland and Buffalo were born. 
 
 The most striking figure in the history of Deti'oit is that of Pontiac, the great 
 Ottawa chieftain, and probably the most gifted and daring of all the Indian leaders 
 who have taken part in our history, with the possible exception of King Philip, in 
 early colonial times. This warrior and statesman of the red race possessed an astute- 
 ness and sagacity which would have been most noticeable in a white man . He suc- 
 ceeded in forming a powerful alliance between tribes which had been life-long foes, 
 and hurling this consolidated force against the English. His grand scheme was to 
 capture by a simultaneous attack all the British posts in the West, twelve garrisoned 
 forts, extending from Niagara to Pittsburg, along the lake-shore, and thence to the 
 Mississippi. Such was the personal influence of Pontiac that he succeeded in uniting 
 the most discordant tribes, and carrying out his plan. Nine posts were taken on the 
 same day (May, 1763), and their garrisons massacred to a man. Detroit made a suc- 
 cessful resistance, owing to the warning given by an Indian damsel, but it would 
 ultimately have fallen into the hands of Pontiac, had not a letter arrived from the 
 French commander-in-chief, announcing that peace had been declared between Great 
 Britain and France, and ordering him to suspend hostilities. 
 
 Above the city the Detroit Kiver curves to the eastward, and enters Lake St. 
 Clair. Here we see long lines of lumber-barges with their tugs, schooners with their 
 raking masts leaning far over under a cloud of canvas, square-sail brigs, scows with 
 'patched yellow canvas, and steamers — all striving with their best heels to reach the 
 flats through whose tortuous channels they must all ^jass, or else lie at anchor till the 
 morning. So they sail on till they reach the clear waters of Lake Huron, in whose 
 pellucid depths fish may be seen swimming hundreds of feet below the surface. 
 
 Lake Huron, including Georgian Bay, the latter lying wholly within Canadian terri- 
 tory, is about one hundred and ninety miles wide, by two hundred and eighty miles in 
 length, having on one side of it the southern peninsula of Michigan, on the other 
 Canada. It is the deepest of the lakes, the average depth being about twelve hun- 
 dred feet, while in some parts of the lake soundings have not been reached at eighteen 
 hundred feet. It has several large harbors and bays, such as Saginaw and Thunder 
 Bay, but for the most part the whole line of the American shore is singularly un- 
 protected and exposed to the severest storms at certain seasons of the year. The 
 upper or northwestern arm of Huron is connected with the waters of Lake Michigan 
 by the Straits of Mackinac, and here it is that the pleasure-seeker or traveler finds 
 one of the most interesting and lovely parts of the United States. In traveling along 
 
308 OUE NATIVE LAND. 
 
 the borders of the Great Lakes we find that the cities and towns which thickly stud 
 the shores arc among tlie most notable examples of growth and progress in the whole 
 country. The universal lioast on the great fresh-water seas is, "See how young we 
 are, and how big we arc for our age ! '" You enter a city of one hundred thousand 
 inhabitants. "Twenty years ago, sir, this was an unbroken wilderness," observes the 
 citizen, as he takes you through the busy streets in his luxurious carriage. The 
 steamer stops at a thriving town of ten thousand people. "Five years ago there 
 wasn't so much as a shanty here," says the hotel - keeper, with a flourishing wave of 
 his hand toward the clustering houses and his four -story frame caravansary, decked 
 out in shining green and white. Early, some bright morning, a landing is made at a 
 wood-station ; a long wharf, a group of unpainted houses, a store, and several saw- 
 mills, compose a promising settlement. "Six months ago, mister, there warn't even 
 a chip on this yer spot," says a bearded giant, sitting on a wood-pile, watching the 
 passengers as they come ashore. 
 
 There is nothing young, however, about Mackinac, nothing new. The village, at 
 the foot of the cliff, is decayed and antiquated ; the fort, on the height above, is 
 white and crumbling with age ; the very flag is tattered ; and, once beyond this fringe 
 of habitations around the port, there is no trace of the white man on the island save 
 one farm-house of the last century, and a ruin on the western shore. There is no 
 commercial activity at Mackinac : the business life of the village died out with the 
 fur-trade ; and so different is its aspect from that of the other lake-towns, no matter 
 how small, that the traveler feels as though he was walking through the streets of a 
 New-World Pompeii. 
 
 The history of Mackinac begins with the early voyages of Marquette, who estab- 
 lished a school for the education of Indian youths in 1671. Eight years later, the 
 daring explorer, Eobert Cavalier de la Salle, sailed through the straits on his way to 
 the Mississippi, in a vessel of sixty tons, called the Griffin, built by himself, on Lake 
 Erie, during the previous spring. lie stopped at old Mackinac, on the mainland ; 
 and Hennepin, the historian of the expedition, describes the astonishment of the In- 
 dians on seeing the Griffin, the first vessel that passed through the beautiful straits. 
 In 1688 a French officer. Baron la Houtan, visited the straits, and in his journal 
 makes the first mention of the f ur- trade : "The courriers cles boi-^ have a settlement 
 here, this being a depot for the goods obtained from the south and west savages, 
 for they can not avoid passing this way when they go to the seats of the Illinese 
 and Ouniamis, and to the river of Mississippi." 
 
 In 1695 the military period begins. At that date M. de la Mottc Cadillac, who 
 afterward founded the present city of Detroit, established a small fort on the straits. 
 Then came contests and skirmishes, not unmingled with massacres (for the Indians 
 were enlisted on both sides), and finally the post of Mackinac, together with all the 
 French strongholds on the lakes, was surrendered to the English, in September, 1761. 
 
 During the War for Independence the fort was established in its present site on 
 Mackinac Island : and the stars and stripes, superseding the cross of St. George and 
 
THE GREAT LAKES. 
 
 309 
 
 Scene on the Shore of Mackinac. 
 
 the lilies of the Bourbons, waved for a time peacefully over the heights ; but the War 
 of 1813 began, and the small American garrison was surprised and captured by the 
 British, under Captain Kobarts, who, having landed at the point still known as the 
 '•British Landing," marched across the island to the gate of the fort and forced a 
 surrender. After the victory of Commodore Perry, on Lake Erie, in 1813, it was 
 determined to recapture Fort Mackinac from the British, and a little fleet was sent 
 
310 OUR, NATIVE LAND. 
 
 from Detroit for that purpose. After wandering in tlie persistent fogs of Lake 
 Huron, the vessels reached the straits, and a brisk engagement began in the channel, 
 between Round Island and Mackinac. At length the American commander decided to 
 try a land attack, and forces were sent on shore, under command of Colonel Crog- 
 han and Major Holmes. They disembarked at the "British Landing," and had begun 
 to cross the island when the British and Indians met them, and a desperate battle 
 ensued in tlie clearing near the Dousman farni-house. The enemy had the advantage 
 of position and numbers, and, aided by their innumerable Indian allies, they suc- 
 ceeded in defeating the gallant little baud, who retreated to the " Landing," leaving 
 a number killed on the field, among them Major Holmes. The American fleet 
 cruised around the island for some time, but '" the stars in tlieir courses fought 
 against Sisera." The clumsy vessels could do nothing against the winds and waves; 
 and not until the conclusion of peace, in 1814, was the American flag again hoisted 
 over the Gibraltar of the lakes. 
 
 Points on the Straits of Mackinac began to be stations for the fur-trade as early 
 as 1688, but the constant warfare of the military period interfered with the business. 
 In 1809 John Jacob Astor bought out the existing associations, and organized the 
 American Fur Company, with a capital of two millions. For forty years this com- 
 pany monopolized the fur-trade, and Mackinac was the gayest and busiest post in the 
 chain — the great central mart. Here were the supply-stores for the outgoing and in- 
 coming voyageurs, and the warehouses for the goods brought from New York, as well 
 as for the furs from the interior. From here started the bateaux on their long jour- 
 ney to the Northwest, and here, once or twice a year, came tlie returned voyageurs, 
 spending their gains in a day, with the gay prodigality of their race, laughing, sing- 
 ing, and dancing with the pretty half-breed girls, and then away into the wilderness 
 again. The old buildings of the Fur Company form a large portion of the present 
 village of Mackinac. The warehouses are, for the most part, unused, although por- 
 tions of some of them are occupied as stores. The present McLeod House, an hotel 
 on tlie north street, was originally erected as a boarding-house for the company's 
 clerks, in 1809. These were Mackinac's palmy days ; her two little streets were 
 crowded witli people, and her warehouses filled with merchandise. All the trafiic of 
 the company centered here, and its demands necessitated the presence of men of 
 energy and enterprise, some of the oldest and best business-men of the Eastern cities 
 having served an apprenticeship in the little French village under the cliff. Here, 
 also, were made tlie annual Indian payments, when the neighboring tribes assembled 
 by thousands on the island to receive their stipend. 
 
 The natural scenery of Mackinac is charming. The geologist finds mysteries in 
 the masses of calcareous rock dipping at unexpected angles ; the antiquarian feasts his 
 eyes on tlie Druidical circles of ancient stones ; the invalid sits on the cliff's edge, in 
 the vivid sunshine, and breathes in the buoyant air with delight, or rides slowly over 
 the old military roads, with the spicery of cedars and juniper alternating with the 
 fresh forest odors of young maples and beeches. The haunted birches abound, and 
 
THE GREAT LAKES. 311 
 
 on the crags grow the weird larches, beckoning with their long lingers — the most 
 human tree of all. Bluebells, on their hair-like stems, swing from the rocks, fading 
 at a touch, and in the deep woods are the Indian pipes, but the ordinary wild-flowers 
 are not to be found. Over toward the British Landing stand the Gothic spires of the 
 blue-green spruces, and now and then an Indian trail crosses the road, worn deep by 
 the feet of the red-men, when the Fairy Island was their favorite and sacred resort. 
 
 The Arch Rock, one of the curiosities of Mackinac, is a natural bridge, one hun- 
 dred and forty-five feet high, by less than three feet wide, spanning the chasm with 
 airy grace. This arch has been excavated by the action of the weather on a pro- 
 jecting angle of the limestone cliff. The beds forming the summit of the arch are 
 cut ofE from direct connection with the main rock by a narrow gorge of no great 
 depth. The portion supporting the arch on the north side and the curve of the 
 arch itself are comparatively fragile, and can not long resist the action of rains 
 and frosts, which in this latitude, and on a rock thus constituted, produce great 
 ravages every season. The arch is pecirliarly beautiful when silvered with the light 
 of the moon, and hence on moonlight nights strangers on the island always visit it. 
 Fairy Arch is of similar formation to Arch Eock, and lifts from the sands with a 
 grace and beauty that justify the name bestowed upon it. The Sugar-Loaf is a coni- 
 cal rock, one hundred and thirty-four feet high, standing alone in hoary majesty in 
 the midst of a grassy plain. 
 
 The Lover's Leap, on the western shore, is two hundred feet high, rising from 
 the lake like a rocky column, and separated from the adjoining bank by a deep 
 chasm. The legend, as usual, is of an Indian squaw, who, standing on the rock, 
 waiting and watching for the return of her lover from battle, saw the warriors bring- 
 ing his dead body to the island, and in her grief threw herself into the lake. But, 
 as a bright spirit once observed, " One gets tired of thinking of all the girls who 
 have leaped ! " and enthusiasm flags over a heroine whose name is Me-che-ne-mock-e- 
 nung-o-ne-qua ! 
 
 The cliii called "Robinson's Folly" has its legend also. This time it was a 
 young officer who went over ; indeed, there may have been half a dozen of them, for 
 the Folly was a summer-house where cigars and wine helped to pass away the long 
 summer days, and, when at last the rock crumbled and carried them over, Robinson's 
 Folly was complete, and is still remembered, although it was finished more than a 
 hundred years ago. 
 
 Old Fort Holmes, on the highest point of the island, was built by the British in 
 1812. It was then named Fort George, but, after the Americans took possession of 
 Mackinac, it was renamed after the gallant Major Holmes, who was killed in the bat- 
 tle on Dousman's farm the preceding year. The ruins are still to be seen, and the 
 surveyor's station on the summit is a favorite resort for summer visitors, as the view 
 of the straits is superb. 
 
 The present Fort Mackinac was built by the British about a century ago. It 
 stands on the cliff overlooking the village, and its stone-walls and block-houses present 
 
312 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 a bold front to tlie traveler wearied with the peaceful, level shores of the fresh-water 
 seas. This ancient little fort has a long list of honored names among its records— 
 Teteran names of the War of 1813, well-known names of the Mexican contest, and 
 
 Lover's Leap. 
 
 loved, lamented names of the War for the Union. It has always been a favorite 
 station among the Western posts, and many soldiers have looked back with loving 
 regret as the boat carried them away from the beautiful island. 
 
 The Island of Mackinac was a sacred spot to the Indians of the lakes. They be- 
 lieved it to be the home of the giant fairies, and never passed its shores without 
 
THE GREAT LAKES. 313 
 
 stopping to offer tribute to the powerful genii who guarded the straits. Even now 
 there is a vague belief among tlie remnants of the tribes that these mystic beings 
 still reside under the island, and sometimes sally forth by night from the hill below 
 the fort. 
 
 It is not often that we can obtain a specimen of the original poetry of the Indian 
 race before intercourse with the white man had corrupted its simplicity. Occasionally 
 we find a fragment. Some years ago an aged Indian chieftain left his Mackinac 
 home to visit some of his tribe in the Lake Superior country, and, as he sat upon 
 the deck of the steamer in the clear twilight and watched the outlines of the Fairy 
 Island growing faint in the distance, the old man's heart broke forth in the following 
 apostrophe, which a listener, struck by its beauty, translated and transcribed on the 
 spot : 
 
 '• Michilimackinac, isle of the clear, deep-water lake ! how soothing it is, from 
 amid the smoke of my opaivgim, to trace thy blue outlines in the distance, and to 
 call from memory the traditions and legends of thy sacred character ! How holy 
 wast thou in the eyes of our Indian seers ! How pleasant to think of the time when 
 our fathers could see the stillness which the great Manitou shed on thy waters, and 
 hear at evening the sound of the giant fairies, as with rapid step and giddy whirl 
 they danced upon thy limestone battlements ! Nothing then disturbed them save the 
 chippering of birds and the rustling of the silver-barked birch. Michilimackinac, isle 
 of the deep lake, farewell ! " 
 
 There have been projects before Congress to convert this beautiful island into a 
 national park, whereby its forests may escape the woodman's axe, and its shores and 
 rocks remain in their native picturesque beauty, unmarred by the hand of man. We 
 have the Yellowstone and the Yosemite as national pleasure-grounds in the far West 
 — it is only just that government should make a similar reservation east of the Mis- 
 sissippi. Mackinac is already a government station ; the cost of adding the few acres 
 of the island to the national grounds and maintaining supervision over them would 
 be slight, Avhile the public advantages would bo considerable. Already its beauties, 
 its health-giving airs, and its facilities for boating and fishing, are making the island 
 a place of summer resort ; convert it into a park, and great numbers of our people 
 will make it their annual Mecca. 
 
 Lake Michigan yields to none of the Great Lakes in commercial importance, and 
 certainly presents to the lover of the picturesque, particularly on the western shore, 
 features of scenery which he would scarcely like to miss. Its great port, Chicago, is 
 at the western end of lake navigation, and is the most important railway center as 
 well as the largest grain-depot in the United States. The lake itself is the only one 
 entirely included in our own country. It lies in a north and south direction, ex- 
 tending from the northwestern corner of Indiana and the northern part of Illinois 
 to Mackinac, whence its waters flow into Lake Huron. Its length following the curve 
 is three hundred and fifty miles, its greatest breadth about ninety miles, its mean 
 depth about nine hundred feet. 
 
314 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 The city of Chicago, 
 which hes on the south- 
 western shore of Lake Mi- 
 chigan, is in its way incom- 
 parable. Its name stands 
 as a type for all that is 
 solid, swift, and daring in 
 enterjjrise, and its brill- 
 iant history has given it a 
 world-wide renown. Tlie 
 site of the city was first 
 visited by Marquette in 
 1073, and a fort was built 
 there by the French and 
 named C'hecoyou, from an 
 Indian word which means 
 "strong." Fort Dearborn 
 was erected by the Unit- 
 ed States Government in 
 1804, and in 1812 the 
 garrison was attacked and 
 destroyed by the Potta- 
 wattomie Indians, who be- 
 longed to the great con- 
 federacy formed by Pon- 
 tiac. The fort was soon 
 after rebuilt, and remained 
 in existence till 1856, when 
 it was demolished, and the 
 reservation sold to the city 
 of Chicago. The place 
 made but little progress 
 for a long time, and in 
 1833 it only contained five 
 hundred and fifty inhabit- 
 ants ; in 1850 the popula- 
 tion numbered 28,296 in- 
 habitants ; and the last 
 census report shows a to- 
 tal of 503,305, a gain of 
 more than two hundred 
 thousand, or of about six- 
 
THE GREAT LAKES. 315 
 
 ty-five per cent, in the last ten years. Such a growth as this is unparalleled, espe- 
 cially when it is remembered that in the early part of the decade a large portion of 
 the city was laid in ashes by the most tremendous conflagration of modern times. 
 The city is divided into three parts by a bayou called the Chicago Kiver, which 
 extends from the lake-shore about five eighths of a mile, then divides into two 
 branches running north and south nearly parallel with the lake, about two miles in 
 each direction. The river and its branches give a water frontage of forty-one miles, 
 while the lake frontage of the city is about eight miles. 
 
 The great fire of 1871 burned over an area of three and a half square miles, 
 destroying the most important business and residence portions of the city, and involv- 
 ing a loss of one hundred and ninety million dollars. Since then this area has been 
 wholly rebuilt in a style greatly surpassing the original. The river winding through 
 the heart of the city, lined with warehouses and wharves, filled with vessels, and 
 crossed by bridges, of which there are thirty-three in number, is a strikingly pictu- 
 resque feature. Here are animation, rich contrasts of color and form, and variety 
 — all that sort of stir and movement that the artist delights in, and one may be 
 fascinated for hours in watching the ever-changing picture of intense, bustling life. 
 In addition to the bridges there are two tunnels, passing under the river, to facilitate 
 communication. The fashionable residence-streets of Chicago are semi-suburban in 
 character, and their tree-embowered mansions alternate with structures of brick and 
 marble. Here may be seen gay throngs of carriages, equestrians, and pedestrians, 
 which give the fashionable promenades as animated an appearance as can be seen any- 
 where in the United States. 
 
 Chicago has a noble system of public parks, which do gi-eat credit to the enter- 
 prise and taste of the people. These cover an area of nineteen hundred acres, and 
 include six inclosures. One of them, Lincoln Park, is very beautiful, and affords a 
 charming drive by the green-tinted, foam-capped lake. When the park system of 
 Chicago is fully completed, it is not exaggeration to say that it will not be surpassed 
 by that of any city in the United States, if indeed it be equaled. Among objects in 
 the city of si^ecial interest to the stranger may be mentioned the huge tunnel under 
 the lixke, for the purpose of supplying the city with water, and the great hoisting- 
 works and reservoirs connected with it ; the towering grain-elevators, from the top of 
 which may be had extensive prospects ; the immense stock-yards, the largest in the 
 world ; and the usual educational, literary, and art institutions, which grow up side 
 by side with material interests in our American cities. 
 
 Ninety miles north of Chicago lies Milwaukee, and you may go thither by rail or 
 by steamer in the course of a few hours. The sail is particularly delightful, and gives 
 a capital idea of the characteristics of the lake-shore. The bank is thrown up in quite 
 strange forms, as the current, which is very swift, and is gradually wearing away the 
 western shore, is continually remodeling its sandy barrier. At Lake Forest, about 
 twenty-eight miles from Chicago, the fierce surf has worn the soft bank into curious 
 columns and peaks, some of them twisted and seamed in a most grotesque way. After 
 
316 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 a gale, when the surf has been very high, the shore is often utterly transformed. 
 Almost every mile of the western beach has, at different times, been strewed with 
 wrecks, and the rotting ribs of many a noble vessel may be seen half buried in the 
 sand, telling a ghastly tale of shipwreck and death. The ocean-shores of Long Island 
 and New Jersey have not been more prolific of destruction to the mariner than the 
 west coast of Lake Michigan. Occasionally we see the bank reaching the water's edge 
 in sharply serrated ridges, like a miniature mountain-chain. The narrow line of sandy 
 beach is everywhere strewed with wrecked trees that have been torn from their beds 
 and still hold their leaves, a sad picture of Nature's wanton ravages. A short dis- 
 tance back from the line of beach the country is very picturesque, and dotted with 
 pleasant summer villas, belonging to Chicago merchants. 
 
 Often the shore rises into a noble bluff, half sinking again into a beach, with a 
 dense wood in the rear. All along the route we see rude fishing-villages, and here 
 and there cities and towns of considerable importance. Kenoslia and Kacine are the 
 most important of these places. The former city is on a high bluff, about fifty miles 
 north of Chicago, and is surrounded by a beautiful prairie country. Racine, a little 
 farther north, is the second city in size in the State of Wisconsin, and is a very 
 thriving, active place, as well as the seat of one of the best endowed and administered 
 of Western colleges. Both cities have excellent harbors. Immense piers, stretching 
 far out into the lake, are characteristic features of Eacine. 
 
 The city of Milwaukee is one of the prettiest of Western places, and has marked 
 commercial importance as the leading port of Wisconsin, the population reaching more 
 than ninety thousand. The city covers seventeen square miles, and many of the houses 
 are built in semi-rustic fashion, with pleasant grounds about them. As Milwaukee is 
 somewhat hilly, it gives ample chance for the cultivation of the picturesque in the 
 appearance of its more costly residences, and this resource has been utilized with 
 great good taste. The German element, which is very large, gives the city a distinct- 
 ive character and aspect, though it ])ossesses notwithstanding that air of briskness 
 which is peculiar to the Northwest. 
 
 As one looks at Milwaukee in the distance, it presents so many domes, turrets, 
 cupolas, spires, and towers, that he might fancy himself in some Mediterranean port. 
 The architecture is of the most diversified form, and to an Eastern eye seems odd on 
 account of the general use of the cream-colored brick. The Milwaukee Eiver, which 
 passes through the city, is navigable for the largest size of vessels for two miles from 
 the lake, and is spanned by many bridges. The well-built wharves are lined with 
 massive and imposing warehouses and other business structures. Propellers of a 
 thousand tons burden land their freights at the very doors of warehouses, and their 
 gangways lead continuottsly into the best markets. 
 
 The most important industries of Milwaukee are the grain-traffic — in which it is 
 only inferior to Chicago — the brewing of lager-beer, and the manufacture of flour. 
 Among the elevators in the city is one which has a storage capacity of a million and 
 a half bushels, and there is a flouring-mill which can turn out one thousand barrels 
 
THE GREAT LAKES. 
 
 317 
 
 of flour daily. These are only slight indices of a prosperity which ranks Milwau- 
 kee among the most thriving of Western cities, as it certainly is one of the most 
 charming. 
 
 The original Indian name was Milwacky, meaning rich or beautiful land, and was 
 applied to a little village on the site of the present city. Milwaukee has monuments 
 reaching far behind written records. Not only are there very ancient Indian relics, 
 but mounds discovered near the town show unmistakable proofs of the residence of 
 
 Sh.ore of Lith' Michigan. 
 
 an earlier race, whose very traditions are now extinct. We know nothing of the visit 
 of any European earlier than Father Marquette, who was such an indefatigable ex- 
 plorer and missionary in far-back colonial times, only fifty-four years after the land- 
 ing of the Pilgrims in New England. After Jiim very few, except French traders and 
 priests, visited the spot till 1818. when a Frenchman. Solomon .Juneau, settled in the 
 Indian village of Milwacky with his family. After the Black-Hawk war in 183.5, when 
 the Indians were driven farther back into the West, a few more white families gathered 
 about Juneau's block-hou.se. From that time to this, less than fifty years has sufficed 
 
318 • OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 to make Milwaukee what it is to-day. But we have so many facts of this kind in 
 our history that they cease to be matters of marvel. 
 
 Between Lakes Michigan and Superior intervenes the northern peninsula of the 
 State of Michigan, and to reach Superior, the largest of our inland seas, we must 
 return again to the Straits of Mackinac, and through them to Lake Huron. Thence 
 by a series of broad, open channels, interspersed with charming islands, we pass into 
 the Sault Ste. -Marie, and through this to the ocean-like expanse of Superior. This 
 lake is four hundred and twenty miles long following its curve, and one hundred and 
 sixty miles at its greatest breadth. Its greatest depth is eight hundred feet. Its gen- 
 eral shape was best indicated by the French fathers, who first came hither in pursuit 
 of the glory of God and of France more than two centuries ago, as "a bended bow, 
 the northern shore being the arc, the southern shore the cord, and the long point 
 the arrow." This long point is an arm of copper-ore thrust out seventy miles into 
 the lake from the south side. 
 
 Passing Sault Ste. -Marie, the strait which leads into Superior, and is hardly in- 
 ferior in beauty to Mackinac, we see Point Iroquois on our left, and immediately 
 opposite the Gros Cap of Canada, six hundred feet in height. Stories of Indian 
 warfare belong to these points. Here the all-victorious Iroquois, who had swept all 
 other tribes from their path, met a serious reverse. They met the Chippewas of the 
 north, and in a two days' fight defeated them with considerable loss. The remnant 
 of the beaten tribe paddled away in their canoes, and the triumphant Iroquois de- 
 voted the night to dancing and revel, sinking into a heavy sleep toward morning. 
 The Chippewas had watched their fires from afar, and toward dawn they silently 
 returned and slew their sleeping foes to a man. For many a long year their bleach- 
 ing bones lay on the shore, to delight the sight of the Indians of the lake-country. 
 
 To explore the wild beauties of Superior it is best to leave the steamboat at 
 Munesing Harbor and betake ourselves to a sail-boat or an Indian canoe. It was 
 expected that a large city would be built at Munesing, but the iron interests a little 
 farther westward carried the day, and so Marcjuette, named after the great Jesuit 
 explorer, attracted population and capital instead. 
 
 The celebrated Pictured Eocks stretch from Munesing Harbor eastward along the 
 coast, rising in some places to the height of two hundred feet from the water in 
 sheer precipices without beach at the bases. They show a countless succession of 
 rock-seulptures, glowing with brilliant color, yellow, blue, green, and gi-ay, in all 
 shades of dark and light. Here the dull pages of geology blossom like the rose in 
 forms and tints of indescribable beauty. The rock-pictures succeed each other in 
 such swift succession that they can hardly be enumerated, sweeping from curve to 
 curve for mile after mile. In them the imagination can easily see the likeness of 
 castles, towers, cathedrals, processions, the tracery of tropical foliage, and what not ; 
 oftentimes so vivid is the resemblance, that the most sober observer is forced to admit 
 the reality. Passing the Chimneys and the Miner's Castle, we see a wonderful de- 
 tached mass called Sail-Rock. This so closely resembles a sloop with the jib and 
 
THE GREAT LAKES. 
 
 319 
 
 mainsail spread, that at a sliort distance away one would fancy it a real boat at 
 anchor near the beach. 
 
 One of the most striking of the rock-formations past which we sail in wondering 
 admiration is the Grand Portal, so named by the early voyageurs, who, it may be 
 said, christened many of the most interesting sights on the shore of Superior, for 
 
 Sail-Roci, Lake Superior. 
 
 these hardy adventurers never failed to show a keen eye for the wonderful and 
 beautiful. This rock is one hundred feet high by one hundred and sixty-eight feet 
 broad at the water-level ; and the cliff above the arch lifts eighty-five feet higher. 
 The Portal opens into a grand vaiilted cave arched with yellow sandstone, whose sides 
 have been fretted into a thousand fantastic shapes by huge storm-waves. On a still 
 

 330 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 \ 
 
 Grand Portal, Lake Superior. 
 
 day there is a wonderful echo in the cave, tlie voice reverberating till it dies away 
 into a mysterious whisper. Naturally did the superstitious red-men fancy that this 
 cave was haunted by imps and elves, who played their pranks on rash intruders. 
 
 Farther toward the east is Chapel Eock. This natural church, hewed by the 
 hands of the elements, is forty feet above the lake, a temple with an arched roof 
 resting partly on massive columns, partly on the cliffs behind, its forms and lines as 
 perfect as the ruins of Karnak or Baalbec. The glowing colors of the rock might 
 be fancied the frescoing, and in the solemn monotone of the waves washing the base 
 we can hear the suggestions of music. According to the Indian tradition, here dwells 
 the great Manitou of the storm, who rules the winds and waves of the lake from 
 the Sault Ste.-Marie to Fond du Lac. Here, on tlie cliapel bcacli, the Indian wor- 
 shipers performed rites to appease the offended deity who held the raging winds in 
 the hollow of his hand. Here, too, at a later date the jovial voi/ar/eur.'i in pranksome 
 mood initiated the novices in the fur-trade by plunging them under the water-fall that 
 
THE GREAT LAKES. 321 
 
 dashes over the rocks near by. Tlie Silver Cascade falls from an overhanging cliff 
 one hundred and seventy-five feet into the lake below, though it is but a mere rib- 
 bon in breadth. In fact, the whole Superior coast is spangled with innumerable 
 cascades, made by the little rivers, which, instead of flowing through ravines and 
 gorges cut out for their channel, dash madly over the brows of lofty cliffs, veritable 
 homes for laughing water-sprites. 
 
 Days might be spent in viewing the Coast of Pictures, for their beauties vary in 
 light and shadow, by sunshine and moonshine. Different outlines present them- 
 selves at different times — battlements and arches, cities with spires and towers, foliage 
 and vines, processions of men and animals. Even the great sea-serpent, that strange 
 myth of the seas and lakes, offers a presentment of his unknown form in a wide 
 rock-photograph. In one place there stands the profile of a woman, a majestic face 
 gazing toward the north, to which has been given the name of the " Empi-ess of the 
 Lakes." It is the pleasure of this imperial personage, who has all the mystery and 
 modesty of Diana herself, to show herself only by the light of the moon. You may 
 look for her in vain during the day-time. So benign is the aspect, so rounded the 
 womanly curves of this figure, that one might easily fall into the dream of Endymion. 
 
 Sailing westward from the Pictured Rocks past the temples of Au-Train and the 
 Laughing Fish Point, Marquette comes into view, a fine picturesque harbor, the out- 
 let for the Iron Mountain, a ridge lying twelve miles back, whose metal bowels send 
 out hundreds of thousands of tons of iron to the mills of the country. A fleet of 
 hundreds of vessels belongs to this traffic : and no sooner does the ice free the lake 
 in the spring, than their white sails may be seen dotting the water as far as the eye 
 can stretch. Perilous voyages are theirs, too, for many of them founder in storms 
 and go down with all on board off the harborless coast of the Pictured Rocks, which, 
 though splendid to the eye and fancy, arc grewsome, indeed, for tlie mariner. Next 
 beyond we skirt the copper arm of Keweenaw, the arrow in the bow. This great 
 promontory of copper has its history, for its hills were mined centuries ago, and the 
 first wJiite explorers found the ancient furnaces and tools, relics of a mysterious 
 industry of which the Indians knew nothing. These old mining works have been 
 ascribed to the extinct mound-builders, but their origin will always remain in 
 doubt. 
 
 The Chippewas of Superior regarded the Point of Copper with profound awe, for 
 here dwelt an implacable demon. Rites and gifts were paid by tliem when timidly 
 they would land for some copper ; then, without looking back, they would flee with 
 the utmost speed of arm and paddle. They would not act as guides, though the 
 most tempting bribes were offered them. Probably this is the greatest copper-mining 
 region in the world. Almost pure native ore is found in masses of five hundred 
 tons. To-day it not only supplies the whole country, but is shii^ped abroad in large 
 quantities. The north shore of this point is bold with picturesque rock-harbors, and 
 beyond Outonagon, the western end of the copper region, rise the Porcupine Mount- 
 ains. At Montreal River Michigan yields the lake-shore to Wisconsin. 
 •^1 
 
322 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 AVe soon reacli the beautiful island group of the Apostles, so named by Father 
 Marquette. It was here that tlie heroic Jesuit explorer first heard of the Mississippi, 
 or Great Water, from the Illinois tribes, who were attracted by the trinkets distrib- 
 uted by the French. The idea of exploring this wonderful river never left his mind ; 
 and when, in 1673, he entered its waters, he characterized his feeling in his journal 
 as '"a joy I am not able to express." The islands make a beautiful archipelago, lying 
 close to the shore, where is situated the United States agency for the Chippewa 
 Indians. Not many years ago an interesting romance took place here. A young 
 man of excellent family, education, and refinement, fell in love with a beautiful, 
 dusky maid, the daughter of a Chippewa chief. His father, to cure him of the infat- 
 uation, sent him to the East, hoping that the fashionable gayeties of civilization 
 would cure him of his devotion to his forest love. But it was in vain ; he returned, 
 and after a sliort time he was suddenly missed. A fisherman brouglit word that he 
 had met the youth in a canoe, paddling his Indian mistress decked in all her finery. 
 The father pursued, but it was too late ; the couple had been united in holy bonds 
 by a mission priest. AVhether or not the young man, who had sacrificed so much 
 for love, returned to civilization, or became an adopted son of the tribe, we are not 
 told. The large half-breed population of the Lake Superior country, many of whom 
 occupy places of responsibility and trust, show that tliere have been many such unions, 
 especially on tlie part of the early French residents, in the old fur-trading times. 
 
 At the head of Lake Superior is the St. Louis River, which marks the division 
 between Wisconsin and Minnesota, and also introduces us to the north shore of the 
 lake. On St. Louis Bay stands the town of Dulutli, which has been named the 
 Chicago of Lake Superior, for in its first three years it obtained a population of four 
 thousand people. This town lies at the extreme western end of the great lake-chain, 
 as Quebec stands at its eastern end, for the St. Lawrence beyond is but an arm of 
 the sea. Between these two points lie seventeen hundred and fifty miles. 
 
 The nortli shoi-e of Superior is still wrapped largely in mystery, for the settle- 
 ments are only mere dots on the maj), of which but little is known. Stories of great 
 wealth in the precious and useful metals have always been rife of this region, and 
 even now exciting rumors of the treasures that lie hidden on this iinknown coast are 
 thick in the air. Only a few years ago no one had traversed this great region except 
 the hunters, traders, and voyageurs of the Hudson Bay Company, whose forts are 
 scattered throughout, with little villages of motley inhabitants grouped around them. 
 No commercial enterprise has a more romantic history, or is linked to more striking 
 traditions, except the British East India Company. 
 
 The Hudson Bay Company was formed in 1669, by Prince Rupert, the nephew of 
 Charles I, and dashing cavalry leader of the Parliamentary wars. The prince obtained 
 a charter from the second Charles, granting the whole right of trading in all the 
 countries watered by rivers flowing into the Hudson Bay. This right was afterward 
 stretched to cover tlie whole of British America, and as much of the United States 
 as the hunters found of any use. All through the north coasts of Superior roamed 
 
THE GREAT LAKES. 
 
 333 
 
 the company's hunters and trappers ; along the myriad of little lakes and rivers the 
 voymjcurs paddled their canoes, trading with the red-men and gathering together their 
 bales of furs, whicli were to deck the beautiful shoulders of lovely women in every 
 capital of Europe. The head men were generally English or Scotch, but the voya- 
 geurs were French and French half-breeds. The quick imaginations of these hardy 
 and daring men have given names to most of the bays, points, and cliffs on the lake, 
 while the more stately English titles are all forgotten. They were a merry race, and 
 
 Island No. 1, Lake Svperior. 
 
 recollections of their gallantry, good humor, and unflinching courage and endurance 
 are still rife among the old residents of the Superior region. The adventures, exploits, 
 and conflicts, which occurred under the regime of the Hudson Bay Company when at 
 its height of power, make most fascinating reading. Washington Irving has embalmed 
 some of these stories in his book "Astoria," wherein he relates the history of the fur 
 company formed by John Jacob Astor, for the purpose of disputing the arrogant sway 
 of the Hudson Bay Company, an enterprise only foiled by the treachery and imbecility 
 of some of Astor's most trusted agents. 
 
324 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 The Superior shore, north of Duhith, towers up in grand cliffs of greenstone and 
 porphyry, from eight to twelve hundred feet in height. Among these cliffs may be 
 noticed specially the Great Palisade, whose columns are more symmetrical and lofty 
 than those of the Hudson, and the picturesque walls of Beaver Bay. The quick hu- 
 mor of the old voyageurx is perpetuated in some of the names of interesting points 
 on the shore. For example. Baptism Eiver comes dashing down to the lake beyond 
 the Great Palisade in a series of wild water-falls thr9Ugh a wall of rocks, where it has 
 cut its way when the storm has barred its natural entrance into the lake wit.li sand. 
 The name was given because a persistent scoffer fell in accidentally, and a priest in- 
 stantly baptized him in spite of himself. A harbor not far away was called Temi^er- 
 ance, because there was no bar at its mouth. 
 
 At Pigeon River we reacli the boundary-line between the United States and 
 Canada. Here begins the Grand Portage, where, through a series of lakes and 
 streams, the names of which have a wild sound, suggestive of peril and hardshiji — 
 Kainy Lake, Lake of the Woods, and Lake Winnipeg — the voyaxjeurs made a quick 
 passage to the Saskatchewan and tlie Red River country. 
 
 The whole Canadian shore is grandly beautiful in its promontories, bays, islands, 
 and cliffs, presenting not less to fascinate the eye and imagination than the southern 
 coast of the lake. Near Fort William, a Hudson Bay Company's post, is the magnifi- 
 cent basaltic cliff of Thunder Cape, thirteen hundred and fifty feet high, upon whose 
 summit rest the dark thunder-clouds, supposed by the Indians to be giant birds 
 brooding on their nests. At the foot of it lies Silver Island, whose mines are of al- 
 most unequaled richness, the same ricli veins being also found on the shore a few 
 hundred feet away. 
 
 Beyond Cape Thunder we find the Bay of Clear Waters, with its picturesque 
 islands ; Otter Head, a sheer precipice of a thousand feet, on whose summit stands a 
 monument which on one side displays tlie profile of a man, and on the other the 
 shape of an otter's head ; the broad Bay of Michipicoten, or the Bay of the Hills, sur- 
 prising for its quaint rock-formations; and Island No. 1, which is a bold mass of rock 
 rising up from the water that intervenes between it and a beautifully formed arch 
 cut out of the shore-cliffs. In brief, this part of Lake Superior, like all the others, 
 offers pictures of unwearying interest. The largest islands are Michipicoten, Saint 
 Ignace, the rugged Pic, and St. Royale, the last named leading the others in big- 
 ness. This is forty-five miles in length, and by some legislative freak belongs to 
 Houghton County, Michigan. Royale was once the occasion of a great silver-mining 
 excitement, but it is now deserted, and only its natural beauty left to excite interest ; 
 for its castellated and columned cliffs of trap-rock rise directly from water so deep 
 that the largest vessels can lie at the foot within touching distance. 
 
Wllite MoiDitniiiX, Jl-dlll thr Cnnir,,^ J/./7. /.//(■«. 
 
 THE MOUNTAINS OF THE NORTH. 
 
 Some characteristic scenes in tlie White Mountains— Mount Mansfield and the Green Mountains of Vermont— 
 The Adirondack region of New York— Mountain, lake, forest, river, and water-falls, most picturesquely blended 
 —The Catskills and their peculiarities- The Delaware Water-Gap— The Blue Ridge of Pennsylvania— The 
 beauties of the Juniata region — Mauch Chunk, the most picturesque of mountain towns. 
 
 The mountain system of the eastern side of the North American Continent 
 stretches from the banks of the St. Lawrence to the thirty-fourtli parallel of latitude, 
 which passes t]n-ouo;li the northern part of Soutli Carolina, Georgia, and Tennessee. 
 
326 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 As far north as the Hudson tlie direction is pretty nearly southwest and northeast. 
 In its southern parts, in Alabama, it is at its greatest distance from the sea, but con- 
 tinually ajiproaches nearer as it runs north, till it is traversed by the Hudson Eiyer, 
 where it is also reached by tide-water. Here it takes a turn more to the north 
 through Vermont and New Hampshire. It is general!}' known as the Appalachian 
 Chain, and sometimes as the Alleghanies, though in common usage the latter title is 
 specifically applied to the mountains of Pennsylvania and Virginia, while local names 
 are current in the other States through which the great chain extends. 
 
 The mountainous part of Maine is a region of virgin wilderness, only traversed hy 
 the stealthy footsteps of wild creatures, or the tramp of the logger, the hunter, or 
 fisherman, except here and there where a lonely country tavern offers its shelter to 
 those who would forget the refinements of civilization, and take a plunge into the 
 delights of wild, free life. The mountains of Maine take the form of scattered spurs, 
 being the sentinels and outposts of the White Mountains of New Hampshire. The 
 highest of them is Mount Katahdin, which rises 5,385 feet. At the foot of these 
 mountains the surface falls away into a charming region of forests, lakes, hills, val- 
 leys, and undulating plains, through which swift streams pass, i)icturesque in cascades 
 and rapids. It is not till we reach New Hampshire, however, that we are intro- 
 duced to mountain-forms on a grand scale. 
 
 The White Mountains rise from a plateau forty-five miles in length by thirty in 
 breadth, and sixteen hundred feet above the level of the sea. The j^eaks cluster in 
 two groups, the western being locally known as the Franconia group, and the east- 
 ern as the White Mountains, a table-land of from ten to twenty miles in breadth 
 stretching between them. The principal summits of the eastern group are Mounts 
 Washington (6,226 feet high), Adams (5,759 feet), Jefferson (5,657 feet), Madison 
 (5,415 feet), Monroe (5,349 feet), Franklin (4,850 feet), and Pleasant (4,704 feet), 
 while the princijial peaks of the Franconia group are Lafayette (5,259 feet), Lib- 
 erty, Cherry Mountain, and Moosehillock (4,811 feet). There are four great valleys 
 leading to the White Mountains — those of the Connecticut, Androscoggin, the Saco, 
 and the Pemigewasset — which receive and pour into their rivers a thousand little 
 streams that force their way down steep glens from springs in the mountain-sides, 
 and fiow through narrow valleys among the hills. The course of these little rivulets 
 that break in water-falls, or whose amber flood runs over mossy beds among the 
 forests, furnishes rude but sure pathways and roads by which the traveler gains 
 access to these wild retreats. We have already given some description of Mount 
 Washington and tlie ascent to its summit, in the article, "Our Inland Pleasure- 
 Places," and will therefore pass by this highest of the White Mountain peaks, and 
 dwell on other characteristic features of the mountains. 
 
 It is very nearly a day's journey by stage from North Conway to the little hotel 
 at the foot of Willcy Mountain, which looks up to the abrujit precipices of Mount 
 Crawford on the other side. A bugle blown at this spot starts the echoes, repeating 
 them back and forth, heavier and louder than the first blast, so that one might 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE NORTH. 
 
 327 
 
 fiincy it tlie music of a band 
 of giants hidden on the wood- 
 ed mountain-slope. From the 
 Willey House to the gate of 
 Crawford Notch the path be- 
 comes narrower and sterner to 
 the Gate of tlie Notch. The 
 slope of the mountain-sides, 
 here two or three thousand 
 feet high, is very abrupt, and 
 the narrow ravine is nearly un- 
 broken for three or four miles 
 till one has passed the gate. 
 The picturesque and roniau- 
 tic charm of this spot is most 
 impressive. The river boils 
 and plunges over broken rocks, 
 and the narrow passage for the 
 stage twists and winds, cross- 
 ing the torrent at intervals 
 over slender bridges, till, at 
 the Gate of the Notch, an 
 opening, hardly wide enough 
 to allow the passage of a team 
 of horses and the raging riv- 
 er, is bounded on each side 
 by a sheer wall of rock, on 
 the projections of which hare- 
 bells and maiden-hair are wav- 
 ing, and down whose steep 
 sides leap the tiny waters of 
 the Silver Cascade, the course 
 of which can be observed sev- 
 eral hundred feet iip the sides 
 of Mount Webster, sparkling 
 in the sunlight. 
 
 It is from Crawford Notch 
 that the tourist usually makes 
 the ascent to Mount Washing- 
 ton on horseback. He may 
 descend, if he chooses, by car- 
 riage-road, which follows the 
 
 Gatt of iht Craajurd Auhh. 
 
328 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 course of a little stream called the Ellis, till a plateau is reached, from which rise the 
 whole gi'ouj) of the White Mountains. Here is situated the Glen House. A wonder- 
 ful view is opened to the vision at this spot. The five highest mountains of New- 
 England — Mounts Washington, Clay, Jefferson, Adams, and Madison — lie before him, 
 dense forests clothing their lower flanks, the ravines, land-slides, and windfalls being 
 clearly defined, and above all tower their desolate peaks. The little plateaus scattered 
 here and there, at the Notch House, at Franconia, and at the Glen, seem to be darker 
 than ordinary places, for the sky is cut off many angles above the horizon on every 
 hand, and the sun has a short transit across the open arc of the sky, leaving a longe> 
 period of twilight both at morning and evening even during fair weather ; but, when 
 the heavy fog-banks collect on these lonely mountains and the storm-clouds muster on 
 every peak, the impression of gloom is most striking. 
 
 Following the stage-road to the west from the Glen House, we soon leave the 
 Androscoggin Valley behind, and from the windings and curves of the route we get 
 magnificent prospects looking back. Now the steep side of Mount Madison looms up 
 with a clear sweep from its base, washed by the rocky Moose River, and its lower 
 flanks clothed with huge forest-trees. Now we see one slope of the mountain, now 
 another, as the road twists like the track of a serpent, till the twin peak of Adams 
 peeps over the immense shoulders of Jefferson. So mountain after mountain, with 
 deeply gullied sides and rocky summits, comes in sight. When the afternoon sun 
 ]mrples the mountain-sides, and the huge trees, twisted and bent, stand like sentinels 
 profiled against the soft light of the hills, the view is peculiarly grand. Each new 
 mountain vision shuts off the others, and there is an ever novel surprise at the num- 
 ber and variety of them, always immense in sweep and grand in curve. AVhen al 
 last we reach the Mount Adams House, we look on the whole gi'eat chain of the 
 chief peaks, their forests shimmering with light, and so near that one almost feels 
 like laying his hand on their flickering sides. 
 
 Following the borders of the Moose River, and striking across the Cherry Mount- 
 ain to the White Mountain House, we find ourselves, after a stage-ride of about 
 thirty-five miles, beyond the Ammonoosuc Hills, the range of hills that connects the 
 White Mountains proper with the Franconia range. The Ammonoosuc River, along 
 which the route for the most part passes, is one of the most wild and picturesque 
 streams in New Hampshire, the current running very swiftly, and breaking into many 
 a fine water-fall. Along this valley to the eastward, rise the White Mountains ; on 
 the south the Franconia range, and Mount Lafoyette towering majestically above the 
 rest, shut in the plain : while to the west appear tlie Green Mountains of Vermont. 
 At one's feet on every side lie the valleys, and above the plain rise the mountain- 
 peaks. The ascent into Franconia Notch, which is very steep and difficult, properly 
 begins at the little town of Bethlehem. 
 
 The Franconia range, though belonging really to the same group of hills as the rest, 
 has a character distinct from the austere forms of the White Mountains, as it has from 
 the soft swells of the Green Mountains, and is eminently charming and picturesque. 
 
THE MOUXTAIXS OF THE NORTH. 
 
 32'J 
 
 A little way from tlie Pro- 
 file House, which commands 
 one of the finest situations in 
 the Frauconia Hills, we find 
 ourselves beside the Echo Lake, 
 surrounded by hills, with the 
 high peak of Mount Lafayette 
 overlooking us. As we wander 
 down from the Profile House 
 to the little pebbly beach that 
 borders the lake, green woods, 
 tangled above our heads, pro- 
 tect us from the sun, and in the 
 watery mirror we see reflected 
 all the giant forms around us. 
 While we sit here enjoying its 
 quiet beauty, and watching the 
 flight of the eagles in the air, 
 perhaps we hear the note of a 
 bugle from the little boat that 
 takes passengers to the middle 
 of the lake. The echo bounds 
 from point to point, until the 
 whole forest seems filled with 
 a baud of musicians, and the 
 echoes fade away. "We instantly 
 think of the lines of the Eng- 
 lish poet laureate : 
 
 "Oh hiirk! oh lieiir ! How thin 
 and clear, 
 And thinner, clearer, farthei- 
 going ; 
 Oh, sweet, and far from cliff and 
 scaur 
 Tlie liorns of elf-land faintlv 
 blowing! 
 Blow, let lis hear thf purple glens 
 
 replying, 
 Blow, bugle; answer, echoes dy- 
 ing, dying, dying." 
 
 Following the path back 
 from the lake to tlie Profile 
 
 J*fnfjh- Mo'intmt'. 
 
330 
 
 UUR XATIVE LAND. 
 
 House, we come to the 
 scarred wall of Eagle Cliff, 
 that rises directly in front 
 of the hotel. Eagles huild 
 their nests here, wlieuce 
 the name, and there are 
 various traditions of chil- 
 dren and lambs being car- 
 ried off by these wild pi- 
 rates of the air. Nearly 
 opposite Eagle Cliff, Pro- 
 file Mountain rises abrupt- 
 ly from the margin of a lit- 
 tle lake, familiarly known 
 as the "Old Man's Wash- 
 Bo wl," covered with for- 
 est-trees far up its sides, 
 over which, looking down 
 into the valley from its 
 lofty position, two thou- 
 sand feet up, appears the 
 wonder of the region, the 
 " Old Stone Face," as firm- 
 ly cut as if chiseled by 
 a sculptor's hand. Haw- 
 thorne has thrown over 
 this spot the glamour of 
 his wonderful imagination 
 in one of his short stories. 
 The rocks of which it is 
 formed are three lilocks of 
 granite, so set together as 
 to make an overhanging 
 brow, a clearly defined 
 nose, and a sharply mod- 
 eled chin. Many of the 
 pictures made on rocks by 
 fissures and discolorations 
 require an effort of imagi- 
 nation to make out any likeness from the confused lines, but this view of the old 
 man's profile is startling in its exactness, and needs no fancy to make it real. 
 
 Following the course of the Pemigewasset, whose source is in the " Old Man's 
 
 The Flume. 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE NORTH. 331 
 
 Wasli-Basiii,"" as the sister stream of the Ammonoosuc is in Echo Lake, with only 
 the rise of a little mound to turn them north or south, one comes on beautiful cas- 
 cades, where the mountain-stream rushes over its rocky bed. Moving along the rude 
 pathway we soon reach the Flume House, wliere the narrow gorge of the river widens 
 out to the flowing sweep of the open valley. A rough wagon-path from the hotel 
 attracts us in the direction of falling waters. 
 
 We now come to smooth, flat rocks over which flows the pure, colorless sheet of 
 the mountain-waters. Above, the water dashes over a green, craggy bed, the colors of 
 which are seen in the sparkling sunshine that penetrates the overarching leaves, reveal- 
 ing the gold and amber on sand and pebbly floor. Above this mossy bed we reach a 
 fissure in the hill, with steep sides fifty or more feet high, and hundreds of feet long, 
 narrowing at the upper end till it is only ten or twelve feet. Climbing painfully 
 from one stone to another, crossing and recrossing the ravine, alternately clambering 
 over rocks and rude tree-trunks, we at length reach the narrowest part of the rift. 
 Green mosses cover the rocks and fleck the tree-trunks on the side. Just above the 
 place where we stand a huge bowlder is wedged, seemingly just ready to slip from its 
 place, though it has been there probably thousands of years, and will remain firm for 
 thousands of years more. This ravine is the Flume, one of the celebrated spots of 
 the mountains. 
 
 The White Mountains are not yet fully explored. Every j-ear adds some new lake, 
 glen, precipice, cascade, or gorge to the known treasures of the picturesque. The beau- 
 ties and delights of the wild regions among the mountains of New Hampshire are varied, 
 but we can only glance at them in passing. The parts of the AVhite Mountains which 
 are most frequented do not by any means monopolize the beautiful landscape visions 
 scattered through the State. Mount Washington is not the only peak worth climbing, 
 nor are Conway Meadows the only dream-land. The Saco and the Pemigewasset lapse 
 down from dizzier heights, and wimjjle through the foreground of grander pictures ; 
 but all over the State the coquettish streams mm on from beauty to beauty ; the 
 broad, green intervals are flecked Avith the shadows of isolated elms and fringed with 
 the water-side willows, and lonely peaks stand up as landmarks of the Almighty, or 
 look off beyond valley and village, beyond shore and island, far out upon the broad 
 Atlantic. The points of observation, from which the picturesque and the poetical in 
 landscape may be enjoyed, are numerous in almost every township. The mountain- 
 wall, with snowy cope, does not always rise directly before you ; but the brook for ever 
 tugs at its bowlder, and the widening water keeps its youthful purity, and the power- 
 ful river tumbles and dashes itself for pastime and demands a task, and the roots of 
 the elm and the birch seek out the kindly crevices of the confused granite, and 
 meadow and midland and highland terrace out the landscape, and slope and curve 
 cast themselves into the company with a graceful confidence of being never out of 
 place. The broken and erratic soil, like the typical poet, produces little of sordid 
 value, but much of lasting beauty, and ministers less to man's comfort, but more to 
 his enjoyment. 
 

 333 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 A native and life-long resident of Concord, who had traveled extensively in Europe, 
 discovered a few years ago, within three miles of his home, a view which he seriously 
 jironounced more pleasing than any he remembered across the ocean. Patriotism may 
 have prompted the emphasis ; but the remark was by no means absurd. Turning into 
 an unfrequented road, he belield a vast landscape before and beneath him. set in a 
 frame of successive, independent mountains, which, though at widely-varying distances, 
 like the stars of heaven, rounded seemingly to a perfect arc. At the extreme left 
 were the symmetrical Uncanoonucs, and then in order came Wachusett, the Frances- 
 town group, Monadnock, an unknown mountain, the Mink Hills, Sunapee, Kearsarge, 
 Eagged Mountain, Cardigan, and the Franconia range. 
 
 From the summit of Mount Kearsarge, in Merrimac County, one of the finest 
 views in America may be obtained. It stands alone, in the northwest part of the 
 county, and is a sort of French-roofed mountain, forty-five hundred feet high, with 
 a kitchen-part half as high. From the railway-station a ride of four miles, over a 
 road not unpleasantly steep, brings you to a public-house, built in a grove on the 
 crest of the lower mountain, and appropriately named the AVinslow House, after the 
 commander of the vessel that sunk the Alabama. This road is skirted all the way 
 with farms, or, at least, rocky fields laid out in squares, and carefully fenced with the 
 too abundant stone that covers their surface. Sheep and goats pick their living 
 among the rocks, with a commendable but pathetic industry ; while the bleak farm- 
 houses that are scattered all along to the lower summit present a living conundrum 
 which no man can answer. By the road lie granite bowlders in profusion, of aston- 
 ishing variety in colors and texture. Some of them, with broken surfaces flashing in 
 the sun, seem like jewels for a giant. Around them grow masses of golden-rod, gen- 
 tian, and immortelles ; and at brief intervals are veteran apple-trees, moss-bound but 
 thrifty, their loaded branches showing that no school-boys pass this way. When you 
 were at the station, the hills around seemed of respectable height and quite interest- 
 ing ; but, as you rise with the road, you sec they are ouly the little fellows on the 
 first form, as over their shoulders begin to peer one row after another of the larger 
 fellows on the forms behind. The road traverses the north, northwest, and west sides 
 of the mountain ; and among the first of the pleasant surprises are the little ponds 
 and lakes that gleam out in every dii-ection. The most noticeable, jierhaps, is Pleasant 
 Pond, apparently circular, with Scytheville on its hither margin. From the Winslow 
 House we have such a prospect as many tourists are disappointed at not finding 
 among the White Mountains — a view, from a moderate elevation, over slopes and val- 
 leys not so far off as to become indistinct or lose their smaller features. From this 
 point, a faint path leads directly up the steep ascent to the summit of the mountain. 
 Sometimes it passes through groves of evergreen, whose roots and boughs make steps 
 and banister ; sometimes through the dry bed of the spring-runnel, that has canied 
 off the successive snows of centuries ; and sometimes over a snuioth. bare ledge of 
 native granite, with precarious footholds at the lines of cleavage. The summit is bald 
 and brown ; and the rock, at its more prominent points, is water-worn, like the piers 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE NORTH. 
 
 333 
 
 of an ancient bridge. Here, in a clear day, we may look down upon fully one half 
 of New Hampshire, and a portion of Vermont. The land, with its alternating woods 
 and fields, looks as if the tawny skin of some, enormous leopard had been thrown over 
 it in crumpled folds ; and two round ponds, gleaming between us and the sun, might 
 
 be taken for the eyes of the monster, still unclosed. Mountains notch the horizon on 
 every side. To tlie north. Lafayette, with its scalloped summit, and the sharper peaks 
 of the Franconia rauOT. are distinct and almost neighborlv : while to the right of 
 
1 
 
 334 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 them, a little more distant and dignified, Mount Washington towers over all. In the 
 soutli rise Monaduock and Wachusett ; and in the west, Ascutney and Mansfield. And 
 all around are uncounted peaks, unnamed, or unknown. To the east, the course of 
 
 I 
 
 the Merrimac may be traced by its broken bluffs of yellow sand ; and in its valley 
 are the symmetrical Uncanoonucs, near Manchester. About tliirty ponds or lakes, 
 many of them very beautifully nestled among the hills, may be counted. And in every 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE NORTH. 335 
 
 direction the little villages, resting in the valleys, or clinging to the hill-sides, with 
 their invariable white buildings glimmering in the sunlight, look like quiet cities of 
 the dead amid the expanse of natural beauty and life. 
 
 The number of birthplaces of noted men that are in sight from the top of Kear- 
 sarge is remarkable. On the eastern side you look almost directly down upon a dis- 
 trict ten miles square, in which were born Ezekiel and Daniel Webster, William Pitt 
 Fessenden, John A. Dix, Farmer the electrician, C. C. Coffin, the well-known traveler 
 and correspondent, the Greenes of the "Boston Post," and the Bartlett family (includ- 
 ing Ichabod), famous in New Hampshire. United States Senator Wilson was born in 
 Farmiiigton, Lewis Cass in E.xeter, United States Senator Grimes in Deering, United 
 States Senator Chandler in Bedford, Levi Woodbury in Portsmouth, Horace Greeley 
 in Amherst, General Butler in Deerfield, Franklin Pierce in Hillsborough, Chief-Justice 
 Chase in Cornish, and Chief-Justice Clifford, of Maine, in Rumney ; and all these 
 places may be seen from Kearsai'ge. 
 
 Peterboro, in the western part of Hillsboro County, a dozen miles from the Mas- 
 sachusetts border, has been heretofore entirely out of the lines of travel ; but the 
 completion of a railroad from Winclieudon to the village of Peterboro a few years 
 since now makes the latter easy of access. It is near the head-waters of the Con- 
 toocook, the largest tributary of the Merrimac. One of our engravings represents the 
 view of Monadnock from North Peterboro, witli the Contoocook in the foreground. 
 The distance represented in the picti^re is about ten miles. Monadnock is 3,718 
 feet high, and, though far inland, can be seen from the ocean. Its base occupies 
 an area measuring about five miles north and south by about three miles east and 
 west. The extreme peak is what is known as Grand Monadnock. It was the insi)i- 
 ration of one of the best of those minor American poems, which were considered 
 good until Lowell and Whittier gave us a higher range of national song. We refer 
 to Mr. Peabody's poem, commencing — 
 
 " Upon the far-oft' mountain's brow, 
 
 The angry storm had ceased to beat." 
 
 Perhaps two of the best and most appropriate stanzas will not be out of place here : 
 
 " I've seen him, when the morning sun 
 
 Burned like a bale-fire on the heiglit ; 
 I've seen him, when tlie d.iy was done. 
 
 Bathed in the evening's crimson light. 
 I've seen him at the midnight hour, 
 
 Wlien all the world were calmly sleeping, 
 Like some stern sentry in his tower, 
 
 His weary watch in silence keeping. 
 
 " And there, for ever firm and clear, 
 His lofty turret upward springs ; 
 
330 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 He owns no rival suiiiiiiit near. 
 
 No sovereign but the King of kings. 
 Thousands of nations have passed by, 
 
 Thousands of years unknown to story, 
 And still his aged walls on high 
 
 He rears in melancholy glory." 
 
 The tourist is generally luirried through Conway to the more famous and alluring 
 North Conway, five miles beyond. But if he stop either in Couway or in West 
 Ossipee, on his way to the heart of the mountains, he will find charming landscapes 
 that will richly rewai'd a short delay in reaching the monutains. One of them spe- 
 cially wortli seeing is at the conflitence of the Saco and Swift Kivers at Conway. 
 The spectator is looking directly west, with the famous Chocorua and its outlying 
 range at the left of the picture, and Mote Mountain at the right. Chocorua is 3,600 
 feet high ; Mote ilonntain, 3,200. The stream spanned by the bridge is Swift River. 
 
 East Mountain, in the town of Temple, seen from Peterboro, presents also a very 
 striking view. The foreground and middle distance may be taken as a fair specimen 
 of what may bo seen from thousands of ordinary door-yards in New Hampshire. A 
 spot two miles west of the capital, commanding very much such a view, was chosen 
 by the late ex-President Pierce as the site of his permanent home. But the loss of 
 his wife caused him to relinquish the design of building on it ; and to-day the wide, 
 sloping lawn, uncut by gravel-walk or wheel-marks, the houseless grove of forest- 
 trees, and the long, curving sweep of granite wall, flanked by gate-way towers at 
 either end, excite the wonder and the question of the passer-by. 
 
 When we leave the rugged masses of the New Hampshire hills and pass into 
 Vermont, we find the mountain-forms characterized by far different features. Ver- 
 mont is, and perhaps ever will be, the most purely rural of all the older States. 
 Though bordered by Lake Champlain, and ])retty well supplied with railways, she 
 seems to be aside from any great thoroughfare, and to hold her greenness nearly 
 unsoiled by the dust of travel and traffic. Between the unyielding granite masses of 
 the White Mountain range on the one side and the Adirondack AVilderness on tlie 
 other, lies this happy valley of simple contentment, with its mellower soil and gentler 
 water-cottrses, its thriftier farmers and more numerous herds, its marble ledges, its 
 fertile uplands, and its own mountains of gentler slope and softened outline. 
 
 Nearly through the middle runs the Green Mountain range, giving rise to a thou- 
 sand murmuring rivulets and modest rivers, that lajise down through green-browed 
 hills and crumbling limestone-cliffs and sunny meadows, now turned quickly by a 
 mossy ledge, and now skirting a bit of forest until they lose themselves on the one 
 side in the deep-channeled Connecticut, or on the other in the historic waters of Lake 
 Champlain. Quiet industry, pastoral peace, and home-like comfort — these are the 
 suggestions that impress the mind of the visitor among the valley farms and pleasant 
 villages of the Green Mountain State. Here is a land, one thinks, where wealth will 
 rarely accumulate, and man ought never to decay, whose dwellers may for ever praise 
 
 11 
 
 II 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE NORTH. 
 
 337 
 
 God for tlie greenness of the hills, the fertility of the soil, the delicious atmosphere, 
 the pnrity of the streams, and the mellow sunshine. 
 
 According to the accepted theory of mountain-formation — that elevated ranges 
 
 have been produced by a sort of tidal-wave of the earth's once plastic crust — the 
 Green Mountains must be the softened undulation that followed the greater billow 
 which crested and broke in Mount Washington and Mount Lafayette, leaving its 
 
338 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 form for ever fixed in the abrupt and rugged declivities of the White Hills and the 
 Franconia group. The Green Mountains form the northern portion of what is 
 known as the Appalachian Chain. Their wooded sides obtained for them from the 
 
 i 
 
 early French settlers the term Monts Verts, and from this jihrase is derived the 
 name of the State in which thoy are situated. The continuation of the range 
 through Massachusetts and Co!inecticut is also known to geographers as the Green 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE NORTH. 339 
 
 Mountains, but by the inhabitants of those States other names are applied to them 
 — as the Hoosac Mountains, in Massachusetts, for that portion lying near the Con- 
 necticut Eiver, and constituting the most eleyated portion of the State between this 
 river and the Housatonic ; and the Taconic Mountains for the western part of the 
 range, which lies along the New York line. These ranges extend into Vermont near 
 the southwest corner of the State, and join in a continuous line of hills that pass 
 through the western portion of the State nearly to Montpelier. Without attaining 
 very great elevation, these hills form an unbroken water-shed between the affluents 
 of the Connecticut on the east, and the Hudson and Lake Champlain on the west, 
 and about equidistant between them. South from Monti^elier two ranges extend — 
 one toward the northeast, nearly parallel with the Connecticut Eiver, dividing the 
 waters flowing east from those flowing west ; and the other, which is the higher and 
 more broken, extending nearly north, and near Lake Champlain. Through this range 
 the Onion, Lamoille, and Winooski Rivers make their way towai'd the lake. Among 
 the principal peaks are Mount Mansfield, Camel's Hump, both situated near Burling- 
 ton ; Killington's, near Rutland ; and Ascutney, in Windsor County, near the Con- 
 necticut. 
 
 Mount Mansfield, the highest of the Green Mountain range, is situated near 'the 
 northern extremity, about twenty miles, in a direct line east, or a little north of east, 
 from Burlington, on Lake Champlain. This mountain has been less popular among 
 tourists and pleasure-seekers than the White Mountains and the Catskills, principally 
 because its attractions have been little known. The pencil of Gilford has made it 
 familiar to art-lovers ; but literature has so far done little toward making its peaks, 
 cliffs, and ravines, known to the general public. That it possesses points of interest 
 and picturesque features quite as worthy the appreciation of lovers of Nature as the 
 White Mountains or the Catskills do, our illustration fully shows. Of recent years, it 
 has been more visited than formerly ; and a good hotel at Stowe, five miles from its 
 base, has now every summer its throng of tourists. Mansfield is conveniently reached 
 by rail from Burlington to Waterbury Station, on the Vermont Central Railway ; and 
 thence by Concord coaches ten miles to Stowe. From Stowe a carriage-road reaches 
 to the summit of the mountain. 
 
 As in the case of nearly all mountains, there is some difference in the vari- 
 ous estimates of the height of Mansfield, the most generally accepted statement 
 being 4,348 feet — a few hundred feet in excess of the highest of the Catskills. 
 Popularly, the summit of Mansfield is likened to the up-turned face of a giant, 
 showing the Nose, the Chin, and the Lip. It is not difficult, with a little aid of 
 the imagination, to trace this profile as the mountain is viewed from Stowe. The 
 Nose, so called, has a projection of four hundred feet, and the Chin all the decision 
 of character indicated by a forward thrust of eight hundred feet. The distance 
 from Nose to Chin is a mile and a half. 
 
 The ascent of the mountain is not difficult, which the hardy pedestrian would 
 be wise to attempt on foot. Carriages from Stowe make the journey at regular 
 
340 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Glimpse of Lahe Champlain^ from Mount Mansjield. 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE NORTH. 341 
 
 periods. The ride up the steep roadway is full of interest, the changing views 
 affording momentarily new and beautiful pictures. The mountain, until near the 
 summit, is very heavily timbered ; and the glimpses downward, through entangle- 
 ments of trees into the deep ravines, are full of superb beauty. Neighboring peaks 
 continually change their positions ; lesser ones are no longer obscured by their taller 
 brothers ; while successive ravines yawn beneath us. Now the road passes over a 
 terraced solid rock, and now it jolts over the crazy scaffolding of a corduroy-bridge 
 that spans a chasm in the mountain-side ; soon the forest-growths begin to thin out 
 perceptibly ; and at last we reach the Summit House, amid masses of bare rocks, at 
 the foot of the huge cliff known as the Nose. 
 
 The path up the Nose, on its western side, is quite as rugged as the ordinary 
 climber will wish ; but, with the help of the cable, its ascent may be accomplished. 
 The view from the top is one of the finest in our country. To the eastward are 
 the White Mountains, dwindled by distance. The isolated and symmetrical form of 
 Ascutney rises to the southeast. Southward are Camel's Hump and Killington's Peak, 
 and innumerable smaller elevations of the Green Mountain range — respectable heights, 
 but here losing much of their individual importance amid these surroundings. West- 
 ward lie the lowlands with sioarkling streams winding among the farms and for- 
 ests ; and beyond them the blue expanse of Lake Champlain with the misty ridges 
 of tlie Adirondacks serrating the distant horizon. Far northward are Jay Peak 
 and Owl's Head, the stately St. Lawrence, the spires of Montreal, a score of name- 
 less mountains, and the shining waters of Lake Memphremagog. Oftentimes the 
 observer from the top of Mount Mansfield finds the view on every side shut in by 
 a dense gray vapor, but, when the misty veil lifts, the scene is one of unsurpassable 
 beauty. 
 
 Smugglers' Notch is one of the most interesting features of this mountain. Li 
 the far West this notch would be called a caiion. It differs from the caiions of 
 the Sierras mainly in being more picturesque and beautiful — not so ruggedly grand 
 as those rocky walls, it must be understood, but the abundant moisture has filled it 
 with superb forest-growths, has covered all the rocks with ferns and lichens, and has 
 painted the stone with exquisite tints. The sides of the Notch mount to an altitude 
 of about a thousand feet, the upper verge of the cliffs rising above the fringe of 
 mountain-trees that cling to their sides. The floor of the Notch is covered with im- 
 mense bowlders and fallen masses of rocks, which in this half-lighted vault have partly 
 crumbled, and given foothold for vegetation. Mosses and ferns cover them, and in 
 many instances great trees have found nourishment in the crevices ; sometimes huge, 
 gnarled roots encircling the rocks like immense anacondas. The painter could find 
 no more delightful studies in color than this scene affords. At the time visited by 
 the artist there had been a three days' rain. The stream that flowed through the 
 gorge was swollen into a torrent. Over the top of every cliff came pouring extem- 
 porized water-falls and cascades, while the foliage, of fairly tropical abundance, shone 
 with a brilliant intensity of green. Smugglers' Notch has a hundred poetical charms 
 
342 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 that deserve for it a better name. It is so called because once used as a hiding- 
 place for goods smuggled over the Canada border. 
 
 The Adirondack Mountains, whose tops may be easily descried on a clear day from 
 the summit of Mansfield, inclose one of the most picturesque and delightful regions 
 in North America — a region which has of late years attracted great numbers of visit- 
 ors, who find, in its bracing atmosphere and fine scenery, charms which fully recom- 
 pense them for the trifling fatigue and exposure necessary in surveying its beautiful 
 wilds. This remarkable tract, unknown thirty years ago except to a few lumbermen 
 and trappers, lies between Lakes George and Champlain on the east, and the St. Law- 
 rence on the northwest. Five ranges of mountains traverse this region from south- 
 west to northeast. Though none of the peaks attain the height of the loftiest sum- 
 mits of the White Mountains, or the Black Mountain of North Carolina, the average 
 elevation surpasses that of any range east of the Eocky Mountains. The entire 
 number of mountains in this region, which in area exceeds the State of Connecticut, 
 is supposed to be not less than five hundi-ed. The highest of these peaks are known 
 as Tahawus or Marcy, Whiteface, Dix, Seward, Golden, Mclntyre, Santanoni, Snowy 
 Mountain, and Pharaoh, all of them being more than five thousand feet in height. 
 They are all wild, savage, and clothed in primeval forest, except on the stony peaks, 
 where mosses, gi-asses, and dwarf-plants only are found. These highest summits are 
 supposed by geologists to be the first land on the globe which showed itself above 
 the waters, belonging to what is known as the Laurentian formation. 
 
 Scattered through these mountains lie more than a thousand beautiful lakes and 
 ponds, occupying a general level of about fifteen hundred feet above the sea — the 
 highest of them, Avalanche Lake, being more than twice that elevation. Some of 
 these beautiful sheets of water are twenty miles long, while others only cover a few 
 acres. Steep, densely-wooded mountains rise from their very verge ; picturesque bays 
 and points vary their outlines ; foaming brooks tumble in on every side in cascades 
 or through ravines ; and the lake-shallows are fringed with grasses and flowering 
 plants ; sometimes, indeed, blooming in acres of water-lilies. So lovely and romantic, 
 indeed, are all the features of the scenery, that we should have to wander far to find 
 its match. An American artist, traveling in Switzerland some years ago, wrote home 
 that, having journeyed over all Switzerland and the Rhine and Rhone regions, he had 
 not met with scenery which, judged from a purely artistic point of view, combined 
 so many beauties in connection with so much grandeur as the lakes, mountains, and 
 forests of the Adirondack region presented to the gazer's eye. The grand labyrinth 
 of lakes is intertwined by an intricate system of rivers and brooks. The Saranac, 
 the Ausable, the Boquet, and the Raquette rise in and flow through this wilderness, 
 and in its most gloomy recesses are found the springs of the Hudson. 
 
 With the exception of the meadows on the rivers, and the broad expanses of the 
 lakes and ponds, the whole surface of the North Wilderness, as the region is often 
 called, is covered with a tangled forest. In these woods and mountain solitudes are 
 found the panther, the black bear, the woU, the wild-cat, the lynx, and the wolverene. 
 
 1 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE NORTH. 
 
 343 
 
 Rft»sS^t^^i^ 
 
 '^imm/^^^lM 
 
 The Adirondack Woods. 
 
 wliile deer and every variety of small game temjjts the skill and enterprise of the 
 hunter. The lakes and brooks swarm with trout, in many cases of large size, the 
 salmon-trout of the lakes often reaching the weight of twenty pounds. Not more 
 than one third of this grand wilderness has yet been fully explored. 
 
 The Adirondack region is full of curiosities, which perplex the scientific man and 
 
344 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 The Au. 
 
 Ohasm. 
 
 deliglit the eye of the in- 
 telligent tourist. There is, 
 for example, Lake Paradox, 
 whose outlet in high water 
 flows into the lake. There 
 is a pond on the summit 
 of Mount Joseph whose rim 
 is close to the verge of the 
 descent. On the top of 
 Wallface are three lakes, 
 which discharge their wa- 
 ters into the St. Lawrence 
 by the Cold and Raquette 
 Rivers, into Lake Cham- 
 ])lain by the Ausable, and 
 into the Atlantic by the 
 Hudson. The enormous 
 rocks of the Indian Pass 
 stand on sharp edges and 
 steep slojjes, and look so 
 uncertain that the very 
 deer, in rubbing off their 
 yearly antlers against them, 
 might topple them head- 
 long. Yet they defy all 
 the agencies of Nature, and 
 are plumed with magnifi- 
 cent trees, and in the in- 
 tricacies of the caverns un- 
 derneath them unmelted ice 
 gleams all the year through. 
 Throughout all this wild 
 country various springs and 
 bi'ooks commingle their wa- 
 ters and dash over cliffs in 
 charming cascades, which 
 seem a perfect lace-work of 
 shining spray. 
 
 Among the most strik- 
 ing scenes in this region 
 are the Chasm of the Au- 
 sable and the Indian Pass, 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE NORTH. 345 
 
 both of which are well described by the poet Alfred B. Street, who has contributed 
 so much to the literature of the Adirondacks. Of the former he writes : 
 
 "At North Elba we crossed a bridge where the Ausable came winding down, 
 and then followed its bank to the northeast, over a good, hard wheel-track, gen- 
 erally descending, with the thick woods almost continually around us, and the little 
 river shooting darts of light at us through the leaves. At length a broad summit 
 rising to a taller one broke above the foliage at our right, and at the same time a 
 gigantic mass of rock and forest saluted us on our left, the giant portals of the 
 Notch. We entered. The pass suddenly shrank, pressing the rocky river and rough 
 road close together. It was a chasm cloven boldly through the flank of Whiteface. 
 On each side towered the mountains, but at our left the range rose in still sublimer 
 altitude with grand precipices like a majestic wall, or a line of palisades climbing 
 sheer from the half-way forest upward. The crowded rows of pines along the 
 broken and wavy crest were diminished to a mere fringe. The whole prospect 
 except the rocks was dark with the thickest, wildest woods. As we rode slowly 
 through the still narrowing gorge, the mountain soared higher and higher, as if to 
 scale the clouds, presenting truly a terrific majesty. I shrank within myself ; I 
 seemed to dwindle beneath it. Something akin to dread pervaded the scene. The 
 mountains appeared knitting their brows into one threatening frown at our daring 
 intrusion into their stately solitudes. Nothing seemed native to the awful landscape, 
 but the plunge of the torrent and the scream of the eagle. Even the wild, shy deer 
 drinking at the stream would have been out of keeping. Below at our left the dark 
 Ausable dashed onward with hoarse, foreboding murmurs, in harmony with the lone- 
 liness and wildness of the spot." 
 
 The Indian Pass is a striking gorge in the wildest part of the mountains, 
 which the Indians rightly named the Dismal Wilderness. But few portions of it 
 have been visited by white men, and it is still the secure lair of the larger wild 
 beasts, such as the bear, the panther, and the great gray wolf. Here in the center 
 of the pass are the ice-like springs of the Ausable, which flows into Lake Champlaiu, 
 and whose waters reach the St. Lawrence and thence the ocean, several hundred 
 miles from the mouth of the Hudson ; yet so close are the springs of the two rivers 
 that the wild-cat drinking the waters of the one may bathe his hind-feet in the 
 other. The main stream of the Ausable flows from the northeast portal of the pass, 
 and the main stream of the Hudson from the southwest. 
 
 Mr. Street thus speaks of the view from the top of Moant Marcy, or Tahawus, 
 to reach which is a dangerous and difficult climb : 
 
 " What a multitude, of peaks ! The whole horizon is full to repletion. As a 
 guide said, 'Where there wasn't a big peak a little one was stuck up.' Eeally true; 
 and how savage, how wild ! Close on my right rises Haystack, a truncated cone, the 
 top shaved apparently to a smooth level. To the west soars the sublime slope of 
 Mount Golden, with Mclntyre looking over its shoulder ; a little above point the 
 purple peaks of Mount Seward, a grand mountain cathedral, with the tops of Mounts 
 
346 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Henderson and Santanoni in misty sapphire. At the southwest shimmers a dreary 
 siimmit — Blue Mountain ; while to the south stands the near and lesser top of Sky- 
 light. Beyond at the southeast wave the stern crests of Boreas Mountain. Thence 
 
 ilillliliiiill 
 
 II 
 
 |||||,IE1I 
 
 
 ■liiiiBi;; 
 
 i 
 
 <. 
 
 
 ;«i!li'.llillllllilll^HBl 
 i "f lif*'^^ 
 
 .* Jt-^t^/ Affl-iH-liaiiBUiUB 
 
 ascends the Dial with its leaning cone like the tower of Pisa ; and close to it swells 
 the majesty of Dix's Peak, shaped like a slumbering lion. Thence stagger the wild, 
 savage, splintered tops of Gothic Mountain at the Lower Ausable Pond — a ragged 
 
THE MOUJVTAIJVa OF THE WORTH. 347 
 
 thunder-cloud — linking themselves on the east with the Noon-mark and Roger's 
 Mountains, that watch over the valley of Keene. To the northeast rise the Edmonds 
 Pond summits — the mountain-picture closed by the sharp crest of old Whiteface on 
 the north, stately outpost of the Adirondacks. Scattered thi'ough this picture are 
 manifold expanses of water — those almost indispensable eyes of a landscaiDe. That 
 glitter at the north by old Whiteface is Lake Placid ; and the spangle Bennet's 
 Pond. Yon streak running south from Mount Seward, as if a silver vein had been 
 opened in the stern mountain, is Long Lake ; and between it and our vision shine 
 Lakes Henderson and Sanford, with the sparkles of Lakes Harkness and the twin- 
 lakes Jamie and Sallie. At the southwest glances beautiful Boreas Pond with its 
 green beaver meadow and a mass of rock at the edge. To the southeast glisten the 
 Upper and Lower Ausable Ponds ; and farther off, in the same direction. Mud and 
 Clear Ponds by the Dial and Dix's Peak. But what is that long, long gleam at the 
 east ? Lake Champlain ! And that glittering lake north ? The St. Lawrence above 
 the dark sea of the Canadian woods ! " 
 
 A little more than a quarter of a century since, Adirondack, as this region is often 
 called, was almost as unknown a land as the heart of Africa. But of late years a 
 regular stream of tourists and sportsmen has yearly poured into this picturesque and 
 most interesting wilderness. In summer the innumerable lakes are skimmed by the 
 boats of travelers in search of game, of health, or of the beautiful in Nature. All 
 traveling here is done by boats of small size and slight build, rowed by a single guide, 
 and made so light that the fairy craft can be lifted from the water and carried on 
 the shoulders from pond to pond. By thus making portages, or carries, as these jour- 
 neys from lake to lake and from stream to stream are called, one may travel through 
 the whole length of the great Adirondack wilderness. Competent guides, who will 
 supply boats, tents, etc., may always be had at the taverns, which are regular "in- 
 telligence-offices " for the hardy woodsmen. The fare on which the Adirondack 
 traveler lives for the most part consists of trout and venison, than which there is no 
 more epicurean food when cooked by woodland skill and sauced with a woodland ap- 
 petite. All the essential needs of an outfit for a two months' trip in the woods are 
 included in the following articles : A complete undersuit of woolen or flannel, with a 
 change ; stout trousers, vest, and coat ; a felt hat ; two pairs of woolen stockings ; a 
 pair of common winter boots and camp-shoes ; a rubber blanket or coat ; a rifle, hunt- 
 ing-knife, belt, and pint tin cup ; a pair of warm blankets, towel, soap, etc. Thus 
 equipped, one fond of out-door life may spend a month or two in the wild woods, 
 and only regret when he is obliged to return to civilized life again. 
 
 The lakes in the Adirondack region are all so charming and picturesque that it is 
 difficult to single any out as bearing off the palm. Those best known are Upper and 
 Lower Saranac Lakes, Tapper and Little Tapper Lakes, Lake Placid, Round Lake, 
 St. Regis Lake, and Long Lake. Each -of them has its own characteristic beauties, 
 and appeals in its own way to the lover of the beautiful. 
 
 The most popular and direct route to the wilderness is from Port Kent, on Lake 
 
348 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Champlain, to Keeseville, a distance of about six miles. Thence the traveler may 
 pass to Martin's, on the Lower Sarauac, a great part of the way being in sight of 
 
 Whiteface Mountain, the second loftiest peak of these noble liills. At the foot of 
 Whiteface lies Placid Lake, a lovely sheet of water, and a favorite summer resort. 
 The Lower Saranac Lake is seven miles long by two in width, and studded with 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE NORTH. 
 
 349 
 
 romantic islets, 
 fifty-two in 
 number. The 
 Saranac River 
 connects it 
 witii Round 
 Lake, three 
 miles to the 
 westward. The 
 latter water is two miles 
 in diameter, and famous 
 for its storms. A short 
 " carry " of a mile or so 
 brings us to the Upper 
 Saranac, whence it is easy 
 to pass in boats to St. 
 Regis Lake, which in its 
 scenery and surroundings 
 perhaps presents as fine 
 an example of the gen- 
 eral characteristics of the 
 
 Adirondack region as any lake in the whole chain. A short voyage in the opposite 
 direction, on the Lower Saranac Lake, and a carry, lead us to the Raquette River, 
 
 A Carry near Little Tupiier Lake. 
 
350 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 the great artery of the wilderness. A row of a few hours down the Raquette brings 
 us to the outlet of Tupper Lake. At the head of this lake, which is exceedingly 
 picturesque and full of rocky, tree-embowered islands, we find the wild and little ex- 
 plored Bog River, which flows into the lake over a romantic cascade, one of the great 
 attractions of the region, and a famous place for big brook-trout. Up Bog River, 
 through a series of ponds and an occasional carry, we pass to Little Tupper Lake, and 
 thence another series of ponds and carries leads to Long Lake, that for twenty miles 
 reminds one of a great river. From this lake there is a noble view of Mount Seward, 
 which is 4,348 feet high. 
 
 Such is the most frequented route in the great wilderness of Northern New York, 
 and one which may be pursued with the minimum of personal discomfort even by fair- 
 weather explorers. For hardy and daring sportsmen, who long for still wilder scenes, 
 the Adirondack country offers innumerable paths, and just enough peril to sharpen 
 the taste for adventure. To penetrate into unfrequented regions, unknown even to 
 the guides themselves, and pursue a track only pressed by the stealthy footfall of the 
 panther, the bear, and the wolf, is a privilege which one need not sigh for in vain 
 in this primeval stretch of lake, river, forest, and mountain. To gratify such an ap- 
 petite is delightful to the few eager and venturesome spirits, but, for the majority 
 of those who visit the "North Woods," a sojourn that does not take them far away 
 from the comfortable taverns which are found on all the well-known lakes suffices. 
 For here they may sate their eyes on most picturesque and romantic scenery, and 
 enjoy the fascinations of forest-life without cutting entirely loose from the comforts 
 of civilization. 
 
 Some of the finest bits of mountain scenery to be found in the United States, 
 perhaps in the world, exist in the Catskills, which is a kind of spur of the great 
 chain which runs along the eastern shore of North America. This cluster of pict- 
 uresque mountains is situated about one hundred and forty miles north of the sea, 
 and about eight miles west of the Hudson River. The Catskill region is something 
 less than a hundred miles south from the Adirondacks, and, while it does not offer 
 the same wonderful variety of scenery, it has characteristic beauties of its own, which 
 do not yield to any of its rivals. Though some passing account of the Catskill 
 Mountains was given in our sketch of inland summer resorts, it will be of further 
 interest to glance briefly again at these beautiful mountains. On their eastern slope 
 they rise in bold grandeur to a height of more than four thousand feet, while on the 
 west they slope away gradually till they are lost in mere hills. 
 
 One of the most striking features of the prospect from the upper heights of the 
 Catskills is found in the strange landscape-effects. This is peculiarly the case when 
 the sun rises over the distant hills, and the valley is filled with clouds that lie massed 
 a thousand feet below you. The effect is then that of an Arctic sea of ice, tossing 
 back a thousand splinters of rainbow-light. Then, again, the Swiss Alps present no 
 more charming vision than when the light of sunset falls from behind the Catskills 
 upon huge masses of cumulus clouds, heaped upon one another like peaks of snow. 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE NORTH. 
 
 351 
 
 Daily the scene changes 
 with the hours, always re- 
 Tealing some new beauties. 
 Perhaps the most fa- 
 mous feature of the region 
 is the fall of the Catters- 
 kill. On the high table- 
 land of the Noi'th and 
 South Mountains are two 
 lakes, buried in a dense for- 
 est. A little brook makes 
 its way from these lakes 
 westward along the shoul- 
 ders of the mountain, and 
 finally reaches the edge of 
 a very steep precipice, over 
 which it leaps into a deep 
 pool in the center of a 
 rocky amphitheatre. Gath- 
 ering its strength again, 
 the torrent dashes a sec- 
 ond time over huge bowl- 
 ders, fallen from the ledge 
 above, which churn it into 
 foam as it falls in head- 
 long fury. Tumbling from 
 one ledge to another it at 
 length reaches the bottom 
 of the glen, when, meeting 
 another stream, the min- 
 gled waters hurry down 
 their rocky course, until, 
 swollen into considerable 
 width, they glide placidly 
 into the Hudson at the 
 village of Catskill. There 
 can be nothing more beau- 
 tiful than this cascade as 
 it springs from the lofty 
 height and tumbles into 
 the hollow basin below. 
 The strata of which the 
 
 Caitti si ill Falls. 
 
352 OUR NATIVE LAND, 
 
 mouutaiii is formed lie liorizontally on each other, and through tliem tlie water has 
 sawed its way. Above the margin of the pool, in which the water from the cascade 
 beats so furiously, we find a pathway worn out of tlie soft rock, and extending all 
 around the fall. Sometimes, when the stream is swollen, the shoot of the cataract 
 will be far beyond you as you stand on this pathway, and then the effect is exquisite. 
 A dancing rainbow keeps step with you as you crawl around under the rock beneath 
 the watei's. Here, too. you get a line view of the edges of the ravine or clove 
 down which the water descends, and can mark the weird figures of the pines as they 
 hug the edges of the cliffs, and lift their black spears against the sky. 
 
 On the edge of the precipice, close to where the fall makes its plunge, there is a tree 
 growing out of the crevice and jutting over the abyss. Here you are told a legend 
 of a daring young woman, who crept out on the rock, and, clasping the tree with her 
 hands, swung her body far out over the abyss. The gorge through which this water- 
 fall tumbles is wild in the extreme. On both sides the mountains, densely clad with 
 trees, rise almost perpendicularly, ami the ceaseless roar of the torrent resounds far 
 among the rocks. 
 
 The South Mountain, on which the Catskill Mountain House stands, offers many a 
 beautiful ramble, whereby we may sec curious or pictures(jue aspects of nature. Among 
 these may be singled out a vault-like passage, to which has been given the name of 
 Pudding-stone Hall. Much of the surface of the mountain consists of a bed of pud- 
 ding-stone or conglomerate. Some convulsion of nature has riven off an enormous 
 block of this, and between it and the solid rock is a passage, several feet in width, to 
 which the quaint name given above has been attached. Your path compels you to 
 pass through this dark, fern-clad chasm, through which the dripping water falls, and 
 at the end you climb up on rude stones to the top of the ledge. You are now high 
 above the level of the Mountain House, and the view is much more extensive than 
 the celebrated prospect from the piazza of that hotel. With a good glass you can 
 easily see the Capitol, at Albany, glittering forty miles away. A delightful walk brings 
 us at last to Indian Head, a bald promontory which juts out over Catterskill Clove, 
 overhanging the bed of a tumbling mountain - stream, called the Catterskill. Here 
 the mountain falls, almost in a plumb-line, nearly two thousand feet, and through 
 the shrubbery growing out of the cliff we get vanishing glimpses of far-reaching land- 
 scapes, bathed in warm sunlight. Perhaps on the head of High Peak we see a heavy 
 pall of clouds, which dtirkens the mighty shoulders of the mountain and the gorge 
 beneath. Across this mass of clouds there is a brilliant play of color and dancing 
 sunlight on the rocks ami grassy slopes, while the dash of the cascade comes niaring 
 up to us from the glen far below. 
 
 Across the clove, or ravine, of which we get a splendid prospect from Indian Head, 
 there runs a light bridge, apparently too frail to support the lumbering coaches which 
 cross it. Underneath this the Catterskill plunges furiously over the rocks, and then 
 falls over a succession of ledges beneath. On one side the cliff, looking like the wall 
 of a great medianal castle, towers in tlie air, while on the other side the spurs of the 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE NORTH. 
 
 353 
 
 23 
 
 .SuitNet Jinck'. 
 
354 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 South Mountain, densely covered with trees, rise rapidly more than fifteen hundred 
 feet. Few more romantic spots can be found than that known as Sunset Rock, where 
 you look westward up the clove. On the top of the broad, flat rock, which projects 
 far over the precipice, stands, at tlie very verge, an old pine-tree, as a sentinel. In 
 front of, and behind you, the mountain pushes up huge gray cliffs, bald and ragged, 
 far out over the glen, and then falls, in broken lines, a frowning precipice. The lines 
 of South Mountain, and of the spurs of High Peak and Round Top, blend so gently 
 together, as they meet, that it is difficult to trace the bed of the Cauterskill. Directly 
 in front of you the table-land, formed by the shoulders of the mountain, rolls off 
 toward the westward, where the sharp lines of Hunter Mountain define themselves 
 among the other peaks. 
 
 The Five Cascades of the Catterskill Clove are of great beauty. Here the 
 stream, after making its first plunge, jumps over a series of ledges, from ten to forty 
 feet in height, that lead like steps down the ravine. There are, in reality, hundreds 
 of these little falls ; but tiie first five are specially striking. A spot in the mountains 
 which has atti'acted special admiration for the wildness of its scenery is tlie pass of 
 Stony Clove. Here it is always dark and cool, and even in mid-August you will 
 find ice among the crevices of the rocks which have fallen in great numbers from 
 the cliffs above. Such are a few of tlie attractions of the Catskill region, though there 
 are countless walks and drives whicli reveal scenery not a whit less beautiful. 
 
 The great mountain system which we have been briefly viewing, under the local 
 names of the White Mountains, Green Mountains, Adirondacks, and Catskills, passes 
 southward, and, when it reaches Pennsylvania and the more southern States, it becomes 
 known as the Blue Ridge. This name arises from the even tinting of their forest- 
 clad slopes, which melt softly into the atmosphere in the most delicate and trans- 
 lucent blue. 
 
 One of the outlying spurs or roots which unite afterward, in a series of con- 
 necting links across Pennsylvania, in the Blue Ridge of Virginia, begins in Orange 
 County, New York, not far from the Catskills, and stretches in a southwesterly 
 direction across New Jersey. This is known as the Kittatinny or Blue Mountain. 
 When it reaches a spot near the junction of New York, New .Jersey, and Pennsyl- 
 vania, the scenery increases in beauty, and attains its culmination in what is known 
 as the Delaware Water-Gap. Here the Delaware River, which is made up of little 
 streams rising on the western declivity of the Catskills, turns abruptly into the 
 mountain, which opens to give it passage in a grand caflon or defile. The country 
 north of the Blue Ridge, and above the Gap, bore the Indian title of Minisink, or 
 "Whence the waters are gone." Here was probably once a vast lake ; and whether 
 the water wore its way through the mountain by a great cataract like Niagara, or 
 burst through a gorge, or whether the mountains wei'e lifted uj) on its margin, it 
 is certain that the whole country bears the marks of aqueous action. 
 
 The two great mountains which form the boundaries of the Gap have been well 
 named. The one on the Pennsylvania side is Minfi, in memory i>f the Indians who 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE NORTH. 
 
 355 
 
 
 Delaware Water (fap. 
 
356 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 made Minislnk tlieir hunting-ground. The more rugged and rocky clifp on the New- 
 Jersey side bears the name of Tammany, after the great Indian chieftain who ruled 
 the Delaware confederacy, who made the treaty with William Penn, and who has also 
 transmitted his name in tlie political traditions of New York City. The bold face of 
 Tammany exhibits great frowning masses of naked rock, while the wooded sides of 
 Minsi show dense thickets of evergreen. Mount Minsi owes much of its gentle beauty 
 to the charming streams of water that descend its sides beneath a dense foliage, which 
 veils the mossy pools and fern-draiicd cascades from the sunlight into a cool twi- 
 light. Successive ledges mark the face of the mountain, and on the lowest of these, 
 about two hundred feet above the river, stands the old and well-known hotel, the 
 Kittatinny House. The stream that issues beneath the hotel comes down the mount- 
 ain-side through a dark ravine, and falls in a cascade into the river. Ehododendrons 
 fringe the sides with the loveliest foliage and blossoms. The whole course of the 
 stream is marked by cascades and water-falls, and, to those who have followed its 
 devious way tlirough the shaded ravine, the fairy glens and grottoes must return in 
 dreams, for to dream-land alone does such witching beauty belong. 
 
 Not only is the interior of the Gap of such striking beauty, but outside of its 
 limits the region is full of grand scenery. From the mountain-peaks on every side 
 magnificent vistas open, and from the river above and below the chasm the views 
 are of marvelous extent. Spurs jutting out from the main ridge give endless variety 
 to the landscape, while hollows, gaps, and ravines add the most charming diversity. 
 
 Several miles above the Gap a mountain-stream, called the Bushkill, flows into 
 the Delaware. Ou this brawling river are several water-falls, one of which is sin- 
 gularly fine. A chasm one hundred feet in height is surrounded on three sides 
 by an almost perpendicular wall of rock, over which the water dashes. From below 
 the scene is grand and somber in its magnificence, as the swift torrent striking mid- 
 way on a projecting ledge rebounds in a mass of snowy foam, and then falls into the 
 dark chamber of rock below. On the walls of tlie chasm, at a level with the sum- 
 mit, there is another scene of great beauty as the swift stream emerges from the dark 
 forest to make its sudden plunge. Another mountain-stream near by has two jiict- 
 uresque cascades. Buttermilk and Marshall Falls. The latter plunges down a chasm 
 fifty feet in depth, having a veil of overhanging rock in front, through which one 
 gazes at the gloomy cataract as through a curtained casement. All through this 
 region the red-men had a favorite abode, as may be inferred from the number of 
 Indian graves, and the great quantity of spear and arrow heads, hammers, axes, and 
 tomahawks, rude cutting instruments, bowls and pestles of stone, and earthenware 
 jars. 
 
 Among tlie wonders of the Gap must be mentioned the remarkable lake on Mount 
 Tammany, a lake to whose strangeness popular tradition has added a touch by de- 
 claring it unfathomable. After splitting the very mountain to its base, Nature placed 
 here, by the side of the chasm, on the apex of tlie lofty ])cak, a placid and lovely 
 little lake. Masses of bare gray rock encircle the margin, and within this deso- 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE NORTH. 357 
 
 late ring the mirror-like water reflects alone the swiftly darting birds or the slowly 
 sailing clouds, for nothing else intervenes between water and sky. Near this lonely 
 lake, in a cleft of the rock, is a single Indian grave, and we may fancy it the place 
 of sepulture for some king, poet, or prophet of the red-men, thus interred in reverent 
 isolation from the graves of his race. 
 
 There are interesting traditions of the tribes — a portion of the great confederacy 
 of the Lenni-Lenape, which once ruled from the lakes of Northern New York to the 
 middle of Pennsylvania, who occupied this section when the first white settlers made 
 a lodgment, and William Penn and his followers accomplished by swindling what 
 other j)ale-face intruders achieved by force of arms. One of the stories of the pur- 
 chase of land by the whites in the Minisink Valley is something as follows : 
 
 According to the native custom, the territory sold was always measured by the 
 distance which could be walked in a certain specified time. According to the Indian 
 fashion, the walkers loitered, rested, or smoked by the way, as they felt disposed. 
 But in this case a sharp bargain was determined on. Offers were advertised promis- 
 ing five hundred acres of choice land and a further stipend in money to the swiftest 
 walkers. Three were chosen, noted for their pedestrian exploits. The boundaries of 
 the territory bought were to be fixed by walking for a day and a half from a certain 
 chestnut-tree at Wrightstowu meeting-liouse. Both the interested sides had a large 
 number of spectators to watch the performance of the walkers. One of the white 
 contestants walked without jiause and with great rapidity, a fact which very much 
 disgusted the Indians, who cried angrily as they saw his swift and unceasing strides : 
 "No sit down to smoke; no shoot squirrel; but lun, lun, luii, all day." The dis- 
 tance traversed was eighty-six miles, the walking time being eighteen hours. 
 
 This exjiloit so enraged the red-men that they refused to complete the bargain, 
 and prevented the settlement of the tract by armed resistance ; and it was a bloody 
 ground for twenty-seven years. In 1740 the settlers near the Gap, to hold their own, 
 were obliged to apply for assistance from the provincial government ; and again in 
 17(J3 a petition was sent for help, as "we lie entirely open to the mercy of those bar- 
 barous savage Indians." In many cases the farmers abandoned their homes, and their 
 unharvested crops were burned by the Indians. The Indian hero of the war was the 
 Delaware chief named Sadenskung, who had already been baptized by the Moravians, 
 and known as the friend of the whites ; but the fraud practiced on his people made 
 him an implacable foe. In 1756 this chief, as the representative of four nations, 
 made the following speech to a council of the whites at Easton : 
 
 " My people have not far to go for reasons for the war. The very ground on 
 which I stamp my foot was my land and my inheritance, and has been taken from 
 me by fraud ; yes, for it is fraud when one man buys land of us and takes a deed of 
 it and dies ; and then the children make a false deed of it like the true one, and 
 put our Indian names to it, and take from us what we never sold. This is fraud. 
 It is fraud, too, when one king has land beyond the river, and another king has 
 land on this side, both bounded by rivers, mountains, and springs, that can not be 
 
358 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE NORTH. 359 
 
 moved, and thoso greedy of land buy of one king what belongs to tlie other. This, 
 too, is fraud." 
 
 This Indian chieftain at another time sent four strings of wampum to Governor 
 Morris, with a separate message to each : "One to brush the thorns from the gov- 
 ernor's legs ; another to rub the dust out of the governor's eyes, to help him to see 
 clearly ; another to open the governor's ears, that he may hear plainly ; and the fourth 
 to clear the governor's throat, that he may speak plainly." 
 
 The Delaware Water-Gap itself was long a forbidden chasm, dreaded and avoided 
 by travelers, unless chance or necessity compelled them to thread the detile by the 
 Indian trail, which formed a circuitous and dangerous way among the rocks piled 
 up in Nature's masonry. It was not till 1800 that a wagon-road was constructed 
 through it. 
 
 The surface of Pennsylvania is level in the southeast, hilly and mountainous in 
 the interior, and rolling or broken in the west. The mountains make a series of par- 
 allel ridges from fifteen hundred to twenty-five hundred feet in height, and traverse 
 the State in a gently curving belt from northeast to southwest, the width being 
 from fifty to eighty miles and the length two hundred miles. The most easterly, 
 known under the local name of South Mountain, is a prolongation of the Blue Ridge 
 of Virginia, and the most westerly ridge, which is the highest, is the Alleghany 
 Mountain, from which there is a continuous slope to the Ohio River, though this 
 Ohio table-land is crossed by two well-defined ridges. Laurel and Chestnut. This 
 slope furnishes much of the best arable land in the State, though the ridges east of 
 the Alleghanies are too steep for cultivation. They are, however, rich in coal and 
 iron, and furnish the wonderful industrial resources which have made Pennsylvania 
 the greatest manufacturing State in the country. 
 
 The Susquehanna River drains portions of the central highlands of the State through 
 tortuous caflons a thousand feet deep, and collects in a central valley or rolling plain 
 which separates the group of anthracite-coal mountains on the east from the wilder- 
 ness of round tops on the west, belonging to an older formation, through which the 
 Juniata River and its branches break by numerous narrows or short gaps. The aii- 
 thracite mountains, which enter so largely into the industrial value of the State, form 
 an elevated plateau, called the Pocono Mountain, which continues in New York State 
 as the Catskills, and through this plateau the Delaware River flows in a deep cai5on. 
 The various ridges which make up the complex system of Pennsylvania highlands are 
 distinguished by various local names, such as North, Blue, Kittatinny, Second, Peter's, 
 Berry's, Mauch Chunk, Sharp, Locust, Mahantango, Shamokin, Shickshinny, Wyo- 
 ming, Hell's Kitchen, McCauley's, Buffalo, Standing Stone, Bald Eagle, Dunning, 
 Savage, Black Log, Tuscarora, Path- valley Mountain, etc. 
 
 The valleys of Central Pennsylvania correspond to the mountain-ridges in their 
 general direction, and are crossed by the great rivers which pass to the sea by a 
 series of zigzags. The principal of these valleys are Chester in the southeast, Lebanon 
 in the east, Wyoming in the northeast, Penn's and Juniata in the center. Cumber- 
 
360 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 laud in the south, and Monongahela Valley in the southwest. Perhaps no better 
 type of the most characteristic mountain -scenery of the State can be found than in 
 the course of the Juniata River, wliich flows in a narrow valley from the west till it 
 pours into the Susquehanna fourteen miles above Harrisburg. It is about a hundred 
 and fifty miles long, and its banks are followed by the Pennsylvania Canal and Rail- 
 road. The sources of the river are in the Alleghany Mountains, and it breaks 
 through all the intermediate mountain-ridges in passes, ravines, and gulches of the 
 most 2)icturesque and romantic beauty, which have long been the tlienie of the poet's 
 song and the artist's brusli. 
 
 Massiveness, softness of outline, and variety are the distinguishing peculiarities of 
 the Juniata scenery. The little river breaks through its obstacles by both strategy 
 and force. At many places it seems to have daslied boldly against the wall and to 
 have torn it asunder. Again it winds ai'ound the obstruction through secret valleys 
 and secluded glens. At some points the mountains appear to have retired from the 
 attacking current, leaving isolated hills to stand like sentinels. But the severed mount- 
 ains, the towering walls, and the lonely hills are all toned and molded by the action 
 of the elements and the foliage of nature, so that the eye sees but few naked rocks 
 or abrupt precipices. The valleys and many of the lesser hills are brought under 
 cultivation and some of the latter rise in the distance, presenting a checker-work of 
 yellow, green, and brown, showing the progress of agricultural industry, while their 
 summits are crowned with clumps of forest-trees, indicating their woodland luxuriance 
 before they were invaded by the march of civilization. Every change of the seasons, 
 every hour of the day, in fact, gives new tints to these mountains and valleys. The 
 morning mist often hides them with its soft shroud ; and, as this is dispersed by the 
 sun, cloud-like forms sail away in the sky, pausing at times amid the higher summits 
 as if to rest before taking their final flight. The hues of evening dye them with 
 gold and purple, while deep shadows sink in the water and creep \\\) the wooded banks. 
 Spring clothes the entire landscape with a tender green. Summer deepens this into a 
 richer tint, and scatters through it the gold of the ripening grain. Autumn dashes 
 its blazing hues over the magnificent forests witli a lavish hand, and winter turns the 
 hills into snow giants, over Avhich tower the ever-verdant pines or repose dark beds 
 of rhododendrons. In the river-valley almost every tree has its parasite in a Virginia 
 creeper festooning it from the ground to the topmost branch ; and here and there a 
 larger vine binds a number together as if it had grown weary of its first love and 
 taken others to its embrace. At some places the railroad which traverses the valley 
 passes through broad, cultivated openings, and at others it is built along ravines so 
 narrow that its bed is carved out of the overhanging rock. Now a mountain-spur 
 bars the path and is pierced by a tunnel, and again the river is so tortuous that 
 numerous bridges carry the track from bank to bank. Every mile o|ieiis uji new 
 scenes, which present themselves to the traveler's eye like the changing pictures of the 
 kaleidoscope. 
 
 Like the other ridges of the great Appalachian chain, which stretches along the 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE NORTH. 
 
 361 
 
 whole Atlantic coast of the United States, the Alleghanies are noticeable, not for 
 their great elevation, nor for their striking peaks, nor for any featnre that distin- 
 guishes one portion of them from the rest, but for a single uniformity of outline, 
 particularly of that which defines the summits of the mountains, which are always 
 
362 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 round and sloj)ing. The greatest width of the mountainous region in Pennsylvania 
 is about one Inuulred miles, and that of the Alleghanies is twenty-five miles, consti- 
 tuting, indeed, the western and higliest wall of the lofty mountain-plateau which 
 extends over the whole central portion of the State. This elevated region is singu- 
 larly rich in its forest features. Oaks, beeches, maples, and ash-trees, and every 
 variety of evergreens, cover the slopes and summits in lavish profusion. This splendid 
 mountain wilderness, which presents its primeval beauties within a few miles of tlie 
 towns and villages which line the track of the railway or the courses of the rivers, 
 offers the most fascinating inducements to the sportsman. The streams and brooks 
 are alive with fine trout, while in the foi'est recesses one does not need to go far to 
 find bears, catamounts, wolverenes, deer, and almost every variety of tlie furred and 
 feathered tribes. 
 
 A few miles west of the city of Altoona, which stands at tlie east base of the 
 mountains, the western-bound passenger (ui the Pennsylvania railroad has the privilege 
 of beholding some of the most striking and picturesque scenery to be found in the 
 Alleghanies. Just beyond Altoona the ascent of the mountains begins, and, in the 
 course of the next eleven miles, superb mountain-views contest the attention with the 
 remarkable feats of engineering whicli were necessary to carry the line of railway 
 across the rocky barriers. Within this distance the roadway mounts to the tunnel at 
 the summit by so steep a grade that, while in the ascent double power is required to 
 move tlie train, tlie entire eleven miles of descent are run without steam, the speed 
 of the train being regulated by the brakes. The celebrated Horseshoe Curve is at 
 Kittanning Point. Here the valley separates into two chasms, neither of which is 
 practicable for further progress. By a huge curve, in the shape of a horseshoe, the 
 sides of which run parallel to each other, the railroad crosses both ravines on a high 
 embankment, cuts away the point of the mountain dividing them, sweeps around the 
 great western wall, and leads to a more practicable pass. 
 
 A little way beyond Kittanning Point, another splendid mountain-scene is dis- 
 played at Allegrippus. There are few, if any, more remarkable spots in the whole 
 Alleghany range. Gazing toward the east (for we are now on the western side of 
 the great mountain-ridge), range after range rises into view, until at last they fade 
 away into the azure of the horizon. No limit but the power of vision bounds the 
 eye-sight. Gradually, as we pass on, the valleys seem to rise and the nu)untains to 
 sink, until the whole landscape assumes the aspect of a rugged plain, where industry 
 has found a most prosperous home for mines, furnaces, and mills. 
 
 From the base of the western slope of the Alleghanies the mountain panorama, 
 though not so bold, perhaps, as on the eastern side, is not less picturcstiue and strik- 
 ing. The Oonemaugh Eiver, wliicli is one of tlie ]>rincipal tributaries of the Ohio, 
 the Alleghany and Monongahela being the other two, flows from the western slopes 
 through scenes of the most attractive beauty. One s))ot along which the Pennsylvania 
 Railroad passes in the valley of the Concnuiugli is known as the •' Packsaddle." 
 This is a few miles from the town of Bolivar, and the river is narrowed by the closely 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE NORTH. 363 
 
 approaching mountain-walls. The water flows with great swiftness and turbulence, 
 and the sujjerb lines and curves of the mountains, wooded to their very crests, and 
 the sparkling silver of the river below, make a charming picture, or series of pict- 
 ures, for, as one progresses along the tortuous route, fresh surprises of scenic effect 
 attract the eye. 
 
 Such are a few characteristic scenes from the great Alleghany range of Pennsyl- 
 vania. One confusing fact in our mountain nomenclature is in the great variety 
 and uncertainty of names as applied to the same ranges in different States, different 
 local titles not only being current, but also a confused application of the main 
 names of the ridges. For example, the Blue Ridge in Virginia is not the same con- 
 tinuous chain with the Blue Ridge of Pennsylvania ; and the AUeghau}' of Virginia 
 becomes, in its two divisions in North Carolina, the Blue Ridge and the Great 
 Smoky. These varieties of title make it a little difficult to fully understand the exact 
 relations of the diilerent divisions of the great Appalachian system, without referring 
 to a mai>. 
 

 
 Harpi'r''s Ferrif. 
 
 THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 The mountains of Virginia — Harper's Ferry and its surroundings— Tlie Pealcs of Otter — North Carolina scenery — 
 The highest mountain of tlie Atlantic coast — The Linville Range— Mount Pisgah — The French Broad and its. 
 beauties —Cherokee traditions— Alum Cave, Smoky Mountain— Cumberland Gap— Lookout Mountain, Tennes- 
 see— Mountain-scenery in Georgia — The valley of the Owassa— Tallulah Chasm. 
 
 The highland region of the Southern United States does not yield to the Northern 
 monntiiins in variety, boldness, and picturesqueuess of scenery, iiud offers to the tourist 
 and traveler charms which are becoming better known every year. The Virginia 
 mountains, of course, have long been famous, a distinction whicii they owe partly to 
 their accessibility aud partly to the numerous mineral springs scattered tiirough them. 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUTH. 365 
 
 noted, since the early days of the republic, for their healing virtues. But, aside 
 from Virginia, the beauties of Southern mountain-scenery have only within a few years 
 begun to attract the capricious footsteps of any large number of visitors. The mount- 
 ain system of Virginia, which extends in the same general direction from northeast 
 to southwest, may be divided into — 1. The coast range, extending along the Atlantic 
 sea-board, west of what is called Tide-water Virginia, and consisting of low spurs of 
 hills stretching from the Potomac River to the borders of North Carolina ; 2. The 
 Blue Ridge, a range witli many branches expanding into plateaus or rising into domes, 
 com})rising a region of about twenty-five hundred square miles, consisting of parallel 
 ridges, detached knobs, and foot-hills, the highest parts of which rise four thousand 
 feet above the level of the sea ; and, 3. The Alleghauies. still farther west, which have 
 a length of two hundred and fifty miles, a width of from ten to fifty miles, and an 
 area of nearly eight thousand miles. While the Alleghauies in Pennsylvania are 
 characterized by their irregularity and confusion, they display in Virginia a series of 
 parallel valleys long and narrow, separated by perfectly regular mountain-ranges. 
 The highest peak in the State, however, Balsam Mountain, does not lie in the direct 
 line of either of the two great ranges, but between the Blue Ridge and the Alle- 
 ghanies in the Iron Mountains, near the border of North Carolina. Between the two 
 great ranges sweeps a magnificent valley from the Potonmc to the Holston. It ex- 
 tends for about three hundred and thirty miles, of whicli some three hundred are 
 within the State of Virginia, and has an area of five thousand miles. This grand 
 mountain plateau — for it is such in effect — embraces the valleys of five rivers, the 
 Shenandoah, James, Roanoke, Kanawha or New, and Holston or Tennessee, and in- 
 cludes within its broad domain much of the most striking and picturesque scenery of 
 the State of Virginia. Between the great main ranges are lower ranges of hills inter- 
 spersing and breaking up the valley, and known under various local names. These 
 mountains properly belong to either the Blue Ridge or the Alleghauies, but in the 
 current parlance of the people are differently classed. 
 
 The Alleghauies form the boundary between Virginia and West Virginia, and rise 
 to an average elevation of about five hundred feet higher than that of the Blue 
 Ridge. Nearly parallel to them and about thirty miles westward is a series of ridges 
 and mountains that may properly be regarded as a continuation of the Cumberland 
 Mountains, which are found at their greatest elevation in the State of Tennessee. 
 
 With this general survey of the mountains of Virginia let us glance in detail at 
 some of the more famous mountain-scenes of this fine upland region. First of all 
 comes Harper's Ferry, the great natural gate-way of the two Virginias on the Mary- 
 land border. Here the Shenandoah River pours its waters into the Potomac, and the 
 united streams force their passage through the Blue Ridge at a point forty-five miles 
 west of the city of Washington. Thomas Jefferson pronounced the passage of the 
 Potomac through the mountains as " one of the most stupendous scenes in nature, 
 and well worth a voyage across the Atlantic to witness." Though a more thorough 
 exploration of the natural wonders of our country since Jefferson's eulogy has dis- 
 
366 
 
 OUn XATIVK LAND. 
 
 eovorcd cliasms far more 
 woiulerful and scenes more 
 sublime. Harper's Ferry in 
 its combination of the beau- 
 tiful and the grand still re- 
 mains anionn; the famous 
 places of the countr}', aside 
 from the historic interest 
 attached to it. 
 
 The town of Harper's 
 Ferry is built at the foot of 
 the narrow tongue of land 
 that thrusts itself out like 
 a cut-water separating the 
 Potomac and the Shenan- 
 doah, and known as Bolivar 
 lleiglits. It lies in Jeffer- 
 son County, West Virginia, 
 and just across the Poto- 
 nuic are Maryland Heights 
 in the State of Maryland, 
 while over the Shenandoah 
 lies Virginia proper beyond 
 Loudon Heights. Since 
 the war the town has re- 
 mained in a sleepy, half- 
 dilai)idated condition. Its 
 principal historic fame, of 
 course, is connected with 
 tiie desperate and daring 
 raid of old John Brown, a 
 feat which had no little in- 
 fluence in bringing on the 
 late civil conflict. With- 
 out dwelling on its histor- 
 ic associations, let us brief- 
 ly describe the situation. 
 Climbing by the rude stone 
 steps that lead up the brow 
 of the mountain directly 
 from the i)rincipal street 
 of the town, we tind our- 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUTH. 367 
 
 selves on Jefferson Rock, a remarkable stratified formation that rises abruptly from the 
 town below. Here is the best attainable view of the mountains from their base, and 
 of the meeting of the waters. Beyond the town loom Maryland Heights ; to the left 
 frowns Loudon, crowned with green, the sides seamed witli fissures and ravines innu- 
 merable. In the gap between the two mountains, the Shenandoah, which flows down 
 with many a curve skirting the Blue Ridge, and the Potomac, wliich comes down 
 from the Alleghanies, unite. Geologists are yet uncertain in their minds whether this 
 tremendous rent in the mountain-wall was made by some sudden convulsion or by the 
 gradual eating away of the barrier that at one time confined a great interior lake. 
 There is no grandeur in the scene. Life, brightness, and quiet beauty characterize 
 it. The fair river lies spread out between wide inclosing banks, and catches the glit- 
 ter of the sunlight and the huge shadows from the sentinel-peaks which guard its 
 ample breast. The view from Maryland Heights, on the opposite side of the river, is 
 one which no tourist ever misses. The climb up the almost perpendicular shoulder 
 of the mountain is hard work, but on gaining the elevation the reward is ample in 
 the splendid panorama opened to the vision. Before us lies stretched an almost in- 
 terminable reach of valley and hill, beautiful with waving fields and wooded slopes. 
 Mountains huge and stately melt away in the blue haze of the distance, and solitary 
 peaks jut from the ranges as far as the eye can follow. Through the valley flows the 
 Potomac, curving to the right and then deflecting to the left, disappearing and reap- 
 pearing, and splashing the landscapes with bursts of silver. On the top of Maryland 
 Heights we are at an elevation of thirteen hundred feet. The view is unobstructed, 
 except where the Blue Ridge, throwing out spurs liere and there, mountains linked to 
 mountains in endless variety of height and shape, rises and divides valley from valley. 
 The Blue Ridge, it must be understood, is characterized not only by its soft envelop- 
 ing color, but by peculiarities of line and form. It is a series of ranges pocketed into 
 one another. First one mountain takes up the elevation for ten or twelve miles, then 
 some detached height will continue the broken chain, only to give place to a third, 
 and so on to others. From Maryland Heights we look into seven counties and three 
 States, and through the heart of the scene the Potomac courses in alternate sunlight 
 and shade, adding beauty, life, and changeablenoss. The once desolate region, which 
 the eye takes in from our coign of vantage, and of which General Sheridan once 
 boasted that a crow flying over it would have to carry its rations in its beak, now 
 smiles with the most perfect jirosperity and loveliness. All around Harper's Ferry 
 one may discover exquisite mountain prospects and stretches of picturesque beauty, 
 but the outlook from Maryland Heights is probably the most satisfactory. 
 
 For another characteristic example of Virginia mountain-scenery let us visit the 
 southwestern portion of the State. Reaching Lynchburg by the Atlantic, Mississippi, 
 and Ohio Railroad, we find our point of departure for the celebrated Peaks of Otter 
 from this quaint old Virginia town, one of the great centers of the tobacco-trade. 
 A little more than a night's journey on the James River and Kanawha Canal, or, if 
 we choose, a ride of twentv miles on horseback, brings us to tlie little town of 
 
368 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Liberty, the shive-town of Bedford County. From this place the twin peaks may be 
 seen rising in haughty majesty against the bhie of the sky, perched high upon the 
 Blue Ridge chain. These towering sentinels of the lovely valley below them appear 
 to be only a mile or two away, but it requires a tedious and fatiguing journey of 
 several hours by wagon or horseback to reach the gap which separates tliem. Through 
 this opening the capricious stream of the Otter, whence the peaks get their name, 
 eddies and ripples and flows down for many a mile by humble farm-houses and 
 through rich fields. The northern and highest peak, which rises 5,307 feet above the 
 sea, is rarely visited. The other, which is shaped like a gigantic pyramid, is often 
 ascended. Tlie following description, from the journal of one who climbed to the 
 summit of the peak, gives an admirable idea of the scene from tlie toji : 
 
 " At last reaeliing the gap, more than three thousand feet above sea-level, we saw 
 before us a pjTamid of I'ough soil thickly sown with trees, and dotted with rude 
 cabins in the clearings. On the right, the northern peak showed its wooded sides, 
 where the bear still wanders undisturbed, and a little in front of us stood the primi- 
 tive hotel, surrounded by flourishing orchards. The vine grows with surprising 
 luxiw'iance along these mountains, the dry air and genial warmth giving every en- 
 couragement for the largest experimenting in vineyards. 
 
 "We now began gradually to master the ascent, and after half an hour of painful 
 climbing over rudest roads, and a long scramble U]) an almost perpendicular hill-side, 
 we came to a point in the forest where a high rock seemed to offer an impassable 
 barrier, but around which led a path on a narrow ledge. We stumbled forward, and, 
 dizzy with the effort, stood on the summit. 
 
 "Jagged and irregular masses of rock projected over a tremendous abyss, into 
 which we hardly dared to look. A strong wind blew steadily across the height. AVe 
 could not help fancying that some of the masses of stone, apparently so tightly sus- 
 pended, might fall and crush us. Under the great dome of the translucent sky we 
 stood trembling, shut off from the lower world, and jioised on a narrow pinnacle, 
 from which we might at any moment, by an unwary step, be hurled down. An old 
 stone cabin, which had once served as the lodging for such adventurous persons as 
 desired to see sunrise from the peak, but which had been partially destroyed during 
 the war, was perched on one of the corners of the mighty crag ; from it a slender 
 board was laid to a sharp corner in tlie uppermost cliff, and up that we scrambled. 
 Then, making our way on to the to])most stone, we gazed down on the Valley of 
 Virginia. In front of us, looking over fertile Bedford County, it seemed a garden : 
 from point to point gleamed the spires and roofs of villages ; mountains of every 
 imaginable shape rose on all sides ; and the forests at the edges of the gaps in the 
 Blue Ridge seemed delicatest fringes of purple. We could trace the massive and 
 curving ranges of the Alleghanies, and the rudely-gullied sides of the nearest peaks. 
 Their reddish soil, showing up strongly under the bright sun, produced a magical 
 effect. Nowhere were the adjacent peaks, liowevcr, so near as to lessen the sul)liine 
 illusion of seeming suspension in mid-air, produced by our climb to the highest rock 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 369 
 
 
 Feaks of Utter. 
 
 of the peak. The cabins along the roads below looked like black dots, the men at 
 work in the fields like ants. From the rocky throne one seems to have the whole map 
 of Virginia spread before him ; and the back-bone of the Alleghanies appeared but as 
 a toy which one might stride over or displace at will." "Virginia is full of the most 
 striking effects of landscape beauty, but beyond the typical examples already given we 
 can not pass, but hasten on to take a rapid glance at other portions of the South. 
 
 24 
 
370 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 It is safe to assert that there is no i)art of that vast extent of countrj' which lies 
 between the St. Lawrence and the Gulf of Mexico that is so slightly known and so 
 little appreciated as the mountain-region of North Carolina.* AVhile the White 
 Mountains and the Adirondacks are yearly thronged with tourists, and the mountains 
 of Virginia have been for half a century known to pleasure-seekers, these wild and 
 beautiful liighlands are to-day less visited, less written of, and less talked of, than 
 the defiles of the Sierra Nevada and the jjeaks of the Rocky Mountains. Compara- 
 tively speaking, indeed, there are few persons who are even aware that much of the 
 grandest scenery east of the Mississippi is to be found where the great Appalacliian 
 system reaches its loftiest altitude, in North Carolina. 
 
 With the majority, this ignorance will probably continue so long as palace-cars do 
 not penetrate into the country, and hotels with all the luxuries of civilization are not 
 to be found there. But to those who love Nature well enough to be able to endure 
 some inconvenience in order to behold lier in her most enchanting phases ; to those 
 who have any desire to enter a land where the manners, customs, and traditions of 
 by-gone generations still linger ; to those, above all, who can feel the loveliness of 
 pastoral valleys, and the grandeur of cloud-girdled peaks, and who appreciate these 
 things the more for a spice of difficulty and adventure, Western North Carolina offers 
 a most attractive field, and is, after all (even from a nineteenth-century point of a iew), 
 very easy of access. 
 
 Geographically considered, no one can fail to perceive the incomparable advantages 
 of the region. Touching Virginia with its upper corner, and Georgia with its lower, 
 bounded by Tennessee and South Carolina, this table-land possesses a climate which 
 can not be equaled in the Atlantic States. Its height — "for," says an excellent au- 
 thority on the subject, " nineteen twentieths of the land is found between the eleva- 
 tions of eighteen hundred and thirty-five hundred feet above the ocean" — renders the 
 atmosphere delightfully pure and bracing, while its southern latitude preserves it from 
 harshness. It is at once invigorating and balmy, cool in summer, yet so mild in 
 winter that it is very unusual for the ground to be covered with snow for a week at 
 a time. Especially in the valleys, sheltered by the lofty mountain-chains, there is an 
 equability of temperature so remarkable that it does not require the gift of prophecy 
 to foresee that the country must in time become one of the greatest health-resorts on 
 the eastern slope of the continent. 
 
 Let us take a glance at the map, to assist us in forming some idea of the extent 
 of the region. We perceive that it is encircled by two great mountain-chains — the 
 Blue Kidge forming its eastern boundary, the Great Smoky, which is the continuation 
 of the Alleghanies in North Carolina, the western — within which lies an elevated land, 
 two hundred and fifty miles in length, with an average breadth of fifty miles. It is 
 also traversed by cross-chains, that run directly across the country, and from which 
 spurs of greater or lesser height lead oif in all directions. Of these transverse ranges 
 
 * The ciiitor is iudebted for the maiu portiou of this description of the mountains of North Carolina 
 to an article from the pen of Christian Reid, pubHshed iu "Appleton's Journal." 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 371 
 
 there are four — the Black, the Balsam, the Cullowhee, and Nantahala. Between them 
 lie regions of valleys, formed bj- the noble rivers and their minor tributaries, where 
 a healthful atmosphere and picturesque surroundings are combined with a soil of sin- 
 gular fertility. 
 
 The Blue Ridge is the natural barrier dividing the waters falling into the Atlantic 
 Ocean from those of the Mississippi Valley, and its bold and beautiful heights are bet- 
 ter known than the grander steeps of the western chain. It abounds in scenery of the 
 most romantic description. The streams that burst from the brows of the mountains 
 leap down their sides in unnumbered flashing cascades, while cliffs and palisades of 
 
 rock diversify the splendid sweep of tow- 
 ering peaks and lofty pinnacles, where 
 
 "A Vildei'ing forest feathers o'er 
 The ruined aides and summits hoar." 
 
 Especially when approached from the eastern side, the beauty of this range is most 
 perceptible, and along its entire course, from Virginia to Georgia, it is broken by 
 gaps which in picturesque charm can not be surpassed. The most magnificent of 
 these gate-ways is Hickory-Nut Gap, where for nine miles the traveler winds upward 
 to the realm of the clouds along a narrow pass of inexpressible loveliness, hemmed 
 
373 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 before, around, and behind, by stately heights, tlie road no more than a shelf along 
 the mountain-side, and far below the Broad Kiver, whirling and foaming over its 
 countless rocks amid a wilderness of almost tropical foliage. Then, when the top of 
 the gap is reached, what a view of the land which one has entered is spread unto 
 "the tine, faint limit of the bounding day"! Mountains, mountains, and yet again 
 mountains, fading into the enchanting softness of azure distance, with a paradise of 
 happy valleys lying between ! From crested hill to level meadow, a greenness which 
 is like a benediction clothes all the nearer prospect, while afar the swelling heights 
 wear tints so heavenly that no artist's pigments could reproduce them. A subtile 
 sense of repose seems borne in every aspect of the scene. One feels that, if any spot 
 of earth holds a charm for a weary body or an unquiet spirit, that spot is here. 
 
 On the western side of this "land of the sky" runs the chain of the Great Smoky 
 — comprising the groups of the Iron, the Unaka, and the Roan Mountains — which, 
 from its massiveness of form and general elevation, is the master-chain of the whole 
 Alleghany range. Though its highest summits are a few feet lower than the peaks 
 of the Black Mountain, it presents a continuous series of high peaks which nearly 
 approach that altitude— its culminating point, Clingman's Dome, rising to the height 
 of 6,GG0 feet. Though its magnitude is much greater than that of the Blue Ridge, 
 this range is cut at various points by the mountain-rivers, which with resistless im- 
 petuosity tear their way through the heart of its superb heights in gorges of terrific 
 grandeur. Scenery grand as any which tourists cross a continent to admire is buried 
 in these remote fastnesses, utterly unknown save to the immediate inhabitants of the 
 coixutry, and a few adventurous spirits who have penetrated thither. 
 
 The most famous of the transverse ranges is that of the Black Mountain, the 
 dominating peak of which is now well known to be the loftiest of the Atlantic sum- 
 mits. One is surprised to consider how long the exact height of these mountains 
 remained undetermined, and Mount AVashington, in New Hampshire, was esteemed 
 the highest point east of the Rocky Mountains, while, in truth, not fewer than thirty 
 peaks in North Carolina surpass it in altitude. The Black Mountain is a group of 
 lofty heights, which attain their greatest elevation near the Blue Ridge. With its two 
 great branches, it is more than twenty miles long, and its rugged sides are covered 
 with a wilderness of almost inaccessible forest. Above a certain elevation no trees are 
 found, save the balsam-fir, from the dark color of which the mountain obtains its 
 name. It is not likely that any one who has ever crossed the Blue Ridge by Swan- 
 nanoa Gap will forget the first impression which the outlines of this range make on 
 the mind. Sublimity and repose seem embodied in the sweeping lines of its massive 
 shoulders, and its dark-blue peaks stand forth in relief, if the atmosphere chances to 
 be clear, or wear a crown of clouds if it is at all hazy. During the season, parties of 
 excursionists constantly visit it from Asheville, ascending the highest peak, and return- 
 ing within three days ; but to make the acquaintance of the mountain in a satisfac- 
 tory manner a longer time is required. 
 
 Nevertheless, a great deal can be seen in even one visit to the summit of Mount 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 373 
 
 Mitchell ; and, although nothing is more uncertain than the weather of the Black, if 
 the visitor is fortunate enough to find a clear day, he will obtain a view which is 
 almost boundless in extent. All Western Carolina lies spread below him, together with 
 portions of Virginia, Tennessee, Georgia, and South Carolina. He can trace across the 
 breadth of the Old Dominion the long, undulating line of the Blue Ridge, which, 
 entering North Carolina, passes under the Black, and thence runs southerly until it 
 
 Lin):llU River. 
 
 reaches South Carolina, when it turns to the west, and, making a curve, joins the 
 Smoky near the northeast corner of Georgia. Overlooking this range, from his greater 
 elevation, he sees every height in that part of North Carolina which lies east of it. 
 Far away on the border of the two Carolinas stands a misty mound, which is King's 
 Mountain, of Revolutionary fame ; and from this point the eye sweeps over an illimit- 
 able expanse, returning to where the spurs of the Blue Ridge cover the counties of 
 Rutherford, Burke, and McDowell, with a net-work of hills. 
 
374 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Chief among these is the range of the Linville Mountains, througii which the Lin- 
 ville River forces its way in a gorge of striking beauty. This gorge is fifteen miles 
 in lengtli, and the heights wliich overshadow it are in many places not less than two 
 thousand feet high. The river plunges into its dark depths in a beautiful fall, and 
 
 Linville Piiinade. 
 
 then ruslies forward over a bed of rock. Cliffs worn by the ceaseless action of the 
 water into the most fantastic shapes lean over it, detached masses of granite strew its 
 channel, and the tumult of its fretted water only ceases when it falls now and then 
 into crystal pools of placid gentleness. 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUTH. 375 
 
 Among the mountaius of the Linville range, that jseak known as Linville Pinnacle, 
 in Catawba Connty, is one of the most interesting to the tourist. This mountain-top 
 is easily attained on horseback, and, on reaching it, you find it svirmounted by a clus- 
 ter of immense rocks or angular bowlders, upon which yow may recline at your ease, 
 and look down, or far away, upon a series of rare and superb scenes. One of these, 
 and the one here depicted, consists of a brotherhood of mountains which are particu- 
 larly ragged and fantastic in their formation — now shooting forward, as if to look 
 down into a narrow valley or ravine, and then again looming to the sky, as if to 
 pierce it with their pointed summits. On another side of the Pinnacle is a precipice, 
 which seems to descend to the very bowels of the earth ; in another direction still, 
 you have a full view of Short-off Mountain, only about a mile distant, which is a per- 
 pendicular precipice, several thousand feet high, and the abrupt termination of a long 
 range of mountaius ; and, turning to the west, you look across a valley, or champaign 
 country, well-nigh a hundred miles wide, which is bounded by a range of mountains 
 that seems to sweep across the world as if on a triumphal march. But the scenery 
 of this particular region of North Carolina is as varied as it is fresh and charming ; 
 and such features as the Hawk's Bill, the Table, the Eoan, and Ginger-Cake Moun- 
 tains, as well as the Linville Falls, are quite enough to give it a wide reputation. 
 The mountain last mentioned received its outlandish name from a hermit named 
 Watson, who once lived at the foot of it, in a log-cabin, and entirely alone. His his- 
 tory was a mystery to every one but himself, and, though remarkably eccentric, he 
 ■was noted for his amiability. He had given up the world on account of a disappoint- 
 ment in love, and the utter contempt which he ever afterward manifested for the 
 gentler sex was a leading trait of his character. Whenever any ladies chanced to visit 
 him, he invariably treated them politely, but would never speak to them ; he even 
 went so far, in expressing his dislike, as to consume for fire-wood, after the ladies were 
 gone, the top-rail of his yard-fence, over which they had been compelled to pass on 
 their way into his cabin. That old Watson "fared sumptuously every day" could 
 not be denied ; but, whence came the money that supported him, none could divine. 
 He seldom molested the wild animals of the mountain where he lived, and his chief 
 employment was the raising of peacocks and the making of garments for his own 
 use, which were all elegantly trimmed off with the feathers of his favorite bird. The 
 feathery suit in which he kept himself arrayed he designated as his culgee, the mean- 
 ing of which word could never be ascertained : and, long after the deluded being had 
 passed away from among the living, he was spoken off as Culgee Watson, and is so 
 remembered to this day. 
 
 The traveler who approaches the Linville Pinnacle from the south can not fail to 
 be impressed by the views he will obtain of the Roan and Grandfather Mountains. 
 The first of these derives its name from the fact that, when covered with snow, it 
 presents a roan color. It lies in the States of North Carolina and Tennessee, and has 
 three peaks, which are all destitute of trees. The highest of these is covered with a 
 tall grass, which resembles that of the Western prairies, and where the cattle and 
 
37G OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 horses of the surrounding farmers, in large numbers, congregate throughout the vernal 
 seasons. Tlie ascent to the top of this peak is gradual on all sides but one ; but, on 
 the north, it is quite abrupt, and, to one standing on the brow of tlie great cliff, the 
 scene is exceedingly grand and impressive. In accounting for the baldness of the 
 Roan Mountain, the Catawba Indians relate the following tradition : " There was a 
 time when all the nations of the earth were at war with the Catawbas, and had pro- 
 claimed their determination to conquer and possess their country. On hearing this, 
 the Catawbas became enraged, and challenged all their enemies to a fight on the sum- 
 mit of the Eoan. The challenge was accepted, and no less than three famous battles 
 were fought — the streams of the land ran red with blood ; a number of tribes were 
 utterly destroyed ; but the Catawbas were victorious. And then it was that the Great 
 Spirit caused the forests to wither from the three peaks where the battles were fought, 
 and therefore it is that the flowers which grow upon this mountain are chiefly of a 
 crimson hue, for they are nourished by the blood of the slain." Of the Grandfather 
 Mountain it may be said that it is altogether tlie wildest and most fantastic mountain 
 of the whole Alleghany range. It is reputed to be five thousand six hundred feet 
 high, and famous for its black bears. Its principal liuman inhabitants, for many years, 
 were a man named Jim Riddle and liis loving spouse, whose cabin was located near 
 the summit. The stories related of tliis man would fill a volume. He was once acci- 
 dentally penned up in one of his bear-traps, while baiting, and, having only a small 
 hatchet in his belt, he was occupied one day and one night in hewing his way out ; 
 but this narrow escape from death caused liim to abandon his habit of swearing and to 
 become a religious man. To the comprehension of this mountaineer, the Grandfather 
 was the highest mountain in the world, and his reason for believing this was, that, as 
 you stood on the very top, "all the other mountains upon earth lay rolling from it, 
 even to the sky." It is said that Riddle was a remarkable marksman ; and one of his 
 pastimes, in the winter, was to shoot at snow-balls, in which elevated luxury his wife, 
 Betsey, was wont to particij)ate with enthusiasm. But, in jn-ocess of time, he aban- 
 doned his eyrie to the storms, and became a preacher in the low country. 
 
 Returning to the region west of the Blue Ridge, we find the Black diverging into 
 two chains, one of which stretches northward, with a series of cone-like peaks rising 
 along its dark crest, and ends in a majestic pyramid, while the northwestern ridge 
 runs out toward the Smoky. Another branch is the range of Craggy, which trends 
 southward, with its lofty peaks — the Bull's Head, the Pinnacle, and the Dome — in 
 bold relief. This chain is noted for the pastoral character of its scenery, and the 
 myriads of gorgeous flowers which cover its slopes. Here the rhododendron — espe- 
 cially its rare, crimson variety — grows to an immense size, and makes the whole range, 
 in the month of Ju.ne, a marvel of floral loveliness. 
 
 "Northward of the Black Mountain stand two famous heights, which Professor 
 Guyot calls "the two great pillars on both sides of the North Gate to the high 
 mountain-region of North Carolina." These are the Grandfather Mountain, in the 
 Blue Ridge, and the Roan Mountain, in the Smoky. Both of these command a wide 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 377 
 
 Mount J'isi/ah. 
 
 view, but the Koan is specially remarkable for the extent of territory which it over- 
 looks. The traveler on its summit is always told that his gaze passes over seven 
 States— to wit, North Carolina, Virginia, Tennessee, Kentucky, Alabama, Georgia, and 
 South Carolina — but, since States are not laid oil in different colors, like the squares 
 of a chess-board, he may be pardoned for perceiving no great difference in the imagi- 
 nary lines wliich divide the vast expanse. The mountain itself and the immediate 
 view are better worth attention. On one side it commands the ajiparently infinite 
 
378 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 diversity of the North Carolina higlilands, on the other the rich valley of East Ten- 
 nessee and the blue chain of the Cumberland Mountains, stretching into Kentucky. 
 Like many of the Smoky and Balsam heights, its summit is bare of timber, and 
 forms a level, verdant prairie, ending in an abi-upt precipice on the Tennessee side. 
 
 Next to the Black, in the order of transverse chains, comes the Balsam, which, 
 in point of length and general magnitude, is chief of the cross-ranges. It is fifty 
 miles long, and its peaks average six thousand feet ; while, like the Blue Eidge, it 
 divides all waters, and is pierced by none. From its southern extremity two great 
 spurs run out in a northerly direction. One terminates in the Cold Mountain, which 
 is more than six thousand feet high ; the other i-ises into the beautiful peak of Pis- 
 gah, one of the most noted landmarks of the country. Among the mountains which, 
 seen from Asheville, lie in blue waves against the southern horizon, this commanding 
 pyramid stands forth most prominently, and from its symmetrical outline, not less 
 than its eminence, attracts the eye at once. Nor does this attraction end with the 
 first view. Its harmonious lines are a constant source of delight, and the robes of 
 soft color which it wears are constantly changing and ever charming. To see it, as 
 it often appears, a glorified crest of violet, against a sky divinely flushed with sunset 
 rose and gold, is one of those pleasures which custom can not stale. 
 
 It follows, naturally, with all who have the true spirit of mountaineering, that 
 they desire to stand on that uplifted eminence. Those who carry this desire into 
 effect are gratified by a view less extensive than that of the Black or the Balsam, 
 but hardly less worth beholding. The summit of Mount Pisgah forms the corner of 
 the counties of Buncombe, Henderson, Transylvania, and Haywood, and over the out- 
 spread face of each — broken by innumerable hill-waves and smiling valleys — the gaze 
 passes to where the tall peaks send their greeting from the borders of South Carolina 
 and Tennessee. Near by rise the Cold Mountain and Shining Rock, with the wooded 
 heights of Haywood rolling downward to the fertile valley of the Pigeon — a beautiful 
 stream, which finally cuts its way through the Smoky and joins the French Broad in 
 Tennessee. 
 
 The course of the latter river is plainly to be marked by its width of cultivated 
 lowlands, as it passes through Transylvania and Henderson, to where Asheville lies, 
 surrounded by an amphitheatre of hills. Among these hills the river enters, and 
 pours its current along a constantly-deepening gorge, narrow as a Western cailon, and 
 inexpressibly grand, until it also cuts a passage through the Smoky, and reaches Ten- 
 nessee. For thirty-six miles its waters well deserve their musical Cherokee name — 
 Tahkeeostee, "the Racing River" — and the splendor of their ceaseless tumult fasci- 
 nates both eye and ear. 
 
 There is a greater attraction in the unknown than in the known, however ; and 
 the traveler who has followed the French Broad to where it surges around Mountain 
 Island and sweeps beneath Paint Rock ; who has stood on the hills of Asheville, and 
 admired the gentle loveliness of the valleys which encompass it ; who has tracked the 
 Swannanoa to its birthplace in the ice-cold springs of the Black Mountain, and climbed 
 
THE MOUNTAIN^ OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 379 
 
 to the summit of that Appalacliian patriarch — it is natural that such a traveler, turn- 
 ing his back on these places made familiar by exploration, should look with longing 
 at the dark chain of the Balsam, forming so lofty a barrier between himself and the 
 still wilder, still more beautiful region that lies farther westward. 
 
 T?ie French Broad. 
 
 If he possesses courage and resolution, if he does not shrink from trifling hard- 
 ships, and if he can endure cheerfully a few inconveniences," let him resolve to scale 
 those heights, and gaze at least upon all that lies beyond. There is very little diffi- 
 
380 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 culty iu executing such a resolution, and nobody who can appreciate the sublime in 
 natural scenery, or who likes the zest of adventure, will ever regret having exe- 
 cuted it. 
 
 Should he be able to do so, let him descend Mount Pisgah on the Transylvania 
 side, for in all this Eden of the sky there is no spot which wears the crown of sylvan 
 beauty so peerlessly as that fair county. Other counties may boast mountains as 
 high, and atmosphere as pure, but no other has in its aspect such a mingling of the 
 pastoral and the grand, no other possesses such graceful alternations of landscape, 
 which, with the strong effect of contrast, charm the beholder at once. It is with a 
 thrill of positive rapture that one sees for the first time the valley of the French 
 Broad — serene with golden plenty, and held in the soft embrace of encircling heights. 
 In the midst of this valley is situated the pleasant village of Brevard, where the 
 traveler will do well to establish his headquarters. He will find most comfortable 
 lodging and most admirable fare, together with that cordial hospitality which is ever 
 ready to oblige the waj-farer and stranger. Should he possess that mountaineering 
 spirit to which allusion has been made, he need not fear that time will hang heavily 
 on his hands. There are speckled trout in the streams ; there are deer in the coverts 
 of the forests ; and there are countless places of picturesque interest, many of which 
 are within the easy range of a day's excursion. 
 
 This queen of mountain-valleys lies twenty-two hundred feet above the sea, and 
 has at this point an average width of two miles. The three forks of the French 
 Broad — two of which rise in the Balsam, and one in the Blue Eidge — meet at its 
 upper end, and the united stream flows, with many a winding curve, down the em- 
 erald plain. Framing the broad fields and grassy meadows are forest-clad heights, 
 and yet beyond rises the blue majesty of the grandest peaks in Western Carolina. 
 
 To fully appreciate the charm which fills every detail of this picture, it should 
 be viewed from the summit of a cliff on its eastern side known as Dunn's Eock. 
 The elevation of the hill, which rises abruptly in this castellated crag, is probably 
 not more than five hundred feet above the level of the river ; but the river is one 
 which lingers in the memory in colors that no lapse of time can dim. While it is 
 easy to find more extended views, it would be impossible to find one of greater fair- 
 ness. The pastoral valley lies spread in smiling beauty for fifteen miles, with every 
 curve of the river plainly to be traced throughout that length, the shining water 
 fully revealed in many a mile of undulating stretch. Belts of shadowy woodlands 
 stretch across the cultivated expanse, roads like yellow ribbons wind here and there, 
 dwellings gleam out, half hidden in trees, and Brevard nestles at the feet of the bold 
 elevations which rise behind it. 
 
 It is difiicult to say whether the eye lingers with greater pleasure on the idyllic 
 softness of this scene, or on the magical distance where peak rises beyond peak until 
 the most remote melt into blue infinity. Farthest toward the west stands the sharp 
 crest of Chimney-Top and the massive outlines of Great Hogback — a noble mountain, 
 deserving a better name. From these well-known summits the waving line sweeps 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 381 
 
 onward in azure beauty 
 until it culminates in the 
 peaks of the Balsam. The 
 loftiest of these stand in 
 full view, together with the 
 whole length of the range 
 of Pisgah. Symmetrical as 
 ever, this familiar pyramid 
 appears, among a multi- 
 tude of lesser heights, while 
 through the soft-hued gap, 
 where the Arcadian valley 
 winds around Fodder-Stock 
 Mountain, one discovers 
 faint and far the mighty 
 dome of the Black. 
 
 Besides Dunn's Eock, 
 there are many eminences 
 around Brevard which re- 
 pay a hundred-fold tlie ex- 
 ertion of ascending them ; 
 while down the glens of 
 the hills impetuous streams 
 come rushing in Undine- 
 like cascades. Such are the 
 Falls of Conestee, of Look- 
 ing- Glass, and Glen Can- 
 non. Into these recesses 
 the lances of sun-light are 
 scarcely able to jjierce to 
 find the laughing water, 
 so luxuriant is the forest- 
 growth which forms depths 
 of twilight obscurity, where 
 ferns, and mosses, and num- 
 berless bright, sweet flow- 
 ers flourish. 
 
 From Brevard the way 
 to the Balsam is plain and 
 short. Following the north 
 fork of the French Broad 
 into what is known as the 
 
 ■'« OH the French Broad. 
 
383 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Gloucester Settlement, the traveler will find himself at the foot of this range. Here 
 he can readily secure a guide, and make the ascent of the peaks, which attain their 
 highest elevation at this point. Professor Guyot has recorded his opinion that, "con- 
 sidering these great features of physical structure" (the Balsam heights), "and the 
 considerable elevation of the valleys which form the base of these high chains, we may 
 say that this vast cluster of highlands between the French Broad and the Tuckasegee 
 Elvers is the culminating region of the great Appalachian system." 
 
 It is at least certain that their appearance impresses one with a deeper sense of 
 grandeur and sublimity than even the Black Mountain. Immense ridges rise on all 
 sides ; lofty peaks lift their heads into the dazzling region of the upper air ; escarp- 
 ments of rugged rock contrast the verdure of the forest which clothes all other 
 points; while trackless gorges and deep chasms, where the roar of unseen cataracts 
 alone breaks the silence of solitude, are the characteristic features of the region. 
 Leaving the domain of Gloucester, a traveler of faint heart and wavering courage 
 may be struck with dismay at the wildness of the scenes into which he is led. The 
 path is a trail only visible to the eyes of a moiintaineer, which plunges down precipi- 
 tous hill-sides, winds along dizzy verges, where a single false step would send horse 
 and rider crashing into the abyss below, and mounts ascents so steep that the saddles 
 threaten to slip back over the straining animals, and a cautious rider will look well 
 to his girths. Knob after knob is climbed, and yet the dominating heights — as one 
 catches glimpses of them now and then — seem far away as ever. Nevertheless, it is 
 evident that one's labor is not in vain. The air grows more rarefied, the horizon 
 expands, the world unrolls like an azure scroll, and over it spreads the marvelous 
 haze of distance. 
 
 " It was the good fortune of the writer," says a lady tourist, who has written 
 much of this region, "to be one of a party who made this ascent during the past 
 summer, and it is little to say that all difficulties and perils were forgotten when we 
 stood at last on the summit of the highest jjeaks, and felt that we were in the center 
 of the great system of diverging heights spread around us, far as the gaze could 
 reach, to the uttermost bounds of land and sky. There is an intense exhilaration of 
 mind and body consequent upon attaining such an elevation, and we were exceedingly 
 fortunate in having two days of perfect weatlier — days of the radiant softness which 
 only September gives. 
 
 "The sjjot where we found ourselves was a treeless tract of several hundred acres 
 on top of the Balsam range. The Cherokees believe that these open spaces are the 
 foot-prints of the devil, made as he stepped from mountain to mountain, and this 
 largest prairie they regard with peculiar awe as his favorite sleeping-place — probably 
 selected because he likes now and then a complete change of climate. On maps of 
 the State this point is marked ' The Devil's Old Field,' and, apart from the associa- 
 tion with his Satanic majesty, the title is not altogether inapposite. So peculiar is 
 the appearance of these openings, where grass and bushes of all kinds flourish luxu- 
 riantly, that one is almost forced to believe that at some remote period man had his 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 383 
 
 habitation here. Like the Black, the Balsam takes its name from the fir which grows 
 upon it, but, unlike tlie Black, these trees, instead of covering the whole upper j^art 
 of the mountain, are found only on the north side. On the southern slopes the 
 deciduous forest grows to the summit, and there — as if a line of exact division had 
 been drawn — the latter growth ends, and the somber realm of the balsam begins. 
 
 " Having been bold enough to pitch our camp in the midst of the Devil's Old 
 Field, we were probably punished by finding ourselves next morning wrapped in mist 
 
 Hawk's Mil Mountain. 
 
 at the time that we should have been witnessing the sun rise beyond a thousand 
 peaks. By eight o'clock, however, the clouds lifted, the mist dissolved, and, seated 
 on the rocky crest of a high knob, with air so lucid and fresh that it seemed rather 
 of heaven than earth fanning our brows, we were truly •' girdled with the gleaming 
 world.' On one side spread the scenes over wliich we had journeyed — every height 
 south of the Black clearly visible, and distinctly to be identified — while on the other 
 the country on which we had come to gaze stretched westward, until its great ridges, 
 

 384 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 like giant billows, blended their sapphire outlines with the sky. Overlooking this 
 immense territory, one felt overwhelmed by its magnitude, and the imagination vainly 
 strove to picture the innumerable scenes of loveliness that lay below, among what 
 seemed a very chaos of peaks, gorges, cliffs, and vales. 
 
 " That the face of this part of the country should appear especially covered with 
 mountains is not strange, when one considers that five great ranges traverse and sur- 
 round it. Looking west from the Balsam, we saw on our left the Blue Kidge, on 
 our right the Smoky, and in front the Oullowhee, with the Nantahala lying cloud-like 
 in the far distance. Countless intervening chains spread over the vast scene, with 
 gi-aceful lines blending, and dominant points ascending, forming a whole of wondrous 
 harmony. Near at hand the heights of the Balsam, clad in a rich plumage of forest, 
 surrounded us in serried ranks — a succession of magnificent peaks, infinitely diversified 
 in sliajie, and nearly approaching the same standard of elevation. What excpiisite 
 veils of color they drew around them, as tliey receded, wrapping their mighty forms 
 in tenderest purple and blue ! The infinite majesty of the great expanse, the unut- 
 terable repose which seemed to wrap the towering summits in their eternal calm, filled 
 the mind with delight and awe. No words seemed fitting save the exultant ones of 
 the canticle : ' ye mountains and hills, bless ye the Lord, praise him and magnify 
 him for ever ! ' 
 
 " On the summit of the height where we sat, the counties of Haywood, Jackson, 
 and Transylvania meet. Of these Jackson is the most westwardly, and is rich in 
 scenery of the noblest description, being bounded by the Balsam, the Blue Ridge, the 
 Cullowhee, and Great Smoky — the innumerable spurs of which cover it in all direc- 
 tions. Yet here, as elsewhere, the pastoral joins hands with the rugged. These 
 mountains are nearly all fine ' ranges,' whei'e thousands of cattle are annually reared 
 with little trouble and less expense to their owners ; and through the midst of the 
 country the wildly beautiful Tuckasegee flows. Rising in the Blue Ridge, this river 
 forces its way through the Cullowhee Mountains in a cataract and gorge of over- 
 whelming grandeur, and, augmented at every step by innumerable mountain-torrents, 
 thunders, foams, and dashes over its rocky bed, until it is united to the Tennessee — 
 which comes with headlong haste down from the Balsam — when, losing its name in 
 the latter, it cuts a canon of great majesty through the Smoky, and pours its cur- 
 rent into the valley of East Tennessee. In Jackson, on the southern side of the Blue 
 Ridge, the head-waters of the Savannah River also rise. The Chatooga, which 
 washes the base of the great Whiteside Mountain, flows into Georgia, and, with the 
 Tallulah, forms the Tugaloo, which is the main head of the Savannah." 
 
 At the southern end of this county is Cashier's Valley, famous for its salubrious 
 climate, and so accessible from South Carolina that many gentlemen from the low- 
 country have erected summer residences there. It is more of a table-land than a 
 valley, lying on the side of the Blue Ridge, so near the summit that its elevation 
 above the sea can not be less than thirty-five hundred feet, and hemmed in on all 
 sides by splendid peaks, among which Chimney-Top stands forth conspicuously, while 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUTH. 385 
 
 in full view, only four miles southwest, Whiteside lifts its shining crest, as a beacon 
 and landmark. At this point the Cullowhee Mountains join the Blue Kidge. There 
 are few parts of the country less visited, and there is none that repays exploration 
 better. Whiteside, alone, is worth traveling any distance to see, for it is undoubtedly 
 the grandest rampart of this picturesque land. Standing more than five thousand 
 feet above the ocean, its southeastern face is an immense precipice of white rock — 
 the constituent parts of which are said to be quartz, feldspar, and gneiss — which, 
 rising to the height of eighteen hundred feet, is fully two miles long, and curved so 
 as to form part of the arc of a circle. A more imposing countenance never mountain 
 wore, and it is impossible to say whether its sublimity strikes one most from the base 
 or from the summit. 
 
 To reach the foot of the stupendous precipice, it is necessary to climb for prob- 
 ably a mile through a bewildering world of green woods and massive rocks. When 
 one has fairly entered these vast forests, their tangled depths of sylvan shade and 
 sheen form a region of absolute enchantment. On every side are graceful forms of 
 trees and clusters of foliage, draping vines and delicate tendrils, velvet mosses and 
 ferns, in plumy profusion. Starry flowers lift their sweet chalices, the massive trunks 
 of trees "fit for the mast of some tall admiral" lie buried in verdure. Under arches 
 of cloistral greenness the crystal streams come glancing, like — 
 
 "... a naiad's silvery feet 
 In ijuiek and coy retreat," 
 
 and the music of their swiftly flowing water alone breaks the woodland stillness. 
 Through such scenes one ascends to the huge cliffs of Whiteside, and pauses be- 
 neath them with a sense of amazement and awe. The first precipice rises six or 
 seven hundred feet in sparkling whiteness, with an outward inclination of probably 
 sixty feet. At one or two points it is practicable for an expert climber to scale this 
 cliff, and stand on the second and even grander ledge. From this shelf — where a 
 narrow belt of trees runs, presenting from a distance the appearance of a verdant 
 zone across the mountain's side — the higher precipice rises in majestic ascent for more 
 than a thousand feet. It is not altogether smooth of surface — as one fancies when 
 approaching it — but is worn by the great forces of Nature, concerning which we can 
 only vaguely conjecture, into numerous escarpments of wild and inexpressibly pictur- 
 esque form. Cave-like recesses abound, and the largest of these is known as " the 
 Devil's Supreme Court-House." It is an enormous cavity in the face of the precipice, 
 where, according to Cherokee tradition, the prince of the powers of darkness will on 
 the day of doom erect his throne, and try all spirits who fall under his jurisdiction. 
 The approach to it is along a ledge so narrow and dangerous that few people are 
 sufficiently cool of head and steady of nerve to dare its passage. Pending the session 
 of the court, the cave is a favorite haunt of the bears which still abound in the 
 neighborhood. Hunters sometimes go thither to seek them ; but there is a story told 
 of one hunter which might dissuade others from undertaking such an expedition. 
 
386 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 TJiis man, hoping to find a bear in the cave, was proceeding cautiously along the 
 ledge which led to it, when he suddenly, to his dismay, found the bear sooner than 
 he wanted him. Bruin had left the cave, and was leisurely taking hix way along the 
 narrow shelf, when he, too. was unpleasantly surprised by the appearance of a man in 
 his path. Both came to a dead halt. To the hunter it was a moment of trying 
 anxiety. To turn was impossible, even if it would not have been ill-advised to do 
 so. He had his gun, but dared not fire, for fear of only wounding the animal, and 
 thereby rendering it desperate. Fortunately, it was one of the occasions when inac- 
 tion proved the best thing possible. After they had steadily eyed each other for 
 some time, the bear decided to retrace his steps. He made an attempt to turn, but 
 the effort sealed his fate. His weight overbalanced him, and down the precipice he 
 went, a crashing mass, in which there was not a whole bone when the hunter de- 
 scended to it. 
 
 But, if the cliffs are grand, what can be said of the view when the bold brow of 
 the mountain is gained ? It is I'eadily ascended from the rear, and, when one ad- 
 vances to the verge of its splendid crest, the beauty of the prospect thrills one like 
 noble music. The smiling valleys and green depths of forest far below, the azure 
 fairness of distant heights, the misty sweep of ocean-like plains, the fleecy clouds 
 which drift across the sky — all combine to awaken emotions of delight. *' From the 
 orient to the drooping west," mountains on mountains rise, cloud-girt, blue-robed, 
 soft as the hills of paradise. Southward the plains of South Carolina fade away into 
 glimmering haze, while west of the Cullowhee lies the domain of Macon and Cherokee 
 — a territory abounding in lofty ranges and fruitful valleys, rushing streams and im- 
 mense forests — extending to where the cloud-capped peaks of Georgia are defined 
 against the distant horizon. Turn where one will, scenes of loveliness meet the sight, 
 and the delicious purity of the atmosphere makes one dream of a sanitarium which 
 may be some day established here. It is impossible, however, to regret that such a 
 day has not yet come, that multitudes of tourists have not yet invaded these fair 
 solitudes, and — engraved their names upon the shining rocks ! 
 
 One of the most interesting mountains of the Great Smoky range is known as 
 Smoky Mountain, and it has its base in Tennessee as well as in North Carolina. 
 The chief attraction is a singular cliff known us Alum Cave, and the best approach 
 to it is from the Tennessee side. You leave your horses on the top of the mountain 
 and then journey for six miles up and down, over everything in the way of rocks 
 and ruined vegetation which Nature could devise, until you come to a mountain-side 
 about two miles from the starting-point in a direct line. 
 
 Eoaring along at the base of this mountain is a small stream, from which you 
 have to climb a precipice in a zigzag way. which is at least two thousand feet high, 
 when you find yourself on a level spot of pulverized stone, with a rocky roof extend- 
 ing over your head a distance of perhaps sixty feet. The length of this hollow in the 
 mountain, or " cave," as it is called, is nearly four hundred feet, and, from the brow 
 of the beetling precipice to the level below, the distance is about one hundred and 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 387 
 
 fifty feet. Tlie top of the cliff is covered with a variety of rare and curious plants, 
 and directly over its center trickles a little stream, which forms a pool, like a fountain 
 
 
 L,-Js ^^ 
 
 in front of a spacious jDiazza. The ingi'edients of the rock composing this cliff are 
 alum, epsom salts, saltpeter, magnesia, and copperas, and the water which oozes there- 
 from is distinguished for its strong medicinal qualities. This strange and almost in- 
 
388 OUR XATIVE LAND. 
 
 accessible, but iiuquestiouably very valuable cave, belongs to an organized company, 
 and, before the late war, bad been worked with considerable profit, on account of its 
 alum. The scenery upon which this cave looks down is also decidedly novel and in- 
 teresting. From one point of view the mountains descend abruptly from either side, 
 into a kind of amphitheatre, where the one on the right terminates in a very narrow 
 and ragged ridge, which is without vegetation, while far beyond, directly in front of 
 the cave, rises a lofty and pointed mountain backed by some three or four peaks of 
 inferior magnitude. The ridge alluded to is very high, but yet the cave looks down 
 upon it, and it is so fantastic in its appearance that, from different points of view, 
 may be discovered natural holes, or windows, opening through the entire wall, while 
 from other points of view the great rocky mass resembles a ruined castle, a decaj'ed 
 battlement, or the shattered tower of a huge cathedral. To gaze upon this prospect 
 at the sunset hour, when the mountains are tinged with a rosy hue, and the great 
 hollow, or basin, before you is filled with a purjile atmosphere, and the rocky ledge is 
 basking in the sunlight like a huge monster on the bosom of a placid lake, affords 
 one of the most curious and impressive scenes imaginable. But the locality, under 
 any of its phases, will amply repay the lover of fine scenery for a long pilgrimage. 
 
 Bv crossing northward from the Smoky Mountain range — that bold projection of 
 territory with which Tennessee divides North Carolina from Virginia — we reach the 
 noble mountains known as the Cumberland range, this being in reality a spur of the 
 main Alleghany system which stretches down through Virginia and North Carolina. 
 Here the eye meets almost every variety of picturescpie expression. Here and there 
 are broad table-lands on which cities might be built, terminating abruptly in escarp- 
 ments and vertical preci})ices, looking like the fronts of stupendous fortresses built by 
 the hands of giants. There are rocks full of grand aspects ; caves that might be the 
 hiding-places of the winds : melodious water-falls ; glens and chasms ; and forests so 
 dense that only the most experienced hunter could ever thread his way in safety. 
 The changeless masonry of Nature is piled uj) in every conceivable shape. The 
 mountains of the Cumberland region take the form of ridges parallel to one another. 
 In these there are a number of great fissures, or gate-ways, through which the traveler 
 must pass in crossing the range. 
 
 The most celebrated of these openings is Cumberland Gap, in East Tennessee, near 
 the Kentucky border, about one hundred and fifty miles southeast from Lexington. 
 This is the only practicable passage-way for a distance of about eighty miles for the 
 travel of man or beast. It is some five hundred feet in depth, about six miles in 
 length, and so narrow in many places that there is scarcely room for the roadway. 
 Mountains rise on either side to a height of twelve hundred feet, and. when the ob- 
 server has climbed their frowning steeps, he beholds one of the most beautiful views 
 in America. Southward are the lovely valleys of Tennessee, looking in the distance 
 like an undulating plain, on which human handiwork has written its significant 
 marks. Gazing to the north, a series of rolling mountains, looking like huge billows, 
 rise as barriers to hide the smiling fields of Kentuckv. 
 
 II 
 I 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUTH. 389 
 
 During the late civil war Cumberland Gap resounded to the tramp of armies surg- 
 ing back and forth. For a time it was held by the Confederates as a fortified posi- 
 tion, and cannon bristled from the adjoining heights ; for on the possession of that 
 secluded mountain recess depended the safety of the railway connections between 
 Richmond and the southwestern portions of the revolted States. 
 
 The road through the Gap curves like a great ribbon, to take every advantage of a 
 precarious track, and it is indeed but the enlarged war-trail once traveled by the 
 Cherokees and other savages in making their incursions on the white settlements. 
 Here Boone and the early pioneers passed back and forth, and nearly every mile of 
 the whole region is associated with a bloody ambuscade, a legend, or a tradition. So 
 lonely and wild is it even to-day that one would not feel it incongruous to hear the 
 shrill war-whoop of the red-skin, or the crack of the rifle in answer to the challenge. 
 
 There are but few residents in the Gap. A rude grocery here and there marks 
 the primitive commerce of the region, the trader exchanging whisky, clothing, etc., 
 for the products of the region, which thus find their way to market. The mount- 
 aineers are a sturdy, warm-hearted race, unlearned in the courtesies of life, but full 
 of generous hospitality. During the civil war there was battle to the knife between 
 families in this section, as there were a great many Unionists among the East Ten- 
 nessee mountaineers, and some of the bloodiest scenes in guerrilla warfare were perpe- 
 trated in the vicinity of the Gap. The mineral wealth of these mountains is believed 
 to be enormous, and, when the organization of industry and the completion of rail- 
 ways through this region opens their hidden resources, it is probable that the results 
 will be extraordinary. 
 
 Another remarkable aspect of mountain-scenery in Tennessee attracts us to the 
 southern border of the State, in the vicinity of the thriving city of Chattanooga. 
 Between and around the bases of towering heights winds the swift and tumultuous 
 Tennessee River, a journey on which well repays one in the scenes of beauty that 
 successively unfold themselves to the eye. From the house-windows of Chattanooga 
 the lofty form of Lookout Mountain, one of the historic heights of the country, may 
 be seen lifting itself majestically in its escalade of the clouds. Let us make the 
 ascent and gaze on a scene which, whether from its magnificent beauty or its historic 
 association, is well worthy of the deepest interest of the tourist. 
 
 A drive of about two miles southward from Chattanooga brings us to the base of 
 the mountain, and here we begin the long, sloping ascent. As we ascend, forms of 
 the most varied and striking character are displayed in the cliffs and ravines of the 
 mountain, and superb prospects of the far valley and the winding Tennessee gleam 
 through the net-work of trees. The journey up Lookout is continually and pleas- 
 antly interrupted by lovely picturesque half-glimpses and broken vistas. The first 
 sensation of the prospect from the top is merely that of immensity. The eye sweeps 
 the vast spaces that are bounded only by the haze of distance. On three sides no 
 obstacles intervene between your altitude and the utmost reaches of the vision. To 
 your right stretch successive ranges of hills and mountains that seem to rise one above 
 
390 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 1 
 
 Cvmhertaiid Gap, from Eof/le Cliff. 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUTH. 391 
 
 another until they dispute form and character with the clouds. Your vision extends, 
 you are told, to the great Smoky Mountains of North Carolina, which lie nearly a 
 hundred miles distant. The whole vast space between is packed with huge undula- 
 tions of hills, which seem to come rolling in upon your mountain-sliore, like giant 
 waves. It is, indeed, a very sea of si^ace, and your stand of rocks and cliffs juts up 
 in strange isolation amid the gray waste of blending hills. Directly before you the 
 undulations are repeated, fading away in the far distance where the Cumberland Hills 
 of Kentucky hide their tops in the mists of the horizon. Your eye covers the entire 
 width of Tennessee ; it reaches, so it is said, even to Virginia, and embraces within 
 its scope territory of seven States. These are Georgia, Tennessee, Alabama, Virginia, 
 Kentucky, North and South Carolina. If the view does in truth extend to Virginia, 
 then it reaches to a point fixlly one hundred and fifty miles distant. To your left 
 the picture gains a delicious charm in the windings of the Tennessee, which makes a 
 sharp curve directly at the base of the mountain, and then sweeps away, soon disap- 
 pearing among its hills, but at intervals reappearing, glancing white and silvery in the 
 distance, like great mirrors let in to the landscape. 
 
 Lookout Mountain presents an abrupt precipice to the plain it overlooks. Its cliffs 
 are, for half-way down the mountain, splendid palisades. The mountain-top is almost 
 a plateau, and one may wander at his ease for hours along the rugged, broken, seamed, 
 tree-crowned cliifs, surveying the superb panorama stretched out before him in all its 
 different aspects. The favorite post of view is called the "Point," a plateau on a 
 projecting angle of the cliff, being almost directly above the Tennessee, and command- 
 ing to the right and left a breadth of view which no other situation enjoys. Beneath 
 the cliff, the rock-strewed slope that stretches to the valley was once heavily wooded, 
 but during the war the Confederates denuded it of its trees, in order that the ap- 
 proaches to their encampment might be watched. It was under cover of a dense 
 mist that Hooker's men on the day of the famous battle skirted this open space and 
 reached the cover of the rocks bej-ond, which they were to scale. The "battle above 
 the clouds " is picturesque and poetical in the vivid descriptions of our historians, but 
 the survey of the ground from the grand escarpments of the mountain thrills one 
 with admiration. It is not surprising that Bragg believed himself secure in his rocky 
 eyrie, and the wonder must always remain that these towering palisades did not prove 
 an impregnable barrier to the approach of his enemy. 
 
 On the summit of Lookout Mountain the northwest corner of Georgia and the 
 northeast extremity of Alabama meet on the southern boundary of Tennessee. The 
 mountain lifts abruptly from the valley to a height of fifteen hundred feet. It is 
 the summit overhanging the plain of Chattanooga that is usually connected in the 
 popular imagination with the title of Lookout, but the mountain really extends for 
 fifty miles in a southwesterlj' direction into Alabama. The surface of the mountain 
 is well wooded, it has numerous springs, and is susceptible of cultivation. In time, 
 no doubt, extensive farms will occupy the space now filled by the wilderness. There 
 is a small settlement on the crest of the mountain, consisting of two summer hotels, 
 
393 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 several cottages and cabins, and a college. It is a grand place for study, and the 
 young people of this sky-aspiring academy have certainly superb stimulants in the 
 exhilarating air and glorious scenes of their mountain alma mater. 
 
 There are several inns, or hotels, as they more pretentiously call themselves, on or 
 near the summit of the mountain. These in the summer season are thronged with 
 visitors, either permanent or transient, who come up for a day's search of the pictur- 
 esque from Chattanooga. The majority, however, only stay on Lookout Mountain 
 for an hour or two, and consequently miss some of the many attractions of the visit. 
 Among the striking features may be mentioned a lake and cascade of uncommon 
 beauty, about six miles away from the Point, and a singular grouping of rocks known 
 by the name of Rock City. Here we see great rocks of the most fantastic shapes, 
 arranged in avenues like the streets of a city ; and, indeed, names have been given to 
 some of the thoroughfares in this city of the Gnomes, where you may travel between 
 huge masses of the quaintest architecture. Sometimes these rock-buildings are nearly 
 square, and look like the fronts of imposing city mansions, and then again they show 
 the greatest caprice and license. Some overhang their bases in ponderous balconies, 
 others stand balanced on apparently frail pivots of rock, and seem to reverse all the 
 laws of gravitation. So odd and strange are the effects made by this mimic city on 
 the fancy, that one would not be surprised to see this silent, shadowy, deserted place 
 burst at once into all the forms of some strange life, like the cities of the fairy 
 legends that lie under a magician's spell. 
 
 Lookout Mountain is generally remarkable for its oddly-shaped rocks. Near the 
 Point are two eccentric examples. The Devil's Pulpit consists of large slabs of rock 
 ])iled on one another in strange confusion, and ajiparently ready to topple over. An- 
 other is called Saddle Rock, from its fancied resemblance. It is supposed that these 
 queer rock-forms, jutting so far above the palisades below, are remains of a higher 
 wall of clitf which has been worn away during the passage of countless centuries. 
 
 One of the most important elements in the view from Lookout Mountain is the 
 curving Tennessee, whose swift current passes in devious windings through a long 
 stretch of mountainous country. The Tennessee is formed by the union of the 
 Clinch and the Ilolston Rivers at Kingston, and together with its afHuents reaches 
 a length of eleven hundred miles. Steamers navigate different portions of the river, 
 but there are difficulties of navigation which prevent their passage of tlie whole con- 
 secutive length of the stream. 
 
 The mountainous regions of Georgia, though not on the whole nearly so grand 
 or picturesque even as those of North Carolina and Tennessee, have their own charm, 
 and amply repay the visit of the tourist. The Owassa River, in Northwestern Georgia, 
 is a tributary of the Tennessee, and is a clear, I'apid, and beautiful stream. It is 
 <|uite circuitous in its course, and the valley through which it runs is fertile, partially 
 cultivated, and hemmed in with mountains that roll away to the sky, very much like 
 some of the mountains of Vermont. The accompanying view is perhaps as character- 
 istic as any that could be selected, and the spirit of peace which rests upon it can 
 
 
TEE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 393 
 
 <*^ 
 
 not be witnessed without a sensation 
 of comfort. Many of the people live 
 in log-cabins, and are moral and intel- 
 ligent, but apparentl}' destitute of all 
 enterprise. What this valley, and many 
 others of equal fertility and beauty to 
 be found among the highlands of Geor- 
 gia and North Carolina, mostly need, to 
 make them all that heart can desire, are 
 the industrial and educational elements 
 of New England. The soils are exceed- 
 ingly rich, and the climate perfection. 
 It is but seldom that a foot of snow 
 covers the earth in the severest winters ; 
 
 and, though the days of midsummer are very warm, they are seldom sultry, 
 nights are sufficiently cool to make a blanket necessary. Fevers and other 
 
 Vitiv from Lookuut Muuat'nn. 
 
 and the 
 diseases 
 
394 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 peculiar to tlie sea-slope of the Alleghanies are hardly known among the inhabitants, 
 and hitherto the majority of people have died of old age. Fruits of all kinds are 
 abundant, and the apple and peach arrive at great perfection ; and out of the latter 
 they manufacture very good and palatable brandy. The surrounding mountains are 
 covered with luxuriant grass, even to their summits ; for in the forests there is a 
 scarcity of undergrowth (as is the case in our Northern forests), so that the whole 
 country is a pasture-land, capable of feeding a hundred-fold more cattle than have 
 
 Vitw on the OwOMSd. 
 
 hitherto been raised in the country. Connected with the river Owassa, there is a 
 geological fact worth mentioning. Running directly across a little hamlet, which 
 stands at the mouth of the river, is a belt of richly variegated marble, which belt 
 crosses the Owassa. Just above this rich and solid causeway, or dam, the river, for 
 about two liundred feet, is said to be over one hundred feet deep, and at one point, 
 according to the old story, it is bottomless. When the peojtle there begin to discuss 
 the subject, they universally express the opinion that there is a subterranean jiassagc 
 between the deep hole in the Owassa and the river Notely, which is two miles dis- 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUTH. 395 
 
 taut ; and the testimony adduced in pi-oof of this theory is, that a log which had 
 been cut and marked on the Notely was subsequently found floating in the Owassa. 
 
 But nowhere in Georgia can there be seen such a novelty of mountain-scenery as 
 Tallulah Chasm, in the northeastern part of the State. This Cherokee name means 
 the terrible, and was originally applied to the river on account of its magnificent 
 falls. A tributary of the Savannah, and rising in the Alleghanies, it runs through a 
 mountain-land, and is narrow, deej), clear, cold, and subject to every variety of mood. 
 During the first half of its career it winds among the hills in uneasy joy, and then, 
 for several miles, it wears a placid appearance, and you scarcely hear the murmur of 
 its waters. Soon tiring of this peaceful course, however, it narrows itself for an 
 approaching contest, and runs through a chasm whose walls, about two miles in length, 
 are for the most part perjDendicular. After making five distinct leaps, as the chasm 
 deepens, it settles into a turbulent and angry mood, and so continues until it leaves 
 the gorge and regains its wonted character. The accompanying sketch gives us a view 
 of the chasm at its lowest extremity. The total fall of water, within the two miles 
 mentioned, has been estimated at four hundred feet, and the several falls have been 
 named Lodore, Tempesta, Oceana, Horicon, and the Serpentine. What they have done, 
 that they should have been so wretchedly christened, has always been a mystery. At 
 this point the stream is exceedingly winding, and the granite cliffs on either side vary 
 in height from six hundred to nine hundred feet, while the mountains which back the 
 clifEs reach an elevation of fifteen hundred feet. Many of the pools are very large 
 and deep, and the walls and rocks are everywhere covered with the most luxuriant 
 mosses. The vegetation of the whole chasm is in truth particularly rich and varied ; 
 for you may find here not only the pine, but specimens of every variety of the more 
 tender trees, together with lichens, and vines, and flowers, which would keep a botanist 
 employed for half a century. Only four paths have been discovered leading to the 
 margin of the water, and to make either one of these descents requires much of the 
 nerve and courage of the samphire-gatherer. Through this immense gorge a strong 
 wind is ever blowing, and the sunlight never falls upon the cataracts without forming 
 beautiful rainbows, which contrast strangely with the surrounding gloom and horror : 
 and the roar of the water-falls, perpetually ascending to the sky, comes to the beholder 
 with a voice that bids him to wonder and admire. 
 
 With regard to the more striking features of this chasm, next to its falls, may be 
 mentioned the Devil's Pulpit, the Devil's Dwelling, the Eagle's Nest, the Deer-leap, 
 Hawthorne's Pool, and Hank's Sliding-place, whose several names convey an idea of 
 their characteristics or associations. After emerging from its magnificent chasm, the 
 Tallulah River runs quietly through a beautiful vale, which is so completely hemmed 
 in with hills as to be quite inaccessible to a vehicle of any description. In this nar- 
 row valley stands a solitary cabin, which, though now deserted and forlorn, was once 
 the happy home of Adam Vandever, the Hunter of Tallulah. He was a small, weazen- 
 faced man, and wore a white beard. He was born in South Carolina, hunted for 
 many years in Kentucky, and spent the last thirty years of his life in the wilds of 
 
396 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 X 
 
 
 i 
 
 Tallulah Cha»m^ Geonfiu, 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUTH. 397 
 
 Georgia. By way of a frolic he took part iu tlie Creek War, and is said to have 
 killed more Indians with his single rifle than any other wliite man in the army. He 
 was married three times, and delighted to talk about his thirty-two or three children. 
 During the summer he cultivated his land, and his live-stock consisted generally of 
 one mule, half a dozen goats, and a number of dogs. His favorite game was the deer, 
 of which he claimed to have killed four thousand, but he was quite ready always to 
 kill whatever might cross his jjath. In all his winter hunts, when absent for weeks 
 at a time, his mule, which he honored with the name of The Devil and Tom Walker, 
 was his sole companion, and he is said to have brought home, as the result of a single 
 winter campaign, not less than six hundred peltries and skins, consisting of those of 
 the bear, the black and gray wolf, the jKinther, the wild-cat, the fox, and the 'coon. 
 In politics, which he despised, he went for men and not principles, and, from the time 
 that he fought under General Jackson until his death, he continued to vote for him 
 for President at every subsequent election. That the hunting-stories of such a man 
 were full of interest can be readily imagined. 
 
 That a place like Tallulah should have an Indian legend a.ssociated with it was to 
 be expected. Many generations ago, according to the Cherokees, it so happened that 
 several famous hunters, who had wandered from the West toward the Savannah Eiver, 
 never returned. The curiosity and fears of the nation were excited, and they sent a 
 delegation of medicine-men to go and find the lost hunters. They visited the East, 
 and when they returned they reported that they had discovered a dreadful chasm in 
 a strange part of the country. They said it was a very wild jilace, and inhabited by 
 a race of little people, who dwelt among the rocks and under the water-falls ; that 
 they were the enemies of the Cherokee nation ; and they knew that these little peo- 
 ple had decoyed the missing hunters to death in the waters of Tallulah. In view 
 of this legend, it is worthy of remark that the Cherokees, before departing for the 
 far West, always avoided the J'alls of Tallulah, and were never found hunting or 
 fishing in their vicinity. 
 
Mouth of St. John's River, Florida. 
 
 THE LAND OF ORANGE-GROVES. 
 
 Tlie Auierican Italy — Situali"n and climate — Jacksonville — A trip up the St. John's and the Ocklawaha — St. 
 Augustine ; its history and traditions — The St. Augustine of to-day — The gardens and fruits of Florida — The 
 banana, and how it grows— The orange-eulture— Florida vegetation— The " cracker " class— The principal points 
 of interest in the State — Key West— Indian River— Hunting in Florida— Lake Okeehobee— The Everglades. 
 
 Both in its traditions and natural features Florida is one of tlie most interesting 
 States in the Union. Though the first settled and blessed with the most genial of 
 climates, yet tlie oroater part of the State is to-dav a wilderness, though a wilderness 
 marked by the most j)icturesque and unique features. The early history was one long 
 romance of battle and massacre, and the later records are not less interesting. The 
 Spaniards, who were the earliest white visitors, were much impressed with its scenery 
 and the weirdness of its wilds, and as they arrived on Easter-Sunday, which they 
 called " Pascua Florida." they commemorated the day by giving the new territory 
 the name of the sacred festival. 
 
 Time was when Florida was an immense sand-bar stretching into the (iulf of 
 Mexico, and j)robably entirely barren. But under the influence of the delicious semi- 
 trojiical climate, which makes Florida one of the jiaradises of the Avorld, the seeds, 
 which were freely borne to it on the winds and waves and by the myriads of birds 
 that lind a resting-place here, at last clothed it with luxuriant vegetation interspersed 
 with tracts of barren sand. The absurdity of tlie jirevalent notion that the land- 
 scapes of tropical and semi-tropical scenery are superior in richness of vegetable 
 growth to those of temperate climes is nowhere better illustrated than in Florida. 
 In hot regions there is only an abundant growtli of jilants where there is plenty of 
 moisture. It is only in the north that the whole face of the country glows with 
 greenery. In the tropics there is a profuse production of flowers and plants only in 
 
THE LAND OF ORANGE-GROVES. ' 3<J9 
 
 the swamps and forests, where the lieat and blaze of the sun are soniewliat modified. 
 In such recesses we have in Florida the wildest effects. Flowers, vines, and foliage, 
 strange plants and gigantic trees literal)}' weighted down with gorgeous j)arasites, de- 
 light the eye, and the air is heavy witli rich odors. But these are in hidden places, 
 wliile the open landscape is for the most part arid and sandy. 
 
 Our American Italy, as Florida may justly be called, has not a mountain within 
 its boundaries. Extending from twenty-five degrees to thirty-one degrees north lati- 
 tude, its area is si.\ty thousand miles. Nearly four hundred miles in length, it lies 
 nearly in the same parallels with Northern Mexico, the Desert of Saluira, Central 
 Arabia, Southern China, and Northern Hindostan. But its heats are so tempered by 
 the Gulf Stream on the one side and the Gulf of Mexico on the other, that the air is 
 balmy and delightful. Over the level breadth, one hundred and thirty miles between 
 the two waters, odorous and health-giving ocean-winds blow continually, and under 
 their influence and that of the genial sun all moist places are clad in a sub-tropical 
 vegetation. Florida is the home of the palmetto and cabbage-iJalm, the live-oak and 
 the cypress, the mistletoe and Spanish moss, the mangrove and the stately magnolia, 
 the orange, the pineapple, the banana, the myrtle, the jasmine, the cork-tree, the 
 grape, and the cocoa-nut. In different portions of the State, according to the latitude, 
 the finest fruits of the temperate and tropical zones flourish luxuriantl)'. Winter and 
 summer the climate is delicious, and hitherward flock invalids from all portions of 
 the United States, and to some extent from Europe, to breathe its soft and healing 
 air 
 
 We will invite the reader to accompany us in a hasty ti-ip to visit those scenes and 
 features of Florida which possess the most interest, though in doing so we shall be 
 obliged to pass over places and characteristics which urge a strong claim on our at- 
 tention. Let us begin with the St. John's River, which for many miles is more like a 
 broad estuary than a mere river. This great river, which rises in the Everglades of 
 Southern Florida, flows north for a distance of four hundred miles, and empties into the 
 ocean. Jacksonville, the largest city of Florida, is situated about twenty-five miles 
 above the mouth of the river, with a population of some fifteen thousand inhabit- 
 ants. From December till April the population is doubled on account of the influx 
 of those who come in search of a genial winter climate. The river at this point 
 makes a crescent bend like that of the Mississippi at New Orleans. Here the river is 
 two miles broad, though it expands to eight miles farther up the stream. The bar 
 at the mouth of the river is nearly always practicable for large ocean-steamers, and 
 they run with ease to Palatka, sixty miles above Jacksonville. The journey from the 
 river's mouth is pleasant in the extreme — past Baton Island, the home of the river 
 pilots and the site of two light-houses ; past the mounds of oyster-shells surmounted 
 with tangled shrubbery ; past the white domes which glitter under the sun and look 
 weird and ghastly under the moon ; and past the spot where once stood old Fort 
 Caroline, the scene of the massacre by the Spaniard Menendez of the French Hugue- 
 nots. 
 
400 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 The city of Jacksonville is well laid out, more after tlie Northern than the South- 
 ern plan, and has all the comforts, conveniences, and luxuries of a city of much 
 greater size. Mr. Edward King, in " The Great South," gives ns the following vivid 
 and pleasant j)icture of the city : 
 
 "Imagine yourself transferred from the trying climate of the North or Northwest 
 into the gentle atmosphere of the Floridiau Peninsula, seated just at sunset in an 
 arm-chair, on one of the verandas which overlook the pretty square in Jacksonville. 
 Your face is fanned by the warm December breeze, and the chippering of the birds 
 mingles with the music which the negro band is playing in yonder portico. The 
 lazy, ne'er-do-well negro boys, playing in the sand so abundant in all the roads, have 
 the unconscious pose and careless grace of Neapolitan beggars. Here and there 
 among the dusky race is a face beautiful as was ever that of olive-brown maid in 
 Mes.sina. This is the South, slumberous, voluptuous, round, and graceful. Here beauty 
 peeps from every door-yard. Mere existence is pleasure ; exertion is a bore. Through 
 orange-trees and grand oaks thickly bordering the broad avenues gleams the wide 
 current of the St. John's Eiver. Parallel with it runs Bay Street, Northern in ap- 
 pearance, with brick blocks on either side, with crowds of smartly dressed tourists 
 hurrying through it, with a huge 'National Hotel,' with banks, with elegant shops. 
 Fine shell roads run out beyond the town limits in either direction. Eiding toward 
 the river's mouth, which is twenty-tive miles below the town, one comes to marshes 
 and broad exj)anses of luscious green thicket." 
 
 The St. John's is as capricious as a coquette, a fact illustrated in the Indian name 
 Il-la-ka, that is, "It has it.= own way." The flat, low banks are fringed with a wealth 
 of exquisite foliage, and one passes for hundreds of miles through a forest of cy- 
 presses, swathed in moss and mistletoe ; of graceful palms and palmettocs lifting their 
 plumes high above their brethren ; of white and black ash, magnolia, oak, poplar, 
 and plane trees ; and where there are hammocks we see groves of the olive, the cot- 
 ton-tree, the Juniper, the red cedar, the sweet-gum, and the live-oak shooting up 
 their splendid stems. Among these and intertwined with them are a countless variety 
 of {lowering shrubs and vines. Close to the shore we see through the tangled thick- 
 ets the gleaming water, out of which rise innumerable cypress-knees, looking exactly 
 like so many champagne-bottles set in the current to cool. Herons and cranes watch 
 saucily from the river-bank, and monster turtles and still more monstrous alligators 
 glide slowly along, only to duck their heads at the flash of the gun or pistol. On 
 the way up the river we pass noted health resorts such as Mandarin, Ilebomia, Mag- 
 nolia, and Picolata, which have their (piota of invalids. Near Magnolia is Green 
 Cove Springs, famous for curing rheumatism and a hundred other complaints. It is 
 composed of a series of warm sulphur-springs, in some cases twenty-tive feet deej), 
 the water being pale blue and transparent. It was, perhaps, some rumor of tlie virtue 
 of these spi'ings which gave Ponce de Leon his belief in the Fountain of Youth. 
 
 Palatka, the largest town on the river above Jacksonville, which is the point of 
 departure for the upper St. John's and the Ocklawaha Rivers, is noted for the bland- 
 
THE LAND OF ORANGE-GROVES. 
 
 401 
 
 ness of its climate, and is a resort for consumptives, only less popular than Jackson- 
 ville and St. Augustine. Here the vegetation begins to be more characteristically 
 tropical, and the river narrows to a moderate-sized stream, which characteristic it re- 
 
 Mght Scene on the OcTclawaha River. 
 
 tains except where it widens into Grand Lake George, Dexter Lake, and Lake Mon- 
 roe at Enterprise. 
 
 Twenty-five miles above Palatka the Ocklawaha River empties into the St. John's 
 after flowing nearly three hundred miles. The channel is simply a navigable jiassage 
 through a succession of small lakes and cypress-swamps. Small steamers are able to 
 
 26 
 
40a OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 ascend it for two hundred miles. Let us take passage on one of these queer little 
 craft, for an excui'sion up the Ocklawalia is one of the most unique and interesting 
 experiences possible to the Florida tourist. Our little steamboat, in sim])le build and 
 rude ' machinery, might have been the first model made by Fulton. The general 
 outline is that of an ill-shaped omnibus, with the propelling wheel let into its rear. 
 The smoke-pipe, engine, jiilot-house, and other appurtenances of the gearing of boats, 
 are all housed, for the excellent reason of protecting them from being torn away 
 liy the overhanging limbs or protruding stumps, everywhere to be met with in the 
 dithculties of Florida swamp navigation. 
 
 Starting in the wee small liours, a short sail along the St. Jolin's finds us at the 
 mouth of the Ocklawaha about sunrise, the river looking scarcely wide enough to 
 admit a skiff, mixch less a steamboat. As the light increases, we find our boat pass- 
 ing tlirough a cypress-swamp, the only marks of the channel being the blazed trees. 
 Though the water is deep enough, it is a queer kind of navigation, for the boat goes 
 along bumping against cypress-butts, suggesting in case of disaster a very unromantic 
 fate through tlie agency of mosquitoes, buzzards, moccasin-snakes, and alligators. 
 
 Novel pictures present themselves at every turn. Now we reach a spot a little 
 higher than the water-level, covered with a dense growth of lofty palmettoes. They 
 shoot up tall and slender, bearing a mass of innumerable parasites. In some cases 
 the eye is delighted by patches, half a mile in length, of the convolvulus carried on 
 the palmetto-grove as on a lattice, tlie whole a mass of lovely blossoms. A sharp 
 turn in the sluggish channel reveals another scene. The wreck of a huge dead 
 cypress is discovered, its gaunt limbs covered with buzzards, waiting for the decom- 
 position of an alligator, which some sportsman has shot and bequeathed as a banquet 
 to these useful but loathsome birds, the scavengers of tropical regions. Sometimes 
 we enter what seems to be a cavern, so thickly are the tree-tops and the vines inter- 
 laced into a solid roof. The Florida swamps are as rich in birds as in vegetation, 
 and Audubon found here one of his finest fields as a hiinter-naturalist. The water- 
 turkey or snake-bird is seen everywhere sitting on some projecting limb, the body 
 concealed as much as possible from view, and the long head and neck projected in 
 search of prey. You fire at the fpieer bird, and it falls apparently helpless into the 
 water. On rowing to the sjiot your jirey has disappeared, but you suddenly see the 
 long, snaky head just protruding above the surface a hundred yards away. The 
 white crane is also a conspicuous bird as it stands out in deep relief against the 
 black shadows of the cypress, and proudly stalks about, studying the Styx-like waters 
 for ]n-ey. Its special tidbit is the young of the innumerable water-snakes which 
 abound, and it pays hungry attention to the slimy, disgusting youug moccasins, which 
 have a taste for sunning themselves, everywhere the light shines through the tangled 
 arches of the swamp. 
 
 But tlie most interesting object in these out-of-the-way retreats is the alligator, 
 ■who finds a paradise in the Florida swamps. Here he has no occasion, as in Louisi- 
 ana, to retire into the mud to escape the winter cold, but basks in the warmth of 
 
THE LAND OF ORANGE-GROVES. 
 
 403 
 
 A Florida Sioa 
 
404 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 the upper world tlie year round. It is comical and provoking to see one of these 
 huge creatures, when indisposed to get out of the way, turn up his piggish eyes with 
 an indifferent look, as a ritle-ball strikes his mailed sides, and hardly give a grunt in 
 recognition of the salute. Like Achilles, however, he has one vulnerable spot, which 
 is just in front of the place where the huge head works on the spinal column, and, 
 knowing this, an experienced hunter rarely lets one of these reptiles escaj)e him. 
 
 In our devious course through the swamp, perhaps we come on a cigar-box nailed 
 to a tree, bearing the magic letters U. S. M. This is the primitive post-office of the 
 region, where the " swampers " leave their soiled notes and crooked writing to be 
 conveyed to their addresses by the first comer. The little steamer goes bumping from 
 stump to stump, and continually stirs \\\i the inhabitants of the watery wilderness, 
 
 A Scene on the ik'kl'iivohii liiver. 
 
 frightening the countless crows, and scattering the snakes and wood-ducks on the 
 surface of the water. Innumerable paroquets chattering in the feathery crowns of 
 palmetto-trees scream out their indignation, and flash their green and golden plumage 
 wherever the sun shines through an open space. 
 
 By-and-by it begins to get dark, and it becomes a mystery to know how the pilot 
 is going to steer his charge through the pitch-black mystery of the swamp. While 
 thus speculating, thei-e flashes across the landscape a bright, clear light. From the 
 most intense blackness we have a fierce, lurid glare, presenting the most picturesque 
 groups of overhanging palmettoes, draped with jiarasites and vines of all descrijitions ; 
 prominent among the latter is the scarlet truniiiet-creeiier. overburdened with wreaths 
 of blos.soms, and intertwined again with chajjlets of purple and white convolvulus. 
 
THE LAND OF ORANGE-GROVES. 405 
 
 the most minute details of the objects uear being brought out in a sharp red light 
 against the deep tone of the forest's depths. But no fancy can conceive the grotesque 
 and weird forms which constantly force themselves on your notice as the light par- 
 tially illuminates the limbs of wrecked or half-destroyed trees, which, covered with 
 moss, or wrapped in decayed vegetation as a winding-sheet, seem huge unburied mon- 
 sters, which, though dead, still throw about their arms in agony, and gaze through 
 unmeaning eyes upon the intrusions of active, living men. 
 
 Another run of a half-mile brings us into the cypress again, the fire-light giving 
 new ideas of the picturesque. The tall shafts, more than ever shrouded in the hang- 
 ing moss, look as if they had been draped in sad habiliments, while the wind sighs 
 through the limbs ; and vs'hen the sonorous sounds of the alligators are heard, groan- 
 ing and complaining, the sad, dismal picture of desolation is complete. 
 
 A sharp contact with a palmetto-knee throws around the head of our nondescript 
 steamer, and we enter what appears to be an endless colonnade of beautifully pro- 
 portioned shafts, running upward a hundred feet, roofed by hanging ornaments, sug- 
 gesting the most striking effect of Gothic architecture. The delusion is increased by 
 the waving streamers of the Spanish moss, which here and there, in great festoons of 
 fifty feet in length, hang down like tattered but gigantic banners, worm-eaten and 
 moldy, sad evidences of the hopes and passions of the distant past. So impressive 
 are these wonderful effects of a brilliant light upon these Florida swamps, that we 
 almost forget to look for the cause of the artificial glare, but, when we do, we find 
 a faithful negro has suspended from cranes iron cages, which hold fat-pine knots, 
 kept constantly replenished. These blaze and crackle, and transform the dense dark- 
 ness into the most weird and novel views of Nature. 
 
 By-and-by we arrive at the special goal of our strange journey, the celebrated 
 Silver Spring. We find our rude craft in a basin possibly a quarter of a mile in 
 diameter, entirely surrounded by gigantic forest-trees, which repeat themselves with 
 the most minute fidelity in the perfectly translucent water. For sixty feet downward 
 we can look, and at this great depth see duplicated the scene of the upper world, 
 the clearness of the water assisting rather than interfering with the vision. The bot- 
 tom of this basin is silver sand, studded with pale emeralds, odd formations of lime- 
 crystals — a bed of white coral in forms and color that remind us of cunningly wrought 
 silver baskets. This we soon learn is the wonderful Silver Spring of which we have 
 heard so much, which every moment throws out its thousands of gallons of water 
 without making a bubble on the surface. 
 
 Procuring a "dug-out," and provided with a gun, we proceed to inform ourself 
 of the mysteries of the spot. The transparency of the water is ever a constant won- 
 der. A little pearly-white shell, dropped from the hand, works its zigzag way down- 
 ward, becoming in its descent a mere emerald tint, until, finding the bottom, it 
 seems to be a gem destined for ever to glisten in its silver setting. 
 
 Noticing the faintest possible movement on the surface of the basin at a certain 
 point, we conclude that that must be over the place where the great body of the 
 
40G OUR XATIVE LAND. 
 
 water enters the spring. So, paddling to the spot, and wrapping a stone, weighing 
 about eight ounces, in a piece of white paper, we drop it into the water at the place 
 wlicre the slightly perceptible movement is visible. The stone goes perpendicularly 
 down for some twenty-hve feet, until it reaches a slight projection of limestone rock, 
 where it is suddenly, as if a feather in weight, forced upward in a curving line some 
 fifteen feet, showing the tremendous power of tlie water that rushes out from the 
 rock buried under this bed of burning sand. Perhaps the most novel and startling 
 feature is when our craft comes from the shade into the sunshine, for then, looking 
 over the sides of the canoe, we recoil at the sensation of floating in the air. For it 
 seems as if we are, by some mii-aculous power, suspended seventy feet or more in 
 the mid-air, while down on the sanded bottom is a sharp, clear silhouette of man, 
 boat, and paddle. A deep river a hundred feet wide is created by the water of this 
 spring, which in the course of seven miles forms a junction with the Ocklawaha, and 
 then continues to run side by side for another mile, without mixing its clear, pellucid 
 water with the coffee-stained flow of the other stream, which, like most of the rivers 
 of Florida, is heavily charged with alluvial and vegetable matter. 
 
 Eeturning down the Ocklawaha to the St. John's, we are temjited to continue 
 our journey up the river, which becomes narrow, except where it widens into lakes, 
 such as Lake George, a few miles above the mouth of the Ocklawaha, Dexter's Lake 
 and Lake Monroe at Enterprise. The latter-named towu is the head of steamboat 
 navigation on the river, and is one point of departure for the celebrated Indian River 
 region, the sportsman's paradise of Florida. 
 
 Lake George is a beautiful sheet of water, worthy of its namesake in Northern New 
 York. It is twelve miles wide and eighteen miles long, and the surface is dotted with 
 charming islands. Among them is one, seventeen hundred acres in extent, which con- 
 tains one of the largest orange-groves in the world. All along the lake the eye is 
 delighted and the ear charmed with the brilliant plumage and the sweet songs of 
 Southern birds. At the southern end of Lake George lies Drayton's Island, where 
 there are some remarkable Indian mounds. Thence the river passes into Dexter Lake, 
 surrounded by wild and seemingly limitless marshes and liamniocks. Beyond this lake 
 the St. John's becomes a very narrow channel, whose banks are clothed with the uni- 
 versal palm, the wild sugar-cane, and the tall sedge of the marshy meadows. All 
 along this lake there ai-e fine shooting and fishing, and the invalid who comes pale 
 and racked with a harrowing cough is, after a few weeks, seen tramping about in 
 the cool of the morning, gun and fishing-rod in hand, a veritable Nimrod and Izaak 
 Walton combined. 
 
 Although Enterprise is the end of regular navigation, the daring sportsman is 
 tempted by still another hundred miles of narrow river, deep lagoons, gloomy bayous, 
 and wild, uninhabited wilderness. Here are all sorts of game, from the bear and 
 panther to wild turkeys and ducks, and the waters swarm with delicious game-fish. 
 During the winter season small, light-draught steamers pass up through Lake Har- 
 ney to Salt Lake. These lakes, tliough considerable in extent, are so shallow that no 
 
THE LAND OF ORANGE-GROVES. 
 
 407 
 
 boat drawing more than two feet of water can navigate them. Beyond Lake Harney 
 the >St. John's River is lost in the savannas and swamps wliere it has its rise. 
 
 Let us retrace our journey on the St. John's, and return to Tocoi, fifty-seven 
 miles above Jacksonville, where a curiously primitive horse-railroad carries the traveler 
 to St. Augustine, fifteen miles distant. Out through a seemingly interminable forest 
 leads the straight road, bordered by pines and palmettoes. Occasionally, in some ojjen- 
 ing, may be seen a little sugar-plantation, or an old mill, half buried in the trojiical 
 vegetation. The track is built partly of iron partly of wooden rails, and the jouniey 
 on the whole is comfortable, in spite of the simplicity of the conveyance. The con- 
 ductor tells us that he sometimes comes within one of running over an alligator that 
 
 Vieir OH the Upper St. Johri'a. 
 
 lies basking on the track, or receives a salutation of growls from a black bear as it 
 disappears in the forest. As we approach the suburbs of the quaint old Spanish city, 
 there is a fetid odor of decay from the black swamji and stagnant water. Arriving 
 at the Sebastian River — an arm of the sea, flowing in among long reaches of salt 
 marsh, clad in a dingy-yellow grass — the horse-car stops ; we are transferred to an 
 omnibus, and we rattle rapidly over the streets to our hotel. 
 
 Before looking at the St. Augustine of to- day, let us enhance the fascination of 
 this oldest city of our country by taking a glance at its history, which is as romantic 
 and extraordinary as any fiction ever woven by the fancy. 
 
 The beautiful peninsula of Florida has excited the ambition of many nations. 
 
408 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 First came the Venetian sailor, Henry Cabot, to wliose fatlier Henry VII of England 
 accorded the right to sail all seas under the English flag. This hardy old marinei', 
 blindly wandering in search for the passage to the Indies, touched at Florida in l-tO"/. 
 Early in the next century Ponce de Leon came from Porto Rico, led by the legend 
 of a magic fountain whose waters bestowed eternal youth, and penetrated far into the 
 wilds. The old warrior, who had grown gray in war-harness and borne a gallant part 
 among the mail-clad chivalry of Europe, perished in an ignoble skirmish with the 
 savages. Ponce de Leon christened the State, in virtue of the fact that he landed on 
 Easter-Sunday, amid groves of towering palms and a profusion of flowers. After 
 him came other Spaniards bent on proselyting, crazy with the double lust of gold and 
 winning human souls to tlieir religion, if need be, by sword, fire, and fagot. The 
 Indians were kidnapped and enslaved, but they rose on the early invaders and massa- 
 cred them to a man. Narvaez, with a little army, marched gallantly into the swamps 
 and lagoons, fought the savages successfully, but finally they were all shipwrecked and 
 drowned while sailing along the treacherous coast. Then came the most noble and 
 heroic of all these figures which haunt the dim twilight of Florida history, the valiant 
 Spanish knight De Soto, who died after discovering the Mississippi. 
 
 But no permanent Spanish settlement of Florida was attempted till the year 1565, 
 more than half a century before the landing of the Pilgrims at Plymoutli. The 
 founder of St. Augustine, the earliest built of American cities, was Don Pedro Me- 
 nendez, who to the bravery of the soldier united the cruelty of the religious zealot. 
 He was sent to Florida by Philip II, witli a force comprising thirty-four vessels and 
 twenty-six hundred men, with orders to colonize the country and exterminate a French 
 Huguenot settlement whicli was established at Fort Caroline, near tlie mouth of the 
 St. John's. After establishing his colony, Menendez sailed for Fort Caroline, carried 
 the place by storm, and slaughtered the garrison to a man. As an excuse for his act, 
 he nailed to the flag-staff the following motto: "Not because they are Frenchmen, 
 but because they are heretics and enemies of God." Subsequent to tliis atrocious 
 act, another jiarty of Huguenots, under Ribault, was wrecked among the dunes of 
 Anastasia Island, near Matanzas Inlet, and only a few miles from St. Augustine. 
 Menendez went to them with soft words, disarmed their suspicion, and again slew 
 every Frenchman of the party. It was some time before news of these bloody doings 
 got to France, and even then, as the French court party was bitterly Catholic, it was 
 left to the private Huguenot gentleman to avenge the outrages of the Spaniards. 
 Dominique de Gourgues, with some help from Admiral Coligny, fitted out an expedi- 
 tion two years after the massacre at Fort Caroline, and sailed for America. He at- 
 tacked the Spanish fort and won a signal success. Every prisoner was hung by the 
 stern Huguenot, "not because they arc Sjianiard.s, but because they are traitors, rob- 
 bers, and murderers ! " The French did not attempt, however, to establish a colony, 
 but, after destroying everything, sailed away. 
 
 Menendez returned, re-established his colony, and seems to have governed it with 
 energy and capacity. On his final return to Spain he was made captain-general of the 
 
THE LAND OF ORANGE-GROVES. 
 
 409 
 
 nav)', and accorded other bigli honors for his American exploits. The career of tliis 
 iron zeahit in Florida, tliough stained with such cruelty, was distinguished for its 
 ability, and to him is due the credit of having established the first permanent settle- 
 ment in the United States. 
 
 Ilis selection of St. Augustine as the site for the principal town of the colony 
 showed good judgment. The location is on the Atlantic, on a narrow peninsula 
 formed by the Sebastian and Matanzas Kivers, on the west side of a harbor which is 
 
 The City Gate, St. Aiujustiiie. 
 
 protected from the ocean by the low, narrow Island of Anastasia. While the harbor 
 is large enough to accommodate ships bringing in supplies, it is inaccessible to large 
 vessels, and therefore tolerably free from the danger of hostile attack. In the direc- 
 tion of the land, the estuaries and marshes protected the settlement from the Indians. 
 The great healthfulness of St. Augustine also conduced to the success of the colony. 
 Surrounded by salt marshes and free from miasmas, the balmy and bracing sea-air 
 saved the colonists from those fevers which proved so fatal to European settlers on 
 other parts of the Southern coast. 
 
410 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 In 1586 the bold English adventurer, Sir Francis Drake, who looked on it as hia 
 peculiar mission to exterminate the Spaniards wherever he could find them, and thus 
 win gold and glory — for there was always good booty in a Spanish settlement — ap- 
 peared ofE St. Augustine. He had already been harrying the West Indian settle- 
 ments, and his arrival caused fear and trembling. His very name carried with it so 
 much dread that mothers hushed their babes to sleep with the song of it. The 
 Spaniards attempted no resistance, but tied to their forts on the St. John's, forty 
 miles above. Drake burned and pillaged the town, and carried off mucli plunder. 
 The principal buildings at that time were a court-house, a church, and a monastery. 
 After the departure of the English the Spaniards timidly returned and rebuilt the 
 town. But it grew so slowly that in 1647 there were only three hundred families, 
 or fifteen hundred people, including the monks, who swarmed wherever there was a 
 Spanish town. In 1C65 there was another attack on St. Augustine, by an English 
 buccaneer, Captain John Davis, who landed the crews of seven small vessels, and 
 pillaged the town, without much resistance from the garrison. 
 
 Thirty-seven years after this, Spain and England then being at war, an expedition 
 against St. Augustine was organized by Governor Moore, of South Carolina. The 
 little army consisted of six hundred whites and as many Indian allies, and the plan 
 of operations comprised a march by land of one portion of the force, and an attack 
 by sea of the other. The land-force, under Coloniel Daniel, reached St. Augustine 
 first, and easily captured the town, the Spanish governor and the principal citizens 
 taking refuge in the strong fort of St. Marks, which was well garrisoned and pro- 
 visioned. When Governor Moore arrived with his ships, a combined attack was made 
 on the castle, but its strong walls proved invulnerable to the light-sized guns of the 
 assailants. Colonel Daniel was sent to Jamaica for artillery of heavier caliber, but, 
 while he was gone, two armed Spanish ships appeared in the offing. Governor 
 Moore, fearing that he was likely to be attacked by superior numbers, and his retreat 
 cut off, raised the siege, burned the munitions he could not can-y with him, and 
 barbarously set fire to the town. The amenities af warfare were not then preserved 
 very carefully on either side. When Colonel Daniel returned from Jamaica, with 
 re-enforcements and heavy guns, he found himself badly overmatched, and narrowly 
 escaped capture. So he, too, thought i)rudence the better part of valor, and sailed 
 back to Carolina in disgust, but without the loss of a single man. This bloodless 
 expedition cost the colony of South Carolina the sum of six thousand pounds, and 
 caused the first issue of paper money known in America. In 1727 there was another 
 Carolina raid into Florida, which carried fire and sword to the very gates of St. 
 Augustine, but no attempt was made to attack the city. 
 
 St. Augustine successfully defied the assaults of the English, and seemed a charmed 
 spot, though the town had been burned several times. General Oglethorjie, who was 
 Governor of Georgia in 1740, led an expedition against the Spanish city on the decla- 
 ration of war between England and Spain. He was assisted by South Carolina and 
 six English war-ships. The Governor of Florida, Don Manuel de Monteano, was a 
 
THE LAND OF ORAXGE-GROVES. 
 
 411 
 
 Watcli-Tower St. Mark's Castl 
 
 iS'.*s^i^^^^^ 
 
 man of resources and res- 
 olution, and, though he 
 had but a small garrison, 
 made a stout defense. 
 Oglethorpe besieged the 
 Spaniards by land and 
 sea for some six weeks, 
 but, becoming satisfied 
 that he could not take the place in 
 a short time, he yielded to the mur- 
 murs of his men and his fear of bad 
 weather. lie embarked his troops, 
 sailed for home, and added another 
 failure to the long list which marked 
 the English attempts to take Florida. 
 
 Two years after, Monteano, the Spanish goTernor, determined to pay his compli- 
 ments to the English in turn. Having received re-enforcements from Cuba, he sailed 
 from St. Augustine with thirty-six ships and three thousand men to attack the 
 Georgian settlements. Though he met with some success, he was finally baffled and 
 obliged to sail back to Florida. Oglethorpe, the following year, made a fierce raid 
 into the Spanish dominions, and penetrated to the very gates of St. Mark's Castle. 
 But it was an expedition for spoil and devastation, not for conquest. With such 
 
413 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 celerity did Oglethorpe move, that he arrived at St. Augustine before his enemies 
 had any warning, and his Cherokee braves scalped forty Spanish soldiers right under 
 the muzzles of the castle guns. 
 
 When peace was established, in 1763, Florida was ceded to the Englisli, in return 
 for Havana, which had been captured during the war by an English fleet. At this 
 change of sovereignty nearly all the Floridiaus removed to Cuba or to Mexico, and 
 the beautiful country was left nearly stripjied of people. Great efforts were made in 
 England to promote emigration to the new territory. These schemes were unsuccess- 
 ful in England ; but a project of a Scotchman, Dr. Andrew Turnbull, resulted in 
 gathering a colony of settlers from the shores and islands of the Mediterranean — largely 
 from the Island of Minorca. Fifteen hundred Greeks, Italians, and Minorcans came 
 over in 1767, and were planted at New Smyrna, on the Mosquito Inlet, about ninety 
 miles south of St. Augustine. It was believed tliat these emigrants from Southern 
 Europe would succeed eminently well in raising the fruits of their native climates in 
 a country so nearly similar to their own. Here they remained till 1776, when tlieir 
 number had been reduced by sickness to about six hundred, and this remnant aban- 
 doned New Smyrna in a body and made their way to St. Augustine. Here lots 
 were assigned them, and their descendants still remain there, constituting an interest- 
 ing and important element of the j'opulatiou. After twenty years of possession, 
 Florida was again made the subject of barter. It was ceded to Spain in 1783, in 
 exchange for the Bahama Islands. St. Augustine at that time possessed about three 
 thousand inhabitants. 
 
 Some few English families remained after the evacuation by the British and the 
 entire settlement of Greeks and Minorcans. But most of the English departed, leav- 
 ing their delightful homes and gardens, we may fancy, witli great I'egret. To use the 
 language of an historian of the State : ''All the gardens in the town were well stocked 
 with fruit-trees, such as figs, guavas, plantains, pomegranates, lemons, limes, citrons, 
 shaddocks, bergamot, china, and Seville oranges. . . . Homes embowered among the 
 orange-groves, and made pleasant by the fragrant blossoms of the honeysuckle, acacia, 
 and the rose ; a land where Nature had lavished her choicest beauties and created an 
 eternal summer — such was the land on which the unfortunate residents of Florida 
 were obliged to turn their backs for ever." Wliat was then said in glowing descrip- 
 tion of St. Augustine applies with even greater force at the present time. 
 
 In 1831 Florida passed, by treaty, from the dominion of Spain to that of the United 
 States, and there has been but little in its history since worth noting. The romance 
 of St. Augustine has now, for the most part, gone. The merry procession of tlie 
 carnival, with mask, violin, and guitar; the round figure of the cassocked padre; the 
 delicate form of the Sjjanish lady, clad in mantilla and basquina ; the hauglity, brill- 
 iant cavaliers ; the flower-dance, with its blossoms and garlands — all have passed away. 
 The romantic suburbs are now being filled with costly winter villas by Northern resi- 
 dents, and in a few years St. Augustine bids fair to be the Newport of the South. 
 A visitor well describes the effect of a splendid winter day in December : " I seemed 
 
THE LAXD OF ORAXGE-G ROVES. 
 
 413 
 
 incapable of any effort ; the strange fascination of the antique and remote fortress- 
 town was on me. Tlie sunshine penetrated to every corner of my room. Tliere 
 was no broad and unpleasant glare — no impertinent staring ou the sun's part — but 
 
 A street in St. Augustine. 
 
 a gladsome light, which I have never seen elsewhere. I walked out at noonday ; 
 the town seemed transfigured ; the shadows thrown from the balconies, from the date- 
 trees, from the thickets of roses, were mystical ; I sat down on the grass-grown ram- 
 parts near the old fort, and (forgetting the gnats) let the gentle sea-breeze caress my 
 
414 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
THE LAND OF ORANOE-GROVES. 415 
 
 temples, and memories of by-gone centuries take complete possession of me. At that 
 moment the rest of the world seemed as remote as paradise, vague as Ilium, foreign 
 as the Zendavesta." 
 
 The most conspicuous feature of the quaint old town is the time-honored fort of 
 St. Marks, also called Fort Marion. It is built of coquina, a peculiar conglomerate, 
 found on Anastasia Island, at the mouth of the harbor, which is soft when quarried, 
 but grows hard when exposed to the air. It forms a wall well calculated to resist 
 cannon-shot, as it does not splinter when struck. It stands at an end of the town 
 facing the sea, and was a hundred years in building. An inscription on the gateway, 
 carved in the stone, with the arms of Spain chiseled above it, reads as follows : ' ' Don 
 Fernando, being King of Spain, and the Field-Marshal Don Fernando Ilerida being 
 Governor and Captain-General of this place, St. Augustine of Florida, and its prov- 
 inces, this fort was finished in the year 1756. The works were directed by the Cap- 
 tain-Engineer Don Pedro de Brazos y Gai-eny." It is even to-day one of the most 
 striking-looking buildings in the United States. Its castellated battlements ; the 
 frowning bastions, with the great guns ; its lofty and imposing sally-port, with the 
 royal arms of Spain wrought above ; its portcullis, moat, and draw-bridge ; the sentry- 
 box at each parapet angle ; the commanding lookout tower, and the stained and moss- 
 grown massive walls — all these impress the observer as a relic of the far-away past. 
 Then a ramble through the heavy casemates ; through the crumbling Romish chapel, 
 with elaborate portico, and inner shrines and holy-water niches ; through the dark 
 passages, gloomy vaults, and more recently discovered dungeons — such a stroll makes 
 you easily believe the many traditions of inquisitorial tortures, of decaying skeletons 
 found in the latest opened chambers, chained to the rusty ring-bolts, and of alleged 
 subterranean passages through to the adjoining convent. 
 
 Many of the buildings in the town are quaintly redolent of antiquity. There is 
 the old cathedral, with its belfry in the form of the section of a bell-shaped pyramid, 
 its chime of four bells in separate niches, and its clock, together forming a cross. 
 The date on the oldest of the bells is 1683. The old convent of St. Mary's is an 
 interesting building, and there is the later built convent made of coquina. The 
 United States barracks, which have been remodeled, are said to have been originally 
 a convent. The old government palace is now used as the United States post-oflBce 
 and court-room. At its rear is a well-preserved relic of another old fortification, 
 evidently designed to protect the town from inland attack. A still older house, sup- 
 posed to have been the Spanish governor's, was pulled down a few years ago. 
 
 The fine public square, in the center of the town, is known as the Plaza de la 
 Constitucion, and in the middle of it i« a stately monument, built in memory of the 
 liberal Spanish constitution. On the plaza stand the ancient markets, and facing 
 them the cathedral, the old palace, the convent, a modern Episcopal church, nnd other 
 fine buildings. 
 
 Among other features of interest are the old Huguenot burying-ground, and the 
 military burying-ground where lie the remains of Major Dade and the men of his 
 
416 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 commiind who were massacred by Osceola and his band. The whole ocean-front of the 
 city is protected by a tine sea-wall about a mile long, built of cocjuina with a granite 
 coping. Here is the favorite moonlight promenade of the St. Augustinians. In full 
 view is the old light-house on Anastasia Island, built more than a century ago, and 
 now surmounted by a tine revolving lantern. 
 
 The visitor can not but be impressed with the appearance of the city, which is as 
 quaint as its history is romantic. It is unlike anything except an old town of Spain 
 or Italy. You walk through narrow streets, one of which, nearly a mile long, is only 
 fifteen feet wide. One of the principal hotels is built on a street only twelve feet 
 
 wide, while the widest of 
 all is only twenty-five feet 
 between the walls of the 
 houses. In the warm cli- 
 mate of Florida this nar- 
 rowness gives shade, and 
 the air draws through them 
 like a flue. Many of the 
 houses, with high roofs 
 and dormer-windows, have 
 hanging balconies along 
 their second stories which 
 seem almost to touch, and 
 allow the families sitting in 
 them to shake hands with 
 tlieir over-the-way neigh- 
 bors. 
 
 The street walls often 
 extend in front of the side 
 garden, or the houses in- 
 close uncovered courts, so 
 that passing through the 
 main entrance you still find 
 yourself in the open air. 
 An occasional lattice-door gives you a peep into a charming eoui't-yard interior, where 
 you see huge stone arches, winding staircases, and the richest profusion of tropical 
 fruits and flowers. All this brings to mind the romantic legends of Spanish damsels, 
 of stolen interviews through the lattice-windows, of elopements by means of forged 
 key or bribed porter, of rope ladders and daring cavaliers vanisliing through the 
 chamber-windows. The main streets were formerly well floored with shell-concrete, 
 and so carefully was this pavement swept that the dark-eyed girls of Spain could 
 pass and repass without soiling their dainty little slippers. 
 
 The nuns of the two convents now existing arc occupied mainly with the educa- 
 
 The Date-Ihlm. 
 
THE LAND OF ORANGE-GROVES. 417 
 
 tion of young girls. They also practice the art of making lace, and have introduced 
 the manufacture of hats from the palmetto and wire-grass, both of them very strong 
 and durable material. 
 
 In the grounds of all the houses, whether of the old Spanish style or the Amer- 
 ican buildings, may be seen a perfect wilderness of plants, trees, and shrubs. Here 
 grow, ready for the hands of him who would pluck and eat, every delicious variety of 
 tropical fruit, as well as the peach, the grape, and the melon, of more temperate 
 climes. Among the trees of peculiar form that will attract the attention of the 
 Northern visitor is the date-palm. 
 
 A peculiarity of the trunk of the palm is that it has the same diameter at the top 
 as it has at the base. Its long shaft is ornamented with a capital about six feet high, 
 clothed with branches some fifteen feet long, the leaves of which are arranged like the 
 feather part of a quill. These palms, so essentially tropical in their character and 
 appearance, vary also from the vegetation of northern climates in every intrinsic qual- 
 ity as well as shape. The heart of the palm is pith ; the heart of the northern tree 
 is its most solid part. The age of the palm is legibly written upon its exteripr sur- 
 face ; the age of the northern tree is concealed under a protecting bark. The north- 
 ern tree, though native of a cold, inhospitable climate, is adapted to give shade ; the 
 palm, with its straight, unadorned trunk and meager tuft of leafy limbs, gives no 
 protection to the earth or to man from the burning tropical sun. 
 
 As a typical fruit, and one of the most interesting of the many luscious varieties 
 which grow in a Florida garden, let us take the banana and glance at its various 
 stages of growth. In the winter, perhaps, all we note is a collection of yellow, 
 blasted leaves, as if some fire had swept over them and withered them on the stalk. 
 With the prevailing airs of spring, there suddenly comes from this repulsive stubble- 
 heap evidence of growth, and there at last shoots up, in different places, what ap- 
 pear to be sharp spears of the most livid green. Gaining strength, they seemingly 
 elongate and reach upward, even while under the eye, and, as the heat of the semi- 
 tropical sun increases, the decaying " trash " fairly palpitates with the struggling, 
 rapid growth of what were the roots of the banana, which, from their vigorous wake- 
 fulness, seemed to have hibernated rather than temporarily died in the winter months. 
 A few hours make a perceptible difference in their growth, and a day brings forth a 
 new revelation — and thus the brave work struggles on toward perfection. 
 
 We find, when the banana is at its full growth, that what appeared to be the 
 trunk was almost wholly composed of the united stems and foliage. On the top of 
 this herbaceous stalk, some nine or ten feet in the air, the wonderful leaves, of a 
 most delicate green, and averaging two feet in width and six in length, radiate from 
 one point, reaching out straightwise a short distance, and then, turning downward, 
 form a parasol, or bower, of the most exquisite beauty, solid enough to afford equal 
 protection from rain or sun. The cone of buds, made uj) of a succession of rings of 
 flowers, one above the other, completes the structure. The arrangement of these blos- 
 soms, obtruding from their soft purple sheaths, enchants the eye by their exquisite 
 
 27 
 
418 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 forms, varied colors, and exhilarating odors ; hnt they do more, for they protect and 
 cover the newly-born fruit. 
 
 We become aware that the leaf is not only the most important part of the plant, 
 but the only living part, the root, trunk, and branches, being only libers extending 
 from tlie leaves. The ingeni;ity and wisdom displayed in the growth of a leaf six 
 
 Growth of the Baitami-Leaf and of the Fruit. 
 
 feet long can never be fully realized excej)t from observation. This leaf does not 
 develop from a minute inception, and then go on growing until complete, but. start- 
 ling as it may appear, it is born of the balmy breezes of a single morn. 
 
 Growing first as a long, slender shoot, it towers upward several feet as stiff as a 
 rod. If you examine this vegetable line, you will find it apparently a pithy substance, 
 which in time is to harden into solid wood — but such is not the case. When the 
 hour arrives, by some wonderful transformation, tlie solid green stalk tuj-ns into a 
 roll of what is the long banana-leaf. At the appointed time a line of demarkation 
 appears along the entire length of this green stalk, which line, under the coquetting 
 influence of the gentle breeze, soon unfolds itself from the ]iarent-stem, and. to your 
 
THE LAND OF ORANGE-GROVES. 419 
 
 astonishment, one half of tlie gigantic leaf displays itself. This accomplished, you 
 are further surprised to find the remaining half of the leaf has been rolled up along- 
 side of tl)e stem, but now, released from imprisonment, it, in turn, unfolds, and the 
 perfect, magnificent foliage, as if by a miracle, glistens in the sun. 
 
 As these great leaves one by one add their power to the general growth, the 
 banana actually swells and heaves with internal power. The sun plays upon their 
 surfaces, and ripens the crude juices, preparing substance for new leaves, and at last 
 the fruit. As the plant advances toward perfection, it becomes an active, living thing, 
 pumping, respiring, and laboring, impelled by an unseen but irrepressible force. The 
 limited number of gigantic leaves are doing the surface-work of tlie thousands which 
 so gracefully adorn the apple and the oak. 
 
 The magnificent bouquet of blossoms finally disappears, and the fruit has formed 
 on the stems. The leafy canopy is now complete, and, receiving the sap that surges 
 upward from the ever-swelling roots, with most subtile chemistry extracts from the 
 ever-enriching sun such aroma as belongs to the growing banana-fruit, imparting to 
 the juices, as needs be, the flavors of the orange, the vanilla, the lemon, and the 
 pineapple. 
 
 The cone of expected ripened fruit now towers aloft, and grows in size and im- 
 portance daily. There it stands, an apex worthy of such a wonder of the wealth of 
 Pomona, boastful indeed, a very braggart in its promise. But soon the tasteless, 
 spongy heart is filled with nutritious juices — the object of its creation approaches 
 consummation. Vanity gives way to utility, and the towering cone of tlie banana, 
 as if conscious that brilliant display is no longer necessary, gracefully turns its head 
 downward, and thus modestly completes its round of life. The wonderful fruit of 
 the banana, by a law of its existence, remains untouched by insects until it is per- 
 fectly ripe. If it is picked green, it comes to perfection in the shade of your house. 
 It is because of this provision that we have bananas as delicate and fresh in taste 
 and perfume in New York as they have them in Jamaica or ilatanzas. 
 
 Of the many semi-tropical fruits grown in Florida the orange is by far the most 
 important, and its culture is becoming tlie principal industry of the State. It is 
 found in all sections, as common as the apple in the North, growing in field and 
 garden. It is not known whether it is indigenous to the State, but the weight of 
 opinion is in favor of its having been introdu^ced by the Spaniards, the innumerable 
 wild groves of sour orange having been probably the result of deterioration and 
 neglect. 
 
 Though the orange finds in Florida its most favorable conditions, and has always 
 been generally grown, it is only since the late war that special attention has been 
 given to its growth as an important industrial fact of the State. So great has been 
 the development since 1873, when many who had suffered from the financial panic 
 that year were led to invest the wrecks of their fortunes in Florida lands, that to-day 
 this delicious fruit is to the State what cattle are to Texas, corn and pork to Illinois, 
 wheat to Iowa and Minnesota, and peaches to Delaware and New Jersey. 
 
A20 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 An orange-tree is a beautiful sight at all seasons of the year. It has a straight, 
 shapely, upright trunk, covered with a smooth, sleek, pale-gray bark, and graceful 
 curving branches, which spread in all directions. These are always clothed with a 
 luxuriant foliage of rich, glossy, dark-green leaves where tlie tree is well cared for. 
 The regular blossoming-time is in the spring, but trees may be seen in blossom at all 
 seasons of the year, and it is not unseldom that one sees on the same tree the blossoms, 
 green fruit, and the ripe golden globes in full maturity. The harvest period is from 
 November to early March, depending somewhat on the season. No more fascinating 
 spectacle, amid the rich productiveness of Nature, can be witnessed than a grove 
 bending with its glowing yellow burden of luscious fruit. 
 
 A finridu Oriniiji- Grove. 
 
 The orange is a very hardy fruit in its natural habitat and under the right condi- 
 tions. An interestiiig fact is that it seems to love human companionship, those trees 
 nearest inhabited dwellings always doing the best, even when all the other conditions 
 are equal. The tree continues to grow until it gets to be about forty years old, and 
 it is estimated that it will yield productively till it has passed its hundredth year. 
 There are many trees known to be eighty years old that still continue to produce 
 enormous crops. They are in fact not in their prime until over twenty years old, 
 and then they increase in productiveness for at least a score of years more. 
 
 Though we do not in this article intend to enter into any elaborate description of 
 orange-growing, a few facts about the methods and conditions of culture may be of 
 interest. It is almost beyond a question that to energetic and industrious young men, 
 
THE LAND OF ORANGE-GROVES. 
 
 421 
 
 with a little capital, no branch of agriculture presents sucli certainty of large returns 
 with comparatively small difficulty, as raising oranges in Florida. Of course, notable 
 success demands patience, thoroughness, and knowledge of the conditions involved in 
 this as in all otlier enterprises, but it is less contingent on uncertainties perhaps than 
 any other branch of field or fruit culture, the only danger being the possibility of a 
 frost in the northerly portions of the State. 
 
 A great variety of soil is available for orange-culture, but it is important in all 
 cases that it shall be well drained. The price of good orange-lands, in a position 
 convenient to market, has risen very much in a few years, so that it now ranges 
 from five to one hundred and twenty-five dollars jter acre. Young trees of the sour- 
 
 A Palmetto- Grove. 
 
 orange variety (for these are most hardy and vigorous) are genei'ally transplanted to 
 the ground when prepared, and these are budded with the sweet orange, either before 
 or after the transplanting, as the case may be. Of the best varieties there are 
 about a dozen, all of which are in great demand. Careful culture is needed, and the 
 ground should be richly fertilized. The same skill in pruning, the same watchful 
 care against insects and disease are needed, as in the case of Northern fruits, but, 
 while the care is no greater in promoting the growth of the orange, the returns are 
 tenfold greater. It is stated by those having large experience that an orange-grove 
 becomes self-supporting after tlic fifth year. Thenceforward the crop increases in 
 value every year, until at the end of ten or twelve years the yield should be not less 
 
423 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 than ten dollars per tree, or about seven hundred dollars an acre. There are some 
 single trees in Florida which yield a liundred dollars ai)ieee every year to their fortu- 
 nate owners. Yet witii all these advantages, which seem so golden and glowing to 
 tlie Northern farmer, who toils early and late for a small return, it must not be be- 
 lieved that the orange-culture is a matter of luck, or yields its rewards to the indolent 
 and shiftless man. Skill, energy, and intelligent labor are necessary here for success, 
 as well as in less favored lands. 
 
 Of the other fruits which grow luxuriantly in Florida, such as the lemon, the 
 lime, the citron, the bergamot, the fig, the olive, the pineapple, the cocoa-nut, the 
 date, and similar tropical fruits, which grow in all or specific portions of the State, 
 we can only say in passing that they all rewai'd attention and culture. 
 
 Everywhere throughout the State the traveler observes trees of unique and jieculiar 
 appearance. The palms, both the date and cocoa-nut, raise their tall and stately 
 shafts plumed with crowns of fan-like foliage on the coast line of the southern por- 
 tion of Florida, and everywhere may be observed the characteristic palmetto, which 
 often occurs in extensive groves. Mingled with these tropical ti-ees are those which 
 are also found in northern climes, such as the pine, the oak, and the hickory. The 
 live-oak of Florida is one of the noblest trees in the world, both in size and sym- 
 metry ; and, as it is generally garlanded with magnificent wreaths of Spanish moss, it 
 is a spectacle tiiat never fails to impress the imagiiuition. 
 
 It does not consist with our limits to enter into any description of the manv 
 charming towns in Florida, which invite the invalid or the settler. These places j)os- 
 sess attractions and benefits according to the needs and tastes of the individual who 
 desires to utilize them. Fernandina, Jacksonville, St. Augustine, on the Atlantic 
 coast ; Pensacola, Appalachicola, St. Marks, Manatee, Cedar Keys, Charlotte Harbor, and 
 Tampa Bay, on the western coast ; Key West, amid its cluster of coral islands on the 
 south — all these have separate advantages, and all are delightful resorts. 
 
 Key West, which lies off the southern extremity of the State, is in many respects 
 one of the most interesting and important places in Florida. A very flourishing city 
 has grown up on the island, and culture has transformed a barren coral key into a 
 perfect paradise of fruits and flowers. The city is ])rotocted by extensive water-bat- 
 teries, and has a charming park, while on the southern edge of the island towers a 
 noble light-house, a mark of civilization which may be seen on more than one of the 
 Florida keys, otherwise wild and deserted, standing for the benefit of the storm-tossed 
 mariner. The Florida keys, which are dangerous reefs and islands built by the little 
 coral polyp, extend around the southern portion of the State on both sides, and in 
 time of severe storm the breakers are terrific, giving an illustration of the grandeur 
 and danger of the ocean, which one may look in vain to see surpassed. 
 
 About Key West everything is strange, foreign, and interesting. Tlie business- 
 houses and public buildings, the dwellings, the gardens, lawns, flowers, trees, soil, and 
 vegetation, the appearance of the residents, their costumes, and even their names, are 
 essentially un-American, and suggestive of a foreign clime and foreign ways. Key 
 
THE LAND OF ORANGE-GROVES. 
 
 423 
 
 Florida Pine-Barreiia. 
 
434 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 West is a place of first-rate commercial importance, and supplies the needs of a large 
 section of Southern and Western Florida. Here is located one of the largest cigar- 
 making industries of the country, many hundreds of workmen, mostly Cubans, being 
 employed. It is estimated that the cigar-factories of Key West pay the Government 
 an annual revenue of three hundred and twenty thousand dollars. Thirty million 
 cigars were nuiuufactured here in the year 1880. The Government buildings here are 
 costly and extensive, particularly the dock, barracks, and fort, as Key West is justly 
 regarded as one of the most important defensive positions in the country. 
 
 For the sportsman 
 Florida is a veritable 
 paradise, and the lov- 
 ers of the gun and 
 rod here find a bound- 
 less field for the exer- 
 cise of their energies. 
 Among the many parts 
 of the State peculiarly 
 attractive to the devo- 
 tee of field-sports, the 
 Indian Eiver country 
 deserves special men- 
 tion, as a visit to this 
 charming region in- 
 volves but little hard- 
 ship or exposure. This 
 part of the State may 
 be reached either by 
 steamboat from St. 
 Augustine, or up the 
 St. John's River from 
 Jacksonville. From 
 Enterprise, the head 
 of steam navigation on the St. John's, a short stage-journey takes us to Titusville, 
 at the head of Indian River. 
 
 This so-called river is a great salt-water lagoon on the eastern coast of Southern 
 Florida, being divided from the tumbling billows of the ocean by a long sand-key. 
 Its length is about one hundred miles, and its width from one and a half to seven 
 miles, while the depth of the channel is from four to sixteen feet ; in many cases one 
 is able to wade a half-mile from the shore. The lagoon abounds in every variety of 
 fish native to southern waters, but is specially distinguished for its splendid mullet, 
 the general weight of which is from two to five pounds, though they often reach ten 
 pounds. The pompano the king of fish, the sheep's-head, the red-fish, sea-trout, cava- 
 
 Ligltt-lwuu on Florida Keys. 
 
THE LAND OF ORANGE-GROVES. 
 
 425 
 
 lier, and bass, are also plentiful to sucli a degree that the angler almost tires of exer- 
 cising a skill which seems to be unnecessary. On the shore of the river, away 
 from the settlements, and on the great sand-bar between it and the ocean, which is 
 covered with hummock-lands and tliickets, the hunter finds a profusion of game, such 
 as the bear, the panther, the lynx, the ocelot, the wild-cat, and the deer. 
 
 But he who would most enjoy the conditions of hunting-life must cut loose from 
 all the ties of civilization 
 and penetrate far into 
 the interior of the wild 
 and romantic swamps of 
 Southern Florida. As 
 plentiful as is the game 
 in the fine country bor- 
 dering the Indian Riv- 
 er, the sportsman never 
 gets very far away from 
 the haunts of civiliza- 
 tion, nor experiences that 
 deep taste of solitude and 
 isolation which is the 
 crowning joy of the true 
 Nimrod. 
 
 Let us take some brief 
 pictures from the expe- 
 riences of Captain Towns- 
 hend, an English Life- 
 guardsman who, several 
 years ago, spent a few 
 months in the Florida 
 wilds, and wrote an en- 
 tertaining account of his 
 adventures. He found 
 the climate so fine, and 
 such rich spoil for rod 
 and gun, that even the 
 
 clouds of mosquitoes and " incredible number of sand-flies, horse-flies, blue flies, fleas, 
 ticks, tarantulas, scorpions, centipeds, rattlesnakes, and" moccasin-snakes " did not seri- 
 ously interfere with his enjoyment. Yet the gallant Guardsman admits that, "although 
 in the excitement of the chase we thouglit but little of danger, still the whir of the 
 rattlesnake would sometimes send a shudder through us as we forced our way through 
 a dense covert ; and a rustle among the dry palmetto-leaves outside our tents at night 
 would cause a thrill of fear to mingle with the silent curses which were wont to 
 
 Indian River. 
 
426 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 greet the sharp buzz of the intruding mosquito." The southwest, south, and south- 
 east of the Florida Peninsula are still unknown, and rarely visited except l^y an occa- 
 sional sportsman, the cattle-herders, and the few Indians who still wander among the 
 Everglade swamps. 
 
 The hunter and his guides ])enetrated to the Myakka Lakes, about twenty-five 
 miles northeast from Tampa Bay. lie thus writes of the rich plenitude of bird and 
 beast life in the Florida wilds : 
 
 "In the early morning we were daily wakened in our cam]), about half an hour 
 before sunrise" (the hunters had found their host's mansion too much afflicted with 
 uncomfortable bedfellows, and erected their tent on the lawn), '"by such a chorus of 
 birds and insects as was truly marvelous. At that time all created things seemed to 
 awaken to .active life as suddenly as, in these latitudes, day succeeds to night and 
 night to day. The deej), harsh, melancholy whoop of the sand-hill crane, the cry of 
 bitterns, herons, and ibis, the chattering of paroquets, the melody of a thousand song- 
 birds, the hum of millions of insects, all combined in a sudden burst of sound that 
 would have roused the seven sleepers. As the sun quickly mounted above the pine- 
 tops, the various sounds would gradually become hushed, till, during the midday 
 heats all became still as death, again to break forth as the evening sun rushed down 
 to the western horizon, but ceasing as it dipped below almost as quickly as the sound 
 ; had burst forth in the morning. The silence of the mid-hours of the night was 
 broken by the hoot of the owls, the cry of the night-birds, and the more savage voices 
 of the wolf, the panther, the ocelot, and the alligator ; so that d«ring the midday 
 heat alone is there silence in the forests and swamps of Florida, a curious contrast to 
 the oppressive stillness of the vast Northern forests during the daylight hours. When 
 shooting in the Northern States, I have felt the universal silence of the forest abso- 
 lutely painful, the occasional crash of a falling tree being almost the only sound 
 heard, as the note of song-birds never enlivens those gloomy solitudes. 
 
 " In the Northern forests no man on horseback could possibly force a way through 
 without free use of the axe, owing to the accumulation of fallen timber, and the fact 
 of the trees growing so close together as to leave no passing-room ; but, in Florida, 
 except in the swamps and hummocks, the forests are so open that a horseman could 
 penetrate from one end of the country to the other, and few of the rivers or swamjis 
 north of the Everglades are too deep to ride across in safety." 
 
 The sportsman's experience was occasionally of a sort to shake the strongest 
 nerves. The attempt was made to drive the mosquitoes out by burning a circle all 
 around the pine-grove. The dry palmetto- leaves blazed up finely, and the j)arty were 
 congratulating themselves on being rid of their tormentors when one, who was quietly 
 seated plucking a wild-turkey, jumped up with a yell, " It's raining snakes ! " as a 
 rattlesnake tumbled down on his head from the palm above, fortunately stupefied by 
 the smoke, which curled in thick clouds above their heads. Several others also fell 
 from the trees later, but with equal harmlessness. A country where rattlesnakes climb 
 trees can not be said to be alto2:ether without its drawbacks. 
 
THE LAXD OF ORANGE-GROVES. 
 
 427 
 
 Such things, however, are only the foil to the brighter side of the picture in the 
 Florida wilderness. Given a hardy constitution, passion for field-sports, and a keen 
 susceptibility to the beauties of nature, the experience of all who have camped out 
 in these sub-trojjical wilds is such as to inspire their readers with a pang of envj*. 
 
 Far down in the Everglades, the almost unknown interior of Florida, surrounded 
 by nearly impenetrable swamps and gloomy forests, lies the mysterious lake of the 
 South, the vast Okechobee. The old Spanish conquistadores, Ponce de Leon and 
 Hernando de Soto, both heard of this grand lake from the Indians, and sought to 
 
 A Hiiiitei'^8 (\i7nj>. 
 
 reach it, but without success. The early Indians of the interior looked on it as a 
 symbol of the infinite, and with the sun it shared their worship. The veneration 
 which all the Indians felt for this lake, from swarthy Yemassee to olive Seminole, 
 may account for the anxiety with which they always hid it from the search of their 
 white brethren. Its vastness filled the red-men with awe ; and their imagination 
 supplied what they could not discover. It was the paradise of the Indian, his happy 
 hunting-ground on earth. Thus was the lake dotted with wondrously beautiful islands, 
 and the far shores of white and glittering sand bordered a land of crystal fountains, 
 beautiful birds, and flowers. 
 
i28 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Lake Okeechobee. 
 
 It is probable (liat the primary source of the St. John's River is foniul in Lake 
 Okechobee, but for a period of more tlian a century and a iialf tlierc seems to have 
 been very little, if any, knowledge of this fine body of water. The early Spanish 
 maps locate it, but it is only within recent years tliat it has been taken out of the 
 land of myth and made a fixed geographical fact. The lake is su])i)osed noAv to have 
 been the source of su))ply for the great quantities of jiearls which tiic eai'ly Spanish 
 governors took fnmi the natives. The only incut ion of the lake in the last century 
 was by Bomnno. who in 1TT2 described the adventure of a S])anish soldier who was 
 
THE LAND OF ORANGE-GROVES. 429 
 
 made captive and carried to the shores of Okechobee. He afterward escaped and 
 brought back with him marvelous stories. There is a tradition among the Seminoles 
 that the first white man ever seen by their ancestors was on the shore of this lake. 
 He came up out of the water, they said, and then disappeared. This may have been 
 the same captive referred to above. But little was known about the lake till the 
 necessities of war compelled the search of the Everglades about fifty years ago in the 
 pursuit of the warlike Seminoles, who defended their haunts with such desperate 
 courage against their white invaders. During the later Seminole war (1856 to 1858), 
 accurate information was gained of the northern portion of the lake, and there were 
 two small military posts on its shores, but these were afterward abandoned, and the 
 mysterious Okechobee was remanded again to its old seclusion and solitude. 
 
 From time to time there came sensational stories of the wonders of the lake from 
 the few wjio had visited its shores. Ruins of castles and monasteries with carved and 
 ornamented pillars ; ruins of Indian cities ; dens of pirates, containing untold treasures 
 — all these were found on an island somewhere in the lake. One told of monkeys and 
 baboons, another of moccasin-snakes as long as the sea-serpent. The map prefixed to 
 Williams's "History of Florida," printed in 1838, omitted Lake Okechobee, it may 
 be mentioned, as the author found no sound reason for believing in its existence ! 
 Unparalleled as such an ignorance of a body of water with a superficies of twelve 
 hundred square miles, in the center of a State settled nearly half a century before 
 any other State, and which had been governed for years by Spanish, by English, and 
 by Americans, may be, it fairly illustrates the impassable nature of the vast swamps 
 and dense cypresses known as the Everglades. 
 
 It was only about ten years ago that a thorough exploration of Lake Okechobee 
 was made, the results of which were published in '• Appletons' Journal " by the ex- 
 plorer. 
 
 Situated in the midst of the Everglades, Lake Okechobee is a good example of 
 their character, yet we can not leave Florida without a few more words concerning 
 this most interesting portion of an interesting State. There is a great deal of truth- 
 fulness and poetry in the name that has been given to the beautiful openings which 
 occur in the swampy scenery of the peninsula of Florida. Formed in a low and yet 
 not absolutely level country, these magnificent examples of semi-tropical richness strike 
 the beholder with surprise ; and it seems a waste of Nature's grandest exhibitions to 
 have these carnivals of splendid vegetation occurring in isolated places, where it is 
 but seldom that they are seen by the appreciative eye. 
 
 In the wars which have occurred in times past with the natives of Florida, we 
 became familiar with the name of the " Florida Everglade," and have insensibly asso- 
 ciated it with the sad reminiscences of massacres and defeats of our troops, under the 
 lead of Scott, Jessup, Taylor, and other of our famous generals who flourished some 
 two-score years ago. These Everglades are i)laces where Nature is most profuse in 
 her gigantic vegetable productions — forest-trees, heaven-towering in height, vines and 
 cactus-plants, struggling for supremacy in the rich soil, and uniting to form these 
 
430 
 
 OUR XATIVE LAXD. 
 
 i\ 
 
 All Island lit the Lake. 
 
 strongholds under the protection of wliich Osceohi and otlier grent native chieftains 
 made their most effective struggles for independence, and most severely taxed the 
 patience and courage of our troops ; and it was in these places tliat the savage often 
 gained great but only temjiorary triunijihs. 
 
 Upon obtruding high ground, associated with these Everglades, grow the grandest 
 live-oaks of the world, the far-reaching branches of an individual tree often extending 
 over a surface of ground e(iual to the area of a "city square"; while every possible 
 variety of vegetation, in exaggerated proportions, crowds all available space. Parasites 
 
THE LAND OP ORANGE-GROVES. 431 
 
 fasten upon projecting limbs, and increase the variet}' of foliage. Vines, with trunks 
 a foot in diameter, like huge serpents, seem to have sprung with one leap fifty feet 
 into the air, and then grasped in their constrictor folds the forest giants, which under 
 the pressure struggle almost hopelessly to retain their vitality. 
 
 But the great feature of these Everglades is exhibited in the countless vai'iety of 
 the feathered tribe. Myriads of cormorants constantly disturb the surface of the water. 
 The scarlet ibis, the gayly-decked wood-duck, the beautiful mallard, the gigantic blue 
 iieron, the delicate song-bird, and imperial eagles, are constantly in sight, mingling 
 their discordant voices and the shrill sounds of their whistling wings, suggesting a 
 profuseness of animal life that rivals that of the vegetable world. 
 
 The deer, most favorably situated for supplying itself with food, and thoroughly 
 protected from the deadly pursuit of man, grows larger than elsewhere on .the con- 
 tinent, and, as a permitted monarch of the wastes, breaks through the tangled foliage 
 which lines the banks of the inland lakes, and with the aquatic inhabitants enjoys the 
 luxury of bathing in the pure water, a taste which the graceful animal seems to in- 
 dulge even to excess. 
 
 The sun seems ever to shine with the intensest brilliancy. Oppressive, however, 
 as may be the heat, the cool sea-breezes of the Mexican Gulf constantly temper the 
 atmosphere, and produce a geniality of climate that can only be understood by realiza- 
 tion. But, under the influence of this germinating heat, the rapid growth of the 
 vegetation seems unbounded, and ever full of the vigor of youth. There is no evi- 
 dence of decay anywhere. The frosts which make the Northern forests in the fall 
 mottled with gay colors never garnish these Southern landscapes ; all is one intense 
 but ever-varying green. 
 
^-'^^.^J^'^C S'^'rM'^^^f^^Z^^^^^^^^ 
 
 A Glimpse of the Rocky Mountains. 
 
 COLOR A DO 
 
 The mountains of Colorado — The city of Denver — Boulder Canon — Mountain mining cities — Idaho Springs and 
 Georgetown— The ascent of Gray's Peak — Monument Park and the Garden of the Gods— Colorado Springs and 
 Pike's Peak — The natural parks and their cluiraeteristies. 
 
 No State in the Union is a richer treasury of great natural wonders, of scenery 
 both picturesque and sublime, as well as of tlie more material wealtlh of gold and sil- 
 ver, than the interesting State of Colorado, which has of recent years been the cyno- 
 sure of attention on the part of the mining world. 
 
 The State has on its north Wyoming Territory and Nebraska ; on the east Ne- 
 braska and Kansas ; on the south Indian 'J'erritory and New Mexico ; and on the 
 west Utah. Its area of nearly one hundred and five thousand square miles may be 
 separated into three natural divisions: its mountain - range, including the natural 
 
COLORADO. 433 
 
 parks, its foot-hills, and the plains. It is, of course, in its mountains that the car- 
 dinal attraction of Colorado scenery, as well as of its industrial interests of gold and 
 silver, lies. Without attempting to enter into any elaborate description of the extraor- 
 dinary features of the whole State, it is our hojie to present some vivid idea of the 
 more characteristic phases of Colorado scenery. 
 
 Let us take the Denver Pacific Kailway from Cheyenne, one of the stations on the 
 Union Pacific road. Between Cheyenne and Pueblo, a town in Southern Colorado, 
 two hundred and twenty miles distant, the Rocky Mountains reach their greatest 
 height in their whole length from the Arctic Circle to Central America. From almost 
 any peak hundreds of other peaks can be seen, all more than ten thousand and some 
 fourteen thousand feet in height. The highest and best known are Long's, Gray's, 
 and Pike's, the former being farthest north, and the latter farthest south. Of the 
 view from Mount Lincoln, which is southwest from Cheyenne, a well-known geolo- 
 gist, Mr. Clarence King, writes : 
 
 " To the east, far distant, is distinctly seen Pike's Peak, with the continuous 
 ranges which extend northward to Long's Peak. On the west and northwest is a 
 vast group of high mountains, gashed down on every side with deep vertical gorges. 
 To the southward can be seen the granite nucleus of a remarkable range of mount- 
 ains, the Sawatch, which, with its lofty peaks, among them Mounts Yale and Har- 
 vard, looms up like a massive wall with a wilderness of conical peaks along its sum- 
 mit — more than fifty of them rising to an elevation of thirteen thousand feet and 
 over, and more than two hundred rising to twelve thousand feet and over. Probably 
 there is no other part of the world accessible to the traveling public where such a 
 wilderness of lofty peaks can be seen within a single scope of vision." 
 
 A thrill of vivid delight passes through the mind as we gaze for the first time 
 upon these famous mountains ; but the dusty, arid plain tends to create a feeling 
 of disgust which the rapture of the distant mountain vision can not entirely dispel. 
 The main portion of the route of the railroad as far as Denver is through a plain 
 with mountains on the western horizon. One of the towns on the route, Greeley, 
 named after and planted under the auspices of the celebrated editor, is a flourishing 
 little place on the Cache la Poudre River, and is distinguished from other similar 
 Western towns by the fact that intoxicating drinks are not allowed to be sold ; and 
 the result is, that it has never been the rendezvous of those roughs and rowdies who 
 have contributed to the disturbance of many a frontier town, and caused the Eastern 
 man to fancy that he had dropped into a place freshly transplanted from the infernal 
 regions. Not far from Greeley is Glen Doe, a beautiful valley, inclosed by high bluffs 
 and dense woods of hemlock, fir, pine, and larch, which veil the hill-sides in their som- 
 ber foliage, except where a mass of naked granite or basalt juts out with a storm- 
 beaten and sand-sculptured face. 
 
 Most of our readers know something of the sand-blast machine, by which a stream 
 of sand is poured against glass and made to emboss and cut it in any figure to suit 
 the workmen. Just so the great wind-storms in different i)arts of the West carry 
 
 28 
 
434 
 
 OUR XATIVE LAND. 
 
 streams of sand against the 
 rocks and mountain - faces, 
 ij cutting and carving them 
 into tlie most grotesque and 
 striking shapes. 
 
 There are many pictur- 
 esque scenes in this Ticinity. 
 The twin peaks of Long's 
 rise clearly and majestically 
 in the air, and invite an as- 
 GliM. Dot. cent which all the tourists 
 
 who see the best of Colorado 
 are disposed to make. This ascent is generally made from Estes Park, from which 
 some lovely views of the mountain are obtained, excelled only by those near Lily 
 Pond, a lake about a mile in diameter, with a surface like a mirror, and borders of 
 profuse wild-flowers. 
 
 When we arrive at Denver we find a flourishing city standing in the open plain, 
 thirteen miles from the Pocky Mountains, of whicli it commands a grand and beauti- 
 ful view. Through the clear mountain air may be seen the imposing forms of Pike's 
 
COLORADO. 
 
 435 
 
 and Long's Peaks, and the snow- Jii'lllffl 
 capped range extending for two '''"'""" 
 hundred miles, its rich purple 
 streaked with dazzling white, 
 and here and tliere draped in 
 soft, transparent haze. The city 
 is handsomely built, and con- 
 tains many imposing buildings 
 and noble blocks. The five rail- 
 ways radiating from it afford 
 access to all parts of the State, 
 and tlie city is alive with energy 
 and business enterprise. There 
 are numerous hotels, many hand- 
 some commercial structures, fine 
 churches and banks, several the- 
 atres, and large manufactories 
 and breweries. At the United 
 States Mint bullion is melted 
 and assayed, and returned to 
 depositors in the form of bars 
 with the weight and fineness 
 stamped on them. The popu- 
 lation of this thriving city is 
 nearly thirty-six thousand, and 
 it is annually visited by great 
 numbers of tourists, who make 
 Denver their starting-point for 
 trips to different parts of the 
 State, for one traveling blindly 
 from this center can hardly go 
 amiss in his search for the 
 beautiful and picturesque. 
 
 First let us visit the cele- 
 brated Boulder Canons, one of 
 the most interesting portions of 
 CJolorado. We leave Denver by 
 the Colorado Central road, and, 
 
 proceeding westward sixteen miles, reach tlie little town of Golden, situated between 
 two picturesque hills and the North and South Table Mountains. We may readily 
 conjecture from its name that it is the center of an extensive mining-region. Twenty- 
 four miles farther of railway-travel on the same road in a northerly direction brings 
 
430 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 us to the town of Boulder. A wagon-road leads up the caflon, which is a stupend- 
 ous mountain-gorge seventeen miles long, with walls of solid rock in many places 
 three tliousand feet high. A brawling stream rushes down the center of the ravine, 
 broken in its course by clumsy rocks and the fallen trunks of trees that have been 
 wrenched from the sparse soil and moss in the crevices. This colossal ravine is di- 
 vided into North, Middle, and South Boulder Caflons. In all of them are abrupt walls, 
 diverging in some instances not more than a few feet in a thousand from a vertical 
 line — walls of basalt and granite often richly colored, lifted from the narrow bed of 
 a stream to awful heights, and sometimes split by cross-chasms, into which a ray of 
 sunlight never by any chance creeps. Sometimes the cliffs overarch and form a 
 tunnel, and again they widen into a pretty valley. At the juncture of the North 
 and Middle Canons a cascade pours its avalanche of water over a ledge sixty feet 
 high, and hanging over the spot is an immense dome-shaped cliff of barren rock. 
 This dome is a mighty column of crystallized granite, four hundred feet high, and it 
 sparkles in the sunlight as if set with a million diamonds. On the eastern side you 
 find a recess not unlike a piazza, which affords protection against the passing storm. 
 Quaint and wonderful forms, worked out by the force of wind and water, startle your 
 fancy with the oddest suggestions, for the likeness of almost every bird and beast, 
 of temples, palaces, and churches, can easily be found in these gigantic carvings of 
 Nature. 
 
 Located in these mountains are a number of mushroom mining-towns, full of inter- 
 est not only on account of the industry which gives them excuse for being, but on 
 account of the strange types of life you meet in them, ranging from the fierce ruffian, 
 who goes armed, with the butt of a revolver sticking ominously out of each boot, and 
 ready to shoot any one at sight who looks askant at him, to the most refined men 
 and women. A string of village-cities are thus rooted in the mountain-sides, and their 
 inhabitants burrow into the i-ocks with furious zeal for gold and silver. Central City, 
 Black Hawk, Mountain, and Nevada, rise on successive planes of height, and present 
 types of town life utterly strange to one only accustomed to the orderly and conven- 
 tional ways of Eastern cities. 
 
 Keturning again to (Jolden, we take the Central City Branch, which diverges from 
 the main line of the Colorado Central and passes in a westerly direction up through 
 Clear Creek Caflon, one of the most wild and picturesque localities on the continent. 
 All the peculiar features of a gold-mining region are seen. Little water-courses, in 
 board troughs, run upon stilts in various directions ; all sorts of water-wheels, in every 
 state of dilapidation, abound ; and the hills on every side are broken with the mouths 
 of tunnels and deserted shafts. Here and there the bottom of the ravine is choked 
 up with mills, furnaces, and other buildings, which stand among the rocks, and are 
 seemingly perched on impassable places. The history of one of these mines, says an 
 entertaining writei-, may be traced thus : The formation, or country rock, is a com- 
 mon gneiss, apparently of the Laurcntian age ; a vein or lode in it is found exhibiting 
 "blossom-rock," a yellow, spongy mass, charged with iron-rust formed by the oxida- 
 
COLORADO. 
 
 437 
 
 Mouth of ^'Sonth BoulJtr Canon. 
 
 tion of the pyrites. The discoverer stakes out his claim, and, if the "dirt pans well," 
 the rest of the lode is soon taken up. At length the "top quartz" or blossom-rock 
 
438 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 is worked out, and even iron mortar and pestle fail to pulverize sufficient of the now 
 hard and refractory ore to pay the prospector for liis trouble. Water, too, invades 
 the mine and drives him out. 
 
 Now comes another phase : either the claim-owners effect a union — a minings- com- 
 pany being formed — or the capitalist steps in and purchases. Lumber and machinery 
 
 Boulder River. 
 
 are then brought over the mountains : presently buildings appear, and true mining is 
 begun. Shafts are sunk ; levels, drains, and tunnels made out : and the ore is put 
 through a "stamp-mill." 
 
 The product of the mill would not readily unite with pure mercury. It issues 
 from beneath the heavy stamps in a grayish, sparkling, thin mud, and, flowing over 
 gently inclined sheets of amalgamated copper, bright with quicksilver, passes off under 
 the name of " tailings," leaving the gold-dust amalgamated and fixed to the wide 
 
COLORADO. 
 
 439 
 
 Thi Falls, Xiirtli Boulder CiiAoii. 
 
 copper trough-plates. From 
 the surface of these phites the 
 amalgam, thick with gold, is 
 wiped at regular intervlas, and 
 when sufficient is collected it 
 is placed in a cloth, the ends 
 of which are gathered togeth- 
 er and twisted. Upon squeez- 
 ing the bag thus formed, much 
 of the mercury passes through 
 the pores of the cloth, while a 
 heavy, pasty mass of gold, still 
 silvered by mercury, remains 
 within. This last, with the 
 
 cloth holding it. is now placed in a cast-iron crucible, to which a flat iron top is 
 fastened, a small, bent pipe passing out of the center and forming the neck of the 
 
440 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 retort. Wlieii lieat is applied 
 to this the mercury is expelled 
 and collected under water at 
 the edge of the tube for fut- 
 ure use. The gold remaining 
 in the cloth is burned out, 
 and, if the heat be not of a 
 degree sufficient to melt it, it 
 retains the impression of the 
 cloth in its folds, seams, and 
 texture, and in this condition 
 is deposited with the banks. 
 Idaho Springs, some thirty- 
 five miles from Denver, on the 
 line of the Colorado Central Railway, is beautifully located, and is celebrated 
 hot-soda springs, which will probably, by-and-by, make the place a famous resor 
 
 Dome Boelr, Middle Bowlder Canon. 
 
 for its 
 t. The 
 
COLORADO. 441 
 
 temperature of the springs ranges from 80° to 113° Falir., and these Tary only two or 
 three degrees during the different seasons. A large swimming-bath gives . opportunity 
 for pleasant exercise and the absorption of the soda, lime, magnesia, and iron with whicli 
 the waters are charged. You speedily find out that, if soda-water is good to drink, it 
 is still more delightful to bathe in. As a mining locality Idaho has passed its glory, 
 but, as a health resort, it is continually increasing in popularity, for these chemical 
 springs are almost a specific in many diseases. The locality is surrounded by romantic 
 scenery, embodying ravine, mountain, lake, and valley. A lofty ridge of peaks forms 
 the southward picture, with the Old Chief, Squaw, and Papoose Mountains especially 
 prominent. Sixteen miles away are the Chicago Lakes, in the neighborhood of which 
 Bierstadt found the inspiration that expressed itself in one of his most popular works 
 — "The Storm in the Rocky Mountains." They are the most picturesque sheets of 
 water in Colorado, and are embosomed on the slopes of Mount Rosalie, at a height 
 of eleven thousand nine hundred and ninety-five feet above the level of the sea, and 
 twenty-two hundred feet below the summit of the peak. Georgetown and Idaho 
 Springs are equidistant from them, and, though the trail by which they are approached 
 is rough, they are visited by many tourists during the summer months. 
 
 Such Alpine lakes are a common feature of the Rocky range. Ten or twelve 
 thousand feet above the sea-level, three or four thousand feet above the highest foot- 
 hills, the mountaineer unexpectedly finds them glittering in marshy basins, fed by a 
 hundred streamlets of freshly melted snows — at night crusted, even in midsummer, 
 with a thin ice that yields as the day warms, and admits the vision into twelve or 
 fifteen feet of dazzlingly pure, bluish water, with a bright-yellow bottom. The snow 
 presses on the margin, and from this white and chilly bed a lovely variety of delicately 
 formed flowers spring, whose colors are only rivaled by the splendors of the sjieckled 
 trout which shoot through the sapphire depths. 
 
 As we ascend by the railway from Idaho to Georgetown the scenery becomes in- 
 creasingly bold and striking. There are no abrupt rising peaks or glaciers, only huge 
 mountains, grand masses, an endless sweeping sea of giant forms, that gather cloud 
 and reflect sunshine, forming gloomy depths and radiant heights ; broad parks, rushing 
 streams, and mirror-like lakes, which reflect the azure and gold of the skies. We 
 wind in and out along the stream, between huge rocks and mountain-piles, looking 
 through suggestive vistas, and up rugged canons, the mountains gathering closer and 
 closer till we reach Georgetown. 
 
 This interesting town, lying in the lap of the mountains, is considerably more 
 than eight thousand feet above the sea-level — loftier than even the Hospice of Mont 
 St. Bernard — the most elevated town in the world. The mountains are steep and 
 high, but have been stripped bare of their forests by fire, from which the town itself 
 has suffered. You can still see traces of the liavoc made by the \vind where houses 
 are blown over as if they were children's mimic structures of card-board, and whole 
 squares made desolate. This will account for the singular way in which some of the 
 houses, in exposed places, are anchored with iron ropes or braced by heavy timbers. 
 
•1:42 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 It is a strange, desultory place : you don't know when you are keeping tlie main 
 street or investigating the mysteries of some one's back alley ; houses endwise, cross- 
 wise, corner-wise, any way to meet the demands of strength and convenience. But 
 Georgetown has many fine buildings as well as these crazy structures — schools, churches, 
 newspaper-offices, hotels, banks, and fine private residences. Be it said, to the honor 
 of the people, who are as orderly and exemplary as any found in New England, that 
 they have made it as difficult to buy intoxicating liquors ou Sunday as if the most 
 stringent Maine law were in force. 
 
 The ore-veins are nearly perpendicular, sometimes with more than fifty feet be- 
 tween them, and ranging from what are called knife-blade seams to fifty feet in 
 
 ^M^^ 
 
 i^^- 
 
 Idaho Springs. 
 
 thickness, or more. A tunnel driven into the side of the mountain will therefore 
 pass through seam after seam. When one of sufficient richness is reached, the miner 
 at once records his claim, which is considered valid, and he is entitled to work seven 
 hundred feet each way from the point where the tunnel enters. These veins can be 
 detected, where they come to the surface, by what is called "blossom-rock." and the 
 expert recognizes instantly the presence of the ore. When it is discovered that a 
 vein is beinff worked through a tunnel whicli is claimed at the surface, a barsjain is 
 made by which the borer is allowed to work the claim on shares. Many of these 
 claims are owned by conqianies, others by individuals, who in early times were wont 
 
COLORADO. 
 
 443 
 
 to back the ore to the mill in loads of from one to two hundred pounds. Often you 
 will see a string of jacks, as the mules are called, winding along through the most 
 inaccessible parts of the mountains, bringing down the crude ore, or returning loaded 
 
 
 ^'^'''■\fM.'f )^- 
 
 Georgetown. 
 
 with picks, barrows, and other mining implements, or stores for the miner, whose 
 shanty may be seen perched high up among the cliffs, with not even a potato-patch 
 to while away his spare houi's. 
 
 There are many romantic spots in the vicinity, deep gorges and ravines intersect- 
 ing the mountains in every direction. Just above the city is the famous Devil's Gate, 
 a deep chasm, clifE-walled, through which a branch of the Clear Creek foams and 
 leaps. Green Lake is another attractive resort, two and a half miles distant. The 
 water is so crystal clear that objects eighty feet below the surface may be distinctly 
 seen, though the color is bright green. A dense growth of pines fringes the edges, 
 and innumerable peaks cluster around, their snows sometimes seeming to be reclining 
 by the lowering clouds that sweep over them. 
 
444 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 From Georgetown the tourist finds a convenient approach for the ascent of Gray's 
 Peak, the highest mountain of tlie range, its top being 14,251 feet above the sea- 
 level. The road winds westward and upward out of the town until wide fields of 
 snow are reached. This is in October ; earlier in the season little snow is seen. The 
 groves of aspen are left far below, aud tall, majestic pines, gleaming silver-firs, and 
 the slender, graceful Douglass spruces appear. An extensive upland valley opens to 
 
 clear t>reik, below Georgetown. 
 
 the mountaineers as the forest grows thinner and the trees smaller. To the left, sheer 
 and. rugged, rises Mount McClellan, and at the height of twelve thousand feet the 
 Stevens Silver-Mine is jiassed. Now the timber-line is gained, and the forest ceases, 
 reaching forward in short strips, like courageous, undaunted squads of infantry. How 
 wonderful a war between natural forces— how obstinate the contest where they meet ! 
 The few daring trees that stand forth higlier on the mountain than tlieir fellows have 
 been seized by some strong, invisible power and twisted and contorted almost to 
 
COLORADO. 
 
 445 
 
 (j-ratii Lake. 
 
 death. Tlioir tops resemble dry and weather-beaten roots, and all their vitality is 
 near the ground, where some branches creep out horizontally, groveling to obtain the 
 growth and breadth denied to them above. 
 
 The valley finally closes in, and the twin peaks of Gray's impend — the nearer one 
 dark, stern, and precipitous ; the other still far off, soft in outline, and sloping easily 
 down to a great bed of ice and snow — the hidden, shadow-loving remnant of a glacier. 
 
 Another half-hour of climbing brings the jaded explorers to a precipice, with 
 deep drifts surrounding it. The soft new snow of unknown depth looks treacherously 
 calm and beautiful, and where it meets the opposite mountain-wall has the aspect of 
 a neve glacier, upholding fallen bowlders, and scored with a long drift of rock and 
 gravel cast down from overhanging cliffs. The precipice itself descends six hundred 
 feet or more, and is terribly dark and dizzy. 
 
 This passed, a long, steep slope of snow-clad rocks rises before the traveler, and 
 a narrow trail, winding in .short, precarious zigzags on its face, leads to the summit. 
 
1 
 
 446 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 It now becomes necessary to leave the horses and go afoot. By-aud-by, with the 
 exercise of despei'ate exertions, the summit of the nearer peak is attained. 
 
 From the journal of one who made the ascent of Gray's Peak we take the follow- 
 ing extract: "Who can describe adequately the wonders of that mountain-summit? 
 They had told us we would see all the kingdoms of the earth spread before us, but 
 moving cloud-curtains obscured that grand panorama of parks, mountains, plains, and 
 far, far away over that billowy sea of stormy mountain-tops, the Wuhsatch Range, and 
 Salt Lake. These we had to take on faith, like the future glories; but how much 
 had we here that was sublime ! Deep, deep through that mysterious gloom came dim 
 glimpses of the South Park — only a suggestion, the imagination had to furnish all 
 the rest ; here rippled from beneath us streams tributary to Platte River, and event- 
 ually fiuding tlie waters of the Gulf of Jlexico ; there the sources of Snake River, 
 whose waters mingle at last with the Pacific. On one side black clouds swept down 
 into an unfathomable gulf, making its crags resound with the noise of their thunders, 
 while just beyond rose majestic snow-caps, radiant in the noonday sun. Towering 
 heights, profound abysses, with snow and rain, thunder and lightning, cloud and sun- 
 shine, were the elements that made up this impressive scene, or ratlier series of 
 scenes. Could we have had more ? Would not the eye have wearied and the sense 
 refused to grasp the magnitude of an unobstructed view ? We were satisfied as it 
 was, and now, cold and wet, retraced our steps down the mountain. 
 
 "B and I having started before the others, reached the bottom first, quite 
 
 demoralized. Surely all our horses had been Uiriafed together ! there were only three 
 remaining now — where were the others ? not in sight, that was certain. We held a 
 short council ; we were wet and cold, it wouldn't do to sit there. It so happened 
 that our horses were the remaining ones ; the guide was with the others, so we deter- 
 mined to press on and perhaps overhaul the runaways. A couple of miles down the 
 mountain, and in the edge of the timber, we found them quietly cropping the grass, 
 with no disposition whatever to be caught. However, after a good chase, and a thor- 
 ough warming in consequence, we succeeded in capturing the three vagrants, and 
 dragged them reluctantly back up the mountain. The others had piled all the sad- 
 dles and traps on the one remaining horse, and, it may be easily imagined, were a 
 dejected-looking jiarty in view of a walk of six miles farther to the nearest house, 
 after human flesh had done all it was capable of doing. It may be also easily imag- 
 ined that there was a shout of joy passed from one to another — wading as they were 
 through the sriow and wet — when we hove in sight. Be sure there was no time lost 
 in adjusting saddles ;ind bridles, and getting fairly started on our homeward way. 
 The calculation was beautifully exact ; the last atom of strength gave out as the last 
 rod was accomplished. Too tired to eat, I sought relief in sleep, and got that only 
 by virtue of a potent medicament which one of my fellow-sufferers dispensed to me. 
 And so ended our trip to the highest peak in Colorado." 
 
 Returning again to Denver, let us proceed by the Denver and Rio Grande Railway 
 to Colorado Springs, a town seventy-six miles from Denver directly south. Six miles 
 
COLORADO. 
 
 447 
 
 Gntifs Funk'. 
 
 fi-om this point are Manitou Springs, whence several very fascinating excursions may 
 be made to the Garden of the Gods, Glen Eyrie, Monument Park, Cheyenne Caflon, 
 and to the summit of Pike's Peak. 
 
 Let us mount the coach-box with the driver of the stage and begin our journey 
 to Manitou Springs. On the way we pass Colorado City, the oldest city in the State, 
 founded by the gold-seekers of 1858, but which soon faded into insignificance before 
 
448 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 the greater discoveries of mineral wealth in other places. Just before reaching Maui- 
 tou we find ourselves ajiparently at the base of Piive's Peak, though the summit is still 
 far otf. Eastward we look on the arid plains, stretching out with unbroken monot- 
 ony of form and color in the vague distance. Westward the settlement creeps up to 
 the portals of Ute Pass, which with its frowning steeps of rock leads to the treasure- 
 mines of the upper Arkansas and the Eed San Juan. 
 
 Manitou Springs is as lively as an Eastern watering-place, and in the season has 
 the usual round of summer-place gayeties. There are three handsome hotels to choose 
 from, and several medicinal springs, with a temperature varying from 45° to 00°, in- 
 
 StKtha Nlci'r. 
 
 closed in tasteful pavilions and surrounded by pretty cottages. The first spring is 
 close to the road, and the violent bubbling of the water seems to indicate a large 
 supply, thougli there is hardly a gallon a minute. About a hundred yards above, on 
 the right-hand side of the creek, is another and larger spring, which gushes out of 
 the rock with great turbulence. 
 
 Sulphur, iron, soda, arsenic, and other health -giving ingredients, are cunningly 
 compounded by Nature in these fountains, which boil and bubble up as if expelled 
 from the earth by the tremendous weight and pressure of Pike's Peak. The shadow 
 of this mountain monarch falls on them everv dav after four o'clock, and cool breezes. 
 
COLORADO. 
 
 449 
 
 CUar Cr'fk Cnnmi. 
 
 as refreshing as the waters themselves, fan the cheek of the invalid, and paint the face 
 of strength and beauty with a fresher color. Saratoga and Virginia watering-places 
 
 29 
 
450 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 have no such attractions as 
 those proffered by this noble 
 mountain fastness. Properly 
 enough, the Indians gave the 
 name of ilauitoii to these de- 
 licious health-giving, bubbling 
 fountains, and here they de- 
 posited their most valuable 
 offerings to Deity. Even yet 
 arrow-heads, beads, and other 
 Indian trinkets, are forced up 
 by the boiling waters, and 
 found in the stream below. 
 The neighborhood of .Manitou is exceedingly interesting, and comprehends all 
 varieties of scenery. A day's excursion allows the tourist time for the ascent of 
 Pike's Peak, on the topmost pinnacle of which he may stand, and let his heart fill 
 
 I'ilct'^y /**-'//', from thf frafdeu nf the Ottt/ft. 
 
COLORADO. 451 
 
 with the emotion that the majestic outlook is sure to inspire ; on the silent billows 
 of the plains, and the chaotic, gashed, and knife-like peaks, before whose feet these 
 endless yellow waves have ceased to beat, like an eager living creature struck with 
 despair. The sky itself seems to be attained, as ascending the trail on the mountain- 
 side we glance through a clearing in the timber on the gorges far below. The pines 
 and firs sway to and fro tempestuously with the roar of a great water-fall. The frail 
 human body quivers and labors as the thin, crisp air strains the exhausted lungs. 
 But what struggle, what hazard, what cost, is not I'epaid when the path makes its 
 last curve, and leads to one of the grandest summits in all the Eocky range ! Here 
 on the very top we find a station of the Weather Signal Bureau, which is occupied 
 summer and winter. 
 
 The surveyors have shown us that the elevation of Pike's Peak is not so great as 
 that of Gray's or Long's, but it seems to be higher, as it stands out alone and sweeps 
 upward from the foot-hills to a crystalline pinnacle, 14,147 feet above the level of the 
 sea. It is visible miles and miles away over the plains. The immigrants of old saw 
 it long before its companions appeared above the horizon, and they gathered fresh 
 courage as the blazing sun lit its tempest-torn granite into a pillar of gold. As far 
 north as Cheyenne, and as far south as Trinidad, on the borders of New Mexico, it 
 can still be seen, its boldness subdued in the gray of the distance ; and, as we glance 
 at it through lapses in the hills at its base, from the windows of the car, we seem to 
 be under its very shadow, when it is in reality thirty or forty miles off. 
 
 A few miles from Manitou is Cheyenne Canon, lying gloomily in the heart of the 
 mountains, with many wonders to attract the tourist ; and also within easy distance is 
 William's Caflon, in which solid masses of rock have yielded to the action of the ele- 
 ments until they have been hollowed and broken into a vivid resemblance of some 
 ruinous old castle. Bear Creek, rushing from the region of summer snows ; and Ute 
 Pass, locked between its walls of red granite — neither of these, nor the Garden of the 
 Gods, nor Glen Eyrie, nor the Rainbow Falls, should be neglected by the traveler. A 
 little way from the entrance to tlie pass, and about three quarters of a mile from the 
 village, the creek breaks into a white rage as it shoots over a precipice of sixty feet 
 in a foaming avalanche to which has been given the name of Eainbow Falls. 
 
 Monument Park is famous for its strangely carved sandstones. There are many 
 parts of the Rocky Mountain country, from the Yellowstone in the far north to Tierra 
 Amarilla in New Mexico, which strike us as being the creation and abode of some 
 fanciful race of goblins, who have twisted everything, from a shaft of rock to an old 
 pine-tree, into a whimsical and incredible sha]ielessness. The sand- and water-worn 
 rocks impress ixs as the result of a disordered dream — the strange handiwork of a 
 crack-brained mason, with a remembrance of Caliban's island lingering in his head. 
 Those in Monument Park are ranged in two rows lengthwise through an elliptical 
 basin. They are cones from twelve to twenty-five feet in height, and may be said to 
 resemble mushrooms at the first glance, though an imaginative person will soon find 
 himself transfiguring them into odd-looking men and animals. Think of several 
 
452 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 sugar-loiives, with plates or trays balanced on their peaks, or of candle-extinguishers 
 with pennies on top, and you will obtain an idea of what these rock-curiosities are. 
 Each pillar is capped with a mixture of sand and pebbles cemented by iron, and this 
 
 Momiment I^rk. 
 
 being so much harder than the underlying yellow sandstone, has resisted the wasting 
 influences of wind and rain, and in some cases extends continuously over several pil- 
 lars, thus forming a natural row of columns. 
 
 But of all the wonders of this region the Garden of the Gods is specially worthy 
 of description. Knnning from east to west, almost at the base of the great mountain- 
 range, on the eastern side stone palisades rise npward from the valley. These walls 
 are red, white, and gray. Their thickness varies from one hundred to five hundred 
 feet, and their height from five hundred u]nvard. Beyond this majestic wall, and 
 within a mile of it, the mountain-range makes another impassable barrier. Between 
 this lofty palisade and the abrupt mountain-sides is the famous "Garden of the (!ods." 
 
COLORADO. 
 
 453 
 
 Through this great palisade are gate-ways several miles apart, the eastern of which 
 is very narrow. The area of this first garden between the palisades and the cliffs is 
 narrow, but the very wildness of the place, with its deep chasms and lofty sides and 
 great stones of every hue and shape, amazes the beholder. The deep, narrow dell is 
 completely walled in, and the little gate-way seems to have been designed by Nature 
 as a sluice-way for the mountain-torrents to \)0\\v through. A bright, sparkling stream 
 ripples perpetually from the second and larger garden, which is also full of wonders. 
 There are towering crags and lofty stones set up on end, some inclined, like the lean- 
 ing tower of Pisa, others erect as Bunker Hill Monument, all rising to dizzy heights, 
 and each having its own peculiar color. Eagles' nests are visible along the summit 
 and within the palisades, and 
 there is a plateau covered with 
 bright undergrowth of flower- 
 ing shrubs and vines. Through 
 a deep, narrow gorge flows a 
 brawling brook, and along ■ its 
 narrow bed we ride beneath 
 overhanging cliffs, till weary of 
 wonders and staring at amaz- 
 ing precipices and great rock- 
 walls shutting out the sky. 
 
 To the broader garden one 
 finds access through a double 
 gate-way, which is called the 
 Beautiful Gate. Tliis passage- 
 way is through two high pre- 
 cipitous cliffs, with a large de- 
 tached rock tower standing in 
 the middle and thus dividing 
 it in two. The stone fence on 
 either hand is the solid pali- 
 sade of red sandstone. It is 
 sadly weather-worn. Great fis- 
 sures are visible from the gate- 
 way, and stone pickets a hun- 
 dred feet long have fallen to 
 
 the plain. The width of the inclosure is not more than one mile, while the stone-wall 
 extends westwardly far into the mountains. Among the more striking rock-forms in 
 the Garden of the Gods is the Tower of Babel ; and a short distance away, in Glen 
 Eyrie, may be seen equally notable fantasies, one of which is called the Organ, from 
 its resemblance to a church-organ, and another the Major Domo, a curious and rug- 
 ged pillar rising to the height of one hundred and twenty feet, though not more than 
 
 Tower of Bibet, Garden of the Gods. 
 
454 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 ten feet in diameter at the base. Glancing through the openings in the cliffs, you get 
 a tine view of Pike's Peak in all its hoary splendor. 
 
 The longer one remains in Colorado the more he wonders at the marvels so thickly 
 strewed around him. The first impressions are not pleasant, as he finds dust, jiain- 
 fully brilliant sunshine, scarce vegetation, and bleakness. But the oddness and sub- 
 limity of the scenery, so dif- 
 ferent from any found else- 
 where in the world, repay him 
 for all other annoyances. Five 
 thousand tourists not unseldom 
 visit Manitou Springs and the 
 Garden of the Gods in the 
 course of a single season, and 
 thence drift off to see the oth- 
 er wonders of the State. 
 
 Cheyenne Canon, five miles 
 from Colorado Springs, is a 
 sequestered mountain-gorge in 
 which are many striking rock- 
 formations and picturesque cas- 
 cades. A tortuous trail leads 
 from the mouth of the caflon 
 throe miles above to the first 
 fall, which is thirty feet high, 
 and extremely fine. From the 
 ledge above the fall there is a 
 succession of falls, six in all, 
 rising above one another at 
 regular intervals, the remotest 
 and highest being several miles 
 distant. Another interesting 
 spot within an easy distance 
 is William's Caflon, in which solid masses of rock have yielded to the action of the 
 elements until they have been hollowed out and molded into a vivid resemblance of 
 some ruinous old castle. 
 
 The Denver and Rio Grande Railway, wliicb comprises more than twenty branches, 
 penetrates into nearly every portion of Western and Southwestern Colorado, and passes 
 through the remarkable silver-mining region, which has produced a greater excitement 
 tlian any since the Conistock lode, in Nevada, was in the height of its prosperity. The 
 heart of this great Colorado mining region is the town of Leadville. now a city of 
 fifteen thousand people and more, where, in 1878, there were only a few tents and 
 log-houses. Leadville is one of the most interesting mining-cam]is, ])crhaps, in the 
 
 Major Domo^ Glen Ei/rit. 
 
COLORADO. 455 
 
 world, and well worthy the visit of the tourist alert to observe the curious phases of 
 nature and society. From Pueblo, the Leadville division of the Rio Grande Railroad 
 runs nearly northwesterly to Canon City, near which Professor Marsh discovered some 
 of the most remarkable fossils of gigantic extinct animals ever offered to the investi- 
 gation of science. Two miles beyond Canon City the road enters the Grand Gallon 
 of the Arkansas, where the river has cut its way for eight miles through mountain- 
 walls of solid granite, which in some places are three thousand feet in jierpendicular 
 height. The scenery at what is known as the Royal Gorge is of the greatest majesty, 
 and here the iron track runs for several hundred feet on steel girders passing from 
 wall to wall of the chasm, the ends being mortised into the solid rock. 
 
 Leadville, which is two hundred and seventy-nine miles by rail from Denver, and 
 nearly soirthwest in direction, already presents many of the characteristics of a place 
 of permanent prosperity. Situated in a valley where the slopes of several surrounding 
 hills come together, many of the temporary wooden buildings characteristic of primi- 
 tive places, uncertain of a future, have given way to substantial brick blocks, and 
 other similar improvements have been made. The mines, many of which have yielded 
 almost fabulous returns, are on the hills suri'ounding the town. It is believed by 
 many geologists now that the richest body of silver-ore, which is of the kind known 
 as carbonate, and is very easily mined and smelted, lies immediately under the city of 
 Leadville. If tins is true, it will make the i)lace permanently a great mining city. 
 The counties adjoining Lake, in which Leadville is located, are also very fruitful in 
 silver dejiosits. What is known as the Gunnison country, a county immediately south 
 and west of Lake, and one of the largest in Colorado, has discovered silver-fields of 
 great wealth. It is believed, however, that the richest mineral deposits in the region 
 are on the Indian reservation in the northwestern part of the county. The determina- 
 tion of prospectors to intrude on the reservation has already caused serious trouble 
 with the Indians, and Congress has agitated the question of removing the savages, in 
 obedience to the urgent call of the Colorado mining community — a step which, if taken, 
 may easily lead to another Indian war. 
 
 Lovers of the picturesque traveling in Colorado will find themselves well rei)aid by 
 taking a journey over the San Juan division of the Denver and Rio Grande Railway. 
 At the distance of eighty miles southwest of Pueblo the track crosses the Sangre de 
 Cristo range by the La Veta Pass, one of the most remarkable gorges in the Rocky 
 Mountains, at a height of 9,486 feet, amid scenery of great beauty and grandeur. 
 The Mule-shoe Curve and the passage arouud the point of Dump Mountain are re- 
 garded as among the most striking feats of railway engineering ever attempted. After 
 passing the gorge, the traveler is whirled for seventy miles across San Luis Park, and 
 the scenery continues to be marked by the most impressive beauty and picturesqueness. 
 At first the principal objects in the background are Sierra Blauca, which is 14,564 
 feet high, and the serrated peaks of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. On reaching the 
 western wall of the park — the San Juan Mountains — the scenery increases in grandeur. 
 It reaches its culmination at the Los Pinos Caflon and the Totter Gorge, which are 
 
456 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 justly regarded as ranking among tlie most wonderful scenic attractions of Colorado. 
 For a distance of eight miles the railway passes just below the brow of a precipitous 
 mountain-range, at the giddy height of twelve hundred feet above the stream, follow- 
 ing the irregular contour of the mountains through deep cuts and over high hills, 
 past weirdly monumental rocks and under lofty cliffs. At Phantom Curve the road 
 comes to the end of a mountain-wall that juts into the canon, narrowing it to a mere 
 
 William's Canon. 
 
 cleft or gorge fourteen hundred feet high, with the wall on the farther side rising' 
 above to an altitude of twenty-one hundred feet. A few rods from the gorge, at a 
 point where the passenger looks down on the white foam of the stream eleven hun- 
 dred feet below, the railroad enters a tunnel, which pierces the solid granite cliff for 
 a distance of six hundred feet. On emerging from the tunnel, the track passes over 
 trestle-work overlooking the precipice that extends to the bottom of the gorge — a ter- 
 
COLORADO. 457 
 
 rible abyss, which few have the nerve to look dowu on. All along this aerial Journey 
 an extended landscape of mountain and valley adds to the grandeur of the view. The 
 terminus of this division of the Denver and Rio Grande road is Durango, one of the 
 principal centers of the celebrated San Juan mining region. To the archaeologist, the 
 interest of a journey through the San Juan country is increased by the fact that here 
 are the wonderful prehistoric cliff-dwellings on the Rio Mancos, which have long ex- 
 cited great interest and curiosity ; and also eight ancient pueblos, inhabited by the 
 Pueblo Indians, wlioni the Spaniards found liere only forty-eight years after the dis- 
 covery of America. 
 
 One of the most interesting features of Colorado scenery is found in its great 
 natural parks. Of these there are four — North, Middle, South, and San Luis Parks. 
 This extraordinary park system consists of extensive irregular plateaus or basins, shut 
 in on all sides by lofty mountain-ranges. The surface is diversified by numerous 
 hills, or ridges, and valleys, containing streams which form the headquarters of all 
 the great rivers that flow out of Colorado. The valleys are covered with luxuriant 
 grasses and flowering plants of various kinds, and possess an extremely fertile soil. 
 The hills are covered with dense forests of pine, abounding in game, such as the bear, 
 elk, and deer, and contribute extraordinary attractions for the sportsman and advent- 
 urer. The beds of the streams furnish many varieties of minerals and fossils, and 
 afford a remarkable field for the lovers of science. Mineral springs, with waters pos- 
 sessing rare medicinal properties, are numerous, while coal and salt beds underlie the 
 whole surface. The four great parks (for there are lesser parks of a similar character 
 scattered through the western portion of the State) are in the central part of Colorado, 
 and occupy a belt about seventy miles wide. 
 
 North Park has an area of about twenty-five hundred square miles, and possesses 
 an average elevation of nearly nine thousand feet above the sea-level. Owing to its 
 remoteness and colder climate, it has been less visited by tourists and sportsmen, 
 but, since the recent discoveries of gold and silver, it has begun to be the goal of a 
 stream of prospectors and settlers. To reach this iiart of Colorado one has to leave 
 the Colorado Central Railway at Fort Collins, and take a stage-ride of about a hundred 
 miles in a northwesterly direction, though a favorite method of tourists has been to 
 travel on horseback with a camp-equipage packed on mules or in baggage-wagons. 
 
 Middle Park lies directly south of North Park, from which it is separated by one 
 of the cross-chains of the great mountain labyrinth. The continental divide sweeps 
 around on its east side, and majestic mountains encircle it on all sides, among which 
 Long's Peak, Gray's Peak, and Mount Lincoln, from thirteen thousand to fourteen 
 thousand five hundred feet high, stand as the most prominent sentinels. This park 
 has an area of about three thousand square miles, and is elevated seven thousand five 
 hundred feet above the sea. It is drained by the Blue River and the head-waters of 
 the Grand River, flowing westward to the Colorado. The portions of the park not 
 covered by forest expand into broad, open meadows, the grasses of which are inter- 
 spersed with wild-flowers of every hue. There is game in abundance, including deer. 
 
-458 
 
 OUR XATIVE LAXD. 
 
 moimtoin - sheep, elk. 
 bears,* and antelopes, 
 and the waters teem 
 with tish. The cli- 
 mate, notwithstanding 
 the great elevation, is 
 remiirkablv mild and 
 equable, the nights be- 
 ing cool in summer and 
 the days warm in winter. No 
 one. of com-se, should attempt 
 to winter here who can not safe- 
 ly be cut off from many of the 
 comforts and conveniences of 
 life : but those who are able 
 and willing to "rough it" wiU 
 hardly tind a place where they 
 can do so under more favorable 
 conditions. The usual objective 
 point of tourists who go to the 
 Middle Park is the Hot Sulphur 
 Springs, which may be reached 
 from Georgetown by the Ber- 
 thoud Pass (forty-five miles) ; from Central City by the James's Peak trail (sixty 
 miles) : and from South Boulder. The Colonido Company's fine stages leave the Bar- 
 
 Rainbow Fait*, He Put. 
 
COLORADO. 459 
 
 ton House, Georgetown, every otlier day for the Springs. A pleasant way of making 
 the journey is on horseback via the first-mentioned route. The springs are situated 
 on a tributary of Grand River, about twelve miles from tlie south boundary of the 
 park. The waters are used cliieily in the form of baths, and have been found highly 
 beneticial in cases of rheumatism, neuralgia, chronic diseases of the skin, and general 
 debility. The accommodations for invalids are not first-rate as yet, but sufficient, 
 perhaps, for those who ought to venture upon the journey thither over the mount- 
 ains. A small town is gradually growing up in the vicinity. One of the pleasantest 
 excursions in Middle Park is up the valley, twenty-seven miles from the Springs, by 
 a good road to Grand Lake, the source of the main fork of Grand River. The lake 
 nestles close to the base of the mountains, precipitous cliffs hang frowning over its 
 waters on three sides, tall jiines come almost down to the white sand-beach, and its 
 translucent depths are thronged with trout and other fish. 
 
 South Park, the best known and most beautiful of all the parks, lies next below 
 Middle Park, from which it is separated by a branch of the Park range. It is sixty 
 miles long and thirty wide, with an area of about twenty-two hundred square miles, 
 and, like the Middle Park, is suiTounded on all sides by gigantic ranges of mountains, 
 whose culminating crests tower above the region of perpetual snow. The highest ele- 
 vation of the park above the sea is ten thousand feet, while the average elevation is 
 about nine thousand feet, and nearly all the land which it contains is well adapted 
 to agriculture. The streams, which are supplied by melting snows from the sur- 
 rounding mountains, are tributaries of the South Platte, and flow east through the 
 park to the plains. The climate of the South Park is milder than that of either 
 North or Middle Park, and its greater accessibility gives it peculiar advantages for 
 such tourists and invalids as can not endure much fatigue. Fairplay is the chief 
 town of the region, and a good center for excursions. The park is traversed from 
 north to south by a branch line of the Union Pacific road. The scenery is of the 
 greatest grandeur and beauty, especially at the canon of the Platte and Kawsha sum- 
 mit. From Fairplay, one of the stations on the railroad, there is easy access to 
 Mount Lincoln, the ascent to the top of which may be made in carriages, as it pre- 
 sents no special difficulties. Mount Lincoln is one of the highest of the Colorado 
 peaks, being 14,29fi feet in elevation, and from the summit, we are told by Professor 
 Whitney, there is a view unequaled by any in Switzerland for its reach or the mag- 
 nificence of the heights included in its horizon. The direct road to the great mining 
 center of Leadville from Denver passes through South Park. 
 
 The largest of the parks (for it includes an area equal to that of the other three 
 combined) is San Luis. It is about twice the size of the State of New Hampshire, 
 and contains eighteen thousand square miles. It is separated from South Park, of 
 which it lies directly south by the main range which forms its north and east bound- 
 ary, while on its west is the Sierra San Juan. From the encircling snow-crests thirty- 
 five streams pour their waters through the park, nineteen of them flowing into San 
 Luis Lake, a beautiful sheet of water near the center of the inclosure, while the others 
 
iUU 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 discharge their volume into the Rio del Norte iu its course to the Gulf of Mexico. 
 On the flanks of the mountains dense forests of pine, spruce, hemlock, fir, aspen, oak, 
 cedar, and piuon alternate with broad natural meadows, producing a luxurious growth 
 of nutritious grasses, upon which cattle subsist throughout the year without any other 
 food, and requii'ing no shelter. The highest elevation in the park does not exceed 
 seven thousand feet above the sea, and this, together with its southern and sheltered 
 location, gives it a wonderfully mild, genial, and equable climate. Warm mineral 
 springs abound here as in other parts of the State, and are becoming Avidely noted 
 for their valuable medicinal properties. 
 
 Tke Snow-clad Peaks of the Uockij Mountains, 
 
THE YOSEMITE. 
 
 Approaches to the Yo.emite Valley-How it wa.. discovered-The Wg trees of Maripo.a-Descent into the valley by 
 the Mariposa trail-The Bridal Veil Fall and Cathedral Koeks-Sentinel Rock aud Dome--i osemito Falls-lhe 
 inhabitants of the valley-The gorge of the Mereed-Tenaya Caiion-View from Cloud's Rest-Accommodation 
 for visitors. 
 
 j^ 
 
 Half Dome, J'rmn the Merced River. 
 
 The Yosemite Val- 
 ley, which is one of the 
 great natural wonders 
 of the United States, 
 lies among the Sierra 
 Nevadas of California, 
 nearly in the center of 
 the State, north and 
 soixth, and midway be- 
 tween the east and west 
 bases of tTie mountains, 
 which at this point 
 are about seventy miles 
 wide. In a direct line 
 the Yosemite Valley is 
 one hundred and fifty 
 miles due east of San 
 Francisco, but the act- 
 ual circuit of travel is 
 a hundred miles more. 
 It is in the southern 
 imrtion of Mariposa 
 County, and through 
 it runs the Merced Riv- 
 
403 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 er. The gorge is iibout eight miles in length, from half u mile to a mile in width, 
 and is inclosed in frowning granite walls, rising in unbroken and almost perpen- 
 dicular faces to the dizzy height of from two thousand to live thousand feet above 
 the gi'eeu and quiet vale beneath. Travelers from the East visiting the Yosemite 
 usually go on to San Francisco, and make their start for the valley from that city, 
 although they have to return again on the Central Pacific Railroad to one of three 
 stations whence stage rovites conduct to the valley. The favorite route is by the 
 Visalia branch of the Central Pacific, which diverges from the main line at Lathrop 
 to Madera. From the latter place there are ninety miles of staging to the valley, 
 and tlie route is popular, as it affords an opportunity to see en route the Mariposa 
 grove of big trees, which is part of the Yosemite grant made by Congress. The sec- 
 ond route is by stage from Merced, on the Visalia branch, which gives the tourist the 
 chance to see the Tuolumne grove of big trees. A third is also to Merced, whence a 
 stage route connects with the Mariposa route at Clark's, and carries the traveler into 
 the Yosemite Valley by Inspiration Point. The fourth is from Stockton, on the Cen- 
 tral Pacific, by the Stockton and Copperopolis road to Milton, and thence by stage, 
 which gives one an opportunity to view tlie Calaveras grove of big trees. 
 
 The name " Yosemite " was given to this valley in the belief that it was the In- 
 dian name for grizzly bear. The valley was first discovered in the spring of 1851. 
 As early as the spring of 1850, the whites, living about Mariposa and mining on the 
 streams that head in the vicinity of the Yosemite, after considerable trouble with the 
 Indians living thereabouts, organized a military comjjany to drive them out of the 
 country. It was soon found that they had some sort of a stronghold away up among 
 the mountains, and to this they invariably retreated when hard pressed. The charac- 
 ter of the place was unknown, but soon wild stories were told of an im])regnable 
 mountain fastness, exciting the curiosity of the settlers ; so that, in the spring of 
 1851, an expedition was organized, under the command of Captain Boling, to find 
 the place and disjjerse the naughty aborigines. Led by a friendly old Indian, the 
 party reached the valley, surprised the hiding braves, and drove them out. This was 
 the first visit by white men to the Yosemite. Next year there was more trouble with 
 the Indians, and a second expedition went out, again driving the offenders before 
 them. They took refuge with the Monos, a powerful tribe among the mountains, 
 quarreled with them, and by them were almost entirely exterminated, so that now, it 
 is said, but few of the Yosemites are alive. 
 
 Although wonderful stories were told by those who returned, it was not until four 
 years later (1855) that Mr. .T. M. Ilutchings gathered a ]iarty and made the first 
 regular tourist's visit to the valley. A second party went in the same season, and 
 next year a trail was completed on the Mariposa side, and the regular pleasure travel 
 commenced. The same year (1856) the first house or shanty was put up, on the site 
 of what is now known as Black's Hotel. 
 
 In June, 1864, Congress granted to the State of California, in trust, the Yosemite 
 Valley and the Marl [wsa grove of "Big Trees," upon coiulition that the territory thus 
 
THE YOSEMITE. 
 
 463 
 
 DescenC into the I'alU. 
 
464 OUR NATIVE LAXD. 
 
 designated should be set apart " for public use, resort, aud recreation." California 
 accepted the trust, appointed commissioners, and hence this maguiticent valley, which, 
 without extravagance, we may pronoxince one of the world's wonders, is preserved se- 
 cure in all its beauty and grandeur for public uses. 
 
 The principal features of the Yosemite Valley, and those by which it is distin- 
 guished from all other known valleys, according to Professor J. D. Whitney, are : the 
 near approach to verticalitj of its walls ; their great height, not only absolutely, but 
 as compared with tlie width of the valley ; and the very small amount of debris scat- 
 tered on the main floor of the valley. These are the great characteristics of the Yo- 
 semite region throughout its whole length ; but besides these there are many other 
 striking peculiarities and features, both of sublimity and beauty, which can hardly be 
 surpassed, if tliey are equaled, by those of any other valley in the world. Either the 
 domes or the waterfalls of the Yosemite, or any single one of them even, would be 
 suiBcient, in any European country, to attract travelers from far and wide in all direc- 
 tions. Waterfalls in the vicinity of the Yosemite, surpassing in beauty many of the 
 best known and most visited in Europe, are actually left entirely unnoticed by travelers, 
 because there are so many other objects of interest to be visited that it is impossible 
 to find time for them all. 
 
 The valley contains eleven hundred and forty-one acres of level bottom ; and of 
 these, seven hundred and forty-five acres are meadow, the rest being covered with 
 trees and rock. From Teuaya Canon, at the upper end of the valley, to Bridal Veil 
 Fall, at the lower end, four and a half miles in a direct line, the decline is only 
 thirty-five feet. Naturally enough, so level a surface is gi-eatly overflowed during the 
 spring freshets. The scant, coarse gi-ass of the meadows gives in the perspective an 
 impression of the richest green, gemmed with a profusion of brilliant flowers. Through 
 these meadows winds the Merced Eiver, during the summer an orderly stream, aver- 
 aging about eighty feet in width, but in the early spring it is transformed into a 
 furious torrent. The banks are fringed with alders, willow, poplar, cottonwood, and 
 evergreens ; upon the meadow level are grouped, in groves of greater or less size and 
 density, pines, cedars, and oaks. From every point of view in the valley one of the 
 most striking effects is in the richly variegated color of the mountain walls. The prin- 
 cipal hue is a light gray, reflecting brilliantly white in the sunlight, occasionally varied 
 with veins of a deeper, brighter hue. In many places stripes of red, brown, and black 
 are produced by the flowing down of water carrying organic matter. The walls are 
 of granite, with an average height of about three thousand feet ; in some places 
 nearly vertical, and with very little (febris at the base : in others, a pine-covered slope 
 leads up to gigantic towers, spires, or sharp-cut peaks. There are no fewer than five 
 trails over which a beast of burden may climb in or out of the valley ; and a man, 
 sure-footed, cool-headed, and strong, may find a dozen places where he could, with- 
 out real danger, scale those seemingly impassable barriers. 
 
 It is difiicult to find comparisons to give an impression of the grandeur of the 
 scenery, or of the lofty ])rccipices surrounding the valley. If the reader crosses the 
 
THE YOSEMITE. 
 
 465 
 
 ■p'"'''^~'A/>\^,^ '.'y^^ii 
 
 30 
 
 Toaemite, from Mariposa Trail. 
 
466 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 continent on the Paciiic Eailroad, let him imagine, when on tlie loftiest mountain- 
 pass, that it be cleft in twain to the level of the sea, and from the base he can look 
 up four thousand feet to the summit of El Capitan, or six thousand feet to the glis- 
 tening crown of the South Dome. If from New England, let him reflect that its 
 loftiest peak — Mount Washington — raises its head only to the height of one of these 
 giant rocks. The beauty of this grand scenery can not be easily conveyed in words. 
 
 The great gorge is not the only object that calls the visitor to this section. The 
 vegetable productions are in keeping witli tlie majestic rocks and giddy waterfalls. 
 Surrounding it, at distances of from ten to- fifty miles, are numerous groves of the 
 great trees wliich have so astonished the world. Tliese have been principally examined 
 by Whitney and his corps of geologists, and their number is unknown. Those of 
 Calaveras are more accessible and better known, but, large as they are, many are 
 found in the southern groves exceeding them in size. Whitney measured one of one 
 hundred and six feet in circumference and two huiulred and seventj^-six feet high. 
 Another, lying prostrate, has been burned so hollow that one can ride on horseback 
 in the cavity for a distance of seventy-six feet, aiul have ample room to turn arouiul. 
 The big trees of this section are not in a single grove, as in Calaveras County, but are 
 scattered through an extensive region at an elevation of from six to seven tliousand 
 feet above the sea. The collection known as Mariposa Grove lies within about five 
 miles of the road leading from Mariposa to Yosemite, and, from this fact, has become 
 a great resort for visitors. There are in the grove about six hundred large trees of 
 from thirty to one hundred feet in circumference and from two hundred and thirty 
 to three hundred and twenty-five feet in height. These are of the taxodium family, 
 and bear the general name of Seqicoia — in honor of the Ciierokee chief who nuule an 
 alphabet for his tribe — but are distinguished by the specific name of Giyanlia. This 
 grove is the property of the State of California, and will be preserved as a pidilic 
 resort. The grove is reached from Mariposa or Yosemite by leaving the trail at 
 Clark's, a station about midway between the two places, and taking an easy road to 
 them about five miles distant. Other groves are in the vicinity, aiul the Indians re- 
 port still others, with larger trees, farther in the mountains, which white nu'u have 
 never seen. 
 
 The point from which most travelers get their first view of the valley is known as 
 Inspiration Point, a clitT which gives a magnificent outlook over a scene almost un- 
 paralleled of its kind. Mr. Clarence King has put on record his unwillingness to be 
 betrayed into the rapture which overcomes the self-restraint of most travelers in these 
 words: "I always go swiftly by this famous point of view now, feeling somehow that 
 I don't belong to tiiat army of literary travelers who have here jilantcd themselves and 
 burst into rhetoric. Here all who make California books, down to the last and most 
 sentimental specimen who so much as meditates a letter to his or her local paper, dis- 
 mount and inflate." The descent into the valley by the old Mariposa trail, from 
 Inspiration Point, is a distance of about three miles in three thousand feet. Every 
 few rods some new charm is presented to the eye — trees grouped in i)icturesque back- 
 
THE YO HE MITE. 
 
 467 
 
 ground, and finding bold relief against the glowing tints of the distant cliffs ; flowers 
 
 nodding in the breeze, and little streams rippling and gurgling across the road, as if 
 
 unconscious of the terrible leaps that must be taken to reach the river below. In 
 
 contrast to this living grace and beauty are 
 
 the walls, towers, and domes of the Yosemite, 
 
 grand and serene, divided into tender shadow 
 
 and brilliant sunlight, full of a majesty which 
 
 has nothing in it of the stern and 
 
 imi)lacable. Approaching the level of 
 
 the valley and the open meadows, the 
 
 groves of trees and the winding river, 
 
 the beautiful jjark-like nature 
 
 of the valley fully reveals itself. 
 
 Trees bending in graceful frame- 
 
 Valley Floor, with View of Cathed/ral Spires. 
 
 work inclose various charming pictures as we advance, one of the most attractive 
 being Bridal Veil Fall, as it springs over the wall nine hundred feet high. The 
 upper part sparkles in the sunlight a solid body, then tlie water is swept into a wild 
 whirl of spray, that comes eddying down in soft mists and formless showers. Emerg- 
 
468 OUR XATIVE LAXD. 
 
 ing on a broad meadow from the grove, through which we have been passing, the 
 Cathedral Rocks stand against the sky. with their spires all aglow in the sunlight. At 
 their foot the Merced River presses the i-oad so closely that it is forced to wind its 
 way through masses of huge gi-anite blocks, embowered in lofty trees which have grown 
 up since these Titans were dislodged from their places. So one thing follows another — 
 broad stretches of greenerv enameled with a million flowers, and noble groves of pine 
 and cedar, so cathedral-like and grand as to suggest the old Druidical haunts, where 
 solemn rites were wont to be performed by hoary priests, and human sacrifices offered 
 to irate gods. A sentiment of deep, slumberous i-epose, almost impossible to describe, 
 pervades the scene at the sunset-time of day, when the traveler generally arrives. 
 The thick cai'peting of pine spindles mulHes every footfall ; the pillared tree-trunks 
 form vistas that stretch like long-di-awn aisles to the deepest forest depths ; the inter- 
 laced branches do not obscure the luminous sky above, nor hide the tall cathedral 
 spires that burn ruddy in the gleam of falling day. The whole experience is one of 
 profoundest jieacefulness and calm. 
 
 We have already spoken of Bridal Veil Fall, which, as seen from the valley, ap- 
 pears to have a vertical fall of nine hundred feet, and of Cathedral Rock, a massively 
 sculptured granite pile, rising twenty-six hundred and sixty feet above the levels below. 
 Above the latter tower are the Spires, some five hundred feet higher, standing out from 
 but connected at the base with the walls of the valley. As we proceed up the valley 
 a point of rocks projects out of the mountain wall, terminating in a slender mass of 
 granite somewhat resembling an obelisk. This is known as Sentinel Rock, certainly 
 among the most picturesque and striking rock-forms in the valley, the top reaching 
 a height of over three thousand feet, and the face being almost vertical. The fall, as 
 shown in the illustration, exists in the spring only, when the mountain torrents are 
 swollen with the melting snows ; then the force and volume are grand, as is evident 
 from the gorge hollowed out at the foot. A view of this water-torn gully ends all 
 conception of a well-ordered park below. When the spring torrents pour into the 
 valley they leap the cliffs with indescribable fury, carrying down huge rocks and 
 quantities of coarse granite sand, to work destruction as they spread their burden over 
 the level ground. In some places this detritus is piled up to the height of several 
 feet in the course of a single spring. At this season water is an element of destruc- 
 tion, in freezing as well as in thawing. The little rills that filter into every crack 
 and crevice by day, as they freeze by night, enable the frost to ply its giant leverage, 
 and so, where disaster from water seems to threaten evervthing, there is added the 
 shock of falling cliffs. The granite walls between Cathedral and Sentinel Rocks suffer 
 very much from this disintegration. Great cliffs have fallen, ;md avalanches of rock 
 have plowed their way down the slope to the bottom of the valley. Amid such sur- 
 roundings the wreck of a world is suggested, so vast the ruin, so pigmy the climber. 
 Onlv a feeble impression can be conveyed in words of the effects of mountains of 
 granite, sharp and fresh in fracture, piled one upon the other, the torn fragments of 
 a forest underneath, or strewed about, as if the greatest trees had been but as straws 
 
THE YOSEMITE. 
 
 469 
 
 Sentinel Rock and Fall. 
 
 tossed about- in the wind. A broad track of desolation leads away up to the heights 
 from which these rocks have been hurled. 
 
 Back of Sentinel Rock is Sentinel Dome, forty-one hundi-ed and fifty feet above 
 the valley. From this spot may be had a splendid coup d'ceil of most of the i-e- 
 markable features of the valley. On the left, opposite the Bridal Veil Fall, is the 
 Virgin's Tears Fall, where the creek of that name leaps over the wall more than a 
 thousand feet. Just above is El C'apitan, an immense block of granite projecting 
 
470 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 into the valley, and presenting an almost vertical edge thirty-three hundred feet in 
 height. Although not so high as some of its giant neighbors, yet its isolation, its 
 breadth, its perpendicular sides, and its prominence, as it projects like a great prom- 
 ontory into the valley, make it, as its name indicates, the "Great Chief" of the val- 
 ley. The walls of the mass are bare, smooth, and totally destitute of vegetation. It 
 is doubtful, according to Professor "Whitney, if there be anywhere in the world so 
 squarely cut and imposing a face of rock. 
 
 Farther up, and nearly opposite Sentinel Rock, are the Three Brothers, a triple 
 group of rocks of peculiar outline, resembling three frogs sitting with their heads 
 turned in one direction — a likeness which is supposed to have suggested the Indian 
 name Pompompasus, meaning " Leaping Frog Eocks." The highest of the peaks is 
 thirty-eight hundred and thirty feet in height, and from this point is also a favorite 
 place of outlook over the valley. Just beyond the "Three Brothers'' may be seen 
 the great waterfall of the valley, known as the Yosemite, formed by a creek of the 
 same name. In the spring, when the air is full of the thunder of falling waters, 
 this cataract is at its grandest, and no falls in the known world can be compared 
 with them in height and romantic beauty. The summit of the upper fall is a little 
 over twenty-six hundred feet above the valley ; for fifteen hundred feet the de- 
 scent is absolutely vertical, and the rock is like a wall of masonry. Below this the 
 fall of water sways and sweeps, yielding to the force of the fitful wind with a mar- 
 velous grace and endless variety of motion. For a moment it descends with continu- 
 ous roar ; in another instant it is caught, and, reversing its flight, rises upward in 
 wreathing mists, finally fading out, like a summer cloud, before it reaches the base 
 of the cliff. The stream at the summit, at its medium stage, is estimated to be 
 twenty feet wide and about two feet in average depth. As the different parts of the 
 fall are nearly in one vertical plane, the effect is about as striking and picturesque as 
 if the water made but a single leap from the top of the cliff to the level of the 
 valley. 
 
 The tourist, wandering up and down in his study of the wonders of the valley, 
 occasionally meets groups of Indians, the native tribe of the region, now nearly ex- 
 tinct. These vagrant and worthless redskins have been pretty much deprived of their 
 savage virtues by the contact of civilization, which has only impressed them with its 
 vices. In general appearance they are robust, and even fat — a condition produced by 
 their diet, which is mostly the acorns with which the valley abounds. The craft, 
 courage, and dexterity of the hunter, in which so many of the Indian tribes excel, 
 appear to be lacking to the Yosemite Indians ; and they find a miserable support on 
 the mast which they gather from the earth, like the swine, to which they are so 
 nearly allied in nature and habits. There are about fifty of these Indians, of both 
 sexes and of all ages, living in the valley in the most primitive fashion, their wnUlt-s 
 or huts consisting of branches stuck in the earth in a semicircular fashion, the leaf- 
 covered boughs meeting overhead. Generally these children of Nature are excessively 
 dirty, but some of them, according to the account of an artist sketching in the val- 
 
THE YOSEMITE. 
 
 471 
 
 riu Vusemite Falls. 
 
472 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 ley, at least had the instinct of cleanliness. He writes: "While sitting at work on 
 the bank of the river three young squaws came along, and surprised me by deliberately 
 preparing for a bath not a hundred feet from me. They disported themselves witli all 
 the grace of mermaids, diving, swimming, and playing for nearly an hour in the 
 snow-cold water. They stole a Chinaman's soap and used it lavishly ; and making 
 their fingers do duty as tooth-brushes, they showed a purpose of cleanliness as well 
 as of sport. It was really a charming picture — the water so clearly transparent ; the 
 beach shelving in smooth slopes of sand ; the trees overarching the stream ; beyond 
 all, the Yosemite Fall, swaying in silvery showers, and in the foreground pool these 
 children of Nature playing, their tawny skins wet with water, and glistening with all 
 the beauty of animated bronze. After their bath they favored me with their com- 
 panj'. One jnilled from its place of concealment a Jew's-harp, and my ears were 
 regaled with 'Shoo, Fly.' Another element, hardly less nomadic or vagabondish in 
 character, is found in the rough fellows who have found their way into the valley as 
 mule-drivers, peddlers, and similar nondescripts, that hover between the lines of civili- 
 zation and the outer world of lawlessness. So there may be seen, among these queer 
 dwellers in the most beautiful of valleys, Indians, Chinamen, Mexicans, negroes, and 
 white-skinned men not a bit higher in character, living on terms of social fraternity 
 and e([uality. These vagabonds pick up a precarious livelihood in guiding the guests 
 of the hotels and hiring their scrubby mules and mustangs for excursions. The 
 grand excitement for these residents of the valley is found in horse-racing, and Sun- 
 day moi'ning is the favorite racing time. This strange Derby of the Californian wilds 
 presents but little analogy to its more civilized types of race meetings. The horses 
 have no saddles ; the riders are stripped of all superfluous clothing, and ride bare- 
 headed and bare-footed, with only a sheepskin or bit of blanket under them ; and 
 over the drawn-up knees, and around the horse's body, a surcingle is tightlv drawn, 
 literally binding horse and rider into one. An unlimited amount of profanity is in- 
 dulged in by the ragged loafers of all colors that constitute the crowd of interested 
 spectators, and the excitement is not less than would be witnessed at Jerome Park or 
 at Ascot. Amid the rnde turmoil of curses and laughter, too, may be heard the clear 
 clink of gold and silver coin, for many of the onlookers bet their last dollar on the 
 race. 
 
 Let us return from this brief digression to a further description of the beauties of 
 the region. A little east of the Sentinel Rock, and directly across the valley from 
 Yosemite Fall, is Glacier Point, from which one of the finest views in the valley may 
 be obtained. The climb to this point is exceedingly interesting. We skirt around 
 the brows of precipices, from whicli the abyss seems to be bottomless, and out of the 
 somber depths come up the roaring of distant watei's and the lulling song of pine-tree 
 forests. The Too-lulu-wack Fall is almost immediately below, and can not be seen ; but 
 on the opposite side are the Vernal and Xevada Falls, and the many cataracts of the 
 Merced, which, unlike most of the other streams entering the valley, are very impos- 
 ing all the year round. The Cap of Liberty rises prominently in the center of the 
 
THE YOSEMITE. 
 
 473 
 
 Gorye of the Merced, 
 from Glacier /bint Trail. 
 
 scene, back of 
 that the Little 
 Yosemite opens, 
 and beyond all 
 tower the snow- 
 cap2)ed sierras. 
 At last we reach 
 tlie top of Gla- 
 cier Point, and here get 
 a splendid Tiew of the 
 upper part of the valley. 
 At this upper end, about 
 two miles above the Yo- 
 semite Falls, the main 
 valley branches out into three 
 distinct but quite narrow cafions. 
 Through the middle one of these 
 the Merced River pours down, and 
 in the right hand or northeast one the 
 south fork of the Illilouette ; in the left 
 hand or northwest gorge flows the Te- 
 naya fork of the Merced. Glacier Point 
 is a spur of rock or mountain jutting out of 
 the east or right hand side of the valley, where 
 it divides. From the terraced summit we look down 
 thirty-two hundred feet to the meadows at our very 
 feet. Few can gaze into such depths without shud- 
 
474 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 dering and drawing back. Nearly op2)osite, about a mile and a half away, the Yo- 
 semite Fall makes a half mile in three leaps, and shows its graceful proportion to 
 better advantage than from any other point. To the right or northeast we look up 
 Tenaya Canon, its narrow floor beautiful with tall jiines, that almost hide its one 
 jewel, Mirror Lake ; but with walls grim and vast, that sweep on tlie right up nearly 
 five thou.sand feet and culminate in the grand dominating form of the valley, the 
 Half Dome, which is shown in the opening illustration of this chapter. This is the 
 loftiest of those heights belonging to the Yosemite. It is a crest of granite rising to 
 the height of forty-seven hundred and thirty-seven feet above the valley, and was 
 long considered inaccessible, but in 1879 improvements were made by which tourists 
 are now enabled to reach this commanding height. Across the green depths of Te- 
 naya Canon towers the symmetrical form of the North Dome, looming up to the 
 altitude of thirty-six hundred and fifty-eight feet. Eight under the shadow of the 
 North Dome, at the angle where the Yosemite branches into Tenaya Canon, is the 
 rounded columnar mass called Washington Column, and the Eoyal Arches, a magnifi- 
 cent arched cavity of perfect shape. 
 
 The bald slope and crest of Cloud's Rest tower beyond and behind the sierras, 
 untrodden yet by the foot of man. There are but few places where so much of the 
 terrible and the beautiful is combined. 
 
 There are five trails througli which a horse may get in or out of the Yosemite Valley. 
 Tlie Mariposa trail, through which we entered, passing Inspiration Point, is at the 
 lower end. The Coultersville trail comes in at the same end, but on the opposite 
 side. A third passes near Glacier Point, and enters at the foot of Sentinel Eock, 
 about midway up the valley, on its eastern side. A fourth passes through Merced 
 Gorge, by the Vernal and Nevada Falls ; and the fifth through Indian Cation, on the 
 west side, north of Yosemite Fall. The last is barely passable, and very little used. 
 The Coultersville and Mariposa routes bring the traveler to the valley by stage, but 
 the others are little more than a horse-back trail, though safe enough by this mode of 
 travel. The trail through Merced Gorge, after reaching the top of Nevada Fall, crosses 
 the stream and the southern end of the charming Little Yosemite Valley. This valley, 
 more than two thousand feet above its famous neighbor, is one of the many great 
 granite basins peculiar to the country. The bottom is about three miles long, and 
 consists of a pleasant succession of meadows and forests, through which flows the 
 Merced Eiver. The sides are smooth, bare slopes of seamless granite, ribboned with 
 brown bands ; and here and there are strange dome-like forms, which so much perplex 
 the geologist. An excursion to the little Yosemite Valley is of considerable interest, but 
 demands several nights of camping out. In places tlie trail twists from right to left 
 in sharp zigzags, and is so steep that the horse and rider on the turn above appear 
 to be directly overhead. Within sight, the river roars and tumbles in a succession of 
 cataracts. On this route we see the beautiful Vernal Fall, which has an imbrokeu 
 plunge of four hundred feet, drenching the narrow gorge with spray, anil filling the 
 air with rainbow shimmerings. To get to the top of the rock, over which the fall 
 
THE YOSEMITE. 
 
 475 
 
 f^'^f ;^s%Fv ''^'^^ 
 
 General Vietv of Tosemite, from Summit of CloudU Rest. 
 
 plunges, it is necessary to climb 
 long ladders, and here we find a 
 broad-basined rock and a charming 
 little lakelet. Farther on we cross 
 a slender bridge, under which is 
 Wild-cat Cataract ; and not much 
 beyond this Nevada Fall comes 
 tumbling over a wall exceeding 
 six hundred feet in height. All 
 about are heights and depths, 
 grand to look up to, terrible to 
 look down upon. 
 
 Clambering through such scenes 
 for the greater part of the day, part 
 of the time finding it necessary to 
 
 dismount and lead one's mustang or mule, the floor of the upper valley is at last 
 reached, and a resting-place for the night is gladly sought by the tired traveler, before 
 pursuing his explorations further. Here we are at an elevation greater than the top 
 of Mount Washington. The ascent to the top of Cloud's Rest is the goal of ambi- 
 
476 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 tious excursionists who penetrate to the upper valley. This rises six thousand feet 
 above tlie lower Yosemite Valley, or nearly ten thousand feet above the sea. The 
 ascent is easily made on horseback to within a few hundred yards of the summit. 
 This proves to be a long, thin crest of granite, so piled with loose and apparently 
 insecure blocks that it needs no little courage to walk between them. On the one 
 side one beholds a descent for hundreds of feet ; on the other, or west side, it is 
 thousands — falling away in an unbroken surface of granite, at an angle of not less 
 than forty-five degrees, and with no obstacle to stay a falling body until it should 
 reach the depths of Tenaya Cailon, over a mile below. 
 
 From this spot is a point of vision where the outlook surpasses all others in the 
 valley in comprehensiveness. To the north, over intervening canons and gorges, the 
 sierra peaks, with their paleness tinted with many delicate hues, rise sublimely deso- 
 late against the cloudless, somberly blue sky. Their shoulders are clad with snow 
 and ice, and the flanks are grooved with the scars of long-extinct glaciers. On lower 
 levels there is a sparse growth of trees, which scarcely relieves the nakedness of the 
 grim mountain-sides. Turning from the sierras, that rise from three to five thousand 
 feet above our point of view, we look down six thousand feet into the Yosemite, 
 whose peculiar trough-like formation runs at i-ight angles to the trend of the mount- 
 ains. The familiar forms of the inclosing walls, and green groves and meadows of 
 the valley floor, upon which the Merced sparkles, may be plainly seen, but angles of 
 rock hide the waterfalls. A glance at the illustration gives a good idea of the general 
 features of tlie lower valley, as seen from this point. The form on the left, in light, 
 is Half Dome. On tlie right, in the middle distance, is Sentinel Dome, sloping down 
 to Glacier Point, a small bit of Sentinel Rock projecting just beyond. Farther away 
 are the Cathedral Rocks and the Spires. Opposite to them, on the right, is El Capi- 
 tan. Immediately underneath, in the picture, is North Dome, sweeping down to 
 Washington Column, and separated from the Half Dome by Tenaya Cailon. The 
 \''osemite Fall is to the right and back of the North Dome. The gorge of the Mer- 
 ced and Nevada and Vernal Falls is to the left and back of Half Dome. Bridal Veil 
 Fall is back of the Cathedral Rocks, away in the distance. 
 
 Some years not less than four thousand visitors come and go between May and 
 October, the throng representing every nation and class of people on the globe. There 
 are now a number of excellent hotels, where good accommodation may be had at a 
 reasonable price, considering the great expense and ditliculty of getting supplies in 
 this remote region. Saloons have been opened by enterprising individuals, and the 
 visitor may enjoy his cocktail here as well as in San Francisco or New York. 
 While the primitive grandeur of the scenery remains unchanged, one may now see 
 it under the most pleasant conditions. A telegraph connects the Yosemite with the 
 outer world, and it only remains that a railway should be completed to the place to 
 make a tour to this famous spot as easy as to Niagara Falls. 
 
A Live- Oak oit tfie AshUy. 
 
 THE LOWLANDS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 South Carolina scenery — Early settlements of the State — Charleston — The rice-culture — Savannah — Characteristics 
 of a lovely Soutliern city — The lowlands of Alabama — The forest-wilderness of Pascagoula — The mouth of the 
 Mississippi — Romantic history of the Father of Waters— The Mississippi below New Orleans — The cypress- 
 swamps — New Orleans, the " Queen of the South " — Sketches of life in New Orleans — Mississippi navigation — The 
 magnolia-forests and Spanish moss — The sugar-plantations — Charaeteristie impressions of the lower Mississippi — 
 Inundations and crevasses — The cotton industry. 
 
 The lowlands of our Southern country have their distinctive charm as well as the 
 mountain-region which so proudly lifts itself toward the clouds. Certainly in the 
 historic and human element, which, after all, has so. powerful an influence in deter- 
 mining our impressions even of scenery, the low-country is unspeakably more interest- 
 ing. Let us make a rapid tour through these portions of the South, sure in the 
 anticipation that we shall find a great fund of amusement and instruction even in a 
 passing glance, which necessarily overlooks many a scene worthy of study. 
 
478 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Beginning with South Carolina, we shall lind a kind of scenery alike varied and 
 semi-tropical. From the sea the marshes or savannas, stretching back seventy miles 
 from tlie coast, seem perfectly level ; but there arc in many places blufEs or eminences 
 crowned witli delicate foliage. A vast panorama — of fat meadows watered by creeks ; 
 of salt and fresh marshes ; of swamp-lands of inexhaustible fertility, from which 
 spring tlie sugar-cane and cypress ; of the rich firm soil, where the oak and hickory 
 stand in solid columns, and of barrens studded with tliousands of young pines- 
 salutes the eye. The innumerable branches which penetrate the low-lying lands from 
 the sea have formed a kind of checker-work of island and estuary. The forests along 
 the banks of the stream and scattered between the marshes are beautiful. The laurel, 
 the bay, tlie i^almetto, the beech, the dogwood, and the cherry are overgrown with 
 wanton, luxuriant vines, which straggle across the aisles where the deer and the fox 
 still wander. In the spring the jasmine and the cherry fill the air with the per- 
 fume of their blossoms ; in winter the noble oaks in their garments of moss, and the 
 serried pines, preserve the verdure which the other trees have lost, and give to the 
 landscape an aspect of life and beauty. When the rice-plantations are submerged, and 
 the green plants are just showing their heads above the water, and nodding and sway- 
 ing beneatli the slight breeze passing over the hundreds of acres, the elfect is inde- 
 scribably novel and beautiful. 
 
 Port Royal was the scene of the first settlement in South Carolina, and was there- 
 fore the first-coiTsin of Plymouth Rock in Massachusetts. Indeed, the motive of the 
 settlement was nearly parallel. Admiral Coligny foresaw the time when the opjiressed 
 Huguenots would need a place of shelter, and it was liis emissary, Jean Ribault, who, 
 with a band of hardy seamen and men-at-arms, sailed northward from the blooming 
 coast of Florida, and anchored in the harbor at the mouth of the broad Yemassee 
 River, which is more like an estuary than a river. They named it and the river 
 emptying therein, Port Royal. To-day the little settlement made by the adventurous 
 Frenchman has nothing to mark it, not even the remains of the fort he built. In 
 the sixteenth century the country claimed by the S}ianiards as Florida, and by the 
 French as New France, was supposed to extend from the Chesapeake to the Tortugas 
 along the coast, and inland as far as any settlements could be planted and defended. 
 So for many years South Carolina and Florida had a history in common. 
 
 The development of South Carolina as an English province began after the resto- 
 ration of Charles II. The country was granted to a proprietary government iinder 
 the royal charter, and the constitution under which the colonists, who were all of the 
 better class, lived, was framed by the celebrated Jolin Locke. The province was sub- 
 divided into counties, seigniories, baronies, precincts, and colonies. Each seigniory, 
 barony, and colony consisted of twelve thousand acres, and it was provided that after 
 a certain term of years the proprietors should not have power to alienate or make 
 over their proprietorship, but that it "should descend unto their heirs male." Thus 
 was laid a good foundation for a landed aristocracy, for no one could hold land in 
 the province except under authority from the lords proprietors. A large accession 
 
THE LOWLANDS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 479 
 
 came to the colony through the revocation of the Edict of Nantes in France, wliich 
 sent hundreds of Huguenots to South Carolina, and from these original emigres are 
 descended many of the best iSouth Carolinian families. 
 
 Glimpse of Ckarleetoii a/id Bay. 
 
 One hundred years after the charter was granted by Charles II, Carolina had 
 arisen to considerable commercial eminence. The jirincijial settlements then were 
 Charleston, Beaufort, Pury'sburg, Jacksonborough, Dorchester, Camden, and Georgetown. 
 
480 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 The white population of the province was about forty thousand ; that of tlie negroes 
 about ninety tliousund. The Carolinian colonists were known in England, above all 
 the other settlers in the New World, for their wealth, luxurious living, and high 
 sf)irit. It was said that there were a larger number of people with property amount- 
 ing to five or ten thousand pounds sterling in the province than could be found 
 elsewhere in the same population. They were then characterized by the same qualities 
 for wliich they have since been distinguished — social pride, extravagant personal 
 habits, martial spirit, and generous hospitality. The province readily obtained un- 
 bounded credit. The staples it produced were of great value, and agriculture and 
 trade were constantly enlarged by the imj^ortatiou of ship-loads of negroes. A little 
 before the time of the American Revolution the exports from Carolina in a single 
 year amounted to seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling. Such was South 
 Carolina before the Revolution ; and what this proud State has been since, what im- 
 portant place it has occupied in making our history from 177G to 1861, is too familiar 
 to be mentioned. 
 
 The destruction which came to Port Royal Island and its principal town, Beaufort, 
 one of the most delightful sea-side resorts of the South, during the late war, are well 
 known ; and now only tlie slouching, indolent negro lounges in the sun, where once 
 his late master lived in luxury. But let us turn from this sad picture of ruin and 
 desolation, which the returning prosperity of the State has not yet healed, and make 
 a visit to Charleston, the principal town of the State, and a beautiful city, in spite 
 of what it suffered less than twenty years since from the misfortunes of war. 
 
 Very charming is the old city nestling on the waters, swan-like, at the confluence 
 of tlie broad Ashley and Cooper Rivers, and fronting on the sjiacious harbor over 
 whose entrance the scarred and historic Fort Sumter keeps watch and ward. The 
 city lies so low, and seems so literally to rise out of the waters, that the name of the 
 "American Venice" has been given to it. From the harbor the effect is very striking. 
 The long, palm-studded shores of the bay, the islands and forts that dot its surface, 
 the mansions that front the waters, and the spires that lift to the skies, make up 
 a very effective picture. The first impression of the city itself is peculiar. There 
 are no splendid avenues, nor many public buildings — only a few fine old churches, and 
 many noble private mansions standing in a sort of dingy stateliness amid bowers of 
 magnolias and other flowering shrubbery. The glare and smartness of Northern cities 
 are absent, but in their place we notice a somber, rich tone, such as comes of time 
 and hereditary respectability, marking the aspect of all the better houses. The old 
 Charleston mansions were always built with the gable-end to the street. On one 
 side rises a tier of open verandas, in the lower of which the main entrance is placed. 
 Generally the grounds are inclosed by a high brick wall, and through an open gate- 
 way one may catch a glimpse of flowers, shrubs, and vines that bloom within the iu- 
 closure. The rich dark green of the magnolia half screens the unsmoothed brick walls 
 far above, and seems to hold the venerable structure in the hush of dee]i repose. 
 The residence streets of the Palmetto City on the side next the Ashley River are 
 
THE LOWLANDS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 481 
 
 peculiarly picturesque and attractive. They are 
 always bordered by beautiful gardens. A laby- 
 rinth of long wooden piers and wharves runs 
 out on the lagoons and inlets near the Ashley, 
 and the boasted resemblance of Charleston to 
 Venice is doubtless founded on the perfect illu- 
 sion produced by a view of that section from a 
 distance. The magnificent and the mean, how- 
 ever, jostle each other at very close quarters. 
 
 Let us climb to the top of some high build- 
 ing, such as the Orphan Asylum, toward the 
 hour of sunset on a pleasant evening, and get 
 a panoramic glimpse of the sea-girdled city. 
 On the sea-front stretches the Battery, one of 
 the most delightful and airy promenades in any 
 American city, while the streets leading to it 
 are curious and striking. Beyond there is the 
 far stretch of the sea and the long, low shores. 
 Far down the harbor is Fort Sumter, and near- 
 er is Fort Pinckney, standing guard over the 
 direct approach to the town. The mass of 
 buildings which offer themselves to the view- 
 have the queer roofs and strangely shaped chim- 
 neys which remind us of Antwerp or Am- 
 sterdam. In every way the view is odd and 
 old-fashioned, except where the new buildings 
 recently erected obtrude their more modern 
 physiognomies. There are many interesting 
 churches of a quaint old tyjDC in Charleston, 
 and on some of them, particularly the Hugue- 
 not, are interesting ancient inscriptions. But 
 perhaps the greatest attraction to the visitor is 
 the lowland character of the suburbs. The city 
 is situated at the confluence of the Cooper and 
 Ashley Rivers, and the banks of these streams 
 have all the characteristics of Southern land- 
 scapes. Oaks, magnolias, jasmines, and myrtles 
 give splendor and profusion to the picture, while 
 rice and cotton fields enrich and vary the pict- 
 ure. The main road from Charleston into the 
 country is an avenue of remarkable beauty. 
 
 The road emerges from Charleston almost im- 
 
 si 
 
 ■=5 
 
482 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 mediately into a green wilderness, and for a long distance it is canopied by the 
 boughs of pines, oaks, and magnolias with i-icli effect. There are no signs along the 
 road of the close jiroximity of a great city. Yon seem a hundred miles from any 
 town. The live-oak of the Southern lowlands is the most picturesque of trees. It 
 is famous not merely on account of its magnitude, but from its quaint, fantastic, 
 picturesque form. A large tree of this kind is in its shape and character a study 
 for an artist. Lifting the long, low branches that sweep almost to the ground, you 
 seem to be in a vast forest cathedral. The quaint trunk is covered with knobbed 
 protuberances, and scan-ed and seamed as if with the marks of many centuries. The 
 Ijranchos, mammoth trees of themselves, shoot out at a low elevation in a nearly 
 horizontal line, extending jirobably a hundred feet, dipping at their extremities to 
 the ground. The pendent moss from every bough hangs in long, sweeping lines, 
 and the sun flickers through the upper branches, touching up moss, bough, and 
 trunk, and relieving the gloom of the interior with bright flashes of light. Many a 
 noble estate, celebrated for its live-oak avenues, in the near neighborhood of Charles- 
 ton, was laid in almost irretrievable waste during the late war. The magnolia shares 
 ]ire-eminence with the live-oak as a decorative element in the landscape of the sub- 
 urbs of Charleston, and a rich profusion of flowering creepers and shrubs fills in the 
 picture with a wealth of color and perfume which, to be appreciated, must be expe- 
 rienced. 
 
 One of the most valuable and interesting industries of South Carolina is found 
 in its rice-plantations. And it is on the rice and cotton regions of the sea-board 
 counties, too, that the stranger finds some of the most striking and curious phases 
 of South Carolina life, for it is here that the Southern negro presents his most bar- 
 baric type. The lowland negro of South Carolina has a dialect which influences of 
 life in America have hardly impressed at all. English words tumble from his mouth 
 with such an uncouth enunciation, and are so mixed with African terms, that it is 
 nearly impossible to understand him. The thick, mumbling tones sound more like the 
 cries of a wild animal than of a human being. These negroes have the strangest 
 religious ceremonies and superstitions, and voudooism has a far stronger hold than 
 Christianity even among those professing to be pious. They have changed but little 
 since slavery days, though they have learned that the franchise is a great power. The 
 degradation of the lowland negro of the rice and cotton region is specially instanced 
 in the fact that the marriage relation is almost unknown, and that men and women 
 living together are called man and wife, in many cases one negro having several wives. 
 In no part of the South does the black man show the features of his primitive Afri- 
 can state so vividly as on the coast-region of South Carolina. 
 
 Rice-culture has been the prominent industry of the State since the days of jiro- 
 prietary government, more than two centuries ago. With the determination of the 
 planters to make rice the principal object of their care, came the necessity for import- 
 ing great numbers of slaves, and the sacrifice of hundreds of lives in the arduous toil 
 of clearing the ground and ]ireparing the soil. The cypress-swamps gave place to 
 
THE LOWLANDS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 483 
 
 fields of waving green, and the rivers were diverted from their channels to flood the 
 vast expanse in wliich the negroes had set the seeds. The rice-culture and the 
 slave system were peculiarly associated, as no other crop raised demands such severe 
 labor and such dangerous exposure. Before the outbreak of the late war there were 
 more than a million acres of rice-land in cultivation, but at the jDresent time the 
 area is mucli less, for it is not easy to get the black man to engage in a kind of cul- 
 tivation which he so peculiarly detests. Still, there are many rice-plantations cover- 
 ing thousands of acres, and single planters sometimes employ from five to eight hun- 
 dred hands. Let us take a glance at a rice-plantation among the low-lying lands of 
 tlie South Carolina sea-coast at the harvest-time. We find a wide expanse of fields 
 cut into squares by open trenches, through which water from the river is admitted to 
 every part of the land, for the vicinity of a river is an indispensable fact to the 
 
 Unloading Rice Barges. 
 
 culture of rice. The breeze blows musically among the tall canes along the banks 
 of the stream, in whose sedgy recesses hide the alligator and the serpent. Perhaps 
 in the distance an antlered deer breaks cover, and stands for a moment scanning the 
 horizon before taking flight. In the far distance a white sail may be discerned, 
 perhaps, as a schooner works her way into the mouth of the river on the route to 
 the rice-fields ; and long processions of black boys and girls may be seen witli baskets 
 on their heads and the most horrid jargon in their mouths, wlio are waiting to load 
 the rice. A rice-plantation is a great liydraulic machine maintained by constant 
 warring against the water. The utmost vigilance is necessary, and labor must be 
 ready at a moment's notice for the most exhaustive efforts. Alternate flooding and 
 draining take place several times during a season, and one part of a croj) must be 
 flooded while adjacent portions are dry. Fields are divided into sections, and trunks 
 
484 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 or canals convey water from the river separately. The whole apparatus of locks, flood- 
 gates, canals, banks, and ditches, is of the most extensive kind. The slightest leak 
 in the dikes might easily ruin a whole plantation, and the " trunk -minders," or 
 watchmen, are constantly on the alert to discover the first sign of danger. 
 
 Harvest is hardly completed by March, when the sowing begins again. The 
 trunks are opened in each section the day on which the seed is planted, and the fields 
 are flooded. Tlie mules that drag the plows through the marshes are booted with 
 leather contrivances to prevent them from sinking in the treacheroiis black ooze. In 
 autumn the fields are yellowish, tinged here and there with green, where young rice 
 is springing up from the shoots recently cut down. The rice is piled up in ricks, 
 when cut, and swarms of birds carry away large quantities. A rice-plantation during 
 harvest-time is a lively scene. The men and women Avork in the different sections 
 under field - masters. The women, with their naked feet and half-bare limbs, their 
 heads wrapped in bandannas showing all the hues of the rainbow, fill the air with 
 the dissonance of tlieir uncoutli jargon, and stagger in and out of the marshes with a 
 weight of rice-stalks on their lieads rivaling that carried by the men. In the field, 
 at the thrashing-mill, at the winnowing-maehine, among the great rice-stacks, where 
 packing, sorting, and unloading from barges are going on, both sexes show the same 
 coarse, brutish, and densely animal types of faces. Such is a picture of life in the 
 South Carolina low-country, and it is not essentially different from the characteristics 
 of old slavery times, though the system of labor has been changed. 
 
 One of the most beautiful rivers of the South is the Savannah, which forms the 
 boundary between South Carolina and Georgia. From its source, high up in the 
 mountains of the interior, it flows four hundred and fifty miles to the sea. For 
 about a hundred miles from its mouth, the Savannah runs through a low country of 
 great beauty and fertility, embracing much of the best rice and cotton laud of the 
 South. The wild swamp-wastes that mark its lower shores are full of a strange, 
 weird beauty, and the groves of massive live-oaks, hung with their mossy banners 
 that shadow and conceal the mansions of the planters, have a most captivating gi-ace. 
 Below the city of Savannah, which is eighteen miles from the mouth, the traveler is 
 struck with the wide expanse of gi-ass-clad salt-marsh, through which the river mean- 
 ders, forming many islands, but preserving at all times ample width for the passage 
 of vessels of the largest class. The city of Savannah, being in latitude thirty-three 
 degrees, and so near the Gulf Stream as to be within reach of its atmospheric current, 
 has all the mildness of the tropics in winter, without the intense heat in summer — 
 the mean temperature being about that of tlie Bermuda Islands. Tlie sultriness of 
 the heated term in Savannah is less oppressive than in New York, being mitigated 
 by a soft, humid atmosphere and tlie never-failing breath of the trade -winds. For 
 Northern invalids the climate of Savannah, with the conveniences and comfort of city 
 life, is regarded by many as preferable to sanitary retreats farther south. The city 
 occupies a ])romontory of land rising on a bold bluff about forty feet in height close 
 to the river, extending along its south bank for about a mile, and liackward. widening 
 
THE LOWLANDS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 485 
 
 ,>!-' 
 ,\«:^^ 
 
 as it recedes, about six miles. The water- 
 front of the city is about two miles and 
 a half long, in the form of an elongated 
 crescent. The city is rapidly growing, 
 and is one of the most prosperous places 
 in the South. In its general plan, Sa- 
 vannah is one of the handsomest of Amer- 
 ican cities ; and, in view of its antiquity 
 and the fact that its founders were, for 
 
 the most part, poor refugees seeking a home in the wilderness among hostile savages, 
 it is a matter of surprise that they should have adopted a plan at once so unique, 
 tasteful, and practical. The streets, running nearly east and west and north and 
 
 C/t the iSucaintah h'tecf 
 
486 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 south, are of various widths and cross each other at right angles, the very wide streets, 
 which run east and west, being alternated with parallel narrower streets, and each 
 block intersected with lanes twenty-two and a half feet in width. The streets run- 
 ning north and south are of nearly uniform width, every alternate street passing on 
 either side of small jiublic squares, or plazas, varying from one and a half to three 
 acres in extent, which are bounded on the north and south by the narrower streets, 
 and intersected in the center, also, by a wide street. These plazas — twenty-four in 
 
 A Savannah Street-i^itne. 
 
 number, located at equal distances through the city, handsomely inclosed, laid out in 
 walks, and planted with the evergreen and ornamental trees of the South— are among 
 the distinguishing features of Savannah ; and in the spring and summer months, 
 when they are carpeted with grass, and the trees and shrubbery are in full flower 
 and foliage, they afford delightful shady walks, as well as play-grounds for the juve- 
 niles, while they are not only ornamental, but are conducive to the general health of 
 the people. 
 
THE LOWLANDS OF THE SOUTH. 487 
 
 Among the peculiar features of Savannah which command the admiration of strangers 
 are the wideuess of its i^rincipal streets, abounding with shade-trees, and the flower- 
 gardens which, in the portions of the city allotted to private residences, are attached 
 to almost every house. Ornamental trees of various species, mostly evergreens, occupy 
 the public squares and stud the sidewalks in all the principal thoroughfares; while 
 the gardens abound with ornamental shrubbery and flowers of every variety. Conspic- 
 uous among tlie former ai-e the orange-tree, with its fragrant blossoms and golden 
 fruit in their season ; the banana, which also bears its fruit ; the magnolia, the bay, the 
 cape-m}Ttle, the stately palmetto, the olive, the arbor-vitse, the flowering oleander, and 
 the pomegranate. Flowers are cultivated in the open air, many choice varieties — qiieen 
 among them all, the beautiful Camellia Japonica, which flourishes here in greatest per- 
 fection, the shrub growing to a height of twelve to fifteen feet — blooming in mid- 
 winter. During most of the year. Savannah is literally embowered in shrubbery ; and 
 in the early spring months, when the annuals resume their foliage and the evergreens 
 shed their darker winter dress for the delicate green of the new growth, the aspect of 
 the city is truly novel and beautiful, justly entitling it to the appropriate sobriquet by 
 which it has long been known, far and wide, of the '"Forest City." 
 
 The old city of Uglethorpe's time was located on the brow of the blutl, about mid- 
 way between the present eastern and western suburbs, and its boundaries are still de- 
 fined by the Bay, and East, West, and South Broad Streets. Upon the river-front, a 
 wide esplanade, about two hundred feet in width, extending back from the brink of 
 the bluff, was preserved for public purposes. This is called the Bay, and is now the 
 great commercial mart of Savannah. As commerce grew up, warehouses and shipping- 
 offices were built by the first settlers, under the bluff, between it and the river. In 
 time these were rejjlaced by substantial brick and stone structures, rising four and five 
 stories high on the river-front, with one or two stories on the front facing the Bay, 
 connecting with the top of the bluff by wooden platforms, which spanned the narrow 
 roadway beneath, passing between the buildings and the hill-side. Some of these build- 
 ings, spared by the great fire of 1820, which consumed the larger portion of the old 
 town, are interesting for their antique and quaint architecture. 
 
 Among many beautiful suburbs of Savannah. Bonaventure Cemetery engages the in- 
 terest more than any other. This is located about four miles from the city, on War- 
 saw Eiver, an estuary connecting with the Savannah, and the scenery of it has long 
 been noted for its Arcadian beauty. A hundred years ago it was the seat of a wealthy 
 English gentleman, and the grounds arovind the mansion, of which only a dim tracery 
 of the foundation remains, were laid out in wide avenues and planted with native live- 
 oaks. These trees, long since fully grown, stand like massive columns on either side, 
 while their far-reaching branches interlacing overhead like the frilled roof of some vast 
 cathedral, the deep shade of their evergreen foliage shutting out the sky above, and 
 the long gray moss-drapery depending from the leafy canopy, silent and still, or gently 
 moving in the breeze, give to the scene a weii'd and strangely somber aspect at once 
 picturesque and grandly solemn. Many years ago Bonaventure was devoted to the pur- 
 
488 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 pose for wlijch it is so peculiarly fitted by nature, and became the burial-place of many 
 of the prominent families of Savannah, whose memorial monuments add to its solemn 
 beauty. Recently the place has been purchased by a company, by whom it has been 
 inclosed, the trees trimmed, the grounds cleared of their rank growth, laid out in lots, 
 and opened to the public as a cemetery. In this operation much of the wild beauty 
 of Bonaventure has been literally trimmed away, thus demonstrating the fact that, in 
 the picturesque at least, it is not always in the power of art to improve upon nature. 
 
 Savannah is not only the principal city of Georgia, but one of the great lowland 
 cities of the South, and probably nowhere among our Southern Atlantic and Gulf cit- 
 ies can be found a more charming and highly cultivated social life. It suffered less 
 by the late civil war than most of the important Southern cities, and it has grown and 
 improved surprisingly during the last decade and a half. It is one of the great cot- 
 ton and rice marts, and the enterprise of the State of Georgia, which has always been 
 known as the " Yankee State of the South," is well represented in the energy and 
 activity of its business interests. 
 
 As Georgia is divided into the mountainous region which characterizes the central 
 and upper parts of the State and the lush lowlands adjacent to the sea, so Alabama 
 separates itself into the breezy uplands of the interior and the low country lying on 
 the Gulf of Mexico, though a long, narrow stretch of Florida reduces the Gulf coast 
 to comparatively short limits. Mobile is one of the typical lowland cities of the 
 South. The lovely bay on which the chief city of Alabama is located extends thirty 
 miles inland to the mouth of the Alabama River. The city is bathed in an atmos- 
 phere of sleepy and dreamy quiet, and to the Xorthern stranger who visits it in winter 
 it appears like a veritable lotus-land. He finds a tropical luxuriance of sunlight and 
 blossom where he had left Arctic rigors of snow and ice, and perfume-laden breezes 
 instead of piercing nortliwestern blasts. Mobile shares the reputation of Northern 
 Florida as a winter sanitarium. The suburbs and country immediately surrounding 
 the city are exceedingly attractive. Groves of massive magnolias line the shores of the 
 bay, and the roads are everywhere screened from the hot sun by vines, water-oaks, and 
 pines. Residences, from the negro's thatched hut to the costly villa, are smothered 
 with a burden of flowering creepers, and the gardens glow with the most gorgeous 
 colors. 
 
 The principal industrial interest of Alabama is the growth of cotton, which also 
 contributes largely to the commerce of Mobile. A large portion of the lands drained 
 by the lower Alabama and Tombigbee Rivers is well adapted to the culture of this 
 staple, and the light-draught steamers bring down annually from three to four hundred 
 thousand bales. The falling off in the production of cotton in this State is shown in 
 the fact that in 18G0 the product was nearly a million bales. This does not necessa- 
 rily prove that Alabama languishes in her agricultural interests, as a diversity of crops 
 now takes the place of the old monopoly of cotton, the Southern farmers having learned 
 the lesson that a variety of products is conducive to general prosperity as against 
 dependence on a single interest. The timber-region of Alabama comprises a belt ex- 
 
THE LOWLANDS OF THE SOUTH. 489 
 
 tending entirely across the lower portion of the State, bordering on Florida and the 
 Gulf. This is rich in forests of long-leaved pine, and on the river lowlands grow 
 white, black, and Spanish oaks, and the black cypress. In this region the gathering 
 of naval stores is so productive an industry that it supersedes the raising of cotton. 
 Between Mobile and Pascagoula Bays many settlements have sprung up within a few 
 years, and enterjjrising young men from the North and West are sending millions of 
 feet of lumber to the New Orleans market. Land can be purchased for a trifle, and 
 there are many bays and estuaries, where vessels from any port in the world can load 
 directly from the saw-mills. The line of the Mobile & New Orleans Eailway, skirting 
 the Gulf of Mexico, passes through this magnificent timber-region, and spar-cutting 
 forms an important branch of the lumbering industry. The country bordering Pasca- 
 goula Bay, and skirting the river of the samfe name in Mississippi, just over the Ala- 
 bama line, has long been noted for its grand forests, which furnish the finest possible 
 material for ships' masts and spars ; and the inhabitants, even before the war, under 
 the old slavery regime, were a singularly hard-working, thrifty, energetic class. The 
 Pascagoula region is not only distinguished for its valuable forests, but for the 
 abundance of its game. Deer range freely through the pine-lands, and they are so 
 abundant and even tame that they are frequently killed wandering about the cleared 
 fields in company with the cattle. Wild-turkeys too are found in inexhaustible abun- 
 dance and tempt the ardent sportsman by their shy and cunning ways, which tax the 
 utmost skill and knowledge on the part of the hunter. The following description of 
 the family of a typical yeoman of this region gives one a good notion of life in the 
 Mississippi forests : 
 
 "His family consisted of a wife and eighteen children. Three of them were girls, 
 whose average weight I estimated at two hundred pounds. They were all performers 
 on the violin and accordeon, and were so fond of dancing that, whenever two or three 
 spar-cutters happened along to join them, they ' would dance all night, till broad day- 
 light.' Though abundantly able to live in a manner allied to elegance, this family, 
 true to habits which prevail among a large class in the South, could not appreciate 
 the sensation of real comfort. With two or three exceptions, wooden benches were 
 used in the place of chairs, one iron spoon answered for the whole family, and the 
 mother, when at the supper-table, added the sugar or 'short-sweetening' to the coffee 
 with her fingers, and tasted each cup, to see if it was right, before sending it to its 
 proper destination. Such things as andirons, tongs, and wash-basins, were considered 
 useless, and the bedstead assigned to the guest was a mere board, yet the sheets were 
 charmingly fringed with cotton lace, and in their freshness did not remind one of 
 those alluded to by Izaak Walton. All the family, excepting the parents and two 
 sons, were barefooted, and yet the dancing girls sported finger-rings in abundance, 
 and wore basque dresses of calico. Only two of the eighteen children had ever 
 traveled from home as far as Mobile, and the first crop knew not how to read : the 
 second were more fortunate, for a school had lately been established in a settlement 
 about five miles distant, which consisted of fifteen scholars, seven of whom were the 
 
490 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 children of the host. He was the postmaster for that region, and the uncalled-for 
 copies of certain weekly papers were used to ornament the walls of the habitation. 
 
 During one of the nights that I spent under tliis roof, tlie 'schoolmaster was abroad,' 
 for he had come on a visit to the planter's family ; the event was celebrated by a 
 jollification which beggars description, and, when lie started for iiis log-cabin, whicli 
 
THE LOWLANDS OF THE SOUTH. 491 
 
 was three miles distant, be went alone through the pathless woods, canning a gun in 
 one hand and a pine-torch in the other. In the yard attached to this house, l)igs, 
 dogs, geese, and chickens, were abundant, and kept up a perpetual clatter ; and, 
 hanging from the beams, or stacked in corners, were no less than thirteen guns." 
 
 But, to see the lowlands of the South under their most picturesque and striking 
 conditions, we must visit Louisiana and the banks of the gi-eat Father of Waters, 
 which rolls its swift and turbid flood through a region so flat that it has to be diked 
 for protection against tlie mighty but treacherous stream. For mauy a long mile the 
 eye rests on massive levees built up to guard the rich lands adjoining, and this feature 
 of the Mississippi through so large a portion of its length makes one of the most 
 characteristic and suggestive aspects for the tourist who travels by steamboat. Louisi- 
 ana, where the lowland scenery of the South is seen in its most luxuriant and im- 
 pressive aspects, is from the historic stand-point one of the most interesting of States. 
 For a centur}' and a half the region then included in the name was coveted by all 
 nations, sought for alike with strokes of diplomacy and the sword, by Spanish, French, 
 and English. It was the plaything of monarchs and the bait of valiant adventurers, 
 and its past is linked with all that is romantic in Europe and on the Western Con- 
 tinent in the eighteenth century. From its vast limits was born that sisterhood of 
 Western and Southwestern States which uow constitute so important a portion of the 
 country in extent, population, and wealth of ])roduction. 
 
 Not much more than half a century since, the frontier of Louisiana extended 
 nineteen hundred miles. It embraced within its limits a million and a half square 
 miles, and it was washed by the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans as well as by the Gulf 
 of Mexico. From Bienville the first French to Claiborne the first American gov- 
 ernor, the administration of social and political affairs was charged with strange and 
 romantic facts, which sound like fiction or melodrama. So, too, fancy cast a weird 
 spell over the great rivers and forests, and peopled the unknown tropical vastness 
 with phantasm and mystery. What wonder is it even yet that the fragment which 
 still retains the name of Louisiana, forty thousand square miles of low 2)rairie, alluvial, 
 and sea-marsh, is associated in our minds with so much that is unique and fascinat- 
 ing ? The one great fact which gives its special significance, both to the physical and 
 social life of Louisiana, is that vast semi-tropical flood which pours its waters through 
 the State into the Gulf of Mexico. 
 
 Just fifty years after Columbus discovered the Bahamas, Hernando de Soto, one 
 of the most heroic of the Spanish explorers, reached the banks of the Mississippi 
 Kiver, some seven hundred miles from its moutli, after a long march from Florida, 
 with the wreck of a once powerful force. More tlian a century passed after the dis- 
 covery of the great river before its solitudes were again opened by the intrusion of 
 the white man. During this time many strange and terrible myths had grown up 
 about the stream — stories founded on the reports of the returned companions of De 
 Soto. It was believed that the gi-eat flood was precipitated into the earth where its 
 outlet ought to be, and that its banks were guarded by dragons and other terrible 
 
493 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 creatures. These fictions, so agreeable to the spirit of the age, found confirmation in 
 the stories of the Indians who lived on the banks of the Fox and Illinois Kivers. 
 In 1673 the daring monk Marquette, after untold hardships, reached the shores of the 
 upper Mississippi. His acute mind instantly jumped to the conclusion that the Gulf 
 
 
 IS*® 
 
 If 
 
 jte- 
 
 At th,' Month nt' th, Mi.sf 
 
 ^ippi. 
 
 of Mexico could be reached by continuous navigation ; and the great Western valley 
 was declared, in virtue of Marquette's discovery, to belong to France. Nine years 
 later. La Salle accomplished the predicted feat, and gave the name of Louisiana to 
 the territory adjoining the Gulf and the great river along its entire length. \Yhen 
 he returned to Canada, La Salle fitted out an expedition to reach the mouth of the 
 
THE LOWLANDS OF THE SOUTH. 493 
 
 Mississippi by sea, but lie was assassinated by his men in the present Galveston Bay 
 while he was making his search. It was left for another Frenchman, D'Iberville, to 
 discover the mouth of the Mississippi eighteen years later. Instead of one vast cur- 
 rent pouring into the sea, it was found to consist of numerous arms or passes, 
 through low swamps and islands formed by the sediment brought down by the 
 water. This net-work of creeks, bayous, and passes is known as the Delta of the 
 Mississippi, and covers an area of fourteen thousand square miles. It is slowly ad- 
 vancing into the Gulf of Mexico by the shoaling caused by the deposition of fresh 
 sediment brouglit down by the river. Three of the main passes bear the titles of 
 the Southwest, South, Northeast, and the fourth is called a I'Outre. 
 
 The delta even in its more solid portions appears to be an interminable marsh, 
 and it is no wonder that La Salle spent so much time in vainly searching all along 
 the extensive line of the Gulf coast to find the proper mouth of a grand river, with- 
 out ever suspecting the truth. For many miles before reaching the jiasses, the 
 muddy Mississippi water tumbles and rolls, clearly defined from the blue waters of 
 tlie Gulf. At last the turbid brown colors everything, and you see before you, rising 
 up from an endless level, a solitary light-house built at the entrance of the South- 
 west Pass. Just inside the Northeast Pass is a huge mud-bank, called the Balize. 
 Here during early colonial times many of the French and Spanish settlers, impatient 
 of restraint, and attracted by the splendid game and fish as well as by the chance 
 of wrecking, jjlanted themselves. It was from these outlaws of the Balize that the 
 celebrated French smuggler and buccaneer, Lafitte, drew a large portion of his fol- 
 lowing. The last half-century has utterly changed the Balize and its inhabitants. 
 The island, richly clad in green, is adorned with pleasant residences, and the pilots 
 — for such is the profession of all the men — are celebrated for their skill and the 
 beauty of their stanch little vessels. A long time after the passes have been entered, 
 only the practiced eye of the pilot can determine the channel, by what appears a 
 regular current flowing on in the general waste. As we ascend, the coarse grass, 
 which shows at the top of the water, gets more and more thick, and finally there 
 appear great lumjjs of mud aroiind which boils the rushing water. The sediment 
 of the river has at last obtained a foothold. It becomes more and more defined, and 
 finally we observe low shores, though hardly distinguishable from a mere swamp, and 
 water-soaked shrubs, for ever fretted by the lashin'g of the waves, lift their green crowns 
 above all. At last you reach the head of the pass, and you see the great stream in 
 all its breadth of volume, the surface glistening, if perchance the sun shines brightly, 
 with the hues of brass and bronze. Vegetation more and more asserts itself, though it 
 is not till after passing Forts Jackson and St. Philip that you observe any striking 
 forest-growth. As you approach within threescore miles of New Orleans, j'ou find 
 the banks of the river clearly defined above the water-level, and permanent signs of 
 cultivation. Along the coast, as the river-banks are called, are the gardens which 
 supply New Orleans with its vegetables. Soon we notice large sugar-plantations and 
 stately dwelling-houses with wide verandas picturesquely embowered in a great variety 
 
494 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 A Cypress .Swump. 
 
THE LOWLANDS OF THE SOUTH. 495 
 
 of noble trees unknown in colder climates. Thus may be read, in the trip from 
 Balize to New Orleans, a complete history of the formation of the river-banks — from 
 water to ooze ; from ooze to mud ; from mud to soil ; from grass to ferns ; from 
 ferns to shrubs ; from shrubs to magnificent forest-trees. 
 
 Chief among the typical trees of the swamps of the lower Mississippi is the weird 
 and gloomy cypress. Louisiana rivals Florida in the abundance of its cypress-growths, 
 for the tree needs abundance of warmth, water, and the richest possible soil. In these 
 semi-tropical swamps the growth of this remarkable tree is often a hundred feet. The 
 base of the trunk is covered with ooze and mud, and the cypress-knees, which spring 
 up from the roots, look like the necks of bottles, and are as hard as steel. The horse- 
 man who attempts to cross a flooded cypress-swamp does so at the greatest peril to his 
 beast, for the floundering horse is almost sure to break his legs against these ambushed 
 iron clubs. The bark of the tree is spongy and fibrous, and the trunk often attains 
 the height of fifty or sixty feet without a single branch. The leaves of the cypress 
 are softly delicate and beautiful, looking like green silken fringes, appearing in marked 
 contrast to the tree itself and tlie gloomy parentage of the swamp. So durable is 
 cypress-wood that it is said that trees, which have been buried a thousand years, 
 retain every condition of the perfect wood. Through the cypress -swamps may also 
 be seen the palmetto, the green, spear-like foliage of which adds much to the variety 
 of vegetal appearance in these forest solitudes. 
 
 Amid the immense swamps, here and there, are broad expanses of unsubmerged 
 lands. Here grow the canebrakes, to be lost in which is nearly certain death, for 
 they form an almost pathless labyrinth, in whose depths lurk disease and death. Then, 
 again, we meet open vistas of prairie, where the lush soil, open to the influences of air 
 and sunlight, bursts forth in forests of live-oak, the most picturesque of American trees. 
 In olden times, when the United States had a merchant marine of great magnitude, 
 and the use of iron and steel for ship-building had not yet been made practicable, 
 the live-oaks of Florida and Louisiana were of much value ; but they have of late years 
 offered but little inducement for the labors of the wood-cutter and lumber-dealer. 
 
 It is said that Bienville, the first Governor of Louisiana, laid the foundations of 
 New Orleans on the first solid ground he met with in ascending the river. There 
 are now fifty miles" length of excellent arable land below the city ; but this is the ac- 
 cretion of a century and a half, and, where now are to be seen smiling plantations 
 and market - gardens, Bienville only saw a thick ooze, with here and there a cypress- 
 swamp. The approach to the great metropolis of the South is indicated to the trav- 
 eler up the river by abundant signs. A hundred columns of smoke rise in the air, 
 and large fleets of sailing-vessels being towed to the ocean appear on the river. Craft 
 of every sort line the banks, and at last the Crescent City appears, stretching miles 
 away behind its massive levees, which, however, are so often inefficient against the 
 assault of the river-god. , 
 
 If the history of the grand old colonial empire of Louisiana is full of romance, 
 that of New Orleans is the very focus and center of that romance. From the very 
 
496 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 first the town pos- 
 sessed a social life 
 replete with the 
 chivalrous graces 
 of the French 
 court, and stately 
 dames and airy, 
 beruffled gentle- 
 men promenaded 
 in this swamp - 
 surrounded, riv- 
 er-imperiled for- 
 tress with Paris- 
 ian elegance and 
 ease. There were 
 but few church- 
 es, and the colo- 
 nists would gath- 
 er around great 
 wooden crosses in 
 the open air for 
 mass, and then 
 separate to make 
 love, fight duels, 
 go hunting in 
 the adjoining for- 
 ests, and attend 
 dancing-parties 
 or horse-races as 
 the}' had been in 
 the habit of doing 
 in Ja belle France. 
 Nowhere on the 
 North American 
 Continent did the 
 customs and the 
 characteristics of 
 the mother-coun- 
 try so vividly and 
 exactly impress 
 themselves as in 
 the infant me- 
 
THE LOWLANDS OF THE SOUTH. 49? 
 
 tropolis of New Orleans. Along the river, for many miles beyond the city, French 
 noblemen established great plantations, and lived lives of lordly ease and indulgence. 
 To-day there is many a French Creole planter who traces his line to the greatest fami- 
 lies of Old France. During the thirty years that preceded the cession of Louisiana 
 to Spain, New Orleans grew to be a thriving and bustling town, wonderfully pict- 
 ures(iue in its life and surroundings. Dui'ing the period of Spanish domination its 
 French characteristics were modified but not essentially altered. The narrow, bigoted, 
 melancholy traits of the Spaniard have left as their memorials those many-balconied, 
 thick-walled houses which exist in some old parts of the city, and impress the visitor 
 as so quaint. During the Spanish occupation there was such serious collision between 
 the two sets of inhabitants, so much bitter hate of the new-comers on the part of the 
 French, that the Spanish garrison existed as a fortified camp, in perpetual fear of an 
 u})rising, and with frowning cannon trained on the city ready for instant use. Still, 
 Spanish society and civilization have impressed themselves on the local i^atois, which 
 is the vernacular of the negroes and a large portion of the poorer whites. 
 
 New Orleans, with all the prosaic changes wrought into her social fabric, still re- 
 mains one of the most picturesque cities in the New World ; and the stranger, indeed, 
 can hardly persuade himself that he is in a capital which belongs to the same nation 
 as do New York, Philadelphia, and Chicago. The French market furnishes one of the 
 most interesting and curious sijectacles of the city. Mr. Edward King, in his inter- 
 esting work on " The Great South," gives an animated description of the French mar- 
 ket : "The French market at sunrise on Sunday morning is the perfection of viva- 
 cious traffic. In gazing upon the scene, one can readily imagine himself in some city 
 beyond the seas. From the stone houses, balconied and fanciful in roof and window, 
 come hosts of plump and pretty young negresses, chatting in their droll patois with 
 monsieur the fish-dealer, before his wooden bench, or with the rotund and ever-laugh- 
 ing madame, who sells little piles of potatoes, arranged on a shelf like cannon-balls at 
 an arsenal, or chaffering with the fruit - merchant while passing under long, hanging 
 rows of odorous bananas and pineapples, and beside heaps of oranges, whose color con- 
 trasts prettily with the swart or tawny faces of the purchasers. 
 
 "During the morning hours of each day, the markets are veritable bee-hives of in- 
 dustry : ladies and servants flutter in and out of the long passages in endless throngs ; 
 but in the afternoon the stalls are nearly all deserted. One sees delicious types in these 
 markets ; he may wander for months in New Orleans without meeting them anywhere 
 else. There is the rich, savage face, in which the struggle of Congo with French or 
 Spanish blood is still going on ; there is the old French market-woman, with her irre- 
 pressible form, her rosy cheeks, and the bandanna wound about her head, just as one 
 may find her to this day at the Halles Centrales in Paris ; there is the negress of the 
 time of D'Artaguette, renewed in some of her grandchildren ; there is the plaintive- 
 looking Sicilian woman, who has been bullied all the morning by rough negroes and 
 rougher white men as she sold oranges ; and there is her dark, ferocious-looking hus- 
 band, who handles his cigarette as if he were strangling an enemy. 
 
 32 
 
i98 OUR SATIVE LAND. 
 
 " In a loug passage butweeu two of tlic market-buildings, where hundreds of peo- 
 ple pass hoiu'lv, sits a silent Louisiana Indian woman, with a sack of gumbo s})read 
 out before her, aud with eyes downcast, as if expecting hai-sh woi-ds rather than pur- 
 chasers. 
 
 "Entering the clothes-market, one finds lively Gallic versions of the Hebrew fe- 
 male tending shops where all articles are labeled at such extraordinarily low rates that 
 the person who manufactured them must have given them away ; quavering old men, 
 clad in rusty black, who sell shoe-strings and cheap cravats, but who have hardly vital- 
 itv enough to keep the flies off from themselves, not to speak of waiting on custom- 
 ers ; villainous French landsharks, who have eyes as sharp for the earnings of the 
 fresh-water sailor as ever had a Gotham shanghai merchant for those of a salt-water 
 tar ; moldy old dames, who look daggers at yon if you venture to insist that any 
 article in their stock is not of finest fabric and quality ; and hoarse- voiced, debauched 
 Creole men, who almost cling to you in the energy of their pleading for purchases. 
 Sometimes, too, a beautiful, black-robed girl leans over a counter, displaying her su- 
 perbly molded arms as she adjusts her knitting-work. And from each and every one 
 of the markets the noise rises in such thousand currents of patois, of French, of Eng- 
 lish, of good-natured and guttural negro accent, that one can not help wondering how 
 it is that buyer and seller ever come to any understanding at all. 
 
 '• Then there are the flowers ! Such marvelous bargains as one can have in bou~ 
 quets I Delicate jasmines, modest knots of white roses, glorious orange - blossoms, 
 camellias, red roses, tender pansies, exquisite verbenas, the luscious and perfect vir- 
 gin's-bower, and the magnolia in its season — all these are to be had in the markets 
 for a triviid sum. Sometimes, when a Havana or a Sicilian vessel is discharging her 
 cargo, fruit-boxes are broken open : iind then it is a treat to see swarms of African 
 children hovering about the tempting ]>iles, from which even the sight of stout cud- 
 gels will not frighten them. 
 
 " Sailors, too. from the ships anchored in the river, promenade the long passage- 
 ways ; the accents of twenty hmgnages are heard : and the child-like, comical French 
 of the negroes rings out above the clamor. Wagons from the country clatter over 
 the stones ; the drivers sing cheerful melodies, interspersed with shouts of caution to 
 pedestrians as they guide their restive horses through the crowds. Stout colored wom- 
 en, with cackling hens dangling fi-om their bniwny hands, gravely parade the long 
 aisles : the fish-monger utters an ajiparently incomprehensible yell, yet brings crowds 
 around him : on his clean block lies the pompano, the prince of Southern waters, 
 which an enthusiastic admirer once described sis "a just fish made perfect," or a -trans- 
 lated shad.' Toward noon the clamor ceases, the bustle of trafiic is over, and the 
 market men and women betake themselves to the old cathedral, in whose shadowed 
 aisles they kneel for momentary worship.'" 
 
 The Xew Orleans levee, with the life ami surroundings connected with it, make 
 also a most striking aud curious phase of Xew Orleans. The river opposite the 
 citv is more than a mile and a half in width, and. notwithstanding the velocity of 
 
THE LOWLANDS OF THE SOUTH. 499 
 
 the current and the distance from the sea, there is a regular ebb and flow of the 
 ocean-tide. Practicall}', the river is a magnificent bay, as grand as any arm of the 
 sea. As we stand on the levee, there is a consecutive mile or more of steamers in 
 sight, from tlie gorgeous floating palaces which carry between the great cities of the 
 West, down tlirough every conceivable modification of the steamboat to the absurd 
 stern-wheeler, built for navigation in the shallow streams tributary to the Arkansas 
 and Ked Kivers. Stately ships from every land lie side by side, their masts and 
 cordage revealing a forest of tangled lines. The river is continually beaten into 
 foam by the army of ferrj'-boats and steam-tugs, which fill the air above with long 
 trailing streamers of smoke. The levee in New Orleans is a wide, artificial plateau, 
 extending miles each way, and crowded with the teeming productions of the coun- 
 ties and States which are in any way tributary to the great river. A jierfect babel 
 of tongues is heard among the workers, and you are made to realize that you ai-e at 
 the foot of a vast and unsurpassable inland navigation. 
 
 Before the application of steam to navigation, river-commerce was carried on by 
 keel-boats and flat-boats. When the flat-boat reached its destination, it had accom- 
 plished its end, and was broken up for fire-wood ; but the keel-boat not only brought 
 down a cargo, but, loaded with foreign products, was "cordelled" back by months 
 of hard work up the river to her starting-point. The keel-boatmen of the Missis- 
 sippi, now an extinct race, were remarkable for their physical strength and for their 
 unique qualities. These sons of Anak, in muscular power and ability to endure fatigue, 
 were probably without rivals in any age or country ; and had they lived in ancient 
 Greece, would have been victors in the old games which gave such intense delight to 
 a people who gloried in physical prowess. Children of nature, the keel-boatmen were 
 terribly pugnacious and fierce when their passions were aroused, but generous, simple- 
 minded, and placable. They were slaves of their word, and a promise made by one of 
 these men was rigidly fulfilled. Some of the most interesting traditions of the Mis- 
 sissippi Eiver cluster around the memories of keel-boatmen, and it will be long before 
 such names as that of Mike Fink fade away from local legend. 
 
 But the cumbrous flat-boat still exists, and remains an important agent for bearing 
 to the great distributing markets of the world the agricultural products of our West- 
 ern States ; though, before long, it is probable that it will have given place entirely 
 to the barge drawn by the tug. These huge edifices are built on large scows, some- 
 times a hundred feet or more in length, the su|)erstructure being a great building 
 in the shape of a parallelogram. A flat-boat with a full load is like a dozen country- 
 stores afloat. To keep them off the "snags" and "sawyers," which threaten the un- 
 wary river navigator, the flat-boats are furnished with four immense sweeps, which in 
 time of emergency have to be worked with great skill and strength. 
 
 The New Orleans levee is a city of itself. Immense piles of cotton-bales, hogs- 
 heads of sugar and molasses, and tierces of rice, can be seen on every hand, and 
 elevators, which have recently been built, show significantly tliat New Orleans is reach- 
 ing out her long arms to contest the grain-transporting trade for foreign markets 
 
500 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 with cities which have hitherto scoffed at competition. The difficulties of passing 
 through the bar in the Southwest Pass have ah-cady been principally removed, and 
 tlie Crescent City only needs the projected canal to be cut through from the river 
 just below the city to Lake Borgne, an arm of the Gulf of Mexico almost due east 
 from New Orleans, to equip her favorably for the commercial combat. 
 
 Though the climate of New Orleans and its liability to terrible epidemics of yellow 
 fever have been, and always will be, a drawback to her prosperity, there seems every 
 reason to forecast a brilliant future for this city. The improvements in the naviga- 
 tion of the upper Mississippi and its tributaries ; the completion of a direct air-lino 
 railroad to New York, and of another to the Pacific Ocean ; and the various other 
 improved facilities for business and travel, will make New Orleans the New York 
 of the South. Lines of steamships already connect her with all the sea-ports of the 
 Atlantic coast, Cuba, and Mexico, as also with Liverpool, Havre, Bremen, and Ham- 
 burg. It is by no means impossible that there are those now living who will survive 
 to see the chief city of Louisiana with a jiopulation of a million of people. 
 
 The plantations lining the river -banks above New Orleans on both sides have 
 become portions of a charming landscape scenery, which combines the novelty of the 
 finest exotics with the best-preserved specimens of the original forest. Here may 
 be found specimens of the choicest tropical plants ; orange-trees three quarters of a 
 century old, with great gnarled trunks and strong arms, still bearing their fruit in 
 perfection ; the banana, with its fine sweeping leaves of the deepest green, waving like 
 banners in the breeze ; jiecan-trees of immense height, bearing one of the most deli- 
 cious of tropical nuts ; and fig, pomegranate, and other trees yielding luscious 
 fruits. Hedges of jasmine lead up to the doors of the planters' residences, and vie in 
 sweetness with the night-blooming cereus and the myriad variety of roses, which grow 
 on shrubs rather like trees than like the stunted bushes of our northern climate. 
 The rural population of lower Louisiana is largely made up of a most refined and 
 interesting class, being the descendants of the old French settlers, many of whom 
 belonged to the best families of Fi-ance ; but. of course, since the late war, changed 
 social conditions have somewhat impaired that wealth and leisure which made these 
 planters' lives such a pleasant commingling of ease and dignity. 
 
 One of the most striking beauties of the lower Mississippi is found in its grand 
 magnolias. This flowering giant often reaches the height of ninety feet. The form 
 is symmetrical, and each particular bough has individual qualities. The leaves are 
 large and crisp ; where the surface is exposed to the sun, of a polished dark-green, but 
 of a velvety gray underneath. While the foliage of the live-oak, with which the mag- 
 noha is generally found in company, is for ever bending and rustling in the breeze, 
 the magnolia lias no response to the coquetry of the winds. But, as a recomjiense 
 for the beauty of wavy motion and the music of /Eolian whispering, this imperial 
 tree wears a robe of splendid blossoms, the like of which is difficult to match in the 
 vegetable kingdom. These blossoms look like greatly magnified orange-blossoms, and 
 they are so fragrant that the rich scent is almost oppressive. The magnolia-tree in 
 
THE LOWLANDS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 501 
 
 ''K ^f t^S- 
 
 .^ K .^^ 
 
 >^^. «, 
 
 
 S.^"^^= 
 
 ' ^^. 
 
 
 4i, 
 
 A MagiioUii Swamp. 
 
 full bloom, with the Spanish moss enshrouding it in a gray, neutral background, 
 makes a wonderful picture. 
 
 The scenic interest of the forests and swamps of the lower Mississippi has always 
 something of mystery and gloom associated with it. All things are on a water-level, 
 
502 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 aud gazing aloft through the towering trees makes one feel iWi if he were in some un- 
 dergroimd cavern, getting glimpses of sunlight throiigli chinks and crevices. In spots 
 where there is an opening in the trees and a flood of sunlight can enter, the lush 
 earth bursts into a profusion of the most gorgeous-hued flowers. The scarlet flower 
 of the lobelia flashes like a coal of fire ; the hydrangea, in the North a timid shrub, 
 becomes a great mound of delicate blue flowers ; and the fuchsia towers ujjward a 
 stalwart tree, radiant with countless flowers of white, crimson, and purple. 
 
 Around the trees festoons of grape-vines curl like serpents, running up sometimes 
 sixt}" feet in height, and looking like a great mass of cordage. In the distance, as you 
 peer through the vistas of the solemn forests, you see the shimmer of far-away lagoons, 
 and the water-marks on the trees, twenty feet above your head, remind you of some 
 tremendous overflow which had made the country a great lake under a woodland can- 
 opy. But now you look around you and see only standing pools yellow with the sap 
 of decayed vegetation, and sending out poisonous effluvia. The stagnant water is only 
 disturbed by the wriggling of the deadly moccasin. Throughout all these lowlands 
 poisonous snakes abound, and the hunter is tempted by the overflowing animal life. 
 Peer, panthers, wild-cats, and alligators abound, and the skill of the good rifle-shot is 
 never at a loss for a mark. In fact, much, if not all, which has already been said of 
 the scenery of the Florida Everglades in a previous chapter will apply with equal force 
 to that of the lower Mississippi, though, of course, a large jiart of the latter has been 
 more modified by civilization. A deep and lasting impression was made on the 
 minds of the early discoverers by the vegetable drapery which hangs from the trees 
 of the Louisiana forests, generally known as Spanish moss. One can fancy that the 
 survivors of De Soto's expedition, as they floated broken-hearted down the great river 
 which they had discovered at such cost, looked on this strange production of nature 
 as mourning weeds worn for the death of their heroic chief. Spanish moss is a 
 parasite that lives by inserting its delicate suckers under the bark and drawing exist- 
 ence from the flowing sap. It is only found on trees which have become enfeebled 
 by age or accident, and here, like a vegetable vampire, it sucks out the heart's-blood 
 of its victim and wraps it in a winding-sheet of weird and ghostly gray, that looks 
 in the distance like streamers of mist. These huge, gray, waving banners often hang 
 down to the very ground from the top of trees sixty feet in height. In many cases 
 old trees which have been artificially stripped of this parasite assume again nearly all 
 of their pristine strength and vigor. The part which Spanish moss performs in the 
 functions of nature is interesting. It consumes the hard and iron-fibered woods, 
 which would otherwise last as vegetable wrecks for centuries, and thus quietly makes 
 way for new growths. Poets have justly likened Spanish moss to the shattered sails 
 of ships, torn to shreds by the teeth of the temitest or the iron hail of battle, but 
 still hanging to the rigging. To the French writer Chateaubriand it suggested ghosts. 
 But, with whatever analogy one tries to ex]>lain its effects on the fancy, it is certain 
 that it gives the lowland forests of the South an asi)ect utterly unique and individual. 
 Within a few years this jiarasite has become an important object of commerce. When 
 
THE LOWLANDS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 503 
 
 stripped from the trees and thoroughly dried aud thrashed of its dehcate fibers of 
 bark aud leaf, the long, thready moss shows a fiber as black as jet, and almost as thick 
 and elastic as horse-hair, which it strikingly resembles. For the stuffing of mattresses. 
 
 Giitherinfj Spa/iUh Moss. 
 
 cushions, and other upholstery purposes it is of great value as a substitute for horse- 
 hair, and the gatherinsr of the moss has become a valuable field of labor for the inhab- 
 itants of the swamps and forests, both above and below New Orleans. 
 
504 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 The great characteristic industry of Louisiana is the culture of the sugar-cane, 
 and the manufacture of tlie cane into sugar and molasses. It is the only agricultural 
 industry in the world wliich involves not only the raising of the natural product, but 
 the preparation of that product by manufacture for the market. Though the sugar- 
 planting interest extends far above New Orleans — in fact, nearly to the northern lim- 
 its of the State — the most rich and fruitful plantations are below that city. The 
 narrow strij) which, for fifty or sixty miles below New Orleans, protects the Mississippi 
 channel from the Gulf, is crowded with splendid sugar-plantations. The alluvial soil 
 of recent formation is extremely prolific, and may be called one of the gardens of the 
 
 Outtimj the Sngar-Cane. 
 
 world. The rivers and bayous furnish fish and oy.sters of the finest quality ; the for- 
 ests swarm with game ; the gardens bring forth tropical fruits and vegetables in great 
 abundance ; and all the conditions of life are easy. Here the profitable culture of 
 sugar attains its best conditions. From the river one is charmed to note the jiictur- 
 esque grouping of sugar-hoixses and quarters, the mansions peeping through splendid 
 groves of live-oak and magnolia, and the rich fields stretching away for miles. The 
 sugar-hou.ses on many of the larger jilantations are cramnu'd with costly machinery 
 worth thousands of dollars : and. indeed, sugar-plantinsr on a big scale demands large 
 capital. Before the war the work of cultivating the cane was conducted in a crade 
 and unscientific manner, even on the largest plantations, as an outcome of the very 
 
THE LOWLAXDS OF THE SOUTH. 505 
 
 conditions of slave-labor. But the difficulty of securing reliable and efficient hands 
 during the last fifteen years has caused a large use of labor-saving machinery. The 
 best implements, even to steam-plows or gang-plows drawn by a stationary engine, 
 are now found on the principal sugar-plantations, to a great advantage, as planters 
 acknowledge, over the old methods. 
 
 A portion of the sugar-cane is preserved to furnish young sprouts for the spring 
 planting. These shapely and richly colored stalks lie all winter in the furrows, and 
 at the joints which occur every few inches are found the new buds of promise out of 
 which the fresh crop must come. When the spring plowing begins, the stalks are 
 laid along the beds of the drills, and each shoot as it makes its appearance is care- 
 fully watched. The labor of hoeing and otherwise tending the growing cane is inces- 
 sant even now, when hand-labor is largely superseded b\' horse-cultivators. Under 
 the slavery regime the sugar-fields of Louisiana represented to the negro mind the 
 very ultima Thule of horror and wretchedness. When the cane reaches its perfection 
 there comes a jubilee, for it means an unstinted feast on the sweets so beloved by 
 the darkey. All hands now work night and day in cutting the cane and drawing it 
 to the sugar-house, for it is dangerous to leave the stalks a moment uncut after they 
 have reached the right condition. The great I'ollers are kept grinding without cessa- 
 tion by successive reliefs of hands, who keep high wassail and wax fat on the tooth- 
 some juice. A sugar-mill consists of a series of endless rollers, through which the 
 cane passes till every drop of its saccharine burden is squeezed out. The refuse is 
 used as the fuel for the furnace which drives the engine, so that no coal or wood is 
 ever needed except for the refining-mill. From the crushed arteries of the cane wells 
 forth a thick, impure li(juid. This has to be immediately cared for, or it will spoil. 
 The clarifying process is quite comjjlicated, and represents a very high degree of 
 mechanical and chemical skill. It must have been a study full of suggestion and 
 interest during former times to step from the fields, wOiere the labor of raising the 
 cane was carried on in the most crude and brutal form, to the sugar-houses, full of 
 admirable machinery representing the highest results of intellectual skill and knowl- 
 edge. 
 
 The stages through which the cane-jnice passes are various. There are the great 
 open trays traversed hy copjier and iron steam-pipes ; there are tlie filter-pans, filled 
 with bone-dust, through which the liquor trickles down ; now it wanders through 
 separators and then through bone-dust again, onward toward granulation in the 
 vacuum-pans, and then into coolers, where the sugar is kept in a half-liquid state by 
 means of revolving paddles ; until finally it comes to the vessels in which, by rapid 
 whirlings, all the molasses is thrown out ; and the molasses, leaving the dry sugar 
 ready for commerce, goes meandering among the pipes under the floors, and round 
 and round again through the whirling machines until every trace of sugar has been 
 finally taken from it. 
 
 While there are yet many large sugar-plantations in the South where the regime 
 of labor is carried on in the old patriarchal style, as nearly as the free system will 
 
506 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 permit, the tendency is to break up the plantations into small farms — a fact which, 
 however detrimental to what is picturesque in the rural life of the sugar-region, can 
 not but be highly conducive to industrial interests. Co-operative ownership of the ex- 
 pensive machinery necessary for sugar-making is becoming more and more the vogue. 
 In some cases the sugar-growers sell their cane to some enterprising owner of machin- 
 ery, or have it crushed and manufactured on shares, just as the Western farmer has 
 his wheat thrashed out by the owner of a machine. This method enables the 
 comparatively poor man to enter into competition with the capitalist planter, and it 
 is not doubtful that in the end it will revolutionize the old system of sugar-planting, 
 which still survives the wreck of slavery. The last census jH-oves that the sugar- 
 industry of Louisiana is steadily improving, the yield for 1880 having been 218,314 
 hogsheads — larger than that of any year since the beginning of the late war. It is 
 not that the year was more favorable in its conditions, but that there was a larger 
 acreage of cane grown. 
 
 Though there are portions of the lower Mississippi exceedingly charming, so far 
 as the richest productions of nature can beautify its banks, yet the impression on the 
 whole is very different from that which is ordinarily associated with what is beau- 
 tiful. The splendid vegetation and the great forests delight and amaze the beholder, 
 but there is an element of mystery and gloom in the scene withal. The dreary 
 solitude, and often the absence of all living objects, save the huge alligators whicli 
 float past ap]iarently asleep on the drift-wood, and an occasional vulture attracted 
 by its impure jirey on the surface of the water ; the trees with long pendants of gray 
 moss fluttering in the wind ; and the gigantic river rolling for ever onward the 
 vast volume of its dark and turbid waters — -such are the features of the strange land- 
 scape which impresses the eye of the river-tourist. " The prevailing character of the 
 lower Mississippi," says a recent traveler, " is that of solemn gloom. I have trodden 
 the passes of Alp and Apennine, yet never felt how awful a thing is nature, till I was 
 borne on its waters through regions desolate and uninhabitable. Day after day and 
 night after night, we continued driving downward toward the south ; our vessel, like 
 some huge demon of the wilderness, bearing fire in her bosom and canopying the eter- 
 nal forest with the smoke of her nostrils. The effect on my spirits was such as I 
 have never experienced, before or since. Conversation became odious, and I passed 
 my time in a sort of dreamy contemplation. At night I ascended the highest deck 
 and lay for hours gazing listlessly on the sky, the forests, and the waters, amid silence 
 only broken by the clanging of the engine. The navigation of the Mississippi is not 
 unaccompanied by danger, arising from what are called planters and sawyers. These 
 are trees firmly fixed in the bottom of the river, by which vessels are in danger of 
 being impaled. The distinction is that the former stand upright in the water, the 
 latter lie with their points directed down the stream. The bends or flexures of the 
 Mississippi are regular in a degree unknown in any other river. The action of run- 
 ning water, in a vast alluvial plain like that of the basin of the Mississippi, without 
 obstruction from rock or mountain, may be calculated with the utmost ]irecision. 
 
THE LOWLANDS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 507 
 
 Whenever the course of a river diverges in an)- degree from a right line, it is evident 
 that the current can no longer act with equal force on both its banks. On one side 
 the impulse is diminished, on the other increased. The tendency in these sinuosi- 
 ties, therefore, is manifestly to increase, and the stream which hollows out a portion 
 of one bank reacting on the other, the process of curvature is still continued, till 
 its channel presents an almost unvarying succession of salient and retiring angles. 
 In the Mississippi the flexures are so extremely great, that it often happens that 
 the isthmus which divides different portions of the river gives way. A few months 
 before my visit to the South, a remarkable case of this kind had happened, by which 
 forty miles of navigation had been saved. The opening thus formed was called the 
 neio cut. Even the annual changes which take place in the bed of the Mississippi are 
 
 A Mufiesippi Btiyou. 
 
 very remarkable. Islands spring up and disappear ; shoals suddenly present themselves 
 where pilots have been accustomed to deep water ; in many places, whole acres are 
 swept away from one bank and added to the other ; and the pilot assured me that in 
 every voyage he could perceive fresh changes. Many circumstances contribute to 
 render these changes more rapid in the Mississippi than in any other river. Among 
 these, perhaps the greatest is the vast volume of its waters, acting on alluvial matter 
 peculiarly penetrable. The river, when in flood, spreads over the neighboring country, 
 in which it has formed channels, called bayous. The banks thus become so saturated 
 with water, that they can opi)ose little resistance to the action of the current, which 
 frequently sweeps off large portions of the forest. The immense quantity of drift- 
 wood is another cause of change. Floating logs encounter some obstacle in the river, 
 and become stationarv. The mass gradually accumulates ; the water, saturated with 
 
508 
 
 OVR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 mud, deposits a sediment, and thus an island is formed, which soon becomes covered 
 with vegetation. Some years ago the Mississippi was surveyed by order of the Gov- 
 ernment, and its islands, from the confluence of the Missouri to the sea, were num- 
 bered. I remember asking the pilot the name of a very beautiful island, and the 
 answer was, '573,' the number assigned to it in the hydrographical survey, and the 
 only name by which it was known." 
 
 
 A " Crenaew" on the Mississippi River. 
 
 One of the most remarkable features of tlie great Father of Waters is found in 
 those ti-emendous overflows called crevasses, which occur with alarming frequency, 
 and are among the dreadful exigencies against which the resident of the lower Mis- 
 sissii)pi Valley never feels secure. When they do occur, the confusion, distress, and 
 trepidation they cause are terrible to witness. Gaunt starvation then threatens thou- 
 sands, and only the hand of governmental aid and private charity saves them from a 
 miserable death. In an hour the planter is doomed to see a thousand acres, wliioli 
 have been carefully planted and tended, covered with water two or three feet deep. 
 The countrv for manv a long mile back becomes a s\vam)>, the roads are transformed 
 
THE LOWLANDS OF THE SOUTH. 509 
 
 into rivers, the lakes are seas. These inundations are so little understood, that a 
 brief description of the physical condition of the river will be interesting as tlirowing 
 some light on the subject. 
 
 What is called the lower Mississippi begins at St. Louis, twenty miles above which 
 the Missouri pours in its muddy flood to swell its waters. The name is more usually 
 applied, however, to the river after it reaches Cairo, where it receives the additional 
 volume of the Ohio Eiver. Thenceforward the Mississippi flows through alluvial lands, 
 and it meanders from one bluft" to another, these being from forty to one hundred 
 miles apart. Passing below Cairo, the river strikes the bluff's at Columbus on the east- 
 ern or Kentucky shore. It skirts them as far as Memphis, Tennessee, having on its 
 west the broad earthquake-lands of Missouri and Arkansas. It again crosses its valley 
 to meet the waters of the White and Arkansas Rivers, and skirts tlie bluffs at Helena 
 in Arkansas, flanking and hemming in the St. Francis with her swamps and sunken 
 lands. Again crossing the valley toward the eastward, another re-enforcement comes 
 from the Yazoo River near Vicksburg, creating an immense reservoir on the east 
 bank. From Vicksburg to Baton Rouge the river hugs the eastern bluffs, and from 
 Baton Rouge to the mouth is the pure "delta country " for a distance of two hundred 
 miles. All of this valley below Cairo is under the liigh-water line of the powerful 
 stream, which drains several million square miles of country, and the efforts of 
 men to stay an inundation are almost pxxerile. The valley is divided into several 
 natural districts, one embracing the lands from Cairo to Helena, where the St. Francis 
 debouches ; another from Helena nearly to Vicksburg, on the east bank, including the 
 Yazoo Valley ; a third comprises the country from the Arkansas to the Red River, 
 known as the Macon and Tensas Valley ; a fourth runs from the Red River to the 
 Gulf on the west side ; and a fifth from Baton Rouge to the Gulf on the east side. 
 Many of these districts are imperfectly leveed, and others are entirely unprotected. 
 When high water does come, the fact that there are only a few levees only increases 
 the danger of a general inundation. In slavery-times the planters in the lowlands 
 were able, l)y incessant preparation and vigilance, to guard against ruin by water ; 
 but now they have so little control over a labor which thinks only of the present 
 and not of the future, that they are not able to do much to confine the river-god 
 within liis due metes and bounds. The only hope seems to be the execution of a 
 grand national work by the General Government, perhaps in co-operation with the 
 State governments. But bills to this effect have been so often defeated in Congress, 
 that the end seems far off. Certainly it would appear that Government could carry 
 out nothing of more importance, for in no other way can the rich Southern lowlands 
 ever be secured against a ruin which recurs every few years. It is said, indeed, that 
 the lands overflowed the year before give a much larger crop ; Vjut this offers poor 
 compensation for those who have suffered absolute loss of all they had in the world. 
 
 For nine months of the year the river-planter pays but little attention to the levee. 
 But the spring comes, and the melted snows which had fallen at the foot of the 
 Rocky Mountains must find their way to tlie sea. Then he realizes what a frail hold 
 
510 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 he has on his young crops and the accumulated improvements of a large estate. The 
 spring rains assist in making the water-barriers unstable ; rats, mice, and beetles have 
 burrowed into them, and thousands of craw-fish, with their claws as bard as iron, have 
 riddled them with holes. Under such conditions the rising of the river becomes a 
 terrible threat. Some night the alarm is given that a crevasse is threatened. All is 
 consternation. Plantation-bells are rung, and men on fleet horses scour the country 
 around, giving the alarm. Men, women, and children assemble with whatever im- 
 plements they have and hasten to the point of danger. But, in spite of all effort, 
 the levee crumbles away under the tremendous assault and the river pours through, 
 roaring like a cataract. It takes but a short time, after the break has defied all at- 
 tempts at obstruction or rejjair, to convert the surrounding country for miles into a 
 waste of waters. When the inundation has subsided, if it does subside in time to 
 allow a second planting, the planter thinks himself lucky if he makes half a crop, 
 while the poorer farmers are temporarily ruined. 
 
 The former capital of Louisiana, Baton Rouge, is pleasantly situated on the first 
 bluff which the Mississippi steamboat-voyager sees in ascending the river, the site be- 
 ing some forty feet above the highest rise of the river. The slope of the blutf is gen- 
 tle and gradual, and the town, as beheld from the river, with its singularly picturesque 
 French and Spanish houses and its queer squares, looks like a finely painted landscape. 
 The whole country, above and below, is a delightful garden, lovely and fragrant with 
 all the fruits and flowers of the tropics. Above Baton Rouge the cotton interest grad- 
 ually supplants that of sugar. Indeed, Northern Louisiana, Texas, Arkansas, Mis- 
 sissippi, and Tennessee are more and more becoming the gi-eat cotton region of the 
 country. Both labor and capital are pouring into these States in the pursuit of cot- 
 ton-raising, while they are being withdrawn from South Carolina. Georgia, and Ala- 
 bama, where the lands have been longer worked, and consequently impoverished. 
 
 The next important town above Baton Rouge is Natchez, Mississippi, mostly built 
 on a high bluff, two hundred feet above the level of the stream, though there is a 
 portion of the city lying on the narrow strip of land between the foot of the hill and 
 the river, which is known as "Natchez-under-the-IIill." Here are located many of 
 the most important business houses, while it is on the bluff above that one sees 
 the finer private residences, each one embowered in fine gardens. The suburbs of 
 Natchez were notable before the war for their beautiful and expensively furnished 
 planters' seats, but many of these were ruined during the late war. The climate 
 is pleasant and very salubrious ; the winters are temperate, though variable, and the 
 summers long and equable. Natchez was founded by DTberville. in 1700, and is re- 
 plete with historic associations. Here once lived and flourished the noblest tribe of 
 Indians on the continent, and from that tribe it takes its name. Their pathetic story 
 is festooned with the flowers of poetry and romance. Their ceremonies and creed 
 were not unlike those of the fire - worshipers of Persia. Their priests kept the fire 
 continually burning upon the altar in their Temple of the Sun. and the tradition is, 
 that they got the tire from heaven. Just before the adveut of the white man, it is 
 
THE LOWLANDS OF THE SOUTH. 511 
 
 said, tlie fire accidentally went out, and that was one reason why they became dis- 
 heartened iu their struggle with the pale-faces. The last remnant of the race were 
 still existing a few years ago in Texas, and they still gloried in their paternity. It is 
 probable that the first explorer of the lower Mississippi Kiver, the unfortunate La 
 Salle, landed at this spot on his downward trip to the sea. It is a disputed point 
 as to where was the location of the first fort. Some say it lay back of the town, 
 while others say it was established at Ellis's Cliffs. In 1713 Bienville established a 
 fort and trading-post at this spot. The second, Fort Rosalie, or rather the broken 
 profile of it, is still visible. It is gradually sinking, by the earth being undermined 
 by subterranean springs, and in a few years not a vestige of it will be left. Any one 
 now standing at the landing can see the different strata of earth distinctly marked, 
 showing the depth of the artificial earthworks. 
 
 One hundred and twenty miles above Natchez is the important city of Vicksburg, 
 lying also in the same State. This fine place is situated on the Walnut Hills, which 
 extend for two miles along the river and rise to the height of five hundred feet, dis- 
 playing some of the finest scenery on the lower Mississippi. The city was founded 
 by a planter named Vick in 1836, and some of his family are still living in the place. 
 It is regarded as one of the most attractive cities in the South, and is the chief com- 
 mercial mart of this portion of tlie river-valley. It was here that the Confederates 
 made their last and most desperate stand for the control of the river. The place 
 was surrounded by vast fortifications, the hills crowned with batteries, and under Gen- 
 eral Pemberton it made a gallant defense. But, after a protracted siege, it capitulated 
 to General Grant, who thus "broke the backbone of the rebellion and cut it in twain." 
 Near Vicksburg is the largest national cemetery in the country, containing the remains 
 of sixteen thousand soldiers. Vicksburg is about equidistant between New Orleans and 
 Memphis, the latter city being a very important mart. About one hundred and sixty 
 miles below Memphis the Mississippi crosses its valley westward to meet the waters of 
 the Arkansas and White Rivers. The Arkansas is a great river, two thousand miles 
 long, for eight hundred miles of which it is navigable by steamers. It has its rise in 
 the Rocky Mountains, and is only second to the Missouri as a tributary of the Mis- 
 sissippi. Between the latitude of the mouth of the Arkansas and that of Baton Rouge 
 lies the great cotton -growing region in the valleys of the Mississippi and its tributa- 
 ries, and it is this fact which gives significance to the life and characteristics of the 
 whole region. Lack of space jirevents our making any further detailed mention of cit- 
 ies and towns in the valley of the lower Mississippi, but this chapter can not be prop- 
 erly closed witliout some account of the cotton-culture, the great Southern staple, a 
 belief in the royalty of which, both in agriculture and politics, had so much to do 
 with the inception of "the late unpleasantness." 
 
 Cotton-planting begins about the first of April, and, from this time to the gather- 
 ing of the crop, it demands constant attention, even as the sugar-cane does, and un- 
 like the staple crops of the North, which give the farmer considerable intermissions. 
 A variety of dangerous insects molest the young cotton-plant, and the care of watch- 
 
bi-z 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 iiig again.<t those is very great. Nothing can be more striking to the eye than tlic 
 appearance of a eottoii-field of large extent when the snowy globes are ready for pick- 
 ing, and the swart workmen with sacks on their shoulders wander between the rows 
 culling their iieeces. From the very beginning, when the jjlant first appears above 
 the gi'ound, it is beautiful. In June, when the blossoms change their color from day 
 to day, a cotton -jilantation looks like a great Hower- garden. In the morning the 
 blooms are often of a pale straw-color, at noon of a pure white, in the afternoon of 
 a faint pink, and the next morning of a perfect pink. This is the case, however, 
 only of the upland cotton, the Sea-Island product always remaining a pale yellow. 
 When the flowers fall away and the young bolls appear, the negroes have to watch 
 
 Gatht:ring Cotton. 
 
 with great care for the appearance of the cotton-worm — a deadly enemy to the plant. 
 There are many varieties of these worms, and they breed with astonishing rapidity, 
 sometimes cutting off the entire crop of some districts. There is a popular belief thai 
 these worms appear at intervals of three years in tlie .same district, and that their 
 greatest ravages occur every twenty-one years. They attack no other crop but cotton, 
 but against this they wage the most devastating war. The planters build fires in the 
 fields about the time the moths begin to appear, hoping tiius to destroy the i)arent 
 insect. If they aeeomiilish this they prevent tlie appearance of the second and tliird 
 broods, and thus limit the ravages of the worm : but the remedy is rarely under- 
 taken soon enougli. Another insidious foe is the boll - worm moth, a tawny creature. 
 
THE LOWLANDS OF THE SOUTH. 513 
 
 which in tlie summer and autumn evenings hovers over the cotton - blooms and de- 
 posits a single egg in each. In three or four days the worm comes out of the egg 
 and eats its way into the lieart of the boll, whicli falls to the ground, but not before 
 the worm has attacked another boll. Plantations have sometimes been so devastated 
 by these pests that they seemed as if a blast of lightning had scathed them, the bolls 
 having been completely cut down. 
 
 During the picking-season, which begins in September, plantation-life is busy and 
 merry. In these seasons, in addition to tlie regular force, help is recruited from the 
 multitude of negroes who wander from plantation to plantation like the hop - gather- 
 ers or the harvest-hands of the West. By the middle of October the season is at its 
 height. Each laborer is expected to pick from two to three hundred pounds of cot- 
 ton a day, and as fast as the fleeces are picked they are carried, either in wagons, or 
 in baskets on the heads of negroes, to the gin-house. There, if the cotton be damp, 
 it is dried in the sun. and then the fiber is separated from the seed, to which it is 
 quite firmly attached. 
 
 Nothing can be simpler yet more efficient than the ordinary cotton-gin, which still 
 preserves the main features incorporated by Whitney, the first inventor. It may be 
 justly said that this man did more than any other one to perpetuate slavery, for it was 
 the invention of the cotton-gin which made slavery enormously profitable. A series of 
 circular saws are set on the main cylinder, and the latter is brought into contact with 
 a mass of cotton separated from it by steel gratings. The teeth of the saws, playing 
 between the bars, catch the cotton and draw it through, leaving the seeds behind. A 
 set of stiff brushes underneath the saws, revolving on another cylinder moving in an 
 opposite direction, removes the lint from off the saw-teeth, and a revolving fan, pro- 
 ducing a rapid current of air, throws the lint to a convenient distance from the gin. 
 The ginning of Sea-Island cotton, as practiced in South Carolina and Georgia, requires 
 the use of two fluted rollers, made of wood, vulcanized rubber, or steel, and coming 
 nearly together. The rollers move in opposing directions and draw the cotton between 
 them, while the seeds can not pass through for want of space. On small plantations 
 cotton is ginned by horse-power, but on the great estates steam-])ower is used. There 
 are many enterprising men who, however, set up cotton-gins in some central location, 
 and to them flock all the small cultivators, black and white, who raise from one to 
 ten bales of cotton. This division of labor, which has previously been mentioned in 
 reference to the sugar-cane culture, can not but have a good effect in increasing the 
 acreage of cotton, and enabling many to work for themselves who previously were 
 obliged to work for others. The small farms in the South are continually increasing, 
 and promise great things for Southern prosperity. The negi'o, with his peculiar vices 
 of idleness and lack of care for the morrow, does as little as possible, and saves noth- 
 ing as long as he works, eitlier on shares or for wages. But, if he toils for himself, 
 it may be assumed that self-interest will go far to restrain, if not to extirpate, his 
 radical faults. After the cotton leaves the gin it passes to the press, where it is 
 packed into bales. On well - ordered lands the picking is all over by Christmas, and 
 
514 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 then planters and laborers alike give themselves up to the joys of the holiday 
 season. 
 
 Such are some of the sights and suggestions of the valley of the lower Mississippi, 
 a region of our country full of picturesque and industrial interest. Previous to the 
 late civil war the knowledge of it on the part of a large majority of Northern men 
 was vague, and he who had traveled thitherward was regarded as a marked man. 
 But if our four years" conflict carried with it much that was dreadful, it was not 
 without its compensations in many ways. One of these compensations is, that it 
 has caused the men of the North and the men of the South to feel a much deeper 
 mutual interest, and to increase the intimate knowledge which one section has of 
 the other. So to-day the Mississippi Valley and the other low countries of the South 
 seem as near to the New-Englander as do the cities and prairies of the great West, 
 and not closed to his sympathy. 
 
 A Plindei'^!* f/oufte on the Miitftix^ippi 
 
Ths Okki Mioer^ helow PittsliHrg. 
 
 THE OHIO AND UPPER MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 The beginning of the Ohio at Pittsburg — Early history of the river — Characteristics of the river and its navigation 
 — The interesting towns on its borders— Ohio and Kentuclsy — The early romance of Kentucky history — Cincin- 
 nati, the "Queen of the West" — The city of Louisville— Tlie .junction of the Ohio and Mississippi— St. Louis 
 and its more astonishing features — The mineral wealth of Missouri — The upper Mississippi — Its peculiarities as 
 distinguished from those of the lower river— Rock Island and Davenport — The beautiful scenery of the river — 
 Quaint Dubuque— La Crosse — Features of river-navigation— Trempealeau and Lake Pepin— St. Paul and the State 
 of Minnesota — Head-waters of the river. 
 
 The early French explorers were so much delighted with the smoothly flowing, 
 gentle Ohio River that they called it "La Belle Rivifere." This descriptive term, so 
 well befitting the stream, is the equivalent of tlie Wyandotte name, O-IIe-Yo, which 
 means "Fair to look on," and thence the English name is derived. The characteristics 
 of the river are individual. It flows mildly along its entire length, and no busy, 
 bustling mills and factories fret its waters, and pour their poisonous refuse into its 
 cm-rent. But it has a busy life of its own, nevertheless, and it carries the burden 
 of an important inland commerce. Its entire length is a little more than a thou- 
 sand miles. It flows among the coal and iron mines of western Pennsylvania ; it 
 ripples serenely around the mountains of West Virginia ; and laps the rich corn and 
 
516 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 wheat fields of Ohio. Bending northward toward Cincinnati, it embraces in a long 
 curve the fertile blue-gi'ass meadows of Kentucky, and finally stretches in a long 
 sweep toward the southwest, skirting the southern borders of Indiana and Illinois, 
 receiving on the way the turbulent waters of the two mountain rivers, the Cumber- 
 land and Tennessee ; and at last mixes its waters witli the Mississippi at Cairo. This 
 noble river suggests the German ideal of a life of effective worth, "without haste, 
 without rest " ; for its serenely flowing stream is busy with a most important func- 
 tion ill iiur inland navigation. 
 
 The river is formed from the junction of two rivers, the Alleghany and the 
 Monongahela, the former a clear mountain river, and the latter a turbid yellow 
 stream. The two unite at Pittsburg to make a water-course which, before it is 
 absorbed in the Mississijipi, receives seventy-five tributaries, forms the boundary line of 
 five States, and shows the smiling faces of a hundred islands interspersing its stream. 
 The shores are full of contrast. Now, one sees round-topped, green hills, now fat, 
 rolling fields of grass and grain, now abrupt steeps, where the original forest remains 
 in all its primeval density and wildness, even as it appeared to the first explorers. 
 The river so bends and twists that it is knotted like a tangled silver thread over the 
 country ; every turn giving a charming new view. In the early spring, when the face 
 of the country is green with verdure and enameled with flowers, Ohio River travel is 
 very charming for one who is in no great haste. The steamboats, which are all 
 stern-wheelers, go slowly u}i and down, like floating summer birds, whistling to each 
 other for the channel, according to the load. The crews are motley, and the blacks 
 and whites work together on terms of perfect good-nature and equality. The leisurely 
 way in which everything is done extorts the admiration of the Northern man, accus- 
 tomed to a complex and energetic system of business, where every detail is rigidly 
 administered. 
 
 As the Ohio steamboat rounds a bend, there appears on the bank in the distance 
 a man who signals with his hat. The engine slackens up, and the boat is slowly 
 veered around to the bank, into which it runs its round snout. The lazy deck-hauds 
 thrust out a jilank, and proceed to take their own time about transferring to the deck 
 what freight there may be waiting. So the river-craft proceeds, picking up freight 
 and passengers in a miscellaneous, slip-shod way, highly amusing to the unaccustomed 
 eye. The ease with which these boats land is a strange feat. They often turn right 
 into the bank, and the passengers may step on or off without the help of a gang- 
 plank, though at the towns and villages on the river there is often a rude levee, or, 
 at least, an old flat-boat moored against the shore, as a sort of rude wharf. These 
 steamers, large, handsome, well-appointed for the comfort of the traveler, are almost 
 all on the surface, as they necessarily draw but a few feet of water, owing to the shal- 
 lowness of the river. When they run aground, a common occurrence, down drops a 
 great beam, fastened with tackle like a derrick on the bow, and this, having been 
 thrust into the river-bottom, the boat is pried off. and she resumes her course. If 
 there is a fog on the river, the prudent captain tics up to the hank and sjiends the 
 
THE OHIO AND UPPER MISSISSIPPI. 517 
 
 night. Though the voyage from Pittsburg to Cincinnati is long, tlie passenger, if it 
 be the spring of the year, when everytliing is green and glowing, does not regret it, 
 as he glides along the skirts of Ohio farms, Virginia mountains, and the rich meadow- 
 lands of Kentucky. 
 
 The mouth of the Ohio was discovered in 1680, but it was not till seventy years 
 afterward that the French explored its unknown waters. In 1750 Captain Celeron, with 
 a detachment of soldiers, took possession of the Ohio River Valley under orders from 
 the Governor-General of Canada. This he did by depositing numerous metal plates 
 along the shore, on which were engraved these words: "In the year 1750, we, Cele- 
 ron, commandant of a detachment by orders of Monsieur the Marquis de Gallisoniere, 
 Commander-in-Chief of New France, to establish tranquillity in certain Indian villages 
 of these cantons, have buried this plate on ' The Beautiful River ' as a monument of 
 renewal of possession of the river and its tributaries, and of all the land on both 
 sides ; inasmuch as the preceding kings have engaged it and maintained it by their 
 arms and by ti'eaties, especially by those of Ryswick, Utrecht, and Aix-la-Chapelle." 
 Several of these interesting memorials have been dug np on the banks of the Ohio. 
 The "beautiful river" and its tributaries, however peaceful and smiling their present 
 look, were not always so, for continual fighting took place on their banks from the 
 first grandiose proclamation of the French captain, down to the final defeat of the 
 Indian tribes, banded under Tecumseh, by General Harrison. It was at Pittsburg that 
 the Frencli built Fort Duquesne in 1754, and it was near here that Braddock's 
 defeat occurred the year following, and George Washington's name began to be 
 famous. In 1758 the Englisli retrieved their laurels, and renamed the captured Fort 
 Duquesne after Pitt, Earl of Chatham, then the English premier. Tlie little post 
 held a precarious existence until Pontiac's conspiracy swept the country like a tor- 
 nado. Fort Pitt escaped the fate of the other nine garrisons which fell before the 
 Indian hero, through the gallantry of Colonel Banquet, who broke the Indian leaguer 
 and brought supplies to the starving defenders. When the French gave up their 
 claim to the Northwestern Territory, but a short time elapsed before the contest 
 between the Americans and English arose. Fort Pitt was abandoned by the British, 
 and so a jiost which cost that government sixty thousand pounds sterling, and which 
 had been designed to perpetuate for ever the British Empire on the " beautiful 
 river," passed into the hands of the insurgent colonies. 
 
 Pittsburg of to-day looks in the distance like a huge volcano, continually belching 
 forth smoke and flames. By day a great pall rests over the city, obscuring the sun, 
 and by night the glow and flash of the almost numberless iron-mills which fill the 
 valley and cover the hill-sides, light the sky with a fiery glare. This great workshop 
 of the modern Cyclops is one of the most important manufacturing centers of the 
 country, and embodies our most valuable interests in iron and steel manufactures. In 
 close proximity to the great coal and iron region, its opportunities for success in such 
 branches of industry are without a peer. Though the suburbs of the city are beau- 
 tiful and contain many charming residences, the aspect of the city itself is grimy and 
 
518 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 gloomy, in spite of the noble business blocks and open, spacious streets. Anthony 
 Trollope wrote, " It is the blackest place I was ever in, but its very blackness is pict- 
 uresque"; and Parton writes in his coarse but graphic style, "It is all hell, with the 
 lid taken off." The smoke and fires of Pittsburg make its most characteristic feat- 
 ure, but there is much to interest the visitor in the nature of the inland navigation, 
 wliicii centers at its wharves. Here may be seen steamboats and flat-boats which have 
 come all the way from New Orleans and St. Louis, and the various water-craft which 
 lie at the levee embrace every sort of river-boat. 
 
 The Ohio River starts in a northwesterly direction, and from the very outset 
 the country along its banks shows signs of the highest cultivation, though here and 
 there are mountainous tracts full of wildness and savagery. The queer old town of 
 Economy, the home of a band of German communists, is about twenty miles from 
 Pittsburg. Its ancient houses, tiled roofs, grass-grown streets, and profound quiet, 
 are startling in contrast with the busy world outside. Here there are no marriages, 
 no homes, no children, only ancient brothers and sisters, the last one of whom will 
 inherit the riches of the community, which are very considerable. When the last 
 brother is gone, the property will go, no one knows where. 
 
 When the river reaches the State of Ohio it makes a bend southward and skirts 
 the queer little strip of land which West Virginia thrusts out, like a long, slender 
 tongue, between Pennsylvania and Ohio. Over this narrow stretch of land there were 
 years of protracted litigation after the Revolutionary War, for the land-titles were in 
 a state of inextricable confusion. This arm of land is called the Panhandle. Wheel- 
 ing, the principal city of the Panhandle region, is a flourishing place, which has grown 
 steadily in manufacturing importance till it has become an important center. The 
 Virginia side of the Ohio is wild and forest-clad, with abrupt mountains and tangled 
 thickets. This, during the late war, was a favorite arena for guerrilla warfare and 
 cavalry raids, and it was swept by both armies with merciless severity, though there 
 were no grand battles fought. Passing down the Ohio, a few miles below Wheeling 
 we find the charming town of Marietta on the Ohio side, said to be the oldest town 
 in the State. The site is a picturesque one, in a deep bend where the Muskingum 
 flows into the Ohio, and it was settled in 1787 by the New England Ohio Company, 
 who took up one million five hundred thousand acres of land. When these New- 
 England pioneers landed from their flat-boat, the first thing they did was to write a 
 code of laws, which they nailed up to a tree. This colony was established under 
 very favorable auspices, and, though it languished for a while, it soon took a vigorous 
 start. Fed by streams of fresh immigrants, it sent out detachments to other sections, 
 and became the parent town of the State. It is singular that ship-building was once 
 an important branch of industry at this Ohio town, and that a ship built here in 
 180G sailed down the Ohio to New Orleans, thence to Liverpool, and thence to St. 
 Petersburg. At the latter city it was seized by the port ofiicials, under the plea 
 that the papers must be false, as there was no such port in the world, and only 
 released with considerable ditficultv. A short distance below Marietta, and just above 
 
THE OHIO AND UPPER MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 519 
 
 Parkersburg, is Blenuerhassett's Island, the romantic history of which is a very sad 
 and pathetic story. Harman Bleunerhassett was an Irish gentleman of large wealth 
 and of good family, who bought the island, called by his name, in 1797. Here, with 
 
 !S 
 
 "Ivii'i) 
 
 liar 
 
 4i 
 
 g 
 
 '*^>I^*S' 
 
 his brilliant and beautiful wife, he lived in a little paradise which his wealth and 
 taste enabled him to make. The island-home was widely celebrated for the attractions 
 of its elegant hospitality. In 1805 Aaron Burr, by his blandishments, enlisted Blen- 
 nerhassett in his Mexican schemes, according to which Burr was to become an em- 
 
630 OUR XATIVE LAXD. 
 
 peror, and Blennerhassetr a great grandee. The scheme collapsed, and the conspirators 
 were tried for treaeon. Thongh Blennerhassett was acquitted, he was bankrupt in 
 fortune and hope, and died a broken-hearted man, after years of farther straggle, the 
 Tictim of one of the most anscrupuloos men ever produced bj America. At Par- 
 kersbuTg, West Virginia, the Little Kanawha Biver flows into the Ohio, and here is 
 the massive railwav-bridge of the Baltimore A Ohio BaUwav Company, one of the 
 finest stractares of its kind in the United States. Some thirty miles below Parkers- 
 bnrg, the Big Kanawha potirs its swift moxmtain-cnrrent into the Ohio Kirer. Point 
 Pleasant, which is at the month, was the scene of one of the bloodiest of Indian bat- 
 tles, where in lTT-1 a thousand Americans defeated the flower of the Western tribes 
 under the leadership of the &mous Cornstalk, and thus sared the Ohio and Virginia 
 settlements from general massacre. 
 
 At the mouth of the Big Sandy Birer the Ohio touches the boundary of Ken- 
 tucky, and thenceforward defines the northern limit of that beantifol State, diTiding 
 its rolling blue-grass meadows from the fertile corn-fields of Ohio. Stretching back 
 from the rirer, on the Kentucky side, are magnificent parks. One sees no culti- 
 Tated fields, no fences, and but few trees, except a few patriarchal clumps of great 
 size here and there dotting the rich green expanse which stretches awaT a sea of 
 Itixuriant verdure. This is the unrivaled grazing-ground of America, and the wealth 
 of the i)eople is in their flocks and herds. Kentuckians justly boast that the finest 
 horses and cattle are raised in the beautiful "blue-gra^ country." and it is pretty 
 generally conceded that here is one of the rural paradises of the countrv. The 
 name gets its meaning from the blue tint of the grass when in blossom. This dis- 
 trict embraces some ten counties on the Ohio, stretching hack into the interior as far 
 as the Cumberland Biver : and here you may ride for miles over the richest green 
 pastures, and continually pass herds of choice cattle and horses. 
 
 This beautiful region was once known as the " Dark and Bloody Ground," and 
 was, in the early time of its settlement, covered in large part with a dense forest. 
 It was a famous and favorite htinting-grotind of the Indians, and here, long before 
 Boone and his heroic companions came to found a new home for the white man, 
 Indian tradition tells us, were fought some of the most savage battles between the 
 Indian tribes themselves, anxious for supremacy of a land so gifted with everything 
 that made life desirable — great profusion and variety of game, the purest and clearest 
 streams abounding with fish, and an alternation of majestic forest with rolling 
 meadow. Until 1747 no Anglo-Saxon had seen this fair region, but reports of it soon 
 spread into Virginia and Xorth Carolina. From the latter State in 1769 came Daniel 
 Boone, one of the most celebrated of our early pioneer heroes, who took possesion of 
 the land and annexed it to the white man's domain. He remained three years dur- 
 ing the first visit, and then returned to Xorth Carolina to take his family back to the 
 new hunting-ground he had discovered. Boone and the companions who soon joined 
 him made good their stand against their savage foes, and their feats are among the 
 finest things in the records of our border chivalry. The country is fuU of legends of 
 
THE OHIO AND UPPER MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 521 
 
 ■ "T» . 
 
 the grand old hunter and his exploits, and his name lingers on rocks and streams. 
 As immigration poured into Kentucky, the old hunter and Indian-fighter, who had 
 founded a commonwealth, became impatient of the too near approach of ciTilization. 
 He was now alone in the world. 
 80. shouldering his rifle, he went 
 to Misionri. where he could ex- 
 ist far away from the converse 
 of his kind. Here he died in 
 1820. at the age of eighty-nine. 
 The people of Kentucky have 
 since brought back the bones of 
 the old pioneer, and interred 
 them with honor on the banks 
 of the Ohio, not far from the 
 place he had for so many years 
 made his home. 
 
 There is probably no State 
 in the Union more agreeable in 
 its climate, more favored in the 
 richness and diversity of its soil, 
 and in the distribution of moun- 
 tain and stream, forest and open, 
 than Kentucky. Xot only is it 
 famous for its production of fine 
 stock, but it ranks very high 
 as a wheat and corn growing 
 State, and it need hardly be 
 said that its whisky has a na- 
 tional reputation. Kentuckians 
 are widely known for their hos- 
 pitality and cordial warmth of 
 disposition, and, as for physical 
 beauty, no such fine race of 
 men and women has been pro- 
 duced on the North American 
 Continent The largeness of 
 physique, so generally charac- 
 teristic of the people of Kentucky, has often been attributed to the limestone-water 
 which is common throughout the State. This seems more than probable, as the blue- 
 grass region, in which the depth and uniformity of the blue limestone stratum are 
 more pronounced than elsewhere, is specially noted not only for its splendid race- 
 horses and fine blooded cattle, but for the perfection of the human animals bred 
 
533 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 tliere. A representative collection of Kentuckian men and women would probably 
 display as noble physical examples of the human race as can be found in the world. 
 
 The two sides of the river, as one approaches Cincinnati, present a notable con- 
 trast, though each is beautiful after its kind. On one side are the luxuriant rolling 
 parks and meadows of the blue - grass region ; on the other, the hills and valleys 
 of Ohio, the latter rustling with corn and wheat fields, the former covered with 
 vineyards to the very summit. The grape-culture has become a very important 
 interest in Ohio, and the manufacture of wine is now one of the I'scognized in- 
 dustries of the State. Millions of gallons of both still and sparkling wines are 
 made annually, and sold all over the United States, some j)ortion of the product 
 even being exported to Europe. It was owing to tlic long and patient experiments 
 of Nicholas Longworth, of Cincinnati, that the wine industry of Ohio became 
 established on a permanently successful basis. The hill-sides on the north bank of 
 
 the Ohio River, with their sunny exposure and limestone foundation, seem to be 
 admirably suited to the growth of the best wine-grapes. The State of Ohio yields 
 now about one fifth of the wine product of the United States, and in quality it is 
 perhaps, on the whole, better than the yield of any other State, though California 
 and Missoui'i approach it nearly in this respect. The city of Cincinnati, known under 
 the mbriq'uet of the "Queen of the West," was first settled two years after the Dec- 
 laration of American Independence. It received its somewhat grandiose title from the 
 unfortunate General St. Clair, whose name was for a long time a spionym for defeat 
 and ill-luck in the Indian wars of the West. The name was given after the dis- 
 tinguished military order, now extinct, "The Cincinnati," to which most of our earlier 
 celebrities belonged. This christening rescued the infant city from the threat of a 
 burden wjiich it would have been hard to survive — the name of Lomntiville : L, the 
 first letter of the river Licking, which flows into the Ohio on the Kentucky side ; ».s, the 
 mouth ; anti, opposite to ; and vi.lle, a city. Tiie name of tiie autiior of this ingenious 
 
THE OHIO AND UPPER MISSISSIPPI. 523 
 
 appellation has not survived the wrack of time. There is a sentimental story con- 
 nected with the founding of Cincinnati. There were two other rival settlements on 
 the river, and all were striving for the possession of the United States fort. North 
 Bend had been selected, and work begun in laying the foundations of the post. It 
 seems that the United States officer in command fell in love with the wife of one of 
 the settlers, and very naturally the husband objected. So the latter moved out of 
 North Bend, and went to Cincinnati to live. By a strange coincidence, the gallant 
 soldier at the same time discovered that Cincinnati was a much more desirable place 
 for a fort, so he transferred all his materials, and marched his command to the new 
 site, thus establishing the beginning of the prosperity of the city, and leaving the 
 unlucky North Bend to its fate. For a number of years, a continual series of difficul- 
 ties with the Indians retarded the growth of the town, a fate it shared in common 
 with most other leading Western settlements. In 1800 the population had grown to 
 seven hundred and fifty, and in 1814 it was incorporated as a city. The building of 
 the Miami Canal in 1830 was a very important epoch in the progress of the place, 
 and during the next decade the increase of population was eighty-five per cent. The 
 first of the many railways now centering in Cincinnati, the Little Miami, was finished 
 in 1840, and so great a stimulus was thus added to the life of the city that in 1850 
 the population reached 115,436. Cincinnati by the last census was estimated at 255,- 
 708, which in connection with the suburbs would entitle it to about four liundred 
 thousand people, estimated from its stand-point as a metropolis. It is one of the 
 leading commercial centers of the West, and its principal industries are the manufact- 
 ures of iron, furniture, boots and shoes, clotliing, beer and whisky, machinery, and 
 steamboats. 
 
 Cincinnati has a frontage of ten miles on the river, and extends back about three 
 miles, occupying half of a valley bisected by the river, on the opposite side of which 
 are the cities of Covington and Newport, Kentucky. It is surrounded by hills about 
 four hundred and fifty feet in height, forming one of the most beautiful amjjhi- 
 theatres on the continent, from whose hill-tops may be seen the splendid panorama 
 of the cities below, and the winding Ohio. Cincinnati is principally built upon two 
 terraces, the first sixty and the second one hundred and twelve feet above the river. 
 The latter has been graded to an easy slope, terminating at the base of the hills. 
 The streets are laid out with great regularity, crossing each other at right angles, 
 are broad and well jiaved, and for the most part beautifully shaded. The business 
 portion of the city is compactly built, a fine drab freestone being the material chiefly 
 used. The outer highland belt of the city is beautified by costly residences which 
 stand in the midst of extensive and neatly adorned grounds, the favorite building 
 material being blue limestone. The suburbs on the hill-tops are very charming 
 and well worthy of a stranger's visit, rivaling, though entirely different in character, 
 the suburbs of Boston. The streets of Cincinnati are attractive, but there is no 
 great predominating avenue of travel, like Broadway, New York, or even Chestnut 
 Street, Philadelphia. Many of the public buildings and private business structures, 
 
624 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 however, will very well bear comparison with those of any other American city. One 
 of the most interesting objects in this city is the Tyler Davidson Fountain, a gift 
 by a public-spirited man of wealth. It stands on a freestone esplanade four hundred 
 feet long and sixty feet wide. In the center of a poiphyry-rimmed basin forty feet 
 in diameter is the quatrefoil Saxon porphyry base supporting the bronze-work, whose 
 base is twelve feet square and six feet high, with infant figures at each corner repre- 
 senting the delights of children in water. Bass-relief figures around the base represent 
 
 View on the Rhine. Cincinnati. 
 
 the various uses of water to mankind. From the upper ])art of the bronze base 
 extend four great basins, and from the center rises a column, u]) whose sides vines 
 ascend and branch at the top in palm-like frondage. Around this column are groups 
 of statuary ; and on its summit stands a gigantic female figure, with outstretched 
 arms, the water raining down in fine spray from her fingers. The work was cast in 
 Munich, and cost nearly two hundred thousand dollars. It plays during warm days 
 from morning till midnight, and is always the center of an admiring or a thirsty 
 crowd. 
 
THE OHIO AXD UPPER MISSISSIPPI. 525 
 
 Those whose thirst needs to be quenched by something different from water find 
 their stei>s drawn as if by some irresistible attraction to that portion of tlie city 
 known as " Over the Ehine," the celebrated German river being represented by the 
 Miami Canal. This, it need not be said, is the Teutonic part of the city. More 
 than a third of the people of Cincinnati are either Germans or of German ])arentage, 
 and •' Over the Rhine," where they princijially live, seems almost a foreign city to 
 the visitor. No language is spoken here but German, the signs and placards are all 
 In that language, and the aspect and atmosphere of the section are essentially foreign. 
 The business, dwellings, theatres, halls, churches, and especially the beer-gardens, 
 many of which are magnificent, all remind the Euroiiean tourist of Germany. There 
 are several fine parks in the city, the principal one called Eden, which contains two 
 hundred and sixteen acres, beautifully laid out. The general impression of the city 
 made on the mind of the stranger is that of a far more leisurely and serene life 
 than is associated with such cities as New York and Chicago, where the blood of 
 humanity seems to be at fever-heat from morn till set of sun, and each man straining 
 to outdo his rival in the race of enterprise. Below Cincinnati, again, the river- 
 voyager is greeted with the vision of beautiful vine-clad hills laid out in serried ranks, 
 and laughing with the promise of the ruddy-blushing vintage. The borders of Ohio 
 are soon reached, and succeeded by Indiana, the broad fields of Kentucky still spread- 
 ing on the other side of the river. 
 
 The navigation of the Ohio presents much that is curious and interesting. It is 
 obstructed by sand-bars and tow-heads, and the change in its depths is very remark- 
 able, the variation being not less than fifty feet between low and high water. In 
 early times the river was the safest highway, for here there was some chance of 
 defense from a crafty and treacherous foe. So emigrant families purchased or built 
 a flat-boat, and floated down-stream, closely hugging the Kentucky shore. These flats 
 were made of rough planks fastened by wooden pins to an oak frame, and calked 
 with tow. On reaching their destination the emigrants used the boat for house- 
 building. As population grew, and with it trade, keel-boats and barges came into 
 vogue, which could be propelled by sail if there was wind, or by long poles, the 
 crew walking to and fro, and bending over the toilsome tread-mill. Like the boat- 
 men of the Mississippi, those of the Ohio were a meri-y, warm-hearted, athletic, 
 and somewhat pugnacious race, fond of love-making, dancing, and fighting. They 
 talked a jargon half French, half Indian, and, when at night they drew up at the 
 river-beach, the sound of a bugle summoned the girls and youths of the adjoining 
 region for a frolic. Here, then, to the sound of a wheezing old fiddle, the merry 
 company would often dance all night on the top of tlie flat-boat, and if in tlie morn- 
 ing there were a few broken heads, why, no one harbored any ill-will over the matter. 
 These huge flat-boats still form an important feature of the river, doing much trade 
 in a vagabond sort of way. The canal-boats and barges, which also enter so largely 
 into the Ohio Eiver craft, are jjropelled by tugs, and these screaming and puffing 
 little monsters, specially in the vicinity of the larger towns on the lower part of 
 
53C OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 the river, may often be seen pushing a little flotilla up or down the stream. A night 
 landing is always an amusing sight. The negroes do most of the work, like the roust- 
 abouts on the Mississippi boats, and enliven toil by their amusing antics. In draw- 
 ing up to a stopping - place, an iron basket, filled with pine-knots, is swung over 
 the side, at the end of a pole, and then the merry blackamoors dance down the 
 plank with uncouth step and ringing laugh, burdened with the freight to be landed. 
 
 The city of Louisville, the most important place in Kentucky, is a large, cheer- 
 ful town, and the pride of the State. It is located on a site of great excellence, at 
 the Falls of the Ohio, where Beargrass Creek enters the river. The hills which line 
 the river through the greater part of its course recede just above the city, and do 
 not approach it again for more than twenty miles, leaving an almost level plain about 
 six miles wide, and elevated about seventy feet above low-water mark. The falls, 
 which are quite picturesque, may be seen from the town. In high stages of the 
 water they disappear almost entirely, and steamboats pass over them ; but, when the 
 water is low, the whole width of the river has the appearance of a great many broken 
 cascades of foam making their way over the rapids. To obviate the obstruction to 
 navigation caused by the falls, a canal, two and a half miles long, has been cut 
 around them to a place called Shippingport. It was a work of vast labor, being for 
 the greater part of its course cut through the solid rock, and cost nearly one million 
 dollars. The city extends about three miles along the river, and about four miles 
 inland, embracing an area of thirteen square miles. Louisville was settled by thirteen 
 families, who accompanied Colonel George Rogers Clarke in his expedition down the 
 Ohio in 1778, and to be descended from one of these Virginian pioneers is the high- 
 est brevet of honor for any Louisvilliau. The town was named Louisville in 1780, in 
 honor of the French king, whose troops were assisting the American colonies in their 
 struggle for independence. In 1828 the town had grown to have ten thousand inhab- 
 itants. The city is built on a sloping plane, seventy feet above low-water mark, with 
 broad, fine streets lined with imposing warehouses near the river, and beautiful resi- 
 dences farther back. The city has a peculiarly Southern aspect as comjiared with 
 Pittsburg and Cincinnati, which are not very far north in latitude. All the business 
 and social characteristics speak of people essentially different from those we have be- 
 fore met on the Ohio. Most of the residences are set back from the street, with 
 large, beautifully ordered lawns in front, rich with fiowers and shrubbery. The streets 
 are lined with shade-trees, and awnings may be seen at nearly every window, while 
 the easy-going, leisurely carriage of every citizen bespeaks a mind eminently contented 
 with himself, his city, and his State. Life in Louisville is socially very agreeable. 
 "Nowhere in the country," says a recent writer on the South, "are frankness and 
 freedom of manner so thoroughly commingled with so much of high-bred courtesy. 
 The people of Kentucky really, as Tuckerman says, illustrate one of the highest i)hases 
 of Western character. They spring from a hardy race of hunters and self-reliant men. 
 accustomed to the chase and to long and perilous exertion. The men of Kentucky, 
 while they are not afflicted with any peculiar idiosyncrasies, are intensely individual. 
 
THE OHIO AND UPPER MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 527 
 
 There is something inspiring in the 
 figure of a grand old patriarch like 
 Christopher Graham, who was living 
 a few years ago, then in his ninety- 
 second year, erect, vigorous, and alert 
 a« an Englishman at sixty. Bom in 
 the wild woods of Kentucky five years 
 before it became a State, he has lived 
 to see a mighty change pass over the 
 
 Commonwealth where he cast his fortunes ; and lie delights to tell of the days when 
 men went about their daily work rifle in hand, and when the State was constantly 
 troubled with Indian incursions. Mr. Graham was long noted as the best marksman, 
 with a rifle, in America, and has h;id in his eventful life a hundred adventures with 
 Indian, guerrilla, and bandit. The product of a rough, and, in some respects, barbar- 
 ous time, when shooting, swimming, leaping, wrestling, and killing Indians were the 
 only exercises considered manly, he is to-day a gentle old man, busied with works of 
 charity, and with the upbuilding of a fine museum of mineralogy in Louisville." 
 
 The trade of Louisville is very large. It is probably the most extensive leaf-tobacco 
 market in the world, and in live-^^tock and provisions it is one of the most important 
 
528 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 centers of the West. It is the great distributing market for tlio line whiskies wliich 
 are made in the State, the value of which amounts to many millions of dollars annu- 
 ally. It has also very thriving industries in pork-packing, the manufacture of iron, 
 leather, furniture, beer, cement, agricultural implements, etc., and since the removal of 
 the incubus of slavery it has grown in jjopulation, thrift, and wealth, in an astonish- 
 ing degree. 
 
 From Louisville to Cairo the Ohio flows through a fine, open country, much the 
 same on both sides of the river. Noble farms and evidences of great prosperity greet 
 the eye at every turn, and there is little to narrate of its rich and thriving sameness. 
 At Cairo, Illinois, the Ohio Eiver pours its waters, having skirted the southern por- 
 tion of this State for not less than fifty miles, into those of the mighty Mississippi. 
 
 At this place we are at the southernmost point of Illinois, a low, uninviting 
 city at the confluence of two great streams. The city was founded with the notion 
 that it would be a great commercial center, and large sums of money were spent in 
 improvements, mainly in the construction of levees to protect it from inundation. 
 But these anticipations have largely failed, and Cairo has about as small a share of 
 prosperity as could possibly fall to the terminiis of a great railway, and the point of 
 union of two of our most extensive highways of inland navigation. At a time when 
 the Mississippi is very high, one standing on a Cairo house-top would see a very 
 striking sight, and he might easily fancy he was looking out over a great lake ex- 
 tending as far as the eye could reach. 
 
 From Cairo to the confluence of the Missouri, the Mississii)pi river has many of the 
 characteristics of the former stream. It is treacherous, swift, and turbid. Its capri- 
 cious and tyrannical course is even more marked than below Cairo. It is for ever 
 making land on one side and tearing it away on the other. The farmer on the alluvial 
 bottom sees with dismay his corn-fields diminish, year by year acres eaten up and 
 carried away by the dark and implacable current. The pilots complain bitterly of 
 the constant changes in the channel, which are often difiBcult to detect. 
 
 What is known as the upper Mississippi properly begins or rather ends a few 
 miles above St. Louis. Why the Missouri and the Mississippi Rivers should have 
 two appellations it is difficult to understand. It is the Missouri which furnishes the 
 great volume of the river, and the upper Mississippi which should rather be regarded 
 as the branch— the mere confluent. The grand Missouri River, which is merged in 
 the " Father of Waters "' twenty miles above St. Louis, rises near the boundary of 
 Montana and Idaho, among the Rocky Mountains, and flows twenty-nine hundred 
 and eighty-eight miles before it meets the upper Mississippi. It is navigated as far 
 as the mouth of the Yellowstone River, on the border of Dakota and Montana, but it 
 may be ascended by very light-draught boats as high as the Great Falls, almost at the 
 very base of the mountains. The Missouri receives all the great rivers which rise on 
 the eastern declivity of the Rocky Mountains, wiih the one exception of the Arkan- 
 sas. The area which it drains is estimated at five hundred and eighteen thousand 
 square miles. 
 
THE OHIO AND UPPER MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 529 
 
 But if the Missouri contributes a far greater volume of water, and is geographic- 
 ally a more important stream than the upper Mississippi, the latter has claims on the 
 lover of beauty which are not surpassed by those of any river iu the known world. It 
 shares with the Hudson the supposititious credit of being an American Rhine, though 
 those who have seen all these celebrated streams assert that the German river can not 
 compare with either of its American rivals in natural beauty and picturesqueness. 
 
 The I'pptr Misx-im 
 
 near St. Loui.s. 
 
 While De Soto was the first to discover the lower Mississippi, the first white men 
 to reach the northern part of the river were the adventurous Frenchmen Pere Mar- 
 quette and the trader Joliet, in 1673. No settlement, however, was made on the site 
 of St. Louis till a period not far preceding the Revolutionary War. In 1762 a grant 
 was made by the French Governor-General of Louisiana to Pierre Laclede and his 
 partners, comprising the French Fur Comi)any, to establish trading-posts on the Mis- 
 sissippi, and two years later the princijial post was established at the junction of the 
 Missouri and upper Mississippi, and christened St. Louis. In 1803 Louisiana was 
 ceded to the United States, and in 1813 all that portion lying north of the thirty- 
 
 34 
 
630 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 third degree of latitude was organized as Missouri Territory. The city of St. Louis 
 was not incorporated till 1822. Like New Orleans, though in less degree, St. Louis 
 bears very distinct memories of its Frcncli ancestry and foundation in the character 
 of its people : and its creole element, among which there is much hereditary wealth, 
 plnmes itself on its genealogy with haughty exclusiveness. The city is perched high 
 above the level of the river, on the west bank, and is built on three terraces, the 
 first gently sloping back for a mile to a distance of about one hundred and lifty 
 feet above the stream. Back of the third terrace the surface spreads out in a broad 
 and beautiful plain. The corporate limits of the city extend eleven miles along the 
 river and about three miles back from it, making an area of twenty-one square 
 miles. The growth of St. Louis has been steady and remarkable, yielding in this 
 respect only to Chicago among American cities. The first census, taken in 17G4, gave 
 120 ; in 1811 it only reached 1.400 ; in 1850 it amounted to 74,439 ; in 1860, to 
 160.733; in 1870, to 310,864; and in 1880, to 350,518. So St. Louis is to-day 
 the sixth of the United States in ]>opulatiou. The older streets of this city are 
 narrow, but the new avenues are wide and handsome, and lined with splendid resi- 
 dences. The public buildings are imposing, the warehouses spacious, and the public 
 ])arks very attractive, though small. Among the notable places are Shaw's Garden, 
 with its extensive botanical garden and conservatory, and the Fair-Grounds, the latter 
 being made the object of .special care and cultivation, and measurably supplying the 
 lack of a large public ])ark. 
 
 As the natural commercial entrepot of the Mississii)pi Valley the commerce of 
 St. Louis is very large, the chief articles of receipt and shipment being breadstuffs. 
 live-stock, provisions, cotton, lead (from the Missouri mines), hay. salt, wool, hides 
 and pelts, lumber, tobacco, and groceries. St. Louis is the first city of the Union 
 in the manufacture of tlour. Vast as are its commercial interests, however, the pros- 
 perity of the city is chiefly due to its manufactures, in which it is surpassed by 
 a few cities only. St. Louis increased the value of her manufactured products from 
 twenty-seven million dollars, in 1860, to more than one hundred million dollars 
 in 1870 ; and in 1874. again, the latter amount was more than doubled. Th 
 complete census returns of 1880 will probably show an equally significant advance 
 since. St. Louis promises to be a most dangerous rival to Pittsburg in .steel and 
 iron manufactures. Enough good iron can be produced from ilissouri ores and 
 Illinois coal to supply the wants of the whole United States ; and it is claimed 
 by the jieople of St. Louis that pig-iron can be jiroduced for less money in Missouri 
 furnaces than m any other part of the country. This fact, of course, gives the St. 
 Louis iron and steel manufactures a great advantage. 
 
 A principal object of interest for the .stranger is the great St. Louis Bridge across 
 the Mississippi River, which may be justly regarded as one of the notable triumphs of 
 American engineering. It was designed by Captain James B. Eads, having been 
 begun in 1809 and completed in 1874. It consists of three spans, resting on four 
 piers. The ))ierR are c(nni)Osed of granite and limestone, and rest on the bed-rock 
 
 e 
 
THE OHIO AND UP PER MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 531 
 
 of the river, to whicli they were sunk througli the sand from ninety to one hundred 
 and twenty feet by the use of wrought-ii-on caissons and atmospheric pressure. Tlie 
 center span is live hundred and twenty feet, and the side ones are each five hundred 
 feet in the clear ; each of them is formed of four ribbed arclies, made of cast-steel. 
 The rise of the arclies is sixty feet, sufficiently l)igh to permit the passage of steam- 
 boats at all stages of the water. The bridge is built in two stories ; the lower one 
 containing a double car-track, and the upper one two carriage-ways, two horse-car 
 tracks, and two foot-ways. It passes over a viaduct of five arches (twenty-seven feet 
 span each) into Washington Avenue, where the lower roadway runs into a tunnel 
 four thousand eight hundred feet long, which passes under a large part of tlie city, 
 terminating near Eleventh Street. The total cost of the bridge and tunnel was over 
 ten million dollars. It is estimated that tlie annual saving to St. Louis by the facili- 
 
 St. Lo'iii'. 
 
 ties for transportation accorded by the bridge will amount to a million dollars. 
 Before the bridge was built, the levee on either side of the river was a kind of pan- 
 demonium. An unending procession of carts and wagons was always forcing its way 
 from the ferry-boats up the bank to the streets of St. Louis, the tatterdemalion drivers 
 for ever swearing at the kicking and restive mules. These wagons on busy days were 
 surrounded by hordes of incoming Texas cattle, which, wildly tossing their horns, ob- 
 jected to entering the gangways of the ferry, and often tossed their tormentors in the 
 air; and troops of mud-bespattered swine, numbers of which, constantly escaping, 
 would be pursued by the enraged horsemen employed to herd them, for block after 
 block. Added to this indescribable tumult were the lumbering wagon-trains of iron 
 and copper, making their way to the boat ; throngs of black loungers singing rude 
 plantation songs ; the nameless tide of immigration scattered about through all the 
 
533 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 adjoining saloons and l>ar-rooms ; and the gangs of roustabouts rolling boxes, barrels, 
 hogsheads, and bales, from morning to night. 
 
 On the East St. Louis side of the river the crowd awaiting transportation wa*; 
 always of the most motley sort. Here might be seen the (|uaintly attired German immi- 
 grant and his family ; the stalwart and bearded Texan drover, frowning contempt at the 
 sprucely dressed people who, mayhap, were having a sly laugh at him : poor whites 
 from the far South, rifle in hand, looking open-mouthed with amazement at the ex- 
 tent of brick and stone walls beyond tlie river ; excursion parties and tourists stand- 
 ing amid piles of luggage, baskets, hampers, etc. ; United States troops on the march 
 for some i-emote frontier post ; smartly dressed commercial travelers from Northern 
 and Western cities, vigorously smoking their cigars to kill the complex odors of a 
 miscellaneous crowd ; and tlie hundreds of negroes who enter into everv wharf-scene 
 of a Southern city — all furnishing amusing study for the curious spectator. East St. 
 Louis is a famous place in one particular. Its alluvial acres, which the capricious 
 river so often overflowed, furnished, in the language of Sir Lucius O'Trigger, "as 
 jiretty a piece of turf as any gentleman could wish for." Here was fought in the 
 olden times many a sanguinary duel, and its sobriquet was once "Bloody Island." 
 These associations are now of the past, and East St. Louis is a jirosperous town, with 
 a long stretch of busy wharves and huge gi'ain-elevators. 
 
 The scene at the St. Louis levee is very interesting to the stranger. Here one gets 
 a good idea of the extent and vivacity of the river-trade, when he sees something of 
 the multitude of boats, barges, and rafts which the Father of Waters carries on his 
 ample breast. Every conceivable variety of river-boat grates its keel against the St. 
 Louis levee — tlie floating palace, the strong flat-bottomed Red River packet, the cruisers 
 of the upper Mississippi and of the turbid Missouri, the barges in long procession 
 laden with iron, coal, lead, and copper ; and the huge cars of the Transportation Com- 
 ]iany, each one capable of receiving a hundred thousand bushels of grain ; while rafts 
 of every size and shape are scattered about like chips over the giant stream. Nearly 
 three thousand steamboat arrivals are annually registered at the port of St. Louis. 
 
 The journey up the Mississippi from St. Louis is delightfully made in one of the 
 capacious steamboats plying between that city and St. Paul. We find the scenery im- 
 mediately above St. Louis by no means picturesque, though it is serene and pleasing, 
 full of suggestion of jiastoral charm. One thing the eye instantly observes is the 
 ditference of the color of the water, its brilliant deep blue, as compared with the 
 ochre-colored fluid below the entrance of the Missouri. About twenty miles above St. 
 Louis, and three miles from the junction of tlie Missouri, on the Illinois shore, is the 
 city of Alton, jierched on a limestone blutf two hundred feet high. It is said that 
 this rock was once covered with Indian ])aintings and inscriptions, hut the effect of 
 time and weather has been to efface tliem. The islands which begin to thickly dot 
 the river have a look of greater age. and are covered Avitli a jirofuse vegetation and 
 fine trees instead of being mere Hiuil-l):iiiks. wiiich are n\ade and unmade every year. 
 The bluffs become more numerous as we proceed up tlie river, until Keokuk. Iowa, 
 
THE OHIO AND UPPER MISSISSIPPI. 533 
 
 is reached, where tlie steep bank lias the appearance of a range of hills with ravines 
 between. The river has now passed beyond the Missouri State Ime, and skirts Illinois 
 and Iowa. But a few words about a State of almost unmatched natural resources will 
 be appropriate before sailing away to the more northerly Mississippi region. 
 
 The climate of Missouri is mild and invigorating, the face of the country for the 
 most part high and undulating, and in places rugged and mountainous. Along the 
 banks of both the Mississippi and the Missouri there are rich alluvial lands, which 
 pass as one leaves the river valleys into rolling prairie of the richest soil for agricult- 
 ural uses. All kinds of fruits' and grains flourish luxuriantly on the farm-lands of 
 this State, and invite the immigrant by a promise of lavish return. Between the two 
 great river valleys, the country is diversified by the valleys of the subsidiary rivers 
 and intervening tracts of beautiful uplands, united with the valleys by gentle slopes. 
 Thick woods occur for the most part on the water-courses with which the State is 
 profusely supplied. Tlie prairie-lands occupy about nine tenths of the lands of the 
 whole State. Inviting as Missouri is in its admirable diversity of woodland and 
 prairie for the purpose of agriculture, it is in her mineral deposits that her charac- 
 teristic superiority rests. The iron, copper, lead, and coal beds of the State are prac- 
 tically inexhaustible, and out of them has already sprung a great industry, which is 
 destined to be quadrupled in yield and value before many years have passed. The 
 main ii'on-region of Missouri is situated in the southeastern and southern portion of 
 the State, and tlie most of it is tributary to St. Louis. The most remarkable part 
 of this mineral region is Iron Mountain, which is situated eighty-one miles south- 
 west of St. Louis, and connected with it by rail. The mountain is only two hundred 
 feet high, but the wonder is that it is a solid mass of the finest iron-ore, which 
 runs far down into the bowels of the earth. The whole region around is rich in 
 mineral. A few miles below Iron Mountain rises Pilot Knob, which is quite a stately 
 peak, towering far above its brethren of the Ozark range. It is claimed that the 
 county in which Iron Mountain and Pilot Knob lie contains more iron than any 
 other area of equal extent in the known world. The stores of coal match those of 
 iron. It was long ago estimated that the State had an area' of twenty-six thousand 
 miles of coal-beds between the mouth of the Des Moines River and the Indian Terri- 
 tory, and very extensive coal-fields have been lately discovered. In lead, Missouri can 
 also boast a magnificent richness of resources. In 1873 the production was twenty 
 million pounds, and since that time the production has been nearly doubled. The 
 area of the lead -region comprises nearly seven thousand square miles. Besides the 
 extensive copper-mines there have been made also, recently, large discoveries of zinc, 
 cobalt, nickel, tin, manganese, and marble. In the subterranean treasure-house of 
 Missouri the precious minerals do not seem to abound, but their absence is more 
 than comjjeusated by the wonderful richness of the useful metals. 
 
 Leaving this cursory survey of the mineral resources of Missouri, let us proceed on 
 our way up the river again from Keokuk, which is just over the Iowa line. Oppo- 
 site Keokuk in Illinois is the city of Warsaw, and close to Warsaw the Des Moines 
 
534 (JUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 River falls into the Mississippi, causing what are kuowii as the Des Moines Rapids. 
 These sometimes cause hindrance to freighting-vessels, but the imcket-steamers pass 
 through witliout difficult}'. Mississippi scenery at tliis point begins to give })romise 
 of the charm for which the upper river is famous. The water is deep blue, and 
 glides along with a placid, lazy flow, in marked contrast to the swift rush of the 
 lower river. Acres of lily-pads begem the surface with their green leaves and rich 
 blossoms. Groujts of islets, fringed witli rushes and clad with tree and grass, diver- 
 sify the stream which winds in and out between with a languid ripple, as if reluctant 
 to leave these fairy resting-places. The blufEs are striking, sometimes majestic in 
 their shape and elevation, and in early morning and late afternoon cast long shadows 
 far out over the serene waters. About seventy miles above Keokuk the Iowa River 
 joins the main stream, and fifty miles farther north again we reach Rock Island, the 
 largest of the Mississippi islands. It is three miles long, and has an area of about a 
 thousand acres, a portion of it being covered with fine forest-trees. On this island 
 are government fortifications and arsenals of a formidable character. The old arsenal, 
 which still remains, was the headquarters of General Scott during the Black Hawk 
 war. The new buildings are of an enduring and substantial character, and the 
 whole island has been laid out with so much skill and taste that it almost rivals 
 West Point as a charming military station. On the east or Illinois bank is the city 
 of Rock Island, on the west or Iowa side is Davenport, both beautiful little cities. 
 They are connected with the island by means of bridges, through which steamers pass 
 by means of draws. The rapids in the river here are quite dangerous, and the bridge 
 is an additional obstacle to navigation, which causes much complaint on the part 
 of the steamboat-men. There was a time when gangs of desperadoes were hired to 
 burn the bridges as fast as thej' were renewed, and they then had to be guarded 
 by United States soldiers. It is probable that ere long the railroad companies will 
 co-operate with the two cities in building a great bridge, with cast-steel spans not less 
 than five hundred feet long. 
 
 The shores of the river for many miles above and below Rock Island present the 
 same cliaracteristics on both sides of the stream. The whole surface of Iowa is roll- 
 ing and undulating, rising here and there into hills of considerable height. Illinois, 
 on the other hand, is only broken and undulating on the Mississippi, extending per- 
 haps fifty miles back from the river, and near its Wisconsin border. The middle 
 and southern portions of the State are flat prairie, presenting to the eye a great sea 
 of waving verdure from the first of May to the first of November. These rich lands 
 are the garden of the West, but they offer a very monotonous aspect. Yet they 
 are not without a striking sublimity of their own, for the ocean itself does not 
 convey a more vivid notion of boundless space. This will not long, however, satisfy 
 the mind, for change and diversity are essential to that cheerfulness of impression 
 which is the most important element in natural beauty. This suggestion is perfectly 
 reached in the scenery of the Mississippi River, and the glimjises we get of tlie outly- 
 ing countrv ou both banks. 
 
THE OHIO AND UPPER MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 535 
 
 Above tlie Kock Island rapids the bluffs become less hilly and more like Cyclo- 
 pean walls. The enormous masses of stone, stratified like masonry, impress the fancy 
 of the river vovaffer. and one is forced to think that time was when the level of the 
 
 river was the same as that of the bluffs, but that as they were gradually upheaved 
 the stream cut its way down, as if a tremendous saw. The Mississippi now for a 
 long distance averages a width of about two miles, and this expanse is studded with 
 islands infinitely varied in form and effect of beauty. On a fine summer's day the 
 
536 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 clear, glassj' surface reflects in its cool shadows every indentation on tiie face of tlie 
 bluffs, every streak of color, every tuft of grass that grows in a crevice, every busli 
 on the slope of the base, every tree on the summit. Beautiful effects of color and 
 of light and shadow continually delight the eye. 
 
 Just below Dubuque, which is three hundred and sixty miles above St. Louis, the 
 bluffs begin to be castellated and to assume very striking and suggestive shapes, out 
 of which the fancy easily makes quaint likenesses. At Dubuque the bluffs are nearly 
 three hundred feet high, but they do not fall sheer to the water's edge. At the base 
 there is a broad. level about sixteen feet above the river, and on this plateau are built 
 all the business-houses, hotels, factories, etc. Above, connected with paths that have 
 been cut through the solid limestone, are the streets of the dwelling-houses. The 
 approaches to these upper houses are mostly by stairs so steep tliat they might almost 
 be called ladders, a method of street transit almost unexampled among American 
 cities. But when one has climbed these steps a most delightful view is opened to the 
 eye. At the feet of the spectator is the quaint city with its absolute confusion of 
 lines, its walls with modern stairways or steps hewed in the rock, its queer muddle of 
 houses and bluffs reminding one of an old Italian city built on the vine and orange 
 clad terraces of a mountain-slojie ; far away over the broad and shining river rise the 
 bluffs of the eastern shore, with their sharp contrasts of green verdure and glaring 
 white, and beyond the hazy expanse of the prairie melting in the distance into the 
 sky, which, blue above, becomes paler and paler till it becomes an absolute gray. Du- 
 buque, which is the principal city of Iowa, is' also the oldest, the original settlement 
 having been made by John Dubuque, a French-Canadian trader, in 1788. Its per- 
 manent growth, however, did not begin till 1833, when the Indian title to the lands 
 was extinguished, and four years later it was incorporated as a city. On the lower 
 plateau are a number of fine buildings public and private, while the charming and 
 picturesque residences on the heights above are such as would make them instantly 
 noticeable, alike from their beauty of situation and the costliness and good taste of 
 the structures. This city is the commercial center not only for an extensive grain 
 and lumber region, but for the great lead -region of Iowa, Northwestern Illinois, and 
 Southwestern Wisconsin, many valuable mines being within the city limits. Two 
 important railways converge here — the Illinois Central and the Chicago, Dubuque, 
 & Minnesota — and another road- is now building which will largely add to the im- 
 portance of Dubuque. 
 
 A short way above Dubuque is Eagle Bluff', a landmark for the river-pilots, rising 
 five hundred feet high. Here the slope of the bluff so blends with the perpendicular 
 rise that it seems like an enormoiis wall descending from the forest above to the 
 water beneath. Sometimes the cliffs on this part of the river have been so changed 
 by the action of water as to present those great sloping banks called downs in Eng- 
 land, where a disintegration of the surface forms a thin soil on which a rich vegeta- 
 tion springs uj), clothing them in green from top to bottom. When the landscape is 
 tamed down by a thin, silvery mist, and a portion of the river is shut off from view. 
 
THE OHIO AND UPPER MISSISSIPPI. 537 
 
 fancy cheats the eye into the belief that the gleaming sheet of water is the begin- 
 ning of a romantic lake among the hills. At times the upper Mississippi is noticeable 
 for this lake-like appearance, owing to the comparative freedom of the stream from 
 islands, while in other places beautiful green expanses diversify the surface of the 
 water in great profusion. 
 
 Since leaving Dubuque the voyager 'has had the beautiful State of Wisconsin on 
 his right, Iowa still being on the west bank of the river. The former state is un- 
 surpassed for the gentle picturesqueness and charm of its scenery, and when bettei- 
 known it can not fail to be a favoi'ite goal for tourists and travelers. The surface of 
 the State is a high and I'olling plain, at times hilly but never becoming mountainous. 
 Wisconsin has on its west the ilississippi River and Minnesota ; on its north. Lake 
 Superior and the northern peninsula of Michigan ; on its east. Lake Michigan ; on 
 the south, Illinois. So it will be seen that most of the boundary of Wisconsin is a 
 water-line. The highest lands are those along the sources of the tributaries of Lake 
 Superior, rising here to a height of eighteen hundred feet above the sea - level. 
 From all the highland.s there are slopes by which the water is drained ofE in rivers 
 and lakes, with which important features of natural beauty the State is richly en- 
 dowed. In addition to a number of important rivers, innumerable small streams 
 water the surface, the waters, originating in springs and lakelets, being translucently 
 clear. Many of the rivers, large and small, have very picturesque cascades and rapids, 
 or run through narrow rocky gorges called ^'■dalles." Almost all the Wisconsin 
 sti'eams offer splendid water-power, which is extensively utilized for manufacturing. 
 But it is in her lakes that the picturesque characteristic of Wisconsin most impressively 
 exists. These are very numei-ous in the central and northern portions of the State, 
 and are from one to fifty square miles in extent, usually with high, cliff-like banks, 
 and very deep water, swarming with the best game-fish. There are parts of AViscon- 
 sin so studded with lakes that it would be difficult to travel five miles in any direc- 
 tion without finding one. A kind of wild-rice grows in the shallower portions of 
 these lakes, affording subsistence to innumerable water-fowl. Several very charming 
 watering-places have sprung up among the Wisconsin lakes, which are much fre- 
 quented by Western and Southern people. The rivers which pour into the Mississippi 
 River present bolder scenery, though not more picturesque, than the lake - region ; 
 among these the Wisconsin and St. Louis are specially noticeable. The mouth of 
 the Wisconsin River is broad, but the water is shallow and the channel obstructed 
 by sand-bars clad with rank vegetation. The sloping bluffs are covered with trees 
 and other vegetation to their very summit. All along the line of the Mississippi here, 
 and up the interior rivers, are wheat-growing lands of the greatest richness. Wiscon- 
 sin is one of the important wheat-growing States, and the cereal crops are distrib- 
 uted to market in two directions: the northern and eastern parts of the State find 
 their outlet in Milwaukee and Chicago by rail or lake-propeller ; the product of West- 
 ern Wisconsin selects the broad expanse of the Mississipjii as its avenue, and is car- 
 ried by barge from the different towns on the river to Dubuque and St. Louis. 
 
538 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 i[iUi;ii'viii. I :jrj 
 
 Near the moiitli of the 
 Wisconsin River is the city 
 of Prairie du C'liien, a tliriv- 
 ing place, but uot sijecially 
 interesting ; nor. in fact, is 
 there any to^vn of noticeable 
 character till we reach La 
 Crosse. But the river be- 
 comes more and more beau- 
 tiful as we proceed north- 
 ward, and the lover of nat- 
 ure does not regret the ab- 
 sence of large towns. The 
 bluffs of the river now alter- 
 nate from A yellowish-white 
 when they are exposed to 
 the full force of the sum- 
 mer sun, to a gi'acious green 
 when in spots sheltered from 
 exposure ; shrubs and trees, 
 and grass or moss, have 
 planted themselves, or fes- 
 toons of vines curl around 
 the fantastic spires and jut- 
 ting cornices of limestone. 
 The variety of scenery, the 
 wooded hills, and the lim- 
 pid purity of the water, as 
 clear as that of Lake Le- 
 man, conspire to make this 
 l)art of the river dithcult to 
 rival. The bluffs alternate 
 from massive wooded heights 
 to long walls of limestone, 
 with bases, and cornices, and 
 bartizan towers, deep cryjits, 
 and isolated chimneys. Oft- 
 en from the green heart of a 
 forest, a limestone pinnacle 
 cleaves the air like a colossal 
 alabaster needle: and then, 
 again, there will be a series 
 
THE OHIO AXD UPPER MISSISSIPPI. 539 
 
 of towers or dorijon-keeps with festoous of vines hanging over them like banner- 
 drapery. As we pass up the river with its constantly changing scenery, that delights 
 the mind with always fresh surprises of form, tint, and perspective, we see grand 
 forests Coming right down to the brink of the stream through openings in the bluffs, 
 and we expect every moment to behold the antlered head of a noble buck. 
 
 The city of La Crosse is at the junction of a little stream, built on a i)rairie 
 which breaks the usual bluff-like formation of the river-banks. Here the Indian 
 tribes, for hundreds of miles around, were wont to have their annual ball-playing, 
 that game which the French called La Crotise, and which has given its name to the 
 bustling Wisconsin city. The opposite side of the river is Minnesota, a State also 
 great in its product of grain and lumber. 
 
 La Crosse is a station on the Milwaukee & St. Paul and Chicago & Northwestern 
 Railways, as well as on three other minor routes ; and many a tourist makes the 
 tour of the upper Mississippi by steamboat from this point, for it is above La Crosse 
 that the beauty of the river displays its most striking attractions. The boat arrives 
 at this point at midnight, and during the summer season a great crowd is ordinarily 
 brought in by the railway - trains to make close connection with the river -travel. 
 The scene of transfer on the river, and the swinging off of the boat into the stream, 
 constitute a picturesque and vivid experience. 
 
 "Only the most placid amiability," says a writer in " Appletons' Journal," ''or 
 the most imiierturbable good-humor, is equal to this rousing at midnight when 
 traveling, however uncomfortable the interrupted sleep. I have had divers experi- 
 ences of it ; have seen tired, sleepy, fretful, stolid, hungry, cold, querulous, impatient 
 crowds making the hateful transit from one conveyance to another, but never saw 
 better brigands or bacchanals in a picture than the company now leaving the cars 
 for the upper Mississippi at La Crosse. Great torches were burning at each corner 
 of the wharf ; huge iron crates, mounted high in the air, filled with inflammable and 
 resinous pitch-pine, which in combustion sent out a lurid light. The faces of the 
 bewildered and disheveled passengers, reddened by the glare of those torches, might 
 have served a Hogarth in drawing or a Rubens in color. We saw in the red light 
 three tall white steamers lying at the wharf — great passenger and freight craft of 
 the Mississippi, very unlike steamers built for Eastern rivers, and yet more unlike 
 those in use on the ocean, so familiar to all the world since the Eastern exodus has 
 come to be so universal. They looked like great floating arks, standing out against 
 that background of impenetrable darkness, as mysterious and unfathomable as Tar- 
 tarean gloom. Each steamer had at leeward two great torch-lights, two crates project- 
 ing over the vessel's sides into the midnight blackness. These showed us the negroes, 
 in their scant costumes, bearing huge burdens of luggage or freight, and illuminated 
 the long arcades of freight-holds on the deck. (Mississippi boats, being required to 
 have shallow draught, are all built above water.) Beyond this we saw nothing. The 
 black night and the black, sluggish water rebutted the lurid rays, and there seemed 
 no power of refraction in the darkness beyond. It was only darkness made visible. 
 
640 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 " Wlien we were once on 
 board, we were thoroughly 
 roused from our sleepiness, 
 and made oblivious of fa- 
 tigue by the picturesqueness 
 of the scene. We leaned fai- 
 over the railing, watching the 
 black stevedores, alternately 
 red in the torch-light and 
 dusky in the siiadow, as they 
 came and went with their bur- 
 dens. They were crooning a 
 characteristic song, with an 
 elaborate chorus, which caught 
 in its meshes the voice of 
 every negro on the boats or 
 on the shore. As the laboi- 
 lightened, those on our boat, 
 which was between the oth- 
 ers, struck out boldly with 
 the words, while from the 
 steamers on each side of us 
 came the refrain. When the 
 time for separation arrived, 
 the singing grew noisier and 
 wilder, the chorus readier and 
 louder, the men no longer 
 busy keeping time with a 
 heavy tramp. The boat go- 
 ing down the river was the 
 first to depart. The distance 
 between us widened ; the cho- 
 rus-singers, in their jjictur- 
 esque costumes, passed along 
 beneath the gleams of our 
 torch ; the sullen waves of 
 the black river i-olled a few 
 white crests, left by her wake, 
 into the red light ; the white 
 steamer passed out of sight, 
 and the voices of the singers 
 died away in the distance. 
 
THE OHIO AND UPPER MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 541 
 
 Then, simiiltaueously with the other vessel, we left the wharf, parting company ; the 
 singers below grew louder and noisier, but the refrain came back softer and more and 
 more indistinct. We watched it on its majestic course till the stately vessel was out 
 of sight, till its red lights and its singing negroes were lost to eye and ear. 
 
 iiii;lllii|llllililililllliilil!*r«'jiih«^ 
 
 " I have seen many rare night-scenes in traveling, and remember strange mid- 
 nights. There was one, in a half-wrecked shi]i. lying on its side on Frying-])an 
 Shoals, off ('ape Fear : another, liemmod in by ice in the Susquehanna, off Havre de 
 
542 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Grace ; a third, speeding on burning cars through the woods of North Carolina ; a 
 fourth, passing througli flaming woods in Canada, with tlie story of Chicago's tragedy 
 ringing in the ears ; but, amid these aiul otiier vivid and starthng recollections, comes 
 this embarking from La Crosse on the steamer as one of the most weird, the most 
 memorable of all night-scenes in travel. Going to Eurojje for romantic travel ad- 
 ventures has not seemed a necessity in mv life. The one scene 1 have tried to paint 
 would have furnished material for poet or painter." 
 
 Above La Crosse the valley of the Mississippi widens considerably, and the hills 
 recede, leaving .long slopes of upland covered with fine old trees. The river is 
 studded with low islands, made of the alluvial washings from the banks, and mantled 
 with a dense covering of scrub-oak and cotton-woods. The bluffs are in many cases 
 six hundred feet in height, and of varied shape, but more often of the pyramidal form. 
 
 The fairy region of Trempealeau is one of the celebrated portions of the upper 
 Mississippi, and is only eighteen miles above La Crosse. This is also sometimes known 
 as Mountain Island, for its rocky height rises five hundred and sixty feet. The 
 French vot/ageurs, whose nomenclature, scattered all over our Northwestern region, is 
 full of poetry, gave it its musical and suggestive name, because it is a mont qui 
 fremp a Veau (mountain which dips into the water). Nothing can be more beautiful 
 than the approach to this picturesque place. The river lies like a lake in the 
 bosom of the hills, which are of the most varied beauty. The water sleeps below 
 these bright-hued heights, its glassy breast giving back all the charm of the environ- 
 ing amphitheatre of hills. The islets that nestle around the huge form of Trempea- 
 leau are covered with sedge which waves in the air with the least pufl: of wind. The 
 mountain is covered in many places with dense forests ; and then there are extended 
 spaces of barren rock, sometimes covered with minute lichen which gives the warm 
 effect of red sandstone, sometimes dazzling white like marble. This mountain-island is 
 one of the gems of the Mississippi, and furnishes a worthy study for the painter 
 and poet, as well as for the man of science ; and the effect is equally beautiful, whether 
 seen from the river below, from the clustering islets at the foot of the island, or from 
 the village of Trempealeau five miles above. Twenty-five miles above Trempealeau is 
 another noted spot called Chimney Rock, which is near Fountain City. This peculiar 
 mass of limestone on the right of the river is altogether detached, and has a very 
 striking resemblance to an old ruined castle. It rises from a dense growth of trees. 
 mostly majjle, and at the base of the bluff there is a sort of natural terrace very 
 broad and even, which is free from all vegetation or debris, and looks like the terrace 
 of some noble old bai'onial home. 
 
 But all other portions of the river yield to Lake Pepin in the variety and per- 
 fection of the natural conditions which have made it so celebrated. Here the Mis- 
 sissippi swells into a great expanse of water from five to twenty-five miles in width. 
 The water is very deej), and in the summer-time is so calm that the eye can never 
 discern any sign of a current. So easily do the side-wheel steamers pass through the 
 water that they appear to bo moving through the air. As we enter Lake Pepin on 
 
THE OHIO AND UPPER MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 543 
 
 Lake I\pin. 
 
 the south, we observe a high rock-point on tlie left shore, looking like ii sentinel 
 guarding the entrance to a land of enchantment. In the mid-distance another prom- 
 ontory of high and menacing aspect juts out into the lake, hiding from view the 
 sweep of the upper end. which here makes a bold curve to the eastward. The lake 
 is surrounded by a superb amphitheatre of hills, many of which have an eleva- 
 tion of five hundred feet. Nearly every variety of form is suggested, some being 
 square masses like the kee]) of an old castle : others are angular, others conical. 
 
544 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Here is the similitude of a pyramid, there the likeness of a castle, and youder the 
 semblance of a cathedral, or perhaps of the vertical wall of a chateau with perfect 
 moldings of cornice and plinth. Gently sloping mounds, covered with herbage and 
 
 i^ 
 
 05 
 
 trees, alternate with huge towi'riug bluffs, but each lias its own special beauty. All 
 of these does the delicate surface of the lake reflect with marvelous fidelity. Lake 
 Pepin has its stormy as well as its calm aspects, and the many sail-boats which traverse 
 its serene breast with gay and tlaunting sails are often wrecked or hurled on the 
 
THE OHIO AND UPPER MISSISSIPPI. 546 
 
 woody shores. Still, iu spite of the danger, the vicinity to Ht. Paul invites a great 
 number of yachts to try this sailing-ground, so attractive when wind and weather 
 favor. Though the river is romantic and interesting above up to St. Paul itself, the 
 voyager feels that what he has seen at Trempealeau and Lake Pepin so far transcends 
 everything else, it is hardly worth his while to make any more heavy draughts on his 
 resources of admiration. 
 
 St. Paul, the capital of Minnesota, is situated on both banks of the Mississippi, 
 twenty-two hundred miles from the mouth of the river. The city was formerly con- 
 fined to the left bank, the site embracing four distinct terraces, forming a natural 
 amphitheatre with a southern exposure and conforming to the curve of the river. 
 The city is mostly built on the second and third terraces, which widen into level, 
 semicircular plains, the last being about ninety feet above the river. The newer por- 
 tions of St. Paul are quite irregular, though the original town .was very systemati- 
 cally planned. The first recorded visit to the site of St. Paul was that of Father 
 Hennepin, the Jesuit missionary, who was there in 1680. Eighty-six years afterward, 
 Jonathan Carver came to the place and made a treaty with the Dakota Indians 
 in what is now known as Carver's Cave. The United States made their first treaty 
 with the confederation in 1837, and the first claim was entered by Pierre Parent, 
 a Canadian voyageur, who sold it two years later for thirty dollars. This claim is 
 the site of the principal portion of the city. At first St. Paul was merely a trading- 
 post, but ten years later it reached enough importance to be laid out as a village, and 
 in 1854, when it had only three thousand inhabitants, it obtained a city govern- 
 ment. The name of the city is derived from that of a log chapel dedicated to 
 St. Paul by a Jesuit in 1841. The surroundings are very picturesque. Two cav- 
 erns, known respectively as Carver's Cave and Fountain Cave, contain several very 
 large and striking subterranean cliambers, and. when fully explored, may prove 
 no less great natural curiosities than some of the better known grottoes. Several 
 beautiful lakes near St. Paul make the city quite a summer resort for followers of 
 gentle Izaak Walton, and the fine shooting which is found even in this portion of 
 Minnesota is another attraction for summer and autumn visitors. The city park, 
 two hundred acres in extent, is located on the shores of Lake Como, which is of 
 about four square miles, and affords good boating and angling. The city is the great 
 grain depot of the State of Minnesota, and these large interests have made St. Paul 
 one of the most important of the second-class cities of the West, its population 
 having already reached nearly forty-two thousand. 
 
 One of the attractions of St. Paul will always be found, by the lovers of Longfel- 
 low's poetry, in the Falls of Minnehaha on the Minnehaha River, an outlet of Lake 
 Minnetonka, whose waters are poured into the Minnesota not far from the junction 
 of that river witli tlie Mississippi. The famous falls are not what one would fancy 
 from reading the poem of "Hiawatha." The volume of water is not gi-eat, and it is 
 at its lowest that the effect of the fall is most striking. The chief beauty of the fall 
 is in the crossing of the delicate spiral threads of water, producing the effect of fine 
 
 36 
 
546 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 lace. The height of the falls is about sixty feet, and on each side of the top of the 
 precipice are numerous birch-trees, while the top of the gorge is crowned by a dense 
 forest. The veil of the falling water is so thin that one can see the rock behind it. 
 
 Fnlls of Minnehaha. 
 
 St. Paul is the end of tlie navigable waters of the Mississippi, but th(? beauty of 
 the river, though it is no longer plowed by steamboats, does not cease at this point. 
 Pilgrims of the picturesque always go up the river ten miles to visit the twin cities of 
 
THE OHIO AND UPPER MISSISSIPPI. 547 
 
 Minneapolis and East Minneapolis, formerly called St. Anthony, which face each other 
 on opposite sides of the river. These two cities were officially united in 1873 under 
 the title of Minneajiolis, St. Anthony now being commonly designated as East Min- 
 neapolis. They are built on broad esjjlanades overlooking the Falls of St. Anthony 
 and the river, which is bordered at various points by fine bliifls. The united city 
 has more than forty-six thousand inhabitants, being thus larger than St. Paul. An 
 immense lumbering business is done here, and the flouriug-mill interest has reached 
 gigantic proportions, surpassing that of any city in the country. The business pros- 
 perity of Minneapolis is in the main dependent on the falls of St. Anthony and the 
 unsurpassed water-power which it furnishes. This useful function of the falls has 
 impaired its picturesqueness, but it is still an interesting spectacle when viewed from 
 the suspension-bridge. From this point of outlook you see the grand rapids as well 
 as the cataract itself. The rapids are very fine, for the river here makes a descent 
 of fifty feet in a mile, and the jostling waters are heaved up in huge waves and sheets 
 of spray, while furious eddies boil and circle in the center. The falls themselves are 
 only eighteen feet high, and, without the rapids, would not specially satisfy the curi- 
 osity of the visitor. All along the shore are great masses of limestone slabs, which 
 have been split off from the sides of the bluffs by the combined action of the win- 
 ter ice and the swift current. 
 
 The source of the Mississippi, according to Schoolcraft, who visited it in 1832, is 
 found in a lake called by him Itasca, situated in Northern Minnesota, the waters of 
 whicli ooze from the base of the hills known as Hauteurs de Terre. At the outlet 
 of tlie lake the Father of Waters is only twelve feet wide and eighteen inches deep, a 
 feeble beginning for the greatest river in the world, if we except the Amazon. The 
 river flows through a series of small lakes and marshes, gaining gradually in width, 
 and tumbles over many rapids and falls on its way down the falls of St. Anthony. 
 The head-waters are miich frequented by hunters and trappers, who traverse the shal- 
 low and dangerous current in canoes, but only the most skillful hand with the paddle 
 can venture on the swift water till the Mississippi reaches the junction of Crow Wing 
 River, about a hundred and fifty miles above Minneapolis ; though, in certain stages of 
 the water, small steamboats ply for nearly a hundred miles above the regular head 
 of navigation. 
 
New Yort. from Fort Wadmeorth, Stnten Ist^and. 
 
 THE METROPOLIS AND ITS EASTERN SISTERS. 
 
 The situation and approaches of Hew York— Commercial and industrial greatness — Scenes in lower New York — 
 Characteristics of Broadway — Social life in New York— Tlie water-front — Central Park and its attractions — 
 Boston and its early colonial history — Importance as a commercial and manufacturing center — Boston Common 
 — Characteristics of the various portions of the city — Subm'bs of Boston — The City of Brotherly Love — Its 
 position among American Ciipitals — Scenes and features of interest — The lieauties of Fairmount Park — Baltimore 
 and its situation— Principal features of the city — Its monuments and its pleasure-grounds— The political center 
 of our country — Its foundation and beginnings — The national Capitol — The Wliite House and other public 
 buildings — Characteristics of Washington life. 
 
 We have already spoken at considerable lenoftli in other chapters of the principal 
 Western and Southern cities, aud we must now devote a chapter to the more impor- 
 tant cities' on our Atlantic sea-board — New York. Boston. Philadelphia, Baltimore, 
 and Washington. 
 
 New York, the commercial and financial center of tlie United States, as well as 
 the largest city in population, is the third great capital of the world, and is destined 
 ultimately, perhaps, to be its first. Though the po])ulation of New York City proper 
 is only 1,206,399, according to the census of 1880, yet measured by its metropolitan 
 aspects, which furnish the standard of estimate in fixing the ]iopulations of London, 
 
THE METROPOLIS AND ITS EASTERN SISTERS. 549 
 
 Paris, etc., it should be cousidered to include tiie cities of Brooklyn, Jersey City, and 
 Hobokeu, which are essentially parts of New York, though none of them are on 
 Manhattan Island. This would swell the number given above to very nearly two 
 millions of people. New York is the most universal and typical of American cities. 
 Here alone may be witnessed the settled phases of our American civilization, as well 
 as many of the most curious aspects of foreign life. The city now includes Alanhattan 
 Island ; Blackwell's, Ward's, and Eandall's Islands in the Bast Kiver ; Governor's, 
 Bedloe's, and Ellis's Islands in the bay, occupied by the United States Government ; 
 and a portion of the mainland north of Manhattan Island, separated from it by 
 Harlem Eiver and Spuyten Duyvil Creek. It is situated at the mouth of the Hudson 
 River, and its commercial advantages are unequaled. Its extreme length north from 
 the Battery is sixteen miles ; its greatest width is four and a half miles. Its area is 
 forty-one and a half square miles, or twenty-six thousand acres. The island on which 
 the city is mostly built is surrounded on all sides by water navigable for the most part 
 by the largest vessels, and the harbor is one of the safest, largest, and most beautiful 
 in the world. 
 
 Less than three centuries have elapsed since Henry Hudson, the Dutch navigator, 
 passed through the Narrows and disembarked from his little schooner on the present 
 site of the Battery. Traders followed Hudson, and in 1614 the future metropolis of 
 the New World consisted of a small fort on the site of Bowling Green, and four 
 houses. It was then called " Nieu Amsterdam," and the domain acquired was named 
 the New Netherlands. When it finally came into possession of the English in 1674, 
 and the name was changed to New York, the settlement expanded and grew with great 
 rapidity. The spirit of the staid and conservative Dutch burgher gave way to that 
 of the pushing and energetic Anglo-Saxon, a race distinguished in history for its 
 success in colonization, and the union of progress and stability which it stamps on its 
 institutions, both political and social. In 1699 the population had increased to about 
 6,000. At the beginning of the nineteenth century the number had reached 60,000, 
 and the city extended about two miles north from the Battery ; in 1830 it was 
 203,000 ; in 1840, 312,710 ; in 1850, 515,000 ; in 1860. 805,000 ; and in 1870, 943,000. 
 Until the latter part of 1873 the northern boundary ended at the Harlem River, but 
 in that year the towns of West Farms, Morrisania, and King's Bridge, hitherto a part 
 of Westchester County, were annexed to the advancing metropolis. 
 
 Perhaps no harbor in the world is more picturesque, with the exception of the 
 Bay of Naples, than that of New York. From some elevated point on Staten Island 
 the observer may gaze on a vista of natural beauty, heightened by suggestions of 
 human interest and activity, which alike charms the eye and stirs the imagination. 
 The outer bar is at Sandy Hook, eighteen miles from the Battery, and is crossed by 
 two ship-channels from twenty^-one to thirty-two feet deep at ebb-tide, and from 
 twenty-seven to thirty-nine feet at the flood, thus admitting ships of the greatest 
 draught. The Narrows is the name of the strait by which the inner bay communi- 
 cates with the outer or maritime bay. and is formed by the ai)]iroaeh of the shores 
 
550 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 of Long Island and Stateu Isl- 
 and within a mile of each oth- 
 er. This strait may be likened 
 to a gate- way from the ocean, 
 while standing like huge sen- 
 tinels to guard the watery pass 
 are Forts Wadsworth (formerly 
 called Richmond) and Tomp- 
 kins, on the verge of the Staten 
 Island shore, and Fort Hamil- 
 ton on the Long Island shore. 
 As the inward -bound traveler 
 sails fairly within the bay, the 
 picture becomes very striking. 
 He is now within the heart 
 of a fleet of stately ships and 
 steamers, plowing a surface cut 
 by all the keels of the civil- 
 ized world. In the foregi'ound 
 there are patches of green, that 
 in the summer sun sparkle like 
 great emeralds in a silver set- 
 ting — Bedloe's, Ellis's, and Gov- 
 ernor's Islands, whereon are de- 
 fensive fortifications. Bedloe's 
 Island being the proposed site 
 of the colossal statue of Liber- 
 ty, the gift of the French peo- 
 ple, now being sculptured by 
 Bartholdy. The traveler looks 
 on a map every item of which 
 is eloquent with busy life. In 
 front looms the great metropo- 
 lis, with its miles of roofs and 
 broken outlines of spires, tow- 
 ers, and domes, speaking of re- 
 ligion, thought, art, trade, and 
 industry, developed under their 
 busiest conditions. On either 
 side, as far as the eye can reach, 
 the water-line is fringed with 
 a dense forest of masts from 
 
THE METROPOLIS AND ITS EASTERN SISTERS. 565 
 
 phases the latter is far iu advance. For example : Bostox, the capital of Massachu- 
 setts, and the principal city of Xew England, contests with New York the dignity of 
 being the intellectual capital of our country. Indeed, as the home of men distin- 
 guished in letters, it is without a rival, and it justly plumes itself on the great names 
 which are associated with its past and present. This is perhaps the peculiar distinc- 
 tion of Boston, though it is sad to reflect that death is swiftly lessening the number 
 of the brilliant men who have contributed so much to the honor of American letters. 
 Boston, too, has intertwined with its past many of the most pregnant facts in our 
 colonial history, as the center of those Puritan influences which have done so much 
 to mold the character of the people and advance our mental and material greatness. 
 
 This city is situated at the western extremity of Massachusetts Bay, and is the 
 seventh city of the country in size, the population by the last census being 362,535 
 souls. The city embraces Boston proper, East Boston, South Boston, Eoxbury, 
 C'harlestown, Brighton, and Dorchester. It is connected with Charlestown by the 
 Charles River Bridge and with the city of Cambridge by the West Boston Bridge. 
 No city in the country is so noted for the beauty of its suburbs, which embrace the 
 cities of Chelsea, Somerville, and Cambridge, and the towns of Revere, Brookline, and 
 others, all of which contain many splendid residences, the homes of persons doing 
 business in Boston. 
 
 The first settlement of Boston was made in 1630 by a portion of the company 
 which came over with John Winthrop from England that year. The Indians had 
 called the peninsula on which Boston stands Shawmut, or "Sweet Waters," on account 
 of the purity of the bubbling springs. The Puritans at first named it Trimountain, 
 but afterward changed the title to Boston, from that old city of the Lincolnshire 
 Pens, England, to which the hearts of the exiles reverted with homesick longings. 
 Thus began to exist Boston with its teeming memories, its dramatic history, its many 
 picturesque and romantic aspects. No one now approaching the city from the bay can 
 distinguish the three hills on which Winthrop and his followers perched themselves. 
 Boston wears the aspect of a broad flat cone, with a wide base lining the water's edge 
 for miles on either side, ascending by a gradual plane to the apex afforded by the 
 State-House. Probably no city iu the country is so irregular in its details, though 
 the crookedness and confusion of the streets of the old city have been somewhat recti- 
 fied by the rebuilding of that portion which was destroyed in the great fire of 1872. 
 The current tradition is, that the streets of old Boston were built according to the 
 tracks of the ancient cow-paths, made by the cattle of the early colonists in going to 
 and from the watering-places. 
 
 To give even an outline of the very interesting colonial history of Boston would 
 consume many pages, and require more space than can be given for such a purpose, 
 but a brief glance at some notable events caii hardly be avoided. From the very 
 first Boston was the theatre of fierce religious dissension, and the people showed, 
 even in early times, a most resolute front against royal authority. When the English 
 rose against James II at home, Boston threw over the royal government and set up a 
 
566 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 new one. The first witcli hung in New England, about forty years before the Salem 
 witchcraft delusion, was no less a personage than the sister of Governor Bellingham. 
 who is introduced in Hawthorne's romance of " The Scarlet Letter," and she was a 
 sacrifice to Boston superstition. Religious and political affairs were so intermixed 
 that the clergy practically ruled the colon3\ During King Philip's War, in 1675, 
 Indian scalps were first brought to Boston as trophies, and it is said that Boston 
 suffered losses five times greater than any other place in the colony. A printing- 
 press was established in 1676 by a graduate of Harvard College, and the first books 
 printed in New England were histories of the Indian war, by Hubbard and Mather. 
 In 1679 a fire occurred, destroying eighty dwellings and seventy-nine warehouses, 
 involving a loss of two hundred thousand pounds sterling, which gives some idea of 
 the growth of Boston at this period. In 1720 the linen manufacture was introduced 
 
 View of Boston from the Hnrborr. 
 
 by some Scotch-Irish settlers, and throve wonderfully. This was the beginning of 
 the great manufacturing interest in the textile fabrics which has made Boston and its 
 vicinity so important. A tremendous riot occurred in 1747, owing to the impressment 
 of citizens by Commodore Knowles, a naval commander, for the stubborn Puritan 
 spirit was always alert against infringement of its rights. Eight years later, and sev- 
 enteen days after the great earthquake at Lisbon, Boston was dreadfully shaken by the 
 severest earthquake ever felt in New England. In 1761 came the first rumblings of 
 the American Revolution in the "writs of assistance" which were tried in Boston. 
 At the first news of the intention of England to apply her revenue system to the 
 colonies, Boston made a fierce stand. Then came, a few years afterward, the Boston 
 massacre of 1770 and the destruction of the tea in 1773. Events crowded fast on 
 one another, and in 1775 about four thousand British troops and several armed vessels 
 
THE METROPOLIS AND ITS EASTERN SISTERS. 567 
 
 had collected there. It was not long before the battles of Lexington and Bunker Hill 
 set all tlie colonies in an unquenchable flame of rebellion, and so was begun that war 
 which added a new and great nation to the peoples of the world. Boston may indeed 
 be proud of the part which she took in the matter, for her citizens did more than 
 any others in the country to fan the first sparks of resistance into active and enduring 
 life. Faueuil Hall, known as the " Cradle of Liberty," and other historic buildings, 
 are still preserved with the most scrupulous care. 
 
 The approach to Boston by water shows many natural beauties, which have been 
 heightened by artificial adornment. The narrow harbor curves on either side, and is 
 dotted with islands. Long stretches of beach are alternated with steep jutting prom- 
 ontories, until the coast of the bay finally vanishes into the thickly settled suburbs 
 and the city itself. The islands are crowned with fine forts, light-houses, hospitals, 
 almshouses, and other public institutions, and fill a pleasing part in the landscape. 
 Fort Warren and Fort Independence, with their lofty ramparts and deep-green em- 
 bankments, stand among the most important fortresses in the country. A glance at 
 the Boston shipping, while it does not reveal the forest of masts and funnels which 
 enliven the port of New York, gives evidence of a busy commerce. One characteristic 
 of the view is observed in the multitude of many-windowed factories, and tall, smoke- 
 stained chimneys, which indicate the weaving of textile fabrics, the fruits of skilled 
 handiwork, and the manipulation of the metals. The total value of the commerce 
 for the year ending January 1. 1880, was 1103,679,935, the imports being $48,552,309, 
 and the exports $55, 127, 626. Boston then had 3,521 manufactui-ing establishments, 
 in which was invested 142,750,134, and out of which came a product of $123,366,137. 
 The total arrivals and departures at the port were 16,225. 
 
 By passing from the eastern to the western side of the city, we observe the results 
 instead of the processes of industry. Ascending some point of vantage, like a church- 
 steeple, the beholder looks out on a striking scene of brightness, beauty, and liixury, 
 where all the gifts of nature in elevation, declivity, and outline, have been enriched 
 by artifice. In the foreground lies the Public Garden, a gem of a park, adorned 
 with thriving trees, lawns, flower-beds, fountains, statues, etc. Beyond it, almost 
 hidden in the foliage, is the Common, rising by a graceful plane to the State-House 
 at its summit, here and there interspersed with hillocks, whose sides peep through 
 openings in the trees, and at whose base are broad, open levels, for military manoeuvres 
 and out-door games. Behind the Common you catch glimpses of the steeples and 
 public buildings of Tremont Street ; the liistoric steeples of Old South and Park 
 Street Church ; the United States buildings and the magnificent Masonic Temple. 
 On the left is Beacon Street, its buildings jnled irregularly one above another, of 
 brick, brown-stone, and marble, and of the greatest diversity of color and form. 
 This is the street of the family and moneyed aristocracy of Boston. Dear to every 
 resident of Boston is the historic Common, around which cluster so many colonial 
 memories. Here the Puritan cows fed, jiiid the Puritan train-bands drilled ; here 
 witches were hung, and women with scarlet letters stitclied on their gowns expiated 
 
568 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 their shame before the stern colonists ; here were fierce tussles with Indians, and here 
 many a Puritan gallant crossed sword-blade with his rival ; here George Whitefield 
 poured out liis melting eloquence, and the old magistrates in their starched I'uffles held 
 higli festival ; here, in later times, the patriots hung their red-coat foes in effigy ; and 
 here, according to the old chronicler, was the spot "where the gallants, a little before 
 sunset, walk with their Marmalet Madams till the bell at nine-o-clock rings them 
 home." 
 
 The C!ommon has been for more than two centuries the great promenade for 
 Boston, the trysting-place of lovers, the play-ground of the children. It consists of 
 about fifty acres, and is surrounded on all sides by stately squares of houses. It is 
 
 Piiblii' Gardtn^ Boston. 
 
 of great natural beauty, and its noble elms, some of which are two centuries old. rise 
 to a great height and form grand natural arches, while the turf is as soft and thick 
 as the nap of the costliest carpet. It sweeps down the slope of the hill, on the edge 
 of which is Beacon Street, and reaches its southern limit at Boylston Street. The 
 effects of the foliage and grass in this charming little park can not be surpassed 
 anywhere, and the maze of irregular shaded avenues is very picturesque. Memorials 
 of its age and teeming history everywhere abound. In one corner is a hoary old 
 grave-yard with weather-stained, broken tombstones, and imbedded vaults, whose 
 padlocks are rusted. Hard by the Frog-Pond, the lakelet in the Park, the "Great 
 Elm," a remarkable landmark, stood till 1876, when it was blown down. This tree 
 was said to liave antedated the settlement of the city. An iron railing protected it. 
 
THE METROPOLIS AND ITS EASTERN SISTERS. 569 
 
 and an inscription told of its venerable age, its historic interest, and its perils by 
 wind and storm. This grand old tree was nearly twenty-two feet in circumference, 
 and more than seventy feet liigh, while the spread of its branches was eighty-six feet. 
 On Flagstaff Hill, overlooking the Pond, is the costly Soldiers' Monument, ninety 
 feet high, with four statues of heroic size at the base, and surmounted by a colossal 
 figure of America, standing on a hemisphere and guarded by four eagles with out- 
 spread wings. Near Park Street is the beautiful Brewer Fountain, of bronze, east in 
 Paris, and adorned with statues. West of the Common, on the Charles Kiver, is 
 what is known as the Back Bay, ground reclaimed from swamp within the last two- 
 score years. This is a quarter of elegance, luxury, and taste, where the wealth of 
 this generation has built many of the most sjilendid residences and other structures 
 to be seen in Boston, though it lacks the historic dignity and sedateness of other 
 quarters. This region stretches for about two miles back from Beacon Street to Rox- 
 bury, and may be called the Fifth Avenue portion of Boston, which it resembles in 
 lavish elegance. Stately without being cheerless, new but not glaring, the substan- 
 tial New England character is impressed on its solid and graceful blocks, its broad, 
 airy streets and squares. A quarter much affected by the staid old families, the blue 
 blood descended from the Mayflower pilgrims, is the Beacon Hill district, and such 
 streets as Charles, Mount Vernon, Chestnut, and Louisburg Square. These are shaded 
 by noble elms, and the houses have a look of old-fashioned elegance and solidity. 
 
 Not far from this tranquil and aristocratic neighborhood you find the business 
 quarter begins. You only go down the sloj^e of the hill to be sucked in the tide of 
 trade that rushes through Tremout Street, and find yourself in the midst of official, 
 commercial, and historic Boston. Tremont, Winter, and Washington Streets are the 
 main thoroughfai'es for retail business, State Street the financial center, and in Pearl, 
 Franklin, Chauncey, and Sumner Streets are many of the great wholesale establish- 
 ments. Between Tremont Street and the bay are many of the memorable spots and 
 edifices around whicli cluster associations of the most noteworthy events in Boston 
 liistory, as well as the most important public buildings. The historic relics are found 
 scattered over the northern and eastern end of the peninsula, but the tortuous region 
 at the head of State Street and the northern limit is the most thickly studded with 
 memorable spots and buildings. Among these old structures redolent of the past are 
 King's Chapel ; Old South Church, which BurgojTie turned into a cavalry-school for 
 his troopers ; the Old State-House, which looks down sedately on the haunts of the 
 brokers and money-changers ; and Faneuil Hall, where the Boston burghers were first 
 roused to lesistance against tlie exactions of the crown. Faneuil Hall is a large, 
 square, venerable-looking building, and is still used for the original purposes, as a 
 market-place beneath, and for public assemblages above. In the great public hall, 
 which has resounded to the eloquence of our great men from the time of Harrison 
 Gray Otis and Samuel Adams down to our own day, are Imng a large number of 
 valuable portraits of much historic interest. 
 
 The suburbs of Boston are unequaled among American cities, and among these 
 
570 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 HlillllHIII|llllllllllllnllMllllllllllllllllW II 1 11. 
 
 Brooklinc is perhaps the 
 most beautiful. The am- 
 }iliitlieatre of hills, in whicii 
 the peniusula is set as in a 
 frame, is circular, and is so 
 undulating and irregular as 
 to furnish the most pictur- 
 esque opportunities for fine 
 effects in landscape-garden- 
 ing, which suburban resi- 
 dents have improved to tlie 
 utmost. Nature has most 
 richly endowed this series 
 of hills, for it consists of 
 circles of uneven elevations 
 one without the other ; and 
 from many of the farther 
 summits the city, with the 
 yellow dome and glittering 
 cupola of tlie State-House 
 at the apex, may be seen 
 through its extent, inclosed 
 in a magnificent framework 
 of foliage. The view is sjje- 
 cially striking from Mount 
 ^\'arren, where General A^'ar- 
 ren is buried, Mount Hope, 
 Blount Dearborn, and Mount 
 liowdoin, the latter of wliich 
 stands just south of the old 
 town of Eoxbury. All the 
 suburbs are fairly bedded 
 in foliage, many old forest- 
 trees, as well as many due 
 to careful cultivation. The 
 arts of lawn and hedge cult- 
 ure, and of garden decora- 
 tion, have been most suc- 
 cessfully prosecuted. In the 
 midst of large areas of lawn 
 and copse you w'ill sec now 
 square, old-fai-liioned, slop- 
 
THE METROPOLIS AND ITS EASTERN SISTERS. 571 
 
 iiig-roofed mansions of n century since : now modern and fanciful residences with 
 French roofs and towei-s. and an amplitude of verandas — but all of them admirably 
 kept. There are some estates in these suburbs which would not shame an English 
 noble whose ancestral halls had come down to him from the Conquest, with their 
 roods of hedge, broad avenues passing a half-mile through a park before reaching the 
 house, their large conservatories imd cottages, their close-cut terraces and blooming 
 gardens. Any of the suburbs of Boston may be reached in half an hour by rail from 
 the heart of the city — a peculiar advantage which, aside from their natural beauty, 
 makes them eminently desirable as places of residence. At Charlestown is the Bun- 
 ker Hill Monument, occupying the site of the old redoubt on Breed's Hill, and 
 commemorative of the eventful battle fought on June 17, 1775. This is a massive 
 obelisk of Quincy granite two hundred and twenty-five feet high, from the observa- 
 tory at whose height is obtained a splendid view of Boston and the environs. The 
 monument was dedicated in 184:3, and on this occasion Daniel Webster made the 
 greatest of his orations. Near by is a fine statue of General Warren, who was killed 
 on the spot. 
 
 That suburb, however, which will recall the most interesting associations, is the city 
 of Cambridge, the seat of Harvard College and the home at different times of many 
 of the men who have most distinguished themselves in American letters. It wears the 
 same aspect of umbrageous beauty, si^acious streets, and fine residences characteristic 
 of the other suburban places. Harvard University stands in it« center in a shady park, 
 and its various edifices are grouped without any apparent order. This is the oldest 
 and most richly endowed institution in the United States. It was founded in 1638, 
 by the Kev. John Harvard, and now consists of fifteen buildings, from two to five 
 stories in height, with an average attendance in all its departments of fifteen hundred 
 students, to whom there are two hundred and twenty instructors. The college-yard 
 is about fifteen acres, thickly shaded with large elms, though there are about sixty 
 acres of ground belonging to the university in Cambridge. One of the notable places 
 in Cambridge is the Longfellow home, memorable as having been the headquarters of 
 General Washington during the siege of Boston, as well as the life-long home of the 
 most honored of our poets. It is a large square wooden mansion with a veranda, 
 under wide-spreading elms, on one side, a garden behind, and an extensive lawn in 
 front. A little farther on is " Elmwood," the ancestral home of the poet Lowell, 
 which is also an old Kevolutionary relic. Among the historic mementos is the 
 Washington Elm, thought to be three hundred years old. under whose branching 
 foliage Washington stood when he formally took command of the colonial army in 
 1775. 
 
 The visitor to Boston, after having experienced the feverish energy and movement 
 of New York, is conscious of a certain leisure and sedateness of manner in the people, 
 a certain calm satisfaction in themselves and in their own ways, which, though it 
 may suggest a tincture of provincial spirit, is not without a great charm of its own. 
 Something, too, of a similar atmosphere is observable in the Quaker City, though the 
 
573 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 latter has a very distinct physiognomy of its own. Philatlclphia, it may be said, is 
 only less notable for its wealth of Revolutionary memories than Boston. 
 
 Philadelpaia is the largest city in the country in area and the second largest in 
 population. It lies between the Delaware and Scliuylkill Rivers, six miles above their 
 
 \m.HM 
 
 ^I'f ''l^ 
 
 
 
 13 
 
 (5 
 
 ^m^ 
 
 .-h-fc-R^Si 
 
 til 
 
 -Sin "i; ■ 
 
 Ji^ 
 
 
 lilllllllilllJiailiilllillllilllillMiililllM^^^^^^^^ 
 
 iPW;:iil, 
 
 junction, and ninety-six miles from the Atlantic Ocean. 'I'lic city is twenty-two miles 
 long from north to south, ami from five to eiglit miles wide, (lie total area being a 
 little more than one hundred and twentv-two si|Uarc niiks. within which there are three 
 
THE METROPOLIS AND ITS EASTERN SISTERS. 573 
 
 hundred and fifty miles of paved streets and more buildings than any other city in 
 the country. It is the only great city in our midst where the thrifty artisan can ac- 
 quire the ownership of his own home. This is owing to the cheapness of city-lots, and 
 a peculiar system of building associations, which enable the poor man to have a house 
 erected for him, and which give him the privilege of paying for it by installments. 
 
 This city was founded in 1682 by William Penn, who brought over a colony of 
 Quakers and purchased the site from the Indians. Immigration was so rapid that in 
 two years the new city had twenty-five hundred souls. Philadelphia prospered so 
 greatly that it was the most important city in the country during the colonial jjeriod 
 and for a quarter of a century after the Revolution. The first Continental Congress 
 assembled here (in 1774), as did all the subsequent congresses during the war. It was 
 in Philadelphia that the Declai'ation of Independence was made and issued, and here 
 that the convention assembled which formed the Constitution of the United States in 
 1787. It continued the seat of the government of the country till 1800, when it was 
 transferred to New York, where Congress had its seat till the establishment of the 
 national capital at Washington. The population, which in 1800 was 41,220, had 
 increased to 121,376 in 1850, to 565,529 in 1860, and in 1880 the census returns gave 
 847,170. The commerce of Philadelphia is large and increasing, but manufactures are 
 its chief source of wealth, and in these, according to the census of 1880, it is the 
 second city of the Union, New York alone surpassing it. According to the last 
 returns the number of establishments was 8,377, i-epresenting an investment of 
 $170,495,191 in capital. In its proportion of heavy manufacturing it jsrobably ranks 
 next to Pittsburgh. The products of the year 1880 were valued at $304,591,725. The 
 leading industries are the manufacture of locomotives and all kinds of iron-ware, 
 ships, woolen and cotton goods, shoes, umbrellas, and books. In commerce Philadel- 
 phia ranks fourth among the cities of the United States. 
 
 There are but few historical monuments left standing in Philadelphia. The vener- 
 able Christ Church in Second Street was built in 1727, and, though now licmmed in 
 by prosaic brick and mortar, it is well worth a visit, as it is a stately and beautiful 
 memento of the colonial age. Independence Hall, erected as a State-House in 1729, is 
 in Chestnut Street, and to this the patriotic pilgrim will turn with peculiar interest, 
 for here was the Declaration of Independence adopted. 
 
 The room in which this famous event occurred presents the same appearance now 
 as it did at that time ; the furniture is that used by Congress ; and there are a statue 
 of Washington and numerous portraits and pictures. The west room is a depository 
 of many curious Eevolutionary relics. In it is preserved the old "Liberty Bell," the 
 first bell rung in the United States after the passage of the Declaration. In Congress 
 Hall, in the second story, AVashington delivered his farewell address. In Carpenter's 
 Hall, a few blocks below on the same street, assembled the first Congress of the United 
 Colonies in 1774. Both these buildings are most carefully preserved. 
 
 Philadelphia, from the plan on which it is laid out, may be the most comfortable 
 and convenient of cities, but its streets uniformly crossing each other at right angles 
 
i74 
 
 OUR XATIVE LAND. 
 
 certainly lack the 
 picturesque element. 
 There are. however, 
 on these stiff and nar- 
 row thoroughfares a 
 great number of no- 
 ble edifices, public 
 anil private, temples 
 of charitv, religion, 
 industry, and art, 
 which go far to re- 
 deem the monotony 
 of the streets. The 
 great business thor- 
 oughfare is Market 
 Street, and here the 
 bulk of the whole- 
 sale traffic, both for- 
 eign and domestic, 
 is transacted. The 
 retail business of the 
 city is mostly con- 
 centrated on Chest- 
 nut. Arch, and Wal- 
 nut Streets. The 
 handsome private re- 
 sidences are in the 
 west and northwest- 
 ern parts of the city. 
 West Philadelphia. 
 across the Schuyl- 
 kill, is full of ele- 
 gant and tasteful vil- 
 las, and the west- 
 ern portions of Wal- 
 nut. Chestnut, Arch, 
 Spruce, and Pine 
 Streets are occupied 
 by many splendid 
 residences : while 
 Hroad Street is a 
 spacious boulevard 
 
 i'.H^r, il,,i,l„ ',,,■ n. , 
 
 r...: 'M/. 
 
THE METROPOLIS AND ITS EASTERN SISTERS. 575 
 
 ruuuiiig for miles between the dwellings of the wciilthy, which arc in many instances 
 adorned by elaborate lawns and gardens. A characteristic of most of the residence 
 streets in Philadelphia, except those portions which have been taken possession of by 
 the rich and rebuilt in a later style, is the primness of the architecture. The houses 
 are square and plain, built of red brick with white-marble door-steps and trimmings. 
 This gives a very peculiar aspect to Philadelphia, that separates it from all other 
 cities except Baltimore, which to some extent shares the same architectural appearance. 
 
 The numerous squares of shade and greenery, laid out according to the original 
 plan of Penn, are a wholesome feature of the city. These are ornamented with state- 
 ly trees, many of which were denizens of the primeval forest, that existed before the 
 arrival of the Quaker immigrants, and drinkiiig-fouiitains in tluur midst complete the 
 picture of coolness and refreshment in contrast with the glare and warmth of the 
 streets. It is without the purpose of these descriptions of cities to make special 
 allusion to notable buildings aside from those of historic or national interest, but it 
 is worth while to say a word about two or three public institutions of the city. The 
 careful attention given to art and science has resulted in the building of the Academy 
 of Natural Sciences and the Academy of Fine Arts, both edifices of great size and 
 architectural beauty, which are among the finest in the United .States of their kind. 
 The Masonic Temple is an immense structure with a tower two hundred and thirty 
 feet high, and within the building there are halls finished in all the different styles 
 of architecture. Girard College is a celebrated edifice founded by Stephen (lirard, a 
 French merchant, who died in 1831, and bequeathed $2,000,000 to found an institu- 
 tion for the gratuitous instruction and maintenance of orphans, and left the rest of 
 his estate to support the college, a fund now amounting to $7,000,000. From the 
 roof of this huge white-marble structure may be had a very fine view of Philadelphia, 
 as the site is on the summit of a slope. 
 
 The commerce and shipping of Philadelphia may be viewed in their most pictur- 
 esque aspects on the wharves of the Delaware River. The water of the river has 
 such breadth and depth as to move like an arm of the sea rather than a river, and 
 here the largest vessels come without difficulty. But, if the Delaware Is the source 
 of commercial prosperity to the city, the Schuylkill offers to its people their most 
 charming out-door pleasures. The attractions of this river begin at Fairmount, the 
 seat of the Water-Works, which for many years have been one of the recognized 
 "sights" of the city. Twenty-five years ago Fairmount meant only the buildings in 
 which the machinery used in supplying the city with water is inclosed and the little 
 pleasure-ground lying near it. Now the vast stretch of Fairmount Park is included 
 in the term. This grand park in its entire extent comprises four thousand acres, and 
 is by far the most extensive pleasure-ground in the country. It lies on both sides of 
 the Schuylkill, and the two sections are connected by bridges. The park was gradu- 
 ally formed through the purchase by the city of several very elegant and well-culti- 
 vated estates. Not only did these acquisitions offer ample room for one of the finest 
 parks in the world, but the striking natural advantages were enhanced by the fact that 
 
576 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 ii|l|ii)iBiiiiiiin:'i[i 
 
 liillilllllllill]INIIllllllHllllllllllllllllllllliit!llilll{||l]ll]|||lill|iL'l.!i|lillJ<i:^^ 
 
THE METROPOLIS AND ITS EASTERN SISTERS. 
 
 577 
 
 these country-seats were all richly improved. The ancestral trees were large and an- 
 cient, and the grounds were laid out with all the taste of the best landscape-garden- 
 ing. So the authorities had only to combine a number of jileasure-grounds already 
 
 View on the t'Schuz/lkiU. 
 
 existing and invite the citizens to the enjoyment of one of the most delightful of 
 out-door resorts. The quiet nooks, the charming retreats, and perfect bits of wood- 
 land scenery in Fairmount Park are innumerable, the windings of the river afPording 
 
 .37 
 
578 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 a constant variety of effects to the eye. lu the West Park stood the buildings of the 
 International Exhibition of 1876, most of which have since been removed. The hun- 
 dreds of thousands of visitors will long remember the sylvan loveliness with which 
 they were then made acquainted. In the upper portion of Fairmount Park is the 
 very picturesque Wissahickon River, which winds between steep and richly wooded 
 banks, and has all the wildness of a stream far from the haunts of men. A wide 
 carriage-road runs along the bank, and is a favorite drive for Philadelphians, the river 
 dancing along on one side and rocky steeps with overhanging shrubbery bordering the 
 other. Philadelphia may justly be proud of her beautiful park, which possibly one 
 day, when it shall have been more perfectly ordered, will be among the two or three 
 most remarkable ones in the world. 
 
 The resemblance between many external aspects of Philadelphia and Baltimore 
 will impress the visitor strongly. The appearance of the houses is in large degree 
 nearly identical, and the characteristics of the people in both cities are quite similar. 
 The old-fashioned quiet methods of the past seem to rule both in business and social 
 life. In both cities there is a very large well-to-do middle class who live simjily, com- 
 fortably, and without pretense ; and there is also the sharply defined residue of an old 
 colonial aristocracy, which forms something as nearly an hereditary social caste as is 
 possible under our institutions. The existence of a large and influential moneyed 
 class, the members of which have arisen from obscurity and exercise a predominant 
 influence, is less observable in Philadelphia and Baltimore than in any other jiromi- 
 nent American cities, if we except New Orleans and St. Louis. 
 
 Baltimore, the chief city of Maryland, and in population and commerce one of the 
 most important in the United States, is picturesquely located on the north branch of 
 the Patapsco Eiver, fourteen miles from its entrance into the Chesapeake Bay, and 
 about two hundred miles from the Atlantic. The city embraces an area of about 
 twelve square miles, nearly half of which is built on. A small stream called Jones's 
 Falls, running north and south, and spanned by numerous bridges, divides the city 
 into two nearly equal parts. 
 
 The site of Baltimore was selected in 1729, though the present name, in honor of 
 Lord Baltimore, the lord proprietor of Maryland, was not given till a subsequent 
 period. Prosperous settlements had grown on both sides of the falls, and were called 
 Jonestown. The place thrived marvelously, and a great business in tobacco, the 
 grinding of flour, tanning, etc., brought no little wealth to the town. So in 1745 the 
 old prosaic title was discarded for the more stately name by which the city is now 
 known. The masterly portrait of Lord Baltimore by Vandyck, now in Washington, 
 shows that the growing town honored itself in selecting such a sponsor, for a nobler 
 figure of a man, soldier, and courtier can not be imagined. There was indeed pro- 
 priety in the choice. The English ideas and methods long prevailed in Baltimore, 
 and in the society of the aristoci-ats of the colony the first lord proprietor of Mary- 
 land would have found congenial spirits. Even to-day the old-fashioned courtesy and 
 punctilio are not altogether gone. Baltimore has never lost its reputation for the 
 
THE METROPOLIS AND ITS EASTERN SISTERS. 
 
 579 
 
 beauty and attractiveness of its 
 women, nor for the hospitality 
 and frank cordiality of the homes 
 which they grace. 
 
 In 1780 the city became a 
 port of entry, and in 1797 it re- 
 ceived a regular charter. At this 
 time the population amounted to 
 twenty-six thousand, and in 1813 
 this had increased to forty thou- 
 sand. A traveler who visited Bal- 
 timore at this time says that the 
 more opulent citizens lived with 
 far more luxuriousness and with 
 greater taste than people of the 
 more eastern cities, and proceeds 
 to enlarge on the excellence and 
 variety of the markets, for even 
 then canvas -backs and terrapins 
 were famous in Maryland. In 
 1850 the population had reached 
 nearly 300,000; in 1860 it was 
 312.418; in 1870, 207,354; and 
 in 1880 it had reached 333,190. 
 The commerce of Baltimore is 
 very active and important. In 
 addition to many coastwise lines, 
 two lines of ocean-steamers now 
 start from this port, and through 
 her two great arteries of traffic, 
 the Baltimore and Ohio and the 
 Northern Central Railways, she 
 competes vigorously for the grain- 
 exporting trade of the West and 
 Northwest. This city is a great 
 entrepot for the export of tobac- 
 co, cotton, petroleum, bacon, but- 
 ter, cheese, and lard. It is the 
 chief point for working the rich 
 copper-ores of the Lake Superior 
 region, and gold and silver smelt- 
 ing is also beginning to occupy 
 
 Washington Monument, BiUtimore. 
 
580 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 considerable attention. The number of industrial establishments, including iron-works, 
 rolling-mills, nail-factories, locomotive- works, cotton-factories, etc., reached, according 
 to the latest census figures published, 2,261, and the canning of oysters, fish, meats, 
 fruits, and vegetables, reached an annual value of more than 85,000,000. The en- 
 trance to the port of Baltimore is defended by one of the most important fortresses 
 in the United States — Fort McHenry, situated on a point of land between the Patap- 
 sco and the harbor. This was successfully defended against a British fleet by Colo- 
 nel Armistead in the War of 1812, and the national song of the "Star-Spangled 
 Banner" was written by Francis Scott Key, who, as a prisoner on a British man-of- 
 war, witnessed the bombardment. The flag that waved over the fort is still in pos- 
 session of a descendant of Colonel Armistead, and on one of the white stripes is writ- 
 ten the name of the defender of the fort. 
 
 Excellent points of view from which a good survey of Baltimore may be had are 
 Federal Hill and Patterson Park, which are on opposite sides of the harbor. The 
 former stands on the south side of the inner basin, crowned by a signal-station, and 
 commands an extensive prospect of the shipping, the city to the north and west, and 
 the river and the bay. Patterson Park, comprising about fifty-six acres, is in East 
 Baltimore, and here still remain the earthworks thrown up in the War of 1812. 
 This little park is a favorite resort, though, of course, far inferior in attraction to 
 the newer Druid Hill Park. But the finest prospect may be had from the top of 
 Washington Monument, which stands foremost among the public attractions of the 
 citv, which is so celebrated for the number of its monuments as to be called some- 
 times the '•Monumental City." This memorial is one hundred feet above tide-water, 
 and consists of a Doric shaft one hundred and seventy-six feet high, mounted on a 
 pedestal twenty feet high ; and on the top of the column is an heroic statue of Wash- 
 ington sixteen feet high, the total height above the river thus being three hundred 
 and twelve feet. The shaft is of white marble, and cost $200,000, the site having 
 been contributed by Colonel John Eager Howard in 1816. The survey of Baltimore 
 and the environs is almost a bird's-eye view. Below is a sea of roofs, from which the 
 spires of church and other pinnacles rise like masts, and the rounded metal roofs of 
 machine-shops and public buildings gleam like sheets of bronze and steel. To the 
 south stretches the Patapsco far down to the bay. and on a clear day the glittering 
 summit of the State-House at Annapolis, forty miles away, can be clearly seen. To 
 the north and west are the hills dotted with villages or single villas, or dense forest- 
 growths. 
 
 Battle Monument, standing in Monument Square, which was erected in 1815 to 
 the memory of those who had died in defense of the city, against the British, is also 
 a massive and beautiful though not a lofty memento ; and other similar public 
 ornaments are the Wilder Monument, dedicated to the Order of Odd-Fellows ; the 
 Wells and McComas Monument, which does honor to the memory of the boys who 
 shot the British commander, General Ross, September 12, 1812 ; and the Poe Monu- 
 ment, which preserves the memory of the author of "The Raven." Among the pub- 
 
THE METROPOLIS AND ITS EASTERN SISTERS. 
 
 581 
 
 lie institutions of the " Mon- 
 umental City " are several 
 to which special attention 
 should be called. The Pea- 
 body Institute, which faces 
 Washington Monument, was 
 endowed by the rich Lon- 
 don banker and philanthro- 
 pist. It is designed for 
 the diffusion of knowledge 
 among the masses. It con- 
 tains a free library of sixty- 
 eight thousand volumes, a 
 lecture-hall, and a conserva- 
 tory of music, to which is 
 being added an art depart- 
 ment. Another notable in- 
 stitution is the Johns Hop- 
 kins University, which was 
 endowed with a fund of three 
 million dollars by Johns Hop- 
 kins, a wealthy citizen who 
 died in 1873. The same 
 public-spirited man gave two 
 millions to build and sup- 
 port a great hospital now 
 in course of erection, said 
 to be the finest in America. 
 Baltimore has many strik- 
 ing and massive buildings, 
 public as well as private, 
 which can not be dwelt on 
 in this article, for we must 
 confine ourselves to general 
 description. 
 
 The financial center of 
 Baltimore is in Exchange 
 Place and in the adjacent 
 sqiuires, which are devoted 
 to bankers, brokers, insur- 
 ance companies, etc. A short 
 walk finds us in Baltimore 
 
582 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Street, runniug east and west, which is the main business thorouglifare, and in it, or 
 near it, are located all the notable shops, restaurants, hotels, etc. It is estimated 
 that more people pass the corner of Baltimore and Calvert Streets than any other 
 spot in the city. The most fashionable residence portion of Baltimore is the vicinity 
 of the Washington Monument, and the most attractive promenade is North Charles 
 Street. 
 
 Baltimore is possessed of a spacious and beautiful park, called Druid Hill, pur- 
 chased by the city on the death of the former owner, Lloyd Rogers, who lived 
 here alone on a great ancestral estate. It lies on the northern suburbs of the city, 
 and embraces nearly seven hundred acres of well-diversified surface. Steep wooded 
 hills rise two hundred feet above the tide, giving extensive glimpses of the city and 
 its surroundings. Sequestered dells ; shady valleys, watered by the purest brooks and 
 springs ; drives winding through meadows and woods ; bridle-paths and foot-ways 
 which lead beneath deep forest arches — render the park one of great sylvan beauty 
 and seclusion. Without much artifice, except that shown in the restoration of the old 
 family mansion and its surroundings, Druid Hill's great charm is its natural attract- 
 iveness of wood and water, grassy lawns and branching shade, which darkens here and 
 there into forest depths. This, of course, is the favorite goal of riding or driving 
 from the city ; and here, in the evenings of early summer or autumn, may be seen a 
 brilliant display of the beauty and wealth of Baltimore. Druid Lake, one of the 
 beauties of the park, is the main storage reservoir of the water system of the city. 
 The suburbs of Baltimore are also very attractive, and here live many of the rich 
 merchants of the city, who drive back and forth in their own vehicles. 
 
 Washington, the political capital of our country, is forty miles from Baltimore, 
 and is situated on the north bank of the Potomac River at its confluence with the 
 Eastern Branch. The site is very advantageous, consisting of an extensive, undulating 
 plain, surrounded by rolling hills and diversified by irregular elevations which furnish 
 imposing positions for public buildings. The site of the city, if not chosen by Wash- 
 ington himself, seems to have been selected through his agency, and it was he who 
 laid the corner-stone of the Capitol on September 18, 1793. Seven years afterward 
 the seat of the government was removed thither. The city was also planned and 
 laid out under Washington's direction, who desired that it should be called Federal 
 City, but the name which it now bears was conferred two years after Washington's 
 death. The land included in the District of Columbia was ceded to the Government 
 by the States of Maryland and Virginia. Georgetown, which is now a suburb of 
 Washington, is older than its more celebrated neighbor, and was at one time of so 
 much importance that it was the fourth among the river-ports of the United States. 
 But it is now simply a picturesque old place, shaded with magnificent trees and full 
 of those substantial old red-brick mansions, in park-like inclosures surrounded by high 
 walls, so much aifected by the political and social aristocracy of Virginia and Mary- 
 land in the olden time. 
 
 Washington, once only a political capital, is becoming more and more a great social 
 
THE METROPOLIS AND ITS EASTERN SISTERS. 
 
 583 
 
 ■s 
 
 1^ 
 
584 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 capital, and perhaps it is yet destined to lead the van in this respect. Its population 
 reached, according to the last census, 147,307, and this number is augmented by a 
 floating population of many thousands during the sessions of Congress. Its commerce 
 and manufactures are unimportant, business being confined to the local trade growing 
 out of a large population. It is one of the most clean and beautiful of American cit- 
 ies, the improvements made during the last fifteen years having almost transformed it. 
 
 The governmental buildings, of course, are the chief attraction of the city, and 
 among these the Capitol not only ranks first, but is probably the most magnificent 
 public edifice in the world. Its white-marble pile is situated on the brow of a hill, 
 amid a uest of thick foliage, and beneath it spreads a beautiful park of fifty acres' 
 extent. It consists of a main building three hundred and fifty-two feet long and one 
 hundred and twenty-one feet deep ; and two wings or extensions, each two hundred 
 and thirty-eight by one huudi-ed and forty feet. This gives a total length of seven 
 hundred and fifty-one feet, and the area covered is about three acres and a half. On 
 the steps of the central portico are groups of statuary and colossal marble statues. 
 Bass-reliefs in bronze and marble and friezes give dignity and beauty to the principal 
 entrances. The bronze doors of the rotunda and the Senate wing are superbly wrought 
 in alto-rilievo, and are celebrated for their beauty and finish. The rotunda, ninety- 
 six feet in diameter and one hundred and eighty feet high, is decorated with panels 
 representing scenes in American history, and over this the dome rises in the center 
 of the Capitol, being the most imposing feature of the huge pile. This uplifts three 
 hundred and seven feet above the base-line of the building. The canopy of the dome 
 is ornamented with frescoes by Brumidi, representing sixty-three distinguished char- 
 acters in our history, in such proportions as to appear of life-size from the floor 
 beneath. From the balustrade at the base of the canopy the visitor has the finest 
 possible view of Washington and its surroundings. The most interesting rooms ot the 
 Capitol are the Old Hall of Representatives, now used as a National Statuary Gallery ; 
 the Old Senate-Chamber, now the Supreme Court-room ; the Hall of Representatives, 
 the finest legislative chamber in the world ; the Senate-Chamber ; and the Congres- 
 sional Library, which contains the largest library in the country, about four hundred 
 thousand volumes. These rooms are richly ornamented with frescoes, wall-paintings, 
 stained glass, carvings, and statuary, and the marble staircases leading to the visitors' 
 galleries are striking architectural features of the Capitol. 
 
 At the opposite end of the city from the Capitol, on Pennsylvania Avenue, are the 
 group of departments surrounding the Presidential mansion, known as the White 
 House, and inclosing with it pleasant little parks and grounds. The Treasury De- 
 partment is a building in the Ionic style, four hundred and sixty-eight by two hun- 
 dred and sixty-four feet in size, the east front of which was modeled after the Tem- 
 ple of Minerva at Athens, and on the other side of the White House is the huge 
 and ornate structure devoted to the State, War, and Navy Departments, which is 
 five hundred and sixty-seven by three hundred and forty-two feet on the ground-plan 
 and four stories in height, with a high Mansard-roof. 
 
THE METROPOLIS AND ITS EASTERN SISTERS. 
 
 585 
 
 g 
 
586 
 
 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 The White House, which is between these buildings, is a spacious mansion built of 
 freestone, one hundred and seventy feet long and eighty-six feet wide. It is of the 
 Ionic style, and painted white, and the grounds, which are finely laid out. include 
 seventy-five acres, twenty acres being inclosed as the President's private grounds, and 
 containing extensive conservatories. Opposite the White House is Lafayette Park, the 
 largest in the city, laid out in winding paths and filled with trees and shrubbery. In 
 this stand Clark Mills's equestrian statues of Washington and Jackson, and around 
 it are grouped elegant residences, occupied by senators, representatives, cabinet min- 
 isters, diplomats, and bankers. 
 
 Other noble public buildings in Washington are the Patent-Office, constructed of 
 marble, freestone, and granite, and the finest edifice, from the purely architectual 
 stand-point, in Washington ; the Post-Office Department, of white marble, in the Co- 
 rinthian style, immediately opposite the preceding building ; the Department of Agri- 
 
 Treamry Department. 
 
 culture, surrounded by superb conservatories and fiower-gardens ; and the Smithsonian 
 Institution, a beautiful red-sandstone edifice of great size and height, set in the midst 
 of a charming little park. The latter was endowed by James Smithson, an English- 
 man, and the illegitimate son of the Duke of Northumberland, who founded it "for 
 the increase and diffusion of knowledge among men." It was begun in 1847 and 
 completed soon afterward ; and now contains one of the finest museums of natural 
 history extant, with large collections in metalhirgy, mineralogy, and ethnology. Near 
 the Smithsonian and adjoining the Capitol grounds are the Botanical Gardens, con- 
 sisting of a series of vast conservatories, filled with rare and curious plants, flowers, 
 and fruits. 
 
 The Washington Monument, designed to have been the most imposing in the world, 
 is still in an unfinished condition, and is rather a blemish than an ornament to the 
 city, though it is hoped that it will yet be completed according to its original pur- 
 
THE METROPOLIS AND ITS EASTERN SISTERS. 
 
 58? 
 
 pose. While speaking of the public institutions of the caiiital, it will not do to omit 
 some allusion to the "Soldiers' Home" (for disabled soldiers of the regular army), 
 which consists of several spacious marble buildings iu the Norman-Gothic style in a 
 beautiful park of five hundred acres. This park occupies an elevated plateau three 
 miles north of the Capitol, and here several of our Presidents have made their sum- 
 mer home, notably Lincoln, whose last days were spent here. Washington has also 
 many striking public buildings, not erected by the General Government, which add 
 much to the beauty and interest of the city. 
 
 The most busy and fashionable street of Washington is Pennsylvania Avenue, in 
 that portion of its course between the Capitol and the White House. It has a width 
 of one hundred and sixty feet, and on it are the principal hotels, theatres, shops, etc. 
 Massachusetts, Vermont, and Maryland Avenues are lined with handsome residences, 
 and these, with the squares in the near vicinity of the White House, constitute the 
 aristocratic residence portion of the city. Washington in the winter is the seat of a 
 very brilliant and fascinating social life ; for here is gathered much of the intellect, 
 culture, wealth, and beauty of our land during the annual congressional session, to 
 which the large foreign element, representing the most attractive features of the old 
 world social life, adds additional charm. The surroundings of the city are very pleas- 
 ant. We have already spoken of quaint old Georgetown, which looks like a piece of 
 the eighteenth century set down in the midst of the present. The near scenery of 
 the Potomac Eiver is wild and beautiful. Across the river are Alexandria, another 
 quaint old town ; Arlington, once owned^byJWashington, and at the time of the open- 
 ing of the late war the property of General Robert E. Lee ; and all the embattled 
 heights of the Virginia shore, so full even to-day of associations of the late civil war. 
 
 rio. 
 
 Wur iiinl S'tiy Building. 
 
OUR NATURAL RESOURCES. 
 
 Extent and diversity of the United States — Its advantages of coast-line, rain-fall, and internal water-ways — The 
 great cereal crops, wheat, com, etc. — Their annual product and value — Possibilities of the future — The cotton, 
 rice, tobacco, and sugar States — Statistics of production — Our annual fruit-crops — The forests of the country — 
 Present condition of the lumber industry — The enormous possibilities of the Pacific coast in lumber — Coal 
 production in America— Our iron-mines^Coal and iron only in their infant development— The yield of the 
 precious metals — How gold and sUver are distributed — Our deposits of copper, lead, quicksilver, and the 
 minor metals — Petroleum-oil and its distribution — Enormous value of our sea-fisheries — Importance of fish- 
 culture — Mackerel, cod, shad, herring, salmon, etc. — The oyster-beds of American waters — Total value of our 
 fisheries — Our resources capable of twenty-fold their present production. 
 
 The United States, exclusive of lakes and river surfaces, contains 3,026,494 square 
 miles, an area divided into political divisions of thirty-eight States, nine Territories, and 
 one District. This vast region supports a population of 50,155,78.3, and is easily capa- 
 ble of sustaining five times that number of people, without unduly drawing upon its 
 resources. It contains the greatest possible variety of soil and climate, and its inland 
 seas and water-courses are such as to give great facilities for interior commerce, aside 
 from the advantages offered by a widely extended and intricate railway system, which 
 is rapidly increasing. The coast-line of the United States, including indentations of 
 gulfs, bays, and inlets, is 27,700 miles, which is rather more than eight thousand 
 miles longer than the coast-line of Europe. This estimate includes the Atlantic and 
 Pacific sea-coasts, the shore-line of the Great Lakes, and the shore-line of the Missis- 
 sippi River and its tributaries. This gives our country about one mile of shore-line 
 to one hundred and four miles of surface — more than double the ratio in Europe. 
 The advantage of a sea-coast indented witli numerous bays, inlets, and estuaries, is 
 beyond measure. It affords harbors for shipping, and gives the best chance for large 
 international commerce, while long and navigable rivers are essential to internal trade. 
 History jJroves that the two greatest nations of antiquity grew mainly by their com- 
 mercial and naval advantages. Greece and Rome never would have achieved their 
 greatness had their coast-lines been- less favorable in shape and extent. The action 
 of the same law of civilization is no less noticeable in modern times, and the United 
 States is favored in this natural advantage beyond all other nations. 
 
 The first and most important blessings which Xature can bestow on a country are 
 good climate and a fertile soil, for these two, above all other elements, are essential 
 to the health and prosperity of the people. Our country lies entirely within the 
 
OUR NATURAL RESOURCES. 589 
 
 temperate zone, though a certain portion of it is practically semi-troiiical ; and, while 
 its climate is considerably diversified, it may be regarded, on the whole, as very 
 healthful to man, and is suited to an almost endless variety of products. The fer- 
 tility of the soil in the United States is remarkably great. With the exception of a 
 portion of the mountainous region, nearly all of which is a store-house of coal and 
 the metals, there is very little sj^ace not available for grain, grass, cotton, tobacco, 
 sugar, or other valuable crops. So great, too, is the diversity of the country in 
 climate and condition, that a poor yield in one portion is always counterbalanced by 
 a large yield somewhere else. The total returns of the earth to man vary less year 
 by year than elsewhere, so that North America is more and more recognized as the 
 store-house for the food-reserve of the rest of the world. The fertility of the soil 
 is much assisted by the abundant aad uniform rain-fall. This will average, year by 
 year, somewhat more than forty inches, while the rain-fall of Europe is only twenty- 
 four inches, as shown by observations for many years past. The blessing of such a 
 rain-fall does not end with its effects on the products of the soil, but it makes the 
 country a land of pure springs and crystal brooks. In the regions along the eastern 
 and western slopes of the Rocky Mountains the rain-fall is lighter than elsewhere, and 
 here irrigation is needed to produce crops, the water being drawn from those inex- 
 haustible reservoirs, the mountain snows. Experience has shown that the alkali soils 
 of such regions as Utah, once considered as sterile and worthless, when stimulated 
 by irrigation can be made to bloom like the rose, and produce the richest return to 
 man's toil. 
 
 In taking a brief survey of the natural resources of this country, let us first glance 
 at the products of the soil, which of course surpass all other returns of industry, not 
 only in money value, but in primary imjjortance to the people. 
 
 Wheat has been, from time immemorial, the most important cereal of the world, 
 having been known from the earliest times. Indeed, it is a singular fact that some 
 of the best-known varieties of American wheat have originated from seed found in 
 the cerements of Egyjitian mummies, proving that it has preserved its vitality for not 
 less than thirty centuries ! Though this cereal is largely grown in all the European 
 countries, Russia is the only one which has much to spare for export, so that our 
 own country is now the principal granary for foreign supply. The belt of our wheat- 
 producing region stretches from ocean to ocean. It is narrower on the Atlantic slope, 
 only running far south on the highlands. In the Mississippi Valley it widens both 
 toward the south and to the north, where it stretches much beyond the Canada line ; 
 west of the lakes to the forty-ninth parallel : while on the Pacific slope it extends to 
 the very southernmost limits of the United States, and on the north runs far away 
 over the line into British Columbia. The latter country, particularly the valley of 
 the Saskatchewan, it is believed, will become one of the most notable wheat-producing 
 regions of the world. 
 
 More than half the area of the United States is included in the wheat-belt, but it 
 is as yet the great valley of the Mississippi which is our main granary. Here can be 
 
590 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 seen the golden wheat in fields from ten acres to twenty thousand acres. Still larger 
 fields are sometimes seen on the Pacific slope. Indeed, in some portions of California, 
 Nature has furnished such a climate and soil that by means of irrigation two crops 
 a year of wheat or barley can be raised, and an additional crop of Indian corn, from 
 the same ground. Some of the Western Territories are proving wheat-producing regions 
 of vast importance, Dakota notably so, and the large scale on which this cereal is 
 raised by individual capitalists (for such is the term to use in view of the amount of 
 money invested and the organization of labor) is simply astonishing. It is said that 
 a single wheat-crop grown in Dakota harvested during the last season the product 
 of a hundred thousand acres. The limit of the successful cultivation of this grain is 
 not determined so much by the cold of winter as by the temperature of summer, 
 57"3° being the lowest mean temperature at which it will mature. Wheat-growing 
 with us has regularly extended westward. In some of the older States the land 
 has become exhausted on account of. careless agriculture, and so stocked with the 
 seeds of weeds that it has become necessary to seek .new lands. These have been 
 found in the virgin prairies of the far West, where no expense for manures is needed. 
 It is estimated that only about one tenth of the available wheat-lands in the country 
 has been utilized, allowing in this estimate for a proportionate allotment to the 
 other cereals. The wheat-crop of the United States, for the year 1880, amounted to 
 459,479,505 bushels. The surface sown was nearly 30,000,000 acres, giving an average 
 of a little more than fifteen bushels per acre. The value of the crop was $497,030,142, 
 and the value of the wheat export for the year mentioned $150,575,577. 
 
 Even more important than wheat is maize, or Indian corn, the name by which it 
 is better known on this side of the ocean. The area of the corn-region overlaps the 
 wheat-belt far above its southern limit, and extends to the extreme south, where it grows 
 luxuriantly side by side with sngar-cane and cotton. This most valuable cereal finds its 
 use, not merely in supplying man with food, but as the cheapest and best means of 
 fattening cattle and swine for the market, a purpose to which it is exclusively devoted 
 by many extensive growers. The yield of corn in the United States for 1880 was 
 1,754,861,535 bushels, raised to some extent in every State and nearly every Territory 
 in the Union. The main production was in the Mississippi Valle}', through the whole 
 length of which, except in the extreme northern part, it grows abundantly. The money 
 value of the crop was $580,486,317. Indian corn is an American plant, and was not 
 known in the Old World till after the discovery of the New. It was found in cul- 
 tivation by the aborigines from New England to Chili. Darwin, while traveling in 
 South America, discovered ears of corn, together with eighteen species of recent sea- 
 shells, imbedded in a beach, which had been raised eighty-five feet above the level of 
 the sea ; and varieties not now in cultivation in Peru have been found in ancient 
 tombs older than the Incas. It is estimated that maize is eaten by a greater number 
 of human beings than any other grain excejit rice. It is a highly concentrated food, 
 and is superior even to wheat in its union of all the elements necessary to sustain 
 life. In Central and South America it is the principal food of the common people. 
 
OUR NATURAL RESOURCES. 591 
 
 and in the southern and western portions of the United States it furnishes a large 
 portion of the bread-stuff used. The variety of food products derived from corn 
 are many, and probably no cereal contributes in more diverse ways to the necessities 
 and luxuries of man, on the Western hemisphere certainly. As an article of export, 
 except in the transmuted form of beef and pork, corn will never compete with 
 wheat, but for purposes of domestic consumption, among the masses of people, it 
 stands without a rival. It is probable that quite one third of the population of the 
 United States hardly ever eat wheat-bread, while the rest of the people use corn to a 
 considerable extent as well as wheat. 
 
 In the northern part of the country extends a belt across the continent where the 
 minor gi-ains, such as oats, buckwheat, barley, and rye, are cultivated to a large extent. 
 The oat-crop of the United States for 1880 was 407,858,999 bushels ; while the united 
 product of barley, rye, and buckwheat amounted to 75,762,426 bushels. The value 
 of these grains, roughly estimated, would be about $200,000,000 a year. But next to 
 wheat and corn, among the products of the earth, must be ranked the native and 
 cultivated grasses, in the forms of pasturage and hay. It is scarcely possible to appre- 
 ciate the value of the nutritious grasses that grow upon the uplands of Texas and 
 stretch northward over the plains between the Mississippi and the Rocky Mountains. 
 Here roam and feed countless herds of cattle, and hence comes the beef-supply of 
 the Union, though large herds are raised also east of the Mississippi. The impor- 
 tance of pasturage, as an element of wealth in the matter of dairj^-f arming, is also 
 immense. Two products of the dairy, cheese and butter, are annually increasing in 
 amount and becoming valuable articles of export. Statistics show the jiroduct to be 
 valued at about $350,000,000 (census of 1880) — one third more in value than the 
 cotton-crop, and only one fifth less than that of corn. Hardly less than this estimate 
 is that of th« hay-crop, though, of course, a large portion of the latter must be cred- 
 ited to the value of dairy products. All other countries in the world combined do 
 not produce as much cotton as the United States, for here is found the union of the 
 most favorable conditions of soil and climate, and this superiority holds good in 
 quality as well as quantity. Cotton grows as far north as 40°, but the belt within 
 which its cultivation is most profitable lies between the Gulf of Mexico and the par- 
 allel of 36°. The best section of this belt is about one hundred miles either side of 
 the parallel of 32°. Although cotton is a good crop in portions of Tennessee, Arkan- 
 sas, Missouri, and North Carolina, the distinctive cotton States are South Carolina, 
 Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi. Louisiana, and Texas. The yield per acre varies 
 from 130 pounds on the uplands, to 400 pounds on the rich lowlands. The two lead- 
 ing varieties of this important product grown in the United States are the upland 
 and the sea-island. The former, known as the short staple, is of West Indian origin, 
 and receives its designation to distinguish it from the produce of the islands and low 
 districts by the sea. The sea-island cotton is the finest and most high-priced variety, 
 but its cultivation is confined to limited districts. The cotton-crop of 1879, accord- 
 ing to the census of 1880, was 5,746,414 bales, representing a money value of $342,- 
 
593 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 140,9o'J'. This was an average year, and, as the acreage of cotton remains about the 
 same, it may stand fairly for the annual contribution of the United States to the 
 needs of the world. About four fifths of the cotton product are exported, and the 
 value makes a very important factor in determining exchanges and the balance of 
 trade, a function on which the old South depended so much among the reasons 
 which led it to secession. 
 
 The sugar-producing region of the United States comprises Louisiana, Texas, Flor- 
 ida, and portions of South Carolina, Alabama, and Tennessee, but it is in the first 
 two named States that the crop is at its best. In the more northerlv parts of this 
 region the sugar-cane is grown mainly for its sirup, as the least touch of frost is apt 
 to injure it too much for the production of good sugar. Many varieties of the cane 
 are used, all of which are propagated by cuttings, instead of planting from the seed. 
 Sorghum, or the Chinese sugar-cane, has been introduced into the States where the 
 climate does not admit of the other varieties of cane, and at one time great hope was 
 entertained of the results ; but so far experiments have failed, as it has been found 
 impracticable to crystallize the sugar from the sirup. The bulk of the sugar produced 
 in this country is raised in Louisiana, where the industry is old and thoroughly organ- 
 ized. The product for 1880 was 178,872 hogsheads of sugar and 10,573.273 gallons 
 of molasses. The value of our total sugar exports for the same year, including man- 
 ufactured sugars, a part of which latter, it may be assumed, was derived from foreign 
 sugars, was 13,339,987. Tobacco, another important product, is raised in nearly 
 every State, except, perhaps, in the extreme northern tier. Those which lead are 
 Kentucky, Virginia, Maryland, North Carolina, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Connecticut. 
 The Virginia and Connecticut tobaccos are the choicest and highest-priced. The total 
 number of acres planted in 1879 was 631,0(51 ; the production, 469,816,203 pounds ; 
 the value of the crop, 136,624,357. The rice region of the country is made iip of the 
 lowlands lying along the mouths of the rivers and the estuaries of the extreme South, 
 beginning near the northern boundary of South Carolina and extending to the Texas 
 border on the Gulf of Mexico ; but it is in South Carolina and Georgia that this prod- 
 uct flourishes best. Our average annual crop of rice comes to not far from 110,000,000 
 pounds, for there is not much variation in the annual statistics of the yield. Some 
 description of this culture will be found in the chapter on "The Lowlands of the 
 South." 
 
 The variety and amount of fruit raised in the Union, including those of the tem- 
 perate and sub-tropical zones, are astonishing. Of the orchard-fruits the apple is 
 by far tlie most valuable. The productive belt of the apple extends across the entire 
 middle and northern portions of the Union, but in the South is only found on the 
 plateaus and highlands. The hardihood and ''keeping" qualities of this fruit enable 
 it to be exported in great quantities to foreign lands, while the many forms in which 
 it can be prepared for food increase its domestic consumption. The money value of 
 the apple-crop is not less than 150,000,000 a year, and next to this ranks the peach- 
 crop, which averages about $38,000,000 a year. Including all the fruits. excejJt the 
 
OUR NATURAL RESOURCES. 593 
 
 orange of the South and the small fruits, the total value of the crop is estimated at 
 $138,000,000, a little less than one third the value of the average wheat-crojJ of the 
 country. 
 
 Our forests, though the primitive, uncultivated product of the soil, are of too great 
 importance to be overlooked as an element in national wealth. Maine has extensive 
 woods, from which an immense amount of timber for shii^-building, domestic use, and 
 for export, has been derived. This drain has been going on for more than half a cen- 
 tury, without materially affecting the supply, though the time will shortly come when 
 the timber in the river forests will have been exhausted. In Maine, as in other por- 
 tions of the country where lumbering has been carried on for many years, it is probable 
 that the saw-mills will soon have to be erected near the place of cutting, because the 
 rivers will cease to be available for floating down the logs. The foot-hills and the sides 
 of both the White and Green Mountains are clad with extensive and valuable forests, 
 which may be said also of the Catskills and the Adirondacks. All of these sections 
 furnish valuable lumber, though mostly of the hard-wood variety. The Alleghany 
 range, for a hundred miles on the eastern side, and on the western to the edge of the 
 prairie-region, is rich in woodland. The specially valuable portion is the pine coun- 
 try of the Carolinas and Georgia, as this is the source of most of the turpentine and 
 tar of the world, besides furnishing a great quantity of lumber. The forests along 
 the north side of the Gulf are rich in timber, while the fine-grained cedars of Florida 
 are peculiarly desirable for lead-pencils. 
 
 But the chief lumber-regions which to-day supply our markets are those of Maine, 
 already mentioned, of Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, Michigan, and Minnesota. Their pref- 
 erence grows out of two causes : the fact that these States are intersected by many 
 rivers, which float down the logs hundreds of miles at a trifling expense of labor ; 
 and the no less important consideration that the forests are so largely of the tine- 
 grained, soft white pine which is in demand for the largest variety of uses. Chicago, 
 one of the greatest lumber-markets of the world, consumes 3,000,000,000 feet a year. 
 It is estimated that there are now left standing in the important lumber States of 
 Michigan, Wisconsin, and Minnesota, only about 90,000,000,000 feet. So we see that 
 Chicago alone would exhaust these States in thirty years ! This tremendous depletion 
 of our most valuable lumber-regions, a depletion partly owing to wasteful cutting, has 
 at last aroused the attention of many intelligent and thinking men. An association 
 has been formed to agitate the matter, and it is to be hoped that Congress and the 
 Legislatures of the States will be brought to take some action in the matter. The 
 effect of forests in promoting an equable rain-fall, and in otherwise modifying the 
 climate and conditions of agriculture, is of the greatest importance. The continual 
 destruction of trees, without planting new forests and groves in proportion, is becom- 
 ing a serious danger. 
 
 All the other timber-regions of the United States yield to those of the Pacific in 
 their immense extent and the size of the trees. Of the latter, those of Oregon and 
 of Washington Territory are most worthy of attention. Here may be found countless 
 
 38 
 
594 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 trees of immense size, which loom up from one hundred to two hundred feet in 
 height, with a proportionate diameter. Thej^e forests are the wonder of all who have 
 seen them, and from this store-house will come the supjily not only of the Pacific 
 States, but of South America, China, and Japan. Likewise in Alaska is found an- 
 other great lumber-region covered with dense forests of fine timber — pine, cedar, spruce, 
 hemlock, etc. It is impossible to give the statistics of the yearly lumber-supply of 
 the United States, but it may be safely said that the value is surpassed by no other 
 single product of the soil. 
 
 Among the mineral products with which our country is so richly sixpi^lied, and 
 the value of which we have as yet only tapjjed on the surface, coal is by all means the 
 most important. We are told by geologists that coal is not a chemical compound 
 nor a mechanical formation. It is a combination in some sense of both, the pro- 
 duction of vegetable masses which once stood where the coal is found. Coal has been 
 called the stored-up energy of the sun through long ages of intense heat ; for the 
 conditions under which the carboniferous plants grew must have been great warmth 
 and abundant moistui-e. We can have but little idea of the marvelous vegetation 
 that then covered the earth. Then there grew flags fourteen inches through, mosses 
 that towered up fifty feet, with thickness in projiortion, and ferns which reached the 
 height of sixty feet. The densest forests of our tropics are insignificant by the side 
 of sucli a growtli. The time that it took to form tliis vegetation into coal may be 
 gi;essed at, when it is estimated that a seam of coal twenty feet thick would require, 
 to make it a deposit in the form of peat, vegetable matter one hundred and twenty 
 feet thick. To make a single coal-bed three feet thick. Professor Dana estimates it 
 must have taken seven thousand four hundred years. Yet there are some coal-beds 
 sixty feet in thickness. The facts of the world's history which such a statement 
 opens to the mind are almost too big for words. Tlie peat-bogs of the world are 
 only incipient coal-beds. First comes peat ; then lignite ; then bituminous coal ; and 
 then anthracite coal, in this long, slow process of the Nature-factory. Anthracite coal 
 is the final result of the most favorable conditions of heat and pressure. 
 
 When we compare the coal-fields of the world, we find an enormous disparity. 
 France has one square mile of coal to every two hundred of territory ; Belgium, one 
 to twenty-two square miles of territory ; England, one to twenty square miles. In 
 England is found more than half the coal-producing area of Europe, amounting to 
 two thousand square miles. It is stated by Professor Le Conte that in one hundred 
 and ten years the whole available coal-beds of Great Britain will have been exhausted. 
 Already many of tliem have been carried down several hundred feet into the bowels 
 of the earth, and the difficulty of the working is very great. The ratio of coal-beds 
 for the whole of Europe is one square mile to three hundred and seventy-five. In 
 the United States the coal-fields already discovered make up two hundred thousand 
 square miles, and Uiis aggregate is continually being increased by fresh discoveries. 
 Our ratio is now one square mile of coal-beds to fifteen square miles of territory. 
 
 The facility of mining in this country is very great, as, owing to the immense 
 
OUR NATURAL RESOURCES. 595 
 
 extent of the beds, it has not been so far necessary to work them deeply. It is esti- 
 mated that there is enougli coal in the mines already opened to supply the needs of 
 the United States, with such increase of jDopulation as may be expected, for the next 
 five hundred years. The total product of bituminous coal during 1879-80 was some- 
 thing over forty-two million tons, and of this amount Pennsylvania yielded more 
 than one third. This State has practically the monoijoly of the anthracite produc- 
 tion, only Rhode Island and Colorado showing additional anthracite coal-fields and 
 furnishing but a small output. The production of anthracite coal during the last 
 census year (1879-'80) was somewhat over twenty-eight million tons, thus making 
 the entire coal production of the country a little more than seventy-one million tons. 
 Against this must be placed the production of England for the same period, amount- 
 ing to more than twice the amount of coal, taken from one fiftieth the surface of 
 coal-beds. This shows the desperate energy with which the English coal-mines are 
 worked, the enormous depth to which they are carried, and their approaching exhaus- 
 tion. It is believed by some mineralogists that the extent of coal-fields in our coun- 
 try, including those which have not been opened but are known to exist, and the 
 lignite or semi-bituminous coal, reaches the astonishing total of nearly seven hundred 
 thousand square miles. Coal is found in eighteen States and three of the Territories. 
 Pennsj'lvania leads, with a product valued at about fifty-eight million dollars ; next 
 in importance is Illinois, producing nearly nine million dollars in value ; and then 
 Ohio, nearly eight million dollars. 
 
 It is a singular fact, in the economy of nature, that iron and coal are so often 
 found in close vicinage. These two most useful of the products of the subterranean 
 earth are essential to each other, and it is fortunate that they are so frequently placed 
 in conjunction. The great wealth of Pennsylvania is due to the fact that she has such 
 enormous deposits of coal and iron lying almost side by side. Iron has, of all the 
 metals, been the most important in its influence on man. It was not till iron was 
 discovered, and its applications utilized, that the human race began to make rapid ad- 
 vances in civilization ; for, by the use of iron only, it was able to forge the weapons 
 and tools that gave it complete mastery over nature. 
 
 Iron-ore is found in almost every section of the country — sometimes ni small, 
 isolated beds ; sometimes in extensive veins amid the rocks in the mountains, between 
 layers of limestone ; or in connection with coal-measures. These ores are of far 
 different qualities, as the iron happens to be combined with various foreign sub- 
 stances. In fact, iron occurs in so many different forms, and is so different in chemi- 
 cal combinations, that no theory of formation can cover all the conditions. In some 
 cases the ore is easily obtained, in others the mining is very difficult. So, too, in the 
 process of smelting, some iron-ores are easily reduced while others are very refractory. 
 Iron-ores are designated according to their incidental combinations, as red, black, or 
 .yellow oxides, magnetic, specular, hematite, etc. In New England the ore is pretty 
 widely scattered, but is found in limited quantities. It is generally magnetic, and of 
 the finest quality, but the fuel necessary to smelt the ore is not easy of access. In 
 
596 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 New York State on Lake Champlain, and in the adjoining Adirondack Mountains, 
 great beds of excellent iron are found, and the ores are smelted by means of char- 
 coal. Remarkable deposits are also found in Orange County, which yield an iron 
 much like the celebrated Dannemora iron of Sweden. New Jersey is rich in magnetic 
 ores, which seem to be practically unlimited in extent, and as they are within easy 
 reach of the Pennsylvania coal-region, and have an abundance of limestone near by, 
 they are deemed very valuable. But Pennsylvania stands pre-eminent above all other 
 States ; for her inexhaustible beds of the finest iron exist under the most favorable 
 possible conditions for working. Iron-ore is found in this State almost everywhere, 
 amid the hard rocks in the mountains, in the valleys along their base, and in isolated 
 beds and lumps far away in the great limestone valleys. As we pass along the 
 mountain-range of the Alleghanies toward the south, we find on both slopes — east 
 and west sides — more or less deposits of iron-ore, with the accompaniments of coal 
 and limestone. On the east side is the long valley under its several names — Cumber- 
 land, Shenandoah, and Tennessee — extending from the Lehigh to the Chattahoochee ; 
 and on the west side is a similar valley stretching from near the New York State 
 line far into West Virginia. The great iron-region of Virginia is in the limestone 
 of the valley between the Blue Ridge and the main range. The deposits, mainly 
 hematite, magnetic, and red oxides, are very extensive, though never very deep. A 
 large belt, stretching northeast and southwest across the State, is also rich in the 
 production of this metal, and contains every variety of ore suitable for making iron 
 and steel. West Virginia is no less rich in coal and iron beds, and here is said to 
 exist the best smeltmg-coal in the world. Western North Carolina and the Cumber- 
 land Mountains of Tennessee do not yield even to Pennsylvania in the character and 
 extent of the iron-beds, though they are as yet comparatively unworked. 
 
 The Alleghanies, in connection with their outspnrs, stand unrivaled in the world 
 for their immense stores of coal and iron, and also for an ' abi;ndance of limestone, 
 so indispensable in smelting iron. What a contrast do they jn'esent to the Alps, so 
 barren of these all-important minerals ! Even comparing the Andes, the Rocky 
 Mountains, and the Sierra Nevadas, so rich in gold and silver, with them, how insig- 
 nificant in their real value to man do the former seem ! 
 
 In Missouri are found two very interesting iron deposits, known as Iron Mount- 
 ain and Pilot Knob. These elevations, of about six hundred feet, cover immense 
 veins of very pure iron-ore, yielding from sixty to seventy per cent of metal. It is 
 believed that one tenth of the bulk of these mountains is pure iron. If we go up 
 to Lake Superior, we find the ore existing under peculiar conditions. Hitherto we 
 have noticed it accompanied by coal and limestone. Neither exists in the Lake 
 Superior region, yet the ore is found in gi'eat quantities, and of very rich, pure 
 quality. These ores are not worked much on the spot, but transported south to 
 Chicago, Detroit, Pittsburg, etc., where they are mixed with others, for experience 
 has shown the great value of blending the different qualities of ore in produc- 
 ing special kinds of iron and steel. All through the vast region of the Rocky 
 
OUR NATURAL RESOURCES. 597 
 
 Mountains iron is found in detached quantities, but not to any very important ex- 
 tent. Geologists say that the United States possesses more than double the amount 
 of the minerals, coal and iron, contained in all the other portions of the world 
 combined. According to the census of 1880, the total product of the iron-mines of 
 the country in ore was 7,971,406 tons, and the value $23,167,007. The make of 
 pig-iron out of this product was 4,295,414 tons, produced by six hundred and 
 eighty-one blast-furnaces, a gain of eighty-four per cent over the products of 1870. 
 It does not come within the objects of this article to deal specifically with manufac- 
 tures, but it is well enough to remind the reader that this primary production of pig- 
 iron from the ore takes but a very small fraction of the investment of capital and 
 labor involved in the iron and steel products of the counti'y. 
 
 We shall next consider the resources of the United States in the precious metals, 
 gold and silver, which, however great, are of vastly less importance than coal and 
 iron. The Eastern gold-field, belonging to the Alleghany range, includes small por- 
 tions of North and South Carolina, Georgia, and Virginia. But it is of trifling 
 value as compared with the deposits of the Sierra Nevadas and the Eocky Mountains. 
 The gold-bearing veins of California are parallel to each other and to the Sierra 
 Nevadas, except a few of the smaller ones. The fissures or veins seem to have been 
 produced at the same time when the Sierra Nevadas were piished ixp, according to 
 Professor Le Conte. On the western slope of the Sierra Nevada, in California, are 
 gold-mines, principally in the basins of the San Joaquin and Sacramento, while on 
 the eastern slopes are very rich silver-mines. Gold was discovered by Captain Sutter 
 in 1848, and the exciting news soon spread to the rest of the country and to foreign 
 lands. The result was an almost unparalleled rush to the favored region. The 
 placers or diggings were soon exhausted. Then came the permanent organizations 
 of the mining industry as conducted by skill and capital. All along the western 
 slope of the Sierras, through California up to Oregon, and across to the Coast 
 Eange, are mining districts not only in the ravines, but often extending to the very 
 mountain-tops. 
 
 By far the largest portion of our gold is derived from the auriferous quartz. The 
 latter is found in veins between walls of barren rock. The quartz is crushed in 
 stamp-mills, and the gold extracted by the application of heat and quicksilver. The 
 gold quartz-mines are almost innumerable, and the amount of the metal is only 
 limited by the size of the mountains in which the mines are located. But, as the 
 mines are pushed deeper into the mountains, the expense of mining, of course, is 
 greatly increased, though this, again, is reduced by greater scientific skill in con- 
 ducting all the processes. Yet the balance of expense and labor, as against produc- 
 tion, is such that it costs as much to earn a dollar from gold-bearing quartz as from 
 the ordinary industries of the land. Gold is found also in Oregon and Washington 
 Territory, though the interest is not greatly developed there. East of these gold- 
 fields are those of Idaho Territory, where some of the richest gold deposits of the 
 country are found. Many of these lodes contain both gold and silver. The most 
 
598 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 celebrated of the last-named deposits is in War Eagle Mountain, which rises two 
 thousand feet. This is as famous in its way as Iron Mountain, Missouri, for its 
 iron-ore. The lodes here contain about two parts of gold to seven of silver, increasing 
 in width and richness as they extend perpendicularly into tlie mountain. Colorado 
 has also important mines of gold-bearing quartz, which have succeeded the placer-dig- 
 gings, once exceedingly rich. Indeed, Leadville, now celebrated for its silver produc- 
 tion, was once known as California Gulcli, and yielded largely of placer-gold. Other 
 important gold-bearing regions are Nevada and Montana, Dakota, and Wyoming Ten-i- 
 tories, and this most precious of the metals is also found in Arizona, Utah, and New 
 Mexico. The gold yield of the United States for the year 1880-'81, according to 
 the estimate of the Director of the Mint, was $36,500,000, of which California pro- 
 duced very nearly one half. Recent developments appear to indicate that Arizona 
 and New Mexico are exceedingly rich in gold deposits, and that they are destined to 
 be among the most important sections in the country for auriferous use. It seems to 
 be unquestionable that, great as the gold yield of the United States lias been for the 
 last thirty-five years, the future production will be even greater, and remain a perma- 
 nent industry for many years. The demand for gold and silver, as applied to mani- 
 fold manufacturing uses, has been greatly increased and promises a still further ex- 
 tension. 
 
 The silver-bearing region lies almost universally within the same bounds as the gold 
 country. The States of Nevada and Colorado stand pre-eminent for their great yield. 
 Nevada mines of the greatest value lie on the eastern slope of the Sierra Nevada 
 Mountains and on the western side of the Great Basin. Most of these mines carry a 
 small proportion of gold to their silver. The most celebrated lode of argentiferous 
 or silver-bearing qinirtz ever found is known as the Comstock. This and other lodes 
 running parallel with it are at or near Virginia City, and they run down into the 
 mountain farther than any one can tell. There are about one hundred companies 
 alone on the Comstock lode, and the workings have been carried down to a great 
 depth. Owing to the excessive heat, the flooding of the waters through the lower 
 levels, and the great expense of getting out the quartz, the yield of late years has 
 been greatly reduced, though the silver-bearing veins ai'c believed to be richer than 
 ever. To ventilate the shafts, ]nimi) out the water, and facilitate the getting out of 
 the ore, the " Sutro Tunnel " was made some years ago. This enters the mountains 
 two thousand feet below Virginia City, or the opening of the mines, and three thou- 
 sand five hundred feet below the top of Mount Davidson. The tunnel is nearly five 
 miles long, with many lateral branches and galleries. Though its effect has not been 
 so far commensurate with its purpose, it is by no means improbable that it may yet 
 carry the Comstock mines back to their original value. The total yield of the Com- 
 stock lode has been more than $100,000,000. 
 
 The most important recent development in silver-mining is that of Leadville, a 
 mountain town in the western central portion of Colorado. Here the ore occurs for 
 the most part in the form of lead carbonates, and it is very easily mined and smelted, 
 
0^77? NATURAL RESOURCES. 599 
 
 as well as very rich in its production of silver. Leadville and its vicinity have proved 
 to be great facts in the American mining industry, and the amount of silver ah'eady 
 taken out of its hills makes it almost a rival of Virginia City in its palmiest days. 
 The area of the now known gold and silver fields of the United States occupies 
 about one hundred and twenty thousand square miles. This resoui'ce of wealth has 
 a most important influence on the commerce and civilization of the world, as the 
 precious metals, of course, furnish the medium of exchange between the nations. 
 Their effect is felt far beyond the limits of our own country. The total production 
 of silver in the United States for 1881 was $42,100,000; that of gold, $36,.500,000— 
 making the total $78,600,000. The total production of the world for the year 1875 
 was, according to a well-known German statistician, $186,402,817. Allowing an in- 
 crease to the amount of $300,000,000 during the last five years, it will be seen that 
 the United States furnishes the world more than one third of its supply of the 
 precious metals. And as the development of our mines has been, and promises to 
 be, exceedingly rapid, there seems a fair prospect that we shall, before long, far sur- 
 23ass this ratio. 
 
 After coal and iron, and gold and silver, the mining of copper and lead is of the 
 most importance. Copijer, although found in limited quantities along the eastern 
 slope of the Alleghanies, in a few of the Western Territories, and in Idaho, is jJrinci- 
 pally derived from the wonderful mines of the Lake Superior region of the State of 
 Michigan, known as the Upper Peninsula. Here are found vast masses of almost 
 pure copper, which yield an apparently inexhaustible supply. Isle Royale, in Lake 
 Superior, forty-five miles long, twelve miles wide, and averaging about three hundred 
 feet high, is a mass, it might be said without much exaggeration, of nearly pure metal, 
 and some of the headlands of Michigan, as they project into the lake, are of similar 
 constitution. These mines are very extensively worked, and are sufficient to supply 
 not only the United States, but the world, with copper for a practically indefinite 
 period. The total output of the copper-mines of Lake Superior for the year 1881 
 was 34,102 tons, the value of which was $13,640,800 ; and the rest of the copper 
 produced in the country would probably increase this amount to $15,000,000. Lead, 
 also, a very valuable metal in the useful arts, is found in many portions of the 
 United States, often in conjunction with other metals, specially copper and silver. 
 The main deposits are those of the Mississippi Valley. One of these lead-fields occu- 
 pies an area of four thousand eight hundred square miles, and a goodly portion of 
 three States— Wisconsin, Illinois, and Iowa. Galena, Illinois, is the most important 
 locality of this region, and here alone is sufficient lead to supply the country for an 
 indefinite period. Another important field of lead-mining covers a large portion of 
 Missouri and Arkansas, where there are vast deposits, though lying at a great depth ; 
 but the richness of the ore fully compensates for the extra exjiense of shafts and 
 for freeing the mines of water. 
 
 Attention has been called to the curious provision of Nature, according to which coal 
 and limestone, so essential to the smelting of iron, are found in close proximity to the 
 
600 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 latter-named metal, specially in the great State of Pennsylvania. So. too, in California, 
 the principal gold-yielding State of the country, we find quicksilver, so indisjJensable 
 to the treatment of the precious metal, close to the gold-bearing lodes. Quicksilver 
 has such an affinity for gold that it seizes it with the grip of a miser, and only in- 
 tense heat can free the hold. So this most volatile of the metals is a very important 
 agent in the hands of the gold-smelter. The richest and largest quicksilver or 
 mercury mines in the world are found at New Almaden, California, inside of the Coast 
 Eange of hills. The ore is brought up out of the shaft in buckets, and in the 
 primitive state it is known as cinnabar, having the dull-red color of bricks. By the 
 action of intense heat the mercury exudes from the ore in the form of vapor, which 
 is passed into a chamber designed for the purpose, where it is cooled and condensed. 
 The nictal then trickles down the side of the chamber, and it is drawn off into a 
 reservoir. Thence it is taken and put in iron flasks, for glass ones would not hold 
 it, and is then ready for the market. The production of quicksilver is quite limited. 
 In addition to the New Almaden mines, there are a few spots in the United States 
 where it is found in limited quantities, and outside of this country it is only discov- 
 ered in workable amounts in Peru, Spain, and Austria. 
 
 The minor metals, such as tin, platinum, zinc, nickel, etc., are only found m a 
 few places, and in limited quantities, but there is one product of the deep bowels of 
 the eartli for which the United States is distinguished above all other countries. 
 This is petroleum. The origin of this natural coal-oil is still a mooted question 
 among scientists. Some claim that it is produced wherever bituminous coal has been 
 subjected to high temjierature and pressure, just as the same oil is obtained by the 
 distillation of coal. Others say it is the result of a peculiar decomposition of organic 
 substances. Others, again, insist that it is the product of sea-plants under salt-water. 
 Whichever theory may be true, the origin of bitumen and petroleum is clearly con- 
 nected with that of coal, so far as similarity of general processes is concerned. 
 
 There are three classes of oils, the upper, middle, and lower. The first are heavier 
 and thicker, and most valuable, as their volatile elements liave escaped through the 
 soil, they being near the surface. The middle oils, found at a depth of from three 
 to six hundred feet, are most abundant. At this depth they exist as naphtha ; at a 
 still greater depth, say a thousand feet, they exist as gas. The strata of rocks in 
 which oil deposits exist are horizontal, and in tlieir long, irregular, and sometimes 
 narrow crevices, the oil is found in reservoirs, like pockets, in which ores are often de- 
 posited. These reservoirs are often exhausted by the pumps. When the boring-auger 
 strikes the water or the oil first, if they are in connection witli gas, the expan- 
 sion of the latter frequently forces them to the surface. But, if the gas is reached 
 first, the explosion and rush to the surface are often of terrific violence. When this 
 pressure of gas is exhausted, the oil has to be pumped uj). The gas, oil, and water 
 are always found arranged according to their specific gravity. The oil is conducted 
 from the tanks, where it is temporarily kept at the place of ju-oduction, by means 
 of pipe-lines, often hundreds of miles long, to the great storage-reservoirs, in such 
 
OUR NATURAL RESOURCES. 601 
 
 cities as Pittsburg, Cleveland, etc. Thence it is shipped to all parts of the world in 
 barrels. 
 
 The most productive region so far discovered is in Northwestern Pennsylvania, 
 where immense quantities have been obtained in the vicinity of the Alleghany River 
 and its branches. West Virginia, particularly the Little Kanawha Valley, is also 
 specially rich in oil. It is found in Kentucky, Michigan, Northeastern Ohio, Colo- 
 rado, California all the way from Los Angeles to Cape Mendocino, and in Oregon. 
 A very rich oil-bearing region, greatly resembling that of Pennsylvania, has lately 
 been found in Canada. Throughout these regions are numerous locations where oil 
 may be found, and wells as rich as any that have ever been worked. Reservoirs im- 
 mensely copious are continually being opened, and the supply to-day is about twice as 
 great as the demand. But the applications of petroleum in new ways are continually 
 enlarging, and we may hope for the time when the demand will come up to the sup- 
 ply, as copious as the latter appears to be. Our country has practically the monopoly 
 of the oil-supi^ly so far, though rich oil-tickls have lately been found in various parts 
 of Europe. Geology tells us that the oil-bearing strata of rocks in the United States 
 cover an area of about two hundred thousand square miles. This would make it 
 probable that we hold in reserve a practically unlimited wealth of petroleum, and 
 that in the future, as in the past, we may expect it to be found when it is needed. 
 Some idea of the enormous production of oil may be had from the amount of the 
 export in 1881 : this was nearly forty-one million dollars. The domestic consump- 
 tion was even more, and, as the amount yielded far surpasses that used, it is probable 
 that the oil-wells of the country produce upward of one hundred and twenty mill- 
 ion dollars annually in value. 
 
 l\\ the various minerals and stones used in building and the mechanic arts (other- 
 wise than those already mentioned), such as plumbago, kaolin, slate, granite, marble, 
 asbestus, various kinds of sandstone and marble, etc., the country is amply rich for 
 all its domestic needs, and probably always will be, as the supply is practically unlim- 
 ited, and is found pretty generally distributed through the various States. 
 
 In reviewing the natural resources of our country, we must not overlook the value 
 taken from the sea and the fresh waters. Aside from the uses of our rivers and 
 lakes as afEording facilities for travel and freightage, and the small streams, ponds, 
 brooks, etc., as furnishing water for household purposes, the immense benefit of our 
 fresh waters in the form of ice is worth considering. Ice fifty years ago was a lux- 
 ury, now it is a necessity. Without considering its importance in making water 
 cold and palatable during our hot summers, its utility in the preservation of food is 
 very great. Fish, fruits, and meats can now be transported thousands of miles in 
 perfectly fresh condition, and industries of great value have thus been made by the 
 cheapness and large supply of ice, created by our cold winters. California fruits are 
 put in the New York market in perfect condition ; fish can be brought from the 
 Gulf of Mexico, and dressed beef conveyed to Europe. We read that Lucullus and 
 Apicius had fish from the Eastern waters brought to Italy, at immense expense, to 
 
C02 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 serve at their great banquets. This hixiir)' is now within the reach of tlie average 
 man at only a trifling expense. The man of moderate income may serve to his guests 
 — pears and grapes from California ; pompano from the Gulf of Mexico ; salmon from 
 the Columbia River ; and quails, and canvas-back ducks, and turkeys, in midsummer, 
 which have been kept for six months in i-efrigerating stores. The use of ice in the 
 preservation of fish and meat is so great, and has become such a matter of fact, that 
 it is but little appreciated, except during the seasons when the ice-crop is poor. 
 
 But it is as a store-house of food that the waters both salt and fresh are of the 
 most imjiortance. The ocean waters laid under contribution extend from Eastport, 
 Maine, to the mouth of the Rio Grande, and from San Diego Bay, Southern California, 
 to Fuca Straits. The Atlantic waters, and the bays and sounds connected therewith, 
 swarm at all times with fish ; while at certain seasons come countless shoals from the 
 dejiths of the ocean to feed on the banks or shallows, or to run iip the rivers for 
 si)awning purposes. The Banks of Newfoundland and St. George's Shoals are feeding- 
 grounds for innumerable quantities of codfish, and hither resort great numbers of fishing- 
 smacks. Off the shores of the Northern United States and of Nova Scotia American 
 fishermen capture immense quantities of the staple food-fishes, such as herring, mack- 
 erel, and cod. There have been taken in a single year nearly half a million barrels of 
 mackerel, and a much greater catch of cod. In this business there are employed not 
 less than ten thousand men, and a large number of sloops and schooners. In New 
 England especially, fisheries are very extensively carried on. Gloucester, Massachusetts, 
 and then Marblehead, are the leading cities in this branch of industry. Here single 
 firms have not less than half a million dollars invested in the business. Gloucester 
 alone sends out about five hundred vessels to fish for cod, mackerel, and halibut. 
 The product of the New England fisheries some years reaches the sum of twenty mill- 
 ion dollars, including in this estimate everything coming out of the sea. 
 
 Long Island Sound and the shores of New Jersey, in addition to these fishes, fur- 
 nish menhaden in such quantities that they are used for manuring the land and for 
 obtaining oil by pressure. Until recently they have not been used as a food-fish, 
 though the flesh is sweet and good, on account of the great number of bones ; but a 
 method has been recently devised of extracting the bones by machinery, and they are 
 now put up in oil, like the French and Italian sardines, which they rival in excellence. 
 In the spring months the lower portions of the rivers flowing into the Atlantic, from 
 the Connecticut to the rivers of North Carolina, and the adjacent bays and sounds, 
 swarm with shad. These are eaten in great quantities by the people of adjoining 
 cities, packed in ice for inland transportation, or salted for winter use. The North 
 Carolina coast is also exceedingly pi-olific in herring, and at the mouth of the Chowan 
 River three hundred thousand are sometimes taken at a single catch. Fish in great 
 variety and abundance, many of them the choicest for epicurean taste, abound in the 
 northern waters of the Gulf of Mexico and in the lower portions of the Mississippi 
 River. Fish commissioners have been appointed l)y the United States and by the 
 several States, to advance fish-culture, and in addition to these are many private asso- 
 
OUR NATURAL RESOURCES. 603 
 
 ciations. The result of this scientific effort has been to vastly increase the supply 
 of certain important fishes. The catch of shad, for example, has been nearly doubled 
 within the last ten years. The indications are that this intelligent study of fish 
 propagation will be of incalculable value to the country. 
 
 The fisheries on the Pacific coast are also of enormous value. Puget Sound, some- 
 times called the Mediterranean of the North Pacific, is stocked with a great variety 
 of the finest fish, salmon, cod, herring, halibut, etc. Just off the Straits of Fuca, the 
 outlet of Puget Sound, is a bank wliich is a celebrated feeding-ground for halibut. 
 Here this fish is found in great quantities, of the largest size and the finest quality. 
 It is often caught weighing three hundred pounds. So, too, along the entire south- 
 ern coast of Alaska there are very prolific fisheries of cod, halibut, and herring. All 
 these have begun to be of great use and value for export to Japan and China, whence 
 there is a large demand. 
 
 But the most important fishery on the Pacific coast is that of the salmon, the 
 king of fish. The Columbia Kivei', its main branch the Shoshone, and other tribu- 
 taries, are fed by the mountain snows. Consequently the water is distinguished for 
 its icy coldness and clearness. These qualities constitute a great attraction for the 
 salmon, which come up from the depths of the Pacific, from April to August, in 
 countless multitudes, for the purpose of spawning. Immense fishing and canning 
 establishments have been founded at Astoria and in the vicinity. The fish are caught 
 at night in gill-nets, for the water is so clear that they can see the snare during the 
 day-time, and avoid it by swimming above or below. The meshes of the net are 
 made so large that only the fish of more than fifteen jjounds in weight are taken. 
 The salmon-meat is prepared by a peculiar process and hermetically sealed. It is then 
 sent all over the world, England taking the bulk of the supply. It is not unusual 
 to can ten thousand tons a year, and a like quantity is shipped fresh to the Eastern 
 markets or salted. In spite of the vast production, the demand exceeds the supply, 
 and the anticipated product of the fisheries is contracted for before the season begins. 
 The fishermen assert that the niimbcr of the salmon entering the Columbia and its 
 tributaries does not diminish, in spite of the enormous catch every season. It is said 
 that the value of the salmon canned at Astoria alone amounts to three million dol- 
 lars annually. The Yukon Eiver, Alaska, is another favorite place for salmon, and 
 in future time it will probably be but little less important than the Columbia for its 
 fisheries. 
 
 Not less valuable than the fisheries already described is the industry engaged in 
 breeding, propagating, and catching shell-fish, specially the oyster. The oyster-culture 
 of the United States is remarkable in its value and extent, and the demand for this lus- 
 cious bivalve is increasing every year. Many of the bays and estuaries of the Atlantic 
 contain more or less native oysters, but their great center is Chesapeake Bay, where the 
 conditions appear to be peculiarly favorable to them. From this bay great quantities 
 are carried and planted in more northern waters. The oyster when thrown overboard 
 and left to itself, under favorable conditions, easily obtains food, and in due time 
 
604 OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 becomes large and fat. All the small bays and inlets about New York City, specially 
 Long Island Sound, the New England coast as far north as Boston, and the New 
 Jersey coast, are celebrated for the niimber and excellence of their oyster-beds. The 
 fishery of oysters along the coast north of the Maryland shore amounts to not less 
 than twenty million dollars in annual value, and that of the Chesapeake Bay and the 
 Virginia waters is probably much greater. It would be safe to estimate the yearly 
 production of oysters in the United States as not less than fifty million dollars, 
 and it probably exceeds that amount. One of the most important industries of Balti- 
 more and Norfolk is canning oysters, and from the former place immense quantities 
 are sent in the shell over the United States and across the ocean to Europe, South 
 America, Australia, etc. The oyster-trade of Baltimore is several times as valuable as 
 the whole wheat product of Maryland. At Fair Haven, Connecticut, is another great 
 oyster-mart, where the bivalve is canned and p:ckled for home and foreign consump- 
 tion, to the extent of millions of dollars' worth. Though the yield of oysters is very 
 large, and a good deal of scientific attention has been given to their culture, there is a 
 fear, which appears to be but too well founded, that something further must be done 
 to prevent continued deterioration of the beds, if we expect an oyster-supply at all com- 
 mensurate with our future needs. The oyster-beds of New England and the i\Iiddle 
 States are gradually failing, and those of the Southern coast do not show a much better 
 prospect. Oysters are gathered for the most part by means of dredges, or great iron 
 sweeps. Many of the small oysters in this way are destroyed or buried in the mud. 
 Others ai-e widely separated from the mother-bed, and, while the extent of the beds 
 may be increased, the yield of marketable oysters is greatly diminished. In order 
 that the generative matter of the male and female oyster may come together, it is 
 important that the oysters shall remain in a small, compact bed. If the spawn- 
 bearing oysters are very much decreased in number, or widely separated, the chances of 
 contact and reproduction are slight. To these causes may be added the carelessness 
 of fishermen in throwing over the star-fishes, those deadliest enemies of the oyster, 
 when they are taken up. Ignorance prompts the oysterman to chop the star-fish 
 into pieces and return the fragments to the ocean, not knowing the fact that every 
 part becomes again a complete star. He thus increases the enemies of the oyster 
 many fold. The ravages of the star-fish may be guessed at when it is stated that 
 a heavy northeast storm blowing in a small army of these pests frequently destroys 
 many acres of oyster-beds in a few days. These are a few of the causes which account 
 for an indisputable fact. Careful investigations have been made within a few years, 
 proving that the yield of the oyster-beds is failing, while no great natural beds of 
 oysters are being discovered. The oyster is one of the most prolific of creatures. 
 Each mature fish spawns annually from nine to sixty million eggs ! This would 
 appear to indicate enormous possibilities in improving the oyster-yield, yet in spite of 
 this the tendency is in the opposite direction. Professor Mobius, a celebrated author- 
 ity on this subject, some years ago gave this warning : " In North America the oysters 
 are so fine and cheap that they may be eaten daily by all classes. Hence they arc 
 
OUR NATURAL RESOURCES. 605 
 
 now, and have been for a long time, a real means of subsistence for the people. This 
 enviable fact is no argument against the injuriousness of a continuous and severe 
 fishery of the beds. . . . But, as the number of consumers increases in America, the 
 price will also surely advance, and then there will arise the desire to fish the beds 
 more closely than hitherto ; and if they do not accept in time the unfortunate exjieri- 
 ence of the oyster-culturists of Europe they will surely find their oyster-beds impov- 
 erished for having defied the bioconotic laws." This time has already begun, and 
 it will not be many years before strict protective laws, rigidly enforced, will be needed. 
 There should be no good reason, with proper attention to the subject, why the United 
 States, with its enormous extent of waters favorable for oyster-culture, should not 
 supply the world with this finest of shell-fish. Oyster commissions, made up of com- 
 petent scientific and practical men, similar to those already organized for the pro- 
 tection and propagation of other fish, should liave the matter intrusted to them by the 
 national and State governments. The result of neglect and severe fishing is already 
 seen in the great decrease in the lobster-supply, which promises to end, before many 
 years, in practical extinction, unless something is done to check the ravages of igno- 
 rant and greedy fishermen. A few years ago the oyster-beds of France were threatened 
 as ours are now, but the prompt action of government has removed the evil, and now 
 the yield is as large as ever. 
 
 The whale-fishery interest of this country, since tlie discovery of petroleum-oil in 
 great quantity, has fallen off vastly, having decreased from the tonnage of 198,000 to 
 to that of about 38,000, but it is still an important industry and is growing again. The 
 whales, which were nearly exterminated, have, owing to a considerable period of com- 
 parative immunity, reached again an abundance which justifies the investment of capi- 
 tal in such ventures. The total number of vessels engaged in sea-fishing of all kinds, 
 including the oyster-fishing, reached for the year 1881 the number of fifteen thousand 
 (about) ; and, estimating a crew of five to each, this would give seventy-five thousand 
 men engaged in the sea-fisheries of our country. It would be fair to add five thou- 
 sand to represent the fishing interests on the Great Lakes. The total product of Ameri- 
 can fisheries for the same year, so far as we can estimate from incomplete data, would 
 not fall far short of $150,000,000. This is not given as an exact, only as an approxi- 
 mate estimate. 
 
 The process by which the public lands of the United States may be acquired puts 
 them within the reach of all, even the poorest. It is the agricultural interest, after 
 all, which is by far the greatest, surpassing, indeed, all the rest combined. According 
 to the Homestead Law, which went into effect on January 1, 1863, any actual settler 
 twenty-one years of age, male or female, the head of a family, on payment of ten dol- 
 lars, shall be permitted to " enter " one hundred and sixty acres of land. Also per- 
 sons of foreign birth may enjoy the same privilege, provided the immigrant has 
 declared his purpose of becoming a citizen of the United States. The same law pro- 
 vides that the homestead shall not in any case be liable for the payment of debts 
 contracted before the issuing of the patent thereof. The settler must be an actual 
 
GOO OUR NATIVE LAND. 
 
 occupant; that is, live on the farm and cultivate it for five years. On evidence of 
 this fact the Government gives a title in fee for the property ; or, if the settler dies, 
 it is secured to his children. By this means, there are none so poor that they can 
 not secure land to cultivate, if they have the necessary thrift, industry, and self- 
 denial to Avork it. 
 
 The design of this chajjter has been to deal witli the natural resources of the 
 United States merely, and not to touch tlie vast interests of manufactures and trade. 
 We have seen that the production of what may be called primary industries, tliougii 
 these have only been scratched on the surface, so to speak, is simply enormous, almost 
 beyond grasp. In Europe every resource of nature is worked for all it is worth with 
 the most incessant and ingenious industry. When in course of future time the same 
 exactions are made by man in this country, it is not too much to say that the United 
 States, with all its prodigal variety and richness of natural gifts, is easily capable of 
 yielding from ten to twenty fold more than it docs at present. Enough has been said 
 to give some adequate notion of the capacities of production existent in this country, 
 and of the possibilities of the future. 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 STATISTICS OF POPULATION AND AREA. 
 
 I. 
 
 POPULATION OF ONE HUNDRED OF THE LARGEST CITIES AND TOWNS IN 
 
 THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 Albany 
 
 Allegheny. ... 
 
 Atlanta 
 
 Auburn 
 
 Augusta. ...... 
 
 Ualtiinore 
 
 Hay City 
 
 Boston 
 
 Bridgeport 
 
 Brooklyn 
 
 Buffalo 
 
 Cambridge 
 
 Camden 
 
 Charleston 
 
 Chelsea 
 
 Chicago 
 
 Cincinnati 
 
 Cleveland 
 
 Columbus. . . . . 
 
 Covington 
 
 Davenport 
 
 Dayton 
 
 Denver 
 
 Des Moine."* , . . 
 
 Detroit 
 
 Dubuque 
 
 Elizabeth 
 
 Elmira 
 
 Erie 
 
 Evansville 
 
 Fall River 
 
 Fort Wayne . . . 
 
 Galveston 
 
 (Jrand Rapids . 
 
 Harrisburg 
 
 Hartford 
 
 Iloboken 
 
 Ilolyoke 
 
 Indianapolis.. . 
 Jersey City. . . . 
 Kansas City. . . 
 
 Lancaster 
 
 Lawrence 
 
 Lonieville 
 
 Lowell 
 
 TOTAL POPULATIOK. 
 
 1880. 
 
 Lynn 
 
 Manchester.. 
 Memphis. . . . 
 Milwaukee . . 
 Minneapolis. 
 
 Nevv York 
 
 Pennsylvania 
 
 Georgia 
 
 New York 
 
 Georgia 
 
 Maryland . . 
 
 Miciiigan 
 
 Massachusetts . . . 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 New York 
 
 New Y'ork 
 
 Massachusetts... 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 South Carolina . . 
 Massachusetts . . . 
 
 Illinois 
 
 Ohio 
 
 Ohio 
 
 Ohio 
 
 Kentucky 
 
 Iowa 
 
 Ohio 
 
 Colorado 
 
 Iowa 
 
 Michigan 
 
 Iowa 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 New York 
 
 Pennsylvania. . . . 
 
 Indiana 
 
 Massachusetts... 
 
 Indiana 
 
 Texas 
 
 Michigan 
 
 Pennsylvania 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 Massachusetts. . . 
 
 Indiana 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 Missouri 
 
 Pennsylvania 
 
 Massaciiusetts. . . 
 
 Kentucky 
 
 Massachusetts. . . 
 Massachusetts.. . 
 New Hampshire. 
 
 Tennessee 
 
 Wisconsin 
 
 Minnesota 
 
 00,758 
 T8,682 
 3T,409 
 21,924 
 81,891 
 
 3.32,.313 
 20,C93 
 
 .302,839 
 27,&43 
 
 566,663 
 
 155,134 
 52,669 
 41,659 
 49,984 
 21,782 
 
 .'503,185 
 
 2,55,139 
 
 160,146 
 51,647 
 29,720 
 21,831 
 38,678 
 35,629 
 22,408 
 
 116,340 
 22,254 
 28,229 
 80,541 
 87,737 
 29,280 
 48,961 
 28,880 
 22,248 
 32,016 
 30,702 
 42,015 
 30.999 
 21,915 
 75,050 
 
 120,722 
 55,785 
 25,769 
 39,151 
 
 123,7.58 
 59,475 
 38,374 
 32,6.30 
 33,592 
 
 115,587 
 46,887 
 
 69,422 
 53,180 
 21,789 
 17,285 
 15,389 
 
 267,354 
 7,064 
 
 250,536 
 18,969 
 
 396,099 
 
 117,714 
 .39,634 
 20,045 
 48,956 
 18,547 
 
 298,977 
 
 216,339 
 92,829 
 31,874 
 34,505 
 20,ft38 
 30,473 
 4,759 
 18,035 
 79,577 
 18,434 
 80,838 
 15,86;i 
 19,040 
 81,830 
 26,766 
 17,718 
 13,813 
 16,507 
 2.3.104 
 .37,180 
 20,397 
 10,733 
 48,244 
 82,546 
 33,260 
 20,233 
 88,921 
 
 100,7.'j3 
 40,938 
 88,288 
 23,536 
 40,836 
 71,440 
 13,066 
 
 Mobile 
 
 Nashville 
 
 Newark 
 
 New Bedford. . . 
 
 New Haven 
 
 New Orleans . . . 
 I Newport 
 
 New York 
 
 Norfolk 
 
 Oakland 
 
 Omaha 
 
 Oswego 
 
 Patereon 
 
 Peoria 
 
 Petersburg. 
 
 Philadelphia . . . 
 
 Pittsburg 
 
 ' Portland 
 
 [ Poughkeepsie .. 
 I Providence 
 
 Quincy 
 
 ! Reading 
 
 Richmond 
 
 I Rochester 
 
 ! Sacramento . . . 
 
 St. Joseph 
 
 St. Louis 
 
 St. Paul 
 
 Salem 
 
 Salt Lake City . 
 
 San Antonio . . . 
 
 San Francisco , . 
 
 Savannah 
 
 Scranton 
 
 Somerville 
 
 Springtield 
 
 Springfield 
 
 Springfield . . . , 
 1 Syracuse 
 
 Taunton 
 
 Terre Haute 
 
 Toledo 
 
 Trenton 
 
 Troy 
 
 Utica 
 
 Washington 
 
 Wheeling 
 
 Wilkesbarre 
 
 Wilmington.. . . 
 
 Worcester 
 
 Alabama 
 
 Tennessee 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 Massachusetts... 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 Louisiana 
 
 Kentucky 
 
 Nevv York 
 
 Virginia 
 
 California 
 
 Nebraska 
 
 New York 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 Illinois 
 
 Virginia 
 
 Pennsylvania .... 
 Pennsylvania .... 
 
 Maine 
 
 New York 
 
 Rhode Island 
 
 Illinois 
 
 Pennsylvania 
 
 Virginia 
 
 New York 
 
 California 
 
 Missouri 
 
 Missouri 
 
 Minnesota 
 
 Massachusetts... 
 
 Utah 
 
 Texas 
 
 California 
 
 Georgia 
 
 Pennsylvania. . . . 
 Massachusetts. . . 
 
 Illinois 
 
 Massachusetts. . 
 
 Ohio 
 
 New York 
 
 Massachusetts. . . 
 
 Indiana 
 
 Ohio 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 New York 
 
 New York 
 
 District of Columbia 
 
 West Virginia 
 
 Pennsylvania. 
 
 Delaware 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 TOTAL POPULATION. 
 
 39,133 
 43,850 
 
 136,508 
 26,845 
 62,882 
 
 216,090 
 80,433 
 1,206,299 
 21,966 
 84,555 
 30,518 
 21,116 
 51,031 
 29,259 
 21,056 
 
 847,170 
 
 1.5«,;)89 
 .33,810 
 20,307 
 
 104,857 
 27,208 
 43,278 
 63,600 
 89,366 
 81,420 
 ,32.431 
 
 350.518 
 41,473 
 27,.5fl3 
 20,708 
 20,550 
 
 233,959 
 .30,709 
 45,850 
 24,938 
 19,748 
 33,340 
 30,780 
 51,792 
 31.213 
 20.042 
 50,137 
 29,910 
 56.747 
 33,914 
 
 147,393 
 30,7.37 
 2:),.339 
 42,478 
 58,291 
 
 1870. 
 
 32,034 
 25,865 
 
 105,059 
 31,320 
 50,840 
 
 191,418 
 15,087 
 
 942,292 
 19,229 
 10,500 
 16,083 
 20,910 
 33,579 
 32,849 
 18,950 
 
 674,032 
 86,076 
 31,413 
 20,080 
 08,904 
 24,052 
 33,930 
 51,038 
 62,386 
 16,288 
 19,565 
 
 310,864 
 20,030 
 !M,117 
 12,854 
 12,856 
 
 149,473 
 28,3.35 
 35,092 
 14,685 
 17,864 
 26,703 
 12,852 
 43,051 
 18.639 
 16,103 
 31.584 
 32.874 
 46,465 
 28,804 
 
 109,199 
 19,280 
 10,174 
 30,841 
 41,105 
 
U08 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 II. 
 
 CENSUS BY STATES AT EACH CENSUS, 1790-1880.* 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 3 
 4 
 5 
 6 
 7 
 8 
 9 
 10 
 11 
 12 
 13 
 14 
 15 
 16 
 17 
 18 
 19 
 20 
 21 
 
 24 
 25 
 26 
 27 
 
 30 
 31 
 32 
 33 
 34 
 35 
 
 1 
 
 STATES AND TERRITORIES. 
 
 1790. 
 
 1800. 
 
 1810. 
 
 18«0. 
 
 i8ce. 
 
 The United States 
 
 3,929,314 
 
 5,308,483 
 
 7,239,881 
 
 9,633,822 
 
 
 12,866,020 
 
 The States 
 
 
 3,929,214 
 
 5,294,390 
 
 7,215,858 
 
 9,600,783 
 
 
 12,820.868 
 
 
 
 Alabama 
 
 8 
 16 
 
 13 
 
 14 
 
 11 
 6 
 4 
 
 10 
 9 
 5 
 3 
 
 2 
 
 15 
 
 7 
 17 
 
 12 
 
 1 
 
 237,946 
 59,096 
 
 82,548 
 
 
 
 73,677 
 
 96,540 
 319,728 
 378,787 
 
 141,885 
 184,139 
 340.120 
 393,751 
 
 
 
 434,373 
 68,825 
 
 249,073 
 35,691 
 
 85,425 
 747,610 
 
 8 
 17 
 
 12 
 
 20 
 
 9 
 
 14 
 
 7 
 
 19 
 
 11 
 
 'I 
 4 
 18 
 
 2 
 16 
 
 6 
 15 
 
 13 
 
 1 
 
 2.51,002 
 64,273 
 
 102,686 
 
 5,641 
 
 230.955 
 
 151.719 
 341.548 
 422,845 
 
 8,850 
 
 183,858 
 211,149 
 .589,051 
 478,108 
 45.365 
 
 602.365 
 
 69,1® 
 
 315,591 
 
 105,602 
 
 154,465 
 
 880,200 
 
 9 
 19 
 
 11 
 23 
 
 21 
 
 7 
 18 
 14 
 8 
 5 
 24 
 
 20 
 22 
 
 16 
 12 
 2 
 4 
 13 
 
 3 
 17 
 
 6 
 10 
 
 15 
 1 
 
 261,942 
 72,674 
 
 252.433 
 12.282 
 24.520 
 
 406..511 
 76,556 
 228,705 
 380,.M6 
 4ra.O40 
 4,762 
 
 40,352 
 20,846 
 
 214,460 
 245,562 
 959,049 
 555,500 
 230,760 
 
 810,091 
 
 76,931 
 
 415.115 
 
 261,737 
 
 217,895 
 974,600 
 
 19 
 25 
 
 14 
 22 
 
 11 
 24 
 
 18 
 
 6 
 17 
 12 
 10 
 
 26 
 
 21 
 23 
 
 15 
 13 
 
 1 
 4 
 5 
 
 3 
 
 20 
 
 8 
 9 
 
 16 
 2 
 
 127,901 
 14,255 
 
 275,148 
 72,749 
 
 340.985 
 55,162 
 147,178 
 
 564,135 
 152,923 
 298,269 
 407,350 
 .523,159 
 8,765 
 
 75,448 
 66,557 
 
 244,022 
 277,426 
 1,372,111 
 638.829 
 581,295 
 
 1,047,507 
 83.015 
 
 502,741 
 422,771 
 
 235,966 
 1,065,116 
 
 15 
 27 
 
 16 
 21 
 25 
 10 
 20 
 13 
 
 6 
 19 
 12 
 11 
 
 8 
 26 
 
 _ 
 
 82 
 21 
 
 18 
 14 
 1 
 5 
 4 
 
 2 
 23 
 
 9 
 
 7 
 
 17 
 3 
 
 309,527 
 
 Arkansas. 
 
 30,388 
 
 California. . 
 
 
 Colorado 
 
 
 Connecticut . 
 
 297,675 
 
 
 76,748 
 
 Florida 
 
 34,730 
 
 Georgia 
 
 516,823 
 
 
 157,445 
 
 
 343,031 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 687,917 
 
 Louisiana 
 
 215,7:39 
 
 
 399,455 
 
 
 447,010 
 
 Massachusetts. ... 
 
 610,408 
 
 
 31,639 
 
 Minnesota. . ... 
 
 
 ' Mississippi 
 
 136,681 
 
 
 140,453 
 
 Nebraska 
 
 
 
 
 
 269,328 
 
 
 320,823 
 
 New York. ... . . 
 
 1.918.608 
 
 
 737,987 
 
 Ohio 
 
 937,903 
 
 
 
 ! Pennsylvania 
 
 Rhode Island 
 
 1,348,233 
 97,199 
 
 South Carolina 
 
 581,185 
 
 
 681,904 
 
 Texas 
 
 
 Vermont 
 
 280,652 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 1.211,405 
 
 West Virginia 
 
 
 
 
 The States 
 
 
 3,929,214 
 
 5,924,390 
 
 7,215,858 
 
 9,600,783 
 
 
 12,820,868 
 
 Arizona . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 14.093 
 
 1 
 
 24,023 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 33,039 
 
 1 
 
 
 Dakota 
 
 
 
 39,834 
 
 Idaho 
 
 
 Montana 
 
 
 New Mexico * 
 
 
 Utah 
 
 
 Wa.shington 
 
 
 Wyoming 
 
 The Territories. 
 
 
 
 14,093 
 
 84,083 
 
 33,039 
 
 
 39,834 
 
 Total population 
 
 
 3,929,214 
 
 5,308,483 
 
 Inci 
 cent. 
 
 ; 
 
 7,239,881 
 
 •ease per 
 1801-1810, 
 6 -.38. 
 
 9,633,882 
 
 
 12,866,020 
 
 
 
 
 Inci 
 cent, 
 
 a 
 
 ease per 
 1790-1800, 
 5- 10. 
 
 Increase per 
 
 cent, 1810-1820. 
 3306. 
 
 Incr 
 cent, 
 
 S 
 
 ease per 
 
 1820-1830, 
 
 1251. 
 
 * The narrow column under each census year shows the order of the States and Territories when arranged according to mag- 
 nitude of population. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 609 
 
 CENSUS BY STATES.— (ConfmMed.) 
 
 STATES AND TERRI- 
 TORIES. 
 
 The United States . 
 
 The States. 
 
 1 
 2 
 3 
 4 
 5 
 6 
 
 8 
 9 
 10 
 II 
 12 
 1.3 
 14 
 15 
 18 
 17 
 18 
 19 
 20 
 21 
 22 
 23 
 24 
 25 
 
 .30 
 31 
 
 M 
 
 36 
 37 
 
 Alabama 
 
 Arkaneas 
 
 Califoroia 
 
 Colorado 
 
 Connecticut . . . . 
 
 Delaware 
 
 Florida 
 
 Georgia 
 
 Illinois 
 
 Indiana 
 
 Iowa 
 
 Kansas 
 
 Kentucky 
 
 Louisiana 
 
 Maine 
 
 Maryland 
 
 Massachusetts. . . 
 
 Michigan 
 
 Minnesota 
 
 Mississippi 
 
 Missouri 
 
 Nehraska 
 
 Nevada „ 
 
 New Hampshire . 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 New York 
 
 North Carolina . . 
 
 Ohio 
 
 Oregon 
 
 Pennsylvania,. , 
 
 Rhode Island 
 
 South Carolina . . 
 
 Tennessee 
 
 Texas 
 
 Vermont 
 
 Virginia 
 
 West Virginia . . . 
 Wisconsin 
 
 17,069,453 
 
 17,019,641 
 
 12 
 25 
 
 20 
 26 
 27 
 9 
 14 
 10 
 28 
 
 19 
 13 
 15 
 8 
 23 
 
 17 
 16 
 
 22 
 
 18 
 
 1 
 
 7 
 
 3 
 
 24 
 11 
 5 
 
 21 
 4 
 
 The States. 
 
 Arizona 
 
 Dakota 
 
 District of Columbia. 
 
 Idaho 
 
 Montana 
 
 New Mexico 
 
 Utah 
 
 Washington 
 
 Wyoming 
 
 The Territories.. . 
 Total population., 
 
 590,756 
 97,574 
 
 .309,978 
 
 78,085 
 
 54,477 
 
 691,.392 
 
 476,183 
 
 685,866 
 
 43,112 
 
 779,828 
 3.52,411 
 501.793 
 470,019 
 737,699 
 212,267 
 
 375,651 
 383,708 
 
 284,.574 
 373,306 
 
 2,428,921 
 753,419 
 
 1,519,467 
 
 1.724,033 
 108,830 
 594,398 
 829,210 
 
 291,»48 
 1,239,797 
 
 30,945 
 
 23,191,876 
 
 2.3,067,262 
 
 17,010,641 
 
 4.3.712 
 
 12 
 26 
 
 29 
 
 21 
 30 
 31 
 9 
 11 
 
 18 
 IB 
 17 
 6 
 20 
 33 
 15 
 13 
 
 22 
 19 
 
 1 
 10 
 
 3 
 32 
 
 2 
 28 
 14 
 
 5 
 25 
 23 
 
 4 
 
 24 
 
 771.623 
 
 209,897 
 
 92,597 
 
 370,792 
 91,532 
 
 87,445 
 908,1») 
 851,470 
 988,416 
 192,214 
 
 982,405 
 517,762 
 58.3,169 
 583,034 
 994,514 
 397,654 
 6,077 
 606,526 
 682,044 
 
 317,976 
 489,555 
 
 3,097,394 
 869,039 
 
 1,980,829 
 13,894 
 
 8,311,786 
 147,545 
 668,507 
 
 1,008,717 
 212,592 
 314,120 
 
 1.421,661 
 
 305,.391 
 
 23,067.868 
 
 51,687 
 
 61,547 
 11.380 
 
 43,712 
 
 17,069,453 
 
 Increase per 
 
 cent, 1830-1840, 
 
 33-58 
 
 124.614 
 
 23,191.876 
 
 Increase per 
 
 cent, 1810-18.50, 
 
 35-8.3. 
 
 31,443,381 
 
 31,183,744 
 
 13 
 85 
 86 
 35 
 84 
 .32 
 31 
 11 
 4 
 6 
 20 
 33 
 
 19 
 
 7 
 16 
 
 37 
 27 
 21 
 
 1 
 12 
 
 3 
 34 
 
 2 
 29 
 18 
 10 
 83 
 28 
 
 5 
 
 964,801 
 435,450 
 .379,994 
 »t,877 
 460.147 
 118,816 
 140,484 
 
 1,057,886 
 
 1,711,951 
 
 1,350.428 
 674,913 
 107,206 
 
 1,155,684 
 708,002 
 628,279 
 687,049 
 
 1,2.31,066 
 749,113 
 172,023 
 791,305 
 
 1,182,012 
 
 28,841 
 
 0,857 
 
 386,073 
 
 672,0.35 
 
 3,880.735 
 993,688 
 
 2,339,511 
 52,465 
 
 2,906,215 
 174,680 
 703,708 
 
 1,109,801 
 604,215 
 315,098 
 
 1,596,318 
 
 775,881 
 
 1870. 
 
 38,558,371 
 
 31,183,744 
 
 4,837 
 75,080 
 
 93,516 
 40,273 
 11,594 
 
 259,577 
 
 31,443,321 
 
 Increase per 
 
 cent. 18.50-1860, 
 
 .45- 11. 
 
 38,115,641 
 
 16 
 86 
 84 
 38 
 25 
 34 
 33 
 12 
 4 
 6 
 11 
 89 
 8 
 81 
 23 
 80 
 
 13 
 28 
 18 
 
 5 
 35 
 37 
 31 
 17 
 
 1 
 14 
 
 32 
 88 
 9 
 19 
 30 
 10 
 27 
 15 
 
 996,992 
 
 484,471 
 560,247 
 39,864 
 5.37,454 
 125,015 
 187,748 
 ,184.109 
 ,5.39,801 
 ,680,637 
 ,194,020 
 364,399 
 ,321,011 
 726,915 
 626,915 
 780,894 
 ,457,351 
 .184,059 
 439,706 
 827.922 
 ,721,895 
 122,993 
 42,491 
 318,.300 
 906,096 
 ..388,759 
 ,071,361 
 ,665,860 
 90,923 
 ,.521,951 
 817.353 
 705,606 
 ,858,520 
 818,579 
 330,551 
 ,225,163 
 442,014 
 ,054,670 
 
 38,115,641 
 
 9,658 
 14,181 
 131,700 
 14,999 
 20,595 
 91,874 
 86,786 
 23,955 
 
 9,118 
 
 442,730 
 
 38,558,371 
 
 Increase per 
 
 Per ct. locT'e, 
 1870-1880. 
 
 50,155,783 
 
 49,371,340 
 
 17 
 25 
 24 
 35 
 23 
 31 
 ,37 
 13 
 4 
 6 
 10 
 81 
 H 
 22 
 27 
 23 
 
 9 
 26 
 18 
 
 5 
 30 
 38 
 31 
 19 
 
 1 
 15 
 
 3 
 .36 
 
 8 
 .33 
 20 
 12 
 11 
 32 
 14 
 29 
 16 
 
 ,262,505 
 802,525 
 864,694 
 194,327 
 622,700 
 146,608 
 269,493 
 ,542,180 
 ,077,871 
 ,978,.301 
 ,624,615 
 9%,090 
 ,648.690 
 939,946 
 648,936 
 934,943 
 ,783,085 
 ,636,937 
 780,773 
 ,1.31,597 
 ,168..380 
 452,402 
 62,266 
 .346,991 
 131,116 
 ,083,871 
 ,.399,750 
 i.198,062 
 174,768 
 ,288,891 
 276,531 
 995,577 
 ,518.359 
 591,749 
 .332,886 
 ,512.565 
 618,457 
 ,315,497 
 
 49,371,340 
 
 40,440 
 135,177 
 177,624 
 32,610 
 39,159 
 119,565 
 143,963 
 75,116 
 20,789 
 
 7»4,443 
 
 50,155,783 
 
 Increase per 
 
 cent, 1860-1870, ! cent, 1870-1880, 
 23-65. i 3008. 
 
 3008 
 
 29-53 
 
 86-63 
 65-65 
 54-34 
 
 .387-47 
 15-86 
 17-27 
 43 -.53 
 .30-23 
 21 18 
 17-71 
 .36 06 
 
 173-35 
 22-98 
 29-30 
 3-51 
 19-72 
 28-35 
 3824 
 77-56 
 36-67 
 25-97 
 
 807-82 
 46-53 
 9 01 
 24-83 
 15-97 
 30-65 
 19-99 
 92-21 
 81-60 
 27-22 
 41-09 
 22-55 
 94-45 
 -58 
 83-45 
 39.91 
 84-73 
 
 29-53 
 
 318-78 
 8.53-22 
 34-87 
 117-41 
 90-13 
 3014 
 65-88 
 213-57 
 127-99 
 
 77-18 
 
 8008 
 
610 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 III. 
 
 STATISTICS OF AREA IN SQUARE MILES. 
 
 There is not a State or Territory whose area in the census returns of 1880 is not different from 
 that previously given. The total area of the United States, as now revised, is about 800 square 
 miles less than that heretofore fixed. It was given in the census of 1870 at 3,026,494 square miles, 
 exclusive of the 577,390 square miles of Alaska, and it is now found to be 3,025,600. lu fourteen 
 States and five Territories the revised area is less than the old ; in the rest it is greater. The differ- 
 ence is very considerable in most cases, and is great in some. The number of square miles in 
 California is reduced from 188,981 to 158,360, in Texas from 274,356 to 265,780, in Tennessee from 
 4.5,600 to 43,0.')0, in South Carolina from 34,000 to 30,.570, in Pennsylvania from 46,000 to 45,215, 
 in Maine from 35,000 to 33,040, and in New Jersey from 8,320 to 7,815. The area of Massachusetts 
 has been increased from 7,800 to 8,315 square miles. New York from 47,000 to 49,170, Virginia from 
 38,348 to 42,450, Kentucky from 37,680 to 40,400, Missouri from 65,350 to 69,415, Louisiana from 
 41,346 to 48,720, Nevada from 104,125 to 110,700, and Wisconsin from 53,934 to 56,040. The census- 
 table of 1880, which does not include Alaska, is as follows, the figures representing square miles : 
 
 Alabama 
 
 Arizona 
 
 Arkansas 
 
 California 
 
 Colorado 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 Dakota 
 
 Delaware 
 
 District of Columbia . 
 
 Florida 
 
 Georgia 
 
 Idaho 
 
 Illinois 
 
 Indiana 
 
 Indian Territory 
 
 Iowa 
 
 Kansas 
 
 Kentucky , 
 
 Louisiana 
 
 Maine 
 
 Maryland 
 
 Massacliusetts 
 
 Michigan 
 
 Minnesota 
 
 Mississippi 
 
 Missouri 
 
 Montana 
 
 52,250 
 
 113,020 
 
 53,850 
 
 158,360 
 
 103,fl25 
 
 4,990 
 
 149,100 
 
 2,050 
 
 70 
 
 58,680 
 
 59,473 
 
 84,800 
 
 56,6.50 
 
 36,350 
 
 64,690 
 
 56,025 
 
 82.080 
 
 40,400 
 
 48,720 
 
 33,040 
 
 12,210 
 
 8,315 
 
 58,915 
 
 83,365 
 
 46,810 
 
 69,415 
 
 146,080 
 
 Tola] 
 water-sur- 
 face. 
 
 Total land- 
 surface. 
 
 710 
 
 51,540 
 
 100 
 
 112,920 
 
 803 
 
 53,045 i 
 
 3,.380 
 
 153,980 j 
 
 280 
 
 103,645 
 
 143 
 
 4,843 
 
 1,400 
 
 147,700 
 
 90 
 
 1,960 
 
 10 
 
 60 
 
 4,440 
 
 54,240 
 
 495 
 
 58,980 
 
 510 
 
 84,290 
 
 650 
 
 36,000 
 
 440 
 
 33,910 1 
 
 600 
 
 64.090 1 
 
 550 
 
 55.473 
 
 380 
 
 81,700 1 
 
 400 
 
 40,000 
 
 3,300 
 
 45,420 
 
 3.145 
 
 29,895 
 
 2,860 
 
 9,860 
 
 273 
 
 8,040 
 
 1,485 
 
 57,430 
 
 4,160 
 
 79,205 
 
 470 
 
 46,-340 
 
 680 
 
 68,735 
 
 770 
 
 145,310 
 
 Nebraska 
 
 Nevada 
 
 New Hampshire 
 
 New Jersey 
 
 New Mexico 
 
 New York 
 
 North Carolina 
 
 Ohio 
 
 Oregon 
 
 Pennsylvania 
 
 Rhode Island 
 
 South Carolina 
 
 Tennessee 
 
 Texas 
 
 Utah 
 
 Vermont 
 
 1 Virginia 
 
 Washington Territory 
 
 West Virginia 
 
 Wisconsin 
 
 Wyoming 
 
 Unorganized territory 
 
 Delaware Bay 
 
 Raritan Bay and lower New | 
 York Bay f 
 
 Total. . 
 
 76,855 
 110,700 
 
 9,303 
 
 7,815 
 122,580 
 49,170 
 52,230 
 41,060 
 96,030 
 45,215 
 
 1,250 
 30,570 
 42,050 
 365,780 
 84,970 
 
 9,565 
 42,450 
 69,180 
 24,780 
 56,040 
 97,890 
 
 6,740 
 620 
 
 100 
 
 Total 
 water-sur- 
 face. 
 
 3,025,600 
 
 670 
 
 960 
 
 300 
 
 360 
 
 120 
 
 I, .350 
 
 3,670 
 
 300 
 
 1,470 
 
 230 
 
 165 
 
 400 
 
 300 
 
 3,490 
 
 2,780 
 
 430 
 
 2,326 
 
 2,300 
 
 135 
 
 1,590 
 
 315 
 
 630 
 100 
 
 Total land- 
 Eurflce. 
 
 76.183 
 109,740 
 
 9,003 
 
 7,4.55 
 132,460 
 47,630 
 48,580 
 40,760 
 94.560 
 41,983 
 
 1,085 
 
 30,170 
 
 41,750 
 
 262.290 
 
 83,190 
 
 9,133 
 40,125 
 66,880 
 24,645 
 54,450 
 97,575 
 
 5,740 
 
 55,600 2,970,000 
 
INDEX OF PLACES, 
 
 INCLUSIVE OF CITIES, TOWNS, MOUNTAINS, LAKES, RIVERS, AND OTHER 
 LOCALITIES OF NOTABLE INTEREST. 
 
 Adirondack Mountains, N. Y. . . 342-350 
 
 AUmny, N. Y 61 
 
 Alabama River 488 
 
 Alleshany Mountains 3tiO-363, 365, 368, 388 
 
 Allegrippus, Pa 362 
 
 Altoona, Pa 362 
 
 Amraonoosuc Hill.<, N. H 328 i 
 
 Anthony's Nose, Hudson River 47, 48 
 
 Apostles, Isles of the, Lalie Superior 322 | 
 
 Arkansas River 511 ■ 
 
 Asheville, N. C 372 '■ 
 
 Ashley River, S. C 480 
 
 Astoria, Oregon 138, 214 
 
 Atlantic City, N. J 260 
 
 Ausable Chasm, Adiroudacks 345 
 
 Ausable River, Adirondaeks 342, 345 
 
 Au Train, Lake Superior 321 
 
 Avalanche Lake, Adirondaeks 342 
 
 Bad Lands, Wyoming Territory 81 
 
 Balsam Mountain, N. C 371, 378, 382 
 
 Baltimore, Md 578-582 
 
 Baton Rouge, La 510 
 
 Bear River Valley, Wyoming 83, 84 
 
 Beaufort, S C 480 
 
 Beaver Bay, Lake Superior 324 
 
 Big Kanawha River, W. Va 520 
 
 Big Sandy River, Ky 520 
 
 Black Hills 70, 72 
 
 Black Mountain, N. C 371, 372, 376 
 
 Blennerhassett's Ishmd, Ohio River 519, 520 
 
 Blue Canon, Cal 117 
 
 Blue Mountain Range, Oregon 220 
 
 Blue Ridge Mountains 365, 367, 368, 370-372 
 
 Boston, Mass 565-571 
 
 Boulder Canons, Col 435, 436 
 
 Bozeman, Montana 152 
 
 Brevard, X. C 380, 381 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Bridal Veil Fall, Yosemite Valley 464, 467, 468 
 
 Buffalo, N. Y 296-298 
 
 Cairo, HI 528 
 
 Calaveras Grove, Big Trees of, Cal 462, 466 
 
 California 105-126 
 
 Cauandaigua Lake, N. Y 280, 281 
 
 Cap of Liberty, Yosemite, Cal 472, 473 
 
 Cape Ann, Mass 243, 244 
 
 Cape Horn, Cal 122 
 
 Cape Horn, Columbia River 217 
 
 Cape May, X. J.' 260 
 
 Carter's Lake, Wyoming Ter 81 
 
 Cascade Mountains 129, 220 
 
 Castinc, Maine 232 
 
 Cataract Cafion, Colorado River 12 
 
 Cathedral Rock, Yosemite, Cal 468 
 
 Cathedral Spires, Yosemite, Cal 468 
 
 Catskill Mountains, N. Y 61, 261-265, 350-354 
 
 Cauterskill Falls, N. Y 351, 352 
 
 Cayuga Lake, N. Y 280 
 
 Charleston, S. C 480-482 
 
 Chapel Rock, Lake Superior 320 
 
 Chattanooga, Tenn 389 
 
 Cheyenne Caiion, Col 451-454 
 
 Cheyenne, Wyoming Ter 67, 68, 433 
 
 Chicago, 111 314, 315 
 
 Chicago Lakes, Col 441 
 
 Church Buttes, Wyoming Ter 81 
 
 Cincinnati, Ohio 522-525 
 
 Clear Creek Canon, Col 436, 437 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio 300, 301 
 
 Clingman's Dome, N. C 372 
 
 Cloud's Rest, Cal 474, 475 
 
 Coast Range, Cal 136 
 
 Cold Spring, N. Y 54 
 
 Colorado 432-460 
 
 Colorado River, The Canons of the 3-30 
 
612 
 
 INDEX OF PLACES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Colorado River, The Grand Canon of the.. . 3, 5, 16-26 
 
 Colorado Springs, Col 446 
 
 Columbia River, The. 12B, 138-141, 197, 198, 214-220 
 
 Columbia River, Cascades of the 217 
 
 Coney Island, N. Y 258-260 
 
 Conneniaugli River, Pa ... , 362 
 
 Cooper River, S, C 480 
 
 Cooperstown, N. Y 280 
 
 Corinne, Utah 100 
 
 Cornwall, N. Y 59 
 
 Corvallis, Oregon 221, 223 
 
 Crawford Notch, N. 11 276, 327 
 
 Cro'nest, N. Y 55 
 
 Cumberland Gap, Tenn 388, 389 
 
 Cumberland Mountains, Tenn 388 
 
 Dalles City, Oregon 217 
 
 Davenport, Iowa 534 
 
 Delaware Water-Gap 354-359 
 
 Denver, Col 434, 436 
 
 Des Moines River, The 533, 534 
 
 Desolation Canon, Green River 10 
 
 Detroit, Mich 305-307 
 
 Devil's Kitchen, Yellowstone Valley 168 
 
 Donnor Lake, Cal 108-111 
 
 Dubuque, Iowa 536 
 
 Duluth, Minn 322 
 
 Dunderberg Mountain 44—47 
 
 Durango, Col 457 
 
 Eastern Shore, New England 225-247 
 
 Echo Canon, Utah 90-92 
 
 El Capitan, Yosemite Valley 466, 469, 470 
 
 Elk Mountain, Wyoming Ter 73 
 
 Enterprise, Fla 406 
 
 Erie City, Pa 298 
 
 Everglades, Fla 427-431 
 
 Firehole River, Yellowstone Valley 167 
 
 Florida 398-431 
 
 Fort Lee, N. Y 34, 35 
 
 Fort Putnam, N. Y 53 
 
 Franconia Mountains 326, 328-331 
 
 French Broad River, N. C 378, 380 
 
 Gallatin River, Montana 152 
 
 Garden of the Gods, Col 452-454 
 
 Georgetown, D. C 682 
 
 Georgetown, Col 441, 442 
 
 Georgian Bay, Lake Huron 307 
 
 Gilbert's Peak, Wyoming Ter 81 
 
 Glacier Point, Yosemite, Cal 472, 473 
 
 Gloucester, Mass 241, 243 
 
 Gosport, N. II 240 
 
 Grand Caiion, The, Colorado River 16-26 
 
 Grandfather Mountain, N. C 375, 376 
 
 Grand Manan, Maine 227 
 
 Grand Po!-tal, Lake Superior 319 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Grand River, The, Utah 4 
 
 Great American Canon, Cal 118 
 
 Great Lakes, The 295-324 
 
 Great Palisade, Lake Superior 324 
 
 Great Salt Lake 99, 100 
 
 Great Smoky Mountains, N. C 370 
 
 Green Mountains, Vt 336-341 
 
 Green River, The 4, 79 
 
 Green River, Canons of the 5-12, 79 
 
 Green River, Cliffs on the 78, V9 
 
 Green River, Giant's Butte on 77, 78 
 
 Gray's Peak, Col 433, 444-446 
 
 Half Dome, Yosemite, Cal 474 
 
 Harper's Ferry, Va 365 
 
 Hastings, N. Y 36, 37 
 
 Haverstraw, N. Y 42 
 
 Haydcn's Cathedral, Wyoming Ter 81 
 
 Hickory Nut Gap, N. C 371, 372 
 
 Hoosac Mountains, Mass 339 
 
 Horseshoe Caiion, Green River 5 
 
 Hot Spring Cone, Yellowstone Valley 178 
 
 Hudson River, The 31-63 
 
 Hudson, The Highlands of the 43-61 
 
 Hudson River, Source of the 63 
 
 Humboldt Mountains, Nev 209-214 
 
 Humboldt, Nevada 103 
 
 Humboldt Palisades 103, 104 
 
 Idaho Springs, Col 440, 441 
 
 Indian Pass, Adirondacks 345 
 
 Indian River, Fla 424, 425 
 
 Inspiration Point, Yosemite Valley 466 
 
 Iowa River, The 534 
 
 Iron Mountain, Lake Superior 321 
 
 Iron Mountain, Mo 533 
 
 Irvington, N. Y 37 
 
 Isles of Shoals, The, N. H 238-241 
 
 Jacksonville, Fla 399, 400 
 
 Juniata llivcr. Pa 359-362 
 
 Kalama, Washington Ter 126 
 
 Kelley's Island, Lake Erie 293, 294 
 
 Keweenaw, Lake Superior 321 
 
 Kennebunkport, Maine 236 
 
 Kenosha, Wis 316 
 
 Keokuk, la 632,533 
 
 Keuka Lake, N. Y 240 
 
 Key West, Fla 422,423 
 
 King's Mountain, N. (' 373 
 
 Kittanning Point, Pa 362 
 
 Kittatinny Mountams 354 
 
 Kittery, Maine 236 
 
 Labyrinth Canon, Green River 11 
 
 La Crosse, Wis 538, 539 
 
 Lake Champlain, N. Y 270-272 
 
INDEX OF PLACES. 
 
 613 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Lake Erie 295-305 
 
 Lake George, Fla 406 
 
 Lake George, N. Y 266-269 
 
 Lake Kuroa 307, 313 
 
 Lake Memphremagog, Vt 272-275 
 
 Lake Michigan 314-318 
 
 Lake Okecliobce, Fla 427-429 
 
 Lake Pepin, Mississippi River 542 
 
 Lake St. Clair 307 
 
 Lake Superior 318-324 
 
 Lake Tahoe, Ca) 106, 107 
 
 Lake Winnepesaukee, N. H 275 
 
 Laramie City, Wyoming 73 
 
 Laramie Plains 71, 72 
 
 Lathrop, Cal 462 
 
 La Veta Pass, Col 456 
 
 Leadville, Col 454, 455 
 
 Liberty-Cap, Yellowstone Valley 157 
 
 Linville Mountains, N. C 374, 375 
 
 Little Colorado Ri%'er 14 
 
 Lookout Mountain, Tenn 389-392 
 
 Lodore Canon, Green River 8 
 
 Long Branch, N. J 260 
 
 Long's Peak, Col 433, 434 
 
 Los Pinos Canon, Col 455 
 
 Louisiana 491-511 
 
 Louisville, Ky 526 
 
 Mackinac, Straits of 307-313 
 
 Madera, Cal 462 
 
 Madison River 152 
 
 Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone Park. . . . 154-157 
 
 Manitou Springs, Col 447-450 
 
 Marble Caiion, Colorado River 14, 16 
 
 Marblehead, Mass 241, 244, 245 
 
 Marietta, Ohio 518 
 
 Mariposa Grove, Big Trees of, Cal 462-466 
 
 Marquette, Lake Superior 321 
 
 Medicine Bow Mountains 72 
 
 Merced, Cal 462 
 
 Merced River, Gal 461, 464 
 
 Jlilton, Cal . 462 
 
 Milton Ferry, N. Y 60 
 
 Milwaukee, Wis 316-318 
 
 Minnehaha, Falls of 545, 546 
 
 Minneapolis, Minn 547 
 
 Mississippi River, The 491-514, 528-547 
 
 Missouri River, The 528 
 
 Missouri River, Great Falls of the 147 
 
 Mobile, Ala 488 
 
 Monhegan Island, Maine 232 
 
 Monument Park, Col 451, 452 
 
 Mount Desert Island, Maine 227-232 
 
 Mount Adams, N. H 326 
 
 Mount Adams, Oregon 214 
 
 Mount Crawford, N. H 326 
 
 Mount Chocorua, N. II 275, 336 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Mount Davidson, Neb 204 
 
 Mount Doane, Montana 155 
 
 Mount Franklin, N. H 326 
 
 Mount Jefferson, N. H 326 
 
 Mount Jefferson, Oregon 214 
 
 Mount Katahdin, Maine 326 
 
 Mount Kearsarge, N. H 275, 332, 334 
 
 Mount Lafayette, N. II 326 
 
 Mount Langford, Montana 165 
 
 Mount Lincoln, Col 433, 469 
 
 Mount Madison, N. II 326 
 
 Mount Mansfield, Vt 339-341 
 
 Mount Mitchell, N. C 373 
 
 Mount Monadnock, N. II 332 
 
 Mount Monroe, N. 11 276 
 
 Mount Pisgah, N. C 378, 380 
 
 Mount Pleasant, N. H 326 
 
 Mount Ranier, Washington Tcr 132 
 
 Mount St. Helen's, Oregon 214 
 
 Mount Stevenson, Montana 165 
 
 Mount Tahawus, \. Y 342, 345-347 
 
 Mount Washburn, Montana 166 
 
 Mount Washington, Montana 155 
 
 Mount Washington, N. H 276-278, 327 
 
 Mount Whitcfacc, N. H 275 
 
 Mount Whiteface, N. Y 342 
 
 Munesing Harbor, Lake Superior 318 
 
 Multonomah Falls, Oregon 140 
 
 Myakka Lakes, Fla 426 
 
 Nahant, Mass 246, 247 
 
 Narragansett Pier, R. 1 256 
 
 Narrow Canon, Colorado River 13 
 
 Natchez, Miss 510, 511 
 
 Natural Parks, The, Col 457-460 
 
 Nevada 102-105, 203-214 
 
 Nevada Falls, Yosemitc, Cal 472, 475 
 
 Newburg, N. Y 59 
 
 Newburyport, Mass 241 
 
 New Orleans, La 495-500 
 
 Newport, R. 1 249-256 
 
 New York City 548-564 
 
 North Dome, Yosemite, Cal 474 
 
 Nyack, N. Y' 37 
 
 Niagara Falls, N. Y 283-288 
 
 North Conway, N. H 276, 326 
 
 North Platte River, Neb 68 
 
 Oakland, Cal 123 
 
 Ocklawaha River, Fla 401-406 
 
 Ogden, Utah Tcr 95-97 
 
 Ogden's Caiion, Utah Ter 94 
 
 Ohio River, The 515-528 
 
 Old Stone Face, N. H 330 
 
 Old York, Maine 236 
 
 Olympia Mountain, Washington Ter 127 
 
 Olympia, Washington Ter 126 
 
614 
 
 INDEX OF PLACES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Umalia 67 
 
 Oneida Lake, N. Y 280 
 
 Ontonagon, Lake Superior 321 
 
 Oregon 214-224 
 
 Oregon City 137 
 
 Oribay, Arizona 28 
 
 Otsego Lake, N. Y 279 
 
 Owassa River, Ga 392-394 
 
 Ozark Mountains, Mo 533 
 
 Palatka, Fla 400 
 
 Palisades, The, N. Y 34-42 
 
 Panhandle, The, W. Va 518 
 
 Parkersburg, W. Va 520 
 
 Pascagoula Bay, Miss 489, 490 
 
 Peaks of Otter, Va 367-369 
 
 Peekskill, N. Y 43 
 
 Pelouse Falls, Washington Ter 141 
 
 Pemaquid Point, Maine 232 
 
 Philadelphia 572-578 
 
 Pictured Rocks, Lake Superior 318 
 
 Piermont, N. Y 37 
 
 Pilot Knob, Mo 633 
 
 Pike's Peak, Col 433, 450, 451 
 
 Pittsburg, Pa 516-518 
 
 Platte River 76 
 
 Point Pleasant, W. Va 520 
 
 Porcupine Mountains, Lake Superior 321 
 
 Portland, Maine 234, 235 
 
 Portland, Oregon 139, 214 
 
 Port Royal, S. C 4^8 
 
 Portsmouth, N. H 236, 238 
 
 Potomac River 365, 367 
 
 Poughkeepsie, N. Y 60, 61 
 
 Prairie Du Chien, Wis 538 
 
 Profile Mountain, N. H 330 
 
 Puget Sound 127, 131. 134, 135 
 
 Put-in-Bay, Lake Erie 293, 803, 304 
 
 Pyramid Lake, Mo 208 
 
 Raquette River, Adirondacks 342, 349 
 
 Racine, Wis 316 
 
 Richfield Springs, N. Y 280 
 
 Roan Mountain, N. C 372, 375, 376 
 
 Rock Island, 111 634 
 
 Rocky Mountains 67-100, 433-460 
 
 Rogue Kiver Falls, Washington Ter 136, 137 
 
 Royal Arches, Yoseraitc, Cal 474 
 
 Sacramento, Cal 123 
 
 Saguenay River 291-293 
 
 Sail Rock, Lake Superior 318 
 
 Salem, Mass 241, 244 
 
 Salmon Falls, Columbia River 219 
 
 Salt Lake City 89, 98-100 
 
 San Francisco, Cal 123, 124 
 
 Sanduskv, Ohio 302 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Sangre de Cristo Mountains, Col 455 
 
 San Juan Island, Washington Ter 129, 130 
 
 San Juan Mountains, Cal 455 
 
 Saranac River, Adirondacks 342 
 
 Saratoga, X. Y 265, 206 
 
 Sault Ste.-Marie, Mich 318 
 
 Savannah, Ga 484-488 
 
 Savannah River 484 
 
 Sawatch Mountains, Col 433 
 
 Seattle, Washington Ter 131, 132 
 
 Sculptured Caiion, Nev 212 
 
 Seneca Lake, N. Y 280 
 
 Sentinel Dome, Yosemitc, Cal 469 
 
 Sentinel Rook, Yosemitc, Cal 468 
 
 Shenandoah Kiver, Va 365, 367 
 
 Sherman, Utah 69, 71 
 
 Shoshone Falls, Idaho 143-146 
 
 Sierra Nevada Mountains. . 105, 106, 112, 113, 119, 203, 
 
 205-207 
 
 Silver Spring, Fla 405 
 
 Sing Sing, N. Y 42 
 
 Sioux City Falls, Dakota 146 
 
 Skancatcles Lake, N. Y 280 
 
 Sleepy Hollow, N. Y 36, 40 
 
 Smoky Mountains, N. C 386-387 
 
 Snoqualmie Falls, Washington Ter. . 132-134, 142, 143 
 
 South Carolina 478-484 
 
 South Dome, Yosennte Valley 466 
 
 South Mountain, N. Y 352 
 
 Split Mountain Canon, Green Tiver 10 
 
 Spokane Falls, Washington Ter 141 
 
 St. Anthony, Minn 547 
 
 Star Peak, Nev 209, 210 
 
 St. Augustine, Fla 407-416 
 
 Steilacoom, Washington Ter 129 
 
 Stillwater Caiion, Green River 11 
 
 St. John's Kiver, Fla 399, 406, 407 
 
 St. Louis River, Wis 322, 537 
 
 St. Louis, Mo 530-532 
 
 St. Paul, Minn 545 
 
 Stockton, Cal 462 
 
 Stony Point, N. Y 42, 43 
 
 Storm King, N. Y 69 
 
 Sugar-Loaf Mountain, N. Y 49 
 
 Summit, Cal 113 
 
 Susquehanna River, Pa 359 
 
 Swampscott, Mass 246, 247 
 
 Tacoma, Washington Ter 130, 131 
 
 Taconic Mountains, Vt 339 
 
 Tallulah Chasm, Ga 395-397 
 
 Tappan Zee, N. Y 37 
 
 Tarrytown, N. Y 37-40 
 
 Tenaya Caiion, Yosemite Valley 464, 476 
 
 Tennessee River 392 
 
 Thousand Islands, The, St. Lawrence 288-290 
 
 Three Brothers, Yosemite, Cal 470 
 
INDEX OF PLACES. 
 
 615 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Three Tetons Peaks, Rocky Mountains 162 
 
 Tocoi, Fla 407 
 
 Tole<io, Ohio 306 
 
 Toltec Gorge, Col 455 
 
 Too-lulu-wack Fall, Yosemite, Cal 472 
 
 Tombigbee River, Ala 488 
 
 Tower Falls, Yellowstone Valley 166 
 
 Trempealeau, Mississippi River 542 
 
 Trenton Falls, N. Y 278, 279 
 
 Trinity Mountains, Nev 213 
 
 Troy, \. Y 61 
 
 Truckee River, Cal 106-108, 207, 208 
 
 Tuckerman's Ravine, N. H 276 
 
 Tuolumne Grove, Big Trees of, Cal 462 
 
 Utah Territory 86-102 j 
 
 Uintah Mountains 80, 81, 91 
 
 Vernal Falls, Yosemite, Cal 462, 474 
 
 Vieksburfc, Miss 511 | 
 
 Virginia City, Nev 106, 108, 204 
 
 Virgin Tears Fall, Yosemite, Cal 469 
 
 Wahsatch Mountains ... 81, 94, 102 
 
 Warsaw, 111 533 
 
 Washington, D. C 582-587 
 
 Washington Column, Yosemite, Cal 474 
 
 Washington Heights, N. Y 34 ' 
 
 Washington Territory 125-143 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Watkins Glen, N. Y 282, 283 
 
 Weber Canon, Utah 94 
 
 Wells, Maine 235, 236 
 
 West Point, N. Y 49-52 
 
 Wheeling, W. Va 518 
 
 Whirlpool Caiion, Green River 8 
 
 White Mountains, N. H 275-278, 326-337 
 
 Willamette Falls, Oregon 137, 138 
 
 Willamette River, Oregon 214, 221, 223 
 
 Wind River Mountains 76, 162 
 
 Wisconsin River, The 537 
 
 Wright's Canon, Nev 212-214 
 
 Yampa Canon, Green River 10 
 
 Yaquina Valley and River, Oregon 223, 224 
 
 Yellowstone Falls, Montana 163-166 
 
 Yellowstone Lake 152, 176-178 
 
 Yellowstone Park, Mammoth Hot Springs of. 154-157 
 
 Yellowstone River, Grand Canon of the 163 
 
 Yellowstone Valley 148-178 
 
 Yellowstone Valley, Geysers of the 167-175 
 
 Yellowstone Valley, Mud Springs of the 159, 160 
 
 Yemassee River, S. C 478 
 
 Yonkers, N.Y 35,36 
 
 Yosemite Falls, Cal 470, 474 
 
 Yosemite Valley, The 461-477 
 
 Young's Falls, Oregon 138, 139 
 
 Yuba River, Cal 1 14 
 
 THE END. 
 
C 310 
 
 88 
 
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