[ 
 
LIFE 
 
 PEAIRIE LAID, 
 
 ELIZA W. FARNHAM. 
 
 " Dear Nature is the kindest mother atiW'—Childe Harold. 
 
 N E W-Y O R K : 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 82 CLIFF STREET. 
 
 18 46. 
 

 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1846, by 
 
 Harper & Brothers, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York. 
 
 M^'v 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The following work was commenced with 
 the intention of writing one or two brief sketches 
 descriptive of Life at the West. And until some 
 hundred and fifty pages were written, I never 
 contemplated the possibility of extending them 
 to a volume. At that point, I was so far from 
 having said all I felt, that I very willingly re- 
 signed myself to the current of my feelings and 
 wrote on. 
 
 To those who read the volume first, and after- 
 ward, hi some idle moment, turn back to the 
 preface, I need not say that I have been impelled 
 in every step by love of my theme. That will 
 have been apparent enough to them, without 
 any such declaration. I have loved the West, 
 and it still claims my preference over all other 
 portions of the earth. Its magnitude, its fertili- 
 ty, the kindliness of its climate, the variety and 
 excellence of its productions are unrivaled in 
 our own country, if not on the globe. 
 
 In these characteristics, it presents itself to 
 my mind in the light of a strong and generous 
 parent, whose arms are spread to extend pro- 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 tection, happiness, and life to throngs who seek 
 them from other and less friendly climes. Set- 
 ting a high value upon these resources, I rejoice 
 to hear of emigration to the country possessing 
 them — not alone because those who go will 
 find there abundance for the supply of their 
 natural wants, but because the influences with 
 which it will address their spiritual natures are 
 purifying, ennobling, and elevating. If nature 
 ever taught a lesson which the. endwarfed, de- 
 based mind of man could study with profit, it is 
 in these regions of her benignest dispensations. 
 The burden of her teaching here, is too palpa- 
 ble to be wholly rejected by any. Even vulgar 
 minds do not altogether escape its influence. 
 Their perceptions become more vivid, their de- 
 sires more exalted, their feelings purer, and all 
 their intellectual action more expanded. 
 
 The magnificence, freedom, and beauty of the 
 country form, as it were, a common element, in 
 which all varieties of character, education, and 
 prejudice are resolved into simple and harmo- 
 nious relation. Living near to nature, artificial 
 distinctions lose much of their force. Human- 
 ity is valued mainly for its intrinsic worth — not 
 for its appurtenances or outward belongings. 
 
 It must not be forgotten, however, that a 
 large class of minds have no adaptation to the 
 
PREFACE. V 
 
 conditions of life in the West. This is more 
 especially true of my own sex. Very many 
 ladies are so unfortunate as to have had their 
 minds thoroughly distorted from all true and 
 natural modes of action by an artificial and per- 
 nicious course of education, or the influence of 
 a false social position. They cannot endure the 
 sudden and complete transition which is forced 
 upon them by emigration to the West. Hence 
 a class may always be found who dislike the 
 country ; who see and feel only its disadvan- 
 tages ; who endure the self-denial it imposes 
 without enjoying any of the freedom it confers ; 
 who suffer the loss of artificial luxuries, but 
 never appreciate what is offered in exchange 
 for them. Persons so constituted ought never 
 to entertain for a moment the project of emi- 
 gration. They destroy their own happiness, 
 and materially diminish that of others. Their 
 discontent and pining are tolerated with much 
 impatience, because those who do not sympa- 
 thize with them, see so much to enjoy and so 
 little to endure, that their griefs command little 
 or no respect. 
 
 i had no such experience, for I loved the 
 
 country, and when compelled to return to the 
 
 crowded and dusty marts of the East, I did so 
 
 with many and deep regrets ; and these still 
 
 A 2 
 
Yl PREFACE. 
 
 linger and mingle largely with the emotions of 
 my life. The writing of these sketches has, 
 therefore, been a labor of love. While engaged 
 upon them, I have lived again in the land of 
 my heart. I have seen the grasses wave, and 
 felt the winds, and Hstened to the birds, and 
 watched the springing flowers, and exulted in 
 something of the old sense of freedom which 
 these conferred upon me. Visions, prophetic of 
 the glory and greatness which are to be devel- 
 oped here, have dwelt in my mind and exalted 
 it above the narrow personal cares of life. 
 
 It is the enjoyment afforded by this kind of 
 emancipation which so endears the Western 
 country to those who have resided in it. It 
 steals upon the heart like what it is, the very 
 witchery of nature ; so that those who are sus- 
 ceptible to it, feel the charm but not the incon- 
 venience through which it is invoked. Such 
 persons delight in the perfection and beauty of 
 the natural, and these suffice them. 
 
 After what has been said, it would be super- 
 fluous to add that of this latter class I am an 
 humble member ; that no deprivation or suffer- 
 ing incident to the country could sever my 
 attachment to it, and that any portraiture of 
 its life which I should draw would, therefore, 
 abound in gay and cheerful colors. The som- 
 
PREFACE. VU 
 
 bre tints would not dwell in my heart, and I 
 cannot reproduce them. This may make my 
 picture appear to be a partial one, but to me 
 and those who are of like spirit it will be honest. 
 Conscious of the intent to make it so, I shall 
 dismiss it without care in that regard, and leave 
 it to tell its own story of the great and generous 
 land whose name it bears. 
 
 E. W. F. 
 
 Mount Pleasant, N. Y. 
 
 March, 1846. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Preface PageiU 
 
 Chap. I. — Embarkation for the Illinois — Western steamboats in general 
 — The Banner in particular— Her captain and crew— Hooshier bride and 
 bridegroom — A walk in St. Louis — A horrible tale of Lynching 13 
 
 Chap. IL— Departure from St. Louis- The first night on board the 
 Banner — The next morning — Speed of our boat — Junction of the Mis- 
 souri and Mississippi — Landing ai, Alton — Unpardonable behavior of 
 the boat under trying circumstances — ^Disaster to the captain — A speci- 
 men of Hooshier indignation 22 
 
 Chap. III. — Leaving Alton we discover that Jersey is on board — A day 
 on an island — Who Jersey is — Some of his experience during his travels 
 — His political opinions — Peculiar style of expressing them— His notions 
 on travel 29 
 
 Chap. IV. — Another night on the Banner — A conversation with our 
 western bridegroom — His opinions on the woman question decidedly 
 anti-Wolstoncraft — His reasons for entering into matrimony — How he 
 would sympathize with his wife in sorrow, with a practical illustration 
 — Her story and disposition to lighten the darker shades of his doc- 
 trines 35 
 
 Chap. V.— Improved conduct of the boat— Politeness of her captain— 
 Our style of conversation pantomimic on my part— Landing — Pokerton 
 — Starting for oiur final destination — The countiy, the road, the slues — 
 Their peculiar character demonstrated— Woodland and its principal 
 inhabitants — Prairie Lodge — Our meeting 43 
 
 Chap. VI. — Sun-bonnets, veils, gloves, etc. — Environments of Prairie 
 Lodge — Its neighbors — A horticultural curiosity — Preparing for tea — 
 Partaking it— The evening— Who were present, and how we spent 
 it 54 
 
 Chap. VII.— Prairie life begun — Rambles in the groves and over the prai- 
 ries — Visits on horseback — An afternoon with a neighbor three miles 
 distant— Amusing details of this visit, a fair specimen of the social 
 visiting of the country 59 
 
 Chap. VIII.— Commencement of Sucker life — Our next neighbor— The 
 mother Meg Merrilies— The house ; its architecture— The grounds ; 
 how laid out and adorned — The children ; their pastimes — The father ; 
 his political and social position — Another house ; the spirit which 
 reigned in it— Beauty of order and purity in domestic life . . 63 
 
 Chap. IX.— Spring around Prairie Lodge— Showers— Thunder-storms at 
 night — Their sublimity — Their effect on the landscape — Pleasures of 
 the season— Strawberry — Quail— Scene from his don^estic life— Grouse ; 
 his habits — Spring morning in the prairies — Bob-o-link — Woodpecker — 
 Parroquet— Crow— Buzzard— Wild Turkey — Cattle on the prairie— 
 Hare— Deer— Whip-poor-Will 69 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 Chap. X. — The tale of sorrow — Sickness of strangers on first arriving in 
 the country — Their claims to hospitality — The solitary man's settle- 
 ment in the west — His wife ; their love ; their progress and prospects 
 — A remarkable series of thunder-storms — The pestilence which fol- 
 lowed — The husband and wife both prostrated — The death of the wife 
 and infant— His grief— Their grave— The beauty of the spot- Reasons 
 for the attachment of the prairie settler to his home ... 81 
 
 Chap. XI. — A rare opportunity for seeing the natives of our region — The 
 menagerie ; getting to it — Style of locomotion — Tyler ; his peculiarities, 
 ill luck, gait, &c.; his companion — Our arrival — Street dialogue — Dis- 
 cussion of the show — Entrance — Appearance of the crowd ; their motley 
 dress — A character; his garb — Another; her dress; stature; recognition 
 — Her sensibility and comments on the performances — Her description 
 of the male personage before introduced — His stories of the wars and 
 himself— An invitation — The departure for home — Discussion of per- 
 sons and things — Legal document — Close of the day — Delicate foot- 
 print 92 
 
 Chap. Xn. — Leaving Prairie Lodge — Difficulty of finding another home 
 — What it proves when found — Its mistress — Her housekeeping — Com- 
 mittee on dress — A walk — What it decides — Resignation under des- 
 perate circumstances — A discovery — A cup of joy dashed before it is 
 partaken — First night in the Sucker home — Room mates, furniture, 
 &.C. — Pony — Rebellion ; how maintained 115 
 
 Chap. XIII. — Sabbath — Next day ; its deeds — The house ; its decorations 
 — The surprise anticipated — Comment of my neighbor — Settled — Toilet 
 apparatus— DitRculty of retaining it — A new proposition rejected with 
 some spirit at first — How acceded to finally — Our host ; his origin, for- 
 tunes, opinions, &c.— His daughter Sidney and her husband— Their 
 mode of life 126 
 
 Chap. XIV. — Sidney's household affiiirs — Her culinary arts — How she 
 was initiated into them — Fruit groves — Wanderings in them — Serpents 
 — Caught in Boots — Western housekeeping — Another visit — Temperate 
 meal — The consequence — Moonlight nights — Cceur de Lion and his 
 suite — Their nocturnal ramblings— Shamefully terminated — Coeur de 
 Lion's resignation. 134 
 
 Chap. XV. — Better quarters completed — Disappointment — Housekeeping 
 
 — Architecture of our dwelling — Grounds, &c., as described by Mr. F 
 
 — My own picture of them — Our neighborhood— Interior of the house 
 — The town— Our first night at home— Housekeeping — Purchases ; how 
 disposed of— Our family— Susannah— Pony ; her artlessness and pa- 
 tience—Deserved eulogium 143 
 
 Chap. XVI.— Our town ; its first settlement— Yankees as early settlers- 
 Character of our population — Political and religious faith — Mrs. Escu- 
 lapius ; her remarkable gifts— Deacon Cantwyne ; his piety, charity, 
 &c 154 
 
 Chap. XVII. — Our village doctor ; his wonderful gait — His partner Pomp 
 — How they did business — The doctor's musical efforts . . 163 
 
 Chap. XVIII. — Fire on the prairie— Wood parties — The orchard — The 
 parrighee of the moon — Sporting parties — Tragical termination of one 
 —The grocery ne.vt door to us— Horrible event .... 170 
 
 Chap. XIX. — Something more of my housekeeping — Making bread — My 
 purveyor — My first dinner— Cook, lamb, &c 183 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 Chap. XX.— Winter on the prairies— Sleigh rides— Cold houses— Fickle- 
 ness of the Climate — Deer-hunting in winter — Mode of building and 
 style of dwellings — Winter evenings — Navigation suspended — Treach- 
 erous ice 194 
 
 Chap. XXI.— Opening of spring— A spring night— Features and voice of 
 nature— Wild fowl— Steamboats— Magnitude of streams . . 202 
 
 Chap. XXII. — Speculation — New arrivals — Opening farms — Breaking 
 Prairie— Making fence— Planting trees 210 
 
 Chap. XXIII.— Removal— Return to Prairie Lodge— Painful apprehen- 
 sions — How dispelled — Their return 217 
 
 Chap. XXIV. — Reminiscences of early life 227 
 
 Chap. XXV. — The progress of the destroyer — The final scene . 245 
 
 Chap. XXVI.— Another mission of death 252 
 
 Chap. XXVII. — Agonizing memories — Pestilence abroad — Drought — 
 Character of the illness caused by it — Gloom and grief— Dawn of new 
 light 256 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Chap. I. — Birds and animals of Prairie Land — The Gopher ; its curious 
 habits — Prairie fox— Prairie dog . 262 
 
 Chap. II.— Prairie wolves— Red wolf harmless— Grey wolf ferocious — 
 Danger of unarmed travelers in former years — Incidents in later years — 
 Catamount and panther found in "bottom lands" — Grey wolf monarch 
 of the Prairie — Robs the tomb when famished .... 264 
 
 Chap. III.— The burning of the Prairie— A thrilling incident on the great 
 northern and southern road, passing near Peoria, Illinois — The country 
 around the spot — Its rare beauty — Account of an early settler here ; 
 his preparation for winter ; journey to the nearest settlement for his 
 cow and for winter supplies — Mother and children left alone — Visit 
 from warrior Indians — Sleepless night and foreboding of evil— She 
 watches the Prairie — Faint light in the distance— Prairie on fire — Fear- 
 ful progress of the flames, and the sublimity of the scene — Her terror 
 and helplessness— Cabin in flames— The instinct of the dog saves the 
 lives of mother and children — They sleep without shelter, and sustain 
 life by a pittance of wild fruit 268 
 
 Chap. IV. — Desolation of the scene— A storm conies on — Children and 
 mother hover around the smouldering ruins of tbe cabin— The mother 
 sinks — Premature birth— The father arrives to hear from his wife the 
 terrible story, to witness her dying hour, and to bury mother and child 
 in one tomb — His bitter grief 276 
 
 Chap. V.— Progress of the settlers— Habits— Views of labor— A journey- 
 Love Ring 283 
 
 Chap. VI.— The next tavern— Amusing incidents— Court — Lawyers — 
 Dialogue with the driver 289 
 
 Chap. VII.— The stage-house— Hostess— The quandary— Tndifiference to 
 the comforts of life ; how induced 295 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 Chap. VIII.— Dixonville, the Vicksburg of Illinois— Gang of thieves- 
 Incidents there 300 
 
 Chap. IX.— Crimes of these men— The landlord— The night. . 305 
 
 Chap. X.— Departure— Pleasant ride with the New England farmer- 
 Arrival among friends — Three guests in one cabin — Fun — "Smudging" 
 muskitos— Climate of the west ....... 308 
 
 Chap. XI. — ^The new town in prospect— The eccentric man its founder — 
 His removal to the west 316 
 
 Chap. XII.— The inhabitants of the town— The sea captain— Our host— 
 His wife ; a pattern of excellence 321 
 
 Chap. XITI. — Our amusements and visits in the neighborhood— Depar- 
 ture. 324 
 
 Chap. XIV.— Early settlers— Emigrants— The emigrant supplants the 
 Sucker; the reason — Their different views of life . . . 328 
 
 Chap. XV. — Hospitality of the people of the prairie — ^Their daily food and 
 method of preparing it 331 
 
 Chap. XVI.— Morals of the people— Religious sects— The circuit preacher 
 — Styl-e of preaching — An amusing character — Happy effect of their 
 ministry 334 
 
 Chap. XVII.— Excursions— Visit to the burial grounds and council house 
 of the Sauks— Reflections 341 
 
 Chap. XVIIL— A tour through the prairie country— Anecdotes and dia- 
 logues 347 
 
 Chap. XIX. — Tour continued — Amusing incidents . • . 35G 
 
 Chap. XX.— Tour continued— Dialogues with the settlers . . 362 
 
 Chap. XXI.— Cheerless hotel— Tour ended 368 
 
 Chap. XXII.— Happy residence at Alton ; its social aspect more like the 
 eastern cities — Beauty of the country 372 
 
 Chap. XXm.— The picnic— Delightful close of the day . *. 376 
 
 Chap. XXIV.— Return to our former residence— Change in the place- 
 Effect of these changes on the mind— A mournful tale . . 382 
 
 Chap. XXV. — A visit to Prairie Lodge — Departure from the west — Story 
 and legends of the Indian— The prospects of this country— Its future 
 greatness 394 
 
LIFE IN THE PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 On the morning of one of the last days of April, 
 18 — , there was a small party of persons collected 
 in the cabin of a steamboat which had just arrived 
 at St. Louis from Louisville, discussing some topic 
 which seemed to possess for them an engrossing 
 interest. This party consisted of six persons, 
 four ladies and two gentlemen, all evidently trav- 
 elers. The question was how and when they 
 should prosecute the remainder of their voyage up 
 the principal eastern tributary which the father of 
 waters receives above the Ohio. One of the 
 gentlemen had explored the forest of steamboats 
 which crowded the wharf of this growing city, 
 and reported that there was but one advertised 
 *' For the Illinois this evening, without fail," that 
 he could not get on board of her, but thought her 
 appearance extremely unpromising. It was near 
 the close of the week, and as the other gentleman 
 was a clergyman, and he and his party had more- 
 over no dear friends from whom they had been 
 separated seven long years, awaiting their arrival, 
 they concluded to stop till the succeeding one. 
 They accordingly went on shore, and the writer 
 and her companion set out, accompanied by a 
 cartman and sundry trunks, chests, et cet., to find 
 the elegant, fast-sailing, high-pressure boat that 
 was going " up the Illinois this evening, without 
 fail." 
 
 B 
 
14 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 We had traveled far enough on the western 
 waters ah^eady, to have learned that the "this even- 
 ing" of the bills might possibly be adj ourned twenty- 
 four or even thirty-six hours ; but faith is no less 
 requisite on western steamboats than elsewhere, and 
 summoning all ours, we embarked ourselves and our 
 baggage on board the " Banner." We soonfound the 
 faith which led us on board was a mere rush-light 
 to that necessary to keep us there. If steamboats 
 had been running on the Illinois at the time when 
 Noah explored the summit of Ararat, one would 
 have affirmed that this very " Banner" was the 
 pioneer of that period. But there is a story to be 
 told, by-and-by, of the first craft of this kind that 
 ever went up the Illinois, and its effect on the set- 
 tlers, which unfortunately conflicts with this suppo- 
 sition, and drives the antiquarian to a period 
 comparatively modern, as that which gave birth 
 to the Banner. She was not a very large boat, 
 but what she wanted in size was amply com- 
 pensated in filth. One flight of stairs between 
 the cabins was carpeted, and sundry small patches 
 still remained on the floor of that in which we ate, 
 being too firmly fastened by mingled grease and 
 clay to be easily removed. It is not perhaps gen- 
 erally known, that these articles, properly com- 
 pounded, make a paste which is quite firm and 
 nearly insoluble in cold water. I mention it for 
 the benefit of the unenlightened, and can bear 
 ample testimony to its virtues, having seen them 
 repeatedly demonstrated in various ways at the 
 west. The floors were broken, the stairs dilapi- 
 dated ; there was no linen for the berths, the hurri- 
 cane deck leaked, and its edge was hung with deli- 
 cate filaments of tar, which the warmth of the sun 
 often drew to an inconvenient length and sometimes 
 quite severed, irrespective of the welfare of those 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 15 
 
 passing beneath. The waste of steam was so great 
 that the wheels effected only about four revolutions 
 a minute, and the boat had a strange habit which I 
 could not then fully comprehend, but which has since 
 been satisfactorily explained by a scientific friend, of 
 occasionally running twice or thrice her length with 
 considerable rapidity, and then suddenly lurching 
 so as throw every thing to the larboard. She av- 
 eraged five of these spasms a day. There was a 
 one-handed chambermaid on board, a one-eyed 
 cook, and a three-fingered boy to wait at table. 
 But all these imperfections were more than com- 
 pensated by the exquisite finish and perfection of 
 the captain. He was a soft-voiced, red-haired 
 gentleman, in white silk hose, and French pumps, 
 umbrageous ruffles, and a light satin cravat ; who 
 had strangely enough been transfeiTed fi:om his 
 natural profession of lounging in the Broadway of 
 some western town, to the command of this ante- 
 diluvian piece of water craft. One could draw his 
 portrait this day, by adding a thatch of red bristles 
 over the mouth, and substituting for the silken hose 
 gaiters of the neatest fit and finish. On deck he 
 wore lemon-colored gloves. The first polish of 
 the laundress was taken off his snowy linen panta- 
 loons when I first saw him, and the plaits of his 
 ruflfle had relaxed a little from their precise an- 
 gles, but the satin cravat, the pumps and hose, 
 were unexceptionable. He walked with a min- 
 cing, uneasy gait through the little hall which led 
 to the ladies' cabin, and presented himself before 
 my astonished eyes — one delicate glove drawn on, 
 and the other straightened in his hand— with a bow 
 that would have graced the drawing-room of St. 
 James. 
 
 " It's a ver-ry-warm day, miss." I looked my 
 astonishment, and was about informing him that 
 
16 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 the gentlemen's cabin was in some other part of 
 the boat, when he laid his white hand on one of 
 the filthy chairs and placing it near the door, seated 
 himself upon it with such an at-home sort of air, 
 looking at the same time so familiar with the filth 
 and disorder about, that I felt convinced he must 
 be a part of the establishment. He must either 
 be the captain or clerk, for the cook is black, 
 and none of the hands would dare undertake a 
 prank of this kind. These thoughts passed rapidly 
 through my mind, while the object of them was 
 adjusting his cravat, arranging his hair, and passing 
 his cambric handkerchief slowly over his moist 
 forehead, so that, notwithstanding my deliberation, 
 I replied, before he was entirely prepared to con- 
 tinue the conversation, that so far as the tempera- 
 ture was concerned, I was happy to be able to 
 coincide with him. 
 
 " You are going up the Illinois, miss 1" 
 
 " I am delighted with your sagacity, sir," I re- 
 plied ; " that forms a part of my present expectation." 
 
 ** Have you ever been up V 
 
 " Never, sir." 
 
 " Then you have a delightful trip before you." 
 
 ** I admire your taste," I replied, glancing at the 
 naked floor, the mutilated chairs, and the greasy 
 berths. 
 
 *' How far up do you go, miss V 
 
 ** 1 am not informed, sir, as to the exact distance." 
 
 " You have recently an'ived in this region, I 
 presume 1" 
 
 " I have, sir." 
 
 " I shall have great pleasure in carrying so in- 
 telligible a young lady into the country." 
 
 " You flatter me." 
 
 " O no, miss, I believe I speak truth." 
 
 " Your sagacity, sir is beyond praise." 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 17 
 
 Before he had time to reply, a young chap in a 
 red caHco shirt, with a face dirtier than I can de- 
 scribe, presented himself at the door and bawled 
 01$, " Cappen, please to come hyur* John's dead 
 done with whiskey, the new ingineer's gone off 
 on a spree, and th' ain't nobody to keep the fire 
 up." Hereupon the *' cappen" rose and departed, 
 with a pompous solicitation that I would excuse 
 his absence. 
 
 He had been gone but a very few moments when 
 the one-handed chambermaid entered, directing 
 in a raw Hooshier girl who had been our fellow 
 passenger from Louisville. Poor child ! even her 
 eyes, trained as they were to rude sights, looked 
 astonished at the poverty and filth about her. I 
 did not wonder that she started with an exclama- 
 tion of delight and said, " I'm right glad to see 
 you !" though we had never exchanged a word be- 
 fore. She was a tall, dark featured person, with 
 a head of fine black hair that flowed to her feet 
 when the horn comb was withdrawn from it. Her 
 stature was large, her hands and feet proportiona- 
 bly so. She was accompanied by a man whose re- 
 lation to her had excited a good deal of speculation 
 among us. He was several years her senior ; had 
 lost three of his front teeth, wore a red flannel shirt 
 with a standing collar of the same, supported by a 
 cotton pocket-handkerchief, a fur cap, and the 
 thickest of all possible boots, the tops of which 
 were just invaded by the bottoms of a pair of jean 
 pantaloons. His attentions to his traveling com- 
 panion were so peculiar that we had been in a de- 
 lightful state of uncertainty all the way as to what 
 
 * It is difficult to convey by any written combination of letters 
 the sound of this word as uttered by the natives of these reg'ons. 
 It is more like yur preceded by h sharply aspirated, than any- 
 thing else to which 1 can liken it. 
 2 B 2 
 
18 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 this relation could be. They were authoritative 
 enough for those of a father, but then their age 
 forbade the supposition. He might have been an 
 uncle, but she never called him so ; possibly a 
 cousin, but no woman ever so prized the attention 
 of a mere cousin. He could scarcely have been a 
 brother, because there was not the faintest resem- 
 blance between them. What then could he be 1 
 We had examined and rejected every supposition 
 but that of his being her husband ; but nobody 
 would listen to that, because supported by no prob- 
 abilities. The riddle was turned over to me for 
 solution. It cannot be wondered at, that in such des- 
 perate circumstances, I looked upon their entrance 
 as quite a providence, and reciprocated the self- 
 gratulation expressed by my fellow-passenger. 
 
 She seated herself on one chair, deposited her 
 bundle on another, and, laughing the while, ex- 
 claimed, " This 7ii/ur boat ain't set out so smart by 
 a heap as t'other. I 'lowed we shouldn't have such 
 a fine place to be in all the way." 
 
 " Why," said I, " had you been told that the boats 
 up the Illinois were so poorly furnished 1" 
 
 *' No, I never heem nothin about 'em, but 'tain't 
 in natur to have such cai-j^^ets, and cheers, and 
 glasses everywhere ; it costs a heap to have 'em. " 
 
 Poor child ! the splendors of a comfortable cabin 
 had been to her like the show of regal magnificence 
 to a peasant ; and she could say with poor Hinda, 
 though not in language so sentimental, " I knew, I 
 knew it could not last !" 
 
 In a few minutes her companion made his ap- 
 pearance, and announced that he had toted the 
 plunder aboard, and as the boat wa'n't goin to start 
 till after night, he was goin up to see the place. 
 He gave her no invitation to accompany him, nor 
 did !-he seem to expect it. I did not wish to broach 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 19 
 
 the question at once, so we had a few words on in- 
 different topics, till Hal (I believe I have forgotten 
 to say that my traveling companion bore that con- 
 venient soubriquet) entered and asked me if I 
 would like to stroll an hour or two over the west- 
 ern city. 
 
 "Most gladly," I replied; "a wilderness and 
 motion were preferable to this tedious place." 
 
 " Have you seen the captain ]" was his next ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " Yes, he has paid his respects formally." 
 
 " Well, he's a character, isn't he, to finish off 
 such a boat as this ] but we'll have some fun out 
 of him before we part." 
 
 We sallied forth, and my heart really ached as I 
 left the solitary girl sitting there, robbed of all the 
 splendor that had so delighted her senses for the last 
 few days, and alone. She looked sad, and I made 
 an interrogative sign to Hal about asking her to ac- 
 company us, with all the oddities of her person and 
 apjjarel, but he shook his head. Wlien we were 
 out, I asked why he had refused my request. 
 
 " Why," said he, " Mr. Red-flannel may prefer 
 to escort his wife himself, and his preference might 
 be expressed rather strongly if he found me doing 
 it without his consent. We don't know how these 
 Hooshiers will receive any civilities to which they 
 are not accustomed ; and you have heard enough 
 of the modes in which they express their displea- 
 sure, to be aware that it is no slight thing to awa- 
 ken it. You see that clump of trees yonder in the 
 skirt of the city ]" 
 
 " Yes, but what have they to do with the resent- 
 ment of insult or wrong 1" 
 
 " Much. There is a heap of ashes under one 
 of them with which this pleasant wind is play- 
 ing, as if they were not the most revolting ob- 
 
20 LIFE IN PKAIRIE LAND. 
 
 ject that could be found on the face of this re- 
 pubhc." 
 
 "And what, pray, renders them such] Your 
 face tells a tale of horror." 
 
 " And well it may; for last night, only last night, 
 a man, an unfortunate and guilty one it may be, 
 but still a man, and a citizen of this proud state, 
 was tied to that tree and burned alive !" 
 
 " Merciful heaven, it cannot be !" 
 
 " Yes, it is even so, and a crowd of people were 
 gathered around to witness the fearful spectacle." 
 
 " And was there no heart during all that period 
 of agony to relent and turn the tide of fury into 
 pity and tenderness 1 A word uttered in the spirit 
 of human love must have done it, methinks, and 
 made the most violent ready to bear their suffering 
 victim away in their arms." 
 
 " It remained unspoken, then ; for the damning 
 fact is recorded on earth as well as in Heaven." 
 
 " It surely must blast the peace of every person 
 who had any knowledge of it and did not interpose 
 to prevent it. But what was his offence? Surely 
 it must have been very aggravated to have awa- 
 kened such awful vengeance." 
 
 " I have not learned the precise circumstances, 
 but rumor (and that from those who approved, or 
 at least suffered the disgraceful event to take place, 
 would, we may suppose, attribute to him his full 
 measure of iniquity) says that he had led a despe- 
 rate sort of life on the river and in its vicinity. 
 His final offence was stabbing an officer who at- 
 tempted to arrest him for some recent crime." 
 
 " Did the wound produce instant death f 
 
 " No. I believe the man is still living, or at least 
 survived some hours. I have understood that he 
 was very much esteemed, and had a family of small 
 children. But these are less than feather weights 
 
 1 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 21 
 
 in the scale that will balance the guilt of his mur- 
 derers." 
 
 " These things are awful truly, and disgraceful 
 too, if we consider the boasted supremacy and 
 efficiency of our laws. I trust the like does not 
 occur so often that the city is not agitated by it." 
 
 " No, such extreme cases do not ; but this is only 
 an extreme one of a class of public offences that 
 are frequent here. Individual or associated feel- 
 ing often assumes the prerogative of law in the 
 infliction of lesser punishments," 
 
 " Wei], it is not perhaps, on reflection, so extra- 
 ordinary as it seems at first sight to us. We come 
 fi'om a region comparatively old, where time has 
 defined right and interest, and developed more fully 
 the power of law, and established rules of action. 
 Here all is new. Passion may break forth and do 
 its fatal misdeeds, before the slower majesty of law 
 is perceived by the turbulent actors to be sufficient 
 for their purposes. Such scenes must exhibit 
 clearly to every reflecting mind the necessity of 
 framing in our seasons of entire self-possession 
 rules by which we will abide when these have 
 passed away. Fanatical liberalists may term them 
 shackles to restrain our future freedom, but I 
 would that every one of such might stand beside 
 that funeral dust. Before the awful truth taught 
 there, his ravings for large liberty would shrink 
 into their true insignificance." 
 
 *' But if such lessons are not learned from the 
 pages of history, black with the records of fouler 
 violence than this, how shall the shallow minds 
 which reject them there, imbibe them here ?" 
 
 " True : but we are wandering far, and your 
 horrible recital has been so painful that I am less 
 disposed to walk than before I heard it. Let us 
 return." 
 
22 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 On reaching the wharf, we found things wearing 
 a very busy appearance. The engine was wheez- 
 ing hke an asthmatic, some rough-looking men 
 were toting plunder on board, the captain stood 
 upon the guard with both gloves drawn on and but- 
 toned, the hands were moving about as if intent on 
 business, and things began to wear quite the as- 
 pect of departure. This was encouraging. 
 
 " Will you start to-night, captain 1" said Hal. 
 
 " Certainly, sir," taking out his repeater. " Ring 
 the bell. Jack. That's our first bell ; we shall be 
 off in an hour." 
 
 " Really," said I, as we walked up the street, 
 " this affair has some creditable points, its punctu- 
 ality for instance." 
 
 " Yes, you'll learn the value of that when our 
 friends who wait here till Monday pass us half- 
 way up the Illinois." 
 
 *' Now out upon your croaking, and let's put a 
 cheerful face on the attempt, since we have made 
 it." 
 
 The hour extended from one o'clock to six. We 
 left the wharf just as the sun was setting, and if 
 the reader escapes a common-place description of 
 spires gilded by his last rays, of windows blazing 
 with crimson and golden light, of trees shaking 
 their small foliage in the evening wind, and of the 
 dying hum of the city, stealing fainter and fainter 
 on our ears as the muddy waters parted slowly 
 before our prow, he may thank the Banner and her 
 peerless captain. Either were sufficient to have 
 put to flight the sentimentality of a legion of 
 echool-misses, — both together quite routed mine ; 
 not to mention our red-flanneled Hooshier, or his 
 long-haired bride. Everything about me was so 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 23 
 
 thoroughly uncomfortable, that I felt no dispo- 
 sition to rest in any anticipation short of that 
 which pictured the home and faces we so longed 
 to see. Three days of this dismal journeying 
 were reported to lie between us and them, and it 
 required under such circumstances some heroism 
 in man or woman to look forward through their 
 tedious length. 
 
 I was fatigued, and requested the chambermaid 
 to prepare my berth as early as possible. She 
 offered me a very disinterested piece of advice in 
 reference to it, which I shall give here for the ben- 
 efit of such as may be similarly situated, without 
 the like kindness to direct their choice. It was, 
 that I had better abandon the little pen, otherwise 
 state-room, which I had chosen beside the cabin, 
 and take ray berth in the latter apartment, " 'Kase,'* 
 to use her own elegant language, " the bugs ain't a 
 touch in liyur to what they be in yander." Here 
 was another volume of misery opened to ray already 
 oppressed senses. Seeing my consternation, she 
 added, "O, you needn't dread 'em so powerful; I 
 broomed the berths to-day, and shook the 'trasses, 
 60 they won't be so mighty bad." 
 
 " Make my berth where you think best," I said. 
 
 " There ain't no clean sheets, but I can tear off 
 a pair, and you can sleep in 'em, you know, if they 
 ain't hemmed, and I'll give you my pillow." 
 
 " No, thank you," I replied; "just tear off a third 
 sheet, and I'll make a pillow-case of it for myself." 
 
 At last the berth was prepared, and the vermin 
 made a night of it. They had evidently not been 
 treated for some time, and brought vigorous appe- 
 tites to my reception. After a contest of four or 
 five hours, I was fain to yield possession to them. 
 Making such limited ablution as the place allowed, 
 I dressed myself and sat down on the stem of the 
 
24 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 boat to wait the coming day, and speculate on the 
 distance we had made. When the light came up 
 over the heavy forest which clothed the eastern 
 bank of the river, I saw that the waters were still 
 muddy, and knew, therefore, that we could not have 
 passed the mouth of the Missouri. Nine hours' 
 running had brought us twenty-two miles ! — a 
 dismal augury for the 240 that yet remained. As 
 the daylight gained, I saw that the cui'rent under 
 the eastern shore was dark and clear, and a few 
 minutes after the scattered town of Alton began to 
 peer up from among its beautiful bluffs, just touched 
 with the first tender hue of spring. 
 
 And now the waters widened on the west, and 
 opened up inland a broad, eddying, plunging sea 
 of mud. On the spine of a sand-bar which was 
 just visible between the two streams, the currents 
 met, and the waters of the Missouri rose into a 
 circling wave which toppled an instant and ran on, 
 eager to mingle with the purer element that glit- 
 tered and danced beyond. But the Mississippi, 
 as if disdaining the foul alliance thus tumultuously 
 sought, stole angrily away beneath the dark forest 
 on the opposite shore, and preserved her identity 
 a long way down, in a narrow transparent vein, 
 growing more slender, till at length its bed was 
 wholly usurped by the muddy monster. 
 
 This, then, was the junction of these two streams ! 
 The point where the mighty son of the mountains 
 meets the clear-eyed daughter of the lakes — majes- 
 tic union of powers whose feeble birth is in the 
 deep wilderness and the untrodden solitude, whose 
 maturity makes the ocean tremble. Nothing could 
 be more impressive. When the child's geography 
 had first been put in my hands, I read of these 
 great rivers and put my feeble powers to their 
 utmost task to conceive them. I had followed the 
 
 1 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 25 
 
 insignificant red and green lines which represent 
 
 them, and explored the echoing mountains whence 
 
 one plunges to the plain below, and the gushing 
 
 springs and softly chiming lakes whence the other 
 
 rises and winds ; till fancy, wearied with the effort, 
 
 drooped her pinion, and left me on the rough bench 
 
 in the little brown school-house, sick and disgusted 
 
 with the narrowness and coarseness of the world 
 
 to which I was confined. I had taken the eagle's 
 
 wing, and, perched upon the mountain pine, had 
 
 seen the little rivulets 
 
 " leap and gush 
 
 O'er channeled rock and broken bush," 
 
 bending towards each other, and swelling as they 
 united, till their march became resistless. I had 
 followed them where the dim wood and towering 
 cliff reechoed to their tread, and where they cut the 
 verdant bosom of the sunny plain like threads of 
 molten silver. Vast, illimitable journey ! And here, 
 beneath my eye, these messengers from the unvexed 
 solitudes, thousands of miles away, met and pursued 
 their path together. It seemed like a union of 
 strength to thread the more dangerous territory in- 
 habited by man. Both streams at this time were 
 swollen to their fullest capacities by the spring 
 floods. The gigantic Missouri poured out his 
 turbid waters with a force that made his feeble 
 neighbor recoil and leave a chasm between the 
 transverse muddy wall, and the clear dark stream 
 that glided timidly by on the other side. 
 
 While I was contemplating this scene, wrapt in 
 silence, a little window close beside me opened, and 
 a hand was thrust forth which I immediately recog- 
 nized to be the solitary member belonging to the 
 body of our chambermaid. She drew back with a 
 scream, and an exclamation not of the most feminine 
 character ; but the next moment her eyes relieved 
 C 
 
26 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 her trepidation, and after muttering some apology, 
 she expressed her opinion that I " must feel right 
 ^eart to be out that airly. ^^ I had no little diffi- 
 culty in convincing her that there was sufficient 
 activity in my nerves of sensation to render the in- 
 sects that shared my berth somew^hat troublesome. 
 "I reckon," said she," tharmusthavebeenamighty 
 small chance of the varmints about you, 'kase I 
 swep up about a pint of 'em yesterday and throw^'d 
 'em overboard ; so it's impossible you could ha 
 had a great many." 
 
 I yielded the point, and afterwards observed that 
 whenever they were alluded to on board this boat, 
 it was by measure ! 
 
 We reached Alton at 8 o'clock. The bell rang 
 when we were within 100 yards of the shore, and 
 the boat was in one of her spasms, which the cap- 
 tain calculated would lay him alongside in gallant 
 style. But alas ! spasmodic action is no more to 
 be relied on in boat nature than human. On we 
 came, the waters quite whitening in our wake, and 
 making, as the delighted Mrs. Raddle observed on 
 another occasion, " acterdlly more noise" than if 
 we had come in a better boat, for the engine 
 creaked and hissed at every joint, and the escape- 
 pipe disgorged itself about thrice a minute with a 
 dismal hollow sound, as if its vitals were breaking 
 up. We nearly touched the shore, the captain 
 stood in his ruffles, silk-hose, pumps and gloves, 
 the passengers waited, valises and trunks in hand, 
 ready to jump ashore, and two or three were gath- 
 ered at the waterside shaking hands with their 
 friends, and exchanging the usual ceremonies, when, 
 oh, most inglorious spectacle ! the spasm ended, the 
 boat rolled over on the other side, threw the captain 
 across a stool, and the passengers among barrels, et 
 cet,, and lay motionless for several moments. 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 27 
 
 *' ' That was the unkindest cut of all,' was it notr* 
 cried Hal, maliciously, to the prostrate captain. 
 " To play you such a trick here, before the town, 
 just as we were on the eve of such a bold ap- 
 proach ; but never mind. She'll hardly have an- 
 other fit before you can bring her up." 
 
 The bell rang, the wheels revolved backward, and 
 all the numerous mysteries were duly performed 
 again, but now the boat refused to approach the 
 shore. She would come up obediently to within a 
 few feet, but the nicest calculation and the most 
 delicate persuasion could take her no nearer. At 
 each failure she was obliged to turn quite round, and 
 each evolution took her half-way across the stream, 
 and consumed nearly half an hour. No petted 
 child ever conducted herself in a more refractory 
 manner before company, than she before the aston- 
 ished eyes of the goodly citizens of Alton. Every 
 prank deepened the tint of our captain's hair, 
 whiskers, and face, and was made the occasion of as 
 many jokes as could be uttered till another fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 " She shows off admirably, captain; nothing could 
 be more fortunate." 
 
 ** If you could throw her into a fit just before 
 she backs water, she'd be sure to come up." 
 
 *' If she refuses again, you may as well go on ; 
 may be she'll come to her temper at the next 
 landing." 
 
 " The wood will be out soon, and then she'll 
 certainly float ashore somewhere." 
 
 In the midst of this scene our red-flanneled 
 Hooshier made his appearance. His arms were 
 inserted in his pockets, nigh to the elbow, the 
 fur cap tipped over the left eye, and the thick 
 boots projected more than ever as he leaned 
 against the side of the cabin, raised his upper lip 
 
28 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 by way of adapting his eyes to the strong sunlight, 
 and inquired with a loud voice into the meaning " of 
 all these liyur turnins." He was informed by Hal 
 that the captain had thought of landing at Alton, 
 but had changed his mind and was now merely 
 showing his boat to the citizens, 
 
 " Look hyur, stranger," said he, *' do I look as 
 if I could be gummed that easy % I've seed too 
 many boats in my day to believe your story ; but 
 if he's trying to land tJiar, this one takes the rag 
 off them all. I say, cappen, what'll you give me 
 to jump over and put my shoulder under the stam, 
 and shove her up for you % I calculate there 
 wouldn't be much difficulty in doin it, if you'd 
 stop that infarnal old ingine that's whizzin and 
 bustin, below thar. It's about half man-power, I 
 reckon, when it don't leak." 
 
 The poor captain became more and more per- 
 plexed every moment, and actually went so far as 
 to remove one of his gloves. The people on shore 
 cheered the last two evolutions, and the whole 
 thing had reached the climax of the ridiculous, 
 when, by a fortunate guess on the part of some 
 one, the boat was at last brought alongside the 
 shore, just one hour and a half from the time of 
 the first attempt. Everything had been brought 
 up to the boiling point by the long suspense and 
 severe effort. The perspiration stood in drops on 
 the brow of the agonized captain ; the boilers had 
 contracted the rage, and thrown off more steam 
 than had brought us from St. Louis ; the very tar 
 had been warmed into greater freedom, and threw 
 itself more fearlessly on the luckless by-passers. 
 Our Hooshier had not duly considered this cir- 
 cumstance, and, in the excitement of the moment, 
 he planted himself directly beneath one of these 
 thin filaments. It spun out in a beautiful thread 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 29 
 
 of dark amber, and then, unluckily, parting above, 
 deposited a large lump on the very edge of his cap, 
 and shot off, in a fine stream, to the immaculate 
 bosom of red flannel below. 
 
 " Look hi/ur, now," said the wrathful Hoo- 
 shier, doubling his fists ; " if anybody wants to 
 throw tar on me, he may do it as long as he can 
 stand, after I've had two or three good licks at 
 him. I'm a better steamboat than this when I'm 
 set a-goin, and 'twon't take much such combusti- 
 ble as that aar to fire me up." 
 
 The bystanders were greatly amused, but kept 
 themselves at a safe distance, for his arms were 
 swinging about in a manner rather inconvenient to 
 those on the narrow guard. 
 
 "Easy, friend, easy," said Hal; "you cannot 
 suppose that any gentleman would throw tar upon 
 you : if you look up, you will see where the insult 
 came from." 
 
 " Yes, I see it's the infarnal old boat. I could 
 lick out twenty-four just like her ; but there'd be 
 more sense in giving that ruffled carrot yonder a 
 taste of a live man's fists." 
 
 A little persuasion, however, cooled his wi'ath. 
 Our old passengers sprang gladly ashore, and the 
 new ones set their feet upon the plank rather 
 doubtingly, but some one on the fire-deck settled 
 the question by calling out " There won't be an- 
 other boat till Tuesday." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 We got under weigh again after several starts and 
 backings, and ran slowly along under the magnifi- 
 cent bluffs that tower above the Mississippi on the 
 Illinois side. In a short time Hal came to me, 
 
 c 2 
 
30 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 his face drawn into one of its heartiest expressions 
 of humor, and said, " Jersey is here ; who could 
 have dreamed of the good luck V 
 
 But as the reader doesn't know Jersey, he will 
 hardly participate in our pleasure till he is intro- 
 duced. The brief appellation by which he is here 
 distinguished was given him on the first day of his 
 appearance among us, in honor of the declaration 
 which he then made, that he " was born in Jarsey, 
 and had never been out of it till that day." He 
 wore a suit of coarse snuff-colored homespun, a 
 large bell-crowned white hat, and a cravat of blue 
 ground, dotted with large oval figures of copperas 
 color. He had lost a front tooth, and had an awk- 
 ward habit of grinning, which made it manifest at 
 every word he uttered. Though much older than 
 Hal, the latter had kindly offered to be his Mentor 
 on first meeting him, and many were the waggish 
 tricks he had played upon him, and the roars of 
 laughter which the performances of Jersey, under 
 his direction, had elicited. The simple, credulous 
 face of the one, and the grave, imperturbable hon- 
 esty of the other, in the height of Jersey's most 
 ridiculous exhibitions, had been an inexhaustible 
 fund of amusement among the gentlemen during the 
 weary hours of our journey. Jersey had left home 
 under the auspices of the celebrated Marion City 
 colony, but had been separated from them at Co- 
 lumbia, Penn., by getting on board the wrong boat. 
 It was there that he first joined us. He traveled 
 economically : that is, he found his owti supplies, 
 and slept on the floor of the cabin. His ignorance 
 exposed him to every sort of imposition, against 
 which Hal was in truth his protector. But for 
 the honest care which he exercised over his worldly 
 concerns, he repaid himself by letting out upon 
 him the whole strength of his trick-loving disposi- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 31 
 
 tion. A party of gentlemen were about leaving 
 the packet, on the second day, for a walk. Hal 
 suggested that Jersey had better accompany them, 
 as his health might suffer from the long confine- 
 ment. But there was a difficulty in the case. He 
 had just purchased two large cards of gingerbread, 
 — and what should he do with them 1 To leave 
 them on his box he thought would be dangerous, 
 and this opinion was fully concurred in by his ad- 
 viser. To eat them at so short notice, was out of 
 the question ; to put them in his pocket imjDOSsible. 
 
 " There is but one way in which you can dispose 
 of them in safety," said Hal, " and that is to tie 
 them up in your handkerchief and take them under 
 your arm." 
 
 This was accordingly done, and they set forth. 
 But Jersey's handkerchief gaped and revealed 
 the secret. It was no choice herbarium, as his 
 friend had asserted to the company when they 
 joined them, but a pair of luscious brown sheets 
 of gingerbread, which he had purchased at a 
 Dutch farm-house just back; none of your shop 
 compounds made of dirty lard, vinegar, and sal 
 seratus, but a dainty mixture of golden butter, pure 
 butter-milk, and superfine flour. A league was 
 entered into at once ; two of the party engaged 
 Jersey in familiar elbow conversation, and at a 
 rough place in the road stumbled against him, 
 while a third at the same moment dexterously ab- 
 stracted about a third of one of the loaves. The 
 foremost rogues begged his pardon, and the walk 
 was resumed, Jersey replacing the handkerchief, 
 which had settled a little in the shock he received. 
 Another stumble was soon made, and the part of 
 the other loaf which projected behind his arm was 
 withdrawn. After a long walk there was a short 
 run to gain a bridge from which to let themselves 
 
32 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 down on the boat. Jersey seated himself on the 
 raiUng beside Hal, and as the boat came up, the 
 latter began to swing his arms and go through the 
 various motions preparatory to a leap. These were 
 continued till the moment of jumping, when at a 
 word they all found themselves upon deck, but 
 Jersey's bell crown was lying on the bridge. As- 
 tonished and alarmed beyond measure, he looked 
 about with the most ludicrous terror in his coun- 
 tenance, and exclaimed " My hat's lost !" 
 
 " No, it isn't," said his grave friend, who had 
 knocked it off. " There, the steersman is throwing 
 the boat up to the shore. I'll take care of your 
 gingerbread while you run and get it." 
 
 But Jersey preferred to keep the gingerbread 
 under his own protection, and leaping ashore with 
 it, soon returned with the favorite chapeau elevated 
 to its old position. He now seated himself to ex- 
 amine his stores, and great was his consternation to 
 find that more than a third of each cake had disap- 
 peared. A thousand ways of accounting for its loss 
 were immediately suggested by the innocent youths 
 about him. But Jersey evidently rejected them 
 all, and from that hour, his confidence in Hal and 
 his companions waned. When he reached Louis- 
 ville, he took another boat, and came on to St. 
 Louis alone. But if he had enjoyed greater freedom 
 from jokes, he had been imposed on in more serious 
 matters, and seemed rather glad than otherwise to 
 meet his grave friend. I had never seen him yet, 
 except in the heat of his performances, but now 
 Hal was very desirous that I should have the 
 pleasure of hearing him converse awhile. An 
 opportunity soon offered. 
 
 We were passing a little wooded island three or 
 four miles above Alton, when one of the spasms 
 came on, and was succeeded by a lurch more 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 33 
 
 violent than any previous one, and an immediate 
 settling of the M^hole craft. She had sprung a leak. 
 The captain made his appearance, this time with- 
 out the gloves, and ordered her to be run on the 
 island instantly. The goods were all taken out, 
 the hands set at work, while the passengers went 
 strollinor throuo^h the woods. 
 
 The island was small and uninhabited. There 
 was nothing of interest upon it, save two or three 
 little glades in which the early spring flowers were 
 just unfolding their petals. We spent three or 
 four hours in the checkered wood, admiring the 
 various arts by which nature ushers her tender 
 and beautiful train into being, and were about re- 
 turning for some books, when the sound of ap- 
 proaching footsteps arrested us. In a few minutes 
 Jersey broke through a thick copse near us. 
 " Stop," said Hal, " this fellow will be richer than 
 any printed book." Accordingly we waited, and 
 Jersey was introduced in due form. He had in 
 some confidential moment intimated to Hal that he 
 was more brilliant in the society of ladies than gen- 
 tlemen, and I saw at once that he needed no pa- 
 tronage. He prided himself on his political acumen, 
 and, considering this his forte, plunged at once into 
 a discussion of the various prominent men who 
 were likely to claim the suffrages of the people in 
 the ensuing presidential canvass. His opinion of 
 them was delivered with a simplicity and brevity, 
 which quite surprised me. 
 
 First of all, he thought " Mr. Clay capable, honest, 
 and fittin." Mr. Van Buren he guessed was capa- 
 ble, but dishonester than Mr. Calhoun, who would 
 be all right if he wasn't a nullifier. I asked about 
 Mr. Webster. " Oh, Webster," said he, '* is a capa- 
 ble man, but he ain't fittin." On proposing a word 
 or two of the leading doctrines of these statesmen, I 
 3 
 
34 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 found him utterly ignorant of them. Nullification, 
 for aught he knew, meant the annexation of Texas. 
 Bank and anti-bank were the same to him. He only 
 knew of banks in general, that they were places 
 where people put their spare funds for safety. He 
 seemed not to have become acquainted with that 
 more modern feature, by the introduction of which 
 they have become forced loans for the accommo- 
 dation of gentlemen who wish to travel in Europe, 
 Texas, or other '* foreign parts." The tariff was 
 in some way connected with trade, but whether 
 trade between the mechanics and farmers of our 
 own country or between us and the Indians, of 
 which he understood there was " considerable" car- 
 ried on in the west, he could not tell. In short, 
 Jersey was one of the few Americans who, having 
 a moderate share of sense, have gi'own up without 
 travel or books, and while they have not the weak- 
 ness of idiocy, have the ignorance of the most un- 
 favored peasant. I have rarely met in a citizen of 
 the republic a like absence of all-acquired knowl- 
 edge, except among some of the miserable emi- 
 grants from the mountains of North Carolina. 
 
 Having finished his political discourse, this illus- 
 trious son of ** the Jarseys" was pleased to deliver 
 himself of some rambling thoughts on travel. On 
 this topic his style was more discursive. In gen- 
 eral he thought people had better stay " to hum 
 and mind their business, than to be licking it 
 through the country, the way they do now in 
 steamboats and on rail-roads. He thought they'd 
 make more by it. Besides, when he went, he 
 preferred going in conveyances to traveling. He 
 didn't think it was a pleasant thing to be carried 
 along as if you had a whirlwind wrapped around 
 you ; and then you met so many sorts of folks. No 
 doubt," he added, " a good many of 'em is honest 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 35 
 
 as anybody, but there's a good many more that'll 
 cheat you out of your eyes, if they can make six- 
 pence on 'em, and some that'll steal your bread 
 and meat and throw it away, if they don't want it 
 themselves." These remarks werged^ as Mr. Weller 
 would say, on the personal, but the ringing of the 
 bell left no time for explanation. We hurried to 
 the boat. It was much later than we thought, be- 
 fore the summons called our attention to the hour. 
 When we arrived, the last of the barrels, boxes, 
 &c., were going on board, the steam was up, and 
 we were just ready to be off. Supper was soon 
 laid, and we left the pleasant island while at table. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The night brought on another general engage- 
 ment between the passengers and the vermin. 
 The latter held the berths by prior occupancy and 
 could not be routed, but they were more than wil- 
 ling to enter into a treaty for joint tenancy with 
 certain privileges in their favor. It was these 
 privileges that made all the mischief. Like most 
 questions in diplomacy, they were exceedingly 
 difficult to settle ; one party claimed and exercised 
 them on all opportunities, the other denied them, 
 and rarely failed to offer the most violent opposi- 
 tion to their use, even to the taking of life. It is 
 due to the weaker party, however, to say that they 
 gained by industry and perseverance what they 
 never could by strength — the partial exercise of 
 the prerogatives they claimed, and, in general, the 
 final rout of their more powerful opponents. 
 
 They at any rate were productive of much 
 merriment below, but it was a heavy affair in our 
 quarter. I had few books which were accessiblQj 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND 
 
 and the long-haired bride had fewer ideas. She 
 possessed httle of that strength of mind and bold 
 thought, which characterize most of those rudely- 
 bred women. I thought the magnificent garniture 
 of her head had taken the place of more valuable 
 properties inside, as is often the case among more 
 cultivated females. The strange character of the 
 feeling manifested by her husband, made me very 
 desirous of drawing him into an expression of it in 
 words before he left us, and as their landing- 
 place would probably be reached on the third 
 morning, I availed myself of a chance meeting on 
 the shady guard in the afternoon, to engage him in 
 conversation. A few words about the height of 
 the water, the timber, and the prairies, served the 
 purpose. 
 
 " You are going to become a prairie farmer V* 
 I said. 
 
 " No, I've been one afore, I've got a farm up 
 the river hyur that I've crapped twice a'ready ; 
 there's a good cabin on it, and it's about as good 
 a place, I reckon, as can be found in these dig- 
 gins." 
 
 ** Then you built a cage," I said, " and went 
 back for your bird to put in if?" 
 
 He looked at me, and his face underwent a con- 
 tortion, of which words will convey but a faint 
 idea. It was a mingled expression of pride and 
 contempt, faintly disguised by a smile that was in- 
 tended to hide them. 
 
 " Why, I don't know what you Yankees call a 
 bird," he replied, "but I call her a woman. I 
 shouldn't make much account of havin a bird in 
 my cabin, but a good, stout woman I should cal- 
 culate was worth somethin. She can pay her way, 
 and do a handsome thing besides, helpin me on 
 the farm." 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 37 
 
 Think of that, ye belles and fair-handed maid- 
 ens ! How was my sentiment rebuked ! 
 
 '* Well, we'll call her a woman, which is, in 
 truth, much the more rational appellation. You 
 intend to make her useful as well as ornamental to 
 your home ]" 
 
 *' Why, yes ; I calculate 'tain't of much account 
 to have a woman if she ain't of no use. I lived up 
 hyur two year, and had to have another man's 
 woman do all my washin and men din and so on, 
 and at last I got tired o' totin my plunder back, 
 and forth, and thought I might as well get a woman 
 of my own. There's a heap of things beside these, 
 that she'll do better than I can, I reckon; every 
 man ought to have a woman to do his cookin and 
 such like, 'kase it's easier for them than it is for \y.^. 
 They take to it kind o' naturally." 
 
 I could scarcely believe that there was no more 
 human vein in the animal, and determined to sound 
 him a little deeper. 
 
 , " And this bride of yours is the one, I suppose, 
 that you thought of all the while you were making 
 your farm and building your cabin ] You have, I 
 dare say, made a little garden, or set out a tree, of 
 done something of the kind to please her alone V 
 
 " No, I never allowed to get a woman till I 
 found my neighbors went ahead of me with 'em, 
 and then I should a got one right thar, but there 
 wasn't any stout ones in our settlement, and it 
 takes so long to make up to a stranger^ that I 
 allowed I mought as well go back and see the old 
 folks, and git somebody that I know'd thar to come 
 with me." 
 
 " And had you no choice made among your 
 acquaintances % was there no one person of whom 
 you thought more than another 1" said I. 
 
 " Yas, there was a gal I used to know that was 
 D 
 
38 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 Stouter and bigger than this one. I should a got 
 her if I could, but she'd got married and gone off 
 over the Massissippi, somewhar." 
 
 The cold-hearted fellow ! it was a perfectly busi- 
 ness matter with him. 
 
 " Did you select this one solely on account of 
 her size ]" said I. 
 
 " Why, pretty much," he replied ; " I reckon 
 women are some like horses and oxen, the biggest 
 can do the most woi'k, and that's what I want one 
 for." 
 
 " And is that all 1" I asked, more disgusted at 
 every word. ** Do you care nothing about a pleas- 
 ant face to meet you when you go home from the 
 field, or a soft voice to speak kind words v^hen 
 you are sick, or a gentle friend to converse with 
 ►you in your leisure hours'?" 
 
 " Why, as to that," he said, " I reckon a woman 
 ain't none the worse for talk because she's stout and 
 able to work. I calculate she'll mind her own busi- 
 ness pretty much, and if she does she won't talk a 
 great deal to me ; that ain't what I got her for." 
 
 " But suppose when you get home she should 
 be unhappy, and want to see her parents and other 
 friends ]" 
 
 ** Why I don't allow she will ; I didn't get her 
 for that." 
 
 " But if she does," I replied, really anxious to 
 touch some chord that might afterwards vibrate in 
 the poor girl's behalf; "if she does feel unhappy] 
 you know one's feelings are not always under their 
 own control." 
 
 " Wall, if she does I expect I shan't mind it 
 much, if she keeps it to herself" 
 
 The selfish brute ! 
 
 " If she kept it to herself, as you say, would you 
 not attempt to alleviate her sorrows ] would you 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 39 
 
 not take her on some pleasant ride or walk, and 
 speak very kindly to her, and endeavor to make 
 your new home and company agreeable to her V 
 
 " Oh!" said he, laughing feebly, " I shall give her 
 enough to eat and wear, and I don't calculate she'll 
 be very daunsey if she gets that ; if she is she'll git 
 shet of it after a while." 
 
 My indignation increased at every word. 
 
 " But you brought her away from her home to be 
 treated as a human being, not as an animal or ma- 
 chine. Marriage is a moral contract, not a mere 
 bargain of business. The parties promise to study 
 each other's happiness, and endeavor to promote it. 
 You could not marry a woman as you could buy 
 a washing machine, though you might want her 
 for the same purpose. If you take the machine 
 there is no moral obligation incurred, except to 
 pay for it. If you take the woman, there is. Be- 
 fore you entered into this contract I could have 
 shown you a machine that would have answered 
 your purpose admirably. It would have washed 
 and ironed all your clothes, and when done, stood 
 in some out-of-the-way corner till it was wanted 
 again. You would have been under no obligation, 
 not even to feed and clothe it, as you now are. It 
 would have been the better bargain, would it noti" 
 
 " Why that would be according to what it cost 
 in the fust place ; but it wouldn't be justly the 
 same thing as havin a wife, I reckon, even if it 
 was give to you." 
 
 " No, certainly not ; it would free you from many 
 obligations that you are under to a wife" (it was the 
 first time, by the way, he had used the word), 
 " and leave you to pursue your own pleasure with- 
 out seeing any sorrowful or sour faces about you." 
 
 *' Oh, I calculate sour faces won't be of much 
 account to me. If a woman '11 mind her busi- 
 
40 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 ness, she may look as thunderin as a live airth- 
 quake, I shan't mind it." 
 
 " No, sir, I see you possess a very happy insen- 
 sibility to the woes or happiness of others. Your 
 wife has occasion to congratulate herself on the 
 prospects of life with a person elevated so far above 
 the emotions which move the human herd." 
 
 I will not deny that the fellow's coolness some- 
 what enraged me. There was a fair prospect that I 
 should have read him a lecture as long as he would 
 find patience to hear, but at this moment his wife 
 came round the stern of the cabin. I thought she had 
 heard the conversation, for the usual insipid smile 
 was replaced by a slightly contracted expression 
 on her dark brow, and her voice sounded more as 
 if it were the utterance of a soul conscious of its 
 own identity and requirements, as she said, "John, 
 will you come help me git to the big chist, the 
 captain has had some truck put on it." 
 
 ** Wall, you ain't a baby, I reckon, that you can't 
 tote it somewhar else," was the amiable reply. 
 
 " But thar's such a heap of it," answered the poor 
 girl, unwilling to be wholly refused — so early too ! 
 
 " What if thar is a heap. Tote away ten or 
 fifteen minutes, and thar won't be so much." 
 
 She turned away without another word, but as 
 she passed the open window, I saw her wiping her 
 eyes with the corners of her calico apron. It was 
 the most human manifestation I had seen in her. 
 Notwithstanding the intense disgust I felt for the 
 base-hearted tyrant who stood before me, I was 
 constrained to make one more effort on behalf of 
 his victim. I said, therefore, as gently as I could 
 speak, that it was not customary to treat females so 
 in our country ; that a man would be pronounced 
 a brute who would refuse to render or procure 
 assistance for a woman under like circumstances. 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 41 
 
 even if she were his servant, and such conduct was 
 still more abhorrent toward a wife. 
 
 " Wall, I reckon the Yankees may do as they 
 like about them things, and I shall do jist the 
 same. I don't think a woman's of much account 
 anyhow, if she can't help herself a little and me 
 too. If the Yankee women was raised up like the 
 women here aar, they'd cost a heap less and be 
 worth more." 
 
 This was the old key again. He was hope- 
 lessly benighted and brutified. His red flannel 
 bosom and dark face inspired stronger aversion 
 than ever, and I turned away, saying that I trusted 
 his wife would agree with him in these opinions, or 
 they might lead to some unpleasant differences. 
 
 *' Oh, as to that,' ' said he, " I reckon her pinions 
 won't go fur anyhow ; she'll think pretty much as I 
 do, or not at all." 
 
 Thou beast ! I exclaimed mentally ; and sat down 
 in the cabin pondering on the incredible brutality 
 of such opinions in a civilised man, when the wife 
 came in. She had just returned from her visit to 
 the *' big chist." There was no longer a doubt, 
 from the expression of her face, that she had heard 
 the conversation, and understood some part of it 
 too. I left her to her own choice, whether to speak 
 of it or not. 
 
 After a few minutes she said, " I reckon you'll 
 think John talks hard about women." 
 
 I replied, that it was quite unusual to find per- 
 sons who thought as he did. 
 
 '* Well," said the faithful creature, " I reckon he 
 don't think as bad as he says ;" but her suffused 
 eyes more than half contradicted her tongue. 
 
 There's too much of the true woman in her for 
 this brute, notwithstanding her ignorance and 
 silliness, thought I. It's an absolute waste of some 
 d2 
 
42 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 of the fairest materials that compose human nature 
 to throw her away with this selfish animal. 
 
 " How long have you been married f I asked. 
 
 " Two weeks yesterday," she replied, the blood 
 mantling through her dark cheek and brow. 
 
 " Had you been long acquainted^" 
 
 This question unsealed her tongue, and without 
 waiting further inquiry, she ran on with her story. 
 
 " No, I never see'd him but three or four times. 
 We was new-comers in the settlement whar his 
 folks lived, and nobody knowed when he come 
 back that he wanted to git a woman to take with 
 him. He come to our house once after night, and 
 him and the old man had a long talk out doors, and 
 finally he come in and stopt a little, and went off. 
 The next day, dad ast me how I'd like to come 
 to lllinice ! I didn't take his meanin rightly, but 
 John come again afore long, and then he ast me. 
 I told him I'd heern 'twas a good country, but I 
 liked it well enough thar. Then he said the old 
 man had told him he might have me to go back 
 with him if I was willin to it, and he allowed I 
 would be. So after two or three weeks, we got 
 married and put right off for his place." 
 
 " And you expect to be happier in the new 
 home than you were with your father and mother]" 
 
 " I hain't calculated much about that ; but I 
 reckon I'll want to see them and the young ones a 
 little, till I get broke in." 
 
 I could scarce forbear a laugh at the significancy 
 of this rude expression. It was a common one 
 with her, but described the process before her 
 more forcibly than the most elegant language. 
 There was no hope for her but to settle into her 
 slavery, and wear the shackles, if possible, without 
 chafing under them. She had not character enough 
 to redeem herself, and the brutal treatment to 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 4^ 
 
 which she was doomed would tend every day to 
 dhuinish the little that she had, and reduce her to 
 the condition of a mere machine. Both parties 
 were beyond hope : so that in gratifying my curi- 
 osity I had raised a crowd of painful emotions in 
 my own breast, and turned a dark page for the 
 poor over-grown child before me. They left us 
 next day, the bride wrapping her light slippers in 
 her pocket-handkerchief, and walking barefoot 
 from the landing^. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Our boat conducted herself much better in the 
 latter part of her tour than the first. Her improved 
 conduct gave the captain leisure, when he was 
 awake, to spend some time with his female pas- 
 sengers. As I was the only one left after the de- 
 parture of the Hooshier bride, these honors were 
 concentrated on me. It would have been a trou- 
 blesome distinction had the engine been less noisy 
 or his voice louder, but as the one was " soft and 
 low," and the other hissed, whistled, groaned, and 
 sputtered continually, I was but little embarrassed 
 by them. If his face expressed astonishment at 
 what he uttered, I proceeded to look astonished 
 myself. If he looked a negative, I shook my head; 
 an affirmative, I nodded : sentiment, nothing was 
 easier than to respond ; profound, it cost little 
 effort to look wise and inquiring. Every day he 
 donned a fresh ruffle and white pantaloons ; but 
 the hose, I think, were the same — so that after 
 two or three days, there were several transverse 
 stripes of a dark brown color crossing the foot, 
 which, at a distance, with a little aid from the 
 
44 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 imagination, might be construed into ribbons, and 
 so made to impart the appearance of a more elab- 
 orate finish to the fine pumps. He had a Leghorn 
 hat, with a wide rim lined with lemon-colored silk, 
 in which he aired his brainless cranium on very 
 warm days, though he never pardoned himself for 
 appearing in the cabin with it. 
 
 We worried on through the flood of water that 
 was pouring down the bed of the Illinois and sub- 
 merging its banks, till the night of the fifth day 
 brought us to the landing-place of our friends in 
 the town of Pokerton. It was at that time the 
 county seat of one of the largest and wealthiest 
 counties in the state. Its^ name is faintly descrip- 
 tive of its inhabitants in a double sense : one of 
 their favorite recreations being a game at cards, 
 which is indicated by the first two syllables of this 
 name. A still more conclusive right to it was de- 
 monstrated before we left the town. We had a 
 promise of a conveyance to reach our friends early 
 in the morning, but our utmost efforts of coaxing, 
 hiring, and remonstrating failed to bring it till one 
 o'clock. My vexation may easily be conceived. 
 After a journey of nearly four weeks, to be delayed 
 so long within nine miles of the dearest friends I 
 had on earth ; to be doomed to sit in the wooden 
 room of a wooden tavern, every beam and board 
 of which was saturated with the juice and fumes of 
 tobacco ; to look out, hour after hour, into the 
 sleepy street of a river town, thronged with rough 
 boatmen, horse-jockeys, plaintiffs and defendants 
 (for the court was in session) with their learned 
 counsel, every man and boy of them armed with 
 a cigar, or old pipe, brown with the absorbed 
 fumes of the weed ; to see among them all not a 
 face that one had ever seen, and, tired as I then 
 felt, not one that I could fancy I should ever wish 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 45 
 
 to see again, — was insufferable. Reading, in such 
 a state of suspense, was out of the question ; and 
 it was impossible to set foot out of doors, for the 
 mud mounted half-way to the tops of the men's 
 boots. I had not a few misgivings about the "new 
 country," and they increased in arithmetical pro- 
 gression, till a nondescript vehicle drove to the 
 door, and Hal came in to announce that deliver- 
 ance had at last come. Cloak and hat were never 
 donned quicker than mine on that occasion. I 
 stood waiting long before the baggage was in. 
 
 The driver was a native. " Is this liyur the young 
 woman that's goin out ]" said he. 
 
 " The very same, sir." 
 
 ** Wall, just wait till I get this truck aboard, and 
 I'll help you in." 
 
 " Thank you, I can help myself How long 
 will it take you to drive to my sister's 1" 
 
 ** I can't rightly judge now; the roads is heavy 
 and the slues deep, but I allow we'll fetch it about 
 five o'clock, anyhow. I should a been here two 
 hours ago, but my beast was out on the prairie, 
 and I couldn't git him afore." 
 
 " Well, our patience has been amply proved, 
 meantime ; but now, if you can, accomplish it by 
 five o'clock. It's just half-past one, and I confess 
 I do not see clearly how one horse is to travel nine 
 miles, with three persons and the baggage, over 
 the heavy roads and those other phenomena that 
 you named, whatever they may be, even in that long 
 time." 
 
 " Thar, we're all ready now, that big piece of 
 plunder can't go; seat yourself with the lady, Mr., 
 and we'll put out ; — jist hold on the lines a min- 
 ute, till I go in." 
 
 When he returned he had replenished the inner 
 man with a liberal potation of whiskey, and his res- 
 
46 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 olutions for our benefit were multiplied indefinitely. 
 He mounted a large trunk in front, flourished his 
 whip, and we soon left the suburbs of Pokerton 
 behind us. 
 
 It was a glorious April day. The very air was 
 exhilarating enough to have routed a legion of 
 azure tormentors, not to mention the circumstan- 
 ces under which we were breathing it. 
 
 Those who have ever experienced the emotions 
 that fill the heart when one approaches the home of 
 friends — a dear sister or brother, after a separation 
 of years, can appreciate something of ours as the 
 wheels rolled on and brought us nearer to this in- 
 teresting termination of our wanderings. The deep 
 joy which will not permit one to be silent and yet 
 finds no relief in words, the questions which will 
 continually force their way to utterance, though 
 no answer is expected, the imaginary portrait of 
 the home, its internal arrangements and external 
 appearance, the changes which time has wrought in 
 the persons of its old inmates, the appearance of the 
 new ones he has introduced, the volume of the past 
 which is to be opened by each party, its mingled 
 contents of painful and pleasurable records, the 
 new things that are to be told, and the old ones 
 that are to be reviewed, the freshness of each to 
 each, and the days that must elapse before this 
 single charm can be diminished, the speculations 
 upon the probable position and employment of each 
 member of the family when you enter, and their 
 surprise contrasted with your coolness which says, 
 " Why, you didn't know we were so near, but we 
 did and are not at all surprised;" all these thoughts 
 and feelings, and a thousand others which human 
 language can define, crowded our minds and kept 
 every faculty upon its fullest tension. 
 
 The country itself had indescribable charms for 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 47 
 
 the eye to which it was new. "We had left the 
 foliage of spring farther south, but I rejoiced more 
 to see the prairies in their naked majesty, having 
 in my mind the rich promise which the coming 
 months were to fulfil. Where they had not been 
 burned, the grass was still brown, and the trees and 
 copses naked. 
 
 One of the great desires of my life that yet re- 
 mained ungratified, was to see a prairie. Several 
 smooth openings among the groves looked large 
 enough to our uneducated vision, but the driver 
 declared they were nothing — mere "little mea- 
 dows which would make smart truck patches by- 
 and-by. Jest nothin at all in the way of a prairie." 
 But this did not restrain our exclamations of delight 
 at the beauty around us. To all which came the 
 reply " Nothin at all, ma'am." 
 
 I at last asked if we should pass nothing entitled 
 to the name of prairie ] 
 
 " None of much account," he replied; ** thar'stwo 
 or three smart little openings among the baarens, 
 but the timber's scattered all over hyur." 
 
 We crossed a little stream at some distance from 
 the town, and our road thence onward, for more than 
 a mile, wound among beautiful heights, thinly wood- 
 ed and covered with the clean brown grass. As we 
 mounted one of these the country opened before 
 us, and swept away to the eastern horizon, a dis- 
 tance of many miles — a smooth, open plain, undot- 
 ted by a tree or other familiar object. I can never 
 forget the thrill which this first unbounded view on 
 a prairie gave me. I afterwards saw many more 
 magnificent — many richer in all elements of beauty, 
 many so extensive that this appeared a mere 
 meadow beside them, but no other had the charm 
 of this. I have looked upon it a thousand 
 limes since, and wished in my selfishness that it 
 
48 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 might remain unchanged ; that neither buildings, 
 fences, trees, nor living things should change its 
 features while I live, that I might carry this first 
 portrait of it unchanged to my grave. I see it 
 now, its soft outline swelling against the clear 
 eastern sky, its heaving surface pencilled with 
 black and brown lines, its borders fringed with 
 the naked trees ! 
 
 No better proof of the reality of this prairie could 
 have been given than the silence which it inspired 
 in myself and my companion. We had burst into 
 exclamations of delight a dozen times before, when 
 the little glades opened around us, but now there 
 was not a word uttered. Both were lost in con- 
 templation of the sublime spectacle which lay be- 
 fore us. We had no inquiries to make. Nature 
 spoke to us in her own unequivocal language. 
 
 But the view was short; the road soon wound 
 again among trees, and afterward ran across a tract 
 of low open ground fiom which the prospect beyond 
 was cut off. It began now also to be worse than 
 we had found it. The turf was wet and very soft, 
 and the soil where it was cut, so adhesive that it 
 was extremely difficult for the horse to make any 
 progress. We had not yet learned what the slues 
 were, and I was about asking our Jehu to enlighten 
 us on this point, when a practical demonstration, 
 much more impressive than the most eloquent de- 
 scription, superseded the necessity, and indeed, the 
 opportunity of speech. 
 
 We approached a long narrow line of stagnant 
 water, filled with bogs of tall grass and apparently 
 very much broken up in the middle. There was no 
 bridge in sight, and the road terminated abruptly 
 on one side of this miniature swamp and emerged 
 as abruptly on the other. It was evident that peo- 
 ple crossed, or at least drove in from both sides. 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND^ 49 
 
 The man on the trunk betrayed no hesitation, 
 he only looked first to the right, then to the left, as 
 if he contemplated turning out of the beaten track 
 if any better one offered ; but apparently the exam- 
 ination was fruitless, for he advanced and plunged 
 his horse at once into the thickest of the black 
 pool. I was certain we should never get through. 
 The animal sprung, floundered, and pulled his best, 
 and drew the waggon (the driver, by the way, 
 called it a dearborn) about twice its length, when 
 he went down, and I thought was going to dis- 
 appear altogether, but a sudden jerk showed that 
 he still found footing. The fore wheels sank in 
 the place he had just occupied, the driver lay in 
 the pool between, the horse stood high and diy on 
 the opposite side, the shafts dragging at his heels, 
 and Hal and I sat looking all sorts of consternation, 
 first at the driver, then at the horse, then at each 
 other. It was but a moment, and both broke into 
 a shout of laughter that brought Jehu in astonish- 
 ment to his feet, and drew the attention of two 
 elderly ladies who were looking up some early 
 sprouts of beans in a garden near by. There we 
 sat, dismally helpless, in a bemired and decrepid 
 waggon, the horse and driver a few feet in advance, 
 and both of us wondering how we were to get out. 
 The man of the whip soon recovered his self-pos- 
 session, and merely remarking that the bottom of 
 the slue must have fallen out since he crossed it, 
 suggested that I should walk ashore as I best could 
 and go into the tavern, while he went to the black- 
 smith's shop for help, and to get his fractures re- 
 paired. " It was right good luck," said he as he 
 drove off, " that we didn't get slued afore we got 
 to town." 
 
 " To tovni !" said Hal, opening his eyes in as- 
 tonishment ; " where is a town V* 
 4 E 
 
50 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 ** Why hyur, don't you see there's a tavern, and 
 yonder is a blacksmith's shop, and two housen be- 
 side. This is woodland." 
 
 " Yes, so I should think, in its natural state." 
 
 On due inspection, however, a sign-post was vis- 
 ible before the smartest-looking of the three cabins. 
 It belonged to the garden where we had seen the 
 elderly ladies, and now both their caps were vis- 
 ible in front. People with traveling baggage 
 could not pass through the town without inspec- 
 tion, still less be ^^ slued' ^ in its very suburbs, and 
 not receive any proffer of hospitality from its prin- 
 cipal inhabitants. On charitable thoughts intent, 
 therefore, the good matrons issued from the door 
 to invite the strangers in till repairs were made. 
 While they approached I had time for a brief sur- 
 vey of their persons. As we were vdthin two or 
 three miles of our sister's house, these people must 
 be neighbors, so I had some interest in the exam- 
 ination. 
 
 Both were somewhat past the middle period of 
 life. One was a straight, tall, precise figure, trimmed 
 at all comers into more than puritan stiffness. Her 
 face was expressive of much kindness, I thought. 
 I was not so well skilled in physiognomy then as 
 now. Her can-iage was lady-like, and both her 
 dress and manner indicated that she was an em- 
 igrant from the east. The former, however, was 
 peculiar, and betrayed the presence of some strong 
 prejudices in the wearer. The waist was short, 
 and the long skirt fell in narrow, perpendicular 
 folds to the feet. The sleeves (it will be remem- 
 bered that this was the period of maturity among 
 large sleeves) were confined to the long, slender 
 arm half-way above the elbow, and thence enlarged 
 a trifle to the shouldei\ A neat, square collar of 
 spotted muslin surrounded the neck. The cap 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 51 
 
 was equally plain; still all was in keeping with 
 the person, whose whole mien was characterized 
 by a stiffness that reminded one of a new made 
 Quaker in a ball-room. Her companion was quite 
 a contrast to this in person and dress. She was 
 shorter and thicker. Her movements were quick 
 and free, and indicated a woman who had moved 
 much, and always with an object. Her dress was 
 more conformable, as Mr. Weller, sen., would say. 
 Her sleeves were larger, her waist longer, her 
 skirt not so perpendicular, and her cap had a fuller 
 border. All these observations were made in a 
 much shorter space than it will take to read them, 
 for we met in less than a minute from the time 
 when they commenced. A courteous salutation 
 from the non-conformist and a cordial one from 
 her companion, were followed by a scrutinizing 
 gaze through the glasses of the latter, and an ex- 
 clamation, " La! it's Miss , Mary's sister, isn't 
 
 itl" There was no denying the charge. 
 
 " I thought so, you look so much like her ; come 
 in, do. Why, you broke down in the slue, eh ] 
 Well, who'd a thought it 1 — but Mary's been ex- 
 pectin on you this good while. She'll be glad 
 enough, I guess. Take a chair; you must be 
 tired. And that's your brother Hemy with you, 
 eh 1 I thought I knowed you as soon as I looked 
 at you. It beats all how much you and Mary looks 
 alike. Why, when'd you come up the river"? 
 What, last night, and never got out here till this 
 time 1 Take off your things ; you'll have to wait 
 some time for 'em to mend the waggon : the whip- 
 pletree is broke ; I see the fellow carryin it along 
 in his hand." 
 
 ** No, thank you," saidl,embracingthe first pause 
 in the good old lady's interrogatories and saluta- 
 tions, to inquire the distance that yet remained. 
 
52 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 " La ! 'tain't but three mild ; we're nigh neigh- 
 bors. Well, how glad they will be to see you ! 
 Do take off your bunnut ; they won't get the 
 waggon mended right away." 
 
 I replied that I would walk rather than wait 
 long, now we were so near. 
 
 " I massy, you can't do it, — the road is so wet 
 and the slues so full of water. There's a slue right 
 out here that you couldn't get across at all, so 
 you'll have to wait." 
 
 I now turned my attention to a group of young 
 girls who were gathered at the other side of the 
 room. One of them, a pale, timid-looking child 
 of fourteen, with large black eyes and a face sin- 
 gularly like that of the taller woman, came for- 
 ward, and was introduced by the latter as her 
 daughter Josephine. The others bore the like 
 relation to the hospitable landlady. When the 
 latter abated the tempest of her speech a little, the 
 more dignified non-conformist entered into con- 
 versation with me. She told me who she was, a 
 piece of information which had more interest for 
 me than the reader may suppose ; how long she 
 had been there, and where she came from. It was 
 all done in a very proper and precise manner. Not 
 a single rule of etiquet was transgressed, either 
 in question or answer. 
 
 At the end of half an hour the waggon was at the 
 door, and we were once more ready to start. We 
 inquired of the landlady for the house. 
 
 " It's the next but one," she replied. " You go 
 by Squire O'Brien's jist out here in the edge of the 
 grove, and it's the next one you come to. It's a 
 story and a half frame-house, with a kitchen back." 
 
 Silence seize your tongue, good woman, for the 
 next half hour, for that hint ! I wouldn't have 
 looked at the best painting that represented it, and 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 53 
 
 here, within an hour of seeing it, I have the whole 
 thing set before me. 
 
 We drove on, got over the slue without breaking 
 down, rode through one or two httle copses of 
 hazel and sassafras, emerged on the open prairie 
 with the same sky-bound savannah in front that 
 had so charmed us a little way back, and continued 
 thus till we struck the outskirts of a thin tract of 
 ban-ens, entered a lane with fair fields on either 
 hand, and saw two houses before us. But now 
 we were all seized with a sudden mistiness of 
 recollection. Nobody could tell whether it was the 
 first or the second ; something had been said about 
 two close together, and it was finally settled be- 
 tween Hal and his Jehu that it must be the farther 
 one. We looked hard at the first, to see if we 
 could detect no familiar face peering from its 
 windows, but they seemed deserted and lonely. 
 The yard and garden adjoining were enclosed 
 with picket-fence, some rose bushes and a few 
 other flowering shrubs dotted the turf of clean 
 cultivated gi'ass, which was just springing from its 
 winter bed, and there was an aspect about the 
 whole that made me almost exclaim *' This must 
 be Mary's home." But we had passed, and were 
 looking back, when a face appeared at one of the 
 kitchen windows that settled our doubts, and turned 
 the horse's head in the direction of our own rather 
 quicker than was quite consistent with the safety 
 of the dearborn. No accident befel us, however, 
 and in another moment we were ushered through 
 the unfinished hall into the room which served 
 as kitchen, parlor, and dining-room. One was 
 there whom our hearts bounded to see, but not 
 Mary. 
 
 " Where is she 1" 
 
 *' She has stepped into her father-in-law's, tho 
 e2 
 
54 
 
 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 next house ; but she'll be here in a moment, for 
 she must have seen you." 
 
 The words were scarcely uttered when the outer 
 door opened, and a thin, slight figure bounded in, 
 and the next moment we were alternately clasped 
 in her arms. My dear sister ! My dear brother ! 
 were the only words we had need to exchange. 
 Deep emotion is always silent. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Mary was followed by a sturdy little boy, with 
 cheeks like the rich side of a fall pear. He looked 
 at us a moment, and then drew to the opposite 
 side of the room. 
 
 " This is my Junius," said the proud mother. 
 
 " So this is the famous letter- writer, about whose 
 wonderful doings and sayings we have been favored 
 with such long passages in certain epistles from 
 Prairie Lodge. He is not exactly as spiritual as 
 old Nominus Umbra was at the last date, but he 
 will be all the more interesting to us mortals by 
 and by, when his highness condescends to make 
 our acquaintance. Now let us see the externals 
 of Prairie Lodge." 
 
 "Oh, there is little to see now. Nature does 
 most of our ornamental work here, and she has 
 barely commenced the business of the season yet. 
 I can show you what she has to work on, and you 
 will soon see for yourselves that she is an elegant 
 and unsparing artist here. Now, are you ready V 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 '* What, no gloves 1" 
 
 " Never a one. I want my hands at liberty, 
 having a special use for them : and, moreover, I 
 Hate gloves." 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 55 
 
 ** But you'll wear a sun-bonnet V 
 
 ** Why, yes, I must concede as much as that, I 
 suppose, though next to the articles just mentioned, 
 your close, straight-forward sun-bonnet is my ab- 
 horrence." 
 
 " Yes, so I should think, and all other forms in- 
 cluded, to judge from the color of your face and 
 neck." 
 
 '' Why, I have worn, as you see, a little open 
 hat, that would let me look wherever I chose. I 
 have not lost sight of a leaf, or rock, or anything 
 either curious or beautiful, for the sake of saving 
 a shade of brown on my complexion." 
 
 ^^But you havn't traveled from New York in 
 that little ribboned nut-shell without a veil?" 
 
 ** Exactly so, sister mine. I packed my veil in 
 the bottom of my trunk when I started, to save all 
 scruples, and relieve myself from two or three 
 troublesome debates each day, on the propriety of 
 dropping it over my face for five minutes. I put 
 veils in the same category with gloves." 
 
 *' And sun-bonnets too ] Why you'll run wild 
 on the prairie before the first flowers are out ; if 
 the Indians were crossing the country as often as 
 they used to be, three or four years since, they'd 
 take you along for a stray princess." 
 
 " Thank you ; the rank would be flattering : but 
 if it were due to our family on the score of color, 
 I have an elder sister who should take prece- 
 dence." 
 
 " Here we are. This little brook that is fringed 
 by these willows, runs from a piece of springy 
 ground above the garden, and falls into the little 
 stream that crosses the road at the foot of that 
 large tree. It is here all the year, except, occa- 
 sionally, a few weeks in very dry seasons. One 
 could scoop out a delicious little pool under those 
 
56 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 drooping willows, if one had time and felt no scru- 
 ples about gloveless hands." 
 
 *' Yes, I'll think of it. Now where does this 
 clean path lead through that unparalleled gate and 
 those bushes beyond ]" 
 
 *' To the spring." 
 
 " Ah, what a distance !" 
 
 " Oh yes, but we only bring water thence for 
 drinking and cooking ; we have, usually, an abun- 
 dance of rain-water near the door." 
 
 " That's a blessing ; but when the clouds fail ]" 
 
 *' That is a failure we very seldom hear of here. 
 You'll see before you have been with us a week it 
 is the last dispensation one would provide against." 
 
 ** You have showers, then, sometimes V 
 
 *' The clouds will answer that question some 
 day, in a manner that will astonish you." 
 
 ** Is there anything worth seeing in this grove 
 beyond your spring]" 
 
 "Nothing of much interest in the natural world ; 
 there is a little spot there — " and my sister's face 
 lost its playful expression while she spoke. " But 
 I must tell you the story some day, when we have 
 leisure, and take you to see it." 
 
 " Very well, if it be melancholy, as I guess, let 
 us dismiss it till some future time, when sorrow 
 will be a pleasure. Whose house is that down the 
 road ]" 
 
 " That is Mr. R 's, John's father. We call 
 
 it * the other house.' " 
 
 ** It would be more convenient, would it not, to 
 eliminate the last two letters of the article, and cut 
 the phrase down to two words ]" 
 
 " Undoubtedly. But I trust you will not claim 
 the idea as original. It is one we have often 
 availed ourselves of, since the erection of this, 
 made a t'other of that." 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 67 
 
 *' Very ingenious, truly. But what are all these 
 shrubs about the yard ]" 
 
 " Here you see a row of forest trees ; this tall 
 one that bends so gracefully is an elm. John and — 
 placed them here two years ago. These are roses 
 along here ; yonder are two lilacs on each side the 
 front door; farther on is another kind of rose between 
 the gate and the large tree, and this is a seringa, but 
 it has never flowered yet. Those scattered pro- 
 miscuously yonder, are roses. I have been unable 
 to procure a greater variety ; indeed, if roses 
 would bloom at all seasons I should scarcely crave 
 it. As the roots increase I intend to divide and 
 multiply them till the yard, all except my bleach- 
 ing plat, is a wilderness of them. There is no- 
 thing in the flower world that I so much love. 
 They grow very fast on our rich soil. If diflerent 
 kinds of shrubbery were to be had here, one could 
 have a magnificent display in a very few years. I 
 have the promise of some from Cincinnati this 
 spring, by a gentleman with whom you are par- 
 tially acquainted, I believe. Oh, I declare it's a 
 phenomenon that red can be seen through so dark 
 a brown ! But this gentleman is to have a variety 
 of plants sent on, and he offers to divide with 
 me. By the way I had like to have forgotten 
 one horticultural curiosity. It is here on the west 
 side of the house, under the bed-room window. 
 These windows are not so bare in summer. I 
 have a flowering scarlet-runner that clusters very 
 thickly over them, and makes a more beautiful 
 drapery than your damask and gossamer." 
 
 " I have no doubt ; but show me your curios- 
 
 " Here it is, do you recognize it ] But there's 
 little need of asking ; for a lady who abhors bon- 
 nets and veils, you blush easily, methinks." 
 
58 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 " I scarcely know who would not blush to see 
 themselves stared at by their own initials, done in 
 green of that size, and in salad, too ! common salad } 
 By-and-by it will be plucked and eaten in vinegar. 
 Who would not blush at the prospect of such an 
 ignominious blotting from the face of nature 1 
 But who is that approaching us V 
 
 " My husband. You'll hardly recollect him : — 
 but come in. I must set about tea. Hal is whis- 
 pering me that you havn't eaten since you left St. 
 Louis." 
 
 " If he doesn't call such service as he did at 
 the supper table last evening eating, it must be 
 confessed we have not." 
 
 " Be seated ; you will now learn the conveni- 
 ence of having your parlor and dining-room in the 
 kitchen, that is, when you are your own servant. 
 I take care of my family alone, but it will interfere 
 little with our conversation ; you sit there, I work 
 here ; so it all goes on harmoniously." 
 
 '* But suppose I work with you, let me lay the 
 table." 
 
 " Certainly, I shall refuse you no privilege of that 
 kind.'* 
 
 In a few minutes the shining plates were laid upon 
 the snowy cloth ; a reflecter filled with tender bis- 
 cuit glittered on the hearth ; the tea-kettle bubbled 
 into the fire ; the cellar yielded its stores of golden 
 butter, cheese, and honey, and a repast was before 
 us that would have tempted appetites more pam- 
 pered than ours had been. In the evening all the 
 family were gathered, not excepting the gentleman 
 whose plants were on their way from Cincinnati, 
 There was also present a gentleman who had long 
 been domiciliated with my sister's family — a man 
 with a dark face, which seemed the home of the 
 very genius of melancholy. A single word ex- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 59 
 
 plained his connexion with the story which Mary- 
 had promised me at some future day. The even- 
 ing was spent in the enjoyment of some of the 
 richest emotions that belong to humanity ; all re- 
 tired at a late hour ; we new ones, with a world of 
 novelty yet to explore — the others with many 
 wonders of the eastern world yet to learn. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The next day calls were received from the 
 other house, invitations accepted, and prairie life 
 fairly begun. 
 
 There was everything yet to see and learn, but 
 we were under progress very soon. Hal, I be- 
 lieve, advanced much more rapidly than myself — 
 a natural consequence of his being abroad so much 
 more. But we were no stayers indoor. When the 
 household cares were disposed of for an hour or 
 two, away we went into the groves and thickets, 
 or out upon the prairies. There were some visits 
 to be made at two or three miles' distance ; these 
 called for horses. Sometimes the call was re- 
 sponded to by one only, and I remember one 
 afternoon enjoying a hearty laugh when Hal, who 
 was to accompany us, came in and announced 
 very gravely, that the horse was ready, and that 
 he would mount and wait till we came out. He 
 had built a small addition to him, he said, and quite 
 regretted there was not a fourth person to accom- 
 pany us. Mounted thus, one on the saddle, the 
 other behind on a blanket, with Hal for our bridle 
 knight — and never had two ladies a more waggish 
 or humorous one — we scoured the prairies. Hal 
 was generally in at the mounting and dismounting ; 
 but unless there were danger to be encountered, 
 
60 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 we saw little of him between the goals ; what we 
 gained over him by our speed being lost by the 
 various explorations which curiosity or fancy led 
 us to make. 
 
 The equestrian of the prairies enjoys the largest 
 liberty which falls to the lot of mortals. Time 
 and distance are the only checks he knows. He 
 draws his rein for whatever point he lists, and 
 gallops in straight or curved lines on till he tires 
 or reaches the spot. Physical freedom is nowhere 
 more perfect, and seldom is it enjoyed with a 
 higher zest than we brought to these excursions, 
 great as was the disproportion between steeds and 
 riders. 
 
 Our visits were usually made in the afteraoon. 
 The hour for starting was the earliest practicable 
 after dinner, which was always taken at twelve. 
 When the morning had been auspicious within, 
 and only the ordinary affairs of the house were on 
 hand, the preparations could all be made by one 
 o'clock. But the force of habit was too strong to 
 suffer me to submit to this without an earnest pro- 
 test, and I remember feeling very much annoyed 
 one day at being dragged out to sj)end a long after- 
 noon less agreeably than we should have spent it 
 at home. 
 
 " What possible pleasure can it afford our host- 
 ess V I inquired. 
 
 "I cannot vouch for the pleasure," said Mary; 
 *'but the convenience, I can assure you, will be 
 very great." 
 
 " How, pray V* 
 
 " If we go at one she will have time to prepare 
 tea ; if we wait till two, she will be compelled to 
 dismiss us without." 
 
 ** Send a messenger then to assure her that we 
 are coming ; that will give her time." 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 61 
 
 ** Yes, but it would be very awkward to take 
 her in mid preparation." 
 
 " Not at all for us, and the lady, on your own 
 showing, can be endowed with no very high 
 degree of sensibility j so I think your argument 
 fails." 
 
 " My argument may, but my experience does 
 not. I have visited this lady, you never have, and 
 I speak from positive knowledge when I say that 
 it will not do to go later than one." 
 
 This was one of those obstinate cases — such as 
 arise in many other affairs of life — in which one 
 feels the reasons to be indisputable, but finds it 
 difficult to set them forth in words. We repaired 
 to our post at one o'clock ; the hostess was already 
 on the qui vive. She however sat about five min- 
 utes after our entrance, to give dignity to the 
 reception, and then went about consummating the 
 great event of the day — the tea table. The whole 
 affair went on in the room where we sat, so that I 
 shall be able to give its different stages and pro- 
 gress with an accuracy which, I trust, may be 
 appreciated. 
 
 First stage — half-past one — a kettle of pumpkin 
 is suspended over the fire for stewing, and a tea- 
 kettle placed on the hearth, a few inches from the 
 forestick ; half past two, a patent oven is placed 
 before the fire, filled with gingerbread, of which I 
 will give the recipe to the next edition of the Fru- 
 gal Housewife. Next, the pumpkin is taken up 
 and prepared for baking, by sifting and mixing 
 with eggs, milk, ginger, and molasses. I ought to 
 have remarked that as all this took place in the 
 month of May, the pumpkin was dried. At four 
 o'clock, the gingerbread was replaced by a pan of 
 wheaten biscuit, and the teakettle was suspended 
 F 
 
62 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 from the hook whence the pumpkin had been 
 taken. At half-past four, the table was placed in 
 the centre of the room, and covered with a cloth. 
 Dishes now began to drop around upon it. They 
 appeared at random, of all ages, colors, and sizes, 
 just as the congregation gathers at a country meet- 
 ing-house. This continued till dark, broken at 
 intervals by the attention necessary to affairs else- 
 where. At five o'clock, the biscuits were removed, 
 wrapped in a table-cloth or towel, and a pie placed 
 in the oven. The fire was stimulated with a fresh 
 basket of chips. Time was shortening now, and 
 affairs began to wear a hurried look. I could not 
 forbear taking advantage of a short absence of the 
 hostess, to ask Mary whether her experience would 
 enable her to guarantee us any supper, with all our 
 punctuality. At six o'clock, a plate of dried beef 
 and pickles appeared on the table, flanked by a 
 saucer of honey and a preserve dish of plums. 
 The teapot was scalded at half-past six, the biscuit 
 and cake had taken their places at a quarter to 
 seven, and just fifteen minutes afterward, we were 
 seated at the table. The attention of the hostess 
 was several times interrupted by the pie, which 
 would not bake ; at last she declared herself under 
 the necessity of apologizing for its conduct, and 
 asking us to excuse its appearance. We left a 
 little before eight o'clock, and the naughty pie 
 was taken from its hot berth a few minutes pre- 
 vious. When I was invited to repeat the visit, 
 it was impossible to forbear expressing myself so 
 highly entertained that I should take great pleasure 
 in doing so. 
 
 This is not an exaggerated report ; but it is due 
 to the females of the country to say that such ex- 
 treme slowness is not characteristic of them. The 
 person who figured here was an importation from 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 63 
 
 the Buckeye state, and would have been a snail 
 even in Yankee land. 
 
 This, though a literal description, is a fair rep- 
 resentation of social visiting in that country. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 At Prairie Lodge our acquaintance w^ith Sucker* 
 life commenced. But it w^as not carried to any 
 great intimacy here. My sister's home had been 
 little visited, even in earlier days, by the primitive 
 settlers. Their principal intercourse had consisted 
 of business affairs between the men, and visits of 
 mercy between the females in the times of sick- 
 ness or death, so that we saw little of them except- 
 ing an occasional out-of-door call from some neigh- 
 bor, or in passing their residences or waggons in 
 our various excursions. 
 
 One family of this kind occupied the next house 
 west from the Lodge. We often passed it, and 
 the external appearance excited the most intense 
 curiosity to have a peep at the internal. But I 
 grieve to say that it could never be accomplished 
 under any decent pretext whatever. All the 
 showers were either too early or too late. No 
 waggon ever broke down in the neighborhood, 
 though the road was at times bad enough to en- 
 courage hope for a long way on either side. It 
 was too near home ever to stop for water. It is 
 true there was an occasional illness, but this could 
 not serve my purpose, for the wife had a mother, 
 to whom the lively doctor of our village gave the 
 name of Meg Merrilies (I fancy there was a little 
 
 * The cognomen of the Illinoians, answering to the Buckeye 
 of Ohio, the Wolverine of Michigan, the Corn-cracker of Ken- 
 tucky, &c. 
 
64 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 spite in it, for she was his rival in this branch of 
 the medical profession), who would travel fifteen 
 or twenty miles on foot in the morning, attend to 
 her patient, and return in the evening. Meg then 
 officiated, to the exclusion of all the curious gos- 
 sips of the neighborhood, and had things all her 
 own way. The patient was generally out the next 
 day, and all went on as before. 
 
 The house was one of the meanest description 
 of cabins. It turned its back upon the road, and 
 showed only a four-light window, or rather sash ; 
 for soon after I first saw it, the third was broken 
 out, and the fourth so fractured that its continuance 
 seemed extremely doubtful. A patchwork quilt 
 of blue jeans and red flannel was hung across the 
 aperture a few days after, and never removed 
 while I remained in the country. Directly beneath 
 this, against the wall, which was on a line with the 
 fence, was a green pool of about the dimensions of 
 the house. It was of artificial construction, and 
 redounded not a little to the taste of some eight 
 or ten large swine, who delighted their senses in 
 its aromatic depths, at the same time that they 
 regaled those of by-passers. 
 
 The entrance to the house was in the rear. A 
 low kind of shantee projected from the door sev- 
 eral feet back, which served for pantry, milk- 
 house, pig-pen, poultry-house, and possibly stable 
 in winter. In the right angle between these was 
 the well, just far enough from the corner to be 
 visible in passing. The ground around this was 
 the great theatre of action for mother and chil- 
 dren. I never knew the exact number of the 
 latter, but if called to testify in any matter con- 
 cerning them, I should say the minimum was eight, 
 the maximum double that number. I rarely saw 
 less than the former, sporting away the morning of 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 81 
 
 wronging thy neighbor, or looking sweetly at the 
 daughter of some sour old worshiper of Mammon, 
 who scorns thy poverty, and threatens thee, unless 
 thou desist. Or has some gay gallant misled thy 
 dame, and is thy song a cry for vengeance 1 Me- 
 thinks it is too melancholy in its tone. Some sorrow 
 surely is its burthen. But our ears are grown 
 familiar with it, Will ; and thine, perhaps, is lighter 
 than that we turn away from every day, though 
 uttered more intelligibly. They say thou art a 
 merry little fellow all day ; that joy dances in thine 
 eye, and that thou hoppest fi*om branch to branch, 
 laughing under thy wing at the anticipation of the 
 melancholy pranks thou wilt play at night, with 
 sentimental maidens and moonstruck lovers. If 
 so, Will, thou art a sad rogue, and deservest some 
 real sorrow, little masker that thou art ! 
 
 But, good night ! I turn my ear to a tale of more 
 unequivocal sorrow than thine. Sister has prom- 
 ised me the story of the dark man's griefs. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ** Sit with me here," said Mary, " in this dark, 
 unfinished room. It has been the theatre of some 
 of the scenes which I shall endeavor to delineate, 
 and do not prepare yourself for any high-wrrought 
 romance. My story is one of reality too p9,lpable 
 to be recurred to, even now, without the most 
 painful emotions. It is one of the many I could 
 relate illustrative of the trials which sometimes 
 wait on the settler in new countries. But you 
 were down at the graves to-day, and have already 
 guessed the import of what is to follow, so I will 
 begin in my own way. 
 
 " I must premise that, from our first settling here, 
 we have been under the necessity (often a pleasant 
 6 
 
82 LIFE IN PRAIlliE LAND. 
 
 one) of entertaining many strangers, for the most 
 part gentlemen, who come to view the country. 
 Persons landing at any of the river towns in our 
 vicinity, and wishing to spend a few days or weeks 
 for that purpose, were generally referred to us ; 
 and when they came, it was impossible to deny 
 them such a home as we had to share with them. 
 It has been a severe burthen to us females, over- 
 tasked as we have been, with the cares of our own 
 families, and the arduous labors which the imper- 
 fection of the mechanic arts imposes on the good 
 housekeeper of new countries ; but we could not, 
 and often did not wish to escape from it. When 
 we moved into this house, most of these persons 
 came to us, probably because my family was 
 smaller than Mrs. R.'s, and my house larger. 
 Sometimes such guests have been attacked with 
 fevers, and lain on the threshold of death for 
 weeks, requiring such care and attention as only 
 an accomplished nurse, otherwise unemployed, 
 could give. I have, in such cases, had to divide 
 my time and ability between them and my family, 
 watching by night and working by day, till they 
 have recovered, and gone from our roof bearing 
 the recollection, that humanity is not always con- 
 fined to the homes in which physical refinement 
 contributes so much to the comfort of the afflicted. 
 Happily, no one of these wayfarers ever expired 
 among us, though I have many times lived in the 
 daily expectation of such an event. We watched 
 one young stranger on that bed for ten weeks, 
 during three of which we expected each day 
 would terminate his sufferings and our hope. But 
 he recovered to thank us, and bless his Maker for 
 the energies which had borne him safely through 
 the fierce conflict. 
 
 " But this is not my story. I relate these events 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 83 
 
 merely to convey some idea of the claim which 
 strangers have to our hospitality, and of the feel- 
 ing which links us as brethren to those who are 
 homeless and friendless in our land. This feeling 
 breaks down all the barriers of ceremony where- 
 with we are restrained in more populous regions. 
 It brings strangers together without the frigid 
 medium that makes them mere objects of sight to 
 each other ; it seats them at your table and invites 
 them to partake of whatever your home affords, 
 with a freedom and genuineness that make the 
 recollection of the cold and heartless ceremonies 
 of more artificial society sickening. 
 
 " Such was the feeling that opened our doors to 
 the solitary man whom you see still among us. 
 But he came not thus alone. When he landed, 
 three years ago this spring, at the place you left a 
 few days since, he was accompanied by a young 
 wife. They had set out together from one of the 
 eastern cities, to seek happiness and fortune at the 
 west. Having no definite place in view, they 
 landed at P , and there the young bride re- 
 mained, while her husband visited the interior in 
 search of a spot where they might make their 
 home. He came to our neighborhood, and find- 
 ing a piece of land which he liked, about a mile 
 beyond us on the prairie, returned and brought 
 his wife to see it. They stopped at our house, and 
 I was more than willing they should find a home 
 here till their own was ready to receive them. 
 
 " Mrs. K. was a dark-haired woman, with an eye 
 that made her whole face glow when it was lighted 
 up with pleasure or expectation. She was rather 
 above the middle stature, with a well-formed per- 
 son, and a clear, happy voice. It was easy to see 
 that her husband, silent and grave as he was, loved 
 her with a strength that is rarely surpassed in 
 
84 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 man. They seemed to me a happy couple. They 
 boarded a few days in our family, and then com- 
 menced housekeeping in this room. She was a 
 pleasant companion, and being nearly of my own 
 age, and possessing a cultivated mind, there soon 
 grew up a warm friendship between us. Each 
 could enliven the solitary hours of the other, and 
 during the long days when our husbands were at 
 work, we were much together. 
 
 *' Their farm progressed quite rapidly ; one or 
 two fields were broken by the plough, a house 
 built, and an enclosure made around it the first 
 season. The next spring they removed. Their 
 place, as I said, is about a mile east of this ; it is 
 farther out on the prairie, and commands a beau- 
 tiful view to the south and south-east. It was de- 
 lightful, after they removed there, to see near us 
 another tenanted home. You cannot appreciate 
 this feeling till you have peissed a deserted one on 
 some wide prairie. A sign of life, about one of 
 the thinly-scattered houses here, stirs the heart 
 with joy, though you have never seen its inmates; 
 but a deserted prairie home, with smokeless chim- 
 ney and curtainless windows, is one of the loneliest 
 objects on which the eye can rest. 
 
 "A new source of joy cheered the young wife in 
 her labors. She was soon to become a mother; 
 and what task sweeter than to prepare her dwell- 
 ing for the expected guest. She toiled faithfully 
 and patiently, as if her hands had been trained to 
 it from childhood ; and her labor was directed by 
 a capacity that made it effective. Her rough house 
 grew into a pleasant habitable abode, and the 
 young harvest springing around, gave cheering 
 promise for the coming season. I saw her often 
 after their removal, and always found her happy 
 and rejoicing in the prospect before her. 
 
LIFE m PRAIRIE LAND. 85 
 
 " On the 24th of April of that year, there com- 
 menced the most remarkable series of storms ever 
 known in the country. They occurred daily and 
 sometimes twice a day, till the last of June, ac- 
 companied by the most terrific thunder and lio-ht- 
 ning ever witnessed. You may judge of the ter- 
 ror they inspired, when I tell you, that much as I 
 loved the conflict of the elements before, the roll 
 of thunder even now always produces a temporary 
 faintness and nausea ; then it completely overcame 
 me. Language can convey no idea of those ter- 
 rible days. The storms gathered with such fearful 
 rapidity. A small cloud would be seen somewhere, 
 
 " When all the rest of heaven was clear," 
 and in a moment the deluge was upon us. It 
 seemed as if another flood were coming to purify 
 the earth. The falling of the rain was frightful, 
 to say nothing of the lightning that cleft the at- 
 mosphere, and the crashing thunder that followed 
 so close upon it, that the tread of the latter seemed 
 to extinguish the light of the former. 
 
 ** These terrible scenes, following each other with- 
 out the intermission of a day for more than two 
 months, seemed to blight the country. The prai- 
 ries w^ere saturated, and in many places submerged, 
 and yet the rain came. Sometimes when it had 
 stormed thus all night, the sky would be clear till 
 noon, and the sun pour his rays upon the steaming 
 earth, till vegetation seemed scalded. Perhaps, 
 just as dinner was set, a little cloud would gather 
 in the west, or a faint roll of thunder strike the 
 ear. My appetite would vanish in an instant ; and 
 with blanched face and trembling limbs, we would 
 set away the meal untasted. The men always 
 came in, though they were generally drenched be- 
 fore they reached the house. But such was our 
 terror, that we could not have remained alone. 
 H 
 
86 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 When a shower commenced, we knew hot that 
 its termination would see us alive. One flash and 
 thunder-peal, I remember, were so awful that they 
 brought us all to our feet with pale faces, and eyes 
 that looked as if they were gazing on death. 
 "When the shock had passed, and we found that 
 we could still move, the people of each house 
 rushed to the doors, expecting to see the other on 
 fire. But the lightning had rifted that large oak, 
 the stump of which still stands about midway be- 
 tween them. After a while we ceased all employ- 
 ment when these awful periods came, and sat like 
 people awaiting their doom. I have never seen 
 anything of the sublime or terrible that approached 
 the storms of those seventy days. 
 
 " But the consequences were still more dreadful. 
 The earth was filled with water, and every little 
 hollow upon the prairies became a stagnant pool 
 to engender disease ; so that after the fierce 
 storm-demon had scourged us and departed, the 
 silent pestilence rose from the green plains that 
 smiled beneath his reign, and stalked resistless 
 among their inhabitants. 
 
 " It was a critical period for my friend. The new 
 cellar beneath their house had been half-filled with 
 water, and I dreaded extremely its effect on her 
 health. But there was no way to escape it, except 
 to leave the house, which was scarcely thought ne- 
 cessary, while the danger seemed so remote. She 
 preserved her spirits and energy through all, till 
 her husband was prostrated by the fever. Then 
 came her time of trial. Except the laborer who 
 had assisted her husband on his farm, they were 
 alone, and ours was the nearest family with which 
 they had any acquaintance. I rode over nearly 
 every day after my work was done, and frequently 
 »pent the night with her, There was a long pe- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 87 
 
 liod of dreudful suspense. The same disease was 
 raging elsewhere with a fearful malignity, and it 
 was impossible, for many days, to say whether 
 hope or fear predominated. I knew that the 
 effect on herself must be great, whichever way the 
 scale turned. When the excitement was removed, 
 she must sink. It was even as I di-eaded. She 
 was attacked long before the recovery of her hus- 
 band, and both lay helpless ; dependent on the 
 skill of their hired man and the kindness of neigh- 
 bors. I watched with them every alternate night 
 for several weeks, and spent a part of almost every 
 day there, after she was brought to her bed. Her 
 attack commenced with a fever and terminated in 
 a premature confinement. The babe that had been 
 so long and joyfully expected, was thrown heed- 
 lessly aside, and all attention concentrated on the 
 sinking mother — but vainly. She survived only 
 till the third day; and the first time her husband 
 left his house, was to follow his wife and child to 
 the little spot you visited to-day, beneath those 
 trees. His grief was appalling. Sickness had 
 blanched his dark face into a ghastly hue, and 
 drawn deep furrows in his cheek, which were im- 
 movable as if chiseled in granite. He had seen 
 little of her lately, for his mental faculties had 
 been partially suspended while she was watching 
 by his couch ; he knew she had been with him, 
 but in terrible affliction which he had not soothed. 
 Her last days were days of intense mental suffer- 
 ing, which he had not alleviated ; and, finally, her 
 life had closed in fierce agonies, which he had been 
 compelled to witness, but could neither share nor 
 relieve. He seemed to be a stranger to himself 
 in these new circumstances, that had so suddenly 
 changed the aspect of his whole life. 
 
 "Her grave was the first that had been made 
 
88 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 among us. We selected the spot for its quiet 
 beauty, and the repose which its situation prom- 
 ised the dead, even when all who are interested in 
 them pass away. When we anived at the tomb, 
 it seemed impossible for him to resign her without 
 one more look. The lid of the coffin was removed ; 
 he gazed a brief moment, bent over it, imprinted 
 one long kiss on the cold brow, and turned away. 
 The mother and child were lowered, the grave 
 filled — and thus departed the stranger who had 
 come among us so recently, filled with hope and 
 joy. His home was now too desolate to be en- 
 dured. All that had made it home was gone for 
 ever. He returned to us sick, dejected, melan- 
 choly ; all the brightness which had gathered round 
 his life turned to darkness — all his hope to de- 
 spair. The house now stands untenanted, a cheer- 
 less sight to us who have known its better time. 
 He spends his days at work on his farm, and his 
 evenings as you see. But, notwithstanding his mis- 
 fortunes, he still loves our country, and will, I 
 think, remain in it." 
 
 ** That, I believe," said I, "is the choice of most 
 who ever spend any time here, and it was to me a 
 mystery very difficult of solution, till I saw what 
 enchains them. I do not now wonder that a per- 
 son who has senses to be gratified, with all the va- 
 rious objects of each, that surround him here, and 
 higher faculties to be elevated by communion with 
 nature in her loveliest forms, can never willingly 
 leave the land in which they are so daintily fed." 
 
 "Yes," replied Mary; "there is a charm in 
 this country which cannot be resisted. But what 
 is it ] I have lived here five years, and am yet 
 unable to say. It may be in our majestic streams ; 
 in our glorious prairies ; in our delicious springs 
 and summers ; our profuse and glowing autumn ; 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 89 
 
 in the variety of free and joyous birds and animals 
 that revel here ; in the unrestrained freedom which 
 we enjoy, or in all these combined." 
 
 ** Undoubtedly, if my short acquaintance entitles 
 me to an opinion, it is the latter." 
 
 " Social and physical freedom exist here," said 
 Mary, "in their most enlarged forms. In less 
 favored portions of the earth, man is more or less 
 enslaved. Want, custom, artificial desires, or some 
 of the thousand phantoms which tread upon the 
 heels of human enjoyment, restrain his freedom. 
 They limit his action, give complexion to his feel- 
 ing, oppress his thought, cut off his communion 
 with the primal sources of truth. His necessities 
 have each an individual voice, and call loudly for 
 effort. He may not rest till this is made. Here, 
 it is to a great extent otherwise. Our genial cli- 
 mate and exhaustless soil afford an abundant and 
 ready return for his labors. He is soon released 
 from want, and his faculties, rebounding from their 
 depressed condition, go leisurely forth in quest of 
 happiness. There is just enough of ease in his 
 outward circumstances to excite, instead of ener- 
 vating the tone of his energies ; and with enlarged 
 capacities for enjoyment, he finds himself sur- 
 rounded by the most propitious array of facts and 
 objects for promoting it. Nature in her loveliest 
 and benignest aspect is spread before him. She 
 invites him to her acquaintance; and while he 
 courts it, the jarring selfishness in which his life 
 has been spent softens into greater harmony with 
 the good, the true, and the beautiful in creation. 
 He becomes a better, wiser, happier man. His 
 fetters crumble, and he begins to reach forth to 
 ascertain the boundaries and qualities of the new 
 sphere in which he finds himself. These are such 
 as to afford him a greater degree of pleasux'e than 
 
 H 
 
90 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 he has probably ever before experienced. Free- 
 dom from want, purchased with a moderate use of 
 his physical powers ; freedom from social tram- 
 mels ; freedom from the struggles of an emulation 
 founded in vanity, or other vitiated desires ; from 
 the myi-iad forms of ruinous and slavish excess 
 which feeling takes in more populous regions, 
 where man's intercourse is more with his fellows, 
 and less with Nature and his God." 
 
 " These elements," I replied, " create a happi- 
 ness which all can enjoy and appreciate, the culti- 
 vated as well as the rude. Hence it is no longer 
 a problem with me, that one possessing tolerable 
 powers of mind may leave the most refined society 
 of the older world, where material as well as mental 
 elegance have previously surrounded him, and, 
 coming here, find that charm in his life, though 
 stripped of everything that had before constituted 
 happiness, which will not let him sever himself from 
 your fair land without many a pang and heartfelt 
 longing to lay himself once more upon its broad 
 and beautiful bosom." 
 
 ** There is another thought," said Mary, "which 
 has always constituted a sti'ong bond between my 
 heart and the land of my adoption. It is that of 
 the mighty Future which lies before a country 
 possessing resources like ours. To bear a part in 
 developing this, seems to me equally calculated to 
 stimulate and gratify our noblest powers." 
 
 " Unquestionably ; but are such thoughts enjoyed 
 by any but the nobler class of minds 1 Have they 
 existence ajnong the unthinking and uncultivated ]" 
 
 " A better defined one, I suspect," replied my 
 sister, " than you are disposed to concede to them. 
 Indeed, I think them born of the country, and 
 nursed by every day's acquaintance with it. One 
 could as well gaze upon the rising sun and not 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 91 
 
 foresee the splendors of midday, as live in these 
 magnificent plains, and have no vision of their 
 future greatness." 
 
 " You are probably right. At least, I have as 
 yet no authority to dispute opinions growing out 
 of five years' experience." 
 
 " I think your longer dwelling here would lead 
 you to the same conclusions. It is impossible for 
 the commonest mind to resist the united influences 
 of which we have spoken. It must be elevated 
 and made happier by them. Hence, if I were 
 asked to name the charai that binds the prairie 
 settler to his home, I would say, it is not merely 
 the fine climate, the beautiful lands, the diversity 
 of the natural world, nor the majesty of stream or 
 plain, nor even the bountiful seasons. It is the 
 combined effect of all these, giving the widest free- 
 dom of thought and action, and inspiring each indi- 
 vidual with the consciousness that his acts, be they 
 few or many, tell upon the development of ener- 
 gies that have slumbered for ages, but are now fast 
 gi'owing into gigantic stature before the world. 
 Nor is it necessary, in order to constitute a part 
 of that which prompts us to action, that these ideas 
 should have a distinct existence in the mind. Men 
 often act from motives that are buried beneath an 
 ocean of lighter feeling, and are but partially 
 recognized by themselves, till, like the electric 
 shock, which compels the sea to reveal its most 
 startling secrets, some mighty event, searching the 
 depths of their being, brings them to the surface, 
 to astonish their possessors. Many a man has 
 mouldered into dust, whose life has been shaped 
 by motives which, clothed in words, would at 
 first have appeared strangers to him, but which 
 he would soon come to recognize as a part of 
 himself." 
 
92 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 " But it is bedtime for people who rise with the 
 day, and to-morrow you have another half-day's 
 penance to perform at " 
 
 " Which I shall rejoice to have accomplished, I 
 assure you. Good night ; I am certain I shall see 
 that dark face in my dreams." 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Our life at Prairie Lodge soon became more 
 quiet. Visits having been received and for the 
 most part returned, we were left to the enjoyment 
 of our own circle. But I had still seen so little of 
 the Suckers that every opportunity of coming in 
 contact with them was gladly embraced, and just 
 as we were beginning to cast about for some ex- 
 cursion that should furnish one, the kindest of all 
 chances sent along a traveling menagerie and 
 circus. A most rare conjunction of attractions for 
 the " natyvesJ^ 
 
 The *' Zoological Institute and Grand Corps 
 
 of Equestrians" was to exhibit on Friday the 
 
 day of June, at the town of Washington, about ten 
 miles north of us. It contained an elephant, two 
 camels, a Numidian lion, a royal Bengal tiger, 
 and several other less important personages, all 
 whose claims were duly set forth ; in addition to 
 which, the " Grand Equestrian Corps" would ex- 
 hibit the " most remarkable acts of horsemanship," 
 and " Messrs. Sands and Turner would perform 
 some of the most striking feats of physical agility 
 ever witnessed." In short, the enterprising pro- 
 prietors had determined to spare no pains to make 
 these wandering entertainments as attractive as 
 possible. But the certainty that the native popu- 
 lation from far and near would be gathered was 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 93 
 
 sufficient for me, without reference to the wonder- 
 ful attractions set forth in the bills. Master Junius 
 was anxious to see the elephant, lion, tigers, et cet., 
 and his father and mother to see him enjoy the 
 novelty; so it was determined without debate to go 
 to the menagerie. It rained nearly all the night 
 preceding, but the eventful day opened bright and 
 clear as became a day in June. The horses were 
 harnessed to the large farm- wagon, from eight to 
 twelve chairs placed in it, some sidewise for better 
 stowage and some facing each other. All the 
 umbrellas, from our smart new-comers, to the old 
 mutilated ones whose heads had grown grey, and 
 whose limbs were fractured and luxated by five 
 years' service in a new country, were put in requi- 
 sition. Everything being ready, and the party 
 seated, we set forth. 
 
 While we are making way over the wet prai- 
 rie and through the ** Slues ^'^ I shall, with the 
 reader's leave, introduce to him the steeds by the 
 aid of whose good limbs we journey. They are 
 emigrants, and have always held themselves very 
 much aloof from the natives of their species, so 
 that, notwithstanding a residence of five years, 
 they are not on visiting terms with one of their 
 neighbors. The one whose character and career 
 are most interesting bears a name which has suf- 
 fered much since the time when he gloried in it. 
 This cognomen is Tyler. At the time of which I 
 write, and for several years before, the adjective 
 " old" had been prefixed, but it was purely in hon- 
 or of his years, not as an epithet of insult. Tyler 
 had some peculiarities which made him rather a 
 pleasant object of contemplation wherewithal to 
 diversify a long ride. His physical eccentricities 
 deserve precedence. There was about the for- 
 ward extremity of his neck a sort of decayed or 
 
94" LIFE IN PJRAllllE LAND. 
 
 constricted appearance, as if he once suffered the 
 extreme penalty of the law and the impression of 
 its instrument was never effaced. This gave 
 his head the air of not being at home with his 
 body. It looked as if he had drawn it in a lot- 
 tery, and not being pleased with his bargain, had 
 refused all pains to make the best of it, and put 
 it on in the rudest style, — a lifelong warning to all 
 horses who would speculate in like manner. But 
 the other defensive member so indispensable to all 
 quadrupeds, was characterized by the reverse of all 
 these appearances. It had been robbed of its nat- 
 ural fair proportions, so that only a fraction of it 
 was left, but what there was, was perfectly at home 
 and very useful in the small sphere in which it 
 moved. Its principal office when the body was 
 not at work was to refresh the memory of flies, 
 and add bitterness to the natural prejudices of these 
 insects against the owners of all such appendages. 
 It was not as efficient in defence as in offence, 
 but was tireless in both capacities, to the extent of 
 its abilities. No one ever saw it still. Its most 
 brilliant achievements, however, were displayed 
 when the owner was employed ; and of all the kinds 
 of labor which he performed, traveling before a 
 waggon seemed most to favor its powers and pre- 
 tensions. Tyler had a gait w^hich I think was an 
 anomaly among his species, though his friends 
 called it a " trot." It was considerably slower than 
 a walk, but was characterized by such a harmony 
 of the whole animal, mental and physical, that it 
 was really a pleasure to see him perform it. He 
 settled into it naturally, after one or two applica- 
 tions of the lash, and instantly there was such an 
 air of repose and contentment in his face, and such 
 a harmonious moving of the whole body and its 
 appendages, that it was delightful to see him. On 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 05 
 
 these occasions the organ of which we speak 
 played its most brilHant part. It seemed to gov- 
 ern his entire machinery, to be as it were the music- 
 master of the choir, and by its beats regulate the 
 whole. So perfect was its supremacy, that even 
 the engrafted head yielded and swung from side to 
 side in exact time with it. Flies could now light 
 with impunity, for the harmony was not to be 
 broken for a trifle. 
 
 Tyler had a habit which it seemed absolutely mar- 
 velous how he could preserve, of appearing very 
 much astonished when any means were taken to 
 quicken his gait. He, however, used his ears and 
 tail principally to manifest this ffeeling. The for- 
 mer would prick up and the latter flash out of all 
 time, as if some wonderful phenomenon had burst 
 upon his senses. But he recovered fi-om it in an 
 incredibly short space ; the tail resumed its swing 
 and the ears their unwondering position, before he 
 had described a distance equal to the length of 
 himself and the waggon. Then if the request were 
 repeated at the end of that time, he experienced 
 the same surprise, and manifested it in the same 
 manner, with the addition of a shake of the head 
 if it were pretty sharply conveyed. There was 
 but one argument for increased speed which 
 wrought any conviction in Tyler's mind. To this 
 he always yielded on its first presentation. If you 
 exhibited the comer of a buffalo robe to him over 
 the side of a waggon, he construed it into a neces- 
 sity that could not be resisted, and away his hete- 
 rogeneous body flew over the prairie, helter- 
 skelter, one eye ever and anon cast back to see 
 whether the reason were still good. Such an 
 event always gave a shock to his feelings from 
 which he did not soon recover; unless the remain- 
 ing distance were long, it was certain to be accom* 
 
96 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 plished in much less time than if his tranquillity 
 had not been thus disturbed. 
 
 Tyler was sustained in his labors by a compan- 
 ion of the feminine gender to whom he had been 
 long and faithfully attached. But she was Xan- 
 tippe to his Socrates. If his conduct was at any 
 time offensive to her taste, which it must be con- 
 fessed was more refined than his, she informed 
 him promptly by snapping his ears and otherwise 
 showing the most unequivocal symptoms of wrath. 
 I fancied that her affections waned as the graces of 
 youth departed from her companion. 
 
 But Tyler has swung his head, tail, and feet to 
 some purpose, for here we are in the suburbs of 
 the town whose name will, if its proprietors are to 
 be believed, redound not a little to the honor of 
 the Father of his Country. It is prettily situated 
 in a grove, through the borders of which runs a 
 stream of considerable size. As we come upon 
 the high swell south of the village, we have a full 
 view of its principal street. At this moment it is 
 lined with a crowd of all ages and sexes, dressed 
 in a great variety of styles. We descend the slope, 
 cross the bridge, and are at once in the midst of 
 them. Let us alight here. This is my menagerie. 
 I wish to fall in with that tide of females, and hear 
 what they say. There are three walking along to- 
 gether. One of them has on a pair of paper shoes, 
 and is obliged, as she wishes to keep her feet in 
 them, to tread rather daintily; the others, more 
 prudent, have walked in their substantial leather 
 shoes, and carry the finer ones wrapped in their 
 pocket handkerchiefs. They are talking busily 
 while they pick their steps in the black mud. One 
 of them addresses her fiiend on the right. 
 
 ** I expect there'll be a power of folks hyur to- 
 day." 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 65 
 
 life, in their rags and filth, on the banks of the ver- 
 dant pool, or the hard-trodden ground around the 
 well. Their dress and complexions were so uni- 
 form that I could never distinguish but one of 
 them, a girl of some twelve years, whose face was 
 always a little dirtier, her hair a little stiffer, and 
 her clothes a shade nearer the color of the earth 
 in which she burrowed. When any one approached 
 the house, they all scampered like a herd of wild 
 animals into the angle between the cabins, and 
 peeped around the comers as long as the traveler 
 was in sight. A general yell and shout announced 
 his disappearance and their return to the several 
 amusements from which they had fled. 
 
 The father of this family was a man of sense 
 and much general information ; his morals were 
 unimpeachable, and his character commanded so 
 much respect, that he was proposed for one of the 
 highest offices in the county. His election was 
 lost in consequence of some local division, not at 
 all connected with the degraded condition of his 
 family. He had a fine farm, valuable horses, and 
 other property, and, away from home, appeared 
 as well as any of his neighbors who lived more 
 comfortably. His means would have enabled him 
 to build a good house, surround it with cultivated 
 grounds, and furnish it with every requisite for 
 neatness and comfort. Had such physical degra- 
 dation been the result of extreme poverty, the case 
 would have excited compassion, instead of curios- 
 ity or disgust. But it was not so. 
 
 It may be asked, then, what was the cause ? 
 It was not that the parties were misers, and 
 hoarded their gains ; for their means were spent 
 freely to procure whatever they deemed necessary 
 to comfort. What, then, was it ] Merely the in- 
 capacity of the mistress of this family to appre- 
 5 f2 
 
66 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 ciate a better condition, or help to create one. I 
 afterwards saw many cases of a like mode of 
 living, and am bound, in fairness, to say, that the 
 credit was due in nearly every one to the fe- 
 males. 
 
 I once entered a cabin of this description, on a 
 cold November day. It had no window; all the 
 light came down the wide chimney, or through the 
 open door. There was a long shelf in one corner, 
 on which two plates, two cups, and three saucers 
 were arranged, in conjunction with an iron skillet, 
 a small bake kettle, and a tin tea-pot. A broken 
 table stood against the wall, on which the break- 
 fast things yet remained, though it was eleven 
 o'clock. In a back comer of the room was a bed, 
 and the only thing that indicated the exercise of 
 powers superior to the ingenuity of the beaver, 
 was a wide shelf over it, on which some husks were 
 deposited, and covered with a bit of filthy cotton 
 cloth. This was constructed for the nocturnal 
 quarters of the blowsy little heir, who was then 
 tumbling over and over on the ground. There 
 was one dilapidated chair in the room, besides a 
 single bench and a double one. The chair was 
 standing back on the platform which had been 
 laid for the bed, and, as I entered, escorted by the 
 husband, the wife rose from her seat near the 
 table, took her pipe from her mouth, and placing 
 it near the edge of the hearth, invited me to sit, 
 A second child was playing in the ashes. The 
 door was wide open, and the raw wind swept in 
 gusts through the miserable place, filling it with 
 ashes and smoke. I have never seen more utter 
 poverty or filth. 
 
 When I had gathered my skirts and seated my- 
 self as safely as the circumstances would permit, 
 the woman returned to her pipe, and the employ- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 67 
 
 ment which my entrance had inteiTupted. She 
 had a large paper of coffee in her lap, from some 
 of which she was selecting the foul kernels, et cet., 
 preparatory to roasting. Never was there a more 
 perfect picture of self-satisfaction. She had a fat 
 figure, which seemed, when she seated herself, to 
 settle away into a circular mass of matter, in 
 which life and motion were barely manifest. Her 
 children received but little attention ; indeed, it 
 was not easy to see how one could bestow more 
 upon them. The elder was enjoying himself in- 
 tensely ; and the happiness of the younger was 
 abated only by the caution which the mother 
 occasionally gave it, " not to swaller the rocks," 
 which she threw from among the coffee. 
 
 It was impossible for me to contemplate this 
 revolting scene, without endeavoring to ascertain 
 the state of mind that could lead a human being to 
 live willingly in the midst of it. I remarked, that 
 it must be a serious inconvenience to live through 
 the winter with the door open. 
 
 ** Why, yes," she replied, '"tain't as warm hyur 
 as it used to be in Kaintucky ; 'twasn't of much 
 account there." 
 
 " But we obviate the difficulty of a colder 
 climate by windows; they admit the light with- 
 out the cold." 
 
 " Yes, I reckon they're mighty convenient, but 
 we hain't had one yet." 
 
 ** How long have you lived here ?" 
 
 " Four year." 
 
 " Have you never had a floor V 
 
 " No, we hain't yit; but I reckon we shall git 
 one afore long. It's mighty bad to have the old 
 man to work around the house, so I don't say 
 nothing about it : he wants to put it down, but I 
 don't allow 'twould make much difference ; I 
 
68 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 reckon that out thar," pointing to the little plat- 
 form, " will do us yet." 
 
 It would weary the reader to give further de- 
 tails of a conversation that evinced only the most 
 disgusting indifference to the common comforts of 
 a more civilized condition. I rode several miles 
 on the same day, with the husband of this woman, 
 and had an opportunity to learn that he would 
 prefer a better manner of life, but that her aver- 
 sion to change or action rendered so great an effort 
 necessary on his part, that he had never under- 
 taken it. He had ample means for surrounding 
 himself and his family with every comfort. Beside 
 a fine farm, which he cultivated near a good 
 market, he owned a valuable stock of cattle and 
 other property, and had between a thousand and 
 fifteen hundred dollars, in specie, lying in a black 
 chest by the head of his bed. He had no dispo- 
 sition to hoard it; he would spend it the next day, 
 for anything that they could agree on as conducive 
 to happiness. He was likewise possessed of supe- 
 rior natural powers, which he had used in acquir- 
 ing knowledge of various kinds, and was then 
 capable of making himself a very pleasant com- 
 panion, by the use of his varied information. His 
 mode of living was never the subject of remark 
 among people of his own class. No one thought 
 it strange, or wondered whether it would ever im- 
 prove. The women, who, with more household 
 industry, lived better than '^ Miss Andrews," prob- 
 ably thought she lost a " heap of comfort" in her 
 windowless, floorless, dirty house, but so a smart 
 Yankee woman would have thought of them. 
 
 These extreme cases, however, are fortunately 
 rare. In the homes of most of the first settlers 
 there is much more regard paid to cleanliness and 
 comfort. In many of them the neatness and ordex 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 69 
 
 are perfect. Of necessity they have fewer artificial 
 luxuries than the inhabitants of older regions, but 
 these are not evidences of talent or worth. The 
 inherent virtues of cleanliness, order, and self- 
 respect are often more manifest in a simple than a 
 complicated style of living, and are not less pro- 
 ductive of happiness in one than the other. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The beautiful progeny of spring began now to 
 gather around Prairie Lodge. Animate and in- 
 animate nature teemed with the loveliest creations. 
 The showers that had been so emphatically fore- 
 told on our arrival did not disappoint us. They 
 fell almost daily for several weeks, and were 
 generally accompanied by lightni;ig and thunder, 
 such as the dwellers in the east have no concep- 
 tion of. Nothing of the kind can be more magnifi- 
 cent, unless it be the marshalling of the same stonns 
 on the vast plains farther west, where they are said 
 to be even more terrific. They come more gener- 
 ally toward evening, and not unfrequently continue 
 till near morning. Nothing can exceed the rapid- 
 ity with which they gather after the first signal is 
 given. A little cloud not larger than a man's 
 hand rises on the horizon, and in fifteen minutes 
 the earth is deluged, and the pealing heavens seem 
 on fire. There are few showers here unaccom- 
 panied by the most striking electric phenomena : 
 sometimes the whole arch is lighted by a continu- 
 ous flickering glare, rent occasionally by a more 
 intense vein. The thunder roll is ceaseless, with 
 such lightning! The deep peals that accompany 
 the brighter flashes only strike with a more appall- 
 ing tone. At other times the whole vault is filled 
 witli a darkness that seems ponderable, till a mighty 
 
70 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 flash rends the pall and searches the very soul. It 
 is gone, and the solid earth trembles under the 
 mighty concussion. Again darkness, as if eternal 
 night had come, wraps the scene till the flame 
 leaps forth with a more blinding glare than before, 
 and a crash follows that seems to shatter the 
 foundation of the world. The third or fourth sig- 
 nal is followed by the storm, which breaks through 
 the sable rack as if half the ocean had been lifted 
 from its bed and were wandering in the upper air. 
 In an inconceivably short space of time the plains 
 around you are deluged, so that every succeed- 
 ing flash is reflected from innumerable little pools 
 as if you were in the midst of a shallow lake 
 broken by islands of sedge and grass. I never 
 appreciated the sublime power of the elements till 
 I witnessed these storms. They are one of the 
 most glorious features of the country. 
 
 Their effect was heightened too by contrast with 
 the scenes which followed them. The vast ex- 
 panse of country over which they ranged was in a few 
 hours after as quiet and smiling as if the upper ele- 
 ments had dispensed only peace and sunshine from 
 the first hour of creation. And beauty born of these 
 awful warrings stole over every rolling height and 
 into every green glade in our landscape. The swell- 
 ing bud, the unfolding leaf and flower followed in 
 the path of their majestic progress, making rich 
 and beautiful what had before been desolate and 
 wintry. The spirit that had all the night perhaps 
 raved with such fearful and angry power, seemed, 
 when the bright and peaceful morning came, to 
 have borne a magician's wand aft;er his wrath, and 
 kindled life, beauty, and joy on the plains it had 
 threatened to devastate. The trees around our 
 lodge, now began to put on their summer garb ; 
 the hazel copses unfolded their young leaves. The 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 71 
 
 prairies spread their green carpets and even went 
 so far as to variegate the pattern with the violet 
 and the scarlet-painted cup. The strawberry came 
 Out in her bridal flowers, and blushed herself into 
 luscious maturity beneath the ardent sun. It was 
 not confined to beds and patches such as delight 
 the eyes of the urchin roving through forbidden 
 meadows in the east, but reddened whole acres 
 around the lodge. The pleasure of gathering it 
 was surpassed only by its delicious flavor. When 
 we came in heated, and just enough fatigued to 
 make rest delightful, our blushing treasures were 
 cleansed of the leaves and grass, sprinkled with 
 sugar, and deluged with delicious cream fresh fi'om 
 the brimming pan. Oh what a feast ! and while we 
 were enjoying it the soft breeze floated in laden 
 with the odors of the young world, and the music of 
 its varied populace. The grove in the rear of the 
 house was tenanted by many little songsters, bu- 
 sily employed in these days of universal industry 
 in announcing their return and preparing for the 
 duties of the season. My favorite was the Quail, 
 the merriest, the happiest, and most business-like 
 bird of them all. He rejoices in the showers, and 
 so do I. The harder the rain, the livelier his 
 cheering when it is over. He makes the dripping 
 wood ring with his shrill note. If you walk out 
 while the drops hang upon the leaves, and the 
 grass bends with the weight of its gems, you hear 
 his merry greetings floating by as gaily as if a bevy 
 of children had escaped to the woods and were 
 playing hide and seek with an omnipresent ** Bob 
 White," who would only answer when called with a 
 whistle. You hear it in every tone, the imperative, 
 the plaintive, the querulous, the dignified, the en- 
 treating, the congratulatory. " Bob White !" solil- 
 oquizes one philosophic-looking fellow from the 
 
72 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 second story of a hazel clump. He looks about a 
 moment, and repeats in a higher and more intense 
 key, " Bob White !" Two or three more turns of 
 the smooth little head and the sagacious httle eye 
 seem to raise his temper, and he adds the epithet 
 " Old !" as if Bob White were rather sensitive on the 
 score of his years and would be drawn out to repel 
 the injurious insinuation. " Old Bob White !" he 
 exclaims, and it is responded to from below. Pre- 
 sently out trips a neat, industrious, thrifty-looking 
 bird, who appears to be keeping house in some of 
 the snug little apartments to which these clean 
 paths lead, and exclaims " Old Bob White !" He 
 starts and looks smartly about for the individual 
 who has perpeti-ated so unjust a slander. "Old 
 Bob White !" And, as if the enormity grew with 
 the repetition, he hops upon another branch, ad- 
 justs his plumage, and boldly as an eye can defy, 
 he defies any libeller to prove his charge. 
 
 The altercation is becoming sharp, when pre- 
 sently a softer and entreating voice from below, 
 cries out " Bob White !" His anger is dissipated 
 in a moment. With a look of universal charity 
 toward all Quail slanderers, he alights from his 
 post of defiance, and trips away up the leafy aisle. 
 He runs along in haste, looking expectant but de- 
 termined. He evidently anticipates some appeal 
 to his feelings as a husband and father ; but is re- 
 solved to yield to no indiscreet solicitation. He 
 reaches a little nook near the edge of the thicket, 
 where low herbage has crept in and woven a thick 
 bed, soft and odorous. The branches are closely 
 knotted above it, and two or three stems of the Ge- 
 ranium Maculatum droop gracefully over, looking 
 with their meek pale eyes at the nestling little 
 group which Mrs. Bob White is vainly endeavor- 
 ing to keep in order during her husband's sally in 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 73 
 
 defence of his youth. When he arrives, he finds 
 a dozen callow Bob Whites tumbling about with 
 the manifest intention of rebelling against parental 
 authority. The mother entreats, the father remon- 
 strates, but to no purpose. He finally changes 
 his tone to that of instruction, and warns his in- 
 experienced children against the many dangers 
 which wait on the life of a Quail, but more espe- 
 cially against traps. In due time order is again 
 restored, and the exercise of the parental authority 
 has so elevated Bob White's estimation of himself, 
 that he can now forgive all that previously excited 
 his indignation. He feels that respectability estab- 
 lished on such a basis is not easily overthrown ; and 
 thus reconciled with himself and the world at large, 
 he walks forth beneath the dripping boughs with 
 a complacency which mere epithets cannot dis- 
 turb. 
 
 The Grouse is another member of the feathered 
 tribe, peculiar to these beautiful regions. He is 
 a large, mottled grey bird, with a heavy ruff of 
 feathers running over his head, which adds much 
 to the watchfulness and timidity of his appearance. 
 Their nests are built on the open prairie in some 
 thick knot of grass. This bird has no proper 
 song, and is in general a very silent inhabitant of 
 these vast plains. When hunted or overtaken by 
 the traveler, they rise suddenly with a whirr, 
 somewhat similar to, but not so distinct as that of 
 the pheasant, and fly very rapidly. If not dis- 
 turbed they describe the half of an ellipse between 
 the points of rising and alighting. The strokes of 
 the wing are short and rapid, and the flight is very 
 swift and direct. These fowls are rarely heard to 
 utter any noise except at one chosen hour of the 
 day. On a spring morning before sunrise, if you 
 are in the vicinity where grove and prairie meet, 
 G 
 
74 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 the air resounds with a peculiar noise, between 
 the whistle of the quail and the hoarse blowing of 
 the night-hawk, but louder than either. You in- 
 quire what it is, and are told it is the prairie cocks 
 greeting the opening day. 
 
 Spring morning on the prairies ! I wish I could 
 find language that would convey to the mind of 
 the reader an adequate idea of the deep joy 
 which the soul drinks in fi'om every feature of this 
 wonderful scene ! If he could stand where I 
 have often stood, when the rosy clouds were piled 
 against the eastern sky, and the soft tremulous 
 light was streaming aslant the dewy grass, while 
 not a sound of life broke on the ear, save the wild 
 note just mentioned, so much in harmony with the 
 whole of visible nature, he would feel one of the 
 charms which bind the hearts of the sons and 
 daughters of this land. 
 
 We are within the borders of a little grove. 
 Before us stretches a prairie ; boundless on the 
 south and east, and fringed on the north by a line 
 of forest, the green top of which is just visible in 
 a dark waving line between the tender hue of the 
 growing grass and the golden sky. South and 
 east as far as the eye can stretch, the plain is un- 
 broken save by one " lone tree," which, from time 
 immemorial, has been the compass of the red man 
 and his white brother. The light creeps slowly 
 up the sky; for twilight is long on these savannahs. 
 The heavy dews which the cool night has deposited 
 glisten on the leaves and spikes of grass, and the 
 particles, occasionally mingling, are borne by their 
 own weight to the earth. The slight blade on 
 which they hung recovers then its erect position, 
 or falls into its natural curve, with a quick but 
 gentle motion, that imparts an appearance of life 
 to that nearest you, even before the wind has laid 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 75 
 
 his hand on the pulseless sea beyond. A vast 
 ocean, teeming with life ; redolent of sweet odors ! 
 It yields no sound save the one which first arrested 
 our attention, and this is uttered without ceasing. 
 It is not the prolonged note of one, but the steady 
 succession of innumerable voices. It comes up 
 near you and travels on, ringing more and more 
 faintly on the ear, till it is returned by another 
 line of respondents, and comes swelling in full 
 chorus, stronger and nearer, till the last seems to 
 be uttered directly at your feet. 
 
 But the light is gaining upon the grey dawn. 
 Birds awaken in the wood behind us, and salute 
 each other from the swinging branches. Insects 
 begin their busy hum. And now, the sun has just 
 crowded his rim above a bank of gorgeous clouds, 
 and pours a flood of dazzling light across the 
 grassy main. Each blade becomes a chain of 
 gems, and, as the light increases, and the breath 
 of morning shakes them, they bend, and flash, and 
 change their hues, till the whole space seems 
 spnnkled with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, ame- 
 thysts, and all precious stones. Nothing can be 
 conceived more beautiful or joyous than such a 
 scene at this hour. The contiguous wood conveys 
 an idea of home, such as you have borne from the 
 forest-clad states of the east. It is a refuge from 
 the vastness which oppresses the mind, because it 
 can never wholly compass it. You rejoice, you 
 exult in the friendly presence of the trees; not 
 because they afford you a grateful retreat from the 
 ardent sun ; not because they adorn your rude 
 dwelling ; not because they promote the growth 
 of fruit and flowers ; not even because they con- 
 gregate the dear little birds about your home ; but 
 because they afford the natural and familiar alter- 
 native to which the mind recurs when it is weary 
 
76 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 of the majesty which lies beyond them. You have 
 sat under them in childhood ; you have swept the 
 fragments from the little spaces among their roots 
 and carpeted them with moss, and festooned them 
 with the wild flowers which nodded near. You 
 have peopled these magic palaces with fairies, and 
 felt a joy which words can never tell, in dreaming 
 how happy the little beings might be where nothing 
 is visible to their tiny eyes but exquisite beauty, 
 and no sound falls on their small ears but the 
 melodies of growing life. You have listened to 
 the winds, sighing plaintively through the boughs, 
 and felt your soul grow fit for companionship with 
 all things whatsoever that are beautifiil and lovely. 
 And now your heart turns fondly to these tall 
 tenants of the plain as to elder brothers, and for 
 a moment you look coldly on the naked expanse 
 beyond. But stop ! the sun is fairly up. The 
 flashing gems have faded from the grass tops; the 
 grouse has ceased his matin song ; the birds have 
 hailed the opening day, and are gaily launching 
 from the trees : the curtain which has hung against 
 the eastern sky is swept away, and the broad 
 light pours in resistless. The wind comes cours- 
 ing gently up from the far distance, bending the 
 young herbage, and bearing to your senses sweet 
 sounds and odors, nursed on the unsullied breast 
 of Nature. 
 
 The tenants of the farm-yard are now astir; the 
 cows are milked, and all the animals whose 
 services the farmer does not call to aid his labors, 
 are dismissed to ramble in the boundless pasture. 
 The generous oxen are summoned to the yoke, 
 and the labor of the day commences. If I have 
 lingered long over this revel of nature, a spring 
 morning on the prairies, with the grouse be all 
 the blame ! 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 77 
 
 Among the more accomplished feathered artists 
 here are the Bob o'Link, a species of mocking- 
 bird, sometimes called the Brown Thrasher, the 
 Robin, and the melancholy Whip-poor- Will. 
 These inhabit the barrens and the prairies in 
 their vicinity. They are seldom found at any 
 great distance from the woods. There are some 
 small birds who love the free plain, but they can- 
 not boast of much genius as singers. It is beauti- 
 ful to think, however, that as man creeps outward 
 from the groves and builds his cabin, opens his 
 garden, and nurses a few shrubs and small trees 
 around him, the little wood songsters construe it 
 into an invitation to accompany him. Trees are 
 of very rapid growth on the exhaustless soil of the 
 prairies. A few years' care will bring about your 
 house a dense grove of the locust, the cotton 
 wood, aspen, and several other species, so that 
 one need not be long deprived of bird-music. 
 There are several varieties of the Woodpecker ; 
 but they will not visit a new home so soon. They 
 look upon young and thrifty trees as humbugs, so 
 far as they pretend to any present utility, and 
 regard them rather as estates to be held in trust 
 for future generations, than as available funds for 
 the present. They decidedly prefer the aged and 
 established to the young and ambitious. In the 
 heavily wooded bottoms of large rivers, and their 
 tributaries, is found the Parroquet ; not so finished 
 a speaker as the Parrot, but quite as ready. He 
 is a lively chatterer among the stately trees in the 
 summer months, and when winter comes he be- 
 takes himself to the dark deep forests of the 
 south. Like the most voluble consolers of our 
 own species, he shrinks before the approach of 
 stern trial. There are also several coarser tribes, 
 which I never loved, and shall therefore only 
 g2 
 
78 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 name for the gratification of the curious. The 
 Crow caws here as everywhere else, but he has 
 been rescued from the general detestation in 
 which he was formerly held by the magic pen of 
 Bryant. No other could have done it. And yet, 
 who can read the " Death of the Flowers," and 
 not entertain a higher respect for him, and feel 
 more melody in his croakings than before 1 The 
 Hawk screams above the wood top, and over the 
 poultry yard, all through the bright summer day. 
 But nothing could make him other than an object 
 of abhorrence to me since he bore my favorite 
 chicken away before my very eyes, many, many 
 years ago. I could not love him even with such 
 an introduction as made his croaking cousin ac- 
 ceptable. 
 
 Next in kind, but more loathsome, is the Buz- 
 zard, an indolent, gluttonous bird, who wheels 
 lazily over the great plains, till the decaying 
 carcass of a wolf, deer, or other animal attracts 
 him to the earth. He then descends, gorges him- 
 self with the foul carrion, and often rests beside it 
 after eating, from sheer inability to rise. The 
 Turkey, whom this infamous fellow so much re- 
 sembles, that he has succeeded in stealing his name 
 as a prefix to his own, is a much pleasanter mem- 
 ber of the feathered tribe. Great numbers of them 
 abound in the woodlands, where the stately march 
 of the old cock gallanting his hen and her lively 
 brood through the forest is one of its most de- 
 lightful features. 
 
 The landscape grows more beautifiil every day. 
 The prairie puts on its richest garb about the first 
 of June. The painted cup, mocassin flower, and 
 geranium, come out ; and there is more repose in 
 the vegetable world than there has been. Nature, 
 like a notable dame, has cleaned house in proper 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 79 
 
 season, got her furniture and ornaments arranged, 
 and now seated complacently in her easy chair, 
 challenges the admiration of beholders. In the 
 vicinity of farms, the landscape is enriched by 
 herds of cattle feeding on the prairies. If you 
 walk or drive among them in the afternoon, they 
 are panting like gourmands after a turtle dinner. 
 Their very ribs are distended with the luxurious 
 fare in which they have reveled all day, and their 
 breath perfumes the air. As the sun declines they 
 wander homeward, the cows bearing a ti'easure 
 that almost flows without the pressure of the 
 housewife's hand. When the milk is strained and 
 set away, the cares of the day are over, and then 
 we wander out among the hazel copses or through 
 the grove, to enjoy the gorgeous sunset, and the 
 long dreamy twilight that lingers over these peer- 
 less lands. 
 
 The hazel copse is one of the most picturesque 
 features of our landscape. It grows very abund- 
 antly, and in autumn yields an inexhaustible har- 
 vest of the most delicious nuts. It is found several 
 miles from the woodland, and grows in clumps 
 from three to six feet in height. At a little distance 
 these shrubs have the appearance of green mounds 
 thrown up on the smooth surface of the plain. Its 
 shelter is much sought by the rabbit, the most 
 tender and timid inhabitant of the prairie. Where 
 the hazel has a strong compact growth it uproots 
 the grass and leaves the soil unoccupied, except 
 by an occasional flower or creeping vine, whose 
 long tendrils make a beautiful festoonery for such 
 little aisles. Along these the timid hare skips and 
 feeds during the day, and when twilight favors his 
 faint heart, he may be seen leaping out into the 
 more dangerous paths trodden by man and other 
 beings whom his instinct teaches him to dread as 
 
80 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 foes. Let him hear your footsteps and he flees 
 the sound as if it foretold his death. We stroll 
 through these miniature groves, treading carefully, 
 and speaking in low whispers not to alarm the 
 quick ear of their little tenants. By and by, we 
 emerge from the winding road into the more open 
 barrens. We wander onward, talking of olden 
 time and the time to come, when presently a 
 sharp, shrill sound breaks upon the ear, followed 
 by the bounding of light feet. Away flies the 
 deer, startled by our white dresses moving among 
 the green foliage, and fearful every moment of 
 the cracking rifle. Poor innocent, we shall not 
 harm you ! You might have cropped the twigs 
 unmolested, and been spared that pang of fear, 
 had you known that we love mercy, and find no 
 pleasure in depriving any created thing of the 
 joys which are its natural inheritance. 
 
 But while we have mused and talked, the mag- 
 nificent drapery of the west has been folded away. 
 The gorgeous piles of gold and crimson have 
 melted and left the sky, faintly tinted with their 
 departing glories. The curtain of night is creep- 
 ing slowly over the earth ; the breeze steals 
 gently through the foliage, and shakes the large 
 leaf of the sassafras with a soft hollow sound, 
 which, with the quick, liquid rustling of the aspen, 
 and the fuller notes of the forest tree, pours a 
 delicious harmony into the ear of night. Half an 
 hour later the light is gone out in the west. The 
 night-hawk has ceased his airy, sounding swoops, 
 and the whip-poor-will has come from his retreat, 
 to tell again the melancholy tale he urged so 
 mournfully last night. There he sits, in the top 
 of the tall oak before the door, and will not cease 
 his plaint. What is it troubles thee, poor Will ] 
 Hast thou been engaged in some naughty affair, 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 97 
 
 ** I reckon," is the brief reply. 
 
 " Was you ever in one of these hyur shows 1" 
 
 " No, I never was ; but Irene has been." 
 
 *' Whar was it at V 
 
 *'In Indiany, 'fore dad moved hyur. She said 
 there was a heap of droll beasts in that, and dad 
 says they're pretty much alike. They tote the 
 same critters about every summer in different parts 
 of the country." 
 
 ** Well, it's just as good, 1 reckon, for them that 
 never seed 'em afore," said the third party, who 
 had hitherto been silent. 
 
 " Yes, I reckon so, and two bits ain't much any- 
 how, if they should bring the same back." 
 
 " Where be they V exclaimed the one in ad- 
 vance of her companions, looking up as she ap- 
 proached the public square ; ** I don't see nothing 
 
 " No, I allow you won't," said her friend, laugh- 
 ing, " they don't keep 'em runnin about the roads. 
 They ain't many would pay two bits to see 'em if 
 they run out." 
 
 By this time we had reached the centre of the 
 village. The two prudent ladies turned into the 
 house of an acquaintance to change their shoes, 
 and we went on toward the immense canvass pa- 
 vilion, which was erected just beyond. The usual 
 noises which proceed from a collection of the kind 
 were issuing from it as we entered on the flood- 
 tide of Suckerism that was setting into the nari'ow, 
 winding door. A large number of grated boxes 
 were placed around the sides, and one stately 
 elephant was vibrating at the upper end, between 
 a large and small camel. An immense number of 
 seats rose to the very roof from the spaces between 
 the waggons, a part of which were already taken, 
 though it was early in the day. While the young 
 7 I 
 
98 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 letter-writer went one way, to delight his father 
 and mother with his original remarks and profound 
 questions on the animals, I turned another, to 
 study what was by far the more interesting to me — 
 the human part of the show. 
 
 It would be vain to attempt any description of 
 the external of this crowd. The philosophy of 
 Sartor Resartus himself would have failed in the 
 endless variety before me. Here were gannents 
 whose age must have exceeded that of their wear- 
 ers ; — bonnets of a fashion which must have pre- 
 vailed in the last century, for nothing like them 
 had ever been known within the memory of the 
 oldest of our party ; Vandykes in imitation of the 
 Elizabethan period, and caps, whose fantastic pro- 
 portions and trimming would have irritated the 
 risibles of Hogarth's sleeping congregation. There 
 was one young girl barefoot, her head covered 
 with an antique Leghorn, trimmed with black, and 
 projecting enormously over her face. Her dress 
 was silk, of a hue which no language will describe. 
 It was compounded of the color of apple-tree 
 bark, old soap, and sole leather. The waist was 
 too short to let her arms fall into their natural po- 
 sition ; when they did, the blood-vessels ceased to 
 perform their office, as the crimsoned broad hands 
 and protruding wrists gave too palpable evidence. 
 The brevity of this part, the length of the skirt, 
 the total absence of all tournure in that part of the 
 figure where it has been fashionable of late years 
 to admire it, and the naked feet, made one of the 
 most extraordinary tout ensembles of the day. 
 
 Another miss, of more mature years, sported a 
 pair of light cream-colored shoes with the hose 
 which nature had given her, and these in quite an 
 unsophisticated condition ; a coarse red and black 
 calico dress, a silk apron of mazarine blue, and a 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 99 
 
 black cape of the same material, over which one 
 of the capacious tamboured collars of the olden 
 time was spread, its lateral extremities drooping 
 from the elbow. On her head was a pink sun- 
 bonnet with a square frill which covered her 
 shoulders, and a pair of green cotton gloves, the 
 wi'ists ornamented with wide lace, were displayed 
 upon her hands. 
 
 There was little conversation while they were 
 examining the tenants of the cages. Some- 
 times an expression of wonder or admiration was 
 elicited, but the hum which tires one's ears in an 
 eastern assemblage on like occasions was not 
 heard. I took an advantageous position on one 
 of the seats, and gave myself up to the examination 
 of the crowd. Presently Mary came up, to point 
 out a character. He was a middle-aged man with 
 dark hair, and eyes which seemed to look out at 
 the sides of the head, so continually were they roll- 
 ing from side to side. He was clad in a blue 
 jeans coat, and pantaloons of the same, and held 
 a large riding-whip in his hand, wherewith he em- 
 ployed himself in whipping the dust from one leg 
 of the latter. He was looking about with the air 
 of a man to whom the emotion of surprise was no 
 longer possible. If he had just returned from the 
 African deserts with a full collection of every spe- 
 cies of animal which they contain, he could not 
 have regarded these with more coolness. But for 
 his garb and one other circumstance, one would 
 have affirmed he could be no other than Van Am- 
 burgh or Monsieur Martin himself That other cir- 
 cumstance was a certain constrained expression of 
 the face, and, when it rested upon a new object, a 
 gleaming of the eye, which, closely observed, 
 showed that the man in the jeans coat and panta- 
 loons was not quite so familiar with elephants, 
 L.cfC. 
 
100 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 lions, tigers, &c, as he wished the Yankees to 
 think him. He was evidently playing a part for 
 their edification. I watched him sometime, not a 
 little amused at the assumed indifference with 
 which he suffered his eyes to wander about him. 
 
 The crowd increased every moment, and began 
 to form about the entrance a dense, heaving mass 
 of heads which, for aught one could see, might 
 have been floating on some buoyant medium, so 
 perfectly were the bodies which belonged to them 
 concealed from view. It was a very pleasant 
 amusement to guess, when a new head appeared, 
 what sort of body belonged to it, and follow it to 
 the skirt of the crowd, to test your own acuteness. 
 The contrast between the fact and your expecta- 
 tions was often highly ludicrous. Presently there 
 appeared in the midst of the scene an upper ex- 
 tremity which left one in no doubt as to the char- 
 acter of the pedestal on which it was supported, 
 for the shoulders and part of the chest towered 
 clear of the crowd, and bore aloft one of the most 
 extraordinary heads — its furniture included — I 
 have ever had the good fortune to see. The face 
 indicated that it might have seen some fifty-five 
 years. It was a long face, sharp at the lower ex- 
 tremity, and rather rounded at the upper. The 
 eyes were between a grey and a black. They had 
 a quick and penetrating, but not a restless glance ; 
 they were eyes which had been compelled to serve 
 their owner in scenes of danger, and had contracted 
 the habit of looking too strongly to be able to 
 abandon it when the necessity was removed. The 
 mouth seemed to have been originally drawn up 
 at the corners, as if nature had made it to laugh, 
 but the events of life had thwarted this purpose, 
 and hung so heavily upon them as to draw them a 
 little below the straigrht line. Yet there was ever 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 101 
 
 and anon an effort made to repair this wrong, 
 which lent an indescribable mixture of the sorrow- 
 ful and comical to the face. The eyes shared in 
 giving utterance to these blended emotions, but 
 when anything decidedly comical presented itself, 
 they supported the melancholy expression, and put 
 on a look — partly of resistance, partly of defiance 
 — which was very curious. Thus the face was 
 continually hovering between a smile and a cloud ; 
 but the former seemed to be laboring under some 
 disgrace, so that before it could fairly show itself, 
 it was hissed down, and shrunk away in shame. 
 The forehead was suiTounded with short hair, 
 which had in former times been black, but was 
 now an iron grey. A very wide but scant cap 
 border hung over it, and the whole was surmounted 
 by a capacious sugar-loaf Navarino scoop, which 
 had once vied with the raven hair, but was now 
 faded, and mottled with bluish grey spots, that cor- 
 responded well with the lead-colored ribbon that 
 fastened it. The crown mounted from the back 
 of the neck, in a cone, to the height of half a yard, 
 and the ribbon climbed over this, holding loosely 
 in its place a circular piece of pasteboard, which 
 supplied the absence of the original top. Let no 
 one suppose, however, that the old lady had 
 repaired her black hat with white pasteboard. It 
 had either been inked, or dipped in a black dye ; 
 probably the latter, for ink must have been a rare 
 article in her domicile. So much for the head. 
 Her shoulders were covered with a small black 
 shawl, and a blue and white cotton handkerchief 
 supplied the place of a cravat, though neither could 
 possibly conduce to comfort, in the heated crowd. 
 At the first look, it was impossible to avoid the 
 ludicrous idea that the old lady had provided her- 
 self with stilts, the better to enjoy the spectacle 
 
 T '2 
 
102 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 before her ; but this thought was instantly put to 
 flight by the character of her face. Besides, her 
 gigantic stature was too well proportioned, and 
 each part too much at home in its elevation, to ad- 
 mit the idea of temporary or artificial foundation ; 
 for she advanced when others stood still and gazed 
 with wonder at her amazing stature and progress. 
 She fairly divided the honors of the day with the 
 elephant, and stalked up to the camel in a mena- 
 cing attitude, as if she thought he did not see a 
 woman of her presence every day, and might as 
 well confess it at once. Sometimes her scoop bon- 
 net covered half my field of vision, at others it was 
 turned so that the paper-capped crown towered 
 above everything else. As the people began to 
 take seats, preparatory to clearing the ring for the 
 monkey ride, I was very desirous that the old lady 
 should get a post in my neighborhood. I rose on 
 my feet, therefore, and as her eye was wandering 
 in search of an eligible spot, beckoned her to ap- 
 proach. She looked hard at me a moment, as if a 
 little bewildered, and then, suddenly changing the 
 expression of her face, came down at her most 
 rapid pace. As she approached, I made room for 
 her beside me. 
 
 " I reckon," said she, while adjusting herself in 
 it, " you're Miss Roberts' sister that's come lately 
 from York. You look a heap alike." 
 
 "Indeed," said I, "has my sister the good fortune 
 to know you V 
 
 " O yes, I've know'd Miss Roberts ever since 
 she come to the country, and a right smart woman 
 she is, if she is your sister." . 
 
 " Really, do you consider her * smartness ' any 
 the more remarkable on that account]" 
 
 "No, I didn't jist mean that, but I've all'us 
 thought a heap of Miss Roberts, and like to say it.'* 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 103 
 
 The old lady's panegyric was inteiTupted by the 
 voice of the manager ordering the more curious to 
 *' fall back," and clear the ground. My neighbor's 
 head was instantly turned and elevated several 
 inches to command the theatre of action. A beau- 
 tiful little brown pony trotted out into the ring, and 
 was very soon followed by a sagacious and most 
 respectable-looking monkey in regimentals. He 
 was introduced to the gaping multitude as Gen. 
 Jackson, but his servility made it a poor compli- 
 ment to his Roman prototype. The master of 
 ceremonies on this occasion, as on all similar ones 
 which I have ever witnessed, was a very tall man 
 in a long-skirted frock-coat and rather short trow- 
 sers. The fact is one which I would recommend 
 to the attention of naturalists — not a little ingenuity 
 may be exhibited in its solution. Whether it is 
 one person who, gifted with ubiquity to a certain 
 extent, presides over all the monkey-rides of the 
 country, or whether there is a peculiar affinity be- 
 tween these animals and tall men, are questions 
 beyond my depth. Any one who inclines to the 
 latter supposition will please bear in mind that the 
 principle, whatever it be, must cover the long frock- 
 coat, the short pantaloons, and a tall seedy hat. I 
 have never known these adjuncts fail. On the 
 present occasion the performance was not very 
 brilliant. The pony threw up his heels and whirled 
 exactly with the crack of the whip, the monkey 
 was quite as inelegant as usual in his postures, and 
 not a whit more excited with the novelty of his 
 Sucker audience than if he had been performing for 
 a common New York assemblage. I did think he 
 winked a little quicker when he faced the Nava- 
 rino, but it might have been imagination. The 
 most edifying part of the whole spectacle was the 
 comments of my neighbor. 
 
104 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 ** Mighty !" she exclaimed, as the pony took his 
 place, " what be they go in to set on that little 
 horse's back ] That great feller ain't agoin to 
 mount him, I'll knock him off myself if he does. 
 He's too long for such a powerful little beast. The 
 great lazy ramaffinr 
 
 The good old lady, in her friendly zeal for the 
 pony, forgot that the feller whom she was de- 
 nouncing was several inches below her own 
 stature. But while she was in the high tide of 
 her anathema, the monkey appeared. She looked 
 for a moment quite bewildered, and at last broke 
 out. 
 
 "Well ifthese Yankees don't go ahead of heaven 
 and airth ! I reckon now they made that little 
 fixin a-purpose for that horse, but he ain't very 
 handsome no how ; he looks like a baby with his 
 grandfather's head on. They mought a made the 
 tail of his coat longer, and he'd looked better than 
 he does now — but the Yankees don't care what's 
 decent, for the young women goes with their necks 
 bare a heap more than I ever seed anybody else." 
 
 Dropping the tone of soliloquy, and addressing 
 herself to me in the most earnest manner, " Look 
 at them two critters," said she, " I s'pose they are, 
 for they say that one that's ridin ain't a boy, for all 
 he looks so powerful like one. That horse'll throw 
 him oif yet, and stomp his brains into the ground if 
 he's got any." 
 
 Two or three whirls of the pony wrought the 
 old lady's sympathy and indignation to the highest 
 pitch. 
 
 " If everybody felt like I do they wouldn't set 
 such a fool as that a horseback, whether he's a 
 monkey or not. He's alive, I reckon, and that's 
 enough to make a christian take him off o' that 
 critter's back, anyhow." 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 105 
 
 The tall man came in for his share of denuncia- 
 tion at every new feat which he commanded the 
 monkey to execute, and before the three perform- 
 ers retired, the good old lady had denounced all 
 Yankees and " Yankee doins " for the fortieth 
 time. The man in the jeans clothes and riding- 
 whip had watched the whole affair with such evident 
 admiration, that the look of contempt which he 
 remembered to assume after they retired was ex- 
 tremely ludicrous, and served better than a volume 
 to reveal his whole character. But he was too 
 remote for his comments, if he made any, to be au- 
 dible to us. 
 
 Next came Mr. Turner with his dog, and their 
 wonderful feats drew whole volleys of exclamation 
 from my transparent neighbor. But when the 
 young man climbed the centre pole and suspend- 
 ed himself from its top by a cord around his 
 wrists, the poor woman could restrain herself no 
 longer. 
 
 "Mighty Heaven!" she exclaimed, or rather 
 shrieked, for her voice was sharpened by her ex- 
 cited sensibilities. " Does the 'farnal Yankee think 
 we come to a hangin 1 I've saw one in my life, 
 and that'll do me. But if he's a mind to hang thar 
 he may, I won't look at him," and the giant hat 
 swung quickly round, facing the audience above. 
 
 "It don't make you feel like it does me," she 
 remarked, touching my elbow, " or you wouldn't 
 look that way. I reckon you never see a real 
 hang, did you V^ 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Wall, you'd never want to see another if you 
 had, nor any such shammin as that. 'Tain't fit 
 for folks to look at that knows what christians is." 
 
 I expressed so hearty an assent to this opinion 
 both in relation to the real and the sham hanging, 
 
106 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 that the old lady looked earnestly at me for a mo- 
 ment, and then said, " Well now, I allow you've got 
 some christian feelins in you. I like to hear any- 
 body talk like that. Come and see me. Mr. R 
 
 will tote you and Miss Roberts up some day, and 
 I should be mighty glad to see you, and so would 
 my old man." 
 
 While this little complimentary by-play was 
 going on, the man whom we left suspended had 
 come down, the crowd had relieved its excited, 
 feelings by two or three hearty rounds of applause 
 and several interchanges of opinion among them- 
 selves. 1 lost sight of the man with the whip, but, 
 to my great joy, he presently appeared in our im- 
 mediate vicinity. I pointed him out to my neigh- 
 bor, and asked who he was. 
 
 " O, that's old man C ; everybody knows 
 
 him for the biggest liar ever lived in these 
 parts. It's no account what you tell him, he'll 
 alVurs break up ahead on you. And one thing is 
 strange, he all'urs tells his lies as if he b'leeved 
 them himself. He was in the inilichary under 
 Gineral Harrison a good many year ago, an if 
 they should set down together anybody that heerd 
 him would reckon he was the first man of the 
 two. There ain't nothin on airth that anybody 
 has ever seed or know'd, but what he's seed 
 somethin a powerful sight bigger. You'll see 
 afore long, now he's come so nigh," 
 
 While my friend was thus enlightening me, the 
 ring had been again cleared, and a springing board 
 elevated upon two blocks placed within it. In a 
 few minutes, one of the most athletic-looking riders 
 appeared in knit garments fitting closely to his fine, 
 muscular form, and was introduced to the audience 
 as Mr. Sands, who was about to perform some sur- 
 prising gymnastic feats. 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 107 
 
 " I hope he won't hang himself," said the old 
 lady, looking earnestly at his splendid figure, " he's 
 too handsome, and there's been enuf of that^'m- 
 nasty now." 
 
 But Mr. Sands, after a few preliminary perform- 
 ances, to assure himself that he was all right, re- 
 lieved the good woman's apprehensions by setting 
 himself into a sort of rotary motion in the air, like 
 a human windmill. I counted twenty-nine of 
 these surprising aerial evolutions, and then turned 
 away, for the spectacle grew painful. 
 
 " He'll kill himself," said my excitable neighbor, 
 "why don't they take him away 1 Stop him !" 
 she screamed; "he can't stop himself! Why 
 don't you catch hold of his legs and arms, some of 
 you ] I could hold him myself if I was thar," 
 and the sympathizing creature rose on her feet 
 and stood expostulating with the heartless audi- 
 ence some seconds before the performance ceased; 
 when it did, there was a great deal of confusion 
 for a few moments, and then a shrewd neighbor, 
 who understood the constitutional infirmities of 
 " Old man C ," remarked to him, 
 
 " Well, Mr. C , for a Yankee boy, that was 
 
 pretty fairly done, eh]" 
 
 " Oh, I reckon it'll pass among Yankees, but it's 
 no account among us. When we was in the army, 
 we used to do that every day, and we had some 
 fellers who would turn them somersets sixty-feet 
 right up a tree !" 
 
 " What, branches and alH" 
 
 " No ; we cut away the branches of some of the 
 trees round the camp, a purpose to have 'em 
 ready. It's no account to do that. A right smart 
 man would turn eighty or ninety without stoppin 
 to breathe; that fellow, now, is a puffin like a beat 
 horse." 
 
108 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 *' Yes, he does breathe a little quicker, it's true, 
 but we think he has done well." 
 
 *' Oh, it's right for you that never see anything 
 better to think so, but I've got smarter blood than 
 that myself." 
 
 "Ah! how]" 
 
 " My grandfather fit the British under BegynCy 
 thar in old Virginny ; and when orders was give 
 for every man to take care of himself, he took a 
 knapsack from a feller that was dead close by 
 him, and put it on hisn, and started. Jest as he 
 got to the fence, a powerful, big, old nigger that 
 he know'd a long time, hollered to him for help, 
 for both his legs was broke by a cannon-ball, and 
 he allowed the Indians 'd scalp him if they got 
 hold on him. So the old feller just throws him over 
 the two knapsacks, and jumps the fence. But the 
 British was most on his heels when he cleared it. 
 He retreated ffteen miles in sixteen minutes, and 
 then he come to the race-way of a mill eighteen 
 feet wide ; that he jumped, and the British halted 
 on the other side for a raft, and so he got away." 
 
 " With the two knapsacks and the black man]" 
 said the listener. 
 
 " Yes, and the next day they weighed 'em all, 
 and what do you reckon they all made ]" 
 
 " Two hundred pounds V 
 
 *' Two hundred ! The knapsacks weighed eighty 
 a piece, and the old man weighed two hundred 
 and fifty without his legs, for they cut 'em off be- 
 fore they weighed him." 
 
 " Indeed ! your grandfather must have been a 
 very powerful man, to retreat so rapidly under 
 such an immense burthen." 
 
 " Yes, he was a right smart old feller ; but I've 
 seen younger men that could do more than that«'* 
 
 " Ah and who were they ]" 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 109 
 
 " Why, 'tain't of mucli account for a man to 
 brag of himself, but I've done better than that ar 
 in my own time" (whipping his boot more vehe- 
 mently than ever). " When I was with Gin. Har- 
 rison, we wanted to make a forced march once, 
 when the roads was mighty bad, and the streams 
 all in a fresh. So the gineral he come to me in 
 the mornin, and said he calculated I'd be the best 
 man to go ahead, for if anybody could do it — I 
 could; and the men would follow me better than 
 any other man. So jest to oblege him I started on, 
 and told the boys to come, for I'd clar the road for 
 'em. We went on till after night, and it growed 
 so cold, we thought everything would freeze up 
 anyhow. At last we come to a stream that had ris 
 a right smart sence morning, and left the ice un- 
 der water : I halted here, and waited for the gin- 
 eral to come and insult with him afore I tried it. 
 We waited an hour, and at last the rare-guard 
 come. I told the gineral that I reckoned we bet- 
 ter not try it that night, but he said he wanted to 
 git over ; and he allowed I could git the boys to 
 follow. So I never waited for him to say it agin, 
 but I put right in, and swum my horse through, 
 and broke the ice all the way. When I got on 
 t'other side, I toted four or five old trees to the 
 water, and laid 'em across myself, 'cause you see 
 the stream was narrow, though it was right deep. 
 
 At last they all got across, and then we marched 
 five miles afore the gineral would let us camp. 
 When we come to the place, I started to git off 
 o' my horse, and couldn't stir. I was froze fast 
 to the saddle. It was growing colder and colder, 
 and I didn't know what I should do. Some of 
 the boys allowed they could warm some water, 
 if I'd set still, and thaw me up. So they went to 
 building fires, but I didn't want to set there and 
 K 
 
no LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 wait ; and, at last, I give a mighty spring that lifted 
 the horse right off his feet, and when he come 
 down, the ice cracked all around, and I got loose." 
 
 " You must have been sick after it," said his 
 listener, " and so lost the battle the next day." 
 
 " Not a bit of it. I never was better than I was 
 the next day ; and I'll tell you what I did. I had 
 a boy to load my rifle, and while he was doing it, 
 I fit the Indians with a hatchet. I shot twenty- 
 one, and — " but here a surge of the retiring mul- 
 titude took the speaker and listener beyond my 
 hearing. 
 
 " There," said the old lady, who had caught the 
 last few words ; " didn't I tell you right 1 He'll lie 
 like that as long as anybody will stop to hear him, 
 and that's a wicked man that's keepin him agoin." 
 
 " I have heard," I replied, *' of story-tellers who 
 would never suffer themselves to be out-done by 
 others, but this man seems determined not to be 
 surpassed by himself." 
 
 *' That's jest it," replied my friend. " If he 
 should ever tell so big a lie that he couldn't tell a 
 bigger one, I reckon 'twould kill him. But I see 
 my old man yonder waitin. Good bye ! come 
 and see me, and tell Miss Roberts to come with 
 you." And with these words the old lady de- 
 parted. 
 
 I began now to experience some trepidation, 
 lest it should not prove so easy to rejoin my 
 friends. I looked long and anxiously over the 
 moving mass, but nowhere were their faces visible, 
 till a sudden jog of the elbow brought me to the 
 right, and showed Mary standing with Master 
 Junius in her hand. 
 
 "Come, 'light down,'" said she. "John has 
 gone for the horses, and you will not find another 
 Mrs. S. here to-day." 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. Ill 
 
 " Nor anywhere else, I apprehend," said I. 
 " Women like her must be rare." 
 
 " Yes, they are, more's the pity, for, with all 
 her eccentricities, and they are interwoven with 
 mind and body, she possesses some of the finest 
 elements of character. Kind, just, generous, and 
 hospitable, with clear perceptions and a ready 
 humor, blended with the best feelings which be- 
 long to humanity, yet almost wholly devoid either 
 of the arts of cultivated life, or the prejudices of 
 her class, she is a model of a frontier housewife. 
 Poor woman ! she has endured much physical 
 hardship and suffering, as well as other afflictions. 
 They seem to have bent her naturally buoyant 
 spirits almost to the ground, so that one is con- 
 stantly reminded, while conversing with her, of 
 the purple frost flower we used to admire so much 
 at the east, which, always bent under the strong 
 November blasts, seems ever vainly seeking to 
 regain its former position. You may laugh at 
 my comparison, and think that a woman over six 
 feet, with such a Navarino and other appurte- 
 nances, should remind one of flowers only by 
 contrast ; but when you have lived as long as I 
 have, away from the world where clothes make 
 the man or woman, you will learn to see and 
 appreciate beauty of spirit, irrespective of garb." 
 
 " I scarcely needed such a lesson as I have had 
 to-day, sister, to teach me that. You know I 
 never placed undue value upon dress, nor other 
 material refinement ; and if I had, I could not 
 have failed to discover some of the spiritual 
 beauties you have enumerated, under the coarse 
 exterior of your friend. She seems an excellent- 
 hearted woman ! With some cultivation, and a 
 little training in the hands of a posture-master, 
 she mio^ht have carried even her enormous stature 
 
112 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 into any circle, and awakened only respect and 
 affection. As it is, I have no doubt these are the 
 predominant sentiments with which she is re^ 
 garded by her acquaintance. Still it cannot be 
 denied that the Navarino is an extraordinary 
 adjunct of such a figure ; see, now, if it is not," 
 said I, pointing to the huge Pennsylvania waggon, 
 in which the good woman was seated, beside her 
 little husband. " It is in admirable keeping, all 
 but the man, is it not ] The very horses seem to 
 copy their mistress : but the husband must be a 
 cipher !" 
 
 " No ; you are mistaken. He is almost the 
 equal of his wife in excellence, and enjoys as 
 undisputed supremacy in his family as if the size 
 were all on his side." 
 
 " That is the best thing you have said of her 
 yet. But I am going to visit her some time, and 
 then I shall see for myself Here are our steeds, 
 and, I think, by the time Tyler has accomplished 
 ten miles, we shall be willing to discuss something 
 more substantial than external or spiritual beauty." 
 
 Just as we were crossing the stream I looked 
 back. The great tent was struck, the cages were 
 all converted into close waggons, the circus horses 
 and riders had off their holiday garb, and were 
 each ready for the journey before them; the 
 camels had shouldered their bundles, and the 
 elephant, acting as his own porter, though under 
 a cloak, was advancing towards us. But we soon 
 left them out of sight, for Tyler plied his six 
 organs of locomotion with such praiseworthy 
 celerity, that we reached home just as the sun 
 was sinking before us into a range of gold and 
 purple mountains. 
 
 The adventures of the day led to some lively 
 discussion of men and things in the west. I found 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 113 
 
 tlie descendant of the '■' 'Begyne'' hero was quite 
 as notorious as he had been represented by that 
 eccentric show. The stories which he told that 
 day were declared to have formed a part of his 
 honest belief for the last ten years. 
 
 " It cannot be otherwise," said my brother, 
 ** for he has, within that time, repeated them so 
 often, and so earnestly, that he would have con- 
 vinced you yourself of their truth, unless you had 
 argued their probability in your own mind after 
 each telling; and certainly, he has a right to in- 
 dulge in the luxury of such hard-earned belief.* 
 His stories no longer amuse me ; but his absurd 
 misapplication of words has not lost that power. 
 It is only a few days since he called on us in the 
 field to inquire for ' strays.' We told him there 
 was one among our cattle, and were about specify- 
 ing its age, et cet., when he stopped us, and said 
 we ought always to make a man who was looking 
 for strays 'subscribe' them himself. 'Now I'll 
 subscribe the beast I am looking for, and you can 
 tell whether it's this one or not.' When he had 
 finished the * subscription,' as he called it, we in- 
 formed him that it did not belong to our * stray,' 
 and he plumed himself not a little on the shrewd 
 lesson he had taught us." 
 
 I afterward saw a deed, conveying a consider- 
 able amount of real estate, of which this expe- 
 rienced gentleman had taken the acknowledg- 
 ment. He had never held the office of magistrate, 
 nor was he in any way qualified to perform an act 
 
 * These passages may serve to show the almost incredible 
 influence of habitual falsehood in warping the judgment as well 
 as the moral sense. The anecdotes related in the text were 
 narrated with as much gravity, and, ultimately, I have no doubt, 
 with almost as earnest a belief in their truth, as the demon- 
 stration of any proposition could be recited by a grave pro- 
 
 K 2 
 
114 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 of the kind. It was, therefore, " of no account," 
 either in a legal or a common sense. But it had 
 the merit of originality, both in structure and 
 orthography. It was briefer, too, than those 
 forms wherewith more learned gentlemen certify 
 the legality of like documents. Here it is, ver- 
 batim et literatim : — 
 
 *' hear i dothe surtify that the said his 
 
 wife and the said is the said peepul that 
 
 has maid this said dead and they allow they did it 
 without compunctions or fears of themselves or 
 enny body the said wummen aint 'feared of her 
 said man nor him of her — Thereunto i set my 
 hand an seal 
 
 (seal.)" 
 
 But everything has an end, and I know of no 
 class who should be more gi-ateful for this truth, 
 than people who are continually making themselves 
 absurd. Even " Old man C's " ridiculous blunders 
 ceased to excite our laughter, and after the cows 
 had been milked and the chickens fed, we retired 
 to rest, with a hearty welcome to the kind '* Re- 
 storer," after the lengthened amusements and 
 labors of the day. Our repose was not broken till 
 deep in the night, when the growling of lions, ti- 
 gers, etc., and the heavy rumbling of waggons, with 
 the tramp of horses, roused us. The menagerie 
 was passing on its way to the next town to exhibit. 
 The following morning the elephant was found to 
 have left the print of his foot in the soft tuif beyond 
 the house. It was about fifteen inches deep, and 
 large enough to allow a child of six or seven years 
 to sit down in it. It was not obliterated for many 
 weeks. 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 115 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The time had now arrived when I was to leave 
 Prairie Lodge and try my fortunes among strangers. 
 This was in truth the commencement of " Western 
 life " to me ; for in my sister's home the ruder and 
 less pleasant conditions of life in a new country 
 had been softened down by innumerable little arts 
 and resources. The peculiarities of the people 
 had been only so many sources of amusement or 
 themes for speculation. They had never come so 
 near as to embarrass or annoy. Now the chances 
 were that they might assume a very different as- 
 pect. Instead of provoking mirth or awakening 
 only cool curiosity, they might and probably would 
 conflict painfully with my previous habits and long 
 indulged preferences. Nevertheless the trial must 
 be made, and the first difficulties to be solved 
 were, where and how 1 that is, in what particular 
 house should the new home be found ] Every 
 habitation in the little town, on which our choice 
 had fallen, was already crowded to excess. Several 
 were in progress which offered prospective homes, 
 and in one of these quarters were finally promised 
 when it should be completed. Meantime some six 
 weeks or two months must elapse, and a temporary 
 *' place " must be found, in which to wear these 
 away. Far and near was the country searched 
 therefore to find it. Suitableness was a consider- 
 ation quite out of the question, for be it known to 
 the fastidious that seeking board in the west is very 
 different from the same thing in New York. Here 
 the host is favored, there the guest. After several 
 days of fruitless inquiry the anxious seeker was 
 commended to a Quaker family about a mile and 
 a half from town, where many of the citizens had 
 
116 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 boarded while building their own dwellings. I had 
 lived so much and happily in the neat quiet houses 
 of these people at the east, that the bare suggestion 
 filled me with delight. My imagination immedi- 
 ately conjured up the most delightful pictures of 
 order and neatness. This house was visited on 
 Saturday afternoon, and found to offer a very tol- 
 erable prospect of comfort. The mistress was ab- 
 sent, but her husband gave assurance that we 
 could be accommodated. We could come the 
 next week. 
 
 Behold us then landed at the door, the next 
 Saturday a little past one p.m. The house stands 
 on a hill which is bordered on the west and south 
 by a grove, and commands a fine view of the 
 prairie north and east. The spot is really quite 
 beautiful. I shall find many charms " in the wood 
 and by the stream " to lighten the long and lonely 
 hours, if such come, as come they must to one 
 among strangers. The exterior of the house looks 
 very respectable. It has the western stamp ; the 
 tall chimney is turned out at the end, and there are 
 four outside doors, two in front, and two in the 
 rear, opening opposite each other. The windows 
 also are uniform, two between the doors and one 
 beyond each. A slat-fence of some pretension 
 encloses a part of the yard, but, most wonderful of 
 all our claims to gentility, the house is painted. It 
 is a dark red, bordered at the angles with a stripe 
 of dull white. The window frames have a dubious 
 hue which I cannot name. We alight and enter 
 the southernmost of the front doors. It is a warm 
 day in July, and the opposite entrance is thrown 
 wide to allure the current. But oh, what an ely- 
 sium it breathes upon ! We gain the floor by one 
 step, though it is of rather inconvenient height, and 
 here the full view bursts upon us. The room is 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 117 
 
 unequivocally filthy ; near the opposite door sits the 
 patriarch, his chair standing at an angle of forty- 
 five degrees with the floor. He has on neither 
 coat nor waistcoat, the whole of his simple garb 
 being made up of a pair of blue cotton pantaloons, 
 and a muslin shirt of very doubtfiil hue. On the 
 right as we enter is a large open fire-place, the hearth 
 of which is covered with ashes that in some places 
 even encroach on the floor. Among them stand 
 several baking-kettles and spiders, in which were 
 apparently going on some very moderate cooking 
 operation. Opposite the fire-place, partly under 
 the stairway, stands a table, spread with a dark- 
 figured india-rubber cloth. Beside this stands our 
 lady hostess manipulating various parcels of dough ; 
 a process rendered particularly interesting from 
 the fact, that a current of air enters the fire-place 
 every few moments from the south side, and departs 
 at the northern to make the circuit of the room ; 
 having during its brief stay taken a heavy freight 
 of ashes and smoke. As it travels around to the 
 opposite side, a very considerable portion of these 
 cargos is deposited upon the table ; and the prin- 
 cipal object of the woman's labor seems to be to 
 distribute this brown coating fairly through the 
 mass. Each time that the parcels are taken up, 
 the space they have covered is left comparatively 
 clean, and though I will with an earnestness that 
 starts the perspiration, that the operator shall lay 
 them on the same spot again, yet she fails to do it 
 in every instance. She must be proof against all 
 magnetic influence ! The old adage of a rolling 
 stone is utterly refuted in those loaves. Locomo- 
 tion was never more successfully proved to be fa- 
 vorable to gathering. My eyes grow to those balls 
 of dough, and will not be persuaded from them, till 
 they rest quietly in the filth of a single spot. The 
 
118 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 transition is then very natural to the person who 
 has been operating with them. She is a woman of 
 ordinary size, with two black eyes settled very 
 near each other on a lymphatic face. Her hair is 
 drawn tightly back from the forehead, leaving the 
 grey temples entirely uncovered, and fastened be- 
 hind in a most slatternly twist with a small white 
 comb. She is clad in a dark blue calico, made 
 very short in the waist and very narrow in the 
 skirt. A small cape of another color, finished at 
 the neck with a rectangular collar, is, I suppose, 
 designed to cover the space left bare by the dress. 
 But the various duties to which she is called, have 
 so reduced it from its fair proportions, that two- 
 thirds at least of its office is left undischarged, 
 and that in the most important point. A part of 
 these duties is very soon explained, for a cry is 
 heard in the next room, to which she responds by 
 rubbing the dough hastily from her hands, and pre- 
 senting herself in person. In a moment she returns 
 with a child of some twelve or fifteen months in 
 her arms, and seating herself directly in front of the 
 gentleman, proceeds to offer, without a spoon, the 
 universal cordial for such woes. Shocking as is 
 this proceeding, it does not prevent my noticing for 
 the first time her feet. It is no tiny slippered 
 member that peeps from beneath the flowing folds 
 of her dress ; but a broad flat foot, partially clad in 
 a homeknit stocking of brown linen. The heels 
 of both have long since got leave of absence, and 
 the toes are earnestly soliciting the like indulgence, 
 but with less success. The most melancholy state 
 of the epidermis is manifest where these rents ap- 
 pear, and the sight of them reminds me so strongly 
 of the anecdote of Dr. Abernethy, and the old 
 woman who won a guinea from him by the exhi- 
 bition of her lame foot, that, notwithstanding the 
 
LIFE IN PEAIEIE LAND. 119 
 
 horrors of my situation, I can scarcely resist the 
 involuntary smile that rises to my lips. 
 
 There are two children in the room ; girls of 
 seven and nine, who from the moment I entered 
 have politely turned their attention from ornament- 
 ing the loaves on the table with finger marks, to 
 the inspection of my dress and person. Let the 
 reader figure to himself, then, the dirty house, the 
 dirtier man, the dirtiest woman, and the most dirt- 
 iest children, for nothing but a double superlative 
 will convey any idea of their condition, and the 
 writer sitting in the midst clad all in white of the 
 most unsullied purity, and he will have some faint 
 conception of my debut in " Sucker life." Perfectly 
 astounded by the scene before me, I had dropped 
 upon the first chair, and sat gazing at the objects I 
 have attempted to describe with a consternation 
 that, had it been observed, would, I fear, have led 
 our host and hostess to doubt my sanity. The two 
 girls dodged around me in all directions. The 
 whiteness of my dress seemed to amaze them. 
 They took hold of it in various places, and lifted it 
 from the floor to get a look at my feet. I drew 
 them back instinctively. What if the hose had by 
 some mysterious process become such as I saw be- 
 fore me ! I could scarcely persuade myself that 
 they had not, and felt agreeably relieved when the 
 elder, who had assumed this part of the inspection, 
 exclaimed in a half whisper to the other, " She's 
 got on new stochins V* But their most profound 
 wonder was called forth by an embroidered sew- 
 ing-silk shawl. I could not keep their hands off it. 
 The pure white of the fabric, and the bright and 
 delicate tracery of flowers, could never be sufii- 
 ciently admired. At last my gloves drew their 
 attention. They seized the one which I had un- 
 fortunately laid off, and bore it away for a more 
 
120 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 minute examination. I looked imploringly at the 
 father, and was understood; for after he had several 
 times repeated an order for its restoration, they 
 returned, and a few minutes more, very much to 
 my relief, brought the examination to a close. 
 When it was over, the juvenile committee retired 
 precipitately to the yard in front, and throwing 
 themselves down " on allfours,''^ scampered at full 
 speed through the gi'ass for several minutes, utter- 
 ing all the time a noise so nearly like that of the 
 wild turkey, that I started with surprise. 
 
 " That's the girls thee hears," said the hostess, 
 half adjusting her dress, when the uncleanly baby 
 signified his willingness to get down. She slid 
 him to the floor, and, without washing her hands, 
 walked directly to the table and recommenced her 
 baking operations. The loaves had been very 
 freely sprinkled several times during her absence, 
 and the dark table-cover was quite whitened by 
 the repeated deposits of ashes, so that the present 
 working over was to some purpose ! How could 
 one ever eat that bread '? I made a random esti- 
 mate of the number of days one might subsist with- 
 out food ; and calculated the chances of getting 
 boiled eggs twice or thrice a week, but the pros- 
 pect was very dismal. 
 
 " Let us walk out," said Mr. F. 
 
 I gladly accepted the proposal, and stepped 
 hastily forth, relieved, like one oppressed with 
 nightmare, by the blessed name of the outer 
 world. When w^e were fairly out of ear distance 
 my husband spoke. 
 
 " You cannot live even for a few weeks in that 
 place, can you ?" 
 
 It was a difficult question to answer. Three 
 minutes before, with that horrid spectacle around 
 me, I should have said, without hesitation, No ! 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 121 
 
 But now it had faded away. Nature was pura 
 and beautiful here as elsewhere. The deep wood, 
 with its clear leafy aisles, was doubly inviting, 
 by contrast, with the filth from which I had just 
 escaped. The winds that sighed around us were 
 fresh, and birds were chirping and singing pleas- 
 antly in the trees, as if the house had been the 
 home of all the domestic virtues. I should have 
 a little place of my own somewhere, that could 
 not be proof against hot water and soap, and 
 there I could sit alone and enjoy its neatness. 
 Beside all this, I knew that a better, or, indeed, 
 any other place was out of the question ; and it 
 seemed quite inconsistent with duty or comfort, 
 therefore, to show any adequate appreciation of 
 the disgusting realities of this. Moreover, retreat 
 was now impossible. The conqueror of Mexico, 
 when he had landed his forces on the shores of 
 the new country, destroyed his ships to prevent 
 the possibility of return. We had followed this 
 illustrious example, not with so imposing a motive, 
 perhaps, but to scarcely less purpose in regard to 
 the alternative of escape. Weighing all these 
 things in my mind, in much less time than they 
 can be written, I answered decidedly, "Yes.'* 
 I will not deny that the answer was rendered 
 more energetic by a discovery made at the mo- 
 ment, that the grove abounded in wild fruit, as 
 the plum, blackberry, cherry, &c., which would 
 soon be ripe, and afford a most luxurious fare 
 without that loathsome bread. So much was I 
 encouraged by these unexpected accessories, that 
 it really cost but little effort to dress the prospect 
 in colors which comforted both very much. After 
 a deliberate survey of the external, we turned our 
 feet reluctantly houseward, for homeward, as yet, 
 it was not. On reapproaching, I noted, for the 
 L 
 
122 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 first time, a little cabin almost adjoining the large 
 house on the northern end, which gave every in- 
 dication of being inhabited. The entrance looked 
 neat, and there was a cleanliness about the pails, 
 kettles, and other household implements standing 
 without, that quite revived me. " Here must be 
 something," I exclaimed, " that can be seen, at 
 least, if not participated in. It looks familiar 
 and cheering." 
 
 I set my foot reluctantly upon our dirty thresh- 
 old, and, as I entered, saw a young woman sitting 
 within sewing. She looked so cleanly and whole- 
 some, that I set her down at once for the tenant of 
 the cabin. She was introduced as the married 
 daughter of our host, and the housekeeper afore- 
 said, a ceremony, by the way, which would never 
 have been performed but for another announce- 
 ment that followed it, and made me almost 
 embrace her in the joy it produced. We were to 
 eat at her table ! Judge of my relief, any one 
 who can, to be transferred from this dreadful 
 place, to be no more haunted by those loaves, to 
 get leave of absence from those stockings, and the 
 children, and the vile india-rubber cloth ! My 
 happiness seemed perfect ! I wanted to take my 
 young hostess by the hand and say. Let us leave 
 this place, and go to your own neat home. But 
 this would not do. I was obliged to restrain my 
 transports, and reconcile myself a little longer to 
 the apartment of her lady-mother. But, alas ! 
 true happiness is always brief, and mine was a 
 little briefer on this occasion than usual. It 
 suddenly occurred to me, that some place must 
 be provided to spend the night in, and the hints I 
 had heard of congregated sleepers among these 
 people, combined with the fact that there was but 
 one other room in the house, threw me into a 
 
 i 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 123 
 
 greater trepidation than I had yet experienced. 
 To settle the question at once, I asked the young 
 woman where my room was. 
 
 ** Room !" she replied, regarding me with evi- 
 dent surprise, " thee can't have a whole room, but 
 thy bed stands in tliarT 
 
 *' Show it me," I said, while a cold shudder 
 passed over my frame. 
 
 She led the way, and I followed to a room cor- 
 responding exactly, save the staircase and fire- 
 place, with the one we had left. There were three 
 beds in it, two occupying the front comers, and 
 one at the back. The latter was pointed out as 
 the one assigned to my use, and I thought, from 
 the tone in which it was done, that I might con- 
 sider myself fortunate if the whole of this were left 
 to me. Beside the beds, the apartment contained 
 four flour barrels standing in the comer fronting 
 mine, a cast-ofl" tin oven near them, two chairs, a 
 large bundle of old calicos and muslins lying under 
 my window, and a few bits of board covered with 
 fragments of broken plates, cups, et cet., with which 
 the young ladies before referred to, doubtless 
 amused their elegant leisure. The floor was not 
 so hopelessly bemired as that we had just left, but 
 it was strown with all descriptions of loose litter — 
 flour, meal, potato rinds, plum pits, apple cores, 
 chips, rags, feathers, et cet. The young woman 
 apologized for the disordered condition of the room. 
 But this was the least dreadful of the realities it pre- 
 sented to me. The other was enough to make the 
 greatest heroine that ever lived in romance, stand 
 aghast. I inquired who occupied the other beds. 
 
 " The boys sleeps in this hyur," was the reply, 
 
 <« and , the county sui'veyor, in this, when 
 
 he's hyur ; but that ain't more than oncet or twicet 
 a week,'* 
 
124 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 The tone in which these facts were communi- 
 cated was such as utterly to defy remonstrance or 
 appeal. The proprietor of a first-class hotel could 
 not have shown his best suite of rooms with less 
 expectation that they would be complained of. I 
 must demur to these arrangements, but where to 
 begin was the question. At last I observed that it 
 was so at war with all our eastern usages to sleep 
 in a room with other people, that I scarcely saw 
 how I should become reconciled to it. 
 
 " Thee'll soon git shet of that," said my host- 
 ess, " 'tain't of much account anyhow, and a body 
 gits so they don't mind it after a little." 
 
 " But the initiation," I said, *' is terrible. I 
 would rather have a couch on the floor of your 
 garret, or sit up in a chair all night, than sleep in 
 a room where there are two other beds occupied 
 by strangers." 
 
 " Oh, thee needn't mind the boys, they'll be 
 asleep long afore you go to bed, and up afore 
 
 you're awake, and I won't be here to-night. 
 
 He allowed he'd be gone till the middle of next 
 week. So thee needn't make thyself any more 
 trouble. I reckon thee hain't been in the country 
 long, has thee ?" 
 
 *' Not long enough," I replied, "to be accus- 
 tomed to this, and I never shall be. I don't intend 
 to be," I added, waxing somewhat warm at the 
 nature of the supposition. ** I shall never sleep in 
 that bed till some partition is thrown across the 
 room. I have some ideas of exclusiveness, which 
 shall not be outraged by any degree of necessity." 
 
 The good-natured creature laughed in my face. 
 
 "If I see thee next year at this time," said she, 
 " thee won't feel so." 
 
 " That may be," I replied, " though I doubt it 
 exceedingly. But how I may feel a year hence is 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 125 
 
 a matter of no consequence. The present is what 
 I care for. If I degenerate with the lapse of time, 
 I will lament it then, not exult in it now. Be as- 
 sured I can never attempt to sleep in that bed as 
 it now is. I only regret that there is not another 
 day between this and the sabbath. If there were, 
 I would show you what the ingenuity of a Yan- 
 kee girl could do. As it is, I shall live outdoors 
 most of the time till Monday morning, and then 
 you shall see." 
 
 ** Very well," replied my hostess, " but I reckon 
 thee won't care much about it after a little." 
 
 I had forgotten to say that before we left Prai- 
 rie Lodge, Mr. F. had purchased a little roan pony 
 for my progresses over the country, and that she 
 was the only living thing here, beside ourselves, 
 ir^which we felt any personal interest. We were 
 not, therefore, altogether so helpless as the great 
 conqueror after his ships were destroyed ; for 
 pony was still left, when our carriage returned ; 
 but for all practical purposes of escape we were 
 equally so, since the flight of two persons could 
 scarcely have been effected in any manner, with 
 such small means of locomotion, not to mention 
 trunks, valises, et cet. If any lady wonders how 
 pony finds a place in this arrangement for the night, I 
 will tell her. I contemplated dispatching a boy to 
 town on her to procure the wherewithal for my 
 temporary carpentering, and, as I stepped quickly 
 to the door for this purpose, the faithful creature, 
 who was feeding in the yard, came up and laid 
 her head in my hand, as if she would offer me any 
 service in her power. But night was too near at 
 hand ; I was obliged to abandon the enterprise 
 till Monday morning came. I, however, requested 
 (for ordering was no part of my prerogative there) 
 that the flour-barrels might be removed, the tin 
 l2 
 
126 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 oven set away, and the playhouse and bundles of 
 rags carried to the other side of the room. When 
 this was done, I borrowed a broom, and made clean 
 work with the flour, chips, et cet., that covered 
 my part of the floor. The trunks were then placed, 
 and so much done toward domiciliating in this un- 
 paralleled place. Never did anybody rest more 
 unwillingly than I from these labors. But tea 
 came, and the white cloth and shining dishes quite 
 reconciled me to the delay I was obliged to en- 
 dure. Besides, there was a glory in originating 
 and prosecuting such a scheme, to reward one for 
 submitting to a little restraint. I determined to 
 keep my own secret ; and the complacency with 
 which I sat up in the great naked room till a late 
 hour, and, finally, lay down in a wrapper to rest a 
 little before morning, excited no little wonder i« 
 the sharer of my vigils. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The Sabbath, spent in quiet wanderings through 
 the woods and fruit thickets, and reading on the 
 clean turf, and another night like that described, 
 brought us to the morning which I had so ardently 
 desired. No scrupulous housewife ever longed 
 more earnestly for the absence of the male part of 
 her household while her slaked lime was waiting, 
 and her tubs of water ready for the onset, than I., 
 till Mr. F., with many adieus and ceremonies, and 
 much condolence for my condition, at last took 
 his departure for the day. At the end of the next 
 three minutes my working toilet was finished, and 
 my labors commenced. I had bespoken a supply 
 of the necessary articles from the cabin, and having 
 cleared so much of the floor as I intended to occu- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 127 
 
 py, proceeded to put these cleansing agents to their 
 duty. Their efficiency exceeded my most sanguine 
 expectations. The floor came up from the super- 
 incumbent mass, with a distinctness which no one 
 would have anticipated. Blistered hands and lacer- 
 ated fingers were matters of no moment to one intent 
 upon a great purpose like mine. I toiled away, 
 therefore, in spite of a variety of these little inci- 
 dents, till the dinner summons came and found me 
 still in the high tide of successful effort. But the 
 room, for it had now become one, had undergone a 
 great change. A heavy partition of quilts doubled 
 on each other twice or thrice, had been run across 
 above the head of the bed, and the whole space 
 enclosed by them was exclusively mine ! The little 
 floor was covered with a piece of carpeting. The 
 two chairs were scoured, the window washed, and 
 the wooden work of the walls thoroughly cleansed. 
 Between the window and door was a space for a 
 mirror, and here I had set a toilet made of dry- 
 good boxes, and covered with brown linen damask. 
 The trunks were snugly stowed under the bed, 
 and I fancied, as I looked about, that I might safely 
 challenge any home of six hours' growth, for an 
 equal air of comfort and neatness. My door and 
 window looked out upon a green lawn, dotted with 
 the wild cherry and other trees, and still farther, 
 upon a rich and distant stretch of prairie and grove. 
 Now that I had brought affairs within to so im- 
 proved a condition, I could regard those without 
 with more complacency. Even the beauty of the 
 distant landscape was much enhanced by the envi- 
 ronments fi-om which I now beheld it ; and still 
 more, I suspect, by the better state of feeling 
 induced in myself by the latter. I piled my books 
 — the best companions of such a quiet retreat — 
 upon the toilet, which, by a curious, and I flatter 
 
128 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 myself ingenious, arrangement of tLe boxes, was 
 made to answer the purpose of toilet-table and 
 bureau, and dressing myself hastily, answered the 
 call to dinner. My hands smarted and ached with 
 the wounds they had received, and I felt a degree 
 of fatigue which made rest welcome, but a more 
 delightful feeling of satisfaction is rarely experien- 
 ced, than was mine when contemplating the result 
 of my morning's work. And then the anticipation 
 of Mr. F.'s surprise when he should come in, and 
 find such a snug, neat little home gi'own up since 
 morning ! My only sorrow on returning was that 
 there remained nothing else to be done. But I 
 borrowed a broken pitcher, and gathering such 
 wild flowers as could be found at that season, 
 placed it between two piles of books, and then sat 
 down to compose my mind for reading. 
 
 I had seen nothing of my neighbor in the next 
 room since the day previous, but how could I for- 
 bear inviting her to witness the superiority of 
 industry and order over her own miserable house- 
 wifery ] She seemed to have an idea of being 
 quite exclusive, so that I thought there could be no 
 risk in inviting her to look in upon my new quar- 
 ters. I confidently expected a burst of admiration, 
 or at least some hearty commendation of my in- 
 dustry. Judge then of my surprise, when the good 
 lady seated herself, and, after looking coolly about 
 her, exclaimed, " Wall, I reckon thee thinks it 
 looks better than it did before ! but I shouldn't 
 like so small a room!" Comment was unneces- 
 sary. I did not even name the wdndow which 
 would stand open all night, nor the door which 
 might remain ajar likewise, nor, bad as is the foul 
 air of a small bedroom, the things which were even 
 worse than that to me, but dismissed the old lady, 
 more than ever confirmed in the ooinion that she 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 129 
 
 was destitute of everything which could awaken in 
 me the least interest. 
 
 My young hostess was not equally stupid : she 
 appreciated the advantages I had gained, and par- 
 ticularly the satisfaction arising from a sense of 
 cleanliness in everything about me — a sensation 
 unknown to the other. She could likewise under- 
 stand something of the feelings which had prompted 
 my labors, and participate, to a certain extent, in 
 the joy of success. She loved to have her own 
 little cabin neat and orderly ; and so far there was 
 a bond of sympathy between us. Beside, she could 
 estimate the joy of the surprise which I was con- 
 tinually hovering over and studying to heighten ; 
 and this made her seem far more human than if 
 she had looked with indifference upon it. 
 
 At last the time came. Just as the sun was 
 setting behind the woods, pony came dashing 
 gaily up the hill, and in a moment more the 
 *' gude mon " stood in the door, looking very much 
 as if he had entered the wrong house. I pass 
 over the repetition of the details which I was 
 obliged to give, and the lamentations that were 
 taken up over my hands, and simply say, that we 
 found ourselves so happy under the new arrange- 
 ment, that the more commodious apartments of 
 Prairie Lodge were pined for less than we feared. 
 My principal regret was, that pony could not 
 walk in and share our comfort; but she frequently 
 came up to the door, and, putting in her head, 
 looked as if she were convinced that it was all 
 right, although the means of making it so were 
 not quite so apparent. I had more difficulty in 
 making arrangements for my morning ablutions 
 than anything else. Towels I could furnish my- 
 self; but the best ewer I could get was an old 
 pail, and the best basin, a tin one, holding about 
 9 
 
130 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 two quarts. These would have answered the 
 purpose very well, if I could have been left in 
 undisturbed possession of them. But they were 
 sure to disappear at least half a dozen times 
 during the day; and then it was exceedingly 
 difficult to track them. When found, too, they 
 must always be cleansed ; for no one could tell to 
 what uses they had been put during their absence. 
 I had several times, while thus engaged, met the 
 patriarch of the establishment, and thought he 
 cast an evil eye on my proceedings. But as I 
 knew no reason for his doing so, I had gone on in 
 all the consciousness of innocence, to assert, prac- 
 tically and theoretically, when occasion required, 
 my right to these articles. Judge, then, of our 
 astonishment, when, after bearing with his dis- 
 turbed spirit several days, the old gentleman took 
 my husband aside, and, after expressing himself 
 perfectly satisfied with our deportment, et cet., 
 added, " But I can't allow thee, nor thy wife, to 
 wash in my house. I reckon outdoors is good 
 enough for anybody; thar's a basin by the well, 
 and plenty of water in it ; and anybody that can't 
 wash thar, I expect mought as well go without." 
 
 Ridiculous as this may appear to the reader, 
 and does now to me, I scarcely knew at the time 
 whether to be most amused or indignant. 
 
 " I will wash in his house," I said, " so long as 
 I sleep in it, whether he is accustomed to it or 
 not. If the other ladies who have boarded here 
 were weak enough to yield to this barbarian 
 prejudice, I will not. Of that I can assure the 
 venerable gentleman, in one moment, if he wants 
 my decision. Does he think I shall sally forth 
 every morning, and stand at the well, waiting my 
 turn for that vessel, which lies on the ground all 
 day, and answers every conceivable purpose, from 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 131 
 
 a pig-trough to a washtub — for the baby's linen. 
 It is so completely encrusted with filth, that you 
 might safely defy a legion of chemists to name the 
 material of the original form. Out upon the old 
 savage. I'll maintain my separate establishment 
 in spite of him." 
 
 But as there were some four weeks yet re- 
 maining, it was thought prudent to indulge his 
 prejudices so far as to appear willing to comply 
 with them. Accordingly, after bathing and com- 
 pleting my morning toilet, I usually transferred 
 my basin from the wooden chair seat to the sill of 
 the door, and made a very circumstantial display 
 of a sham washing outside. If the patriarch 
 passed anywhere in the vicinity during this time, 
 I esteemed it particularly fortunate, and, if pos- 
 sible, advanced the basin a little further into the 
 outer world. This honest compliance brought its 
 reward; for although it did not quite meet his 
 views, he was pleased to express the pleasure it 
 afforded him " to see so much goodwill in the 
 young woman." Poor Mr. F. was obliged to 
 recompense my rebellion, by taking the basin to 
 the well, and performing ablutions equally super- 
 fluous there among the young gentlemen. 
 
 But it is time to introduce the reader more par- 
 ticularly to the senior personage. He was a dark 
 complexioned man, of some fifty-five years, with 
 an eye that had nothing peculiar about it when his 
 face was in repose, but which had a keen piercing 
 look when anything excited him. He bore the 
 name of an illustrious preacher of the sect to 
 which he claimed alliance, and had originated in 
 the same neighborhood ; but the branch of the 
 family to which he belonged had left Long Island 
 many years before, for " Virginny ;" and as their 
 fortunes declined, had gone farther west, till he 
 
132 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 now occupied the outpost in Illinois. He had 
 speculated himself into several fortunes which he 
 had lost by the same means ; was a shrewd calcu- 
 lator of his gains ; (but would risk them all when 
 a "right smart spec"" offered;) and had that pe- 
 culiar kind of industry, which led to continual 
 scheming, but to little manual labor. He loved 
 the country and his mode of life. But this feeling 
 was subsidiary to those already named. If he 
 could have schemed as well in an eastern city, he 
 would have relished life there ; and only found 
 occasional cause of complaint in the absence of 
 game, which he loved to shoot. He would never 
 have hesitated to place his family anywhere. An 
 introduction to the Court of St. James would have 
 flurried him less than a private dinner party does 
 many people. Himself an-ayed in his jeans suit, 
 and long furred hat, and Catharine in her ancient 
 pongee and quaker bonnet, he would have 
 "reckoned" they were "fixed enough for any- 
 body." He was tyrannical in his family, and 
 " allowed that boys was made to work," an 
 opinion in which his sons did not so heartily 
 concur, as to evince thereby the highest degree 
 of filial respect. 
 
 The daughter with whom we boarded, and the 
 eldest boy, a youth of sixteen, were the children of 
 a former wife, and, if rumor were to be trusted, did 
 not find the paternal fireside so agreeable as the 
 darlings of the second mother. The only dowry 
 which this daughter had received, was the name of 
 Sidney ; though as she said " she never know'd 
 that was a man's name till the Yankees come to 
 board thar." She was a good-natured girl, with 
 no great depth of feeling or thought, but all that 
 she had of both was expended on her coarse, long- 
 haired husband a Hooshier of the broadest stamp. 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 133 
 
 She appeared to have had her native buoyancy- 
 suppressed by some unnatural process in early 
 life, for her face was always grave, even in her 
 happiest moments. If she laughed it was a fleet- 
 ing laugh, gone as soon as it came, and succeeded 
 by a reproving expression, as if it were a thing to 
 be repented of. She had grown up in the most 
 abject ignorance. Reading could scarcely be in- 
 cluded in the catalogue of her accomplishments, 
 and writing was to her as mysterious as Egyptian 
 hieroglyphics. The simplest arts of cultivated life 
 were unknown to her, and she was at the same 
 time ignorant of those other branches of knowledge 
 which may be almost universally found among fe- 
 males of her class. Poor Sidney had, therefore, 
 few resources within herself, and fewer still in the 
 indulgence of the filial and fraternal affections. No 
 wonder then that what capacity she had for love 
 was concentrated on her husband. Beside, he 
 deserved it ; for though somewhat rough in the ex- 
 terior, his kindness was inexhaustible, and his faith 
 in ner perfection impregnable. They were really 
 pleasant models of domestic happiness. He had 
 more physical industry than his father-in-law ; the 
 forests of Indiana had perhaps cultivated it ; but 
 when the labors of the week were closed, and Sid- 
 ney had prepared an extra meal after breakfast on 
 Sunday morning, he would " gear up," and, seated 
 side by side in the immense Pennsylvania waggon, 
 they drove off to " meeting," or to some fi-iend's to 
 spend the day, and returned at night pleased with 
 themselves, with each other, and with the prospect 
 of returning next morning to their labors. They 
 were far happier with these rude enjoyments, than 
 thousands who live in luxury and ride in splendid 
 carriages, with liveried servants. 
 
 M 
 
134 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 For many comforts in the household affairs of 
 the little cabin, we were indebted to those who 
 had preceded us. Sidney had taken the title of 
 Mrs. the preceding year, and the festivities of the 
 occasion had been superintended by a family of 
 *' York girls," as she designated them. During 
 their progress she had been initiated into the mys- 
 teries of pound-cake, jumbles, and apple-tarts. 
 And these now constituted the principal delicacies 
 with which she tempted our appetites. It is need- 
 less to say that having only an imperfect knowledge 
 of the rule by which they were compounded, she 
 was not always successful in her attempts ; and as 
 we were little addicted to the consumption of the 
 articles when she was, her ingenuity was not 
 greatly taxed in these matters. Her style of serv^- 
 ing the cake was quite original. She shaved and 
 laid it on the plate as one would old cheese ; and 
 her notions of the quantity which should be in- 
 dulged in at once, were extremely moderate, not 
 covering more than one of these thin small slices. 
 This should be the rule at many other tables than 
 that of Sidney. 
 
 We fared very well for four weeks. My resi- 
 dence grew more and more pleasant as the summer 
 advanced. The blackberry and plum ripened all 
 around us, and afforded delicious desserts at break- 
 fast, dinner, and tea. I could gather any quantity 
 myself, in the grove and thicket below the house, 
 and used to spend many hours thus when Mr. F. 
 was in towm. The only drawback to these pleasant 
 rambles was the fear of snakes, and the danger 
 from these was more imaginary than real ; for I 
 never saw but one or two (and those were harm- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 135 
 
 less) in all my wanderings about the place. And 
 I may as well take this occasion to say that dangers 
 of this kind are very much exaggerated both in 
 books and the minds ef settlers on the prairies. I 
 resided nearly five years in the country, and spent 
 a large portion of my time abroad on foot, on 
 horseback, and in waggons, and was never once 
 menaced or frightened by a venomous or danger- 
 ous serpent. That there are many there, cannot 
 be disputed ; and so there are in all country re- 
 gions which I have ever visited. But if unmolested 
 they are mostly harmless ; and when a bite is re- 
 ceived, nature has an antidote immediately at hand. 
 You scarcely walk ten yards on the prairies with- 
 out passing several tufts of an herb, the leaf of 
 which is said by old settlers to be an infallible 
 remedy if applied within a short time. The bite 
 of the rattlesnake is, therefore, little dreaded among 
 those who understand this. In the rich bottom- 
 lands are two or three larger species whose speed 
 is equal to that of a horse. They sometimes give 
 the incautious traveler chase, and are dangerous, 
 from the heartiness of their embrace, when they 
 overtake him ; but there is little danger in the 
 prairies from these tenants. It takes time, how- 
 ever, to become convinced of this, and I, to make as- 
 surance doubly sure, made my sallies under the pro- 
 tection of a pair of boots, which, though they im- 
 peded my progress and threatened to forsake me 
 at every step, quieted the little fear I had, and left 
 me free to wander and look for something beside 
 snakes — a hateful search anywhere ! On one of 
 these excursions I was overtaken by a citizen who 
 was riding along the same road. Skirts were not 
 so long then as now, and I felt a painful conscious- 
 ness of my feet, that drove me to the tall grass to 
 await his disappearance. In my haste I nearly lost 
 
136 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 one of the boots, and had to stop and replace it 
 just as he was opposite me; but a beautiful flower 
 that was springing up where I stood, afforded a 
 graceful pretext for stooping, and so relieved the 
 awkwardness of my position. When he was out 
 of sight, I promised never again to wear the boots, 
 snakes or no snakes, a vow which I kept religiously 
 ever after. 
 
 I saw no company in my temporary home, ex- 
 cept the inmates of Prairie Lodge, who some- 
 times rode down and paid us brief visits. The 
 reception of strangers was out of the question in 
 my narrow apartment. Every night brought a 
 report of the progress of the house whose comple- 
 tion we were awaiting, and every morning sent 
 forth most fervent aspirations for the day when 
 its walls would be tenantable. Six weeks spent 
 in this retreat, seeing scarcely a face, save those of 
 our neighbors in the next room and cabin, made 
 me begin to feel that society would be welcome. 
 Beside books and my wanderings, the only amuse- 
 ment I had, was to make observations on the char- 
 acter and domestic arrangements of the elder lady. 
 The former was soon exhausted : the latter afforded 
 a more protracted employment. There w^as one 
 little mystery that I felt some curiosity to solve, 
 and that was how the house should have had so 
 cleanly an aspect on the Saturday when Mr. F. 
 first visited it, and been so incredibly the reverse 
 when we arrived. In due time the solution came. 
 The thrifty housewife had a regular rule for clean- 
 ing, which she conscientiously observed. No ac- 
 cident, as of storm outdoors or an upsetting within, 
 ever induced her to swerve from it. She washed 
 her floor every other Saturday, and Mr. F. had hit 
 the happy day. We were halfway between, and 
 hence the different complexion. But even these 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 137 
 
 cleanings were not such as to satisfy more scrupu- 
 lous housewives. Many an eastern dame would 
 not have hesitated to denounce them as mere pre- 
 tence ; and they always seemed to me to be made 
 more from the force of habit than from any sense 
 of duty or increased comfort. They served, how- 
 ever, to make sitting down in her room less dan- 
 gerous for a day or two, and so were very accept- 
 able. 
 
 I had been for several days dreading an invita- 
 tion to her table, and could only pray that, if it 
 must come, it might be on the afternoon of the 
 clean Saturday. But no such fortune awaited me. 
 It came in the middle of the last week, when the 
 disagreeableness had nearly reached its climax. 
 What could be done ? Excuse or evasion was 
 impossible there, under such convenient observa- 
 tion. If one could have become suddenly indis- 
 posed ; but that was an alternative to which I had 
 neither the patience nor artifice to resort. I had 
 no confidential friend to send for me, saying that 
 my presence was indispensable ; and after exam- 
 ining every loophole of escape, I gave up in de- 
 spair. Here was another act of semi-martyrdom 
 four or five hours in duration, and infinitely worse 
 than any I had suffered at Prairie Lodge. Deter- 
 mined, however, to endure as little as possible, I 
 
 stepped into the cabin and petitioned S to 
 
 share it. She readily consented, and seemed dis- 
 posed to make quite a formal thing of it, by putting 
 on her Sunday gown. At half-past one, the latest 
 moment she declared that we could wait, we pre- 
 sented ourselves in the good woman's room. The 
 resignation of a lamb going to the slaughter was 
 nothing compared to that into which I com- 
 pelled myself, as we took our seats. If the dirty 
 casket before us had been enriched with a single 
 m2 
 
138 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 gem of thought or feeling above what its exterior 
 appearance indicated, one might have forgotten its 
 uncomeliness in their hght. But the disagreeable- 
 ness had no such quaUfication. To sit a half day 
 with her, was to sit with the mere physical mate- 
 rial of a woman, put together in a somewhat 
 exceptionable style, and sadly soiled. The after- 
 noon wore away in discussions of the fruit harvest; 
 in some uninteresting reminiscences of life in Ohio ; 
 and a detailed account of the babyhood of her 
 promising daughters. Meantime the young ladies 
 were demonstrating their emancipation from this 
 period, by tumbling about in the grass before the 
 door, and imitating the cry of turkeys, grouse, 
 owls, et cet. They had the most jncorrigible love 
 of locomotion " upon all fours' Wherever business 
 or pleasure summoned them, unless great haste 
 were requisite, they journeyed in this unique style. 
 One could not avoid being reminded of a species 
 of animal to which they seemed allied by other 
 similarities as striking as this. 
 
 When tea-time approached, the dodger was 
 mixed and placed at the fire, the **salt risin" loaf 
 that had stood in the corner all the afternoon was 
 examined (with hands that had not been cleaned 
 since we entered), and put to baking ; and in due 
 time the india-rubber table-cover was garnished 
 with a variety of dishes, empty and filled, and we 
 were invited to take our places. Then came the 
 time that tried my stomach. There was nothing 
 on the table that was not of home manufacture ; 
 not even that last refuge of the distressed, a " store 
 cracker." The milk had passed through sundry 
 pails, strainers, and pans, so that it stood little 
 chance of being purer than the bread ; the butter 
 was not to be thought of by one who had seen the 
 churn, and the hands with which its contents were 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 139 
 
 removed ; the preserves were, if possible, more 
 impracticable than anything else ; the fried bacon 
 w^as too loathsome in itself; and the chicken radi- 
 ated pin feathers from every part of its surface ; 
 beside having gone through w^ith all the stages of 
 preparation in our presence. Graham himself 
 never took a more temperate meal in point of quan- 
 tity than I on that memorable afternoon. I had 
 made up my mind to devote myself exclusively to 
 a piece of bread. I attempted the crust, but there 
 was the table-cover on which it had been kneaded 
 staring me in the face : then the inside ; but this 
 was soft, and it was impossible to swallow it with- 
 out remembering the hands that had been thrust 
 through and through it. The hostess pressed me 
 in the kindest manner to eat. Dish after dish was 
 offered and rejected, till, at last, when my stomach 
 was on the eve of uttering a protest that could not 
 be mistaken, I withdrew, and retreated as hastily 
 as decency would pennit to my own room. Scarcely 
 was my equanimity restored, when a considerable 
 bustle arose in the apartment I had just left ; and 
 presently one of the girls came in to say that the 
 baby had a fit. I stepped in, and found the child 
 lying in a stupor upon its mother's lap. She was 
 chafing his feet, hands, and temples alternately, 
 and appeared more like an animate being than I 
 had ever seen her. In a short time the boy 
 revived, and his mother then informed me that he 
 was " often took that way, but he soon got shet of 
 it." The table was still standing, and she ordered 
 the elder girl, who was in her favorite attitude be- 
 fore the door, to stop " cutting up," and come in 
 and clear it away. " And git the basin," added 
 the fastidious woman, " and wash the dishes off: 
 thee can do it as well as I, if thee's a mind to." 
 I sat a few moments, till the poor baby seemed 
 
140 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 quite recovered, and then rose to return to my 
 own room. One might suppose, after what I had 
 seen, that no evidences of uncleanliness could sur- 
 prise me, yet when I cast my eye at the table in 
 passing it, and saw the cups from w^hich we had 
 just drank piled into the basin that had been com- 
 mended to my husband for our morning ablutions, 
 I was obliged to confess a new cause of wonder. 
 The sight drove my digestive apparatus to open 
 rebellion. I fled as from an embodied pestilence ; 
 and the whole affair was soon settled, by my re- 
 signing all claim to the few morsels of bread I had 
 swallowed, and promising never to abuse myself 
 thus again. But I little knew what fate had in 
 reserve for us. The week before we left, some 
 near relative of our young landlord w^as taken ill, 
 and his wife was obliged to leave us to the tender 
 mercies of via chere mere. It would have been 
 seven days of a fast unbroken, at least at her table, 
 if w^e could not have been supplied with boiled 
 eggs, plums, and blackberries. The former could 
 not be contaminated, and the latter we could gather 
 for ourselves. So that affairs were still sufferable, 
 and the more so that relief was in speedy pros- 
 pect. Indeed, those days might have been quite 
 agreeable, but for the necessity of appearing at 
 table. One could not take a meal in a private 
 room without giving offence, and thus producing 
 a state of things that would by no means enhance 
 our comfort. 
 
 I had nearly forgotten to mention one very novel 
 feature of our entertainment in this place. Our 
 ** old man," as he was familiarly designated by his 
 sons, had been, and in truth still was, so great a 
 lover of sport, that he had at one time kept a large 
 band of dogs for the indulgence of this taste. They 
 were now dwindled to four sturdy fellows, who 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 141 
 
 seemed, like the few retainers of some decayed 
 knight, to mourn the days that were gone. Their 
 leader was a noble old brown dog, who bore the 
 name of Lion ; I prefixed Coeiir, and made him a 
 hero. He was a famous fellow, of lordly presence 
 and magnanimous spirit. His supremacy over 
 his brethren was never disputed. In all quarrels 
 he was the final umpire. In all expeditions he 
 was the commander. In all difficulties with foreign 
 powers, he was the diplomatist, and his terms were 
 never dissented from by the democracy. But not- 
 withstanding this confessed greatness, Coeur de 
 Lion wore a sorrowful expression, and, except in 
 periods of excitement, walked humbly about as if 
 conscious that the sun of his glory had set. He 
 looked an Othello, his "occupation gone." He 
 was the patriarch of a race whose power was 
 diminishing, whose greatness was decaying before 
 his eyes, and how could he be other than melan- 
 choly ] There were seasons however when he 
 seemed to enjoy partial relief from this oppression. 
 Moonlight nights were the chosen of these. The 
 silence, the cessation of man from those plebeian 
 labors which no well-bred dog can share, the par- 
 tial light, friendly to illusions elsewhere, as well 
 as in the mind of Cceur de Lion, all favored the 
 revival of olden memories and the imaginary par- 
 ticipation in scenes of bygone power and useful- 
 ness. On these occasions he was wont to stalk 
 about in a contemplative mood, not suffering his 
 followers to be heard, and scarcely to be seen, till 
 night had fairly set in and the moon rode high, the 
 undisputed source of light. 
 
 His friends were then summoned ; and after 
 consultation, one or two, as the case might de- 
 mand, were dispatched to the woods, and the 
 noble leader with the remaining force took up his 
 
142 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 Station near the house. In a few minutes the 
 scouts commenced their reports, and the replies 
 and instructions began to be sent forth from head- 
 quarters. This always continued, each waxing 
 warmer as their duties seemed to grow more real, 
 till the din brought the " old man" suddenly to his 
 feet, and the ignominious " git out !" repeated two 
 or three times with increasing emphasis, and a 
 most irreligious expletive at the end, silenced the 
 home department. On such occasions, Coeur de 
 Lion's ears and tail dropped suddenly ; and look- 
 ing at his company with a mournful resignation, he 
 led them away, the picture of abject and hopeless 
 shame. It was doubtless mortifying to him beyond 
 measure ; but obedience was one of his many ex- 
 alted virtues. He could not have been guilty of 
 its opposite to save the whole canine race. Coeur 
 de Lion was no noisy radical. He preferred dis- 
 grace and suffering under the existing order, to 
 reform in defiance of it. But there was a difficulty 
 in enforcing this rigid discipline, of which he was 
 not the master when his forces were divided. He 
 could compel the party under his immediate com- 
 mand, to silence ; but the scouts were not so easily 
 reduced. Distance was favorable to the mainte- 
 nance of the authority which had been delegated 
 to them ; beside which it was impossible, without 
 a personal interview, to inform them that no more 
 reports could be responded to that night. This 
 could not be had without leaving the post which 
 he had pledged himself to maintain, and thus poor 
 Coeur de Lion, placed between an imperative order 
 on one hand, and the calls for his opinion to be 
 audibly expressed growing every moment louder 
 and more pressing on the other, was in a most pit- 
 iable state of perplexity. He ran from one side 
 of the house to the other ; he snuffed the wind, 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 143 
 
 and scented the grass, and at every renewed call 
 from the woods seemed on the point of bursting 
 forth again into oral communication with the dis- 
 tant party. At last he grew desperate ; and, hope- 
 less of restoring order while he was dumb, sent 
 forth a sharp and brief command to *' come in." 
 This astonished the other division, and always led 
 to some inquiry into the cause of the order. Dis- 
 ciplinarian as he was, it was impossible for him to 
 produce perfect obedience without a word of ex- 
 planation ; and while he was giving this, footsteps 
 were again heard, the door opened, and another 
 shameful " git out !" issued, followed by the irrepa- 
 rable ignominy of a broomstick, an old hat, or a 
 billet of wood, to enforce it. And then poor Coeur 
 de Lion, broken in spirit, sorrowful, disgraced in 
 his own eyes and those of his followers, slunk away 
 by long, slow steps around the corner of the house, 
 and was no more seen or heard till the following 
 morning. His friends, left to the discouragement 
 of reporting to a silent camp, usually came in about 
 half an hour after; and having learned the true 
 cause of the apparent neglect with which they had 
 been treated, received apologies, and all retired to 
 rest. 
 
 Such scenes diversified the early hours of nearly 
 every moonlight night. When they were con- 
 ducted with spirit, and one was not too far pledged 
 to Morpheus, they became a source of much mer- 
 riment. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Our house progressed more moderately than we 
 expected ; but at last, to my great joy, it was within 
 three days of completion. I was anticipating the 
 
144 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 pleasure of having a whole room, and the innu- 
 merable little appurtenances of comfort " thereunto 
 belonging," when one day Mr. F. returned from 
 his office much earlier than usual, and informed 
 me that our apartment was already occupied by 
 others, and that he had taken a tenement, and 
 determined, with my concurrence, to commence 
 housekeeping. Here was a most unexpected state 
 of things ! I was as ignorant of the great art of 
 housekeeping as if I had been a child instead of a 
 woman. But that which so disqualified me for 
 undertaking it, made me all the more ready to 
 begin ; so that fifteen minutes' pondering over the 
 proposition made it seem even pleasanter than our 
 original plan. I was ready to go the next day, or 
 even that, if it were practicable. " But the house 
 — what kind of one was it, how large, how many 
 rooms 1 which way did it fi'ont ? was it painted, 
 finished, had it a garden, et cet. V All these 
 questions were answered in a breath. It was a 
 small house with two rooms, fronted south, stood 
 back from the street, leaving a fine yard, which, 
 however, was not yet fenced, and there was any ex- 
 tent of land back, for a garden. The front room was 
 not finished, but would be in two days, and the 
 house cleaned, ready for moving. Two days were 
 left for preparation, and though I had nothing to 
 prepare, I was exceedingly busy. Meantime, on 
 Mr. F.'s return each day, I could not but fancy 
 that he had very much the air of a man who had 
 been engaged in some severe labor, but I ques- 
 tioned him in vain to find out w^hat it was. I was 
 quite too inexperienced myself to come to the 
 correct conclusion : the shrewdest guess I could 
 make being that he was buying furniture, &c. 
 to save me the trouble after my arrival. On the 
 morning of the third day, the house was reported 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 145 
 
 to be ready, and having packed my partition, 
 taken up my carpet, and undressed my toilet., I 
 stepped into the waggon, and in twenty minutes 
 
 made my entrance into the town of , and my 
 
 debut as housekeeper. 
 
 I must give my own description of this theatre 
 of my future exploits ; for the one given by Mr. F. 
 is too meagre to do justice to the place. We 
 alight at the back door of a building, s-o small that 
 I fancy it is one of our outbuildings, till the sight 
 of some chairs, turned helter-skelter over each 
 other, and a Franklin stove standing within, con- 
 vinces me that this is the veritable house. It was 
 reported to be small, and I do not find the report 
 exaggerated. The door by which we enter is so 
 disproportioned to the house, that one thinks it 
 was designed to allow the house itself to walk out. 
 It is made of heavy rough oak boards, and parts 
 in the middle, as if it opened into a carriage-house. 
 It is altogether one of the most extraordinary of 
 doors ; but this is explained by reference to the 
 fact, that the building has once been used for a 
 grocery store. The adjacent lot, on the right as 
 we enter, is occupied by a gaping cellar, all un- 
 covered, and affording, therefore, readier ingress 
 than egress to sundry small pigs, chickens, et cet., 
 who perambulate the vicinity. Its walls, however, 
 are so weather-washed, that one of them offers a 
 practicable way of escape when the wits of the 
 small prisoners are sufficiently collected to try it. 
 Beyond, on the same side, the near view is diver- 
 sified by the rears of several wooden stores of 
 different lengths, the ground about each being 
 picturesquely ornamented with broken crockery, 
 soiled sheets of wrapping paper, rifled boxes, 
 and crates. On the left, is a row of three 
 buildings, which were Eifterwards called " Globe 
 10 N 
 
146 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 Row," from the fact that the " Globe Hotel" was 
 opened in the one farthest from us. They contain 
 a room each and an attic. The middle one is 
 occupied by our nearest neighbors, the family of a 
 worthy mechanic recently from Philadelphia. The 
 old lady's first call was made in about half an hour 
 after our arrival, and accompanied by the tender 
 of a barrel of rain-water, a kindness which those 
 only can appreciate who have undertaken to clean 
 such a house with lime-water, and that to be 
 brought a distance of some dozen rods. Now 
 that I am speaking of water, I may as well add, 
 that there was no well belonging to our house, and 
 the nearest one was at the distance just named. 
 
 Thus much for the view from the back door. I 
 should add, that all these buildings were unen- 
 closed, and thus presented temptations which 
 wrought lamentable corruption in the morals of 
 the swine. Young pigs were thus tempted, nay, 
 heartlessly allured into all manner of offences 
 which grow out of too close an investigation of 
 pails, kettles, boxes, mops, brooms, and other 
 articles that usually consort at the back doors of 
 dwellings which have neither closet, cellar, cham- 
 ber, nor entry. 
 
 But I must leave moralizing, and finish my 
 picture. "We shall have to pass through the house 
 to get a front view, and on our way may as well 
 take a cursory glance at its finish, proportion, and 
 contents. The entire tenement is sixteen feet by 
 twenty. It has a door and window in each end, 
 and a partition of very thin boards dividing it into 
 two rooms. One of these is nine feet deep, the 
 other eleven. The preponderance in size has 
 been given to the rear apartment, which is finished 
 inside with boards of the same description as those 
 outside, and put on in the same manner ; except 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 147 
 
 that, instead of lapping, they do not quite meet, 
 and therefore hold out the most unlimited invita- 
 tions to winds and vermin, to enter and examine 
 the premises. Nearly opposite the doorway, foi 
 as yet there is no door, which leads to the other 
 room, stands a Franklin stove, making every 
 possible effort to look social, as if it had been au 
 old acquaintance in some of the pleasant sitting- 
 rooms of the east. But it appears to great disad- 
 vantage, being besmeared with a mixture of paste 
 and tar, with which Mr. F. has been trying to 
 fasten strong brown paper over the cracks in the 
 ceilings. Half a dozen green wooden chairs stand 
 about, trying to give a home look to the room. 
 But some appear to have become disgusted with 
 the effort, and turned themselves on their heads, 
 in the laps of their neighbors. 
 
 We pass through into the next room. This is 
 got up in very creditable style. The proportions, 
 to be sure, are not just what one may call elegant, 
 being sixteen feet one w^ay and nine the other. 
 But the walls are plastered, and there is a very 
 large front door, with a very small window beside 
 it, and a narrow side door, which affords an ad- 
 vantageous view of the cellar aforesaid, and the 
 dead wall of a brown framed store, about thirty 
 feet in length, beyond it. But the grand prospect 
 is from the front. Here is the little niche left 
 between the grocery next door, and Globe Row, 
 which will be a front yard when there is a fence 
 thrown across it. At present it is a very interest- 
 ing area of black soil, on which the vegetation has 
 been so often disturbed by ploughing matches be- 
 tween gentlemen who combine in themselves all 
 the advantages of team, plough, and driver, that 
 there is not a blade on its surface. Beyond lies 
 the pride of the town — the Public Square — an 
 
148 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 open space of ten acres, which has had trees 
 enough lithographed for it to cover it three times 
 with a dense forest, but which yet remains an 
 obstinate and ungrateful piece of prairie turf. 
 Still beyond this, is a hollow, or slough, which 
 traverses the centre of the town from east to west; 
 and divides it into " Trade end," and " Court 
 end." The latter is on the opposite side, and, 
 exclusive of a few straggling houses, contains a 
 large two-story framed building, without a chim- 
 ney, painted white, and denominated the Court 
 House. Here the ministers of justice assemble 
 twice a year, to terrify honest and peaceable 
 citizens, and annoy rogues who are less adroit 
 than their compeers. That other appendage of 
 civilization — the jail — is in another part of the 
 county. The last man who was in it, after stay- 
 ing some four weeks, begged the jailer to excuse 
 him from keeping the key any longer for him, and 
 assured him that he should take pleasure in trans- 
 acting any little business he might have in the part 
 of the state to which he was bound ! 
 
 But this by the way. The few remaining evi- 
 dences of public enterprise will hardly bear notice 
 here ; so we will omit further description, and 
 return to our house, which is at the opposite 
 extremity of the town. Upon a more deliber 
 ate examination, I find it has neither cellar noi 
 chamber. The entire establishment, including 
 the privilege of bringing water from a distant 
 neighbor and cultivating any degree of intimacy 
 which fancy might dictate with the swine of the 
 town, most of whom were distinguished for their 
 pedestrian powers, consists of these sixteen feet 
 by twenty, inclosed within the four walls already 
 described. Mr. F. had, it is true, endeavored 
 to avail himself of a trap-door in the back room 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 149 
 
 by making an excavation beneath it sufficient to 
 contain a tirkin of butter or a small basket of vege- 
 tables. But this did not promise to be eminently- 
 serviceable, inasmuch as one foot of the Franklin 
 stood upon the corner of the door, so that the lat- 
 ter could never be opened without first swinging 
 the former round ; a process not easy of accom- 
 plishment, and attended with imminent risk to the 
 pipe. The floors were thoroughly wet, and exhib- 
 ited every evidence of having been recently visited 
 with other implements of cleaning than those usu- 
 ally employed by females. But they were still far 
 from clean ; and we addressed ourselves therefore, 
 broom and cloth in hand, to bring affairs to a more 
 wholesome state. If any delicate lady asks how 
 I could have undertaken the scrubbing myself, I 
 reply, that if I had not, no one would. No consid- 
 eration could have procured the assistance of a 
 stout Irish or colored woman, because none such 
 were there. I might have sat myself down, folded 
 my hands, and wept over the disorder ; but that 
 would never have brought order out of it. A much 
 pleasanter and more efficient method was the one 
 I adopted. It cleaned and curtained my windows, 
 brought my stove out from the rubbish which cov- 
 ered it, made my chairs fit for use, and restored 
 the floors to a comfortable degree of cleanliness 
 before sunset. Our first meal under my auspices, 
 consisted of crackers, cheese, and cold water, served 
 on the lid of my bureau toilet. Our first night's 
 rest, and welcome rest it was too, was taken on a 
 straw bed laid in the six green chaii's. 
 
 The next day advanced my housekeeping oper- 
 ations very much. My closet, consisting of four 
 short pine shelves, was built in a corner of the 
 back room and filled with dishes. My hollow 
 ware was purchased and put in order. My floors 
 n2 
 
159 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 were visited with another deluge of hot water and 
 soap. Still the bedstead and table came not, and 
 housekeeping was necessarily imperfect, to a cer- 
 tain extent, without them. Making purchases is 
 not the same thing at the west as here. One does 
 not go out to select sofas, chairs, bureaus, toilet 
 stands, mirrors, cai-pets, tables, et cet., but to take 
 such as can be found, and consider it lucky to find 
 one article or set of the kind required. The ques- 
 tion, too, is not how much you shall buy, but how 
 little. Because, where shall you put it when it 
 comes to you 1 This requires calmer judgment 
 than any other part of the business. In my little 
 box I could not have entertained twelve persons 
 in any manner, unless they had been so good-na- 
 tured that part of them would have remained with- 
 out half the time. Yet I must purchase a dinner 
 and tea set for twelve, to cumber the frail shelves 
 of ray small closet. Dining, breakfast, and tea 
 plates, at least half of which had not the remotest 
 prospect of coming into use, were therefore stored 
 away, to the imminent risk of the whole. 
 
 These injudicious purchases gave me much 
 trouble. My shelves were the favorite resort of 
 whole troops of mice, to whose obtuse senses the 
 volume of experience was a sealed book. For 
 though they explored every aperture and crevice 
 daily, and found not the slightest morsel to gratify 
 the appetite withal, they returned each day as 
 eager and expectant as before. Nothing but per- 
 sonal inspection satisfied them, and nearly as often 
 as this was repeated, I had to follow it with the 
 application of water and soap. Before a month 
 was over, I wished my unlucky dishes fairly back 
 in the shopkeeper's hands. 
 
 In due time the bedstead and table arrived. A 
 earpet was found large enough for the fi-ont room, 
 
LCFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 151 
 
 and a piece to make the back one look comforta- 
 ble ; some parlor chairs, a mirror, and bureau 
 were obtained. My toilet was re-dressed, a door 
 was made for the space between the rooms which 
 had hitherto been curtained ; and thus the whole 
 affair became in time quite respectable. Our family 
 consisted of Mr. F., myself, pony, and another 
 member who ought to have been introduced to the 
 reader before. This member bore the cognomen 
 of Susannah, a name which was bestowed in con- 
 sideration of her circumspect and exemplary cha- 
 racter. Susannah belonged to the Swine family ; 
 but it seemed a melancholy pen^erseness in nature 
 to have placed her there. She was a pattern of 
 all the virtues that ever dwelt in her race. Comely 
 in person, grave and dignified in manner, she 
 carried in her whole deportment that air of humble 
 merit that quite won the hearts of beholders. Su- 
 sannah made but little acquaintance with the town 
 swine. Their corrupt morals and lawless habits 
 seemed to disgust her. She never joined their for- 
 aging expeditions, never put her nose into a pail, 
 nor looked in at a door as if she thought she had 
 a right to enter. She always advised against the 
 scaling of garden fences and the stealthy visiting of 
 neglected corn-fields. Susannah was therefore not 
 so popular among pigs as many who were less 
 worthy. She was voted an aristocrat, a Tory — a 
 pig of no spirit — a pig whose example, if followed, 
 would reduce the intelligent, enterprising, and 
 highly-favored pig democracy of the town to a spirit- 
 less set of man-servers ; a set who would eat when 
 food was given them, and mind their own business 
 at other times. What could be more disgraceful or 
 dastardly '? Whence then would come that large 
 liberty which pigs of talent, courage, and enterprise 
 had wrought for themselves, in spite of dogs, fences, 
 
 / 
 
152 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 broomsticks, and hot water — those infamous agents- 
 of wrong and oppression, against which their an- 
 cestors and themselves had so long and fearlessly 
 protested '? Such addresses, coming from the in- 
 fluential leaders among the pigocracy, frequently 
 led to Susannah's expulsion by violence from their 
 circles. Cries of " down with the advocate of or- 
 der !" " put her out !" " long live the enterprising 
 democracy !" were heard, and poor Susannah ran 
 forth sorrowful and alone, a persecuted victim of 
 principle. Being of the feminine gender, she had 
 no opportunity to make head against these enemies. 
 She knew they were demagogues, but what then ] 
 The very principles for which she suffered forbade 
 her overstepping the bounds of order and taking 
 the field against them. So she grew up from early 
 pighood to maturity, preserving her integi-ity in 
 the heart of a corrupt community, a flower wasted, 
 a model lost. But exemplary as she was, Susan- 
 nah had some enemies among the biped citizens ; 
 some, I suspect, who bore in mind that very homely 
 adage, in which it is alleged that silence facilitates 
 the process of deglutition ; and at last she met her 
 death at the hand of one of these illiberals. She 
 was found one morning to have been assassinated 
 in the vicinity of the sheriff''s office, the place hav- 
 ing been chosen, doubtless, to give a legal coloring 
 to the act. She was lamented as her worth de- 
 served among those who knew her, and her de- 
 scendants are to this day the most respectable 
 pigs in the town. This passing tribute was due 
 from one who knew her many virtues. The ?}io- 
 rale of the picture may often apply to a higher 
 race. 
 
 Pony was quite a different personage from this. 
 She was neat and compact in person, with a 
 freckled complexion, that looked as if she had been 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 153 
 
 thoroughly wetted and then covered with unbolted 
 wheat meal. She was mirthful, affectionate, and 
 withal not a little eccentric. Her favorite place 
 of feeding was on the prairie, in the rear of the 
 house. There she stalked very demurely about, 
 cropping the rich grass till she was filled, and then, 
 all on a sudden, she raised her head, snuffed the 
 air, pricked up her ears, and stood an instant, as 
 if listening to some mysterious communication, 
 when she started at the top of her speed for the 
 house. On she came, like the wind, looking as if 
 she had something very wonderful to tell; but 
 when I met her at the door and inquired what it 
 was, she laughed in my face and said "salt!" 
 When she had eaten a quantity from my hand, she 
 would lay her head against my shoulder, and apol- 
 ogize in the playfulest manner for the artifice. 
 Pony, as might have been expected, was a great 
 favorite among ladies and gentlemen who were 
 fond of equestrian exercises. Her docility of dis- 
 position and rocking-chair gait made her very 
 popular. I could throw my rein over the horn of 
 the saddle, take a book when I did not care to look 
 about, and had no companion to entertain me, and 
 gallop up to Prairie Lodge any morning and back 
 at evening, never uttering a word, except in a 
 pleasant colloquial way, the whole distance. If I 
 dropped my book, discovered a flower or other 
 natural object which I desired to inspect more 
 closely than was practicable from her back, T in- 
 formed her of it, sprung from the saddle, and left 
 her to feed till I was ready to remount. This 
 was not so difficult a process as one might sup- 
 pose it would be on the open plain. The distance 
 from the ground to her back was very trifling ; and 
 I think she would have looked with contempt on 
 any lady who could not have accomplished it, with- 
 
154 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 out aid, at a single spring. If you failed, however, 
 her contempt never overcame her patience ; she 
 merely looked around, as if she thought the failure 
 ought to have excited your own indignation, and 
 putting her head to the grass, left you to repeat it 
 at your leisure. When all was ready, away she 
 galloped again, looking about as if she enjoyed the 
 prospect as much as yourself, and would like, if 
 ehe had time, to point out some features of the 
 scene which might escape your notice. 
 
 We loved pony, and so would any one who had 
 known her as we did. She had but a single weak- 
 ness, and that was one which she shared with 
 many of our own species. It was a dread of 
 showers, more particularly those which were ac- 
 companied by electrical phenomena. On these 
 occasions she would run to the house at full speed, 
 and standing close under its lee, if it happened to 
 be on the windowed side, look in so entreatingly, 
 that I was aljnost moved to open the door and in- 
 vite her in, or go out and share her trouble. There 
 she would stand, cowering and shaking before the 
 wind and the thunder-peals till it was all over, 
 and then trot away to crop the moistened grass. 
 The words of an old lady who had enjoyed some 
 opportunity of becoming acquainted with her mer- 
 its, are the briefest and most appropriate eulogy 
 that can be uttered to her memory. *' She was an 
 ornament to her speeshy.'^ 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 But it is time I left my domestic circle, and in- 
 troduced to the reader some of our neighbors and 
 fellow citizens, and their doings. Our town had 
 been settled two years before, by a colony com- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 155 
 
 pounded of New-Yorkers, Bostonians, Providence 
 people, and a few random Yankees and adventu- 
 rers, that were said by an ancient SucJcer lady in 
 the neighborhood to have been " hove in to fill 
 up." They had organized in the east and come 
 to the west at random, knowing that there was 
 plenty of territory there whereof to manufacture 
 farms, cities, et cet. The honor of being the shire- 
 town of this large and wealthy county was then 
 vibrating between two villages, both of which were 
 settled mostly by western people. The Yankee 
 colony came, took this tract of unbroken prairie, 
 laid out a square mile into lots (the wealthiest men 
 holding the contiguous farms under promise not to 
 refuse room in case the town should outgrow its 
 original boundaries) ; and by the aid of a little cap- 
 ital, some notes of hand, more brains, and still 
 more cunning, bore off the prize for which the 
 open-mouthed Kentuckians, Tennesseeans, and 
 Buckeyes were disputing. What equivalent was 
 offered the Commissioners, who were appointed to 
 select the most eligible spot, for their choice of 
 this, was never known to the public ; but it has since 
 appeared that they were pretty " shrewdly done" to 
 a considerable amount in promises, the payment 
 of which was afterward refused on the plea of 
 want of consideration ! One may guess, therefore, 
 that we have a pretty sharp population, and he 
 will not very widely err. It is but rendering 
 honor where it is due, however, to say that most 
 of this kind of public spirit dwells in a few of the 
 original company. The majority are thriving, in- 
 dustrious mechanics, farmers, and tradesmen, who, 
 possibly, contributed their quota for such purposes 
 when called upon, but otherwise pursued their 
 occupation peaceably— content with their daily 
 gains and the prospect of a rise in the price of 
 
156 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 property. The latter formed by far the larger 
 item in their expectations of becoming capitalists. 
 The most matter-of-fact citizen who had paid six 
 hundred dollars for a choice lot at the sales, could 
 not but see his money doubled, interest included, 
 within the first two years. Nearly every citizen 
 owned one, two, or three such lots, besides farms 
 of immense value in the vicinity, so that we had 
 also a wealthy population. 
 
 In politics the balance was pretty nearly equal 
 in point of numbers between the two great parties. 
 The four leading spirits, those on whom the re- 
 sponsibility of public efforts rested, were equally 
 divided. But like true men and patriots, they suf- 
 fered no party questions to divide or weaken their 
 efforts in the common cause of personal aggran- 
 dizement. In truth, political considerations among 
 them were rarely suffered to outrun community of 
 interest. Not that men were less rank politicians 
 there than elsewhere, but causes that affected the 
 price of town lots were superior to all other consid- 
 erations ; and as this was the great point on which 
 golden expectation turned, nothing was allowed to 
 interfere with it. Our religious zeal was much 
 more heated and less suppressed. Sectarian piety 
 ran high among the professing heads of the com- 
 munity ; and, as people who buy town property, et 
 cet., for the most part care little whether a man has 
 any religion, and still less what particular sect he 
 adopts (his choice in these matters not affecting his 
 vote), we were less restrained in the expression of 
 tiiese opinions than of those which bore on the 
 more embarrassing question of politics. Orthodox 
 and heterodox, therefore, were terms in frequent 
 use among us. The precise meaning attached to 
 each was known only to the initiated (if indeed to 
 them) ; but this very indefiniteness was one of their 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 157 
 
 greatest charms. Nothing more restrains vitupe- 
 ration and combat than an exact use of words. A 
 terra which has great latitude of meaning is much 
 more easily hurled at an antagonist, than if it were 
 precisely defined and did not touch his case. As 
 in metaphysics, imagination is made to cover every 
 phenomenon for which no other cause can be as- 
 signed ; so in our discussions of character and 
 morals, orthodoxy and heterodoxy were made the 
 sources of all sin, or the parents of all virtue. Un- 
 like political opinions, these extended to the femi- 
 nine population, and were, I rejoice to say, the 
 single cause of whatever dissension or difficulty 
 existed among us. Let me not be understood to 
 rejoice that this existed, but that it was the only 
 one known among us. 
 
 The most important personage in all village 
 affairs was one of our nearest neighbors, who, for 
 certain good and sufficient reasons, I shall call 
 Mrs. Esculapius. The reader will suppose now, 
 that Mrs. Esculapius was the wife of the physician, 
 but his sagacity is entirely at fault in the suppo- 
 sition. The occupation of her husband is a matter 
 of no moment whatever to us. If it were, it would 
 exceed his own importance in his family, for never 
 man had less. The law that size is, cceteris paribus , 
 a measure of power, has been much discussed of 
 late years ; I only wish those who doubt its truth 
 could have seen the complete illustration of it 
 affi^rded by these worthy citizens. In no fact that 
 ever fell under my observation was it more fully 
 demonstrated, than in the relative size and power 
 of Mrs. Esculapius and her husband. Both these 
 qualities were in the extreme of contrast in them. 
 He was the smallest of men, she at the opposite 
 end of the scale among women. He was less of a 
 master in his household than any other man, she 
 O 
 
158 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 quite the reverse. He was good-natured; this 
 did not spoil the contrast. He was submissive, 
 she imperative. He was timid and retiring, she 
 was always foremost in every domestic movement. 
 But beside these points of difference, Mrs, Escu- 
 lapius possessed some other peculiarities which 
 will, if permitted, stand alone. She was endowed 
 with a sense of hearing, the acuteness of which 
 was perfectly astounding : neither walls nor dis- 
 tance offered any impediment to it. She knew as 
 well the topics under discussion at her neighbor's 
 houses, and the opinions expressed upon them, as 
 if she had been present. She could report all 
 these opinions the next day with as much certainty 
 as if she had participated in the utterance of them 
 herself. Her optical sense was equally keen ; 
 and, what was still more extraordinary, both these 
 wondrous powers could be used at once ; and 
 hence she could report the expressed opinions, 
 and the unuttered thoughts, of persons in any 
 part of the town. We should have voted the 
 phenomenon magnetic, but for two reasons ; first, 
 we were all unbelievers ; and, secondly, a stronger 
 faith in the possible than any of her friends exer- 
 cised, would have been necessary to believe that 
 she was ever in a magnetic state. For no one 
 ever saw her asleep. But all conjecture and 
 speculation of this sort were rendered superfluous 
 by reference to the plain demonstrable fact, that, 
 at the time when she was taking notes for these 
 reports, she was always pursuing her ordinary 
 household avocations ; to all appearance as unab- 
 stracted by such employment, as any person to 
 whom this power was denied. 
 
 The only circumstance which threw any light 
 upon this wonderful faculty, was the necessity of 
 waiting till the next day, and possibly till the 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 159 
 
 second, before she proceeded to report. It was 
 suggested, that a troop of fairies had chosen her 
 for their general post-office, and were making her 
 the victim of their harmless pranks. If any more 
 ingenious solution can be offered, the case still 
 waits for its light. Passing these peculiarities, this 
 lady is a pattern housekeeper, a kind friend to 
 those whom she likes, a sympathetic woman at a 
 sick bed, a hospitable and generous hostess in her 
 own house. She takes pleasure in sending speci- 
 mens of her excellent cookery to neighbors who 
 are less skilful in the art, or less favored with 
 conveniences for plying it. I take pleasure in 
 acknowledging myself still her debtor for many 
 such little kindnesses. 
 
 In the front ranks of our religious community 
 stands Deacon Cantwyne — a man celebrated in all 
 the " country side" for his piety, his love of money, 
 and his affectation of philosophy. Deacon Cant- 
 wyne's house is the resort of all the clergy of his 
 own denomination ; and the philosophy which he 
 affects, leads him to extend his hospitalities to many 
 others. So that he lives in a theological atmos- 
 phere, so to speak, an atmosphere musical with 
 expressions of the religious feelings. This is his 
 chosen condition. But if denied him in the pres- 
 ence of others, he is capable of creating it to a great 
 extent for himself. He prays three times a day, 
 and reads the Scriptures each time. He never 
 neglects religious worship, takes an active part in 
 the orthodox Sabbath-schools, fi-owns on open vice 
 or dishonesty in any shape, is scrupulous in the 
 observance of the Sabbath, even to leaving the 
 room in which so profane a thing as the Pilgiim 
 Fathers is sung on that day, and loses no opportu- 
 nity of exhorting his non-professing neighbors to 
 " come out from the world," and " fight the good 
 
160 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 fight of faith." Deacon Cantwyne is a business 
 man, and he declares that a profession of religion, 
 so far from interfering with success in business, as 
 many worldly-minded but mistaken individuals 
 think, is no little aid to it. He speaks from expe- 
 rience, for his religious pretensions have enabled 
 him to pray his way to the bottoms of hundreds of 
 pockets, which he could never otherwise have ap- 
 proached. All the while that he is doing it, ho 
 will lavish the most hearty expressions of esteem 
 on you — esteem grounded on the virtues which he 
 has discovered in you, for, as a Christian, he can 
 admire no other qualifications. If you are in afflic- 
 tion, he will console you, pray with you and for 
 you, commend you to the Bible, and to those 
 sources of comfort which he has found so potent, 
 and in the next moment, count the dollars which 
 some proposed operation will enable him to make 
 out of the confidence his speech was designed to 
 create. When any special enterprise of this kind 
 is in prospect, he prays longer and more fervently 
 than usual ; and if the victim is present, in the 
 shape of a purchaser, or a debtor whose all lies 
 under a mortgage which he holds, he is apt to be 
 quite overpowered with his love of duty and his 
 charity for his neighbor. Ten chances to one but 
 he makes you the subject of a special petition, and 
 closes with a request that you may be preserved 
 from the devouring influences of the carnal appe- 
 tites, from vanity, and from love of riches. He 
 feels for you already, and wishes that your suffer- 
 ings may be light when he shall have sounded 
 your purse. His piety is never more apparent 
 than on these occasions. If the operation is one 
 of considerable magnitude, he solicits the brethren 
 of the neighborhood to unite in a protracted meet- 
 ing, for he feels that the gospel is losing its influ- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 161 
 
 ence on the hearts of men. When he has con- 
 summated the affair, he will meet you with the 
 blandest face, and enter into a conversation on 
 electricity, the aurora borealis, or the last Arctic 
 expedition. But he never fails to turn to the pole 
 of his thoughts before he leaves you, and exhort 
 you to remember that all these *' phenomeny," 
 wonderful as they are, are the handiwork of a 
 power to whom your highest services are due, and 
 that the best of us can but poorly glorify Him. Or 
 perhaps he reads you a page from his own expe- 
 rience, telling you how, when he was a young 
 man, he began life with the hope of achieving 
 some worldly honors and possessions, but soon 
 found that to do so, he " should have to set his face 
 like a Jlint,''^ and close his ears to all the petitions 
 of mercy ; how this struggle between his better 
 nature and the desire to do his duty had almost 
 ended in the triumph of Satan ; how thankful he 
 is that it did not, and how much he hopes that 
 every young man whom he sees entering life may 
 be preserved as he was. And all this is said with 
 as grave a face as if he had not just defrauded you 
 of your last penny, and were not ready to do you 
 the like favor to-morrow. 
 
 Deacon Cantwyne's exhortations are uttered 
 with a face and tone that would subdue a Phila- 
 delphia mob. These are natural gifts-^at least I 
 set them down as such. If they are not, they 
 must have been cultivated in early life ; for nothing 
 of the kind can be more perfect. The face leads 
 you to anticipate the voice, and vice versa. Deacon 
 Cantwyne has been pretty intimately connected 
 with the affairs of the colony, and some of his 
 transactions would edify men whose kindred genius 
 is restrained by stone walls and sheriff's processes. 
 
 He was originally from one of the principal 
 11 o2 
 
162 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 cities of the east. While there he was employed 
 in a highly useful trade, from which he seems to 
 have realized a handsome equivalent for his labors. 
 To this he has added whatever has fallen in his 
 way, beside several things that have not been able 
 to get out of it since he came west; and he is now 
 one of our wealthiest men. He is not so ardently 
 beloved in the neighborhood as many persons I 
 could designate, but he never discovers this unless 
 it is forced on his attention ; and when it is, he 
 sets it down to the account of his rigid piety. 
 " How shall a devoted christian expect to com- 
 mand the love of the children of darkness 1 He 
 ought to glory in their hatred, and would if it did 
 not argue such deplorable wickedness in them" — 
 and show that they would be on their guard 
 against his long prayers. His piety is embellished 
 by a Uberality as striking as itself. This, however, 
 partakes more of a public than a private character. 
 Any public bequest which will enhance the value of 
 property, he makes freely, provided it be expended 
 in the vicinity of his own possessions. There are 
 many little tales afloat in the village and country, 
 illustrative of Deacon Cantwyne's peculiarities, 
 which his biographer will doubtless gather for the 
 purpose of doing justice to his memory. If I have 
 drawTi his picture correctly enough to have it re- 
 cognized by himself and his friends, I have done 
 all that I proposed to do on this page. If occasion 
 to refer to him again should arise, a single stroke 
 will bring him before the reader. That is a prin- 
 cipal advantage in having his character well defined 
 at the outset. 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 163 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Our village abounded in professional men. Not 
 to mention the youthful Cokes and the unassuming 
 Blackstones, who asked no loftier place for their 
 names than gilt or gamboge letters on a black 
 shingle nailed beside their office-doors; we had 
 magistrates, judges of law and probate, retired 
 counsellors, waiting a favorable opportunity to 
 embellish some of the more elegant walks of 
 life. But most indispensable and popular of 
 all was our doctor. He was the ornament not 
 only of our professional classes, but of the village. 
 His personal appearance is worthy a livelier pen 
 than mine. He is actually of middle stature, but 
 seems considerably below it, from the excessive 
 deficiency of any thing like hauteur in his character. 
 His head projects well over the eyes, and towers 
 above the forehead into an immense table-land, on 
 which you might heap offences that would out- 
 number the hairs that cover it, and yet find for- 
 giveness. This preponderance brings the head 
 forward and upward in a right line, but it is the 
 most graceful departure from a perpendicular that 
 could be imagined. His strong perceptions leave 
 about him no air of stumbling abstraction, but, 
 combined with a boundless benevolence, lend the 
 delightful expression one wears when looking for 
 objects of sympathy or admiration. Leaving the 
 doctor's head, the next most striking thing about him 
 is his gait. Various were the attempts at descrip- 
 tion which this wonderful gait elicited from his 
 fellow- citizens. A walk it certainly was not, if by 
 this term is meant a straightforward, or indeed 
 almost any other use of the limbs given for that 
 purpose. I do not mean to say that he performed 
 
164 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 locomotion without the use of these organs at all, 
 because that would imply that he walked upon his 
 hands or head — arts which I am not aware that he 
 ever cultivated; and which it will be conceded 
 must have been extremely inconvenient, unless his 
 pockets had been made to coiTespond, for they 
 were his medicine-chests. If he had been an im- 
 porter of drugs, he would never have wanted any 
 storehouse but these, and the privilege of deposit- 
 ing samples that were unsaleable, or robbed of 
 their virtues by age, upon the shelves of his wife's 
 closets. 
 
 But to go back to his gait. It certainly was a 
 curious one. It was made up of incredibly short 
 steps, that followed so fast upon one another as to 
 give the idea of a man with two pairs of legs, each 
 running on a wager against the other. If one 
 could conceive a sheep with his two fore-legs 
 lengthened so as to give him an erect attitude, yet 
 still preserving his peculiar motion, with a perfect 
 resemblance to the human figure in all other 
 respects, he might have a tolerable idea of the 
 doctor's gait. I am aware that this is a labored 
 illustration, and that the idea at best is complicated ; 
 but no one knows how difficult the subject is, nor 
 how long I might search the whole kingdom of 
 animate nature in vain, for something whereunto 
 to liken this motor phenomenon. It is true, that 
 the terms '' nudgc,^' '' shuffie,'^ '' trot,^' and sundry 
 others were used among the puzzled villagers to 
 designate it ; but they are all feeble, and so I be- 
 lieve will be anything I can add to them. There 
 are things in nature which words hover around in 
 vain : they never touch them. 
 
 The other eccentricities of our Galen were not 
 so indescribable. He had a versatility of genius, 
 which never failed to respond to any appeal. An 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 165 
 
 Indian war-dance, or the amputation of a limb ; the 
 old woman in Robin Roughhead at a private 
 theatrical entertainment, or a post at the couch 
 of prostrating, withering disease, were matters of 
 equal facility — I had almost said of pleasure ; for the 
 warm exercise of his sympathies on the painful 
 occasions, and the relief which his skill and ten- 
 derness often enabled him to afford, were high 
 sources of pleasure. As might be expected with 
 such a constitution, our doctor had been a merry 
 youth. He had spent a very considerable fortune 
 in early life, for the purpose of reducing himself 
 to terms of equality with necessity, whom he could 
 not coax to his acquaintance in any other way. 
 And he seemed even now to have a fear that she 
 would forsake him again, for he never collected 
 his dues, never informed any one that his services 
 were to be paid for, unless by way of assent when 
 the proposition originated with themselves. When 
 he returned from a ball one winter morning with 
 his splendid wife and brother, and found the house 
 which they had jointly occupied burned to the 
 gi'ound, with everything it had contained, he stood 
 a moment, and then said, " There are plenty of 
 houses about here whose inmates will receive Mary 
 for a few days, and there will be sick enough 
 this season, heaven help them, to whom I can do 
 some good, in return for which they shall enable 
 me to build her a better home. I'll have it all 
 right in a year or so, except the little mementos 
 and trifles endeared by association and otherwise. 
 Those cannot be replaced, so I suppose we must 
 mourn over them a little." And the doctor kept 
 his word ; catching the means which fortune 
 threw at him for his poorly-paid, arduous, and 
 ceaseless labors, he purchased a beautiful building- 
 spot in " Court- end ;" built a cottage with a roof 
 
166 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 60 sharp that it was described by a stage-driver, 
 who had a passenger to set down there, as " the 
 house with a rufF that spUt the rain-drops," made 
 a sort of bird's nest of it, whose chief ornament 
 was his peerless wife : and there he lives, or rather, 
 the lady and her babes ; for he is too much abroad 
 during the warm season to have a proper residence 
 anywhere. And there a hospitality and social 
 charm are offered to guests, which is rarely sur- 
 passed in more elegant mansions. 
 
 At this time the doctor is accompanied in his 
 professional visits by a faithful old horse, who is 
 known throughout the country by the name of 
 " Pomp." It would, perhaps, be as correct to say 
 that the doctor accompanies Pomp ; for the latter, 
 if harnessed and left loose, under the false impres- 
 sion that his friend was in the seat, would doubt- 
 less have gone alone to visit their patients. I say 
 their patients, because it always seemed to me that 
 the doctor and Pomp were partners. What share 
 the latter had in the profits was never known, 
 though his share in the labors was, for he some- 
 times traveled sixty or seventy miles a day, beside 
 stopping for calls. The estimation in which the 
 doctor held Pomp was very high. To have struck 
 him would have been treason ; yet I ought to add, 
 as an e\idence of the inconsistency of man, that he 
 would allow him to be driven till his bay coat was 
 white with foam. But how could Pomp complain 
 when his master treated himself in the same man- 
 ner ! Seated in his light waggon, reins in hand, 
 the doctor announced his readiness to set off by 
 speaking the name of his four-footed friend, in a 
 tone which seemed to be agreed on between them 
 as a signal for moving ; and away they went ; never 
 a blow was struck, nor a harsher word spoken. I 
 apprehend it would not have been safe for any 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 167 
 
 person to have attempted either. I remember 
 riding out with the doctor once, to see a sick 
 friend. On our arrival, a coarse fellow came up, 
 and seizing Pomp by the head, called out to know 
 whether he should " ondo himV^ 
 
 "Ondohim!" exclaimed the doctor. "Ondo 
 Pomp !" and he cast a look at him which might 
 have been translated into a volume ; but, passing 
 on, he merely said *' No ! you may give him some 
 fiesh grass, if you have any here. I should like 
 to see the man," he added, in a muttered paren- 
 thesis, " who would dare ondo Pomp !" 
 
 The doctor's mode of communicating his opinions 
 and wishes to Pomp is very convenient and pleas- 
 ant, not only to themselves, but to the settlers whose 
 laabitations they visit. You may foretel their ap- 
 proach when two miles distant on the prairies, at 
 any hour of the night, by listening to the mono- 
 syllable Pomp ! Pomp ! And pleasant sounds 
 they are to those who leave the bedside of lan- 
 guishing pain, and step forth an instant into the 
 cool silent night, to breathe and catch the signal 
 of the visit so ardently longed for. 
 
 In sickly seasons they travel all night. The 
 doctor moves the seat of his waggon back, has an 
 extra cloak or buffalo robe, of which he makes a 
 bed, and, when he leaves a house, curls himself 
 up in it, gives Pomp the signal, and starts on, 
 leaving the latter pretty much to his own choice 
 about the road. And they thus go on admirably ; 
 for the doctor has such a habit of speaking to 
 Pomp, that, though fast asleep, he articulates his 
 name in the usual tone, about once in twenty 
 minutes, and the latter knows the roads so well 
 that he always goes right, if not left to his own 
 pleasure too long. In these latter cases the doctor 
 is likely, on awaking, to find himself before the 
 
168 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 sharp-roofed cottage, for Pomp, among his other 
 virtues, is eminent for his love of home. This 
 goes on till poor Pomp is incapable of traveling 
 longer at such rate, and then a stranger is hired 
 for day-driving, and Pomp kept for night- driving. 
 
 For himself the doctor has no substitute. He 
 goes night and day for M^eeks, snatching rest as I 
 have described, and sometimes, when he goes into 
 a house, after examining his patient, lying down 
 upon the floor, or on three chairs, with a strict 
 injunction to the watchers not to let him sleep 
 over half an hour. This and a cup of tea twice a 
 day, strong enough for the brother of the Sun or 
 Moon himself, were all that the doctor required to 
 keep him going till the pestilence abated. It i? 
 only in rare seasons, however, that their duties 
 are so arduous. Ordinarily, the " sickly season," 
 as it is termed, extends through some two or two 
 months and a half at the close of the summer and 
 opening of the autumn. During those weeks bilious 
 fevers prevail more or less through the whole 
 country ; but especially in the vicinity of streams 
 and low grounds. Here they are very general, 
 and more malignant than in the prairies and higher 
 regions. In many cases, where the medical ad- 
 viser is unskilful, or proper care is not bestowed, 
 the patient is left with the " shakes,^' this term 
 being merely a shorter name for the disease which 
 others choose to call ** Fever RagyJ^ Exclusive 
 of the short period just specified, little sickness 
 prevails. More than half the numerous forms of 
 disease which poison society and baffle the phy- 
 sician here are there unknown. And, judging 
 from my own experience, I should say that a 
 large proportion of those which do prevail, might 
 be avoided, by ordinary attention to the laws of 
 health. Regularity in sleep, temperance in diet. 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 169 
 
 personal cleanliness, and a due share of exercise 
 at proper seasons, would reduce materially the 
 frightful amount of disease which now makes these 
 western summers alarming, A residence of nearly 
 five years, with only a tolerable attention to diet 
 and regimen, brought me not a week's indispo- 
 sition from the causes incident to the country. 
 
 But I have left our doctor to speak a word of 
 caution to settlers. I know his good-nature so 
 well however, that I am assured of pardon, even 
 though my advice should shorten his bills. And 
 why not, since the length of so few of them is ever 
 estimated ] In periods when his professional cares 
 relax, the doctor is the most efficient of our village 
 sociables. Always ready to converse well with 
 those who wish to do so, or play the mountebank for 
 those who prefer amusement; ready to flatter a 
 lady into good-nature with herself, if it be neces- 
 sary, or argue political tendencies with her hus- 
 band, if this be more agreeable ; he was indispen- 
 sable in all social meetings, and nowhere a more 
 delightful companion than at his own table or fire- 
 side. Though not an accomplished singer, he was 
 sometimes prevailed upon to do his devoir even in 
 this behalf. I never heard but one or two exhibi- 
 tions of his vocal powers, and these were made at 
 the pressing instance of friends who could not be 
 refused. He had one favorite piece which served 
 on both occasions, though doubtless he was mas- 
 ter of others equally elegant in diction and charm- 
 ing in composition. I more than half suspected 
 that he had played Mozart himself to the following 
 lines — 
 
 «' At the battle of the Nile, 
 I was there all the while." 
 
 These lines were burthen, chorus, and all : they 
 comprised the entire piece. And the third or 
 
170 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 fourth repetition, in a tone incomparably more 
 monotonous than the words, generally drew such 
 peals of applause from the gentlemen and such a 
 waving of handkerchiefs from the ladies, that the 
 doctor was quite overcome, and took his seat in a 
 very interesting state of confusion. As a mere 
 artist the doctor was rarely excelled in what he 
 undertook. A negro dance or a lofty flight of 
 admiration for the works of nature, with which he 
 was so continually conversant, were executed with 
 nearly equal excellence, except that to the latter 
 he brought the strength of a fine mind, as well as 
 a high degree of artistic skill. In short our doctor 
 was a rare character, and we prized him as such. 
 His very faults and weaknesses, and he had plenty 
 of them, only made us pity him and wish they were 
 not — one could scarcely be indignant at them. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIH. 
 
 Summer had worn away, with its wealth of 
 golden grains and flowers. The luxuriant harvest 
 had disappeared from the farms in the adjacent 
 country, the tall corn was in its sere and yellow 
 leaf, the late fruits began to ripen, the prairies 
 faded from their rich green, save where here and 
 there a " late hum''' showed the tender grass, like 
 an emerald island in the vast brown ocean. Au- 
 tumn in the prairie land is scarcely excelled for 
 the richness of its charms by any other season. 
 Coupled with the perfection of the wide vegetable 
 world is an idea of repose which fills the soul. 
 An immense country, whose energies have been 
 springing all the previous months with ceaseless 
 toil, whose rank luxuriance evinces the employ- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 171 
 
 ment of tremendous powers, now lies all around you 
 in the deep quiet which ushers in a truly natural 
 death. The sun pours forth a rich, mellow light ; 
 dim and soft, as if like a tender nurse he watched 
 over this sleep of nature. The native birds, happy 
 in the abundance which they cannot consume, fly 
 cheerfully but quietly about, as if, their labor done, 
 the season of rest had come to them also. The 
 quail whistles and dances among the brown hazel 
 thickets ; the grouse flies from field to field, di- 
 viding his depredations through the neighborhood, 
 and bearing off) when unmolested, a full crop to 
 the plains, which he loves better than the abodes 
 of man. The crow calls from the wood top, or 
 wheels his long and lazy flights above the naked 
 prairies, seeming really more amiable than at any 
 other season. The air is filled with the smoke of 
 distant fires ; some day they creep up into your 
 own neighborhood, and when night comes, light the 
 heavens and the earth as far as the eye can reach. 
 These are magnificent spectacles. I have stood upon 
 the roof of our large hotel in the evening, and looked 
 into a sea of fire which appeared to be unbroken 
 for miles. These incidents occasionally interrupt 
 the dreamy rest to which everything tends, but they 
 pass away in a few hours, and the next day is as 
 quiet as before. Sporting parties are made up 
 among the gentlemen, and fruit parties, including 
 ladies, to visit the nearest groves in search of haws, 
 nuts, et cet. ; or if any orchard has been cultivated in 
 the vicinity by some ancient settler, this is resorted 
 to, and small parcels of its rare fruit purchased and 
 taken home. Our fruit parties usually resorted to 
 a grove about a mile distant, on the west, and re- 
 turned after an hour or two of delightful rambling, 
 with baskets laden with the delicious haw-berry, a 
 feast for many days. The paw-paw and persimon 
 
172 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 did not flourish in our vicinity. They love the 
 bottom lands of streams; 
 
 The groves at this season are indescribably charm- 
 ing. There is not in the large foliage that gor- 
 geous variety v^^hich we find in the eastern forest. 
 The trees w^ear a more sober and uniform com- 
 plexion ; but there are a thousand minuter beauties 
 which touch the heart. A few flowers linger in the 
 borders of the woodland and skirt the small streams. 
 In the deeper recesses some sprightly ones are found, 
 indicating by their vigor and freshness that they 
 belong to the season of frost. Among these is one 
 which I dearly love. It grows upon a tall stalk 
 sparsely set with leaves, and forms near the top a 
 beautiful shafl;, studded with myriads of small flow- 
 ers of the most exquisite hue and loveliness. They 
 are like so many bright eyes looking gaily out into 
 the pleasant world around. This flower does not 
 belong to the deep groves, but is found in the lit- 
 tle glades or openings in the woodside. And there, 
 when October winds play among the leaves, and 
 the bright sunshine pours through a sea of mist 
 and smoke, into little nooks and corners, by de- 
 caying logs and upturned roots, where it has not 
 gained admittance during all the leafy reign of 
 summer, this bright flower is seen nodding and 
 dancing merrily in the breeze as if it rejoiced in 
 the approaching gloom. The squirrel searches 
 timidly about among the fallen leaves, making pro- 
 vision for the winter ; and the hare, whom he often 
 meets, skips by him, half in sport, half in earnest, 
 seeking the tender twigs whereof to make her 
 dinner. The ripened nuts dropping among the 
 leaves often startle her from her contemplations, 
 and drive her to seek refuge in the nearest clump 
 of grass or bushes. 
 
 These wood-parties are delightful recreations. 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 173 
 
 Armed with thick shoes and provided with a basket 
 each, for trophies of all descriptions — or if the dis- 
 tance be too great to be traversed on foot, mounted, 
 as we could be best provided (the reader will re- 
 member pony), without our riding dresses, that we 
 may not be cumbered with them when we reach 
 the wood — away we go, free as the winds. North, 
 south, east, or west, the way is equally open. The 
 wild Indian, mounted on his hunting horse, has 
 scarcely a larger liberty than we. We scour the 
 plain, leap or plough the ** slues," and gain the 
 grove. Here our steeds are fastened to trees and 
 boughs, and we scatter. Oh what a joyous after- 
 noon is before us ! And some at least know it, 
 though all do not seem to do so. Toward even- 
 ing, when the shadows begin to lengthen on the 
 turf, and the winds to sweep more chillingly 
 through the grove, we gather at the rendezvous ; 
 bring forth the shawls and other cautionary arti- 
 cles, spring into our saddles, give free rein, and 
 after a swift and exhilarating ride, stop at our 
 own doors filled with happy recollections, and 
 made better in spirit and body by a day in the 
 woods. 
 
 About three miles from our village is an orchard, 
 which has been cultivated these many years by 
 the widow of the original proprietor. It is the 
 only one in the vicinity, and the old lady's name is 
 therefore well known. And though no two words 
 could be more unlike in orthography and sound than 
 her own name and that of the fruit she sold, yet to 
 me the former was always synonymous with ap- 
 ples. You could not hear or speak it without 
 having your mouth water for the delicious fruit 
 with which it thus became associated. The old 
 lady was much patronized by our villagers and the 
 settlers on adjacent farms. She lived quite neatly 
 f2 
 
174 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 in a half-framed house, which you had to circum- 
 vent in order to enter it, there being three doors 
 in the rear, but none on the roadward-side. (I avoid 
 saying front, to be exact in the use of words.) The 
 grounds contiguous to the house had at certain 
 seasons of the year rare beauty and richness. A 
 stream of some magnitude swept in a crescent 
 form around the orchard-clad hill, on which it stood. 
 Across the road this hill sloped downward to the 
 stream in a smooth green lawn, dotted with trees. 
 On either hand from the house and skirting the bank 
 of the stream in front of it, was a dense grove of the 
 peach, the apple, and wild-crab apple-trees. About 
 the first of June these were in full bloom, and no 
 perfume of Araby could excel their sweetness, no 
 floral display, their beauty. As you approached 
 the spot after sunset, when the light dews just 
 moistened the blooming boughs, and the evening 
 winds swept over them, the whole air was laden 
 with their fragrance ; and when you gained the 
 summit of the hill and looked down upon the 
 nodding clusters of blossoms, set, as it were, in the 
 tender green of the forest trees towering above 
 them, nothing could be conceived more beautiful 
 Many a pleasant twilight ride have we enjoyed, 
 lingering through the paths of this blossoming wil- 
 derness, inhaling its delicious odors, and gazing on 
 its unequaled beauty. I remember one evening, 
 when the sounds of bells seemed coming up from 
 the grove below our path to greet us : they ad- 
 vanced slowly ; and we almost stopped in admira- 
 tion of the gorgeous sunset above and the wealth of 
 the foliage lavished around. Presently the sounds 
 became more distinct, and a large Pennsylvania 
 waggon with a top of snowy whiteness emerged 
 from the green wood. It was an emigrant family 
 — :a group of the happiest faces and the cleanest 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND 175 
 
 persons one often finds among them. This was a 
 favorite camping ground, — and we lingered watch- 
 ing them till their supper fires shone in the ad- 
 vancing darkness, and then reluctantly turned our 
 horses' heads homeward. How I envied those 
 people ! — to lie down there, bathed in the calm, 
 pure air of a June night, the dropping petals strew- 
 ing their place of rest, the clear brooklet murmur- 
 ing to their sleep ; who could submit patiently to 
 imprisonment within four walls, as dull then as if 
 nature were not doing her best in grove, plain, and 
 sky to induce us to leave them ! 
 
 But here lived the old lady of apple memory, 
 and here amid all this beauty had she lived from 
 time immemorial among the Yankee settlers. Her 
 spirit had partaken of the scene. She lived neatly 
 in doors, and there was an air of comfort about 
 the exterior of her home quite in harmony with 
 the feelings awakened by the sun*ounding scenery. 
 •How indeed could she have violated so beautiful 
 a sanctuary, by a life altogether coarse and un- 
 lovely. But she was not proof against the perni- 
 cious influences which the possession of absolute 
 power works in the mind which exercises it. 
 Being for many years the sole dispenser of apples 
 to a large region round her, she had grown ca- 
 pricious in her tastes, and now cared little to accom- 
 modate those whom she did not like. If you were 
 one of her favorites, and called on her in the fruit 
 season, either by way of compliment, or as a pur- 
 chaser, she always presented you a dish of the 
 choicest productions of her orchard to eat in her 
 house, and made her happiest selection for your 
 purchase. We were fortunately of this class. She 
 regarded it as an evidence of kind and friendly in- 
 terest, to inquire after the prosperity of her place, 
 and usually tendered some hints gratis, on the 
 
176 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 cultivation of fruit trees. In one of these familiar 
 lessons, she remarked that there was a way to 
 make trees bear much earlier than most persons 
 supposed they would. 
 
 " Pray how is that, Mrs. S V 
 
 " Why, when we was a settin out the last of 
 our trees, them in the orchard down thar," pointing 
 out of the door, " the man we got 'em of, told my 
 old man that if he wanted 'em to bear early ho 
 must set 'em out when the moon was in parri- 
 gheer 
 
 " When is that, Mrs. S ?" said I, making a 
 
 violent effort to preserve my gravity, for her keen 
 eyes were fixed on my face. 
 
 " O, I reckon folks that's college lamt as you be, 
 needn't ax me when the moon's in parrighee. I 
 expect you can tell any time when you look at 
 it." 
 
 " I am not college learned," I replied, " you 
 know ladies never are, and I presume my husband 
 has forgotten all about the parrighee of the moon 
 long since." 
 
 " Well you can find it any time by looking in a 
 nalmanic ; that's whar we found it. Some folks," 
 added the old lady, " don't allow there's anything 
 in the moon about fruit and so on, but I reckon 
 they don't know so much more than other folks as 
 they think they do. I know a heap of things 
 that does better when they're planted at sartin 
 times o' the moon, and there can't nobody make 
 me think 'tain't so, 'cause I've tried it. 'Tain't so 
 much account about some things ; I reckon taters 
 does as well planted one time as another, and so 
 does beets and so on, but cabbages and onions and 
 all them 'dought to be planted in the new o' the 
 moon, if you want 'em to be of any 'count." 
 
 Such edifying conversation usually occupied the 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 177 
 
 time spent at the old lady's house. If you were 
 particularly deferential and received instructions 
 meekly, you were always rewarded by having 
 your pockets or basket filled with the choicest ap- 
 ples for your own especial gratification. I know 
 of no other way in which the good woman ever 
 coiTupted the morals of her visitors, but this was 
 bad enough. Whose integrity could stand un- 
 shaken before a dish heaped with apples such as 
 money could not buy 1 Who would venture to 
 correct the friendly old woman's orthoepy at such 
 a risk 1 Certainly not one who had such a longing 
 for the apple bins of eastern cellars as I had. 
 
 Such were some ofthe many excursions of autumn 
 days which we shared. Then, as I intimated, the 
 gentlemen more frequently went out in small com- 
 panies to shoot the quail, grouse, hare, and squir- 
 rel. These parties were generally equestrian and 
 very jocose among themselves, though the whole 
 mass of female nerves in the village was in a 
 flutter till they returned. Because it had been, 
 found that in the absence of game they shot each 
 other ! My husband had joined one of these par- 
 ties and came home with shot enough in his limbs 
 to make us count it quite a serious affair, though 
 it only resulted in his giving two or three days' 
 exclusive attention to books within doors. 
 
 Later in the season an occurrence under similar 
 circumstances robbed us of one of our worthiest 
 young mechanics, and produced a most melan- 
 choly feeling throughout on our little commu- 
 nity. Two young men, intimate fiiends, had left 
 the village together on Saturday evening, to 
 spend the Sabbath at the house of a friend six 
 miles away. On Monday morning they started for 
 home, each with his rifle and game-bag, intending 
 to search the groves and thickets on their way 
 12 
 
178 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 down for game. Near sunset they had reached 
 the skirt of the grove about a mile and a half from 
 the village, and discovering some quail in one of 
 the hazel thickets which bordered it, they parted to 
 ** beat" the thicket. Stealing cautiously around, 
 one raised his rifle and fired at a bird that was just 
 tripping into his place of concealment. The bird 
 fell, but a spring and a dismal groan at the same 
 instant made his blood curdle. He dropped his 
 rifle and ran to the other side. Judge of his feel- 
 ings when he saw his friend lying on the ground, a 
 crimson stream spouting from his breast; and heard 
 
 him exclaim in a faint voice, " C , you have 
 
 shot me !" In three minutes he was dead ! The 
 ball had passed through the heart ! His remains 
 were borne to the village on the waggon of a 
 neighboring farmer, a coroner's inquest was held, 
 And on the second day they were followed to the 
 grave by the mourning citizens. The unfortunate 
 man was a son of New Hampshire, the pride of his 
 aged father and mother, whom he had left to seek a 
 more promising home in the richer regions of the 
 west. His friend, scarcely less an object of sym- 
 pathy, took a vow never again to handle fire-arms; 
 but so completely had the horrors of the scene fast- 
 ened upon his mind, that he never recovered his 
 former calmness. He brooded over the dreadful 
 event with a morbid kind of self-accusation, aban- 
 doned his business, and at length wandered away 
 melancholy, abstracted, miserable. This was a 
 painful tragedy for our little community, and last- 
 ing and deep was the sympathy it created for the 
 two unfortunate young men. 
 
 The reader will remember I informed him that 
 our next door on the left was a grocery — (groggery 
 would be the truer name, but what lady can ever 
 make up her mind to write it). If he has heard 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 179 
 
 nothing from this place before, it is not because I 
 have not. Many a day's tranquillity and many a 
 night's rest did this horrid place destroy. All the 
 influence which the respectable portion of the 
 community could bring to bear upon it, failed to 
 mitigate its character or check the abominations 
 daily enacted in it. The sights and sounds of the 
 poor wretches who frequented it often compelled 
 me to forsake and close the front of my house ; but 
 it was vain to seek seclusion from them in my 
 small tenement ; their sickening shouts and groans 
 reached one everywhere. Sometimes these diabol- 
 ical orgies lasted two or three days and nights 
 without pause, and then a time of comparative 
 quiet followed. The master-spirit among those 
 who shared in their scenes, was the individual 
 who kept the shojD. His ceaseless habits of drunk- 
 enness had made him one of the most disgusting 
 of human spectacles. With a face enormously 
 bloated beyond its natural proportions, eyes bleared 
 and watery, white lips, parched and mottled with 
 bright red spots, and palsied limbs, the miserable 
 wretch, not yet thirty-five years of age, crept 
 about, a warning, one would have thought, to those 
 who congregated about him. But here they as- 
 sembled, two or three miserably lost spirits from 
 the eastern states, and as many Kentuckians of the 
 lowest class ; and here, hand in hand, they led 
 each other to ruin. Sometimes the citizens would 
 acquire influence enough over one of the band to 
 keep him from the spot for a period, but they 
 seized on him again at the first opportunity, and 
 made him pay for his respite by a deeper plunge 
 than ever. There was one unfortunate man highly 
 connected in one of the principal cities of the east, 
 where he had left a wife and two interesting chil- 
 dren. He had fallen among these wretches soon 
 
180 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 after his arrival, but had several times been re- 
 strained, partly by his better feelings, partly by 
 the remonstrances of his friends. Every one who 
 knew him mourned over the waste of a man who 
 possessed so many of the elements of usefulness 
 and happiness. Early in the autumn, he received 
 a letter from his wife, appealing to him, as her 
 husband and the father of his children, to return 
 to them or make provision for them to come to 
 him. It touched the right chord in him; he re- 
 solved to become a temperate man. And he per- 
 severed in this resolution till the beginning of 
 November with every promise of success. Acci- 
 dent at length threw him into the clutches of these 
 fiends. They dragged him to their place of sac- 
 rifice, and compelled him to taste, nay, to drink, 
 till he was again without self-control or reason. 
 His friends, who had watched him with deep in- 
 terest, seizing every opportunity to strengthen his 
 good resolutions, called on the master demon, and 
 begged that he would let him go ; that he would 
 n "t supply him with the means of self-destruction. 
 He answered their remonstrances with curses, and 
 assured them that as long as he had liquor and 
 *' Mac" had money, the latter should have what he 
 wanted. On Saturday evening there was deep 
 drinking in this miniature hell. The carousal 
 held till morning opened, and at a late hour the 
 various inmates set out reeling and stumbling 
 toward home, or whatever lodging chance might 
 bring them. The Sabbath opened clear and bright. 
 A light frost had crisped the grass ; the red sun 
 came up the eastern sky, curtained with mist and 
 smoke ; soft winds crept over the embrowned 
 forests and plains, and all nature seemed to be 
 filled with a kind of sad joy. I shall never forget 
 that morning. The holy quiet which rested on 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 181 
 
 the earth contrasted strongly with the fierce and 
 harrowing sounds of the previous night. I looked 
 out just as the sun was rising. The smoke began 
 to curl slowly upward from various chimneys, and 
 a few early risers were abroad inhaling the air 
 freshened by the frost which yet lay upon the 
 grass. They looked as if care were dismissed, and 
 man as well as nature was to enjoy a holy day. 
 When the family who had sheltered poor " Mac," 
 notwithstanding his many deviations, ascertained 
 that he had not returned to the house, they dis- 
 patched a person to the grocery, to bring him 
 home. But he was not there ! The miserable 
 proprietor reported as nearly as his half conscious 
 state and drunken recollections would permit, that 
 he left there about two o'clock. 
 
 " You'll find him," said he, " under some fence 
 or the side of a house, fast enough, I'll warrant 
 you ; for he was drunk when he went away ; he 
 wanted to git off afore he took the last drink, but 
 we made him go it !" 
 
 There was an unfinished house some distance 
 below, and thither they went, thinking it probable 
 that he had crept in there to sleep. But he was 
 not to be found. They were wondering where he 
 could have gone, when one of them, happening to 
 pass near the open well, glanced into it, and was 
 horrified to discover the figure of the lost man in 
 the bottom, partly covered with water. He was 
 immediately removed, and measures taken to resus- 
 citate him, but life was utterly quenched. Another 
 coroner's inquest was held. A rude coffin was 
 nailed together, and the remains were deposited 
 the same day in the earth. I see now before me 
 the thrilling events of that day, faint as is this pic- 
 ture of them. I feel again the overpowering emo- 
 tions we experienced when reflecting on the fate 
 
 Q 
 
182 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 of this unwilling victim to the vices of others. The 
 poor wretch, half conscious, notwithstanding the 
 maddening potations that had been forced upon 
 him, stumbling along in the dark night for a place 
 of rest, thinking possibly of his broken vows, and 
 of the faithful wife and children whose hearts 
 would bleed could they know his situation; half 
 resolving, perhaps, that he would still save him- 
 self, and never touch again the fire that had so 
 nearly consumed his soul — all these thoughts and 
 feelings, faintly recognized, passing through the 
 mind that had bowed reluctantly to its renewed 
 degradation, and all cut short by the brief and sud- 
 den plunge which ended in almost instant death ! 
 What an entrance into eternity ! what a fearful 
 leave-taking of the fair earth ! what an introduction 
 to the mighty future ! For days my mind was 
 busied with his last thoughts, and the fearful strug- 
 gles he must have made to recover his hold upon 
 life. I could not dismiss them. 
 
 If everything connected with this terrible place 
 had been painful and disgusting before, it will 
 readily be conceived that they were incomparably 
 more so now. The groans seemed the dying ago- 
 nies of fiends, the shouts their exultations. The 
 reeling forms and bloated faces seemed more 
 deeply lost than ever. But they did not remain 
 long : public indignation was so roused at the de- 
 struction of a man who had naturally so much to 
 win esteem and respect, that the grocery was 
 doomed from the day of his death. Pity it could 
 not have been before ; but people require some- 
 thing which would startle the blind and deaf, to 
 rouse them to action in such matters. Even now 
 public opinion barely permitted individual action, 
 but did not aid it. The licence which conferred 
 the power to do all these things was revoked, tho 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND, 183 
 
 shop broken up, and the miserable wretch who 
 had kept it driven to seek another place of abode. 
 He lingered about some time in his degradation, 
 till at last one of his brother masons took him to 
 his house in a neighboring town, and by some 
 means induced his reformation. When I last saw 
 him, I scarcely recognized him. But improved as 
 he was, he still bore the stamp of a degraded, 
 wretched man. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The reader must wish by this time to hear 
 something of my housekeeping. It will be remem- 
 bered that my only fire was in a small-sized Frank- 
 lin stove ; and as this had a grate in it, it will not 
 be difficult for housekeepers to conceive that my 
 conveniences for the multifarious operations of 
 baking, boiling, stewing, and roasting, were some- 
 what limited. By the nicest possible adjustment 
 of my tea-kettle to the middle of the arch, I 
 could pass it in and out of the grate. The first 
 task was by no means difficult, being generally 
 performed when the vessel contained cold water. 
 But to remove it, when the boiling liquid was bub- 
 bling from the spout, and every crevice performing 
 the office of an escape pipe, to the utmost of its 
 capabilities, was quite another affair. Neverthe- 
 less, twice, thrice, and even double the last num- 
 ber of times in a day, I wrought myself up to the 
 effort, and what is still clearer evidence of heroism 
 and genius, never failed, nor even met with any 
 gi'eater accident than sundry small burns on my 
 hands and fingers. The greatest number of these 
 agreeable little incidents of tea-kettle rescue, was 
 four at one attempt, the average two. 
 
184 LIFE IN PEAIRIE LAND. 
 
 Beside my tea-kettle, the largest vessel which I 
 could use was a three-pint saucepan ; and herein 
 were performed all sorts of operations, from the 
 fricasseeing of chickens to the boiling of corned 
 beef and cabbage. Not to tax credulity too much, 
 let it be borne in mind that I could use three of 
 these at once — a privilege which every dinner I 
 prepared taught me to appreciate. The most 
 troublesome of all my culinary operations was 
 baking. It is true I had a good tin oven, but then 
 where to place it was a troublesome question. If 
 it had been possessed of any means of generating 
 caloric within itself, so that, having placed the 
 preparation within, I could have set it on the table 
 or flour baiTel, and left it to bake at its own pace, 
 my troubles would have been sensibly alleviated. 
 But my tin oven was like all others. Never taking 
 into account the difference between a small Frank- 
 lin and a wide fireplace, although it had looked the 
 former in the face so often, and been times with- 
 out number crowded and jostled from its position 
 before it, it said, "Set me to the fire, and I'll bake 
 your bread ; if you don't, it shall stand here raw 
 till doomsday." So I was always compelled to 
 make some provision for it. The front feet could 
 stand on the hearth, but the back ones were of the 
 same length, and, of course, called for something 
 to make up the difference between the height of 
 the hearth and floor. Sticks of wood and chips — I 
 had like to have said stones, but of these we had 
 none — ^were the articles most in demand for this 
 use. But as these, when piled loosely upon each 
 other, are not the most stable foundation, it will 
 not be wondered at, that my oven sometimes went 
 over and poured out the half-baked loaves upon 
 the floor. 
 
 But, beside these mechanical obstacles, there 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 185 
 
 was another difficulty attendant upon baking, of 
 much more serious import, and that was the 
 making of the bread. I scarcely know how I 
 should have conquered this, but for the kind in- 
 structions of the excellent old lady whose barrel 
 of rain-water had been so acceptable a letter of in- 
 troduction. The best of yeast from her own jar 
 was always at my service, and the most patient 
 directions for mixing, kneading, and rising. I 
 had learned in the laboratory that it was a most 
 pernicious thing to suffer bread to pass the stage 
 of saccharine fermentation; and have no doubt that 
 if any housekeeper, before I was one myself, had 
 applied for instructions in making bread, I could 
 have delivered quite a voluble lecture on the 
 various stages of fermentation, and the changes 
 attendant upon each. But theory is one thing, 
 practice another; and though the knowledge I 
 had derived from our lamented professor was by 
 no means useless, yet it did not make my first nor 
 my second loaf of bread as good as that of my 
 neighbor, who had never read a page of chemistry. 
 However, the mysteries of sponge, first mixing, 
 moulding, and second rising, became familiar after 
 a few sour experiences, till I could, with much 
 complacency, set a plate of my own good bread 
 before my husband. I had one other main diffi- 
 culty; and that was to keep this last-named person- 
 age from making a private grocery and meat-house 
 of my little place. Never man looked at the con- 
 suming powers of two common individuals through 
 such enormous magnifying lenses ! Those described 
 by Mr. Weller to Sergeant Buzfuz, were nothing 
 to them ! Four dozen quails, and half a dozen 
 rabbits, purchased in one day, it will be confessed, 
 was rather a large provision, abating the innumer- 
 able fancies for salt-fish and corned beef, which 
 q2 
 
186 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 one might take before these were consumed. We 
 tried, under this profuse administration, the salted 
 quail ; and, I hesitate not to say, for the benefit of 
 posterity, that they bear no comparison to the 
 fresh bird. The same testimony will apply to the 
 corned rabbit, of which we had a great abundance. 
 I speak of these dishes, not to boast of the dainti- 
 ness of our fare, but because they are, I think, 
 anomalies in the gastronomic world, and because 
 I wish that the young housekeeper who has never 
 had so formidable a purchase to dispose of, may 
 admire our ingenuity. Truth compels me to say, 
 however, that a considerable portion of this game 
 afterwards made its escape by the side door, with- 
 out having seen the interior of my saucepans. 
 
 The period to which I looked forward with 
 most trepidation, was the session of Court. My 
 better half being in the legal profession, it would, 
 of course, be incumbent on us to entertain some 
 of the brethren whom this event would call to- 
 gether. Getting up a formal dinner was an affair 
 quite beyond my comprehension. I had paid so 
 little attention to the externals of the art, that I 
 did not even know how a table should look when 
 laid, to say nothing of the formidable detail by 
 which it was brought about. The first dinner^ 
 therefore, was likely to be quite an event. While 
 it was yet in futuro, Hal made his appearance at 
 our little domicile. I laid all my troubles before 
 him, but he bade me be of good cheer, promising 
 to preside over the cuisine himself when the dread- 
 ed day came, and comforted me by asserting that 
 he could prepare a handsomer dinner than half 
 the housekeepers of the village, and that both of 
 us together must make a brilliant thing of it. 
 
 Behold us, then, on the morning of the eventful 
 day, all stir and earnestness. The moment the 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 187 
 
 professional moiety of the household left, the con- 
 sultation began. I was not in the condition of 
 Elise, whom Mrs. Gunilla relieved, at a very late 
 hour, with a pair of chickens. My purveyor had 
 been at his large purchases again, and I had 
 lamb, quails, chickens, and pig. In the perplexity 
 of choosing I turned to Hal. 
 
 ** Which shall I take 1 for you know it is impos- 
 sible to prepare more than one." 
 
 " Let it be the lamb, then, by all means. It will 
 be more substantial as a solitary dish than chick- 
 en or quail, and will not, on an average, compel 
 so many of your guests to cannibalism as the other 
 four-footed animal would." 
 
 "Be quiet. Sir Impudence. I don't employ cooks 
 to make comments on my guests. But if you think 
 the lamb will be better than either of the other meats, 
 let us decide upon it. How shall it be cooked ]" 
 
 " You have but one way — a leg of lamb will 
 hardly go into a three-pint saucepan. You must 
 roast it of course ; and if you have dinner at two, 
 it must go to the fire about twelve." 
 
 " But there is a difficulty," I replied, *' about 
 roasting which my limited practice has not yet 
 enabled me to overcome. That is to tell when the 
 meat is done ! and a small degree of over or under 
 doing, you know, ruins the whole for nice palates." 
 
 " Oh leave that to me," said my assistant. " I'll 
 keep all that right. You make the various other 
 things ready, and prepare the roast, and I'll be 
 here in time to superintend it. I'm going over to 
 see the Sucker court now." 
 
 "Well, don't fail of being here at half past 
 eleven, for I shall be in a fever if you do." 
 
 " No, good by." 
 
 I spent the remainder of the morning in the sub- 
 ordinate duties of preparing potatos, turnips, to- 
 
188 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 matos, et cet. The narrowness of my apartment 
 compelled me to restore everything to order as fast 
 as I disordered it ; I could not leave a utensil soiled, 
 because there vv^as no spare place which it could 
 occupy. No vessel of water which had been once 
 used could remain standing ; for my hollow ware, 
 beside the tea-kettle and frying-pan, was confined to 
 the three saucepans already named. I had but one 
 table and the three short shelves before described, 
 and on, or about these, all my preparations had to be 
 made. Such very limited conveniences for house 
 keeping duties drew the deepest commiseration 
 from the neighboring ladies who visited me, and 
 yet, strange as it may seem, I thought they were 
 quite uncalled for. My entire unacquaintance 
 with practical housekeeping, while it doubtless 
 multiplied the few cares I had, rendered me una- 
 ble to appreciate a more favorable condition, so 
 that it was, after all, a source of much content. I 
 had no better state with which to compare this, and 
 was therefore ready at all times to pronounce it 
 good. With a few alterations which I could have 
 suggested, I should have thought it unexception- 
 able. 
 
 In the initiatory stages of the dinner, when 
 doubts of my success would rise to torment me, I 
 had one stronghold to flee to for comfort. That 
 was my dessert. There was no doubt about it. 
 My pumpkin pies were as good as ever graced a 
 New England thanksgiving, and the peaches de- 
 licious ! And then, too, I was certain of good 
 coffee. Mr. F. had taught me the Parisian mode 
 of making it, and there was no chance of failure. 
 So between the doubts and hopes, pretty nearly 
 balanced (for what would the dessert be if the 
 meat were spoiled), I got through the morning. 
 Punctually, a little before twelve, came Hal full 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 189 
 
 of marvelous things to relate about the court room, 
 and the people, and the functionaries, more espe- 
 cially the judge. The personal apearance of this 
 gentleman he declared to be very extraordinary. 
 His wardrobe demonstrated that he had been on 
 a long circuit and left his valise at the first stop- 
 ping-place. One could scarce refrain condoling 
 w^ith him, and offering the loan of a change of 
 linen. He patronized the never-failing uniform 
 of ajeans coat and pantaloons ; the latter so much 
 worn, that really it was wonderful he had not re- 
 membered to order a new pair in place of those 
 he must have left. So overflowing was the youth's 
 mind with recollections of the Court-house, that 
 I had some difficulty in bringing him back to the 
 leg of lamb. But this was effected at last, and the 
 earnest business of the day commenced. Boil and 
 roast was the burthen of our song till half-past 
 one. But the tribulation we were in ! or rather 
 I, for ETal was wicked enough to enjoy my per- 
 plexity. The lamb began to shrink as soon as it 
 was thoroughly warmed through, and continued 
 to diminish till he declared another half hour would 
 use up its very shadow. 
 
 " It must have been killed when the moon was 
 in parigee,'"' said he, " for no position of the hea- 
 venly bodies, less extraordinary, could produce 
 such an effect." 
 
 It was too late now to repair the consequences 
 of this unaccountable freak ; and its diminutive 
 appearance when placed upon the large dish I had 
 reserved for it, nearly made me desperate. What 
 would my guests think of such a solitary piece of 
 lamb ! What a misery, I thought, that apologies 
 have been so worn out by their unmeaning use, 
 that one cannot now be uttered without the forfeit 
 of self-respect. I can never explain the true diffi- 
 
190 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 culty here, for I should burst into an uncontrollable 
 laugh over the wasting lamb. I can never tell 
 them why I did not prepare another dish, because 
 while I was expatiating on the inelastic capacities of 
 a small Franklin, and three half-grown saucepans, 
 they would be weighing some point in evidence 
 or law, and wondering why women would talk 
 forever about such small matters ! There was 
 but one way ; and that was to be silent. The mo- 
 ment I made this discovery, I was at rest. If there 
 be any excellence about my philosophy of life, it 
 is that of adopting heartily, and at once, whatever 
 way seems clearly to be right, no matter how much 
 it may conflict with preconceived feelings or opin- 
 ions. This disposition, ability, or whatever one 
 may please to term it, has saved me many hours of 
 indecision, complaint, and pining. It is so much 
 happier, not to have one's energies and desires 
 warring with each other — not to be debating 
 between the right and the WTong — wishing to 
 pursue the one, yet unable to abandon the other. 
 If my moralizing over a shrunken bit of lamb 
 seems out of place, the reader will remember that 
 I had extricated myself from great tribulation by 
 resolving to treat my dinner as if it were worthy, 
 not only of my ovsm respect, but that of my guests 
 also. 
 
 My temperature, however, was a little raised by 
 the sudden reflection that Mr. F. might double the 
 proposed number of guests, if he could find, among 
 his acquaintances, so many that were unengaged. 
 He would forget the size of the house, the size of 
 the stove, and the size of his wife's capacity as 
 cook, and bring as many as if all these had been 
 on the most extensive scale. Fortunately, the rec- 
 ollection of this indefinite hospitality did not seize 
 me, until just as the tide of learning and law waa 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 191 
 
 flowing out of the white wooden temple, and I was 
 soon after able to distinguish our little party, lim- 
 ited to the original number. Two of the guests 
 were strangers to me; the third scarcely other- 
 wise. When the ceremony of introduction was 
 over, they were seated in the little front bedroom, 
 and I retired to dish up the dinner. Hal was mis- 
 sing, and I could not call him ; the partition was 
 too thin. While I was externally busied with the 
 vegetables, and internally denouncing the fiiend 
 who could forsake one in the hour of severest trial, 
 the popular half of the great back door swung open, 
 and the waggish face of my extempore cook was 
 thrust cautiously in. 
 
 " I say," he exclaimed in a whisper, " consider- 
 ing the lamb, I may as well take a botanizing tour 
 while you are at dinner, eh ]" 
 
 " Be off," I replied, " and botanize, or do any 
 other thing you please, but don't come here to 
 perplex me now, when I have so many weighty 
 matters to adjust." 
 
 " You don't call the mutton weighty 1 Just put 
 a couple of quails into one of those things there 
 that never rest, and we'll have the better dinner yet. 
 It's a pity you hadn't something to lay around that 
 fraction of roasted lamb," returning provokingly 
 to the soi'e subject ; '* shall I get you a handful of 
 greens from the prairie?" 
 
 ** Oh, be merciful, Hal, and go away for an 
 hour, if you won't sit down to dinner with us. 
 When you come back, I'll have a quail ready for 
 you." 
 
 " Well, good bye ;" but a moment after the face 
 reappeared. 
 
 ** Just allow me to suggest that you had better 
 not take any of the lamb. You need not look at 
 the dish when you decline, but just carry it off with 
 
192 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 a Graham air, as if you thought the less any one 
 ate of it the better." 
 
 " Now, sir, if you add another word to your im- 
 pudent counsel, you shall go elsewhere for dinner ; 
 speak only once again," said I, seizing a tumbler 
 of water, " and I'll — " 
 
 The door slowly closed, and my tormentor dis- 
 appeared. I arranged my various dishes, unfas- 
 tened my working-apron, and was folding it, pre- 
 paratory to inviting in my guests, when the face 
 again looked in. 
 
 " Shall I not come in and pour the water for 
 you] It is rather an awkward business." 
 
 " Nevertheless I am fully competent to it my- 
 self Judge if I am not," and away went the 
 tumbler I had menaced him with plump in his 
 face. He was fairly rid of now, beyond a doubt, 
 for the door shut quickly, and a handkerchief was 
 put in requisition on his streaming face and head. 
 When I had enjoyed the joke sufficiently to be 
 grave, I invited the gentlemen to take seats. One 
 of them was good-natured enough to praise the 
 lamb, though it must have been execrable. When 
 they left it, there remained an abundant supply for 
 a much larger company. But the coffee was in- 
 dubitably good, the pie ditto, and the peaches and 
 cream required no praise. 
 
 I got through the meal without receiving any 
 very distinct impression of the characters of the 
 party, except that one appeared a slow man, with 
 heavy thoughts which came to the surface, some- 
 what as a load of coal comes up from dark mines, 
 and seemed not a little astonished to find them- 
 selves there. Another seemed to be halting be- 
 tween two species of animate existence, his ears 
 not being long enough to give him an undisputed 
 position in one, and all other qualifications, except 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 193 
 
 the power of speech, too short to entitle him to a 
 place in the other. The third was a Kentuckian 
 — a member of the legislature — an honest man of 
 free but not elegant speech. A man who thought 
 truly, but made some ludicrous blunders in giving 
 utterance to his ideas. The character of a high 
 public functionary came under discussion, and this 
 gentleman testified to his being " the most indig- 
 nant man" he had ever seen. I had before heard 
 his honor spoken of as rather pugnacious, and sup- 
 posed this to be the Kentucky style of expressing 
 the same thingr. " The most indignant man, mad- 
 am," said he, turning to me; "he has no more 
 dignity than a schoolboy !" 
 
 " Indeed, sir ; if that be tine, I think he has 
 ample occasion to be indignant*' 
 
 " Take some more of the fi'uit, major," said my 
 husband ; " help yourself, sir." 
 
 " Thank you, I'll ejideevor,''^ was the character- 
 istic reply- 
 
 At last the dinner was over. What with law, 
 blunders, and nonsense, the gentlemen adjourned 
 to the court-room, and I sat like a feminine Ma- 
 rius looking over the ruins, when the face I had so 
 recently washed without the consent of the owner, 
 peeped in at a crack of the great door, and asked 
 if there " was any mutton left ]" 
 
 " Come in and see," I replied, " and look well 
 to your conduct, or I shall try the virtues of cold 
 water again." 
 
 " But this time I shall be able to return it, so it will 
 behove you, madam, to look to your ways also. If 
 you do me another such favor on credit, I shall feel 
 bound to reciprocate both — with interest." 
 
 We, however, got through with no more hydro- 
 pathic sparring ; and when the house, i. e., the 
 13 R 
 
194 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 back-room, was fairly set in order again, I felt no 
 little ground of self-gratulation that my first din- 
 ner was so creditably over. 
 
 i 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 As the autumn advances toward winter in the 
 ** prairie land," nature, as everywhere else, loses 
 her benign aspect. Heavy winds from the west 
 and north sweep over the immense plains, shaking 
 their brown, crumbling herbage on the unburned 
 regions, and howling with a sharper tone over the 
 tracts that have been left naked and black by the 
 fire. Much rain usually descends in the month of 
 November, and slight falls of snow commence in 
 the latitude of 41° about the rniddle of the follow- 
 ing month. But they rarely whiten the ground till 
 much later in the season. The roads are fright- 
 fully bad until the rains are over, and the frost 
 IjOcks up the surface of the earth. There is then 
 rarely snow enough to make sleighing in the 
 beaten tracks. The greatest depth seldom exceeds 
 five inches, the average is about two and a half. 
 Very few sleighs are kept. Occasionally a young 
 gentleman who bears rich recollections of the 
 moonlight rides of the east, possesses himself of a 
 nondescript article of this kind ; more, however, as 
 a memento, than as a means of like enjoyment in 
 the new country. 
 
 The farmers usually keep a coarse vehicle, on 
 which they slide their produce to market and their 
 wood home. When a ride is taken it is in this, 
 rigged with the box of a farm waggon. They are 
 pleasant rides, notwithstanding the roughness of 
 the conveyance. A slight fall of snow on the long 
 grass gives the sleigh an easy, flowing motion, and 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 195 
 
 you glide as gaily over the pj-airies as you would 
 along the fenced ways of the east, with a foot of 
 snow beneath your polished runner. Away you go 
 with nothing to restrain your motions. The wide 
 domain is all unfenced; the frost has bridged the 
 sloughs ; and your excursion is bounded only by 
 time and the capacity of your steeds. Dashing along, 
 you start up a bevy of gi'ouse that have been shrink- 
 ing under a clump of tall grass or weeds. Away 
 they fly, their steady wings cutting the clear dense 
 air, with a scarcely visible motion, till they alight at 
 no great distance, and seek a shelter similar to the 
 one they have left. The small red wolf too occa- 
 sionally crosses your path, but his gaunt form soon 
 disappears behind some hillock or tree. If you 
 turn into the barrens, you do not ride far before 
 the tramp of your horses and the merry voices of 
 your party startle some timid hungering deer from 
 his browsing, and send him bounding over the 
 snowy surface, with a tread almost as light and 
 fleet as the wind that follows him. If a rifle has 
 been clandestinely stowed beneath the buffalo 
 robes, it is produced now in quick time, but the 
 ladies one and all declare that it shall not be dis- 
 charged at the fugitive. If it is leveled at him, 
 they push it aside, or strike it up into the air, so 
 that the sportsman, if he persist, sends his ball 
 among the naked boughs, or if reasonable, lays it 
 aside, and contents his savage heart with a promise 
 to come out next day, unattended by " these foolish 
 women." 
 
 The quail dodges about farm-yards, grain-fields, 
 and woodland, and during all the winter months is 
 trapped in immense numbers. I have known them 
 offered in market at sixpence a dozen. No meat 
 surpasses them for richness and delicacy of flavor. 
 Broiled, fricasseed, roasted, or fried, they ai'e in- 
 
196 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 comparable. But one must have more stomach 
 than soul to devour the little charmers, without 
 some compunctions. The bare recollection of one 
 of the cheerful, happy-looking little beings who 
 has tripped along in the road before you when 
 you were taking a summer ride or walk, the de- 
 lightful feature that his presence lent to the land- 
 scape, and the charm of his clear voice, ringing 
 through the copses and groves, must, if you have 
 any love of these things, detract from the mere 
 palate pleasure before you. Yet notwithstanding 
 all these appeals to the higher sense of man, mil- 
 lions of these beautiful little creatures are every 
 winter devoured. 
 
 The winters of these western regions are much 
 shorter and less severe than those in the same lati- 
 tudes in the eastern states. Indeed, this season 
 scarcely sets in till the middle of December. After 
 this the cold is often as intense as is ever experi- 
 enced below the high latitudes of the New England 
 states ; but its period of duration is very short. 
 Two or three days at most of such weather are 
 invariably followed by fair, sunny days, often mild 
 as those of June ; the hard-trodden streets of 
 towns become quite dry, and even dusty ; soft, 
 pleasant winds from the south prevail throughout 
 the day ; your fires die away in the bright sunlight 
 that pours through the open doors and windows. 
 Sometimes these days are attended by warm rains, 
 which soften the soil and make the roads and streets 
 almost impassable. It seems then as if spring 
 were at hand. You almost watch for tender grass 
 to spring through the dead herbage that covers the 
 prairies. But these pass away, and presently the 
 frost-king is down upon us again, his cold breath 
 searching every cranny and chink of the rude cabin 
 -of the Sucker, and the unfinished house of the more 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. lO*/ 
 
 ambitious settler. I do not mean to say that so 
 mild a temperature as I have described is invaria- 
 ble at this season. Yet no person can spend a 
 winter in the region to which I refer, without ex- 
 periencing many such days. Farther south, in the 
 latitude of Vandalia and Kaskaskia, they make a 
 ■considerable part of the season. 
 
 The most objectionable feature of the climate of 
 all these valley states north of the Ohio, is the sud- 
 den and extreme changes to which it is liable. The 
 mercury sometimes rises many degrees in a few 
 minutes, and often falls as rapidly. 
 
 I remember one of these changes which occurred 
 in the winter of '37, when the mercury fell incred- 
 ibly in a very few minutes. There had been a 
 slight fall of snow two or three days previous, 
 which the warm sun had converted into water, and 
 left standing in pools all over the surface of the 
 frozen ground. The morning was mild, and the 
 sun shone bright till a few minutes before eleven, 
 when the air became suddenly chilly, and in less 
 than ten minutes the whole face of the earth was 
 locked as under a Lapland winter. Many persons 
 lost their lives by the sudden and extreme cold. 
 Travelers over the large prairies had no means of 
 escape, and for several days tidings were continu- 
 ally coming in, of some unfortunate victim who 
 had perished. An old gentleman and his daugh- 
 ter had left a little town north of us for their home 
 six miles away just before the change, and never 
 reached it. Three men on horseback were cross- 
 ing a large prairie on the south, all of whom per- 
 ished, with their steeds. One of them, in hopes to 
 escape by uniting to his own the warmth of his 
 horse, had removed the entrails of the animal, and 
 crept into the cavity ! They were all found the next 
 day, a short distance from each other, stark and stiff. 
 R 2 
 
198 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 In the northern part of the state the winters are 
 longer, the snow falls deeper, and the cold, though 
 not always more intense, is of longer duration. 
 But the prairies here are divided into smaller 
 tracts, and partially sheltered by copses of wood, 
 so that the long winter does not rave so fiercely 
 over them as it would over the wide savannahs 
 farther south. The deep snow occasionally leads 
 to dreadful destruction among the deer. It is often 
 crusted over, so as to bear the weight of a man, 
 while their long, slender limbs plunge into it, 
 and sink them beyond the hope of extrication. 
 In this helpless condition, the terrified creatures 
 are overtaken, and often cruelly beaten to death, 
 by barbarians whose only object is to destroy them. 
 Sometimes they are not even removed, and at 
 others only the choice parts are taken off and car- 
 ried home for use. The unmitigated barbarity of 
 these merciless hunters is more clearly demonstrated 
 toward spring, when starvation has left the deer a 
 feeble skeleton. In this state he can be of no value 
 whatever, yet the ruthless butchery continues add- 
 ing another to the many evidences that blood- 
 shedding may become a pleasant recreation. 
 
 The fickleness of the wintry season greatly im- 
 pairs the farmer's chance of success with fall crops. 
 In those regions where the surface is not covered 
 with snow, the small grains which the eastern far- 
 mer is accustomed to sow in the fall, have little 
 prospect of coming to much strength of maturity ; 
 but this disadvantage is, according to all western 
 agriculturists, compensated tenfold by the gigantic 
 growth of summer. 
 
 One of the most trying conditions of western life 
 is the first winter, which finds the settler moved out 
 of his warm cabin into the new house which he has 
 erected for himself, but not finished. The former 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 199 
 
 tenement has afforded good security against the 
 greatest degree of cold. Its thick walls, chinked 
 between the logs with triangular bits of Wood, 
 plastered neatly in with clay, have been impervious 
 to the biting frost. The wide fireplace has afford- 
 ed abundant facilities for imparting warmth ; and 
 the heavy floor, if well put together, has protected 
 the feet without a carpet. But since the last win- 
 ter passed away, the new framed house has been 
 erected. Boards split by his own hands form its thin 
 outside walls, and these are generally for the first 
 year the only thing interposed between the bitter 
 elements and the shivering tenants. No wonder 
 then, that the cups freeze to the saucers while they 
 are at table, or that the chicken or grouse from 
 which they have, just breakfasted, is thoroughly 
 frosted over while the housewife is setting away 
 the remains of the meal. These are trying times. 
 Quilts are put in requisition, in place of lath and 
 plaster, the fire is kept on active duty, and food is 
 abundant, Hope too whispers that such weather 
 cannot long continue. A few pinching days, and 
 the bright sun and the warm winds will steal in 
 where the keen cold now enters, and be all the 
 more welcome for the constrast. One, two, and 
 sometimes three winters are worn out in this way. 
 The material for finishing houses is scarce ; labor 
 is still more difficult to procure ; and, most of all, 
 the great length of the warm season and the thou- 
 sand delights which the external world furnishes, 
 relax the care and energy which under circum- 
 stances less favorable to other enjoyments, would 
 prove a more efficient security against the rigors 
 of this season. A like want of forecast against the 
 inclemencies of winter marks the whole economy 
 of the early agriculturists of these genial regions. 
 Their cattle are no better cared for than them- 
 
200 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAKD, 
 
 selves. No bams or outbuildings, except a small 
 corn crib, are constructed for years after they set- 
 tle on a farm. This neglect is doubtless owing, in 
 part, to the scarcity of material for building, to the 
 defective state of the mechanic arts, and nearly as 
 much, perhaps, to the unsettled feeling experienced 
 by these strange lovers of the freedom of frontier life. 
 
 Liable at any moment to be pressed upon in his 
 chosen home by eastern emigrants, the western 
 farmer feels that he must retreat from it. He has 
 little sympathy with the living tide that is flowing 
 over his beautiful plains from the land of the rising 
 sun, and when it has passed and closed around 
 him, he feels a stranger in his owti home. The 
 charms for which he loved the country are no 
 longer there, the spirit which bound him to it 
 dwells not in the thrifty growing estates of his 
 Yankee neighbors. It has fled to the untenanted 
 plains beyond, and thither he must follow it. Of 
 what avail then were it to build, as if his life were 
 to be spent here 1 He must be ever moving, ever 
 in the van of civilization, pressing hard upon the 
 Indian, whose footstep brushes the first dew from 
 the face of nature in all these magnificent king- 
 doms of her richest wealth. 
 
 But I am departing from winter and winter life 
 on the prairies. The firesides of many families 
 present something of the aspect which those of our 
 grandsires did in the eastern states. The small 
 wheel employs the females in the hours not de- 
 voted to the cares of the family. The bunch of 
 linen grows day by day, and by and by the sound 
 of the loom may be heard from the chamber or the 
 adjoining room, if there be one. The men look 
 after their cattle, husk their corn at the shock in 
 the field, and if preparations for building the next 
 season are in progress, spend the remaining time in 
 
tIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 201 
 
 preparing timber, splitting boards, riving shingles, 
 and in every other way making their own hands 
 perform the duties of the various mills, machines, 
 and instiiiments, which elsewhere relieve the cul- 
 tivator of the soil of these duties. When nothing 
 of this kind employs them, they fasten a horse to 
 a little '■^ jpung" or jumper,* take a gun, and driving 
 around the corn-fields of the vicinity, shoot grouse 
 enough for one or two dinners, and return home 
 to read or do whatever else seems good, until the 
 return of evening brings fresh wants to be supplied 
 at the farm-yard, or some social neighbor to chat 
 away the hours at the fireside. 
 
 Navigation is suspended on the streams of the 
 interior, and on the upper Mississippi, for a few 
 weeks. It usually opens toward the last of Jan- 
 uary, seldom later than the first of the succeeding 
 month. The ice bridge, however, is not to be 
 trusted. While it remains, therefore, it is a serious 
 obstacle to those whose business or pleasure leads 
 them over unbridged streams ; and some of the 
 most painful accidents have occurred in attempting 
 to cross them. I recollect one that took place 
 during the last winter I spent in the country. A 
 party of four or five young persons set out toward 
 evening to cross the Illinois, for the purpose of 
 attending a ball in the village opposite their place 
 of residence. The river at this place is widened 
 into what is, in this country, termed a lake. The 
 width, at the point of crossing, is probably between 
 half and a quarter of a mile. The weather had 
 been remarkably mild for some days, and the 
 crossing was considered extremely precarious ; 
 but their love of gaiety predominated over pru- 
 dence, and the party entered on the dull, saturated 
 
 * A miniature sleigh, each shaft and runner of which is made 
 of one long bough bent up in front. 
 
202 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 ice. They had proceeded but a few yards from 
 the shore, when it gave way, and plunged them 
 all in. Fortunately, the water was shallow, and 
 many trees and shrubs grew far out from the bank. 
 They caught at these, and, with almost super- 
 human exertion, climbed into their branches, and 
 were all saved; though they nearly perished of 
 the cold before relief came. It was not until a 
 late hour of the following morning, that their 
 situation was discovered by some one passing 
 near the water's edge ; and then some time was 
 consumed in getting a passage for a boat through 
 the ice, which was now broken up and moving 
 slowly off. One of the females, when taken from 
 her perilous position, was stupefied and helpless. 
 All, however, recovered. 
 
 The ice generally moves about the last of 
 January. Navigation is then uninterrupted, till 
 midsummer reduces the streams, and leaves the 
 " bars," which occur at frequent intervals, too 
 scantily covered with water to allow a steamboat 
 of ordinary draft to pass them. This is true only 
 of the tributaries of the Mississippi and Missouri. 
 The latter streams are supplied with an abund- 
 ance of water during the whole year. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 It is always pleasant to resume communication 
 with the world around, when the icy fetters of 
 winter are cast off. Every one rejoices that the 
 great highways are again open, even though he 
 may expect to derive no personal pleasure or 
 benefit therefrom. This feeling, united with the 
 anticipation of the approaching jubilee of nature, 
 makes the settlers in the vicinity of navigable 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 203 
 
 Streams rejoice to hear of the " first steamboat." 
 And as the sun wheels himself day by day higher 
 in our heavens, and the chill winds are followed 
 oftener and longer, by soft airs from the south, and 
 the evenings grow mild, and the frogs begin to 
 pipe in the moist spots on the prairies, one's very 
 heart leaps to meet the benignant spirit of the 
 opening year. 
 
 How intense has been my enjoyment of such 
 seasons in Prairie Land ! How entire the happi- 
 ness, with which we have stood by our door at a 
 late hour on some mild March evening, when all 
 sounds of human life were hushed in our little 
 village, and listened to the thousand minute and 
 gentle voices by which nature announced her 
 emancipation from the grim rigor of the hoary 
 winter ! Millions of the little creatures just named, 
 tenants of the sloughs and low grounds moistened 
 by the rains and melted snows, send forth their 
 cheerful chorus to the night. The moon shines 
 faintly through a veil of mist and smoke, accumu- 
 lated from the slow fires that have all day crept 
 lazily through the saturated grass. Delicious 
 breezes press gently over the vast plains, with a 
 solemn ceaseless sound, that subdues and yet 
 gladdens the soul ! In such an hour the mind is 
 all unchained from its material fetters — free — its 
 conceptions large as nature herself. It floats with 
 the evening winds over all the dim region, searches, 
 like them, every recess in plain or grove, teeming 
 with young life, and ready, when a few more 
 sunny days shall have passed, to burst into visible 
 and joyous beauty. Sympathy, thought, emotion, 
 when nature is in such a mood, scorn all laws of 
 time and place, and career through every period, 
 and over all the regions of space. What are 
 nations and empires the most potent, to the ex- 
 
204 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 istence of which mind is conscious ] The mightiest 
 events of earth sink into insignificance before its 
 own exulting sense of being. It asks no power 
 but that which it can achieve for itself. It sees 
 neither joy nor pain, in the definite acts of life, 
 whatever be their nature. It asks only to go 
 abroad with the unfolding of the omnipotent spirit 
 that breathes around it, of which it feels itself a 
 part. All its past is but a point — all its future 
 eternity ! It inquires not how or whence it came, 
 cares not for the circumstances in which it finds 
 itself, but rejoices in being — itself the most 
 wonderful of all the mysteries which it cares not 
 now to solve. Nature, in all her vast extent, her 
 manifold operations, is within its grasp. Clouds, 
 volcanos, oceans, tempests, mountains, deserts — 
 the secret workings of the vital and physical laws, 
 the innumerable forms of life and matter ; all the 
 beauty of the world which is just bursting into 
 life ; all the glory of the millions that have passed 
 away, become only sources of exquisite pleasure. 
 They waken no inquiry, they seem no mystery. 
 We live in the past as if it were the present ; we 
 are tenants of all time. We seize, for a moment, 
 our place in the spirit world, and look upon mate- 
 rial nature as if we were no longer a part of it. 
 What are such Teachings of the mind but a 
 lengthening of the bonds by which it is allied to 
 Omnipotence 1 Are they not foretastes of its un- 
 shackled future, glimpses of its eternity — faint and 
 brief, surely, yet sufficient to make us rejoice that 
 it is not destined to reside ever with matter? Who 
 is not richer for such a moment] Whose soul 
 does not thrill with a joy unutterable, when this 
 chord has been swept by the breath of nature, to 
 find how deep and rich are the tones it yields, in 
 making up the harmony of his being 1 Who does 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 205 
 
 not descend to earth, from such ecstatic flights, 
 happier and better for the exquisite sense which 
 has been kindled by them ! His love of the ma- 
 terial beauty and harmony which has summoned 
 him from himself is a thousandfold stronger. They 
 are no longer regarded merely as objects of de- 
 light to the faculties which perceive them, but, as 
 links to draw us higher, as incense laid on the 
 altar of our hearts, to kindle therein brief but 
 angelic light. Blessed be nature — beautiful, life- 
 enkindling nature ! Blessed be the thousand arts 
 by which she appeals to our love and reverence. 
 Bud, leaf, and tree, raging tempest and gentle 
 life-distilling dew — fathomless ocean and clear, 
 moss-bound spring — blessed are ye all. And 
 thrice-blessed and adored be the wisdom which 
 has enabled us to see all these, and feel ourselves 
 partakers of their being, their beauty, and their 
 power. 
 
 The majestic silence (for the rich music of na- 
 ture is silence to the soul that harmonizes with it) 
 -in which such emotion can alone live, is deep on 
 the dark plains around us. No discordant sound 
 of life — no jarring stir — no hum of art or toil, 
 breaks on the soul. Its pinion soars untiring — its 
 keen sense is drawn ever onward, but only by the 
 voices which Omnipotence has called forth. The 
 human world is all absent, gone, faded away in the 
 immense distance. What sound is that which re- 
 calls the ear to its mortal sense, at this deep hour ] 
 A slow, measured march, which you deem for a 
 moment might be the deeper bass of the universal 
 choir — the cloud voice answering to the solemn 
 spirit of the night. Whence comes it] It is dis- 
 tant, but belongs to earth. It dissolves the spirit 
 fabric in which we have been enshrined, and leaves 
 .the keenly sensitive soul unshielded, until it again 
 S 
 
206 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 enters the mortal, and adapts itself to its old abode. 
 Earth is here again, with all its forms of beauty 
 and notes of harmony, to waken admiration, won- 
 der, and love. The vision is past. Sensations and 
 emotions belonging to the mortal, come again, all 
 summoned from their slumbers, by this one note 
 from the human world. What is it ^ A moment's 
 attention tells you. 
 
 Far off in that forest, behind whose leafless 
 boughs the sun set, and the twilight faded, lies a 
 stream — a river. Its dark waters flow slowly on- 
 ward, between rich banks, wooded with the gigan- 
 tic black walnut, the graceful elm, the slight and 
 mobile cotton-wood. Nearer the margin the red- 
 bud already begins to swell, and close beside it, 
 the pure white blossoms of the dog-wood are un- 
 folding. So that even now, before the trees are 
 clothed with their young leaves, these beautiful 
 shrubs enliven long lines of the dull, brown forest 
 with chaste and exquisite colors. As the ^^^nds 
 career along the surface of the waters, they bend 
 and dance above them ; and when their more ma- 
 jestic neighbors shall put on the vernal garb, they 
 will fling their petals to the stream, and mingle in 
 the common world of leaves about them. In all 
 the still, currentless nooks of this stream, myriads 
 of wild fowl are now engaged in preparing for their 
 young. Occasionally a scream overhead, and the 
 sound of swift wings cutting the air, announce that 
 another party has arrived from the sunny south, to 
 join them. If you were near that river, you would 
 hear their small talk all the night, as they glide 
 about in the water. And sweet music it is, to one 
 who loves the wdld and unrestrained in nature. 
 Here they have built their temporary homes and 
 reared their young, from time immemorial. And 
 here, long years ago, they were unmolested in 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 207 
 
 these cares and pleasures. The wild tenants of 
 the woods and streams passed them by, without 
 harm, and if man came there, he came silently. 
 The slight canoe shot through the waters with a 
 sound that scarcely struck their ear till it was gone. 
 The night was profoundly quiet — the day brought 
 no harsh sounds, no waste of joyous life, no giants 
 rushing through the still waters, casting their 
 waves far up on the shore, to return laden with 
 mire and earth. Now, how changed ! Monsters 
 plough the bosom of the river, whose hoarse voices 
 ring through the silent valley for miles ; whose 
 eyes are fire, whose breath is destruction. Long 
 before they approach, their measured marchings 
 ten-ify these feathered dwellers in the wilderness, 
 and long after they are past the sound returns, and 
 the disturbed waters roll ashore with an angry 
 splash, as if they would signify their displeasure 
 at such intrusion. It is the note of this almost liv- 
 ing thing that fell on our ear just now. Though 
 nearly nine miles away, it may be plainly heard in 
 peculiar states of the atmosphere. Its first few 
 puffs are faint, but as it approaches nearer, they 
 swell louder into the silent air, till you almost fancy 
 you can hear the wheels dashing into the foamy 
 waters. Then they die away. Fainter and fainter 
 grows the sound, and at last it is wholly lost. Si- 
 lence, profound as before, reigns around us, and 
 the mighty creation, that called us back to earth, 
 is gone, to break the solemn repose of the wilder- 
 ness beyond. 
 
 One of the most impressive features of this 
 magnificent land, is the magnitude of its streams. 
 One can form no adequate conception of the ef- 
 fect which these watercourses have on the mind : 
 the smallest of them that is ever entered by 
 steamboats, longer than the most vaunted rivers 
 
208 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 of the east ; the largest, half spanning a con- 
 tinent. ■ 
 
 To float along on these majestic waters, through 
 regions whose fertility and beauty we can scarce 
 imagine to have been surpassed by Eden itself; 
 to travel thousands of miles through forests whose 
 deep aisles reecho to no sound save the monoto- 
 nous breath of your own steamer, and plains which 
 stretch away from the water-side to the sky ! mil- 
 lions upon millions of acres, sending forth no sound 
 or sign of life ; silent, tenanted only by wild animals 
 and at long intervals by the solitary wood-chopper, 
 whose " shantee," hidden among the trees, is indi- 
 cated by the smoke which curls up from its stick 
 chimney ; or possibly by the shouts of children 
 around its door : to travel thus for days and even 
 weeks, your steed never tiring, your speed never 
 flagging, is to gather an idea of vastness, unpar- 
 alleled except upon the ocean. Firm, inhabitable 
 Vastness, every foot of which is teeming with the 
 energies that support life ; every acre of which 
 would yield an ample subsistence to large num- 
 bers of the famishing and perishing thousands of 
 the crowded old world. 
 
 To set out on one of the tributaries of the mighty 
 stream which has given name to this immense val- 
 ley, to follow this comparatively insignificant one 
 till it is lost in the larger, and then to float on 
 amid waters that have fallen upon the mountain 
 peaks an interminable distance toward the setting 
 sun, and made their devious way through the myr- 
 iad windings of forest, cliff, and plain, bearing mes- 
 sages from all these to the distant ocean, awakens 
 a perception of extent which it is impossible to 
 realize elsewhere. There is a sublimity in jour- 
 neying on these great waters which language can- 
 jiot describe. You feel it from the first moment 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 209 
 
 you find yourself afloat. It is not in looking out 
 upon them. To the mere optical sense they are 
 often less impressive than the puny streams of the 
 east. It is in the association — the idea that the 
 water which ripples at your side has come from a 
 far land, a land full of unexplored wonders and 
 beauties. The reflection opens an immense field 
 of thought and inquiry, and makes you long to be 
 transported to the region where all these exist. 
 
 But you must love nature, to enjoy this senti- 
 ment. There must be a chord in your mental 
 existence that will vibrate to the potent wand 
 which summons life, beauty, and majesty to these 
 vast solitudes. 
 
 Oh, I love nature. The old world, burthened 
 as it is with the sublime and exquisite products of 
 human energy, enveloped as it is with the associ- 
 ations of tumultuous ages, and glorified with the 
 light of mighty minds, is interesting. It tells many 
 a tale to subdue and to enkindle the soul ; it opens 
 many a volume to delight, to astonish, to agonize. 
 It offers a continual spectacle of warning, exhorta- 
 tion, and instruction to him who will gaze thereon. 
 Wiser heads may prefer this, but give me the free 
 untrodden empire of nature ! Give me her piled 
 cliffs, her forest aisles, her chant of rushing winds 
 and waters, her untrained songsters, her exquisite 
 forms and hues of beauty, and I will ask no other. 
 The lofty edifices which art, directed by the reli- 
 gious feelings, has wrought and piled, may waken 
 devotion in others, but my cathedral should be the 
 overhanging cliff, my temple the eloquent shades. 
 My worship is kindled by these into far more in- 
 tense life than by the displays of human power. 
 Living much with nature, makes me wiser, better, 
 purer, and therefore, happier ! 
 
 14 s 2 
 
210 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 The spring of '37 opened with delicious beauty 
 on the prairie land ! The giowing world, both 
 animate and inanimate, seemed to rejoice in the 
 departure of an unusually rigorous winter. The 
 showers fell more lightly than those of the pre- 
 vious year, and the earth, moistened with gentle 
 rains and bathed in genial sunshine, seemed more 
 willing than ever to enrich man. Happy would 
 it have been for the inhabitants of these fertile re- 
 gions had they obeyed her summons, and turned 
 from the alluring uncertainties of speculation to 
 honest, productive labor ! But they bad not then 
 learned the bitter lesson which the few following 
 years taught them. Men had resorted to the west 
 expecting to coin the rich soil, not by expending 
 patient labor to convert its energies into products 
 useful to man, nor by erecting upon it homes which 
 should increase the amount of happiness there en- 
 joyed ; but by dividing it into small fractions and 
 setting an inflated estimate upon them — an esti- 
 mate not authorized by its capacities, or the con- 
 dition of the country ; but dependent on the extent 
 to which they could deceive each other and them- 
 selves. So the growing population of the rich 
 savannahs disregarded all the strong inducements 
 which the earth held out to seek legitimate wealth 
 and happiness, and left the fertile acres untilled, 
 to scour the country for ** town sites," which no 
 one of their generation will ever see occupied. 
 Time and energy were spent in these fruitless 
 labors, that, well directed, would have enriched 
 the state. Men seemed to have forgotten that 
 wealth has natural sf)urces, without drawing upon 
 which, it can never be obtained except in few and 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 211 
 
 rare instances. And, forgetting this, they plunged 
 deeper and deeper into the mazes of speculation. 
 The cloud of disti-ess which had risen over the 
 eastern world had not yet cast its shadow on these 
 favored regions. Money was abundant, and hope 
 high. This was the year of the " crisis" in the 
 west ; and the change which succeeded it was ter- 
 rible. 
 
 But the country was now full of life and energy. 
 The human, the animal, and the vegetable world 
 seemed alike rejoicing in the superabundant vigor 
 of the season. Happy and joyous life smiled 
 everywhere ! Our little village had received many 
 valuable families the preceding autumn, and with 
 the first flowers of spring came several others, 
 who had been long expected and were joyfully re- 
 ceived. Among the former was one which I shall 
 introduce here, as well for the interesting charac- 
 ter of its members, as because there is a tragical 
 sequel to be told, by-and-by, of the husband and 
 father. This family consisted of four — father, 
 mother, and two sons. They had emigrated from 
 the metropolis of the east late in the preceding au- 
 tumn, and spent the winter in a neat little dwell- 
 ing on the southeastern border of the village. 
 They were members of the Society of Friends, and 
 if their form of faith were to be accepted as the 
 origin of their many and exalted virtues, one could 
 wish it universal. Nowhere else were such peace, 
 harmony, gentleness, and affection found ! The 
 father was a middle-aged man, with nothing 
 extraordinary in his personal appearance till the 
 expression of his face, and the contour of his head, 
 arrested attention. The latter would have delight- 
 ed the phrenologist, the former would have won 
 the affection of the most timid child. Benevolence, 
 kindness, mingled with justice, and a proper de- 
 
212 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 gree of self-respect, were the leading characteris- 
 tics of both. His high, open brow, and mild yet 
 intelligent eye, the noble development of the up- 
 per portion of the head, and the thinness at the 
 base, were delightful assurances that a spirit every 
 way worthy the name of man dwelt within. And 
 so it proved. No person was more respected, 
 more beloved, and it is a rare combination that 
 commands both these tributes from our fellow be- 
 ings. Endowed with a fine taste, and good pow- 
 ers of mind, he had been ever a devoted lover of 
 some branches of natural science, among which 
 ornithology claimed preference. Much delight 
 therefore was in store for him in the new varieties 
 of birds to which western life would introduce him. 
 And great was his pleasure when a leisure day 
 came, to sally forth, gun in hand, and return after 
 a few hours' ramble, with some of the feathered 
 tenants of the new country for preservation. Many 
 beautiful specimens of his preparation are still 
 found among eastern collections, and in the 
 homes of his friends. Such was the husband. 
 The wife, though differing widely from this, was 
 not less respected and beloved among those who 
 knew her. Plain and exceedingly neat in per- 
 sonal appearance, soft and quiet in speech, gentle 
 and tender in her deportment, kind and dignified 
 in her treatment of strangers, and unaffectedly 
 loving in her family, she was an object of just 
 admiration and warm regard. Between these 
 persons there still existed that lively affection 
 which poets sing as belonging only to the fresh 
 and glowing days of youth. Their intercourse 
 was marked by the tenderest consideration in 
 each for the wishes of the other. Their lan- 
 guage had still the warmth of youthful feeling, 
 chastened by the purifying influences of parental 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 213 
 
 love, and the higher moral sense which well-spent 
 years produce. The happy children of these pa- 
 rents were two sons, well advanced toward man- 
 hood — such sons as one might expect would grow 
 up at a fireside adorned by so many virtues. And 
 beautifiil it was to see this family gathered in their 
 neat and simple home ; each a bond to the other, 
 and all to him. They were the model which 
 many of the young beginners in our village set 
 before themselves for imitation. Happy will they 
 be who shall ever reach its perfect semblance. 
 
 Wlien the spring came, the father and sons 
 began to open their farm about two miles below 
 the village on the prairie. It was a beautiful spot. 
 The plain around was diversified by high swells 
 which fell off into pleasant hollows, where the 
 large, luscious strawberry, concealed by the rank 
 grass, clustered and ripened much later than on 
 the adjacent elevations. Groves bordered the 
 prairie at no great distance from the house on the 
 south and west ; and on the northwest lay a bold 
 eminence, on the summit of which stood the cabin 
 of their nearest neighbor. In due time, the little 
 cottage in which they were to find their future 
 home, was completed and entered. Trees were 
 set about it, outbuildings constructed, and the farm 
 began to wear a cheerful and inviting aspect. The 
 health of the mother, which had been extremely 
 delicate in the east, improved very much. The 
 cares of her family were no longer burthensome to 
 her, and every source of enjoyment seemed open- 
 ing before her, as if youth were returning, instead 
 of passing away. And here, giving and receiving 
 happiness, we leave them for the present. 
 
 Meantime many farms began to be opened in 
 the vicinity of our village. Riding over the prai- 
 rie you would see the heavy team of three and four 
 
214 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 yokes of oxen traveling slowly over a tract, 
 dragging after them a plough, which if you have 
 never seen '* hreaking*^ done, is an entire stranger 
 to you. The forward end of the beam runs on two 
 wheels, to the axle of which the team is made fast. 
 One of the wheels, that on the right, is larger in 
 diameter than the other by about tnree inches. 
 This runs in the furrow ; and as the machine 
 advances, a belt of turf, from eighteen to twenty- 
 seven inches broad, and two or three deep, is cut off, 
 and turned smoothly over into the space from which 
 its neighbor has just been ejected. When the turf is 
 well broken, these strips lie as smoothly in their 
 inverse, as natural positions. The unifoniiity of 
 the surface renders it unnecessary to hold the 
 plough; so that one man can perform the labor 
 alone. If the track be fenced previously to break- 
 ing, a very respectable crop of corn, called by the 
 farmers " sod corn," may be raised on the broken 
 turf, with no other preparation than this. It is 
 usually planted at the time of ploughing, a few 
 kernels being scattered along the edge of each 
 furrow, and left to spring up between the contig- 
 uous belts of sod. I have often seen this " sod 
 corn," thus planted and never afterward aided by 
 cultivation, attain a larger growth than the most 
 cultivated fields of the east. It is principally used 
 as fodder. 
 
 June is the month generally preferred for this 
 process of breaking. The turf, once fairly turned, 
 the overlaid vegetation decays during the summer, 
 the roots below " die out ;" and by the next spring 
 a pair of horses will easily turn a furrow four 
 inches below the first. After this, nothing can 
 exceed the ease with which the soil is cultivated. 
 So mellow, soft, and free from obstructions is it, 
 that a child could almost work it. Breaking the 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 215 
 
 turf is, to the prairie agriculturist, what clearing 
 the ground is to those of wooded countries : the 
 difference being that one man with a good team 
 and plough will break three acres of the former in 
 a day, while the same force employed in the forest 
 would scarcely prepare a like area for cultivation 
 in a year. 
 
 The fertility and inexhaustibleness of the prairie 
 soil are other sources of pleasant congratulation 
 to its cultivators. From three to six and even 
 nine feet of the richest black loam cover millions 
 of acres. No wonder that an English gentleman, 
 on riding many days over such rich grounds, and 
 seeing them lie along the navigable streams for 
 thousands of miles, exclaimed in astonishment, 
 *' It is wonderful that your farmers do not cul- 
 tivate these rich lands!" One might easily have 
 told him that we had not a sufficient number growTi 
 yet ! There are spots in the prairie country which 
 have been planted with wheat annually for two 
 hundred years, by the early French settlers ; and 
 yet no signs of exhaustion are visible. The growth 
 is apparently as rank, and the maturity as vigorous, 
 as in the first year of its culture. 
 
 These slow-moving teams and the brown sur- 
 face around them are pleasant sights to those who 
 love to witness the gi'owth of a country. Then 
 there are other features indicative of the same 
 thing, which one rejoices to look on. Houses 
 spring up in various parts of the prairie, with 
 fenced fields about them. The road on which 
 l-ast spring we could ride three miles north from 
 our village without seeing a dwelling or any sign 
 of cultivation, has now within that space two 
 houses, one of which has a noble farm look. The 
 other is the residence of a worthless mechanic, 
 whose home might be a princely one, if he would 
 
216 LIFE m PRAIHIE LAND. 
 
 use his time and skill in that manner, instead of 
 spending it in lawless carousals, and spreading 
 ruin and degradation among the families of his 
 neighbors. 
 
 Fence-making is an important item in prairie 
 agriculture. Where farms are opened at a con- 
 siderable distance from timber, the expense and 
 difficulty of procuring rails are insurmountable ; 
 there is no stone to supply their place; and the 
 next expedient is to use the turf. This is suffi- 
 ciently firm, and when properly ''laid up," not 
 only serves admirably for purposes of utility, but 
 often lends much beauty to the face of the land- 
 scape. Hedges surmounting these walls of green 
 have been tried, and I believe sometimes with 
 tolerable success. There is no doubt, if sufficient 
 pains were taken, they would succeed to perfec- 
 tion, and nothing can be imagined more beautiful 
 than a densely populated prairie, divided by such 
 hedges, the broad rich harvest waving between, 
 and the luxuriant orchards bending their laden 
 boughs over them. I have seen some sections of 
 these turf fences surmounted by a lofty border of 
 the late yellow flowers, so that at a little distance 
 the earthy elevation was perfectly concealed, and 
 the field looked as if it were enclosed by a floral 
 hedge six or eight feet in height. 
 
 Another and a still more delightful task to the 
 person of taste is setting out trees. Early in the 
 spring you will see an occasional waggon, laden 
 with the young members of the forest, going to 
 some cheerful-looking farm, or rolling into the 
 village with its choice cargo, for the public grounds. 
 In the season of which I am now writing, the 
 square of our little town was surrounded, and many 
 private grounds were similarly ornamented with 
 them. 
 
LIFE IN PEAIRIE LAND. 217 
 
 No enterprise, public or private, produces more 
 chaste and unselfish joy than this. Every body 
 loves trees, and every one feels a thrill of grati- 
 tude toward the man vv^hom they see planting one. 
 A tree is unlike any other ornament. Though set 
 on private property, it is a public blessing. It is 
 not like a piece of statuary or painting, accessible 
 only to the few. Its beauty may be seen, its 
 glory appreciated by all. But not for this alone is 
 it prized. Every leaf-laden bough that dances 
 before a prairie house, invites the merry songsters 
 of the woodlands to come out and cheer its in- 
 mates. And the rapid growth which the locust, 
 cotton-wood, aspen, and some other species have 
 in the strong soil, leaves no excuse for living 
 long in a treeless and birdless home. While the 
 more beautiful and stately specimens are coming 
 forward, these will give the bobo'link, brown 
 thrasher, robin, whip-poor-will, &c., ample en- 
 couragement to visit you. They will not come 
 without them. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 As the spring advanced, we forsook our little 
 toy-shop, and, after boarding for a few weeks in 
 the family of a very dear friend in town, I found 
 myself once again domiciliated within the beloved 
 walls of Prairie Lodge. The earth, I think, holds 
 no spot, the memory of which will ever be so dear 
 to me as this. Even at this long distance of time 
 and space, and with the wide chasm which succeed- 
 ing events have opened between the then and the 
 now, I remember its every feature, its every charm, 
 as if they had been seen and enjoyed yesterday. 
 The little stream, and the willows which drooped 
 T 
 
218 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 over it ; the profusion of roses, which drew, daily, 
 exclamations of delight from Mary ; the rich grass 
 about the house, which she had so carefully 
 watched and defended against the encroachments 
 of its wild neighbors ; the tall old oak before the 
 door, and the vigorous growth of the shrubs and 
 vines which had been set in the garden the pre- 
 ceding spring, and which every evening found us 
 admiring; the rich foliage of the barrens and 
 groves around, and of the tract covered with the 
 shrubby oaks where the solitary graves were made, 
 seem as fresh as if objects of the present hour. 
 The latter spot more particularly won much of 
 our thought and admiration during the summer. 
 It lay in front of the room in which most of our 
 time was spent ; and, in the warm afternoons, when 
 the sun left the door shady and cool, we used to 
 gather near it or even upon the sill, and sit and 
 look at the bright leaves glancing in the light, and 
 talk of such repose as might be enjoyed beneath 
 them, till it seemed as if to lie down there would 
 be no terror. In June, when it was in the height 
 of its beauty, the whole tract was thronged with 
 locusts. Myriads of these busy insects reveled in 
 the rich foliage ; all day the soft air resounded 
 with their ceaseless hum, and we used to listen to 
 it with a kind of charmed feeling, and wonder 
 over the mystery which unfolded itself in visible 
 forms only at such long intervals. Toward the 
 close of July their song and rerel ended. Their 
 feasts had been principally confined to wild vege- 
 tation ; the fields were scarcely touched, and the 
 abundant harvest yielded a generous reward for 
 the labor which had been bestowed upon it. Day 
 after day the creaking wain came slowly in from 
 the sunny fields, and its rich burthens were trans- 
 ferred to the noble barn which the farmers had 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 219 
 
 reared and finished with their own hands. The 
 labor of the season was severe both in doors and 
 out. But Mary had passed through five such, 
 performing toils infinitely multiplied during some 
 of them, by sickness in her own family or the 
 neighborhood. Still I wondered each day, as she 
 moved about to her appointed tasks, how so slight 
 a form could endure so much. Yet she rarely 
 complained of fatigue or indisposition. But I 
 looked with boding anticipations at her small 
 chest, and thought of our mother who had died 
 long, long years before, of the disease which this 
 figure too surely signaled. And yet we were 
 happy ; no word was ever spoken that defined 
 these thoughts. Indeed they had but a dim ex- 
 istence in my own mind. We laid plans for finish- 
 ing and ornamenting her house ; we formed schemes 
 for revisiting the scenes of early childhood, dis- 
 cussed systems of education for the promising boy 
 in whom we all delighted so much, and, in every 
 expression and thought, looked forward to sharing 
 a long life in the beautiful country we so loved, 
 and to many years of happiness and comparative 
 ease for her in the home she had so hardly earned. 
 But as the summer drew to a close, she began to 
 droop, and a cough, so slight that we scarcely 
 noticed its existence, began to hang about her. 
 There was no pain, apparently no disease, and yet 
 the limbs, that had never before tired, now refused, 
 at times, to obey the energetic mind ! ** What can 
 be the matter?" she would say. *'It must be in- 
 dolence ! It must be that the event which I have 
 so ardently desired, the arrival of my friends, has 
 wrought a desire for relaxation from the severe 
 labors which I have never abated before, since we 
 came to the new country. 
 
 We were accustomed to repel this half-playful 
 
220 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 self-accusation, and it was often said that she 
 needed repose ; that she had exhausted her ener- 
 gies by incessant labor, both of body and mind ; 
 and that they would return fresh as ever after a 
 period of rest. In any other case we should have 
 known this was a glaring fallacy ; but we wished 
 it so, and therefore believed it. But when the 
 repose came, the result we had hoped for did not 
 follow. At times, it is true, there was a little recruit- 
 ing, barely enough to balance our fears, with the 
 hope it enkindled, but the gain would be all unac- 
 countably lost in a few days ; and then our ingenuity 
 was vainly taxed for a reason, and for some other 
 resource in which to trust anew. Thus it went on. 
 The last of August brought an event which quite 
 diverted our attention from all previous objects — an 
 event fraught with emotions at once the most joyful 
 and solemn to me — one which ever opened the 
 deepest fountains of feeling in the female heart ; 
 which added to my other sources of happiness the 
 charm of maternity. Absorbed as I was in this new 
 relation, as we all were in the little being, whose 
 charms and wants claimed our attention, we forgot, 
 in a measure, the previous object of our solicitude. 
 She seemed to be better too, and when we left her 
 late in the autumn and returned to our little village 
 home, we had the most ardent hopes of seeing her 
 quite well before the winter set in. When the 
 calm mild days of the Indian summer came, she 
 rode down, and spent a considerable part of a 
 week with us. Our boy grew nobly ; and what with 
 the delight this gave us, and the hopes which oc- 
 casional periods of improvement in Mary kindled, 
 the short winter wore nearly away without start- 
 ling us from our fancied security. But the time 
 came when we could no longer delude ourselves ! 
 The invalid herself was the first to show us how 
 
 M 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 221 
 
 much we had been deceived. We were frequent- 
 ly together, and one day toward the last of Feb- 
 ruary, when we all were seated in her room, she 
 took occasion to express her wishes in regard to 
 the disposition of affairs when she should no longer 
 be with us. She spoke as calmly as if preparing 
 for a journey to some pleasant land fi-om which 
 she would soon come back restored and happy. 
 We were plunged in the deepest grief. I can 
 never forget the effect which this conversation had 
 upon my feelings. It seemed the opening of a 
 dismal gulf before me, whose hungry depths were 
 going to devour the form, the affection, and the 
 noble mind I had been so long denied, and had 
 but now just come to enjoy. I had nothing to an- 
 swer, not even tears. To utter words of hope, 
 with that wasted form before me, and those dark 
 eyes fixed upon my face, their deep, intense, un- 
 earthly light piercing my very soul, was impossible. 
 To unite with the resignation she expressed, equally 
 so, and thus I was compelled to listen in silence 
 to her feebly uttered words, every tone of which 
 struck upon my heart like the voice of a burial 
 knell ! I have seen few bitterer days than that. It 
 broke down the barrier of hope which I had almost 
 unconsciously reared around us, and left nothing 
 whereon to lean. I felt then that the reality could 
 scarcely be more agonizing than the certainty 
 which placed it before me. 
 
 My sister's disease thence onward took a more 
 active and complicated form. But it wrote itself 
 in strangely deceptive characters on her person. 
 In her days of early girlhood, she had possessed 
 what a few persons call beauty. Her figure was 
 always slight, and the bust too thin for mere phy- 
 sical beauty. But there was a grace in all her 
 movements which few could see and not admire ; 
 t2 
 
222 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 her finely proportioned head was covered with a 
 profusion of glossy chesnut hair, which flowe'd half- 
 way to her feet. Her high, broad forehead sur- 
 mounting a small lower face, indicated the pres- 
 ence of a mind of no common order. There was 
 something quaint yet sweet in the expression of 
 the mouth — something which gave assurance of the 
 predominance of earnest and grave thought ; and 
 yet betrayed the presence of a humor which, upon 
 sufficient provocation, would break forth into ir- 
 resistible laughter; and a merry laugh it was, 
 when it came — a laugh to which no one could 
 listen without responding. But the finest feature 
 of her face was the eye. It was dark, darker than 
 the hair ; and though not uncommonly large, was 
 at times dilated and lighted up with such an ex- 
 pression that one would not hesitate to pronounce 
 it of extraordinary size ; it was a bright, clear eye, 
 that one could look into, as into a shady spring, 
 and seem to see all that lay beneath the surface. 
 In my early admiration I had thought it exceed- 
 ingly beautiful, and my ripened affection was 
 scarcely likely to correct my judgment if it erred. 
 Beside, it had gathered a richer expression from 
 all the stirring duties, pleasures, and trials of her 
 new life. It was now the eye of a mother, a wife, 
 a high-purposed, thoughtful woman. On her sick 
 bed how changed were all these things ; the thin 
 form was now so wasted, that we could bear her 
 in our arms from one place of rest to another ; the 
 face seemed more than ever disproportioned to 
 the heavy forehead — the complexion was pure, 
 and the cheeks had each a color like the deep 
 blush of the roses she loved so well. But the eye 
 was most changed of all ; it was dilated, apparently 
 to twice its usual size, and was indescribably 
 bright and clear. 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 223 
 
 As the genial days of spring drew on, and the 
 balmy air floated in at the open doors and win- 
 dows, we used to lift her from the bed as a mother 
 would a pining infant, and lay her, half recumbent, 
 in her pillowed chair, where she could look abroad 
 upon the opening world. Oh, it was bitter then 
 to sit helplessly down beside her ; when her large 
 spiritual eyes were wandering over the reviving 
 plains and awakening groves — when every shrub 
 and tree that she had so loved and cherished 
 around her home, was putting on its richest charms 
 to fascinate and bind the heart ; when the birds, 
 whose joyous notes had cheered the solitary hours 
 of so many similar seasons, were returning to their 
 olden haunts full of life and music, and the vines and 
 roses that her own hand had trained were unfold- 
 ing their young tendrils around her casement, and 
 the brook which she had so gaily challenged me 
 to arrest, under the clump of willows, was coming 
 down with its freight of vernal waters, babbling 
 and murmuring the same song to which she had 
 listened, through long years full of vigor and hope ; 
 and feel that she was passing in'esistibly away 
 from all this; that a hand was upon her which 
 neither skill nor affection could remove ; that by 
 and by she would depart, no more seeing nor seen : 
 this was the agony which never finds utterance. 
 
 To feel that in this spot, made beautiful by 
 her untiring industry and little arts, she had spent 
 so many years of loneliness and toil, pining for 
 those far-off few, for each of whom her faithful 
 heart so yearned; anxious to perfect her home, 
 that if they came they might be happy in it ; and 
 that now, when this was nearly consummated, and 
 the fond ones were all gathered at her side, she 
 was going from among us, and we were impotent 
 alike to save or detain her, was insupportable. 
 
224 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 Yet this was my task on the anxious days that 
 ushered in that memorable summer. 
 
 The solitary resting-place of her friend lay di- 
 rectly before the door, and though the graves were 
 hidden in the rich foliage of the shrubbery around, 
 the spot claimed many of her thoughts. They 
 sometimes found faint utterance in words. 
 
 " It is beautiful," she said one day, while look- 
 ing out upon it, " it is beautiful, that dancing foli- 
 age ! How many days I have watched its blended 
 light and shadow from this door. But the feeling 
 with which I have done so, has wonderfully 
 changed since the grave was made. Before that, 
 I used to wonder when the bushes would be 
 removed, and delight to anticipate a luxuriant 
 orchard growing up there. I have had fair visions 
 of trees laden with the red and golden stores of 
 autumn, such as I used to love to wander among, 
 away in the land of our nativity. I was always a 
 lover of autumn. When I lived in the great 
 city our friends used to visit the country in the 
 spring and summer; they especially loved the 
 joyful spring-time. But I chose nature's solemn 
 autumnal days. I loved then to steal away to the 
 silent wood, or ramble under the drooping boughs 
 of the orchard trees. And here, I anticipated 
 many sunny days in advanced life, when I should 
 find that pleasure on this spot. But when the 
 grave was made, this feeling changed. I would 
 not have seen a shrub removed, nor a tree felled, 
 for the world. It is so quiet now, so far removed 
 from the stir and toil of the farm, and the large, 
 glossy leaves of those low oaks are such fit drapery 
 for one's final couch ! See, when a slight breeze 
 rustles them, how the light and shade mingle on 
 their polished surfaces. Those tall trees that stand 
 beside the grave, and mark the spot in the wil- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LANI>i 225 
 
 derness of leaves below, must never be cut down. 
 They are dear to me, and will, I trust, be so to 
 you all by-and-by. Do not weep for me. It is 
 true, I little thought to have been laid beneath 
 them so soon myself; but it is the tomb I have 
 always wished I might rest in. When I used to 
 see the dead borne through crowded streets, and 
 deposited in populous cemeteries, I prayed for a 
 grave in the deep wilderness, with the rich foliage 
 above, and solemn silence around. I have reached 
 it sooner than I then wished — my autumn has come 
 before my summer has reached its full dawn ; but 
 what then ] except," she added with moistened 
 eyes, the mother rising superior to the submissive 
 christian, " except for my boy, who needs his 
 mother's care these many years yet — except for 
 him, much as I love you all, I could go willingly to 
 the greater peace that lies beyond. But it pains 
 you, and I will say no more. Look," she said, 
 after a pause, " there is a bird that has built her 
 nest every spring, in the tall tree over the grave. 
 It is a little pe-weet. They are not so fine singers 
 as some others, but I have always loved them, 
 because they belong to our earliest associations. 
 When I used to lead you to school, up the hill- 
 road by the Friends' Meeting-house, those birds 
 would greet us from the fences and trees, every 
 dewy morning; and I remember so well the 
 delight you used to express, when I could succeed 
 in making you see that it was, indeed, no other 
 than a little brown bird that had spoken the name 
 of our elder sister so plainly, that they have ever 
 since been associated with my pleasantest remin- 
 iscences of our childhood. What a blessed priv- 
 ilege to pass one's childish days in close commu- 
 nion with nature. The heart is so susceptible then 
 to impressions of beauty — so free from everything 
 15 
 
226 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 which afterwards engrosses and lacerates its sensi- 
 bilities ! One gathers then many a gem to bear 
 through life, many a bright glance from the be- 
 nignant face of nature, to beam on the stormy 
 hours of after years. I would not barter the 
 recollections of my early childhood, for the uni- 
 ted display of the cities of earth. I would not 
 lose the delicious memories then gathered, of 
 the deep wood, the running stream, the mossy 
 rock, the valley, mountain side, and verdant plain, 
 for all the wealth which art can boast. I value 
 the exquisite productions of the sculptor and 
 painter, but I love the works of God. One af- 
 fords the highest pleasure to the mere human 
 faculties, but the other exalts our affections to the 
 angelic ! When I hear mothers, who have come 
 from cities to this glorious country, regretting the 
 change on account of their children, I long to lead 
 them forth, and show them the magnificence in 
 which they may revel here. Feeble minds ! that 
 can compare the puny works of man to those of 
 his Maker. I could better educate a child here, 
 with the great volume of nature to expound to 
 him, than in the pent city, with all its dusty libra- 
 ries and elaborate preparations. I could draw his 
 soul upward — I could purify his aspirations — I 
 could instil the love of enjoying and creating 
 beauty — I could teach him those great truths 
 which ought to be the foundation of all education, 
 better here, alone with nature, with a few choice 
 books, and enough of society to call out the natu- 
 ral affections, than the most learned professor 
 could, shut in his cloister. I count knowledge 
 of things as they exist ; I count a high reve- 
 rence for the right — a strong reliance on truth — 
 just perceptions of duty — a keen sense of the 
 beautiful and the harmonious, which God has ere- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 227 
 
 ated around us, and a profound adoration of Him, 
 superior to the gross ideas, related in the lan- 
 guages of nations long extinct — to their corrupt 
 mythology — their feeble attempts in science — 
 their sanguinary wars. I would rather my son 
 spent years, roaming among the sublime solitudes 
 of the mountains and plains, studying the secret 
 labors of nature, and her grand and beautiful pro- 
 ductions, the Bible his only book, than the same 
 length of time in becoming acquainted with the 
 Greek or Latin tongue. I wish his affections 
 drawn out thus, when I am gone. It will soothe 
 the hardest pang of my early death, to know that 
 he will love what I have loved and derived such 
 happiness from. But you say I must not talk. 
 Indeed, I feel that I cannot; let me lie down; 
 the shadows of those tall trees are lengthening on 
 the miniature forest below. If T could walk out 
 with you an hour hence, we should look upon a 
 sunset, gorgeous enough for the skies of Italy. 
 But go you alone, and when you see the golden, 
 purple, and crimson tints, changing and blending, 
 fading and deepening, and feel that you can scarce 
 restrain the emotions which the scene kindles in 
 your bosom, think how often I have looked upon 
 such, and wished that you were here to enjoy it 
 with me. Draw the curtain, and let me look out 
 upon the grass and my little elm. How gracefully 
 it bends ! I once thought to have seen it a majestic 
 tree ; but that v^dll be for other eyes than mine." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 Such, and so heartwringing, were these last 
 communions. I had never seen her so beautiful 
 as she was in those days. Her mind, too, seemed 
 
 it 
 
228 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 to act with more than its usual strength of reason. 
 It was thronged with images of beauty which took 
 the most appropriate and eloquent forms of ex- 
 pression. There was a kind of painful pleasure in 
 listening to these feebly enunciated thoughts and 
 sentiments, which I could not deny myself. 
 
 I remember one bright day, when she felt unu- 
 sually well, she was sitting up in the bed support- 
 ed by pillows, and looking upon the growing 
 world outside. She had just heard her little boy 
 recite the Lord's Prayer, and dismissed him to 
 play, when she turned suddenly to me, and said 
 " To-day is the eighth anniversary of my wed- 
 ding." 
 
 " Is it possible ]" I said, struck by the painful 
 thought that it must be the last she would ever 
 see ; but as we were accustomed to suppress our 
 feelings in her presence, I remained silent. 
 
 ** Yes, it is eight years to-day, and just about 
 this hour, too," glancing at the clock, " since I 
 stood by my husband's side with a heart overflow- 
 ing with strength and hope. We were both 
 young ; I was but seventeen, and he some four 
 years older. We had health, energy, intelligence 
 enough to enjoy the highest pleasures within our 
 reach, and, above all, that affection for each other, 
 without which all these blessings would have been 
 of little avail to secure happiness. Eight years ! I 
 spoke of it this morning, but it was so painful to 
 John to recall the pleasant recollections of that 
 day, that I forbore. I feel strong now, and you 
 must let me talk. Do you know we have never 
 been acquainted since we were little girls ]" 
 
 I looked up in surprise. 
 
 " I mean," she added, " that wehave never enjoy- 
 ed that full revelation of thought and feeling, which 
 alone can constitute acquaintance between sisters. 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 22^ 
 
 There lias never been an opportunity for this till 
 since you came here, and you have thus far been 
 too much engrossed with other affections to admit 
 of it. Do not think I speak reproachfully; I have 
 rejoiced in your happiness, but the young wife and 
 mother could hardly find time and affection to bestow, 
 in those deep, heart-searching communings, which 
 should make each thoroughly known to the other. 
 There have been long years of event, and ages of 
 emotion in the life of each, since we lived togeth- 
 er unengrossed by our love for others. Now you 
 must listen, and let me tell you something, such as 
 my weak memory and weaker powers will permit, 
 of those many years of separation. 
 
 " You remember the little home in the little 
 village surrounded by mountains, where we first 
 found ourselves. You remember one chilly, dark 
 afternoon, when we returned from the small school- 
 house in the woods, we were met at the gate by an 
 older schoolmate, a relative of the family, who told 
 us to come softly in, for our mother was dying ! 
 You remember the awe which these words in- 
 spired, and the solemnity with which we were led 
 through the tearful crowd collected in the room, to 
 her bedside ; and how we gazed with bursting 
 hearts into her dim eyes, to which the full day 
 already seemed faint twilight ; how we took timidly 
 hold of her hands, that were wandering in air to 
 grasp the children she could no longer see. You 
 remember how next morning, when you asked to go 
 in and see her, she lay upon a hard board, straight 
 and cold, and how we turned away from the pale 
 face and leaden eyes, and refused to believe that 
 it was our dear mother ; how we stayed home from 
 school, and wandered all that day about the silent 
 house, scarcely speaking above a whisper, and 
 occasionally peeped fearfully into the dark rocrc ^ 
 
230 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 * 
 
 how the next day, mourning garments came ; and 
 a coffin that struck us with such dread we could 
 not be brought to look on it, till a great crowd of 
 people gathered about, and our father led us up, 
 and asked us to look once again at our mother, be- 
 fore she was put in the cold earth. I recollect 
 you were not tall enough, and he raised you in his 
 arms by my side, and little Henry, still younger, 
 looked down from his uncle's arms and lisped 
 coaxingly to her to get up and take off her cap. 
 A few minutes after, the coffin was closed and 
 borne away ! We followed it, and when it was 
 covered in the grave, returned home, scarcely 
 knowing what had happened, but having a dim 
 impression that some gi-eat sorrow had come upon 
 us. 
 
 " From that day we had no, longer a home in 
 common ; M^hen we met, it was as visitors. This 
 was a great affliction to me, for our continual com- 
 panionship had ripened in my older mind to warm 
 attachment, and I was grieved to be denied its 
 object. You were more easily satisfied with little 
 Henry's company; though I remember no one's 
 arrival ever gave you so much pleasure as mine. 
 All your most charming resorts were shown me, 
 all the choice mementos that had been laid care- 
 fully away since my last visit were brought forth, 
 and many little things exchanged by way of 
 remembrancers. Those were delightful visits that 
 I paid you at grandfather's. The dark pine-tree 
 that stood before the door used to play music that 
 held us spell-bound many an hour, while we sat 
 beneath it. I remember at these times, and when 
 we lay in bed, while the rain was pattering on the 
 roof close to us, you always began to talk of " ma," 
 and expected her return. You used to ask me if 
 I thought she would come back in the cap and 
 
 i 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 231 
 
 night-gown she had on when she went away ; and 
 where she would stand when we first saw her. At 
 last these visits ceased. We were wholly sepa- 
 rated. You went many hundred miles from us all, 
 with strangers, and the remaining four gathered 
 once again under our father's roof But no longer 
 in the little village ; we were now in a great city, 
 and I was old enough to begin to learn that life 
 had more painful realities than had come to us, 
 when we were together. Seven years ! what may 
 not seven years — from nine to sixteen, from seven 
 to fourteen — do for children such as we were 1 
 What did they, till we met again, bring us 1 what 
 sorrow, keener than all that had gone before, in 
 the loss of our last parent ! to you, what oppression 
 and bondage among heartless strangers ! Those 
 were dark volumes to be opened by gay-hearted 
 girls, that we learned to read during those seven 
 years : gloomy commentaries on the world in which 
 we were left to make our way to happiness or ruin. 
 Mine taught me to shrink continually from the 
 world, to regard it as an enemy ever on the watch 
 to destroy my peace, ever waiting with lies and 
 deceit, to lead me away from my true path. The 
 greatest blessing was, that I had a pretty clear 
 perception of what this was. Many a poor girl 
 who started under fairer auspices than myself, has 
 made a total wi-eck. Since I have come to years 
 of maturity, I have learned that oar mother was 
 gifted with a sujjerior mind and great depth of 
 purpose and feeling ; and if we have struggled 
 successfully against tides that have borne others to 
 ruin, we owe praise and gratitude to Him who 
 gave us such a parent. But I had some terrible 
 trials in the great heartless city during those years ! 
 I remember one fierce conflict of four days, that 
 came near destroying my reason. I have never 
 
232 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 been able to look back upon it without a shudder. 
 On the one hand, misfortune and suffering among 
 those who were dearer to me than my own life ; 
 on the other, ceaseless labor by day and night for 
 a pittance which I tremble to think is now lessened 
 by nearly half to thousands of unfortunate females, 
 similarly situated. How could I escape the temp- 
 ters, who never tired in spreading their diabolical 
 nets for my weary feet 1 I will tell you the nature 
 of this fierce trial some other day, when I am 
 stronger. Let me hasten on now. When I was 
 little more than fifteen, I received an offer of mar- 
 riage from a young man who had shown himself 
 an honest and firm friend from the first day of our 
 acquaintance. He was several years my senior, 
 the son of wealthy parents, and bore an unexcep- 
 tionable character. All these things made him 
 what the world calls a * very desirable match.' Our 
 friends thought it almost heaven-sent. Everybody 
 was so pleased with my fortune that I too thought 
 it must be good, and with much encouragement 
 from others, and sanguine hopes of the increased 
 happiness I should be able to afford those I loved, 
 I finally entered into an engagement with him. 
 But it did not require much reflection on my part, 
 after this relation was established between us, to 
 discover that the affection which should be the first 
 and holiest motive to marriage, was wanting in 
 me. All the other requisites of happiness — wealth, 
 integrity, an agreeable person, and certainly as 
 high an order of intelligence as most girls of fif- 
 teen look for, were present. But I soon saw that 
 these would not do. Poor as I was, and welcome 
 as would be the means of ease, and the opportu- 
 nity of intellectual pursuits which I most craved, I 
 could not perjure myself to obtain them. Better 
 my two hands and a subsistence daily earned with 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LANDi 233 
 
 them, I thought, than wealth, and a spirit oppressed 
 with so great falsehood ! So I told Mr. H. that I 
 was convinced I should consult the happiness of 
 both, by begging him to release me from the en- 
 gagement. After many conversations and much 
 reasoning, which continually strengthened my pre- 
 vious conviction of the right, I prevailed, and turned 
 fi-om the high anticipations of those few weeks again 
 to my needle. But I must not linger over those 
 days ; in less than eighteen months I entered into 
 the engagement which was fulfilled eight years ago 
 to-day. It will soon be severed now. This was 
 one of the heart. There was no wealth, no posi- 
 tion superior to my own, but only those personal 
 qualities which assured me that, without these, our 
 happiness would be enhanced by a union. I loved 
 my husband, and that was a stronger motive than 
 all that had operated in the other case combined. 
 " During those eighteen months I had found an- 
 other source of tranquillity, in higher and more 
 clearly defined perceptions of religious duty than 
 I had ever before experienced. I had found that 
 there was positive and exalted happiness in ap- 
 proaching my Maker as a tender father and friend. 
 And thanks be to Him, who deserves our most 
 elevated affections, this never failed me in my 
 hours of severest trial. It was a safeguard and 
 shield. Armed with this newly awakened senti- 
 ment, I felt secure and quiet amid all temptations. 
 Most young persons think their enjoyment of life 
 will be diminished by an allegiance to the laws of 
 Christianity, but I think they are in error. Mine 
 was infinitely increased ! I wished every one to 
 feel as I did. It was in this state of mind, and 
 just after I had formed the engagement with my 
 husband, that I met you after the lapse of those 
 seven eventful years. Such a period, spent as that 
 tj2 
 
234 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 had been by you, not only in a natural but moral 
 wilderness, away from society, away from schools, 
 away from everything but the tyranny of a selfish, 
 passionate woman, and that woman — oh most won- 
 derful phenomenon ! — that woman an Atheist — a 
 defier of her God — had wrought startling changes 
 in you. The timid, inquiring child from whom I 
 had parted with such agonizing tears, met me al- 
 most a woman in stature, and with more than a 
 woman's boldness of thought and speech ; — they 
 were an atheist's ! Judge now — but no, you can- 
 not; you never can until you are similarly situa- 
 ted, of the anguish I experienced on the first eve- 
 ning of our reiinion, when, as we all knelt down, 
 my heart overflowing with a gratitude which God 
 alone could measure for your restoration to us, you 
 walked away to the door, saying you wanted no 
 part in such delusive mummery ! I never remem- 
 ber to have felt a keener pang ; and when, after 
 much persuasion, I induced you, through your af- 
 fection for me, to rejoin the circle and wait while 
 thanks were oflTered and petitions put up for your- 
 self, you turned impatiently away and requested 
 that you might be made the subject of no more 
 prayers until you saw the necessity of them. You 
 remember, that our conversations almost always 
 took the form of controversies ; that I found you 
 conversant with the works of Paine, Volney, Vol- 
 taire, and nearly the whole school of infidel wri- 
 ters, modem as well as early ; that every consid- 
 eration which I proposed was instantly gainsayed 
 by an appeal to them, or by some fearless sugges- 
 tion of your own mind. You had not only made 
 these men your standard, but even exceeded their 
 impiety, and by your impious reasoning, made up 
 of the boldest conceptions and the most unshrink- 
 ing conclusions, led yourself to renounce ail belief. 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 235 
 
 I was at last compelled to give up in despair, trust- 
 ing to time and better influences to eradicate these 
 frightful errors. 
 
 " A few weeks parted us again. I have some- 
 times, when looking over our past lives, compared 
 ourselves to two helmless, rudderless ships, float- 
 ing on the storm-wrought ocean. For a moment 
 they approach each other, and seem as if they 
 would journey on together, but the next, they are 
 parted and driven about on the waste for years ; 
 perhaps never to meet again till they decay and 
 sink into a common sepulchre. It has been almost 
 so with us. We parted ; you to seek the educa- 
 tion and mental culture which should have been 
 the work of earlier years ; I to make such prepa- 
 ration as I might, for the great event before me. 
 The next spring I was married. You know my 
 husband had meantime visited this country, and 
 returned a few weeks previous to our union, with 
 such glowing descriptions of its beauty and advan- 
 tages, that his father gathered the little means he 
 had, and proposed that we should all start west 
 together after our marriage. We did so, and it 
 will be eight years in a few weeks (I may live to 
 see the day), since we bade adieu to our friends 
 and commenced our jouraey. This state at that 
 time was thought, among the stable population of 
 our mountain region, to be almost beyond the 
 knowledge of civilized man. Our friends bade us 
 farewell as if we were about to plunge into the 
 deserts of the old world, instead of the richest and 
 most beautiful region of the new. 
 
 " I rejoiced in that journey. It was the season 
 of life fullest of hope and trust, and all nature 
 seemed like me, to be exulting in the future that 
 was opening before it. We journeyed several 
 weeks through the blooming orchards and fields 
 
236 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LANDi 
 
 of the cultivated country, and at last plunged into 
 the heavy forests of Ohio and Indiana. Here we 
 sometimes slept in our waggon or on the ground, 
 and took our meals in the woods. At last we 
 emerged upon the great prairie which extends from 
 the Wabash, west and north, nearly three hundred 
 miles. Here the magnificence of the country to 
 which we were bound began to appear. I re- 
 member, as we journeyed day after day across its 
 heaving, verdant bosom, that I seemed to be living 
 in a new world. All the noise, all the selfish hur- 
 ry and turmoil in which my past years had been 
 spent, faded away. They seemed as remote as if 
 the barrier of eternity had been placed between 
 me and them. A new creation was around me. 
 The great, silent plain, with its still streams, its 
 tender verdure, its lovely flowers, its timid birds 
 and quadrupeds, shrinking away from our sight ; 
 its soft winds, its majestic storms — was a sublime 
 spectacle ! Occasionally a herd of deer bounded 
 across our path, or a solitary pair of grouse, startled 
 from their parental cares, rose and cleft the air 
 like the arrows of their old pursuers ; but save 
 these we were alone, in silence broken only by 
 our own voices. I thought how many ages that 
 plain had been spread out beneath those soft skies 
 and that genial sun ; how its flowers had bloomed 
 and faded, its gi'asses grown and decayed ; how 
 storms had swept over all its wide expanse, and 
 the thunder echoed from its bosom ; how the 
 solemn winds of autumn had sighed over it, and 
 the raging fires marched in unrestrained fury from 
 one border to the other ; how long all this power 
 and magnificence had displayed itself unseen of any 
 eye, save His who made it ! How long all these 
 mighty and beautiful phenomena had followed 
 each other, and awoke no human emotion, appealed 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 237 
 
 to no enlightened soul. Nature disporting with 
 herself, frolicking in merriment, fading in sadness 
 or raging in anger ; the sole witness of her own 
 acts ! 
 
 *' Then as we crossed the narrow, deep-worn 
 trail of the dark people who had traversed it so 
 long before us, I thought how much emotion had 
 dwelt here ; how much love, hospitality, friend- 
 ship, and fierce hatred had grown, matured, and 
 been extinguished here. How many fearful war- 
 shouts had resounded ; how many death fires had 
 been kindled in the distant groves ; how many 
 wailings for the lost had mingled with the solemn 
 winds. 
 
 '* In imagination, I could still see files of dark 
 waiTiors stealing silently along, unmindful of the 
 flowers and the bright skies, the gay birds and the 
 happy creatures who reveled in the rich world of 
 vegetation around them ; intent only upon the 
 fierce butchery to which they were marching. 
 And my blood used to chill under these fearful 
 visions. But my husband enjoyed them. He had 
 more sympathy with the stern and implacable in 
 the Indian character than I, and he delighted to 
 think of the fi'ee warriors roaming, fearless of their 
 foes, fearless of storm or tempest, in search of their 
 enemies. Later years have quenched much of this 
 feeling in him, but he still loves those legends of 
 the olden time. 
 
 " As we advanced into the midst of this im- 
 mense prairie, our horses were tortured by a large 
 fly that gathered in great numbers upon them, 
 and drove them almost to madness. At length 
 we were obliged to stop during the day, and travel 
 all night. There were houses at long intervals, 
 situated sometimes in the points of groves that 
 {)rojected into the plain, and sometimes several 
 
238 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 miles from the woodland. These were usually 
 our stopping-places, where we remained during the 
 day and then traveled on. My heart ached for 
 the men. They could sleep little during the day, 
 and two or three (there were five of them, you 
 know) were obliged to be continually on foot at 
 night to guide the horses. Their fatigue was 
 almost insupportable. My husband has told me, 
 that he was conscious of having often walked 
 several rods at a time when he was asleep ; that 
 his eyes closed in spite of all his efforts to keep 
 awake, and at length a stumble or a word from 
 some of the paity would startle him, and he would 
 find himself walking along beside the team as 
 usual. They were faithful creatures, those horses. 
 You have caused and enjoyed many a hearty 
 laugh at their expense ; but if they had borne you 
 patiently over nearly two thousand miles, of roads 
 without bridges; traveled night and day with you, 
 you would feel something of that sentiment which 
 has often restrained me, Avhen Tyler's peculiari- 
 ties have set your powers of ridicule in operation. 
 ** But we left the prairie at last ; I was not sori'y ; 
 neither could I rejoice, except for those who suf- 
 fered more than I. But the long journey, the 
 excitement attendant upon the strange features of 
 the country, and the broken rest, were too much 
 for me. When we reache4 the crossings of the 
 Mackinaw, about thirteen miles from here, you 
 know where it is, I was in a raging fever. We 
 traveled on, however, for there was then no house 
 where we could stop. Our people heard in some 
 way that this ' claim' was for sale. They wished 
 to buy an improved one — that is, one with a cabin 
 in which we could live till a house was built, and 
 with grain enough on the ground for the season's 
 use. I have pointed out to you the very small, 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 239 
 
 low cabin which we found here. There were 
 also several acres of grain growing. We all 
 liked the situation, and so a bargain was soon 
 made with the owner, or the 'squatter,' as he 
 termed himself, for his place. But there was one 
 circumstance which was very awkward for us. 
 He could not leave the larger cabin till autumn, 
 and we were therefore obliged all to live in that 
 little pen until our people could build another. I 
 scarcely know how things went on those few 
 weeks. I was sick and wretched in person ; but 
 at last the other cabin was finished, and we felt 
 ourselves very comfortable in it. When the family 
 of the ' squatter' left us, John and I moved into 
 the old one, and lived there until the framed house 
 was built. That was our first introduction to cabin 
 life. The summer was considerably advanced 
 when we arrived, and our people were soon en- 
 gaged in the harvest. The grain was stacked in 
 the cow-yard, for there were then no barns or 
 outbuildings of any description. When the har- 
 vest was over, they began their preparations for 
 carrying on farming more systematically the next 
 year. They made fences, ploughed and sowed, 
 and built a small log stable for their horses. 
 
 "I remember the whole land seemed to me a 
 paradise that summer and autumn. The profu- 
 sion of late flowers and wild fruits, the abundance 
 of game, the richness of vegetation, the mildness 
 of the climate, the sublime storms, and the soft 
 musical winds, delighted me. Our men worked 
 much in the woods, and I used at noon to take a 
 small basket of dinner to them. The sound of 
 their distant axes, and, as I drew nearer, of their 
 cheerful voices, contrasted delightfully with the 
 silence of the sleeping grove. 
 
 " We all had good health so far, and appetites 
 
240 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 that led to many jokes between ourselves about 
 famine, et cet. You have now learned by experi- 
 ence how this climate acts on the appetite, and 
 you may judge of the amount of food which nine 
 persons, in this stage of acclimation, would consume. 
 But v/e had plenty of grain stacked, and meats 
 more delicious than the daintiest markets of the 
 east afford, were abundant everywhere, so we only 
 exulted in our fine health, and pursued our labors 
 joyfully. 
 
 "The prairie below us where there are now so 
 many pleasant farms, was then unsettled. There 
 was no house on the south between us and the 
 Mackinaw, and at the crossings of that stream was 
 the only family whom I visited for the first two 
 years. You ask if those were not lonely years. 
 I answer that there were many, many hours when 
 John and I talked of the friends we had left, 
 when the cheerful social circles where we had 
 sometimes met, were named with moistened eyes, 
 and yet there was no day of them all when we 
 would have returned and forsaken the land of 
 our adoption. Much as we wished for the society 
 of our absent friends, we could not have consented 
 to exchange for it, the joys we had won in the new 
 country. We loved everything in the new land too 
 much for that. But I was telling you that the 
 prairie was all unsettled when we came. I be- 
 lieve it remained so two years. The autumn 
 fires raged then much more fiercely than now that 
 they are trodden or partially fed. You cannot 
 estimate, from what you now see, the sublimity 
 and fury of those early conflagrations. One after- 
 noon late in October, the prairie below us took fire 
 by accident, or was set on fire by some one on the 
 other side. There was little wind, and the flame 
 came lazily over the gi'assy surface ; it seemed as if a 
 
LllFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 241 
 
 breath would extinguish it. It was a fine spectacle, 
 however, to us new-comers, and we watched it occa- 
 sionally, almost wishing that it might show a Httle 
 more energy. No one thought of danger. To- 
 ward sunset the wind rose slightly and the fire in- 
 creased ; as darkness came, the breeze freshened 
 till it became almost a tempest, and the plain 
 around was a sea of roaring flames as far as 
 the eye could reach. It daunted us a little, but 
 was too sublime a spectacle to turn away from, 
 till one of the family suggested that it came with 
 such fury the stacks might be in danger. The 
 thought was instantly acted upon, and every pre- 
 caution taken to secure them, but vainly ! The 
 fire came on with such irresistible energy that, like 
 the wind itself, it overleaped all barriers. In 
 less than an hour, our grain was burned to ashes ! 
 The houses, farming utensils, et cet., were barely 
 saved, and we were left in this thinly inhabited re- 
 gion with but a mouthful of bread stuff! It was a 
 severe blow to us with our small finances, and the 
 difficulty of procuring grain, independently of that. 
 " But I enjoyed that fire. The finest spectacle 
 was when the danger had passed. While the 
 stacks were burning more slowly, the flames swept 
 furiously onward through those shrub oaks. That 
 was a magnificent sight. They mounted quite to 
 the tops of the tallest trees, and went roaring and 
 cracking through the silent barrens with a noise 
 that contrasted strangely with the usual stillness 
 of the hour. The blackness and desolation of the 
 following morning, and the reflection that we had 
 lost all our grain, were painful consequents of such 
 an entertainment. There was, however, no danger 
 of real suffering. The greatest abundance of fine 
 game abounded in our vicinity, and it could not be 
 impossible, so we thought and said, to find some- 
 IG "X 
 
242 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 thing whereof to make bread. Our houses and 
 other property were spared, and we were thank- 
 ful. 
 
 " By the next summer the unnatural appetite 
 which had beset us all, disappeared, and the suc- 
 ceeding stage of acclimation came on. Part of our 
 number were prostrated with bilious fever, which 
 in almost every case was followed by ague, and 
 the others were visited with that cutaneous disease 
 which you know sometimes takes the place of 
 prostrating fevers. It is the safer process, but 
 scarcely the more agreeable. Some of our people 
 suffered extremely with it. Their arms and hands 
 were perfectly denuded of skin, and in such a 
 state, that, for two or three weeks, those who were 
 not so afflicted had to feed them as if they were 
 infants. My husband and I both underwent the 
 severe ordeal of a long fever, succeeded by ague, 
 but we came through, apparently with unimpaired 
 constitutions. All recovered in time, and there 
 has been little sickness among us since, except the 
 poor invalid sister, who seems to have been born 
 to suffer. 
 
 *' Still we have had many seasons of trial. There 
 has been more or less sickness in the country 
 every summer, and we cannot sit down in our own 
 homes in peace when our neighbors are afflicted. I 
 have sometimes rode one, two, or three miles every 
 day, or every alternate day, to visit a sick neighbor; 
 and here our visits are not calls. We go to per- 
 form the duties of nurse for a day or night, and 
 having no servants at home, are obliged to return 
 as soon as possible, and, notwithstanding our 
 weariness, proceed at once to the cares of the 
 family. We had beside, as I have already in- 
 formed you, many strangers in our homes, some 
 of whom were long and dangerously ill while 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 243 
 
 there ; and these circumstances increased our bur- 
 thens : nevertheless we were happy. In the fall 
 of the third year our little boy came to cheer us 
 with his beautiful presence. Oh that was a happy 
 day when I first heard myself spoken of as a 
 mother, and happier still were those that followed, 
 as our darling gi'ew under our care. He is a 
 brov/n boy now, since he has gone abroad so 
 much, but he was a beautiful babe. He had dark 
 eyes and hair, and a clear skin, with cheeks that 
 deepened like the heart of the rose whenever he 
 slept. We moved into this house the next spring. 
 I had a great deal of labor to perform, and the 
 dear child used to sit and creep on the floor from 
 morning till noon. Many a time, when I have 
 been too much engaged to attend to him, my ear 
 has been struck by the cessation of his prattle, 
 and I have turned to find his cheek pillowed upon 
 the naked board, and his wearied faculties lost in 
 profound sleep. I have laid him on the bed, some- 
 times with smiles, sometimes with tears. I was 
 seldom lonely now, even when his father was 
 away all the long days in the field or wood. He 
 was a world to me. Our society increased, too, 
 about the country. Many intelligent and excellent 
 families came into our neighborhood, and the little 
 towns that had grown around us, improved our 
 social life very much. Still we were not so de- 
 pendent on society as you might suppose. The 
 charms of the country, which never tired with us, 
 the delights of building a new home and beautify- 
 ing it ourselves, of having everything grow from 
 nature, under our own hands, and the pleasure we 
 began to anticipate in your arrival, were ample 
 sources of happiness. Every tree and shrub 
 which we planted in our grounds was a compan- 
 ion, whose growth it was delightful to watch. 
 
244 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 Every strawbeiTy-bed that I discovered about the 
 house was counted on as a means of enjoyment 
 when we should all be once more assembled. 
 
 *' I must be a dreamer, for I have had delightful 
 visions of our wandering together long years hence, 
 over these little spots, our children gathering the 
 fruit, while we looked on and applauded their kind 
 zeal. But that is all past now; I have striven 
 to make my home pleasant. I have wrought 
 within and about it harder, perhaps, than will ever 
 be the lot of another. I have loved its natural and 
 its cultivated beauties better, perhaps, than any one 
 else can, and now I must leave them ! It is hard, 
 but hardest of all to, leave my husband, who has 
 shared these pleasures and tasks, and my boy, for 
 whom we have most rejoiced to perform them. 
 Yet I desire not to remain. The solace which, 
 under lighter afflictions, I learned to draw from 
 divine sources, is more precious now than ever ; 
 and though, to the human eye, I seem to have 
 toiled through these twenty-five years to gain this 
 spot in life,*" and my blessing is yet unenjoyed, still, 
 I doubt not, it is best so. I have, perhaps, had my 
 share of happiness. If I have endured bitter gi-iefs, 
 I have enjoyed intense emotions of pleasure. If I 
 have buffeted storms and tempests, my sunshine 
 has been proportionally bright. If I have been 
 oppressed with cares and labors, my rest and free- 
 dom have brought delights enough to compensate 
 for them. If I have been repeatedly and long 
 separated from those I loved, I have felt the most 
 unalloyed pleasure in meeting them. I would fain 
 persuade myself that the last two years have repaid 
 all the ardent prayers I offered for the presence of 
 my brothers and sisters, and that I am ready to 
 depart and leave you all ! Once I should have felt 
 it my duty to bow with unqualified submission to 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 245 
 
 my fate, as to a special expression of my Master's 
 will. I should have attributed no part of it to the 
 effect of natural causes which were left to human 
 control. Now I feel otherwise. I have learned 
 within the last few years to be wiser, though I 
 humbly trust not less a christian. If my resigna- 
 tion is not entire and blind, it is because I feel that 
 the responsibihty of my early death rests on hu- 
 man beings, and that the will of the Almighty is 
 expressed in it only so far as to remove me in 
 kindness when repeated transgressions of His law 
 have placed it out of my reach to be longer happy 
 and useful. Do not weep. I am tired now; take 
 away the pillows, and let me lie down. I have 
 talked long, and yet have failed of relating half 
 that I desire, or expressing what I feel. Bring 
 me a rose from my favorite bush. I would have 
 something fresh and beautiful to win repose after 
 this long effort." 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 I NEVER saw my sister so beautiful as she was 
 at this period of her illness. But we knew it was 
 the beauty which ushers in decay — the rich sunset 
 which is soon followed by blackest night. And 
 even so it proved. The last signs of emaciation 
 began to appear as spring passed away. When 
 the full strength of summer came, the beauty had 
 departed from the wasting fi^ame, the cheeks no 
 longer wore the hectic hue. They faded and 
 grew thinner each day as we looked upon them, 
 till it seemed, when she slept, that mere emacia- 
 tion must forbid her ever waking. 
 
 The summer began also to grow gloomy abroad. 
 Tidings of disease came from every part of the 
 x2 
 
246 LIFE IN PRAIEIE LAND. 
 
 great valley. Strangers from the states, south, 
 east, north, and west of us, spoke of the suffering 
 and death they had left at home, and witnessed 
 along the way ; and an unusual solemnity rested 
 over the whole country. The heavens seemed no 
 longer propitious. The sun poured down his 
 scorching rays upon our great prairies ; but no 
 rain fell ! Vegetation began to parch ; the heavy 
 dews grew lighter and the heat more intense. My 
 sister's sufferings were greatly enhanced by the hot 
 and unrefreshed state of the atmosphere. She 
 pined for showers, for the freshness, beauty, and 
 odors which they used to awaken in the world 
 around her. She grew weaker daily, and express- 
 ed a clear conviction that she should not live to 
 see the month of August. At her request, a large 
 Bible was procured for her son, and a letter which 
 she had addressed to him while she was yet able 
 to hold a pen, fastened among its leaves. There 
 was something deeply touching in the hope which 
 led to this act. She trusted that this voice speak- 
 ing from a mother's grave, to a son whom she had 
 so dearly loved, might link his affections to her in 
 after years ; might be as a spoken admonition to 
 him when temptations crowded his future path. 
 The beautiful lines beginning with 
 
 *' Remember, love, who gave thee this, 
 When other years shall come," 
 
 were inscribed by his father on a blank leaf. 
 
 She loved the scriptures, and frequently asked 
 to hear the sixteenth chapter of John read. Its 
 exalted and earnest promise cheered and strength- 
 ened her. The month of J[uly drew toward a close, 
 and we could not but see that her days were num- 
 bered. The form that had once been so elastic, 
 was wasted to a shadow ; the limbs that had never 
 tired were feeble as an infant's : the wan face with 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 247 
 
 Its large, sunken eyes, and passionless expression, 
 all told that a period would soon come to her suf- 
 ferings and our fears. She was restless ; she pined 
 to be abroad, whei-e she could see the face of na- 
 ture and the familiar objects she had so cherished. 
 Her husband would bear her in his arms to the 
 shade of the old oak before the door, where she 
 would sit while the soft air played over her pale 
 brow, and look upon her favorite shrubs and flow- 
 ers with a kind of mournful affection as if she 
 would fain linger yet a little while among them. 
 There was one young rose-tree which she had set 
 with her own hands the year before in the corner 
 of the yard. It was luxuriant and full of vigor ; 
 she begged it might bear her name and never be 
 removed. *^ You cannot think,'* she said one day, 
 ■" how much I have loved these flowers. When 
 the beautiful wilderness lay about our home, they 
 were like fViends of the olden time to us ; familiar 
 voices from a far land. Everything was new to 
 us here. The trees were not such as we had play- 
 ed beneath in childhood; the flowers were stran- 
 gers ; the very grasses seemed to belong to another 
 clime. It is true there were glory and beauty in 
 them all, but the heart cannot rejoice in what is 
 altogether strange. I have often thought if I were 
 placed in a world where nothing but exquisite love- 
 liness and forms of beauty grew around me, I should 
 still crave some familiar object, however plain; 
 fiomething which I had known in the old home; 
 something which would be a visible link to the by- 
 gone. These flowers were such ; many a long day, 
 when I have been all alone, I have stolen out in 
 some leisure moment, and stood by them and dream- 
 ed pleasant dreams of the years long gone. Here 
 was the same rose which I had thought it such a 
 priviLege to pluck and carry to school or to meet- 
 
248 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 ing. It had the same odor, the same clustering- 
 petals, the same deep tint nestled in its dewy re- 
 cesses, and why should I not love it ! It was a 
 pleasant remembrancer of the past ; the only one 
 I had in all the world of nature. I nursed them 
 as children, watched their growth and exulted in 
 their beauty, and the love of them will go with me 
 to my last resting-place. 
 
 ** It is a strange thing," she added after a pause, 
 ** this undying desire of the heart for something 
 which it has before known and loved. I have 
 thought much of late, whether it does not prefig- 
 ure a reunion with the objects of our earthly af- 
 fections in the spirit land ! Those who have loved 
 strongly here must be changed in their whole na- 
 ture, if they enjoy the happiness which we picture, 
 and yet find there none who have shared their 
 human affection. I sometimes feel convinced that 
 we shall know and love each other there ; but 
 then — if we found not all I — if some whom we 
 have loved and pitied ; some for whom we have 
 struggled and prayed, for whom we could have 
 laid down our lives, were not among the rejoicing 
 throng ! Oh, it is a terrible thought ! it is the one 
 which most pains me now, till I reflect that what- 
 ever is, is best. It sometimes occurs to me that 
 the beatification of the just made perfect will con- 
 sist principally in arriving at such wisdom, such an 
 exaltation of mind over feeling, that we shall rec- 
 ognize all things in the economy of the Divine 
 ruler to be right. If the mind be thus elevated 
 over our present affections, we shall feel no pain 
 in the absence of those whom we have loved on 
 earth. But it is difficult to conceive such a state 
 while we are here." 
 
 Such were some of the conversations of these 
 last days. They were uttered in so low a tone. 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 249 
 
 that the rustling of the leaves or the chirping of a 
 bird would drown their sound. But we had 
 listened so long, with all our senses sharpened ; 
 had become so accustomed to gather the import of 
 her speech, from the play of the wasted lips, and 
 the expression of her languid eyes, that it was no 
 longer difficult to understand her perfectly. One 
 day, when her husband was sitting alone by her 
 couch, she asked him for the hymn book. Her 
 hands had scarcely strength to support it while 
 she turned the leaves slowly, and, at length, open- 
 ing to that sublime burial piece, commencing 
 
 " Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb," 
 
 she handed it back, with a request that it might 
 be sung at her funeral. ** It is an impressive 
 poem," she added, " and expresses the hopes in 
 which I die. I pray daily that they may become 
 yours, and that you may bring our boy up to 
 entertain them." Her last hours with her son 
 were very touching. She felt an anxiety which 
 was intensely painful to us, to impress a recollec- 
 tion of herself upon his young memory. Some- 
 times she despaired, and her lamentations were 
 the only words of murmuring we ever heard. " He 
 will forget me," she would say. " He is too 
 young ! Oh if I could but have lived long enough 
 to be assured of a place in the affections of the 
 man whom I have borne. If I could feel that 
 during his life, the recollection of his dying mother 
 would be to him what mine has been to me, a safe- 
 guard against temptation, a shield against the un- 
 holy allurements of a world in which so much 
 that is evil must be resisted ! But I fear he will 
 lose it ! his mind is too elastic. Yet I must submit 
 to it. I only ask that you will all aid in the execu- 
 tion of my wishes after I am gone. You will have 
 
250 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 many opportunities to speak of me, and recall his 
 young faculties to the effort of remembering me, 
 as I have been for the last year. I would rather 
 his memory bore its impress from my well and 
 happy days, but that is impossible." 
 
 The last days of July were now drawing on ; 
 and though there was no change, other than that 
 which had been manifest from day to day, for 
 several weeks, still our beloved invalid assured us 
 that she should not live to see August. The thir- 
 tieth of July was Sunday, and a solemn day it was 
 with us. The angel of death seemed visibly hover- 
 ing over the silent house. Our babe, usually a 
 lively, happy little fellow, full of laugh and prattle, 
 was somewhat unwell, so that even his pleasant 
 voice was seldom heard in the silent rooms. The 
 few words that we spoke were uttered in low 
 tones; the table was laid very quietly, and its con- 
 tents removed each time almost untouched. The 
 day was excessively warm and dry. " Oh !'* ex- 
 claimed the suffering invalid, "shall I never see 
 another pleasant shower fall upon the fair earth ] 
 shall I never again inhale the delicious odors of 
 reviving grass, and flowers, and trees ; nor hear 
 the happy song of birds when the clouds are 
 fading away in the distant sky ? How much I 
 long for all this once more. Take me out, John ; 
 let me breathe once more beneath the open sky!" 
 Towards night a slight dew began to gather upon 
 her forehead.' It chilled me, as if a mountain of 
 ice had fallen beside me. It was a sign which I 
 knew too surely foretold the fulfilment of her pain- 
 ful prophecy. I passed my hand softly over her 
 brow. It was cold and deathlike. Then I knew 
 the dart had gone forth — the struggle had com- 
 menced. Death was among us ! She smiled faintly 
 as I removed my hand, 
 
LIFE IN PHAIRIE LAND. 251 
 
 " Is it moist ]" she whispered. Tears were my 
 only reply. " Then I have not much longer to 
 suffer. Let them all go to bed ; I shall see them 
 to-morrow morning." I sat at her side all night ! 
 As the dark hours flew by the death damp gathered 
 in cold drops upon her brow, her large lustrous 
 eyes grew dim, and her breath came more huniedly. 
 She was restless. Many times during the night I 
 raised her from her recumbent position ; but she 
 soon returned to it, weary and exhausted. Oh, 
 that was such a vigil as I hope never to keep 
 again ! When morning came she was apparently 
 the same. Breakfast was set, but it was a mere 
 form. Our boy seemed more unwell, and claimed 
 much of my attention; still I scarcely left her 
 couch. She spoke little. About nine o'clock she 
 said to her husband, " Between eleven and twelve 
 I shall cross Jordan." It was even so. She was 
 conscious when the last moment approached, and 
 turning her dim eyes toward the clock, with a 
 faint smile, extended her hands to us. Her face 
 suddenly blanched — her white lips parted an in- 
 stant — and all was over! Our long- dreaded trial 
 had come. The patient spirit, to whose wants we 
 had ministered so anxiously, had fled ! 
 
 Fond and faithful sister ! How often thy memory 
 steals on these distant hours ! How often thy griefs 
 and trials rise in painful array before me ! How 
 jealously memory treasures every unkind word or 
 look I gave thee ; and how faithfully does she set 
 them before me, now, when to recall them is im- 
 possible, when the wound which they inflicted is 
 no longer within my healing, when all the arts 
 which the tenderest affection can suggest are im- 
 potent to procure the forgiveness that could alone 
 silence regret. Thy tomb is far away from me ! 
 The silence and beauty thou so much lovedst are 
 
252 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 around thee ! The winds of spring bear the same 
 delicious odors over thy couch that played around 
 thee years ago ; the foliage is as bright as when it 
 danced before thy rejoicing eyes, the stream winds 
 as softly by, as when thy light footsteps trod its 
 verdant bank. 
 
 " There, through the long, long summer hours. 
 
 The golden light doth lie ; 
 And thick young herbs, and groups of flowers. 
 
 Stand in their beauty by. 
 
 " The oriole doth build and tell 
 His love tale close beside thy cell, 
 
 The idle butterfly 
 Doth rest him there, and there are heard 
 The housewife bee and humming-bird." 
 
 The solemn winds of autumn moan around thee, 
 and bear from thy overshadowing canopy of boughs, 
 rich offerings to thy tomb ! We buried thee with 
 many and bitter tears : we trust in the faith which 
 so exalted thee above thy trials, to meet thee, 
 where tears are all wiped away, where there shall 
 be no more sorrow, neither any sin, nor any pain. 
 
 1 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 My sister's death was a severe affliction to me. 
 Much as we had been separated by the events of 
 our early years, our hearts had grown together by 
 the strongest bonds of sisterly love. We had 
 looked forward to an unbroken union, in the beau- 
 tiful country whither she had led us, and now I was 
 there, but she was gone forever. Much and bit- 
 terly did I grieve over the dreadful void left in our 
 circle by her death. But our little boy's health 
 soon claimed attention. He did not recover, as I 
 had trusted he would, and when the first few days 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 253 
 
 were past, he seemed so much indisposed, that a 
 physician was summoned, and all our energies 
 directed to his restoration. I was too ignorant of 
 children to appreciate his true condition, and the 
 blow which had just fallen, instead of preparing 
 me for a heavier one, seemed rather to be a secu- 
 rity against further affliction. While, therefore, I 
 hovered around the sick couch of our babe, sor- 
 rowing over his sufferings, which my ignorance 
 did not permit me to appreciate, and anxious be- 
 yond the power of language, to see him joyous 
 and happy again, and hear his musical voice, 
 breaking upon my silent hours of giief, I never 
 dreamed that it would not be so. True, I saw 
 him waste day by day. I saw the fair face grow 
 thin, the vigorous limbs feeble and tiny, the bright 
 red lips pale and distorted with suffering. His 
 large black eye, in which love, delight, and wonder 
 were used to reign alternately, now wore only the 
 sorrowing look which tells of pain ; and his fair brow 
 was contracted to a slight frown, as if he would 
 fain resist the infliction. Yet notwithstanding all 
 this, I never dreamed that he could die. It was 
 strange, it now seems incredible to my own mind, 
 looking back upon that awful period, that I could 
 have been so blind to a language which afterwards 
 seemed to have inscribed itself, in letters of fire, 
 upon my heart. Yet so it was ; and many a young 
 mother, who has entered upon her holy office, as I 
 did, with no acquaintance with infant life, either 
 practical or theoretical, will bear witness, that 
 even a mother's instincts are all too feeble, to be 
 trusted without knowledge. Our boy never grew 
 better ; he sunk from the time of my sister's death, 
 and spite of all that skill and tenderness could do, 
 just two weeks from the day on which her life 
 closed, he yielded his, and we were wholly bereft. 
 
254 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 Even to the day of his death, I did not anticipate 
 the event. It is true, I had fears, anxieties, sym- 
 pathy which only a mother can feel, but preemi- 
 nent over all these, there was a Iwpe, so disguised 
 by its very strength, that I did not recognize its 
 true character. When, therefore, the kind doc- 
 tor, who had stolen an hour from his arduous 
 duties, to spend it with us, said to one of those 
 present, that " the little sufferer would soon be 
 released," his words seemed to dry the very springs 
 of life within me. I had no word to say, no tear 
 to shed, but I gazed upon the little panting form, 
 and glassy eye, with every faculty suspended by 
 that dreadful sentence. In half an hour, I was 
 a childless mother ! Such alone can judge my 
 feelings ! 
 
 My previous affliction was utterly forgotten. 
 
 Who shall ever tell the bitter, the agonizing 
 pangs, that rend the very bonds of life, when a 
 mother stands by the cold clay of her only child ! 
 What thronging recollections come of happy hours, 
 and shouts of joyous laughter, and peals of merry 
 music, which earth will never again afford her 
 ear; and then, oh agony beyond comparison, of 
 pain which she has 'not alleviated, or perhaps 
 has caused, of gi'ief which she has not soothed, of 
 sadness which she has not cheered, of words spo- 
 ken in impatience, when they should have been 
 uttered in love, of little pleasures denied, when 
 they should have been granted, of mortal agony 
 which she could not share, and Death descending 
 in grim tyranny upon the little sufferer, who is 
 all unconscious of his approach. God grant I may 
 never see another such a night, as that which 
 closed the life to which my own was so closely 
 linked ! There he lay, in his little crib, where I 
 had so often frolicked with him, the lips now all 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 255 
 
 cold and leaden, which, in his last agony, had 
 called imploringly on me, by the dearest name to 
 which the heart of woman ever responds; the 
 eyes, which had so often looked into mine, over- 
 flowing with merriment, with silent wonder, or 
 appealing tears, closed forever. What could I 
 do 1 How impotent is every form of expression, 
 which grief can take, to relieve the heart oppres- 
 sed with such a burthen. 
 
 Again the spot where we had stood so few brief 
 days before was visited. The little coffin which 
 seemed to carry my very heart into the earth with 
 it, was lowered close beside my sister's grave ; 
 but the latter had not now power to call forth a 
 single tear. We turned away. The deserted 
 house stood before us : its doors were closed, its 
 windows all silent, its neglected vines climbing in 
 untrained profusion over the silent walls. At any 
 other time it would have unsealed all the fountains 
 of emotion within me ; now I scarcely recognized 
 it as an object connected with my feelings. The 
 deepest chord of my heart was vibrating to the 
 last fierce blow, and no lighter touch could waken 
 its other strings. 
 
 But the home whence our darling was forever 
 gone ! Oh who shall describe its desolation ! who 
 shall ever tell what a mother feels when she re- 
 turns to her silent house from the new-made grave 
 of her only child 1 How the practised ear will 
 listen for the accustomed greeting; how the eye 
 will wander to the door for the merry face that 
 was wont to come peeping in ; and then what 
 agony, when some favorite toy is turned from the 
 place where it was hidden by those little hands 
 which you never more may clasp, which will never 
 again wander in playful affection over your face 
 and neck ! The little garments which you have 
 
256 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 not had the heart to put away from your sight, 
 hang about your room as they did in happier days. 
 Here is one perhaps in which the little departed 
 breathed away his life, and there another whose 
 bright colors and tasteful fashion carry your aching 
 heart back to the days when all was blithesome 
 promise and intense happiness. I shall never for- 
 get the pang that wrung my bosom when one 
 morning, two or three weeks after we were alone, 
 I found a toy of pine wood indented all over with 
 the print of small teeth. The last hand that had 
 touched it was my babe's, its familiar form and 
 bruised surface brought the happy little owner so 
 strongly before me, that I seemed to live the terri- 
 ble parting over again. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 The close of this summer found our home a 
 melancholy one. Days of agony, and nights of 
 delicious visions that made the morning soiTowful, 
 w^ore slowly away. Abroad, the gloom still deep- 
 ened. The sickness which had begun early to 
 prevail in various parts of the country, increased 
 in strength and malignancy. The longer the 
 drought held, the more fatal grew its ravages and 
 the more cheerless the aspect of the whole land. 
 Vegetation was parched to ashes. The dews no 
 longer fell ; the thirsty earth gaped under the 
 merciless sun, and the trodden roads were piled 
 with dust, so that every breath of wind which swept 
 across them and every vehicle that passed along 
 raised a blinding cloud. The skies seemed to 
 have shut their chambers of mercy and to have no 
 relenting toward the blighted earth. For long, long 
 weeks, the heavens were watched for a cloud or 
 
LIFE IX PRAIRIE LAXD. 257 
 
 some sign of mercy, but in vain. A hard metallic 
 glare pervaded the whole arch, an impassable bar- 
 rier to the blessings we so much craved. Mean- 
 time pain, disease, and death were stalking abroad. 
 The pestilence claimed its victims in almost every 
 house. In some the whole family was prostrated, 
 and the sufferers were dependent on the kindness 
 of their distant neighbors to minister to their wants. 
 The fevers took their most malignant and fatal 
 character in the " bottom lands." These, as the 
 name indicates, are the low lands bordering the 
 streams. On some of the larger water- courses 
 they are very extensive, and on all they have a 
 character which strongly distinguishes them from 
 the prairies and barrens above. They are gener- 
 ally wooded. On most of those bordering the 
 large rivers, the growth is extremely dense and. 
 heavy. Gigantic trees shoot up on the rich earth, 
 made by the spring floods of every season, and 
 weave their heavy branches above into a dense 
 canopy which the sun can scarcely penetrate. On 
 the black soil below, which is often ten, twelve, or 
 fifteen feet in depth, and of the finest loam, vegeta- 
 tion riots in unbounded energy. Immense quanti- 
 ties are produced, the decay of which, with the heavy 
 foliage of the trees, generates vast volumes of mias- 
 mata. The high bluffs then which border these 
 teeming lands, together wijh the dense wood that 
 covers them, prevent the circulation of the purer 
 air from the uplands, and leave all the causes of 
 disease to take their most concentrated forms 
 among the unfortunate settlers. Most of the fami- 
 lies living on these tracts were French and Ger- 
 man settlers. The former are the remnants of the 
 old trading companies, the latter more recent emi- 
 grants. There are few Americans among them. 
 They live for the most part in cabins of the poor- 
 17 y 2 
 
258 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 est description, and tlieir general habits are little 
 conducive to health. Here therefore, at this fated 
 period, the pestilence found its readiest and most 
 numerous victims. My husband sometimes rode 
 through these regions, and frequently found houses 
 in which every member of the family w^as sick ; 
 so that it was a blessing for a stranger to call and 
 hand them a cup of water. In these districts in- 
 dividuals were found lying in all stages of disease. 
 Some had never been seen by a physician ; some 
 were pronounced to have the yellow fever, and the 
 few that recovered wore a ghastly sallow hue that 
 was frightful to behold, as they crept about their 
 death-stricken homes. One could ride miles 
 through these dark woods, the steady sun when it 
 poured through the leaves heating the still air al- 
 most to suffocation, and pass on his route many 
 cabins apparently deserted ; but on entering he 
 found two or three, or perhaps a greater number 
 of persons lying in the same dark room, tossing 
 and raging in the various stages of consuming fever. 
 It was frightful to hear of, and still more so to wit- 
 ness their condition. 
 
 But suffering and mortality were not confined to 
 these gloomy districts. They spread throughout 
 the entire country. Our little village was one of 
 the last spots visited, but it paid its tribute in the 
 loss of one of its most accomplished and excellent 
 women, and the severe illness of many other citi- 
 zens. On the eighteenth of September, the day of 
 the great eclipse, two infants, twin daughters of 
 our village teacher, were buried. I remember 
 well the gloom of that afternoon. It was easy to 
 conceive how in periods of affliction and calamity 
 the benighted nations that had lived here before us 
 should construe such an impressive phenomenon 
 into an expression of anger by the Great Spirit. 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 259 
 
 The prolonged and unnatural darkness, and the 
 alarm which prevails among the lower animals fol- 
 lowing the impression already produced upon the 
 mind, might well be considered as evidences of 
 displeasure in the Power that rules the elements. 
 We trusted that some change would be v^nrought 
 in the atmosphere by this great event, that would 
 break the dreadful monotony of drought. There 
 were but three or four wells in the village that 
 afforded any water, and the earth seemed actually 
 consuming under the fiery orb, now for a brief 
 space hidden from our weary eyes. Not a drop of 
 rain had fallen for near seven weeks, and for a 
 previous period of nearly twice that length the few 
 showers that had descended were barely sufficient 
 to saturate the dust. But our hopes were vain ; 
 the shadow passed from the sun, and he rode out 
 glaring and bright as ever in the relentless heavens. 
 Gloom and despair brooded over everything. Na- 
 ture seemed about to light her own funeral pile. 
 People walked slowly about with countenances 
 darkened by their own griefs, or saddened with 
 sympathy for their neighbors. One met with no- 
 thing cheerful anywhere. I had on my part no 
 wish to have it otherwise. The wide-spread sad- 
 ness harmonized well with my feelings. The loss 
 of my boy, and this loneliness, heightened by the 
 previous death of my sister, made me shrink from 
 everything like joyousness in the natural or human 
 world. If my mind were won from its burthen 
 for a moment by books or conversation, it bowed 
 the next, more painfully and inescapably than be- 
 fore. I could not get my own consent to resign 
 those whom all my griefs could never recall ; and 
 thus my days wore away under the ceaseless 
 gnawings of the bitterest and keenest emotions. 
 The unaffectedly good pastor of the church which 
 
260 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 we attended, handed me from time to time many- 
 books, the perusal of which he thought would tend 
 to soothe feelings so deeply wounded ; but while 
 I appreciated his kindness, and enjoyed a few 
 hours of comparative tranquillity over the pages of 
 his choice, still I found nothing of the peace and 
 resignation which I had often seen others manifest 
 under similar afflictions. One afternoon when I 
 had exhausted the solace of tears over recollections 
 of my lost babe, the sublime consolations with 
 which the Psalmist hushed his griefs under a like 
 affliction, occurred to my mind with unusual force : 
 ** I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me." 
 The recollection of these words drew me to a more 
 diligent and frequent reading of the scriptures, a 
 new set of faculties was called into action, and the 
 cloud began to pass away. From that time there 
 was a new element mingled with my grief — one 
 which robbed it of its fiercest power, softened its 
 sterner lineaments, lighted its darkest depths. I 
 no longer brooded in despairing silence over my 
 sorrows. I felt that there were infinite love and 
 infinite pity in the divine Mind, and there was a 
 solace which words can never describe in uttering 
 them before Him. But the comfort which I found 
 was no miraculous shining forth of anything exter- 
 nal to myself; it was no everflowing fountain 
 which poured itself out, independent of my own 
 state of mind ; such as many seem to have found, 
 but simply a more exalted action of some powers 
 which I had always possessed, and a partial sub- 
 duing of others. The newly acquired supremacy 
 of those which directed my thoughts heavenward, 
 which made the departed, objects of benignant 
 hope instead of black despair, could be overthrown. 
 I found no power superior to my own mind, pull- 
 ing down the one and setting up the other — it de- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 261 
 
 pended on myself. I found no perpetual source 
 of joy flowing continually around me, but only one 
 to which I could resort when I governed my feel- 
 ings carefully, and sought it earnestly. But this 
 was all that I desired, it was all that I could be- 
 lieve true — it was sufficient. 
 
 The pure and exquisitely beautiful sermons of 
 our pastor, to which I had before listened with an 
 intellectual pleasure merely, had now a higher im- 
 port, a loftier mission to my mind. The sublime 
 truths were interesting on other accounts than the 
 chasteness and simplicity of the language in which 
 they were presented. In truth I believed I had 
 attained what I had always heard talked of as a 
 great mystery, an incomprehensible blessing, viz., 
 ag-eligious state of mind. A blessing it certainly 
 was to me. Its benignant aspect shone far over 
 the future. It gave me strength and hopefulness, 
 and while it lightened the present burthen, was 
 itself a preparation for such as the future might 
 bring. 
 
 Thus with heaviest afflictions on the one hand, 
 and cheering hopes on the other, closed the second 
 year of Life in the Prairie Land. 
 
PART 11. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Prairie Land is tenanted by numerous varieties 
 of native birds and animals. Among the former 
 I have already mentioned the quail, the grouse, 
 turkey, buzzard, and many others. Among the 
 latter are many whose habits and characters con- 
 tribute not a little to the interest w^hich the country 
 possesses for the lovers of humor or adventure. 
 One of these is a little ground inhabitant of the 
 prairies, bearing the uneuphonic cognomen of 
 *' Gopher," and a passionate devotee of subt^- 
 ranean architecture. He is a small personage, 
 not much exceeding in size the large wharf rat ; 
 wears a very compact coat of dark satiny fur, un- 
 equaled for fineness and beauty ; a long tail, a 
 sharp nose, and a pouch, or sack, outside each 
 cheek, opening close to the corners of his mouth, 
 in which he transports the refuse of his labours. 
 He must have the most implicit faith in the strength 
 of his genius; for he never suspends the cultiva- 
 tion of it for a day. If he is ejected from premises 
 which he has improved, he never mourns his loss, 
 nor institutes legal proceedings to recover damages, 
 but, with unabated energy, seeks another site and 
 commences anew. He is both sagacious and.sus- 
 picious ; and, in all his plans, manifests plainly a 
 desire not to be unceremoniously intruded on. 
 Thus, when he finds an eligible site, he proceeds, 
 like all settlers in new countries, to break ground ; 
 but, having gone under the turf, he forthwith lays 
 himself out to elude pursuit. Down he goes, 
 crooking and bending his path, now straight, now 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 263 
 
 obliquely, for five or six feet. It is not known 
 that, at the end of this labyrinth, he applies his 
 thumb to the extremity of his nasal organ, and 
 looks contemptuously back ; but it is presumable 
 that he enjoys something of the feeling which 
 leads to this gesture in biped builders ; for he im- 
 mediately turns toward the surface in another 
 direction, and often extends his researches a fourth 
 or a half mile within a few feet of it. At points, 
 not many rods distant from each other, he emerges 
 with his sacks filled with earth, empties their con- 
 tents, and goes back to reload ; but, fi'om each of 
 these points, he makes a winding departure as at 
 first. Thus the little brown hillocks which he 
 throws up, are only indications of his vicinity, but 
 afford little clue to his immediate whereabouts. 
 These deposits are often found in great numbers 
 together, forming a little village, in the subterra- 
 nean streets of which it is not difiicult to imagine 
 many pleasant incidents, when toil is relaxed, and 
 the social feelings come into play. 
 
 I remember one of these little towns, which 
 must have contained near three hundred little 
 dark mounds on the space of an acre. They 
 looked very social and pleasant, and were calcu- 
 lated, withal, to excite one's humor, when, on 
 inquiring of a boy, in the midst of them, for the 
 
 town of , well known to eastern capitalists, 
 
 he answered, with a grin, " Why, this hyur is it, 
 don't you see the stakes ]" Besides the Gopher 
 settlement, there were two houses in sight, one 
 about a mile, the other half that distance from us, 
 in opposite directions. 
 
 The fox inhabits the prairie country, and is very 
 much such a fox there as elsewhere, levying con- 
 tributions on domestic poultry-yards, when it is 
 expedient, and, in default of these, making the 
 
264 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 most unscrupulous sallies against the grouse, 
 quails, and other feathered neighbors of his. He 
 burrows in the copses which skirt the plains, in 
 the bluffs that border streams, and on the sides of 
 the most elevated sw^ells in large prairies. Hunt- 
 ing him is a sport much relished in the winter 
 season. 
 
 The prairie dog formerly dwelt here, but he has 
 retired with the Indian, and is now scarcely found 
 east of the Mississippi. He was a gentle, gi'cga- 
 rious, social tenant of this beautiful wilderness, 
 and seems, by some strange adhesion to the 
 natives, to have fled with them, while many other 
 animals remained. 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 There are two species of native wolf found on 
 the prairies. One is the small red wolf, a com- 
 paratively harmless animal, rarely attacking any- 
 thing about the farm but sheep or small pigs. But 
 he is a noisy neighbor in the night. Congregated 
 in lai'ge troops, they trot oflf from one point to any 
 other they desire to reach, and never, for a single 
 moment on the way, suspend the growling, bark- 
 ing, yelping, and whining, in which they utter 
 themselves in different moods. I remember when 
 I had lain on a sick bed for several days, without 
 sleep, to have fallen into a doze about midnight, 
 and been awakened by a band of these marauders 
 passing under my window. There must have 
 been a large number of them, for the noise was 
 almost deafening while they passed the house. A 
 party of maniacs, of all ages and sexes, roaming 
 the country, could scarcely have produced a 
 gi'eater variety and confusion of noises. It was 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 265 
 
 an evil sound to steal upon one's slumbers, and, 
 to my disturbed mind, boded no good. The next 
 day we were informed that their wanderings had 
 terminated in a sheep-fold, about a mile beyond 
 us. The slaughter was complete, not one of the 
 terrified innocents having escaped. This, however, 
 was an uncommon occurrence. During a resi- 
 dence of four years I never heard of a similar one. 
 
 The large gi'ey wolf is much more ferocious ; 
 when pressed by hunger, he not unfi'equently 
 attacks men. Many cases are related of travelers 
 who have arrived pale and breathless at some 
 cabin on the borders of a large prairie, their lives 
 having been saved only by the speed of their 
 horses. The ravening, famished wolf has hung 
 upon their heels for miles and at last been foiled 
 only to return with deeper rage and desperation 
 to the solitary plain ! Woe, then, to the unarmed 
 traveler who next crosses his path ! He sees his 
 death warrant in the glaring eye and gaunt, foam- 
 ing mouth. 
 
 In the early period of white settlements, the 
 traveler was sometimes startled by coming upon 
 the bleached bones and knotted scalp of some 
 unfortunate, who had perished thus terribly. But 
 these are now tales of the past. The supremacy 
 of man is less disputed by these prowling maraud- 
 ers, as his dwellings multiply, and his means of 
 invading their temtory grow more formidable. 
 Occasionally, however, when hunger makes them 
 desperate, they compel the unarmed traveler to 
 stake his life upon the speed of his horse, or, in 
 default of this, upon the best defence he can make. 
 I was infoiTned by a gentleman that he was at- 
 tacked so late as the summer of 1839, by a gang 
 of these hungry fellows, in the midst of a prairie 
 twenty-two miles in extent. One of his horses was 
 
266 J.IFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 sick, and very much emaciated, and he was with- 
 out arms of any kind except a large club, which 
 had been accidentally left in his waggon. He 
 confessed that when he saw the hungry troop 
 making toward him, and looked upon his feeble 
 horse, and around on the empty waggon, he felt 
 that there were many conditions more enviable 
 than his. On they came, and for want of better 
 tactics, directed all their forces against him. He 
 was a large and very powerful man, and having 
 previously made such preparations as the circum- 
 stances permitted, he gave his startled horses the 
 rein, and seizing the club, addressed himself solely 
 to defending the waggon. He dealt his blows with 
 so much vigor and rapidity, that what with the pro- 
 gress made by the team, and the bruised heads 
 and feet they bore down from each assault, they 
 at length gave over, and parted company with 
 him ; but not without many looks and growls, 
 which seemed to threaten dire vengeance, should 
 they ever meet him in a more helpless state. 
 
 A most melancholy occurrence took place not 
 far from us in the winter of '38 — 9, to which these 
 lawless animals contributed ; though how far could 
 never be correctly ascertained. A poor fellow, 
 laboring under temporary derangement, left his 
 dwelling early one cold evening when the snow 
 was two or three inches in depth, and still falling 
 fast ; and although the most diligent search was 
 made for several days, no knowledge of him was 
 obtained till the following spring, when on plough- 
 ing a neighboring corn-field, his bones were found 
 scattered over it, peeled of most of their flesh, and 
 exhibiting thrilling proof that after death, if not 
 before, his limbs had been torn by these merciless 
 animals. 
 
 In the early years of the settlement such painful 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 267 
 
 events not unfrequently startled the inmates of the 
 rude cabins which bordered the prairies. There 
 were few other ferocious animals to disturb the 
 quiet of the settlers. Occasionally a catamount or 
 panther was found in the dark, wooded bottoms ; 
 but the treeless plains were never visited by them. 
 There the wolf seems to have been undisputed 
 monarch, and, like the hyena of the desert, when 
 living prey was not at hand, he rifled the tomb of 
 its sacred trust. 
 
 An incident of this kind, connected with the first 
 settlement on one of the most beautiful prairies in 
 the state, had a thrilling interest as it was commu- 
 nicated to me. 
 
 The great road from the northern to the southern 
 extremities of the state passes, for the most part, 
 over large prairies. These are sometimes divided 
 by groves two or three miles in extent, sometimes 
 by open, sparsely timbered tracts, called barrens, 
 and sometimes by a mere thread of timber, tower- 
 ing above the swelling plain, showing a dark green 
 line at the distance of miles, the first glimpse of 
 which often elicits a cheerful " land ho" from trav- 
 elers who are unaccustomed to these long voyages 
 by terra jirina. This road intersects at Peoria 
 the Illinois river, with which it runs nearly parallel 
 for sixty or seventy miles, at a distance varying 
 from four to eight, ten, and fifteen miles from the 
 stream. The wood which crowns the bluffs of the 
 stream stretches back at frequent intervals in long 
 lines, and fringes the plains over which the road 
 passes. These groves are generally very beautiful. 
 They are usually seen on the high swells of the 
 prairies, their outlines clearly defined on the hori- 
 zon, long before you reach them. Their edges 
 are bordered with the plum, hazel, and other fruit- 
 bearing trees, and shrubs, which are frequented by 
 
268 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 birds, hares, squirrels, et cet. The music, life, 
 and freshness of these woodlands, together with 
 their utility to the husbandman, led the early set- 
 tlers to select them as the sites of their new homes. 
 There the cabin was laid up under the spreading 
 boughs of the outermost trees ; and there the hardy 
 frontiersman placed his family, remote from every 
 artificial means of comfort, " alone with nature," 
 rich, beautiful, majestic, nature in the silent prairie 
 land. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 It was at one of these spots that the incident 
 referred to took place. On the northern side of a 
 prairie, eighteen miles in extent, two groves ap- 
 proach within a short distance of each other from 
 the east and west. They lie on a lofty swell of 
 land and are visible many miles away. The plain 
 between these dark gi-een promontories is smooth 
 as the unruffled sea, and you fancy as you look upon 
 its quiet outline, while the tree-tops toss, and swell 
 against the clear blue sky, that the smallest object 
 would be discernible. Presently a short dark line 
 rises against the light, and as the coach toils over 
 swell after swell, and brings you nearer the object, 
 it grows distinct, permanent, and bold, and fastens 
 itself with a strange pertinacity on the eye and 
 mind. It concentrates your wandering thoughts, 
 and you wonder what could have led to the con- 
 struction of such an object on that spot. No dwel- 
 ling or other tenement is visible, and the green 
 wall of the western grove rises apparently a full 
 mile from it. There it stands without projDortion 
 or symmetry, its harsh angles unrelieved by a single 
 shrub, its silent walls brown with the storms of 
 years. It is a tomb ! Farther back in the grove, 
 
I 
 
 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 269 
 
 Stands a house near which its silent tenant lived 
 and died. 
 
 Long before these lands were vacated by the 
 Indians, a settler came hither from the eastward, 
 with his family. He was roving through these 
 beautiful gardens in search of a spot whereon to 
 make his home. One morning his white-topped 
 waggon entered the southern border of this large 
 prairie, and, all day, was seen by the wondering 
 Indians at the grove, to rise and fall slowly among 
 the green swells, coming nearer and nearer, till at 
 nightfall it halted on the line where this solitary 
 tomb now stands. Here the travelers encamped, 
 and one who has visited the spot, will not wonder 
 that when the patriarch had seen the next sun rise 
 on the scene before him, he declared their jour- 
 neyings ended ! A site was selected in the grove 
 for their cabin, the logs were felled, and laid up 
 by the father and his sons, and a frontier home 
 Boon sent its smoke curling through the overhang- 
 ing boughs. Their only neighbors were the ram- 
 bling Indians who, in their excursions from the 
 north and south, always halted at this grove. 
 They had no domestic animals save the faithful 
 cattle that had drawn them and a dog. 
 
 For many months after the cabin was built they 
 depended on wild game and fruits for subsistence. 
 The rifle of the father brought down abundant 
 supplies of deer and grouse, and the smaller mem- 
 bers of the family could trap the quail, gather ber- 
 ries and plums, and beat the hazel and nut trees. 
 
 The wife and mother wrought patiently for 
 those she loved. Her busy hands kept a well or- 
 dered home during the day, and at night, they plied 
 the needle to the wardrobe of her little household 
 band. It was already scanty, and materials to re- 
 place the worn-out garments were far away, and 
 z2 
 
270 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 would cost what she had not to give. When one 
 was worn beyond the resuscitating powers of her 
 needle, its place was supplied as well as might be, 
 by the skins which they had taken from their game. 
 
 Sunrise and evening twilight found the father at 
 his labors. He had no harvest that year, but if he 
 would reap the next, much preparation must be 
 made before the winter came. First, the turf was 
 broken where he proposed to plant his com, rails 
 were next made and laid around it, some of the 
 native hay was gathered and piled up at the comer 
 of his cabin, and a little garden fenced and 
 ploughed. When all these things were done, 
 there yet remained the journey to the nearest set- 
 tlement for vvdnter goods and grains, and for the cow, 
 which could not longer be dispensed with. When 
 all was ready, the father and his eldest son started 
 in the emigrant waggon, and were absent many 
 days, during each of which the mother and her 
 little children — protected, if danger came, only by 
 the dog — looked anxiously out upon the great 
 prairie, now embrowned by the frosts of autumn, 
 and wondered when they would return. There 
 were few travelers then in those uninhabited 
 plains. Day after day passed, and no sign of life 
 was visible on the plain, save the deer bounding 
 among its crisp herbage, or the famished wolf, 
 rushing madly against the winds which bore the 
 scent of prey. The intense sunshine which flooded 
 this swaying sea, was now softened by the hazy 
 atmosphere peculiar to those plains in the autumn 
 months, the flowers were all dead, the trees dis- 
 robed, and a wild, vast desolation, which pene- 
 trated the soul of the lone woman, seemed hover- 
 ing over the face of her new home. 
 
 On the fifth day, a party of Sauk warriors, plumed 
 and painted, entered her dwelling. Her heart 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 271 
 
 beat quick, and her eye glanced wildly toward her 
 little ones, as their swarthy figures darkened the 
 door ; but a moment restored her self-possession. 
 She knew they were not enemies, and felt secure 
 in her very helplessness. They had not lived much 
 among the whites, and it requires some teaching 
 to induce the savage to fall on a helpless person 
 who is not his foe. With the few words and signs 
 which she had acquired, she entered into conver- 
 sation with them, and learned that they were on 
 their way to give battle to the Kaskaskias and 
 Peorias. Here was a new cause of solicitude ; 
 her husband's road lay through the battle-ground, 
 and who could tell what savages, seeking blood, 
 might do 1 or what would be his fate, should he 
 fall between the hostile parties ! Offering them 
 such hospitality as her poor home afforded, and 
 praying that it might purchase the safety of the ab- 
 sent, she signified her hopes and fears, and watched 
 their retreating footsteps with a boding heart. 
 
 All day she bent her eyes to scan the plain, but 
 nothing met her search save the forms of the 
 retreating warriors, which grew dimmer with dis- 
 tance and the fading light, till at length they were 
 wholly lost. With aching head and anxious heart 
 she put her little ones to bed ; and when they 
 slept, she rose and looked anxiously out upon the 
 night. Black broken clouds were driving across 
 the heavens at a fearful rate, and the wind rushed 
 through the naked trees, and howled around her 
 chimney, like some evil spirit demanding sacrifice. 
 
 The only window of her cabin looks over the 
 plain ; and there she stands gazing as if the day- 
 light rested on it, and she hoped each moment to 
 see the long wished-for object heave in sight. 
 Presently a strange light gleams on the blackened 
 sky ! What should it be ? not lightning, for it 
 
272 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 rose instead of falling, and hung longer on the 
 eight than the electric flash. But it is gone ! — now 
 again it comes, stronger, and looks as if the bright, 
 fiery sun had lost his place, and without any pre- 
 cursor were rushing up the southern sky. Again 
 it almost disappears ; but the faint tinge is soon 
 increased, and a broad glare bursts up which over- 
 whelms that widowed heart. The dreadful truth 
 pierces her very heart, and makes her whole frame 
 tremble. The prairie is on fire ! Oh God ! what 
 a conviction ! She remembers now that they have 
 talked of prairie fires, and promised themselves 
 much pleasure in beholding them. But she never 
 dreamed of the red demon as an enemy, and one 
 to be encountered in this dreadful solitude. 
 
 Her heart sinks within her. There are no means 
 to avert or escape it. The only living things about 
 her are the children and the faithful dog. The 
 former are sleeping quietly, and the latter sits at 
 her feet gazing in her face with a mute sympathy 
 that brings tears to her eyes. She does not need 
 to look for the light now, for it has gained so that 
 she cannot escape its glare. The wind is bearing 
 the fire almost with its own speed across the im- 
 mense savannah. She cannot calculate the dis- 
 tance at which she first saw it, but if it were at the 
 extreme southern border, it must, with such a 
 wind, reach her in a few hours, nay, even less ! 
 
 But what to do, where to go ! She rushes to 
 the door. Merciful Heaven ! It is all one sea of 
 dry combustibles around her. Grass, dry grass 
 everywhere ! she can find no refuge. The very 
 tree-tops, if she could gain them, with those she 
 is bound to save or perish with, would afford 
 her no protection from such a sea of flame as is 
 roaring yonder! The wind increases, the elements 
 seem to grow madder as the flame approaches, and 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 273 
 
 aggravate its fury. With every blast, it towers 
 and curls, and then, as if enraged at its own im- 
 potence, sinks a moment sullenly, to gather strength 
 for a fresh effort. 
 
 There is a large creek about four miles away, 
 and on this the lone woman hangs her last faint 
 hope. The wind will not befriend her, and she 
 can only hope that the waters may arrest the 
 flame. Hapless woman ! she little knew the 
 strength of the devastating demon that was let 
 loose that night ! A slender thread of water to 
 separate her from such a surging sea of flame ! 
 But if it did not protect her ! What then ! If the 
 last extremity came! what should she do? She 
 could have but few moments to deliberate, after 
 the dreadful foe crossed this line. Bewildered, 
 almost stupified, by the terrors of her condition, 
 she had not waked her children. She had con- 
 templated their dreadful fate alone, almost in 
 silence, and with little action, after she opened 
 the door and was overpowered by the conviction 
 that to leave the house was even more certain 
 death than to remain. 
 
 Now, when the time grew short, and the hot 
 breath ofher relentless foe rushed fiercely around 
 her, she addressed herself rapidly to the care of 
 her little ones; she woke them with much diffi- 
 culty, and with much more brought them to compre- 
 hend the danger that awaited them. One lively boy 
 enjoyed the spectacle, and clapped his hands, and 
 almost maddened his mother, by rushing out to 
 get a fairer view of the wonderful scene. But 
 where was the dog 1 the noble dog who was her 
 only intelligent friend in this fearful time ] Her 
 quick mind had counted on his protection, in case 
 she should escape and were shelterless. But 
 where was he ? She stepped to the door ; the 
 18 
 
274 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 light was now strong and revealed distinctly every 
 object. He was nowhere to be seen ! She made 
 the wood ring with his name, and presently a low 
 supplicating bark was borne to her ears on the 
 hot wind. 
 
 The fire had crossed the creek, and was tearing 
 its way, like an infuriated demon, up the plain. 
 A few minutes must decide her fate — she fell on 
 her knees, and commended herself and her help- 
 less babes to the mercy of her God ; and then 
 rose, calm and collected for the event. She had 
 not, hitherto, contemplated the wonderful scene 
 apart from the dangers with which it was fraught ; 
 but now, for the first time, she was struck with its 
 grandeur and sublimity. It was an unbroken line 
 of flame, wide as the eye could reach, mounting, 
 roaring, crackling, and sending up columns of black 
 smoke which, as they rose, became rarer, and, 
 rising still higher, were reilluminated so as to ap- 
 pear another devouring demon sweeping the 
 heavens. Mercy and hope seemed alike cut off 
 by its angry glare. The fiery wall shut out the 
 world behind, except occasionally, when a blast 
 cleft it, it opened upon a black chasm that looked 
 like the funeral vault of nature. 
 
 Scarcely had she taken this brief survey, and 
 noted the nearer approach of the flame, when the 
 dog came bounding to her side, and, with the 
 most earnest petitions, sought her attention with- 
 out the door. She followed him a few steps, 
 scarcely thinking what she did, but, finding nothing, 
 and seeing him making rapidly for some distant 
 point, she turned back, closed the door, and sat 
 down before the window to watch the progress of 
 the fire. In an instant he was there, pawing, 
 whining, howling, and, by every means in his 
 power, soliciting her attention. Before she could 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 275 
 
 open the door to admit him he bounded throuo-h 
 the window. 
 
 '* Merciful God ! what have you done ! we shall 
 all be consumed — there is no hope now !" He stood 
 at her feet; the strong intelligence of his face fas- 
 cinated her eye in spite of the danger. What 
 could he mean] In an instant the sagacity of 
 his instinct flashed upon her. To the ploughed 
 field ! Yes, there was hope, and there alone. 
 She seized the two younger children in one arm, 
 and almost lifting the other by her hand, she fled 
 along the trodden path, the delighted dog going 
 before, and manifesting his joy by every sign in 
 his power. They gain the fence — the fire is at their 
 heels, it almost blisters their unprotected faces ! 
 One or two more leaps, and the herbless ground is 
 gained. The fire has nothing now to feed on, and 
 almost faint with the sudden and certain safety, the 
 exhausted mother drops on the ground among her 
 helpless infants. 
 
 " Merciful Savior, what an escape !" In a few 
 minutes the flames are besieging the house, the logs 
 covered with dry bark are but a morsel in their 
 fierce jaws, the hay-stack takes fire and communi- 
 cates to the rest of the cabin, and while the great 
 volume of the fire sweeps among the trees and over 
 the plain, it leaves the heavier materials to be con- 
 sumed more slowly. Long did the light of the 
 burning home, therefore, blight the eye of the lone 
 woman after the " prairie fire" had done its worst 
 around her and gone, bearing ruin and devastation 
 to the northern plains and groves. Worn out by 
 the terrors of the night, she sank into the sem- 
 blance of sleep, on the naked earth, among her 
 babes, with her faithful protector crouched at her 
 feet. 
 
276 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 She wok^ in the morning to the dread reality 
 which had been briefly forgotten ; but which now 
 broke with stunning force upon her senses. Her 
 children were chilled and hungry. The spot 
 where late their pleasant hearthside shone was a 
 heap of mouldering brands and blackened ashes, 
 with which the morning winds were toying in 
 merry pastime. There was neither food nor shel- 
 ter ! and when she rose to her feet and looked 
 out upon the plain, its strange appearance startled 
 her. It seemed more boundless than ever, and the 
 blackness of desolation brooded over every foot 
 of it. It was clean shorn of every blade of vegeta- 
 tion, and appeared, within the last few hours, to 
 have been blighted with a curse from which the 
 smiles of heaven could scarcely redeem it. 
 
 "With faltering steps the unhappy woman gath- 
 ered her little ones, and prepared to leave their 
 cheerless bed. But whither should they go ! there 
 was no house within many miles. Beside her own 
 little roof she had not seen another since they left 
 the last settlement. To seek shelter or bread, 
 therefore, from others was impossible. Her only 
 resource was to search the wasted wood and 
 plain for roots or nuts, or whatever might be left 
 to support life, till her husband's return. The fire 
 of her cabin would warm the shivering babes for 
 one or two days at least, and if help came not 
 then, she must trust herself to the mercies of a 
 journey over the bleak desert. 
 
 Bending her steps, therefore, towards the smoul- 
 dering ruins, she soothed and warmed her children, 
 and set out with the generous dog to search the 
 grove for food. It was a desperate pilgrimage : 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 277 
 
 most of the nuts and fruits in the vicinity of the 
 house, had been gathered and deposited in the 
 loft for winter use ; and of those that were left 
 upon the ground, few had escaped the consuming 
 flames of the previous night. Occasionally she 
 found one sheltered by a decayed log or a heavy 
 clump of grass, which the fire in its haste had not 
 stopped to devour. But they were rare, and she 
 had three mouths to feed beside her own ! A 
 scanty meal was, however, obtained, and she re- 
 turned to the fire. The warmth relieved their 
 sufferings more effectually than the coarse morsel 
 they had eaten. The little ones wondered where 
 the house was, but rejoiced in the great pile of 
 burning logs, and after a little time, the mother 
 had the happiness of seeing them forget their hun- 
 ger in some merry games. 
 
 Long and intensely this day did her eyes dwell 
 on the wide, black plain ! She had no need to 
 look so earnestly, for the most careless glance would 
 have revealed the white cover of the waggon if it 
 had been moving over the dark surface. Noon 
 passed, and brought no signal of mercy. She 
 could see the brown deer leaping timidly over the 
 scorched waste, and the grouse wheeling his short, 
 swift flight from place to place ; but this was all. 
 Another night of dreadful solitude ! exposed to 
 cold and hunger, and to the starved wolf ! shelter- 
 less, weaponless — the dog their only defence. 
 
 During the day she had found a few of the 
 ground-nuts, which grow quite abundantly in the 
 edge of the grove ; with these she fed her little 
 ones; and parting with nearly all her clothing, 
 vsa-apped them in the scant covering; and with 
 pleasant words, while her heart was bursting, 
 soothed them to sleep, and laid them on the charred 
 turf to the windward of the smoking pile, while, 
 Aa 
 
278 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 with her noble dog, she sat down to watch their 
 slumbers. At intei-vals, for several hours, the 
 winds bore to her aching ears the short, queru- 
 lous barking of the small prairie wolf, and once or 
 twice her very blood curdled when the shrill, dis- 
 mal howl, by which the large, grey wolf summons 
 his neighbors for an attack, resounded over the 
 bleak waste ! The night was utterly black. Be- 
 yond the little circle, faintly lighted by the wasting 
 embers, nothing could be discerned. Her eyes 
 would not warn her of an enemy within three 
 yards ; and as often as she peered into the dark- 
 ness at every new sound, the faithful dog would 
 nestle to her side and lick her hand, and turn his 
 intelligent eyes toward hers with an expression of 
 sympathy and confidence that cheered her solitary 
 vigil more than she could tell. 
 
 The cold winds howled around her thinly clad 
 frame and chilled it to the core. The noises one 
 by one died away, and, spite of the horrors of her 
 condition, a drowsiness stole over her which she 
 could scarcely resist. Her eyelids drooped, and 
 her shivering body swayed slightly to and fro, 
 when the smouldering ends of the logs tumbled 
 into a new position, and sent upward a volume of 
 shining, crackling sparks, which roused her sinking 
 energies and braced her for another hour's watch- 
 ing. At last the darkness became profoundly 
 silent ! Save the steady pressure of the wind, not 
 a sound was heard. The nocturnal wanderers 
 seemed to have withdrawn to their haunts, and left 
 nature to the undisputed reign of night. Chilled, 
 and faint with fatigue and fasting, the lonely 
 watcher could no longer preserve her wakefulness ; 
 she curled her shivering form close to the sleeping 
 babes, and left the vigil to the faithful dog. 
 
 It was stupor rather than sleep that locked her 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 279 
 
 faculties till the cry for food recalled them. The 
 fire was diminishing' ; the sun was up, but he 
 looked coldly through a mass of leaden vapor that 
 was crowding up the south-eastern sky. The 
 whole heavens were curtained with the still, sul- 
 len mass which thresatened every moment to de- 
 scend in rain. A few hours before, she had thought 
 her condition could scarcely be aggravated. But 
 the impending storm was little less to be dreaded, 
 in their feeble state, than the tei-rible foe which 
 had exposed them to it. Her limbs were stiff and 
 full of pain ; her brain reeled, and her sight became 
 dim, as she rose to her feet and prepared to search 
 the grove once more for something to sustain life 
 in her hungry children. 
 
 Her own desire for food was gone ; she would 
 have loaihed the most tempting viands. But when 
 the little ones hung upon her garments and begged 
 for bread, she summoned her fainting limbs to one 
 more effort ; and, taking a direction w^hich had not 
 been tried before, she found, after a long and pain- 
 ful search, a few stalks of the ground-nut, which 
 her feeble hands with difficulty removed from their 
 firm hold upon the soiL The roots of these afforded 
 a morsel wherewith to still the cries that pierced her 
 heart. And when there was no farther hope, and 
 her limbs tottered beneath her, and strange rack- 
 ing pains wrung her worn body, she hastened back 
 to the spot which still seemed home, though nought 
 of home was there, and felt, if her hour were come, 
 it were better to lie down and perish by those 
 consecrated ashes, than in the cheerless wood. A 
 drizzling rain was falling when she reached the 
 spot, and threatened to increase. It would be im- 
 possible to preserve the fire long ; but pushing the 
 brands together, she gathered her trembling little 
 ones about her knees, and, between her periods of 
 
280 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 agony, sought to impress their memories with the 
 terrible events that had befallen them. She en- 
 deavored to make the eldest boy comprehend that 
 he might be the only narrator whom his father 
 would find, should he ever return ; and left many 
 tender messages for him and for her first-bom. 
 With pallid, tearful face he promised to do as she 
 desired ; but urged her to tell him where she 
 would be when his father came, and whether his 
 little brothers were going with her, to leave him 
 all alone. 
 
 The rain increased, and their drenched gar- 
 ments gave the chilling blast redoubled power. 
 The embers hissed and blackened, and soon re- 
 fused to warm the shaking group. Like the pangs 
 of death grew the mother's agony ! — as certain and 
 relentless ! And there, beside the reeking ruins of 
 her home, the black earth beneath, and the pitiless 
 storm above, there alone, her only attendants the 
 helpless children and the dog, who sat at her head, 
 and seemed almost to weep over her writhing 
 form, the hapless woman gave birth to a little be- 
 ing, whose eyes never opened to the desolation of 
 its natal hour ! 
 
 Long did the mother lie unconscious alike of 
 the terror-stricken cries of the children, and the 
 moaning caresses of her dumb friend. The day 
 was far advanced when her eyes opened on the 
 dreadful scene. The cold rain was pouring stead- 
 ily down, and twilight seemed to her faint eyes to 
 be creeping over the earth. A pleasant sound was 
 ringing in her ears, but it was either a dream, or 
 its import had faded from her mind before it was 
 fully grasped. She made an effort to rise, but fell 
 senseless. Once again, her eyes opened, and this 
 time it was no illusion. The eldest of her little 
 watchers was shouting in her ear, " Mother, I see 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 281 
 
 father's waggon;" and there indeed it was, close 
 at hand before his untrained eye had discovered 
 it. All day it had been toiling across the black 
 prairie ! The rain had softened the turf, and the 
 wheels sank without cutting it; so that the last 
 few miles had been inconceivably tedious. The 
 mourning garb of the plain had struck the hearts 
 of both father and son with indescribable terror. 
 The former would have left his slow team and 
 flown across it, but his son had charge of the cow, 
 and this was impossible. More alarmed and ex- 
 cited as he advanced, he was still obliged to restrain 
 his intense feelings, and accommodate his progress 
 to the slow motion of the tired cattle. Night drew 
 on before the desolation of his home was revealed 
 to him. When within about a mile he should have 
 discovered the house, but all was a level waste! 
 Unable longer to endure the torture, he sprang 
 forward, leaving the animals to follow as they chose. 
 He flew, he shouted, and the dog bounded to meet 
 the well-known voice. When the boy saw the 
 waggon, the father had just left it, so that even as 
 he repeated the joyful tidings, the stricken man 
 stood over them, half-stupified by the effort to 
 comprehend the nature and extent of his calami- 
 ties. 
 
 A group of perishing children, an infant corpse, 
 a dying wife ! and all, all gone, wherewith to 
 minister even the decent ceremonies of such a 
 period. Oh, how bitterly his heart cursed the day 
 when he trusted the treacherous beauty that in- 
 vited him there. He raised the dying woman in 
 his arms ; the seal was on her glazing eye, and the 
 faint fluttering at her wrist foretold the last and 
 worst that could befall him ! Slowly, word by 
 word, she told her agonizing tale. He threw his 
 garments over her, and wiped the rain-drops from 
 aa2 
 
282 LIFE IN PRArniE LAND. 
 
 her face, and drew her to his heart. But the cold 
 dew returned, and told that storm or shelter would 
 be soon the same to her ! He prayed her for- 
 giveness, and with wild, incoherent words, accused 
 himself of her cruel murder. She vindicated him 
 from these accusations with all her little strength, 
 and with many messages for her absent son, and 
 many prayers for her dear children and their father, 
 she resigned her breath, just as the last light was 
 fading from the western sky. 
 
 She had begged that her tomb might be made 
 on the site of the burned cabin. And there, when 
 he had watched two days and nights by her un- 
 sheltered corpse, and hevni a rough coffin to 
 receive her and her untimely babe, she was de- 
 posited. The gi-ave was a rude hollow, scooped 
 with sticks and the hands of the widowed husband 
 and his sons. The preparations were completed 
 and the dead lowered on the afternoon of the 
 second day. At midnight a troop of famished 
 wolves attacked the holy spot, and but for the rifle 
 of the husband, would have torn its sacred con- 
 tents from their rude repose. The next day he 
 felled the nearest trees, and laid them in the form 
 of a vault on the spot. And this it is which greets 
 the traveler's eye so many miles away on the 
 untenanted prairie ! 
 
 The grove has since retired and left the tomb 
 alone ! a bold and solitary mark on the high line of 
 the horizon. The plain below is still unchanged. 
 It is the same rich, green expanse in summer ; the 
 same bleak, howling waste in winter. It is now 
 skirted with farms under the edge of the wood- 
 lands. 
 
 One cabin has sprung up in its midst, on the 
 bank of the stream. But it is forsaken and dilap- 
 idated. Its door is gone, and the rough planks 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 283 
 
 which made the floor have been used as fuel, by- 
 emigrants who have encamped near it. Its small 
 cellar yawns dismally in the face of the curious 
 traveler who looks within. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Such were some of the incidents of early life on 
 the frontiers of prairie land ! Yet the hardy set- 
 tlers came and dotted the little groves with their 
 cabins and inclosures ; their domestic animals in- 
 creased rapidly on these rich pastures ; and in a 
 few years from the time the first dwelling was built 
 on the border of a prairie, considerable herds of 
 cattle and large droves of horses might be seen 
 frolicking and feeding on it. The early settlers 
 were particularly fond of the latter animal. Living 
 as they did, in the vicinity of abundant and deli- 
 cious game, they cared comparatively little for the 
 flesh of domestic animals. They used the ox less 
 for draught too, than the agriculturist of the east- 
 tern states do. The turf of their fields once broken, 
 they have little further use for them. Their motion 
 is too slow to suit the quick and changing desires of 
 the frontiersman. His work must be done quickly, 
 and at brief periods. He is not the steady, pa- 
 tient laborer of twelve or fifteen hours. If his 
 seed is to be put in the earth, he plants a few 
 acres, then mounts his fleetest horse, and rides to 
 the neighboring town to address his fellow citizens 
 in behalf of his own or his fiiend's claim to some 
 political ofiice ; or he takes his rifle and pursues 
 the deer, or hunts the grouse or quail. 
 
 Thus swift horses are the most valuable stock of 
 these people. Beauty, however, is rarely combined 
 with fleetness, and the best are generally short- 
 
284 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 lived. This is attributed to the early period at 
 which they are trained to service, to the random, 
 uncertain character of their labors, and perhaps 
 not less than either, to the exposures they endure 
 for want of shelter and proper care. 
 
 For a western settler will live many years on 
 his farm, without ever having a barn, or other out- 
 building of any kind, except a very small com 
 crib, and sometimes a stable, the dimensions of 
 which correspond better to those of a poultry 
 house, than anything else. If barns are built, they 
 come along after many years, under the head of 
 admissible luxuries. The threshing is done in 
 the open air upon a piece of ground made hard 
 by repeated treading, in the vicinity where the 
 grain is usually stacked. The horses and horned 
 cattle run out all winter ; and from the little care 
 that is taken of them, look miserably, long before 
 the spring herbage comes to their relief. The 
 coats of the latter, particularly, stand up like the 
 hairs of the caterpillar, and shake in the wind, 
 making their poor owners look as if suffering under 
 fever and as:ue. 
 
 The country bordering on Rock River, in 
 nearly its whole length, is one of the most beauti- 
 ful that can be imagined. The stream itself is a 
 clear and generally rapid current, running over 
 ledges of lime rock or beds of fine gravel and 
 sand. Its banks are beautifully diversified with 
 grove and lawn, which sometimes form natural 
 parks of many miles in extent. The trees of 
 these lands are principally the white, black, and 
 red oak, interspersed with the elm, hickory, and 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 285 
 
 butteraut in small numbers. There is rarely any 
 undergrowth, unless it be of wild flowers, or fruit- 
 bearing shrubs and vines. The blackberry is very 
 abundant in some, and in others the mandrake is 
 found in great profusion. The grass is of sparser 
 growth among the trees than on the prairies, and 
 the clean turf, spread beneath the lightly woven 
 boughs, is a charming spectacle to the eye, and 
 still more tempting to feet that love to stray amid 
 beautiful solitude. When I visited this region, it 
 was the heyday of nature. Midsummer among 
 these cool copses, green lawns, and swift streams, 
 is a joyous season, and if to these one adds a 
 small cabin filled with the pleasantest friends, 
 books and pictures, and surrounded with a few 
 families of the choicest society, it will not be dif- 
 ficult to understand why I often wish that the 
 eastern potentate could have made his ten days' 
 experiment without his august retinue in the little 
 
 town of C . But no paradise is ever entered 
 
 without some previous struggles which serve to 
 heighten its enjoyments. Perhaps they could not 
 be complete without these preparatory contrasts. 
 Theologians so affirm, and the assertion is not desti- 
 tute of a strong resemblance to truth, in my own ex- 
 perience on this occasion. Certain it is, that if the 
 strength of the one is proportioned to the intensity 
 of the other, I had a just claim to all the delights 
 
 which surrounded me at C . To reach them, 
 
 I had endured a solitary ride of three long summer 
 days, (think of that, for a lady with a tongue !) over 
 scorching plains on which not a drop of rain had 
 fallen for many weeks. The feet of four horses 
 and the wheels of a heavy coach consequently kept 
 a dense cloud of dust afloat, which, although it 
 may have seemed to the lookers-on very majestic, 
 marching over the prairie, to lend a sort of halo to 
 
286 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 our progress, by no means contributed to the com- 
 fort either of the outward or inward person. 
 
 Our dining place on the first day was at the 
 principal hotel in the flourishing town of North- 
 ampton. It (the town I mean, and the hotel may 
 as well be included, for it is the only building in 
 it) is nestled pleasantly among some hazels and 
 scrub oaks,, on a little elevation, which you ap- 
 proach by a winding road from below. The 
 face of the hill is quite bold as you come up 
 from the south ; and on its brow are perched the 
 remains of a windmill, which some speculating 
 settler, not having the fear of Don Quixote before 
 his eyes, had erected there, in the hope, which ap- 
 pears to have been vain, of realizing filthy lucre or 
 corn meal from its labors. You ascend the hill, 
 and, at the same instant, are quite astonished to 
 find yourself before the piazza of a house, which 
 a tall sign-post points out as the " Northampton 
 Hotel." 
 
 If sign-boards were, like title-pages, any indica- 
 tion of the fare to which they direct, the table of 
 this house would afford you fewer delicacies than 
 most of its guests find upon it. The artist seems 
 to have been been a severe lover of the useful, 
 and to have told his story in the plainest of all 
 possible black letters, upon the dirtiest of all 
 white surfaces. I did not notice whether any of 
 the characters were inverted, or had turned their 
 backs upon their neighbors, a thing not uncommon 
 in that country of large freedom ; but I think I am 
 safe in saying, that the title-page of this house was 
 not an illuminated one. The same cannot be said 
 of the room to which the guests are ushered. 
 There is nothing very striking in its furniture, 
 finish, or proportions, on first entering ; but its 
 beauties giow upon the eye ; and you experience 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 287 
 
 some astonishment, on looking about, to find your- 
 self in a sort of stereotyped picture gallery. I 
 scarcely know to what school these efforts belong. 
 That they are original does not admit of question, 
 but whether the artist excelled in coloring or com- 
 position, whether his pictures are allegorical, his- 
 torical, or merely representatives of nature in her 
 ornithological, zoological, and floral creations, I 
 must leave to virtuosi to determine. It was a 
 problem with me, after I had spent a considerable 
 part of two hours in examining them, and it still 
 remains so. They are executed in red, green, 
 and blue, on a plaster surface, and consist of a 
 great variety of vines, curiously interwoven and 
 knotted, on which are perched as various a collec- 
 tion of birds. I judge of the variety of the former 
 from the different colors of the leaves only, for 
 none of them seemed to be in flower. Some 
 gloried in green stalks and blue leaves, while 
 others donned the extraordinary altogether, and 
 sported leaves "done in" Spanish brown, from 
 stems " done in" blue; others combined all these 
 colors, and, twined and grouped as they were, 
 presented a lively and pleasing effect. There was 
 but one point in the room where the artist con- 
 descended to enlighten his admirers ; this was on 
 the lower face of the stairway. Two heavy cir- 
 cular lines, the outer red, the inner blue, inclosed 
 a large sanguinary figure, which more resembled 
 the beeve's hearts, without the appendages, as 
 they are exposed in market, than anything else in 
 nature with which I am acquainted. On its upper 
 surface were perched a pair of bij-ds, apparently 
 young eagles, in hot combat, for their ferocious 
 talons were lacerating the heart, and their beaks 
 interlocked, with such amazing fierceness, that if 
 the hold of one had yielded, his antagonist must 
 
288 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 have been precipitated, in terrible disorder, to the 
 ground. Eight letters were delineated between 
 the concentric lines ; they were at equal distances 
 from each other, and a full period of most vivid 
 green succeeded each. These letters were an 
 immense puzzle. I read them from all points ; 
 from above, from below, from the sides, from the 
 points forty-five degrees from the horizontal and 
 vertical lines ; but all to no purpose. I was about 
 abandoning the enterprise in despair, and had 
 taken my pencil to copy the curiosity, for the 
 benefit of learned societies, both native and foreign, 
 when I found that the letters L. O. V. E., written 
 on a straight line, spelled a word with which I 
 was tolerably familiar ; and, a key once obtained, 
 I was not long in unlocking the ring which con- 
 tained the mystery. It was a beautiful solution, 
 and the performance of it raised no trifling degree 
 of complacency in my own mind, as well as res- 
 pect in that of the host for my sagacity. He con- 
 sidered the Love Ring one of the best jokes that 
 could be enjoyed at the expense of his guests, and 
 laughed as heartily at each explanation of the 
 mystical letters as if they were perfectly new and 
 contained the essence of all wit. 
 
 I could start no reasonable supposition, explan- 
 atory of this artistical phenomenon, except that 
 some impoverished Titian had wandered thither, 
 and being unable to defray in money the expense 
 of a sojourn, had at the instance of the thrifty land- 
 lord turned his genius to account upon the walls 
 of the reception room. 
 
 The hostess meanwhile plied her vocation in the 
 neatest of all kitchens, directly back of this room. 
 Three or four sturdy children shared the apart- 
 ment with her, and from time to time engaged in 
 the discussion of various questions of authority and 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 289 
 
 domestic polity, on which they appeared to have 
 adopted opposite opinions. The warmth of their 
 arguments occasionally brought the maternal palm 
 somewhat smartly over the meatus auditorius, and 
 led the parties to abandon their respective points; 
 but always with a look which said plainly, " See 
 if I don't give it you next time." 
 
 Opposite the hotel stood — and I presume still 
 stands — the skeleton of a large house which had 
 been erected some two years before, and had pro- 
 gressed in a most singular manner to a state of 
 partial completion. It was partly roofed, partly 
 inclosed at the sides, partly plastered ; some of 
 the floor was laid, one chimney almost finished, 
 Bome of the windows were in ; the cellar was 
 paitly excavated, one or two doors were swinging 
 on their hinges; a picket fence extended two- 
 thirds the length of the yard, and the climax was 
 crowned by a gate that stood agape about midway 
 between the extremities. The enterprising owner 
 had abandoned it at this stage of its erection, and 
 offered it for sale as " a large house in the beauti- 
 ful and flourishing town of Northampton." I trust, 
 for the credit of the place, it has found a purchaser. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 We left our artistical landlord, and the next 
 stopping-place was twenty-two miles away. There 
 the night was to be spent, in case any amicable 
 arrangement to that effect could be made with the 
 muskitos who had previous possession. The land- 
 lady too, as I had learned, was rather testy, and 
 on my arrival, I found it even so. She had come 
 originally from New York ; but twenty-five years 
 of frontier life had shaipened many points of a 
 19 Bb 
 
290 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 character originally salient, and the absolute dd- 
 hiinion which she held over the comfort of those 
 who sought her roof, the only one for twenty-seven 
 miles of road, had made her capricious and impe- 
 rious in the extreme. Nothing, she asseverated, 
 could give her greater pleasure than to entertain a 
 lady or gentleman ; and who should know such 
 better than she, who had come fi'om the city of 
 New York ! Having learned therefore the cue, 
 it was not difficult to stimulate the good woman's 
 love of pleasing, so as to secure her most courteous 
 hospitality. Her own room was tendered me, with 
 a flowing bowl of water and an ample brown 
 towel, for making a toilet, after the dusty ride. 
 Just as this was completed, we were all summoned 
 to the tea table, which was laid with a snowy cloth, 
 under an open shed attached to the rear of the 
 house, and looking directly into the grove. 
 
 The sun was just setting, and the long shadows 
 falling aslant the gi'ass would have made a delight- 
 ful accompaniment to our delicious supper, had 
 not certain admonitory twinges about one's feet 
 and ankles put sentiment to flight, and given warn- 
 ing of more serious troubles yet to come. 
 
 It was very warm ; and how we were to exist 
 during the night with the sleeping rooms closed so 
 as to exclude these marauders, was a problem 
 which I could solve on no other supposition than 
 that muskito-bars surrounded our beds. To as- 
 certain whether this item should enter into the 
 anticipations of the evening, I put the proposition 
 to our hostess in a general and abstract form, that 
 where these insects were so numerous, it was a 
 great luxury to sleep under the bars and listen to 
 their wailings, while you were perfectly secure 
 from attack. She assented heartily, and added 
 that she wished all her beds were thus provided ; 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 291 
 
 but that, from one cause and another, she had de- 
 layed furnishing any but her own ! This announce- 
 ment eifectually quieted all my hopes of rest for 
 that night. 
 
 " How long have you lived here, madam V I 
 rentured to ask. 
 
 " Twenty-one years." 
 
 *' And how long have you kept a public-house ]'* 
 
 ** Ever since we came." 
 
 ** And the muskitos have divided the spoils with 
 you all that time ]" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " How far is it to the nearest town V 
 
 *' Eight miles." 
 
 *' How often do you go there V 
 
 *' Once or twice a week." 
 
 *' How much does the muskito-bar cost a yard ]" 
 
 " Two bits and a pic, or three bits." 
 
 I made no comment at the close of this conver- 
 sation, and may add here, that at every step I felt 
 as if I were walking over a mine that might spring 
 at the next, and add a discordant bass to the mus- 
 kito tenor that by this time had gathered its full 
 strength for the night. The good woman, how- 
 ever, in respect, as Captain Dalgetty w^ould say, 
 I had resided in her favorite city and should prob- 
 ably return to it ; and in respect, moreover, of the 
 assurance of the driver, given aside, that I was "a 
 right smart lady," for my husband had gone a very 
 long journey to the west (though how this fact 
 demonstrated his friendly assertion I could never 
 clearly perceive), bore the questioning with the 
 most obtuse good nature. I almost wished, when 
 I saw how pleasantly she took it, and felt my face, 
 neck, hands, and feet swelling and burning under 
 the stings of the rapacious legions, that she had 
 warmed a little. She remained cool, however, and 
 
292 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 offered me the choice of two rooms, one on the 
 upper floor, mider the western slope of the roof, 
 which had been closed all day, and consequently 
 afforded about as rational a prospect of repose on 
 a July night as the engine-room of a steamboat. 
 It contained three beds and not over a million of 
 muskitos. Each of the former she pledged her- 
 self to have occupied by the females of the house, 
 ■who would, she reasoned, share the depletion to 
 which otherwise I alone should be doomed. The 
 apartment beneath this contained one bed, a post- 
 office, and, as nearly as I could guess after escaping 
 from it, something more than ten times the number 
 of muskitos that had tendered their services in 
 the one above. The bed was curtained with thick 
 chintz, from which she argued the muskitos could 
 be expelled by the smoke of a few chips laid 
 upon a shovel of coals, after which, nothing could 
 be more easy than to fasten the curtains with pins, 
 and so enjoy uninterrupted repose. 
 
 The circumstance on which she most congrat- 
 ulated me in this case was, that I could make the 
 little apartment within so tight that the muskitos and 
 even the air would be eflectually excluded. The 
 good lady, therefore, stood quite aghast, when at the 
 close of her harangue I asked, with a kind of des- 
 perate resignation, to be lighted to the upper room ! 
 
 Here I did service, turning, smiting, and groan- 
 ing, until a rap at the door, just as the clock struck 
 one, announced that some fellow-sufferer had 
 grown desperate, and abandoned the attempt to 
 sleep. 
 
 " Is the lady hyur^'' cried the voice at the door, 
 in a tone by no means indicative of the tranquillity 
 essential to rest on a summer night, " who is going 
 north in the stage ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 293 
 
 " Well, it will be ready in fifteen minutes." 
 " But you were not to start till daylight." 
 ** '1 I shouldn't, but I reckon we may as well be 
 going, as to stay here and be bled to death by 
 
 these muskitos." 
 
 It would be superfluous to add that the closing 
 substantive was preceded by one of the strongest 
 compound adjectives which the language affords. 
 In fifteen minutes, therefore, we were on our way 
 from the residence of the New York landlady. 
 I had almost forgotten to add that she had a hus- 
 band — an intelligent, but very quiet, good-natured 
 man, whom one would almost expect to find set 
 down among the fixtures, if the premises were 
 offered for sale. He had evidently preserved his 
 thrift and industry, notwithstanding his early res- 
 idence in the country ; for his fields were well 
 fenced, his crops luxuriant, and a fine gi-owing 
 orchard lay in front of the house. 
 
 At eight o'clock we arrived at the beautiful little 
 village of Princeton. Here we breakfasted, at the 
 first really filthy house I had seen on the route, 
 and this was unequivocally so. There was no 
 disguising the table-cloths, the soiled dishes, the 
 buried floor, or the untouchable towel ! that was 
 handed me to make my morning ablutions. The 
 court was in session here ; and among those sum- 
 moned to the breakfast-table, I recognized several 
 legal gentlemen from different parts of the state. 
 Some of these had many inquiries to make in 
 reference to the Oregon expedition ; the answers 
 to which made me known as connected with one 
 of those who had accompanied it. 
 
 I afterwards experienced the benefit of this in- 
 direct introduction to the company, in the loquacity 
 of the new driver, whose first greeting after we 
 left the town was delivered from a face inverted 
 bb2 
 
294 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 beneath the right-hand comer of the coach roof, 
 *' I reckon now you'd be right glad to see your 
 gentleman this morning," 
 
 As I was looking out in an opposite direction 
 at the time, the familiarity of the address startled 
 me rather suddenly from my contemplations ; a 
 fact which led him to " allow that it would not do 
 for me to go such a journey, if I was as easy scar'd 
 as that." On my assuring him that I was only a 
 little surprised, and could not conceive how a lady 
 should be alarmed while she enjoyed his protec- 
 tion ; he said he " expected I was about right," 
 and expressed a warm desire to see the man or 
 men who would offer any harm to a passenger of 
 his, more especially if that passenger were a lady. 
 As no one appeared to brave this defiance, he 
 resumed his upright position, and in a moment 
 more the horses dashed off at full speed down the 
 long " bluff" which borders the valley of the Bureau 
 Creek. Occasionally in our rapid progress, I 
 caught a glimpse of the precipice, on the brow of 
 which the road winds; but on we went, sometimes 
 hanging over it, at others, bounding against the 
 bank on the opposite side. When we gained the 
 level ground, the inverted face again appeared 
 beneath the roof. 
 
 *' I expect you're from the east ]" 
 
 " Possibly." 
 
 " I allowed you was, 'cause no western woman 
 would ever a rode down that bluff at that rate 
 without screamin like thunder. I druv ten years 
 in Kentucky, and four here, and I never carried a 
 western woman that didn't holler like a painter 
 every time I jolted her a little, or put the horses 
 up faster than a trot." 
 
 " Then you prefer, I suppose, to have eastern 
 ladies ride with you ]" 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 295 
 
 " Yes, that's just what I do : if there's anything 
 on airth I hate, it's hearin a woman scream," 
 Having expressed his choice in these gentle terms, 
 he returned to the perpendicular and drove on. 
 
 We soon mounted the opposite bluff, emerged 
 from the beautiful gi'ove which crowns it, and 
 entered on the prairie, over which the remaining 
 sixteen miles of this stage lay. It is a high swell- 
 ing plain, large tracts of which were covered with 
 the rosin weed, then in full flower ; this plant is 
 well known to the inhabitants of the prairies as 
 affording a very pure white gum of a delicate 
 flavor when chewed- Its leaves are very long, and 
 about the width of a hand ; they are cut in narrow 
 scallops from the edge almost to the centre. They 
 all spring from the root just where it rises above 
 the turf, and the stalk shoots out fiom their centre 
 to the height of four or six feet, and then it unfolds 
 from one to three flowers of a bright yellow hue, 
 very similar in form to the common elecampane 
 of the eastern states. This plant used to be the 
 Indians' compass and diaL It was now just begin- 
 ning to deposit its gum in little, pure, transparent 
 globules on the stalk, and my friend on the box 
 proposed to halt a few moments, and give me an 
 opportunity to test its excellence. Deferring my 
 desire, however, to accept his proffered indulgence 
 to the requisitions of the government, whose agent 
 he was, I prevailed on him to proceed, expressing 
 at the same time an intention to make the experi- 
 ment at a more fitting time. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 One hour more brought us to the point of wood- 
 land where stood the next " stage-house." It had 
 
296 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 consisted originally of one small cabin of rough 
 logs, which in due time increased to two. They 
 stood in friendly contiguity, and were united by 
 their roofs. In the shady passage between, at the 
 time of our arrival, the hostess was seated, with 
 an apron fiill of gi'een peas, which she was ejecting 
 from their lawful premises, with one of the most 
 forbidding scowls I ever beheld on the face of 
 woman. What could have happened ] I was very 
 thirsty, but who could ask even a cup of water 
 from the owner of such a face 1 She kept her eyes 
 studiously fixed upon her task, apparently deter- 
 mined to afford me no opportunity to express my 
 wants, or exchange a word of conversation with 
 her. I was quite chilled, and began to feel ex- 
 ceedingly uncomfortable at the prospect of the 
 half-hour's stay which I had been informed would 
 be made here. I revolved in my mind every pos- 
 sible form of address which could act as an emol- 
 lient to her excited feelings, and at last was about 
 to make a desperate onset, with my humble peti- 
 tion, when a couple of children came rushing 
 around the corner of the lower cabin, full of glee 
 and merriment. I knew not if she were their 
 mother, but her face made them shrink back 
 and hold their breath. It was evident they had 
 some experience, and that, whatever the cause of 
 the phenomenon before us, the person who pre- 
 sented it was not to be tampered with. I spoke 
 softly to the elder of the two, a little girl of five 
 years, and asked her to get me a bow^l of water. 
 She was gone a moment and crept back, whisper- 
 ing, " There ain't no water in the pail, but I've got 
 the dipper, and I'll show you where the spring is." 
 I followed her down a path that led to the foot of 
 a little eminence on which the house stood, and 
 having slaked my thirst, and gathered both curi- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 297 
 
 osity and courage during my absence, I determined 
 to make an assault on the icy fortifications of the 
 pea-sheller. The whole affair began to wear rather 
 a ludicrous aspect after my doubts about the drink 
 were removed, and now, when 1 had no favor to 
 solicit, I perceived that the countenance, instead 
 of being that of a dangerous woman, was expres- 
 sive only of vulgar and animal rage, which propri- 
 ety had not taught her to suppress in the presence 
 of strangers. 
 
 " Madam," said I, " are you the landlady of this 
 house ]" 
 
 ** Yes, I am." 
 
 " Your situation here between two large unset- 
 tled prairies enables you to make a great many 
 people comfortable V 
 
 " Yes, but I don't allow it's my business to look 
 after other folks' comfort, when they don't care 
 anything about mine." 
 
 " That depends upon circumstances," I replied. 
 " If you keep a public-house, you make it your 
 business to attend to the comfort of people who 
 visit it, and all well-bred persons will certainly 
 return your kindness, by consulting yours as far 
 as possible." 
 
 " Well, I don't want to keep tavern. Folks will 
 stop here to suit themselves, I don't want 'em." 
 
 " But, my dear madam, you live in such a place 
 that people must stop with you, or suffer all the 
 inconveniences of traveling through an uninhabited 
 country. One of the greatest comforts known among 
 civilized people is that of finding a pleasant substi- 
 tute for your own home, when abroad. You have 
 traveled enough, surely, to estimate this your- 
 self]" 
 
 " No ! I never traveled only when we come 
 hyur, and then we camped and slep' in our wag- 
 
298 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 gons. If other folks 'ud stay at home, as I do, 
 there wouldn't be no need of having every other 
 house a tavern!" This was bordenng on the 
 personal. 
 
 " But, my dear madam, people cannot always 
 stay at home. Suppose now, your husband were 
 to leave you for a few days on business, and to be 
 taken sick during his absence, and send for you ; 
 you would wish to go to him. But you could not 
 encamp on the way, if you were alone, and then 
 you would want to see kind faces where you 
 stopped." 
 
 " I allow that's a different case," said she, eyeing 
 me sharply. " Is your husband sick]" 
 
 " My husband is a very long way from home," I 
 replied. 
 
 " Well, that's another thing. If I could know 
 when folks stopt hyur, that they was obleeged to 
 go about the country on any such account, I 
 shouldn't hate to wait on 'em so ; — but I reckon 
 there's very few that don't go to spec'late or see 
 the country, as if there wasn't any about their own 
 homes, or 'cause they're too lazy to do anything 
 else but ride about." 
 
 Just at this moment the hora sounded, and I 
 was obliged to bid the inhospitable woman a hasty 
 good morning. She had risen from the task I 
 found her engaged on, and was standing, pail in 
 hand, ready for the spring. 
 
 " Good morning," said she, " when you come 
 back this way, may be I'll be looking better than 
 I am to-day. I had four gentlemen here last 
 night, and it rained on their beds ; they found fault 
 with me, and I told 'em they might go farther and 
 do better if they could. I didn't want 'em liyur. 
 I had a right smart blow up with one of 'em. He 
 told me we ought to be ashamed to live here five 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 299 
 
 years, with a roof leaking, and I told him we'd 
 live here ten years longer without mending it, if we 
 chose, and he might go somewhere else for a dry- 
 bed if he wanted one ; for he shouldn't have one 
 here again! But I see John's team is at the 
 fence. Good morning, ma'am. I hope you'll 
 find your husband well." With these words she 
 suffered me to depart, and went her own way. 
 
 About four miles on, we were stopped by a man 
 emerging from a pleasant-looking cabin to deliver 
 some message to the driver, who, I had forgotten 
 to say, was a tall, sardonic-looking, half or quarter 
 Indian, as silent as the other had been communicative. 
 The man who hailed him, announced that the day 
 was very warm ; he nodded assent : that his horses 
 sweated ; another nod : that his wife was sick ; he 
 nodded again : that she had been sick several days; 
 another nod: and didn't get any better; still an- 
 other nod : and that he wanted to send for some 
 lemons. This time the assent was accompanied by 
 an abrupt offer to get them. " I reckon you may 
 get three," said the prudent husband, depositing a 
 
 shilling in his palm. " Tell to send me good 
 
 ones." Another nod, and we drove off, leaving 
 the farmer gazing after us with his hand over his 
 eyes, his teeth entirely exposed, yet still wearing 
 an expression of profound admiration at the man- 
 ner in which his silent friend executed a right an- 
 gle at the corner of his garden. 
 
 It was twenty miles from this house to the near- 
 est settlement, where medical advice or necessaries 
 in sickness could be procured ; and several miles 
 to the nearest house where common aid, in case 
 of accident or death, could be expected. This 
 good man, however, seemed as nonchalant while 
 sending for his three lemons, as if he had but to 
 dispatch a boy across the street ! So much indif- 
 
300 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 ference do people acquire by living in the wilder- 
 ness. He had come from the east about eight 
 years before. 
 
 CHAPTERVIII. 
 
 At four o'clock we reached the southern bank 
 of Rock River, at a place called, indiscriminately, 
 Dixon's Ferry, Dixon, and Dixonville. By the 
 first of these names it has been known many years, 
 as con-esponding on Rock River, to Fort Clark, 
 now Peoria, on the Illinois. There is much natural 
 beauty about the upper part of the town. The 
 bank of the river is broken, and a bold bluff of 
 lime-rock rises abruptly to a considerable height 
 above the lower level, the summit of which is 
 wooded with open, beautiful barrens. The trees 
 hang on the brow of the ledge, and wave their arms 
 pleasantly to those below. A fine spring issues 
 from the foot of the rock, but I did not visit it. 
 Opposite this portion of the town is a beautiful 
 plot of table-land, smooth as a summer lake, which 
 its owner had converted into eastern capital and 
 western promises, by consenting to divide it into 
 town lots. He had paid liberally for an engraved 
 map, on which the streets were adorned with 
 trees, and the public gi'ounds with churches and 
 other lofty edifices. Neither the trees nor churches, 
 however, seemed to have any very fair prospect 
 of becoming distinguished elsewhere. 
 
 The old part of Dixonville, that around the ferry, 
 is built upon a bed of cream-colored sand, abound- 
 ing in fleas. The banks of the river are dotted 
 with little copses and slightly broken. The north- 
 ern one rises into a high bluff, which, just below 
 the ferry, crowds up to the water's edge, and 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 301 
 
 bears upon its face an occasional tree or shrub. 
 On the southern side, the bluff bends away from 
 the termination of the ledge, and sweeping inland, 
 leaves a low track, the rear of which is broken by 
 bushy gullies that come down from the height 
 above, and terminate in the sand-bed before spo- 
 ken of 
 
 I was set down here, at another very filthy 
 house. But that which so disgusted me on first 
 entering, I soon found to be one of the least ob- 
 jectionable features of the establishment. The 
 landlord was one of that class of people in whom 
 all national and other distinctions are lost in the 
 ineffaceable brand of villany that is stamped upon 
 them. One would never pause to inquire whether 
 he were American, English, Irish, or Dutch. 
 You felt conscious of the presence of a villain ; one 
 of those universal prowlers, whose business it is to 
 prey upon society, and who, when it will be most 
 advantageous, prosecute their schemes alone, and 
 when otherwise, surround themselves with a gang 
 of ruffians, whose less disguised vices form a bar- 
 rier between their leader and public indignation. 
 He had a calm, imperturbable face, which, when- 
 ever he saw that his designs were detected, as- 
 sumed an expression of the most profound meek- 
 ness and resignation, as if its owner would say, I 
 know your thoughts wrong me, but what then ? I 
 can bear even that ! 
 
 I asked to be shown at once to a private room, 
 and furnished with water and other things neces- 
 sary to comfort, after a very warm and dusty ride. 
 He escorted me to one adjoining the parlor. "But 
 sir," said I, observing boots, hats, et cet., standing 
 about, " this appears to be a gentleman's room." 
 
 " Yes, it is occupied by a gentleman, but he's 
 out, and won't be here till night." 
 C c 
 
302 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 "Have you no room unoccupied]" I inquired. 
 ** Beside, there is no lock on the door!" 
 
 " You need not fear interruption," he replied ; 
 *' I would give you the parlor, but we shall want 
 to pass through there, and you can spend an hour 
 here without any fear of being disturbed." 
 
 "Very well, sir. Be so good as to send me the 
 water and towels immediately." 
 
 They were brought at the expiration of ten 
 minutes, by a gross creature, who united the 
 characters of mistress, housekeeper, and servant, 
 to the miscreant landlord. Her whole person and 
 manner were of the most disgusting descnption. 
 She deposited her burthen, and then placing a 
 hand on each side of her ungainly person, posted 
 herself against the door, and commenced taking a 
 deliberate survey of myself and my proceedings. 
 I waited a moment, and finding that she intended 
 to remain as long as her convenience or pleasure 
 would permit, inquired if it formed any part of 
 her orders to remain 1 " No ; but didn't I want 
 some help ]" 
 
 " Not at all ; the most effectual way of serving 
 me will be to remove yourself as quickly as pos- 
 sible from my sight." 
 
 She disappeared, and I barricaded the door 
 with trunks, chairs, and whatever else I could 
 place against it. I had scarcely completed the 
 task, when some person came rapidly up-stairs 
 and through the hall, and seized the handle of the 
 door with a violent push. 
 
 "Open this door," exclaimed a harsh voice, ac- 
 companying the words with another push, that 
 made the fortifications tremble. I now added my 
 own strength to the other securities, and informed 
 the person that a lady and stranger was occupying 
 the room for a very short period only, and that she 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 303 
 
 presumed he would, as a gentleman, only require 
 to be informed of this to be induced to leave her 
 in peaceable possession ; or, if anything were 
 wrong, to seek the landlord, who had placed her 
 there. To this he replied, that any person who 
 was in his room must leave it in a shorter space of 
 time than it would be proper to describe ; and 
 that he would see the landlord where it was sup- 
 posed to be much hotter than it was there, before 
 he would go after him on any such business. I 
 now saw that I had done him great wrong, in sup- 
 posing him accessible to any arguments that would 
 touch a man or a gentleman, and, therefore, 
 changed my ground. 
 
 " Sir," said I, " I shall not leave this room until 
 I am ready, which will be a much longer time 
 than you name. If you retire, and permit me, 
 unmolested, to accomplish what I came here for, 
 your room shall be vacated in fifteen minutes. If 
 you remain there, I remain here ; and I have, be- 
 side my personal strength, the aid of two very 
 heavy trunks, and a rifle, placed against the door 
 at about the height of a man's head. If you are 
 not already acquainted with its contents, there is 
 every chance that you will become so, if you open 
 this door by violence." Muttering some terrific 
 curses, he reti'eated down the stairs, and I pro- 
 ceeded to make my toilet, in a trepidation which 
 shamefully belied my stout words. It was com- 
 pleted in a very short time, but even before it was 
 done the door was again rudely assailed, and the 
 inquiry made whether I " was not yet ready." I 
 replied, that I should leave the room the first 
 moment after I was ready, and that these visits, 
 so far from facilitating my preparations, interrupted 
 them entirely. Again the steps retreated, and, in 
 a few moments, I removed the trunks and rifle, 
 
304 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LANP. 
 
 and walked into the parlor. At the same moment 
 the wretch came up-stairs, and entered his room. 
 He was a well-dressed, gentlemanly -looking per- 
 son, and, strange to say, wore a wide crape band 
 on his hat ! He peered sharply into the parlor as 
 he passed, remained in his room about the fourth 
 of a minute without closing the door, and then 
 disappeared down the stairs, and lounged away the 
 evening about the bar-room and door of the house. 
 Everything I now saw convinced me that I was 
 in a den of the foulest iniquity ; but imagination, 
 stimulated as it was by fear, did not conceive the 
 half of what I afterward learnt to be true of the 
 vile people who consorted there. This place is 
 the Vicksburg of Illinois, and the enterprising 
 proprietors of the mail line had chosen the head- 
 quarters of the gamblers, counterfeiters, horse 
 thieves, et cet., as the most fitting place of enter- 
 tainment for their passengers. I afterward learned 
 that there was an excellent house kept in the upper 
 part of the town, remote from the pestiferous at- 
 .mosphere of these wretches, but, being a stranger, 
 I had no opportunity of profiting by it. The 
 people who live here are persons whose daily 
 business is the stealing of horses, the manufacture 
 of counterfeit money, et cet. ; and such was their 
 strength at the period spoken of, that although the 
 better population of the place, of which I was in- 
 formed there was a highly respectable body, held 
 them in the abhorrence which their acts merited, 
 they could make no demonstration against them 
 without endangering their own and the lives of 
 their families. Sometimes, exasperated beyond all 
 forbearance by their enormities, the citizens were 
 driven to some feeble measure of self-defence ; 
 and, at this time, there was a set of counterfeiter's 
 tools under execution. But these movements 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 305 
 
 generally ended in some tacit compromise, by 
 which the villains were left to pursue their iniquity 
 as before. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 One instance of the recklessness in crime, ex- 
 hibited, by the wretches referred to in the last 
 chapter, was related to me. A settler, who had 
 opened a prairie farm some miles below the town, 
 became the owner of a very beautiful pair of 
 horses. One morning they were both missing. 
 He at once started in pursuit, went directly up to 
 the town, and, a few miles on his way, discovered 
 one of them lying dead by the road -side. It ap- 
 peared that, for some reason, the robbers wanted 
 but one, and, as the other followed his companion, 
 they had shot him down to relieve themselves of 
 his presence. These, and many more incidents, 
 evincing the most shocking depravity, were related 
 to me after I had escaped. 
 
 But meantime my desire to reach the resi- 
 dence of my friends that night, increased every 
 moment. I therefore sent for the landlord, and 
 
 inquired the distance to C . By the way I 
 
 should observe that he added to the various call- 
 ings already specified, some pretensions to the 
 practice of medicine, and that I had accidentally 
 heard him speak to one of his comrades in the 
 passage, of having but recently returned from a 
 visit to one of his patients, about four miles above 
 the place for which I inquired. The name, how- 
 ever, when I mentioned it, seemed entirely new to 
 him. He mused a moment, and said that really 
 he could not tell. It might be between twenty 
 and thirty miles down the river. There had been 
 20 c c 2 
 
306 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 a little place settled down there somewhere, about 
 a year before, perhaps he could find some gentle- 
 man about the house who could inform me. 
 
 " Let the distance be what it may," I said, " I 
 wish to go there to-night." 
 
 " To-night ! that is impossible. We could not 
 send you there to-night on any terms. In the 
 morning I may find it possible to take you, or pro- 
 cure an opportunity for you to go with some per- 
 son that is traveling that way." 
 
 "As you are ignorant of the distance," I said, 
 " you cannot name your charge until you ascer- 
 tain it." 
 
 " No, though I think it would be reasonable to 
 say five dollars." 
 
 I had paid but six dollars for the previous one 
 hundred miles. " Do you know the distance to 
 
 ," naming the place which he had visited that 
 
 day. 
 
 " Not exactly, but I think it is about — " 
 
 " You mean to say that you have never meas- 
 ured it with the chain, but having been there to- 
 day, you could doubtless form a tolerably correct 
 estimate." 
 
 He said that he had spoken of visiting a patient 
 somewhere in the neighborhood of that place, it 
 might be within half a dozen miles or so. I replied 
 that " it was useless to attempt deception in so 
 small and obvious a matter ; that I would willingly 
 pay an exorbitant charge to get from his house 
 that moment ; but as it was impossible, I should 
 make up my mind to endure a night in it. Let 
 me hear from you," I said, " at the earliest hour 
 in the morning, in reference to my departure; 
 and now, if you will oblige mc by showing me the 
 room I am to occupy to-night, I shall require 
 nothing more." 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 307 
 
 " You are to sleep here," he repUed, " there is 
 no other room unoccupied." 
 
 ** But this door has no lock, and if I am to judge 
 of my security, from that which you promised in 
 the first instance, I shall sit up all night." 
 
 Oh, there would not be the least necessity for 
 anything of the kind. This was the parlor — it was 
 never entered but by transient guests, and if any 
 came, they could be shown to another room. He 
 begged I would feel perfectly assured, and apolo- 
 gized in the humblest manner for the interruption 
 I had experienced in the other room. The gentle- 
 man who occupied it had not seen him, and he did 
 not know who might be in it or what they were 
 doing. He regretted, et cet. 
 
 To this I replied, I should place no reliance on 
 his promise, having found it worthy of none, but 
 take good care to secure myself, and thus we 
 parted. 
 
 It should be remarked here as evidence of a 
 degree of civilized feeling among these ruffians, 
 that they felt themselves wholly unworthy the 
 presence of a virtuous woman, and never expected 
 one to appear at table with them. It was not the 
 custom of the house, so the female before referred 
 to informed me, for ladies to appear at the first 
 table. 
 
 " And pray where do ladies take their meals," I 
 inquired, ** when they are so unfortunate as to be 
 obliged to eat here ]" 
 
 **If they are in a hurry to go, we tote it up hyur 
 to 'em ; if they ain't, they wait and go to the sec- 
 ond table!" 
 
 " And who sits at the second table 1" 
 
 " Mr. , the landlord, and I, and the drivers 
 
 and so on." 
 
 A dehghtful circle, truly ! I made no attempt 
 
308 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 to get a meal that day, though I had eaten nothing 
 since early breakfast at P. 
 
 Making the best security I could, by placing 
 the bedstead against the door, I prepared to retire. 
 
 The room was excessively warm, and had a 
 stench which rendered it intolerable, except the 
 window were thrown wide open. The bed itself 
 would have been pronounced soiled by a jury of 
 Irish landladies ; I resolved, however, to make the 
 best of the necessity which held me there, and 
 addressed myself to rest with an earnestness which 
 was well rewarded by seven hours of uninterrupted 
 oblivion. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 In the morning I learned that the good spirits 
 liad sent to my relief an excellent old New Eng- 
 land farmer, who resided some miles below the 
 place to which I was bound. He was in a tidy 
 farm waggon, carpeted with an abundance of new 
 mowm hay, drawn by a pair of fleet horses ; and 
 more than all, he was an intelligent, honest, high- 
 minded man, and a pleasant companion on the 
 ride, which proved to be but twelve miles. 
 
 Before I saw him, however, the landlord in- 
 formed me that he had made the necessary ar- 
 rangements, and paid the charge, one dollar and 
 fifty cents. He remarked that it was reasonable, 
 though more than he should have charged for that 
 distance, if he had been going alone, and directly 
 past the place. I paid it, together with his own 
 bill, which was about the same as one pays at the 
 Astor House for the same length of time, and told 
 him that I never paid money more fi'eely for any 
 purpose than for leaving his house ; that I pre- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 309 
 
 sumed, in fixing his first charge he had a just ap- 
 preciation of my condition, and of the ransom 
 which any person would pay to be released from 
 it ; and that, considering the relief which I should 
 purchase by it, it was a very moderate sum. 
 
 Some remarks from my companion, on the way 
 down, led me to inquire what he had received for 
 my fare, and on his mentioning half the sum which 
 1 paid, I remarked that the fellow succeeded in 
 robbing me of seventy -five cents at last ! 
 
 " Only that !" said he, " you may consider yourself 
 very fortunate ; that is a small sum for him to let 
 any stranger escape for;" he added, by way of 
 vindicating himself, that if he had known it was 
 a stranger whom he was to convey, he should have 
 refused any compensation, but that the miscreant 
 represented me as a woman belonging to the 
 house, whose fare he was to pay, and, continued 
 the indignant old gentleman, " I considered any 
 price too low to induce me to take one of the gang 
 into my waggon, but it is not safe to come to any 
 open quarrel with them, so I told them I would 
 take you for seventy-five cents !" 
 
 I hope the beautiful country has been purged 
 of such a population before this. It was appre- 
 hended that the town would at some time be 
 made the theatre of such a scene as was enacted 
 at Vicksbui'g. I rejoiced heartily to escape fi-om 
 it, and still more to reach the hospitable and 
 pleasant abode of my friend Mrs. P . We ar- 
 rived opposite the town, or rather the town site, a 
 little after noon. The southern bank of the river 
 is low and covered with very tall grass; but it 
 rises gradually as it retreats, and finally swells into 
 a high, rolling prairie, which divides Rock River 
 ii-om Winnebago Swamp. The northern bank, on 
 which the town is laid out, rises boldly up from 
 
310 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 the water's edge to the height of seventy feet, and is 
 crowned with a few scattered trees. Two cabins 
 on contiguous lots, fronting the river, and an unfin- 
 ished framed house, which will, when the street is 
 built, be several doors above them, were all the 
 evidences of town life which I beheld when we 
 stopped and hallooed for some one to row across 
 the little canoe which lay moored under the oppo- 
 site bank, for myself and baggage. 
 
 In due time the passage was effected ; and after 
 a scramble up the steep bank, I found my friends in 
 one of the aforesaid cabins, and a snug, cheerful, 
 social little home it was, as any the country af- 
 forded. 
 
 Here, also, were two other ladies visiting — one a 
 magnificent woman, whose beauty had won her the 
 title of Queen of the West ; the other, her younger 
 sister, a shrinking girl, just entering upon woman- 
 hood, with rare beauty of person and extraordinary 
 delicacy of character. Here we were all good-na- 
 tured, all friends, and all sufficiently accustomed to 
 the unaccomodating necessities of western life, to 
 make their exactions occasions of merriment, in- 
 stead of chagrin, or ill-humor. A beautiful coun- 
 try was about us, we had horses to ride, a can'iage 
 at our service, a boat on the river, a swing between 
 two tall trees on the bank, books, pictures, &c., 
 in the house, and the most ample freedom to say 
 what we would, range where we would, and draw 
 amusement, pleasure, or instruction from any of 
 these sources. 
 
 Our familiarity with these same necessities was 
 no trifling advantage. When three guests were to 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 311' 
 
 be entertained in a little cabin having but one 
 room, which answered the purposes of parlor, 
 dining and sleeping room, and the smallest of all 
 practicable kitchens, it will not be difficult for 
 nice imaginations to conceive that there might 
 arise ce-itain points on which a strict adherence 
 to etiquet by all parties might have kept us in 
 statu quo up to this period. For instance, if we 
 could not have yielded in some cases, where guests 
 in a larger mansion would think it impossible, we 
 should never have gone to bed, or, once in bed, 
 we should, by the same rigid construction of the 
 rules, have remained there to the present day. 
 There were five of us to sleep, three lady guests, 
 our hostess, and her husband. There were two 
 beds, and a most luxurious sofa. The debate on 
 iJhie first night was, who should take the sofa. It 
 was cool, capacious, elastic, in all respects but 
 on<e the most desirable berth of the three. But 
 this one, alas! It was fatal to all visions of dream- 
 less sleep, on the cool hair-cloth. It was no con- 
 stituent part of the sofa, nor of the pillows, nor of 
 the linen. It did not enter into the composition or 
 construction of anything in its vicinity. It was 
 not, strictly speaking, a physical difficulty; neither 
 was it, whether we consider its own nature, or the 
 results of its operation on ourselves, in any sense 
 a moral one. One might, at first, have pro- 
 nounced it atmospherical; but this opinion fled, 
 as did the patience of the sofa sleeper, before the 
 tests to which he was doomed. It commenced 
 with a sharp singing tone, which, continuing with- 
 out the least inflection or variation, except that 
 caused by the nearness or distance of the perform- 
 er, grew, in a short time, decidedly monotonous. 
 Thus it would have lulled one to sleep in the 
 pleasautest manner, had it not, just as you were 
 
312 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 about dropping off into tlie land of dreams, sud- 
 denly changed, from a phenomenon in acoustics, 
 to one in that peculiar branch of hydraulics termed 
 *' blood sucking." In this stage it was, beyond all 
 question, unpleasant ; one, two, three, four, or 
 twenty songs ceased at once, and as many little 
 hollow needles were instantly inserted into your 
 hands, arms, or face ; foreign branches fastened, 
 nolens volens, upon your circulating system, and 
 drawing off its current without the offer of an 
 equivalent. 
 
 There are few persons so constituted as to 
 endure, patiently, a succession of such Arab rob- 
 beries during a whole night ; and hence it was a 
 question of some interest, who should take this 
 post. Both beds were protected against these 
 merciless despoilers by bars ; but any permanent 
 provision of this kind was impracticable upon the 
 sofa. After due deliberation, it was resolved that 
 I should make ti-ial for that night. Accordingly, 
 having gathered the veils of the company, with 
 an ample array of darning needles and pins, and 
 made the most effective outposts which such 
 divided forces would admit of, I crept cautiously 
 within, and congratulated myself upon the pros- 
 pect of repose, sweetened by the war songs of 
 baffled assailants ; but, alas ! how often are the 
 grandest anticipations prostrated by the most 
 trivial agents. My scheme and patience w^ere 
 alike blown to the winds by the entrance of one 
 of these minute besiegers. He was soon followed 
 by a ravenous ti'oop, whose screams of exultation 
 might, I thought, have awakened the sound 
 sleepers of the beds. There was no remedy now 
 but to begin again : mending would not do. So 
 I removed the gossamer roof of my couch, and 
 sat upright to deliberate on the best means of 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND, 313 
 
 securing myself against these penetrating ene- 
 mies. 
 
 It was all dark, and the deep, steady breathing 
 of the four sleepers somewhat warmed my temper. 
 I resolved, however, to make another effort, and, 
 preparatory to its execution, rose and took a few 
 turns around the room by way of getting philosophy 
 in the ascendant. Another array of the veils, 
 another insertion of the darning needles, another 
 spreading of sheets, another cautious creeping 
 under, so as not to disturb the arrangement, was 
 very soon proved to be equally futile, by a second 
 irruption of these Lilliputian vandals. Whose 
 patience could be prolonged after this ] whose 
 fortitude could bear the painful effects of such a 
 warfare 1 Sconiing all such virtues, I determined, 
 notwithstanding the heat, to adopt the only sure 
 defence, that of wrapping head, face, arms, all 
 but the mouth, in the sheet, and bid defiance to 
 the exulting enemy. In this native vapor bath 
 I napped away two or three hours, and, after 
 one or two short walks, and one or two brief pe- 
 riods devoted to the widest destruction I could deal 
 among my untiring foes, moraing at last came. 
 
 The second night it was proposed that the sofa 
 should be occupied by our host. I felt it my duty, 
 notwithstanding the failure of the previous night, 
 to express the opinion that the veils, et cet., might 
 be made available in defence ; and accordingly 
 they were put in requisition. They certainly an- 
 swered the purpose of permitting us ladies to get 
 into a quiet sleep. It had not lasted long, how- 
 ever, when I was awoke by a dense cloud of 
 smoke, which seemed to be increasing every mo- 
 ment. My first impression that the house was on 
 fire, was almost instantly removed; for our host 
 was stalking the room in the majesty of outraged 
 
314 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 patience, swinging a large iron kettle filled with 
 smoking chips. This process is more briefly de- 
 signated by its technical name of " smudging y It 
 was performed on the present occasion with great 
 vigor, and interlarded with frequent apostrophes 
 to those whom it was intended to put to rout, 
 and some passages of soliloquy that were very 
 moving. 
 
 " Oh you brovni stinging imps, I'll give you 
 enough this time to lay you up a day or two, I 
 promise you. I'm not playing with you now, you'll 
 find, before this smudge is over — (Another furious 
 swing and a smothered cough). Yes, these women 
 would sleep if the smoke was so thick you could 
 cut it ; if I could sleep as they do, the muskitos 
 might have carried me off into some tree-top and 
 left me there — (A blow with the palm). You scoun- 
 drel, come here when my head is right over the 
 kettle, will you % — I'll teach you to make game of 
 me. By Jupiter, I'll smoke you till to-morrow 
 night at this time, if that's what you want — (An- 
 other swing). Ladies, I don't think you'll sleep 
 much longer, if you do, you've got better bellows 
 than I have — (Another turn or two, swinging the 
 kettle vehemently). There, you blood-thirsty ras- 
 cals, how are you now, eh ! all still ] You won't 
 sing any more to-night, I'll warrant you. Now 
 I'll see if I can't sleep a little." So saying, he re- 
 sumed his couch, apparently with every expecta- 
 tion of undisturbed repose for the remainder of 
 the night. I was just losing the recollection of this 
 amusing scene, when a violent blow with the flat 
 hand again aroused me. " Here again, are you ] 
 Mars ! what a set of vampires ! If that smudge 
 has not laid you up, there's no way to do it." By 
 this time the smoke was very much diluted with 
 the air circulating through the open doors and 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 315 
 
 windows ; the moon had burst through the clouds and 
 lighted the whole scene within and without. There 
 was a pause for a few moments, as if despair were 
 gathering resolution, and then the suffering victim, 
 enveloped in a sheet, rose and walked out of the 
 door, muttering that he would try it at the water- 
 side. He crossed the lawn, descended the bank 
 of the river, and was absent some ten minutes, 
 when he appeared again, having apparently made 
 a fruitless search for a place of rest. His next 
 resort was the unfinished house, but there it was 
 no better ; and again the sheeted form appeared 
 like an uneasy spirit walking up and down. 
 
 The whole affair now grew so irresistibly ludi- 
 crous that it seemed sheer robbery to enjoy it long- 
 er alone. I awoke my companions therefore, and 
 while I was endeavoring to convey some faint con- 
 ception of the scene, lo, the ghostly demonstration 
 strode again before our eyes. It was greeted with 
 a simultaneous peal of laughter, but it passed on, 
 and though our frequent bursts of merriment might 
 have provoked the return of a less irascible spirit, 
 it came not back. We were not a little astonished 
 in the morning to see him appear looking refreshed 
 and good-humored as any of us. Nor were we less 
 amused when a day or two after we learned what 
 resource he had finally availed himself of. Between 
 the cabins stood a small sleigh with a box so high 
 that it would have served for a prison van without 
 a top. Into this, the persecuted man had climbed, 
 and spreading his sheet over the top, sat bolt up- 
 right in one corner, bade defiance to the muski- 
 tos, and enjoyed for the remainder of the night, 
 as he asserted, the most luxurious repose. 
 
 Such scenes might have lost the power to amuse, 
 but our " queen" was called away a few days 
 after, and the sofa was at once vacated. Yet many 
 
316 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 a hearty laugh afterward rang through the pleas- 
 ant cabin at the memory of those nights. In sober 
 truth these insects are a sad drawback to the en- 
 joyment of the fine summer evenings which form 
 one of the most delightful features of this region. 
 The hours of sleep can be secured against them 
 by the use of the bar before referred to ; but they 
 are a very serious interruption to the delights of 
 the cool refreshing evenings which follow the sun- 
 ny days of that open country. 
 
 It may not be amiss to remark here that the 
 climate of the western states differs mateiially 
 from that of the eastern in the coolness of the at- 
 mosphere after sunset. The solar rays acting all 
 day on these large tracts of level moist ground 
 draw into the upper regions of the air immense 
 volumes of vapor which, after the former are with- 
 drawn, condense and descend in a miniature shower. 
 The dews are consequently very heavy, and the 
 nights so cool that nothing like the oppressive heat 
 of a July or August night in the Atlantic states is 
 ever known. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 But let us look at the picture of this little town, 
 or rather of the spot selected for it ; for no town 
 is yet there. We stand beneath a large tree, just 
 in the rear of our cabin. This spot commands a 
 pretty complete view of the " section" on which 
 the enterprising proprietors confidently hope to 
 see a goodly city rise. Below us, half or three 
 quarters of a mile, the river bends northwardly, 
 and just at the angle a considerable stream pours 
 into it, which bears the name of Elkhorn. Its 
 mouth is low and fringed with tall grass and bush- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 317 
 
 es, and a few trees, which cut off the prospect in 
 that direction. At a point a short distance from 
 the mouth of this creek, rises a natural terrace of 
 some twenty feet, which sweeps in a crescent form 
 almost to our feet. The top of this terrace is 
 crowned with wood, while the semicircular am- 
 phitheatre inclosed by it, is without a tree or 
 shrub, and looks a fit arena for the proud savage, 
 who but recently trod it. Its base rests upon the 
 river, along the bank of which many dead are bu- 
 ried, their heads toward the water. Occasionally, 
 as the earth crumbles away, the skulls roll out and 
 tumble down, till they rest in a hollow or among 
 the roots of bushes and trees which fringe the 
 water. There is no under-growth in the wood 
 which borders this amphitheatre, and the grass is 
 shorter than that which grows on the prairies ; so 
 that as you look across the surface, the tall straight 
 trees seem to be set upon a smooth velvety turf, 
 clean as a fairy temple. We are on the terrace 
 at the upper termination, where it approaches the 
 river after its graceful bend to embrace the little 
 plain below. Above us the trees are more scat- 
 tered, and can scarcely be called anything but strag- 
 glers, except at one spot in the open plain, two 
 hundred yards perhaps from the river, where they 
 assemble in an oblong hollow form, completely 
 interweaving their arms over a lovely little bower. 
 Directly in front of us there is a winding opening 
 to the prairie beyond. Along this is now a pretty 
 well wrought road. On the right is the common 
 field or garden, in which all the settlers have their 
 crops for this year. On the left deep in the grove 
 is the residence of the worthy doctor. It has grown, 
 by the addition of sundry wings and arms, from 
 a simple cabin to quite a complicated cottage. 
 The view across the river is open : the prairie 
 
 DD 2 
 
318 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 swells from the water's edge away for miles, rising 
 gradually, and at last bears one solitary tree just 
 on the line of vision. The stream itself is a clear, 
 rapid current running over a rocky bed. It abounds 
 in the finest fish, great numbers of which are easily 
 taken by the spear after nightfall. The torch- 
 lights glancing about on the water make a pleasant 
 feature in a night view from the high banks which 
 overhang it. So much for the town site ; now for 
 the town and its inhabitants. It has been already 
 stated that we have a next door. It is a cabin, 
 and belongs to the original owner of the lands we 
 have just described. When they were selected 
 for a town site, he saw no good reason why he 
 should not become a citizen, and so remained. 
 He is a native, and the only one which the place 
 can boast. But more than this, he is an extraor- 
 dinary specimen even of his extraordinary genus. 
 He is some forty-five years of age, was bom and 
 has always lived in the west ; he possesses a mind 
 of uncommon natural powers, which has been 
 strengthened by his mode of life, and adds to this 
 a great fund of reading. His ability to converse 
 on books and other topics common in cultivated 
 society, combined with that species of rudeness 
 which a life so totally destitute of artificialities 
 creates in the most elegant minds, makes him ap- 
 pear eccentric ; but he is not really so. Place 
 him, even at this age, in a city where he would 
 be cut oiF from the firee, wild influences of nature 
 and subjected to the restraint of customs which 
 men have agreed to pronounce elegant, and though 
 he might never lose altogether the free bearing of 
 a man who has communed much with nature and 
 laved her, he would assume the conventional tastes 
 of those with whom he mingled, and his eccentricity 
 would wholly disappear. 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 319 
 
 His conversational powers are often displayed 
 in remarks that would be brilliant in any circle, 
 and he possesses a vast fund of knowledge, drawn 
 from his fervent love and deep study of nature, 
 which might well be the pride of more pretending 
 minds than his. He is now a gentleman of leisure; 
 the advantageous sale of his property enables him 
 to spend his time as his tastes or pleasures lead 
 him. He sometimes visits us, discusses poetry, 
 science, and polite literature in general. One day 
 he pronounced, in a very brief sentence, the most 
 comprehensive and truthful criticism upon his 
 three favorites, Shakspeare, Byron, and Burns, I 
 ever heard. 
 
 It is painful to add, in qualification of so much 
 that is admirable, that he has the vice which 
 nobler minds have not escaped, that of intemper- 
 ance. Though not an habitual drinker, he some- 
 times drains the cup too deeply, and then adieu to 
 philosophy, poetry, and reason ; he is one of the 
 veriest infants of all the stricken family of the 
 demon. His home is shared by a wife and one 
 child, a boy of some four years. 
 
 In the unfinished house above, we shall find 
 nothing but carpenters' benches, bits of boards, 
 barrels of lime, &c., and as these three embrace 
 the whole of the upper part of the town, we will 
 step down the terrace and see what the amphitheatre 
 contains. Here we find two tenements, one nearly 
 in the centre, the other below. The latter is rather 
 a queer affair, even for a new country, and would 
 be pronounced decidedly so, where necessity was 
 not the supreme law in architecture as well as 
 other things. Its body, if it may be said to have 
 one, is built of slabs in an upright position, and is 
 roofed with the same material. It forms quite a 
 spacious inclosure, the interior of which is par- 
 
320 LIFE I\ PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 titioned with quilts and blankets into several rooms, 
 each of which is thickly peopled. In this fold 
 there are three or four families of " Buckeyes," 
 who, of themselves, would make a respectable 
 colony. They came hither from Ohio, early in 
 the season, and are livinj^ in this slab house till 
 they complete better dwelhngs. Their journey 
 was performed in a boat built and o\%-ned by thera- 
 Belves, and propelled by horses. It is now lying 
 just opposite the house, half out of water, its prow 
 thrown up like the head of a dying alligator. It 
 is constructed ven.' much as our canal boats are, 
 but seems a trifle higher. The families all bear 
 one name, and are father and sons-in-law, or 
 brothers and sons, I never clearly comprehended 
 which. 
 
 When they concluded to leave the Buckeye 
 state, they consulted together on the subject, and 
 determined, in view of their large numbers, that 
 it would be more economical, as well as more in- 
 dependent, to perform the journey in some con- 
 veyance of their own. Land carriage was out of 
 the question, a flat boat would only float them to 
 the mouth of the Ohio, a keel boat would be too 
 laborious, and their last resource was to construct 
 one which their horses could propel. This was 
 accordingly done. The families and goods were 
 shipped, and the strange craft launched upon "La 
 belle Riviere." For many days she floated down 
 its majestic waters, her silent way crossed occa- 
 sionally by the resounding march of the high- 
 pressure steamboats that crowd them. At night 
 the prow was turned shoreward, and the little 
 boat moored under some friendly tree, where a 
 fire was kindled and supper served. The smaller 
 members of the flock, who had been confined all 
 day, could now range the wood, and make ample 
 
 i 
 
LIFE IN PRAIBIE LAKD. 32l 
 
 reparation to their ill-used muscles and lungs. 
 By early daylisrht the refreshed animals were 
 again put upon duty, and while the cool dews yet 
 lay upon the silent ralley. they moved onward. 
 
 I can imagine few things more delightful than 
 this primitive, untrarameled progress over these 
 majestic waters. ^Vhen pleasure or convenience 
 led them, they could go on shore ; they could 
 visit spots never before trodden by the white man, 
 and sleep in the midst of silence never broken by 
 soimd of ci\"ilized life, save the snoning of the 
 fiery steed that ploughs the water a brief Jiioment 
 and is gone. Vast, unbroken, majestic nature lay 
 on either hand of them for many days. At last 
 they reached the mouth of Rock River, and turned 
 their little ark into its clear, bright waters. They 
 
 landed at C ; hved in their boat till the slab 
 
 house was built ; and, in this improved condition, 
 were waiting the still farther advancement of 
 separate firesides >Wthin more substantial walls. 
 Everything about this rude home wore an appear- 
 ance of cleanliness and comfort that made even its 
 plainness invitins:. The paths were kept clean ; 
 the bits of board before the door were well swept, 
 the children looked tidy, and the old grandmother, 
 of whose fat, happy face, and clean-starched cap, 
 I have yet a faint -s-ision. seemed the belle ideal 
 of a bold-hearted, strone-handed western woman, 
 sinking into the well-earned repose of ripened 
 years. 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 In tne house above this we shall find a specimen 
 of a ven.- different class of people, viz., a Massa- 
 chusetts sea captain. There he stands ; a man of 
 filtv years ; a little above the middle height, with 
 21 
 
822 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 a slender person, and a slight stoop which takes 
 something from his stature. His black hair just 
 frosted, and his small, keen, black eye dancing and 
 twinkling beneath the dark brow, like the heat 
 lightning of a cloudy July night. His dress is 
 very neat, his motions quick, and his searching 
 face always clad in smiles. He speaks much to 
 the point, when he chooses, without a wander- 
 ing or superfluous word ; and when he does not 
 choose, will baffle a whole corps of lawyers. His 
 smile is a genuine bubbling-up of sunlight, which 
 bursts and is gone, to be replaced by another as 
 fleeting. He is a great lover of sunshine, and 
 enjoys in a high degree the ability to produce it 
 for himself The early part of his life was spent 
 on the sea, but circumstances led him a few years 
 since to unite with a colony and emigrate with his 
 large family to the west. His genius seems never 
 to have fully expanded itself until it reached the 
 prairies. Not even the briny element he so much 
 loved brought out all his resources so entirely. 
 There, while sailing from port to port, his mind 
 was comparatively unemployed, A severe storm 
 might occasionally call upon his strength, or make 
 it necessary for him to assure his passengers that 
 the weather was delightful, and the ocean never 
 in a finer state"; but there was little room for the 
 play of those faculties which find a rich and end- 
 less field for speculation and thrift on the teeming 
 prairies. Here he could calculate the amount of 
 income which every foot of land would yield ; he 
 could select town sites, lay out the lots and sell 
 them too, while he was riding along on his ordinary 
 business ; he could construct imaginary bridges 
 where sloughs were any detriment to a fine " lo- 
 cation," and make the most envious neighbor con- 
 fess that it was better than if the land were all 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 323 
 
 smooth. If his horse was fastened in one of these 
 places, and the countenances of his companions 
 darkened, his admiration of everything about him 
 rose to the highest pitch, and he appealed to them 
 with a smiling earnestness which could not be 
 resisted, to say if it were not the finest country 
 ever beheld by man ! Even while he was strug- 
 gling through the quagmire, burthened with some 
 helpless member of his family, he would asseverate 
 in the most cheerful tones, and with a smile which 
 nothing could repress, that the country was incom- 
 parable ; that the very sloughs themselves, with 
 their deep beds of black soil and water pools, were 
 one of its best features ; that nothing would be 
 easier than to construct bridges " athwart" them, 
 when they would be a delight instead of the trifling 
 inconvenience which some might think they now 
 were. 
 
 He had already aided in building up one of the 
 pleasantest little towns in the central part of the 
 state, had erected a good house for himself, occu- 
 pied it about three years, and then, yielding to his 
 love of fresh enterprise, joined this colony, sold his 
 home, and come into this newer region to begin 
 again. He has selected a beautiful farm skirting 
 the river adjacent to the town, on which he is 
 about building, but his mind is now all absorbed 
 with schemes for making the town gi'ow into a 
 large village. Of the success of these he enter- 
 tains no doubt. 
 
 The only other character in this embryo city, is 
 our host. He is a son of New England, and has 
 spent a considerable fortune, which was left him 
 in early life, for the pleasure of beginning anew on 
 his own strength. He wandered through the 
 western states a few years ago, when many places 
 that are now bloominsr with cultivation were waste 
 
324 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 and solitary ; he built a double cabin in the edge 
 of a large grove south of the Illinois river, fur- 
 nished it with a fine library, and other cherished 
 household gods, and returned one morning in Jan- 
 uary from a ball, to find it burned to the ground 
 with everything it contained. He subsequently 
 opened several farms, and after many years of 
 bacheloring in the new country, became possessed 
 with the idea that the presence of the absent one 
 was indispensable to his happiness. Acting on 
 this conviction, he left the prairies after the autumn 
 frosts had fallen, and returned with the flowers the 
 next spring, bringing a fair girl who had consented 
 to leave the Granite State and share his prairie 
 home. This is our accomplished and lady-like 
 hostess, a highly educated, intelligent, affectionate, 
 and truthful woman ; one who would have adorned, 
 the most polished circles. She is now the mistress 
 of this little rude cabin, but her culture and worth, 
 so far from being thrown away in this inelegant 
 home, make her shine the brighter ; as genuine 
 diamonds do in plain setting. She is a fair-haired, 
 blue -eyed blonde, graceful in every movement, and 
 only prevented by the extreme slenderness so 
 universally courted among American females, from 
 possessing an exquisitely symmetrical figure. 
 
 CHAPTER XHL 
 
 Such is the place, and such are the people, 
 among whom many pleasant days were spent. Our 
 everyday pursuits and amusements were varied oc- 
 casionally by a ride to the store and post-oflnice, about 
 five miles up the river. There were some charm- 
 ing views on this road ; the river at some points 
 lay spread out before us in full width, dotted with 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 325 
 
 its emerald islands, and notched with the rich 
 woodtops that bordered it, and at others it retreated 
 from the view so as to leave only a liquid thread 
 here and there visible amid the waving green 
 which embedded it. 
 
 In one of these rides we were overtaken by a 
 shower. It came with a violent wind, and conse- 
 quently fell at an angle of about sixty degrees, so 
 that if we had turned our gig and stood still, it 
 would have protected us perfectly. But in the 
 plenitude of our wisdom, we decided to seek refuge 
 in a house about three quarters of a mile distant, 
 in the precise direction of the storm. We there- 
 fore faced the wind and rain, urged our noble old 
 Bucephalus to his utmost speed, and after a most 
 ludicrous flight of some minutes, bounding and 
 springing over the knotted turf, arrived, tirenched 
 and starchless, at the door, just as the rain ceased. 
 
 One of our favorite out-door amusements was 
 riding on horseback ; another, sailing in our pleas- 
 ure-lK>at; another, swinging on the bank of the 
 river in front of the new house ; another, gathering 
 mandrakes in the grove. Within, we had Shak- 
 speare, Byron, Burns, Bryant, and others, in the 
 poetical line ; some variety of scientific, philo- 
 sophical, an<l sentimental reading; Hogarth and 
 Dickens in the witty, and some iine copies of Ital- 
 ian and Swiss scenery, by way of preserving our 
 love of the picturesque and rugged in nature. 
 With all these resources, and a country more 
 charming than language can describe, it would 
 have been unpardonable not to be happy. We 
 were not so guilty. 
 
 One of our aquatic excursions was undertaken 
 
 for the purpose of spending an afternoon with Mrs. 
 
 C, a widow lady, who with her six sons and only 
 
 daughter resided about two miles up the river, on 
 
 Ee 
 
326 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 the opposite side. They had emigrated from one 
 of the principal cities of New England, and were 
 altogether among the most intelligent and valuable 
 families in society I ever met. Their little dwell- 
 ing stood about a quarter of a mile from the river, 
 and was approached by a hard-trodden, naiTOW 
 path, through gi'ass rising on each side almost to 
 the head of an ordinary sized man. When you 
 emerged within a few rods of the door, the scene 
 that opened before you was unexpectedly pleasant. 
 The house stood in a little open glade, on a rising 
 ground which commanded a fine view of the adja- 
 cent prairie and groves, and admitted one or two 
 glimpses of the river, buried among the trees and 
 tossing grass. An arm of timber from the water- 
 side stretched up within a few rods in the rear, 
 and another a little farther off in front of the house. 
 The building itself had been constructed something 
 more than a hundred miles from the spot where it 
 now stood, had been taken apart, moved on wag- 
 gons, and set up again on this spot. Its various 
 pieces were nicely jointed and fitted together, so 
 as to answer admirably for a summer-house. How 
 it would serve when Boreas came down with his 
 frost burthen, admitted of some question. 
 
 Mrs. C. was a woman who possessed the highest 
 order of mental elegance, viz., that which is native 
 and unaffected by outward circumstances. The 
 hospitality of her plain little home was charming 
 as it could have been if sumptuous viands had been 
 served on costly plates, and luxury had waited on 
 every indolent desire. Elegant without art, wise 
 without pedantry, amiable without vanity, she was 
 the model of all that is lovely in woman. Her 
 sons had inherited much of her excellence and 
 talent, and were universally beloved. We left 
 her little cottage at dark, and embarked for horae. 
 
 I 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 327 
 
 The day had been very warm ; the lightning was 
 flickering around the southwestern horizon before 
 we started, and there was every probability that 
 we might be overtaken by a shower before we 
 reached our landing-place. There was little 
 wind at first, but it presently increased, and bore 
 upward flying masses of black cloud, which ob- 
 scured the little light given us by the stars, and 
 left us in darkness, only deepened by the frequent 
 lightning-flashes. Our little sails, filled by these 
 gusts, bore us merrily through the rippling waters 
 till they ceased, and left us to float with the cur- 
 rent until another came. The banks of the river 
 were involved in profound darkness, except when 
 the cloud-lamp burst up for a moment, but the 
 broken surface of the water reflected innumerable 
 fragments of light, so faint as to be perceptible 
 only to an earnest and searching eye. When you 
 caught them, the water seemed to grow more and 
 more luminous, till another flash came and de- 
 stroyed the beautiful illusion. 
 
 Our company were merry, notwithstanding the 
 anticipated shower, and, striking up the " Bonnie 
 Boat," made the silent woods echo with its cheer- 
 ing strains. It was a delicious night to be abroad 
 on the water ; and our spirits were so much exhil- 
 arated by the scene, that we should have rather 
 rejoiced than grieved had we been visited by the 
 shower. We reached our landing place, however, 
 just as the first large drops began to plash in the 
 water and patter among the leaves. It was ten 
 o'clock : the muskitos had sought shelter and 
 would be harmless while the rain continued to 
 fall. We opened our doors and windows, there- 
 fore, and the cool air came in laden with the fi-a- 
 grance of reviving nature ; a delightful precursor 
 of the sweet sleep which was to follow. 
 
328 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The country north of this section of the river is 
 one of the most beautiful that can be imagined. 
 Its high rolling prairies are dotted with groves 
 through which clear rapid streams wind and bab- 
 ble like those of the eastern states. It was at this 
 period principally held by the first settlers. A 
 few late emigrants from the Atlantic side were 
 creeping in, however, and making claims, as they 
 are called, on some choice spots ; but the " Suck- 
 ers" still held the dominion. 
 
 This process of making claims is a somewhat 
 curious matter, and not unfrequently leads to se- 
 rious disturbance among the settlers. It is gov- 
 erned by different laws in various neighborhoods. 
 In some it merely consists in erecting a house or 
 something like it, in which the claimant or his 
 agent shall reside for a certain length of time ; in 
 others he is, in addition to this, required to break 
 and plant a piece of ground, and in still others, 
 the latter is alone sufficient. So that you may 
 sometimes ride through a piece of corn, growing 
 on the open prairie with no house or other sign of 
 cultivation or ownership in sight. These claims, 
 if made according to the governing customs, are 
 generally as much respected when the land is 
 thrown into market as a deed conveying the £e& 
 simple. But if the law of the neighborhood has 
 been evaded in part, or if there be rival claimants, 
 each of whom have set their marks upon a single 
 tract, it leads to serious and often fatal strifes. The 
 emigrant, however, has in all these the advantage 
 over the first settlers. For as the numbers of the 
 former increase, the latter retires before them as 
 the Indian has retired before him. He forms the 
 
 I 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 329 
 
 second wave that pours itself into the bosom of 
 this wilderness. When the Yankee homes thicken 
 about him, and farms are opened within two, three, 
 and four miles, he begins to feel straightened, op- 
 pressed ; he wants more room, and resolves to sell 
 to the first Yankee that offers to buy. He does not 
 wait long; and a bargain being concluded, he stows 
 his plunder underneath the cover of the large wag- 
 gon, harnesses his four horses before it, hangs his 
 " bucket" beneath and his " feed-box" behind, starts 
 his two cows on in advance, sets his eldest boy on 
 the right-hand wheel horse, with a single rein in 
 his hand, and commences his journey westward, 
 shaking the dust of the Yankee settlements from 
 his feet. He has often no place in view, but jour- 
 neys on, always toward the setting sun, for he 
 knows that freedom such as he seeks has retreated 
 thither. He travels on, day after day, and grows 
 more complacent as he gets further off. Some- 
 times they sleep in the cabins by the way side, 
 and at others in the waggon and again on the 
 ground. The females always do their own cook- 
 ing either by the camp fire, or on the hearths where 
 they stop. They never complain if the jour- 
 ney continues for weeks, but relieve its tedium 
 by walking, driving the cows, &c. I have met 
 many hundreds of these moving caravans, and 
 scarcely ever saw an unhappy or anxious face 
 among them. They love the large liberty of the 
 wide prairie, they love its sunlight, its waving 
 grass, its flowers, its lone trees, its groves, its silent 
 streams. They love the anticipation of making a 
 new home on the brow of the remote wilderness, 
 and living there, with half the careless ease of the 
 Indian and more than his happiness. Their minds 
 exult in the boldness and freedom of those enter- 
 prises which demand little practical detail. The 
 
 EE 2 
 
330 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 dangers which hung over their early years have 
 cultivated in them a certain boldness and love of 
 adventure which find no proper field but on the 
 wild frontier. The richness of the soil has obvi- 
 ated the necessity of severe labor, and they have 
 consequently gi'own up with habits of indolence 
 and a want of practical talent, found in no other 
 free states of the Union. Advancement in the 
 useful or ornamental arts is a thing almost unknown 
 among them. The son is content to spend his 
 days in the rude and comfortless cabin that shel- 
 tered his sire ; he rides in the same heavy, uncouth 
 vehicle ; he never bestows any increased care upon 
 his crops ; even though his eastern neighbor on 
 the next farm doubles his har\'est by it. 
 
 His aspirations are equally stationary in the more 
 important particular of educating his children. 
 He "reckons" they should know how to wrrite 
 their names, and " allows it's a right smart thing 
 to be able to read when you want to." He 
 " expects " his sons may make stump speeches if 
 they live ; but he don't " calculate that books and 
 the sciences will do as much for a man in these 
 matters as a handy use of the rifle, and a free 
 range of the prairies." As for teaching, " that's 
 one thing he allows the Yankees are just fit for ;" 
 he does not hesitate to confess, that they are a 
 "power smarter" at that than the western boys. 
 But they can't hold a rifle nor ride at wolf hunt 
 with 'em ; and he reckons, after all, these are the 
 great tests of merit. 
 
 With all these peculiarities, and this ignorance 
 of what is esteemed essential in cultivated society, 
 these people have strong intellects, bold and 
 vigorous ideas, and possess a vast fund of know- 
 ledge, drawn from sources with which a more arti- 
 ficial society is too little acquainted. They have 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND, 331 
 
 an order of eloquence peculiar to themselves, 
 rough, bold, and strong, and glowing with illus- 
 trations drawn from nature as they know her, and 
 from other sources famihar to their minds. I have 
 often listened to them with delight, as well as 
 amusement. They are not so witty as they are 
 accredited to be ; but their thoughts and figures, 
 so different from those we are accustomed to hear, 
 take us by surprise, and produce an emotion of 
 contrast so strong as to excite irresistible laughter. 
 Their illustrations are not drawn from the lore 
 of Greece and Rome, but from the infinitely truer 
 teachings of nature, amid which they live. If they 
 have not the artificial elegance which the mighty 
 minds and associated events of centuries have 
 given to the former, they have a higher intrinsic 
 value, and tell more effectually on their assem- 
 blages than would all the mythology of heathen- 
 dom. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The hospitality of the people of the west is ex- 
 haustless. Such as their homes are, the stranger 
 is ever welcome to them, and to what they con- 
 tain. The single room is as freely shared as if it 
 were twenty, instead of one. The abundant table 
 is never too small for all that are within hearing 
 when it is laid. You may feel embaiTassed at the 
 narrow physical limits within which all this is 
 confined, but your feelings are never perceived or 
 appreciated by your entertainers. You rise in the 
 morning and are conducted to the well or spring, 
 or a bench beside the door, to perform your ab- 
 lutions (necessarily scanty under such circum- 
 stances) ; your host, meanwhile, descanting on some 
 " hoar " or " wolf hunt," on the approaching or past 
 
332 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 harvest ; on the last or the coming election, on 
 the merits of a horse, or the "chance of mast" 
 for fattening pork, the sickness of the last season, 
 the necessity of burning the prairies to prevent 
 it, &c. 
 
 Within, the good wife has meantime commenced 
 her preparations for your morning meal. The 
 first step in this, as in all other meals, is to place 
 her large, two gallon coffee-kettle at the fire. Next 
 she lays the covers of two small iron ovens upon 
 the blazing logs, removes some coals to the hearth 
 with her large wooden shovel, and introducing its 
 blazing edge to the ashes in the comer, ascends 
 the ladder with a tin or earthen vessel. Presently 
 she reappears with meal for her dodger. This is 
 made by wetting the meal with cold water, and 
 mixing it with a little salt to the consistency of a 
 thick batter. It is then taken in the hand and de- 
 posited in three or more oblong cakes in the angle 
 of the skillet ; the cover is put over, a few coals 
 thrown upon it, and so much of breakfast is in 
 progress. If you are a southern or eastern guest, 
 or particularly respected for any cause, the next 
 step is to make a mixture of wheaten flour, cold 
 water, lard, and salt, and cut it into small cakes, 
 which are deposited in the other skillet. Then come 
 the meats, which, with the cora dodger and coffee, 
 are the essentials of all meals among these people. 
 Morning, noon, and night sees from one to three 
 varieties of this article on every well-spread table. 
 All this time the coffee is maintained in the most 
 vigorous ebullition. The table is laid at intervals, 
 the dodgers and " hot cakes" watched, and when 
 all is done, the coffee is drawn back and settled 
 with an Q^g ; the ashes are turned from the covers ; 
 the cakes taken up on plates ; the meats dished ; 
 the hearth brushed : and some few little matters 
 
 ifetttt 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 333 
 
 of taste about the room regulated ; and then you 
 are invited to the table. The coffee, it must be 
 confessed, is execrable, and can only be disposed 
 of by the aid of the rich cream, which is not often 
 spared. The hot cakes, as might be expected, are 
 solid and of a deep leaden hue ; the dodger is in- 
 comparable ; the quails delicious ; the gi'ouse or 
 deer equally so ; but the bacon insufferable. This 
 is pretty nearly your bill of fare for the day. You 
 have fruits or sweetmeats and pudding added at 
 dinner ; and fresh baked cake at tea. But at each 
 meal you have all the meats of the first, with one 
 variety, replaced sometimes by the domestic fowl, 
 and sometimes by fresh baked pork. All the food 
 of each meal is cooked at the time it is to be eat- 
 en ; and the first step of this long process is to 
 place the " coffee-kettle" where it shall come to 
 the boiling point as speedily as possible. The 
 western people have an unconquerable aversion 
 to food that is not served hot and fresh from the 
 cooking vessel. They would look with contempt 
 upon the most sumptuous hospitality of eastern 
 tables, if one of the staple dishes had been cooked 
 on the previous day. No bread is ever found in 
 their houses ; they make a large loaf in their iron 
 ovens which is fermented by what they call salt- 
 rising ; but it must be eaten warm, and is then 
 only tolerable to an eastern palate. 
 
 As might be expected from this excessive use 
 of coffee in its worst form, from the great amount 
 of animal food, and some other causes belonging 
 to the climate which these greatly aggravate, they, 
 for the most part, wear complexions of a faint yel- 
 lowish brown. Their skin has little appearance 
 of life, and looks more like a soiled lemon-colored 
 glove than the membrane of mingled red and white 
 which of right belongs to them. 
 
334 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The morals of these people partake strongly of 
 the characteristics already named. They are too 
 magnanimous to be often mean, too free from ava- 
 rice to be often dishonest. A little fraud or shrewd 
 trick played upon a Yankee they consider a com- 
 mendable evidence of superior sagacity ; a thing 
 to be exulted in rather than repented of. Their 
 passion in trade is for the never-sufficiently-to-be- 
 prized horse, and a considerable part of their petty 
 litigation grows out of this class of transactions. 
 Indolence is one of their worst vices ; for it leads 
 to many others. This, however, I am bound to 
 say, is confined to the male sex. The females can- 
 not be indolent if they would, and this for a num- 
 ber of reasons ; one of which is, that the females 
 of all newly settled countries have many kinds of 
 labor to perform of which they are relieved in older 
 regions by the greater perfection of machinery 
 and architecture, and the presence of a larger pro- 
 portion of their own sex. Another is, that the 
 western country is visited by great numbers of 
 single men ; strangers, who are dependent for all 
 the domestic offices on the women of the region 
 or neighborhood in which they stop. This has 
 been a very important item in the labors of these 
 females for the last fifteen years. But the male 
 population may be pronounced unequivocally in- 
 dolent. On a bright day they mount their horses 
 and throng the little towns in the vicinity of their 
 homes, drinking and trading horses till late in the 
 evening. It is not extraordinary to see two or 
 more of them come to blows before these festival 
 days end. 
 
 They are prompt to redress an injury by legal 
 
LIFE IN PRiMRIE LAND. 335 
 
 process when the law affords it; when not, by 
 personal strength. It is, however, due to them to 
 say, that they are equally prompt to make repa- 
 ration when it is demanded in an honorable man- 
 ner. They have little love or charity for the 
 vices that stain artificial society. Duelling is 
 rarely defended, licentiousness is little known, and 
 theft is scarcely conceived of among them. 
 
 Respect for the Sabbath and for religious obser- 
 vances generally, is not very widely spread. Few 
 churches are sustained, and but little expenditure 
 incurred for the support of religious institutions. 
 The prevailing faiths or forms of worship are the 
 Methodist and Campbellite. There are others of 
 course, but these are by far the most numerous. 
 Without attempting any invidious distinction be- 
 tween these beliefs, it will certainly be adhering 
 to truth to say that the latter are generally the 
 more intelligent people, the former the more hon- 
 est. The pulpit oratory of both is quite peculiar. 
 I heard many of their " Circuit riders," and sev- 
 eral of the settled clergy of the Methodist church, 
 and am bound to say, that before 1 had this expe- 
 rience I should have considered any true descrip- 
 tion ironical or libelous. Among them all there 
 were but one or two that deserve to be designated 
 by any other name than that of the most arrant 
 ranters. Their efforts bore no comparison with 
 those of the stump orators and disputants of deba- 
 ting clubs, lyceums, &c., which you may hear 
 every week in the small towns settled by western 
 people. Like most empty speakers, these preach- 
 ers have an abundance of furious action, a bellow- 
 ing utterance, and a tone which renders it extremely 
 difficult for the possessor of a cultivated ear to 
 preserve both gravity and patience through one of 
 their interminable harangues. 
 
336 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 The primitive style of their meetings, and the 
 motley and heterogeneous appearance of the peo- 
 ple who assemble, makes them one of the most 
 striking novelties to the curious observer of West- 
 ern life and manners. 
 
 The Circuit rider embraces in his field of labors 
 from thirty to one hundred miles of country. His 
 meetings are called in school-houses and churches, 
 when held in tovi^ns or thickly populated neigh- 
 borhoods, and in the cabins of the settlers in 
 more primitive regions. His audience are seated 
 on boards, the ends of which rest upon chairs, or, 
 where these are not to be had, on blocks of wood 
 of convenient height. One chair is always reserv- 
 ed for the speaker, in which he sits until the con- 
 gregation is assembled. He then rises, takes his 
 position behind it, drops his flag handkerchief upon 
 its back, and reads a hymn, repeating each couplet, 
 the better to aid the memory of the singers, most of 
 whom are without books. Thus commence the ex- 
 ercises of the occasion. The singing is followed by 
 a long incongruous prayer. After this, the text is 
 announced, and the sermonizer launches at once, 
 without preface, into the utterance of some of the 
 many things which he intends to communicate. 
 
 I remember becoming wearied with one of 
 these harangues, which was more vapid than usual, 
 and finding gi-eat relief in a study of the motley 
 group around me. There were mothers present, 
 with infants of all ages, from four weeks upwards. 
 One of these, about four months old, was curiously 
 clad. It wore a dress of coarse brown English 
 merino, sleeves short, and rufiled at the elbow, 
 with plain footing about a nail in width. I infer- 
 red that it had been originally white, not from any 
 evidences then visible, but from the fact that I 
 never saw it colored in the shops. On the head of 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 337 
 
 this child was a calico cap of the coarsest texture 
 and colors, trimmed profusely with an orange and 
 green ribbon of some antiquity. My next neigh- 
 bor on the other hand was dividing her attention 
 between the sarmont and an infant of some six 
 weeks, dressed so grotesquely as to be irresistible. 
 A light cloak of blue cotton material partially 
 covered a dress of green and black calico of the 
 largest stamp ; the head was covered with a cap 
 of the finest cambric linen, exquisitely wrought, 
 and trimmed with a faded black lutestring ribbon, 
 about two inches and a half in width. The mother 
 wore one of the ancient scoop bonnets, natural 
 hose, a calico dress, and a cape of different color 
 and figure. Directly in front, sat a young lady, 
 the belle of the settlement, and withal not a little 
 of a coquet, as I afterwards learned. She was 
 clad in a dress which had once been printed, but 
 yielding to the pressing solicitations of the rubbing- 
 board, had parted with its colors, and was now 
 passing for white. Each of its large threads was 
 distinctly visible. Her neck was dressed in a 
 very coquettish style, with a bright red bandanna 
 handkerchief drawn tight over the shoulders, 
 and fastened with a pin, and a long pink ribbon, 
 which flowed nearly to her cowhide boots. Her 
 hands were naked and empty ; a tasty calico apron 
 being made to do duty in place of a pocket-hand- 
 kerchief Her head was covered with the soiled 
 remnant of an ancient green calash, the bridle of 
 which enabled her to play off many effective 
 glances upon the stricken '•'' fellers''' in her vicinity. 
 Such ludicrous varieties of dress were inexhausti- 
 ble, and afforded a rich field of observation while 
 the orator was floundering through his subject ; 
 which on this occasion was an argument on the 
 immortality of the soul. He had not approached 
 22 Ff 
 
338 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 this abstruse question without feeling its importance, 
 and making due preparation. His mind had evi- 
 dently been refreshed by the recent perusal of 
 some elementary treatise on the science of astron- 
 omy, which has been supposed by other great 
 minds to afford some evidence on this and kindred 
 questions. How this evidence was borne did not 
 very plainly appear from this discourse ; the prin- 
 cipal use made of his knowledge being to propound 
 to his audience the questions found at the bottom 
 of the page ; and after a due pause, to answer 
 them himself. Half an hour's exercise of this kind, 
 abounding in the grossest and most ridiculous 
 blunders, convinced the gaping assemblage that 
 
 Brother A was not only " a powerful smart 
 
 man, but one of mighty lamin." 
 
 It was safe then to return to the original question, 
 which every one had forgotten, but which, at the 
 end of the lesson, he seemed fortunately to remem- 
 ber. After some well-rounded sentences in his 
 loudest key to prepare their minds for the tremen- 
 dous question, he said, drawing himself up with a 
 dignity and complacency which no words can con- 
 vey, "Now, my friends — What is the Soul 1" 
 
 A most impressive pause followed this interest- 
 ing interrogatory. Every mind, save those of the 
 dashing coquet and her rival admirers, was bent 
 on it ; the house was awfully silent for the moment ; 
 but the answer enunciated in a measured tone and 
 manner, " My brethren, soul and body is enonemous 
 terms," carried my gravity by storm and let dow^ 
 the rapt audience wath such a sudden substitution 
 of plain fact for sublime inquiry, that there was an 
 instantaneous shuffling of feet, drawing up of bent 
 forms, and exchanging of smiles, which said, " That 
 is it, but we could not have said it so well." 
 
 When this sermon was over, an elderly sister, 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND, 
 
 •who had exulted at every sentence, asked my 
 opinion of it. To the reply that I thought Mr. 
 
 A possessed a fine voice, she rejoined — " Ah ! 
 
 he's a powerful smart man. We thought Brother 
 
 ," naming his predecessor, '* was as good as 
 
 anybody could be, but Brother A is a heap 
 
 ahead of him. Where on airth he ever gets lamin 
 to answer the questions he's always askin, I can't 
 see ; I reckon he must read a power of books." 
 
 But notwithstanding the ignorance of these men 
 and the often ludicrous character of their discourses, 
 their presence and services are of great value to 
 the communities among whom they minister. That 
 most of them are honest men, there is no doubt. 
 The arduous and slavish character of their duties, 
 compared with the exceeding small salaries which 
 they receive, are testimonies- in favor of their in- 
 tegrity, which no candid mind can reject. Nor can 
 the value of their ministration, indifferent as it is, 
 be doubted. Among the people whom they teach, 
 religion is a simpler and more genuine emotion 
 than in other states of society, where its rites and 
 appliances constitute so much that is the subject 
 of thought, envy, prejudice, and opposition. They 
 have little of the vanity that poisons more refined 
 Christianity. The stirring housewife sets her little 
 cabin in order for the meeting, and her neighbors 
 prepare to come in with far purer and more in- 
 tense religious emotions, than the plumed and 
 jeweled dame arrays herself to visit the splendid 
 edifice thronged with the votaries of fashion and 
 wealth. There is a sublimity and beauty in the 
 stem simplicity of these gatherings — the rough 
 cabin but one small remove from the handiwork 
 of nature, whose broad and silent kingdom is 
 spread around — the honest sympathetic faces 
 and hard hands that clasp each other vnth no 
 
340 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 feigned warmth, that commend their bond of 
 union more strongly than magnificent piles, and 
 pealing bells, and sounding organs. Theirs is the 
 simplest action of the religious faculties. The 
 solemn story of the Cross and the teachings of 
 Him who suffered on it, bring them together to 
 worship, adore, and love Him. The motives to a 
 false profession of religion are also fewer here 
 than in a more complicated state of society. The 
 vices of this condition are not such as would be eith- 
 er concealed or aided by the cloak of hypocrisy. 
 They become professedly religious because they 
 are, or at least think themselves, actually so ; not 
 because it will enable them to cheat in trade wdth 
 greater impunity, or rob their neighbors' widows 
 and orphans, on the strength of long prayers and 
 a stereotype solemnity of faces. Religion is re- 
 garded by them as a source of happiness merely, 
 not of gain or standing, or as a license for fraud. 
 
 However simple and imperfect, then, the 
 ministration of their wandering clergy, it must 
 command the respect and complacent regard of 
 every honest and reflecting mind. Its fruits are 
 the budding and blossoming of Faith, Hope, and 
 Love in the wilderness. Religious institutions 
 and observances have greater beauty and force 
 here, where man is restrained by few motives ex- 
 ternal to himself, than where he is under the 
 numerous obligations and restraints of a more 
 artificial condition. These bold, daring people 
 are brought into the church from a freedom and 
 responsibility to themselves alone, scarcely more 
 circumscribed than those enjoyed by the savage; 
 and the strength and harmony of the christian code 
 are beautifully demonstrated by the submission of 
 such character to their guidances. There is be- 
 sides a fitness in the relative condition of the min- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 341 
 
 ister and his people which renders him in every 
 respect an object of their highest regard, and se- 
 cures to his teachings the most unbounded rever- 
 ence. His ignorance is never discovered by them. 
 His blunders, w^hen he ventures beyond his usual 
 aim to exhort or denounce, instead of exciting in- 
 dignation, disgust, or mirth, only stamp him as a 
 man of wonderful learning. There is no discrep- 
 ancy between their expectations and his abilities ; 
 and his position, therefore, becomes ridiculous only 
 to better cultivated minds. These he does not pro- 
 fess to instruct. He is not sent for their benefit; if 
 they participate in what he has to dispense it is 
 their own choice; and the liberality with which 
 he offers it should certainly secure him against 
 ridicule. As the Yankees increase in the settle- 
 ment where he officiates, he willingly retires and 
 leaves them a minister of their own choosing. It 
 must not be understood that the description I have 
 given has no exceptions. There are men officia- 
 ting as servants of Christ in these wild regions who 
 possess an eloquence and strength that would ren- 
 der them eminent anywhere ; men whose oratory 
 is clothed with the richest imagery, whose every 
 figure is a flash from the glowing altar of nature, 
 whose fervid emotion and lofty sentiment kindle 
 and elevate the soul. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 As my departure was now a fixed event, we 
 began to cast about for a choice between several 
 little excursions in the neighborhood, which yet 
 remained to be performed. " You must go to the 
 store with me once more;" said Mrs. P., " and to 
 the council-house and burying-ground above Cap- 
 
342 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 tain S's. farm ; and take another evening ride on 
 horseback; and — do whatever else is possible." 
 
 No objection being made to these propositions, 
 they were allowed to stand as the order of pro- 
 ceeding for the remaining five days. The next 
 afternoon was devoted to the shopping. Tom was 
 driven to the door at dinner time, and left at our 
 service. As soon as the house was set in order, 
 and dresses changed, a duty which, among west- 
 ern housekeepers, belongs to the afternoon instead 
 of the morning, we took our seats and drove off" 
 over the beautiful road already mentioned as lying 
 along the river. 
 
 Our shopping was rather incongruous, consisting 
 of the entire variety usually collected in a country 
 store, viz. : dry-goods, groceries, hardware, crock- 
 ery, and glass-ware, et cet. Litle Nell must have 
 two frocks and an apron, and Hamlet a cravat. 
 There must be half a dozen new tumblers, two 
 butter plates and six bowls, a tin pepper-box for 
 the kitchen, a new water-pail, some darning and 
 tape needles, three or four deep dishes for pump- 
 kin pies, a jug of molasses, a paper of ginger, a 
 pound of tea, seven of coffee, a few nails, and a 
 stone pot for the winter butter. These were put 
 up in the smallest possible compass, and even then 
 it required no little ingenuity on the part of the 
 polite and energetic shopkeeper to demonstrate 
 that we could get them all home in the gig. They 
 were, however, stowed in, and then it required as 
 much care to finish the demonstration by keeping 
 them there ; but we succeeded, by picking up one 
 or two parcels when they fell, carrying the glass 
 and crockery in our laps, and bracing the pail fill- 
 ed with promiscuous articles between our feet. 
 
 Our next and only remaining excursion was to 
 the burial-ground and council-house of the Sauks, 
 
 [ 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 343 
 
 on the bank of the river, about a mile and a half 
 above the town. The trail to this lay immediately 
 on the margin of that beautiful section of the river 
 before spoken of. Unbroken vievv^s of the entire 
 stream, follow^ed by glimpses, smiling through 
 waving tree-tops or swelling grass, continually pre- 
 sented themselves. The trail lay along the very 
 verge of the high bank, save where the latter bent 
 fi'om a straight line. It was deep-worn, and showed 
 that many a swarthy foot had trodden its narrow 
 bed. Occasionally, under a clump of bushes or the 
 overhanging boughs of larger trees, were two or 
 three graves, their rude outlines nearly effaced by 
 the storms that had beaten upon them and the lev- 
 eling hand of time. Where the soil had crumbled 
 from the face of the high bank, a ghastly skull, 
 rolled from its dreamless slumber, lay half way 
 down the descent, arrested in its fall by the roots 
 of shrubs or trees. 
 
 The council-house is simply a circular area some 
 eighty feet in diameter, artificially elevated by a 
 terrace, perhaps four feet in height. Its surface is 
 strown with bones, the remains of feasts that have 
 been celebrated here. It is in a beautiful spot. A 
 fine growth of young trees secludes it from the 
 river, so that those who are upon land may be 
 perfectly acquainted with the movements of friends 
 or enemies on the water without being seen them- 
 selves. More interesting to me w^ere the graves 
 thickly strown along the verge of the bank. Some 
 had fallen in and partially revealed the skeletons 
 sitting upright, their decayed canoes, which had 
 rudely served in place of coffins, crumbling and 
 dissolving about them into the earth whence they 
 had sprung. I know not that this particular spot 
 has been the theatre of great events in the history 
 of the people who, have now disappeared forever 
 
344 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 from it, but I know that its rare beauty, in the still 
 autumn day when we visited it, seemed to me fitted 
 to foster the wild melancholy which so deeply 
 tinctured the character of its decayed sovereigns. 
 Yet many a tide of excitement had swept over this 
 lovely spot, if it had not burst and spent its rage 
 there. A few miles above was the principal seat 
 of the Black Hawk war, the last faint struggle of 
 the red men of the north to retain their ancient 
 realms. A few miles below was the village of the 
 Prophet — the man who communed with the Great 
 Spirit, and interpreted to His children His will 
 concerning them. Along this very spot had wan- 
 dered excited waniors, cunning " medicine men," 
 and wondering women, in all the variety of emo- 
 tion inspired by their several conditions. Rage, 
 hatred, love, and sorrow had been born and buried 
 here, deep in the bosom of past centuries ; while 
 the solitude and grandeur of the wilderness was 
 unbroken by sound or sight of civilization. The 
 strength and freedom of the past were in sad 
 contrast with the weakness and humiliation of the 
 present. Formerly thousands of proud and fear- 
 less men ruled these beautiful wilds. Now how 
 different ! I had seen, a few days before, the mis- 
 erable, degraded remnant of their race that still 
 lingered in these pleasant haunts. Drunken, poor, 
 clothed in tatters, begging of those who dwelt in 
 their former home the fire that had consumed their 
 souls — nay, offering to barter their wives and chil- 
 dren for it ; they were a painful spectacle — a sadder 
 ruin than the crumbling temples and broken idols 
 of Eastern lands. 
 
 The war which a few years before had swept 
 over these plains, had been the last struggle of a 
 chieftain and hero, vainly seeking to infuse into his 
 perishing people a spirit that would lead them to 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 345 
 
 contend against a mighty race. But the elo- 
 quence that warmed their hearts did not restore 
 their brave dead, nor increase the number of their 
 living warriors. A little band of savages against 
 a nation of armed men ! a handful of withered 
 leaves upon the tempest ! They could have but 
 one path before them ; and they have trodden it. 
 Westward it led them, and now their ancient coun- 
 cil-houses are deserted ; their hunting-grounds 
 bloom under the hand of the agriculturist ; their 
 tombs crumble and sink away beneath the plow ; 
 the smoke of their lodges no longer curls on the 
 breath of morning; their hunting-dances are no 
 more seen at evening ! All that remains of them 
 tells of a race that has dwindled from power and 
 the strong majesty of freedom, to humility and 
 wasting feebleness. 
 
 The story of the Indian is a melancholy one. I 
 have often pondered upon it, with a sympathy that 
 would not be hushed by the voice of reason ; 
 though it proclaimed that they had fulfilled their 
 mission, and must pass away. A fair land abound- 
 ing in all that would contribute to the highest 
 condition of civilized life, was the lawful estate of 
 civilized man ; and when he came to claim it, it 
 was not the office of the savage to dispute his right. 
 I mourn not so much the fate of the Indian, as the 
 indecent, the fraudulent precipitancy with which it 
 was consummated by our selfishness. We had 
 room and time enough to have waited more pa- 
 tiently, while Nature was finishing in her own way 
 the plan she had begun. And assuredly, while we 
 congratulate ourselves upon the wide extent of our 
 territory, our complacency must be somewhat qual- 
 ified by the reflection that, in our haste to possess 
 it, we have rudely expelled the original owners 
 from homes which they loved and venerated ; that 
 
346 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 we have chosen our own time to bid them disap- 
 pear from a heritage around which the very fibres 
 of their hearts were twined in love and reverence 
 for the dead who were sleeping there, and for the 
 living beauty and majesty that overspread it. 
 
 We need not clothe their departure in poetical 
 garb, to make it touch the heart of flesh. The In- 
 dian, with all his pride and independence of char- 
 acter, with all his energy and daring, with all his 
 veneration for the ashes of his dead, all his keen 
 sense of the great, the free, and the beautiful in 
 nature, all his fond pride in the magnificent hunting 
 grounds where he had been born, and where he 
 hoped his dust might rest, when his spirit should 
 be set free in that scarcely more beautiful region 
 pictured by his imagination ; the Indian standing 
 in the attitude of one who bids farewell to all these, 
 and is about to flee before the superior craft and 
 strength of enemies whom he despises, and yet 
 cannot resist, seems to say, *' All this have I loved, 
 and still love ; all this did my forefathers, before 
 they slept, give to be mine forever; yet now the 
 Great Spirit asks it for his pale-faced children, and 
 will not be denied. The arms of our wan-iors are 
 palsied before them ; the bow refuses to send its 
 arrows to their heart ; they outnumber us like the 
 sands upon the shore of the great blue waters, or 
 the leaves of the summer forest ! a destiny is await- 
 ing us which we cannot avert ! It bids us depart, 
 and come hither no more. I hear it in the winds. 
 It speaks to me from the depths of the storai, and 
 whispers in the sunshine ! It tells me that this 
 shall no more play around my lodge ; that I must 
 meet death far hence, and be content to tell my 
 children of the former glory of the red man," 
 
 One m.ust feel that these leave-takings were 
 fearful events in the life of a being all impulsive 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 347 
 
 and unreasoning as the Indian was. How the fierce 
 heart must have wrung and resisted, while it panted 
 for the wasted strength that once would have se- 
 cured revenge! And then how must it have 
 refused to quail and retreat before a power unfath- 
 omable, undefinable indeed, but one whose repre- 
 sentatives yet commanded no respect, inspired no 
 di'ead ! 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 During the season following that in which the 
 events described in the last chapters occurred, I 
 visited various parts of the state. Some of my 
 journeys were made alone — others, in company 
 with a brother. They were always attended wdth 
 great fatigue, but often with a novelty, either in 
 the manner of accomplishing them, in the events 
 that befel us, or the characters that fell in our 
 way, which amply repaid the inconvenience. 
 
 Once I remember, at two o'clock on a bitterly 
 cold morning, we found ourselves with six other 
 persons, exclusive of two on the outside, crowded 
 into a coach originally calculated for six. Our 
 progress on this occasion, beside being extremely 
 uncomfortable, was attended with no little danger, 
 the weather having suddenly changed during the 
 night, and sheeted the whole country with ice. 
 The coach, consequently, stood at all angles to the 
 horses, and seemed every moment to become pos- 
 sessed with a sudden fancy for exploring road-side 
 slopes, or the foot of any little swell we chanced 
 to pass. The horses, too, were in all positions ; 
 now up — now down — now half-way between 
 both ; and on each recovering, seemed more 
 alarmed and uncertain than before. Under the 
 ax.citement occasioned by all this variety, it will 
 
348 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 readily be credited that we did not suffer greatly 
 from the intense cold or the keen winds, biting as 
 they were. The morning dawned and found us 
 in a deep wood, from which we emerged just as 
 the sun showed his fiery disk in the stern, cold 
 sky. There was an immense stretch of prairie 
 before us, a great part of which had been burned 
 late in the autumn ; and now its black bosom was 
 covered with one entire coat of the frost-mail. 
 
 One rarely sees a more impressive spectacle 
 than was produced by the flood of strong red light 
 that was poured over this immense mirror. The 
 naked summits of the swells, black as ink by con- 
 trast with the surrounding brilliancy, looked like 
 so many sable monsters stretched upon the plain. 
 These, and the color of the charred surface, per- 
 fectly visible through the transparent ice where the 
 light did not fall upon it, and the myriad hues of 
 red and green, purple and gold, which the in- 
 equalities and our uneasy motion caused to be 
 reflected to the eye, made one of the most gor- 
 geous displays tjonceivable. Fiercely, therefore, 
 as the winds swept around us, no objection was 
 made to throwing up the curtains, that we might 
 have free view of this wonderful spectacle. 
 
 " It will soon pass away," said a gentleman, 
 whose head, covered with a woolen net cap, had 
 for the last two hours been dancing in very in- 
 convenient contiguity to the shoulder of my com- 
 panion. 
 
 *' There will be another change in the weather, 
 gentlemen ; and before night we shall have little 
 ice to complain of, or I'm no prophet," he mut- 
 tered, after a pause ; his head resuming its old 
 motion, and his eyes fast closed again. It seemed 
 suddenly to become a matter of great interest with 
 each of the seven persons inside, to ascertain 
 
 . 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 349 
 
 whether the alternative suggested were afterward 
 to become a matter-of-fact or not; for all eyes 
 were instantly turned upon him. Apparently they 
 brought their owners to very different conclusions : 
 some turned away with entire indifference, as if it 
 were of the least possible consequence that such a 
 prophecy had been uttered ; others looked again to 
 the cold glaring sky, and stretched their heads from 
 the coach, as if to catch the wind anew and form 
 an estimate of its character ; while others shrunk 
 deprecatingly into their wrappers or buffalo robes, 
 and seemed to say, " Heaven send it may be so !" 
 
 These few words of conversation, and the 
 strong light, roused the ninth inside passenger 
 from his slumbers, and caused him to raise his 
 head and look deliberately about, to the no small 
 astonishment of those who had not seen him be- 
 fore. He was not, what the reader will anticipate, 
 a baby, about to announce, in the usual way, that 
 his slumbers were at an end, and that other people's 
 must consequently terminate too ; but a noble, great 
 pointer dog, with large liver-colored ears, fine in 
 texture as a French glove, lying over his white 
 clean face. He had been nestled at my feet all 
 night, keeping them as warm as if I had been at a 
 bright fireside, or in my own bed. He became a 
 favorite at once, but not so his master, who was a 
 young man in a flashy dress, with the swaggering 
 air of one who says, " If you talk of men who 
 have seen the world, look at me." 
 
 About an hour afler daybreak we stopped to 
 breakfast, on fried quail, bacon, leaden biscuit, 
 dodger, and the most abominable coffee, if one 
 might judge from its color and odor, and the 
 rapidity with which the company followed my 
 example of a glass of cold water. Our meal over, 
 we journeyed on j the prophetic gentleman settling 
 
350 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 himself comfortably in the back comer, repeated 
 his prophecy, in a tone clearly intended to be one 
 of defiance to any who should be so presumptuous 
 as to dispute him. No one seeming disposed to 
 do it, however, he fell off into his old state, which 
 led the owner of the pointer to remark, that " if 
 he went on that way all day, the weather might 
 change as many times as it liked, and he would 
 not be the wiser for it." 
 
 Notwithstanding the keenness of the winds, 
 which swept over the great prairie, the warmth of 
 the sun soon melted the ice from its surface ; and 
 the cold abating, by slow degrees we found our- 
 selves, at dinner time, thirty miles forward on our 
 route, and little troubled v^dth ice indeed ; for the 
 wheels were rolling in the soft black soil, thawed 
 to the depth of two or three inches. 
 
 The morning had worn away in the discussion 
 of politics, the future prospects of *'the west," the 
 condition of the banking system, and the Internal 
 Improvement bill. On all these topics there was 
 the usual diversity of opinion, — one gentleman 
 holding it to have been demonstrated, that the 
 party then in power was the most intelligent, 
 pati'iotic, wise, and pure body of men who had 
 ever been entrusted with the destinies of the 
 state ; another, with the same sources of know- 
 ledge, holding, with equal pertinacity, a directly 
 opposite opinion. All agreed, however, that " the 
 west" was a great country; but one thought its 
 greatness would be materially enhanced, and the 
 wheels of its prosperity thrown forward a century 
 at least, by carrying out the liberal system of 
 internal improvement already projected; while 
 another pronounced it the last evidence of folly 
 which the people had to expect from their legis- 
 lators. One regarded the destruction of banks aa 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 351 
 
 equivalent to the total extinction of all the sources 
 of wealth in the nation ! Earthquakes, floods, 
 tempests, conflagrations, were nothing in com- 
 parison with it. Another thought it the measure, 
 of all others, best calculated to secure the pros- 
 perity, welfare, integrity, almost the salvation of 
 the people. 
 
 And thus they talked. My four-footed friend 
 occasionally looked up and snuffed the air, while 
 these discussions were going on, but he evidently 
 felt that the interest of the scene was a poor com- 
 pensation for the effort he was obliged to make, 
 in struggling through the forest of limbs that 
 hemmed him in below. When darkness came on 
 we were within a few miles of the capital of the 
 state. The winds blew warm from the south, the 
 mud had deepened, the sky was overcast, and 
 there was every promise of rain before the fdllow- 
 ing morning. Our prophet had congratulated 
 himself many times on the certainty with which 
 he had foretold the coming storm ; and though, in 
 this case, the "shadow cast before" had been a 
 severe attack of rheumatism, nearly disabling him, 
 yet he evidently would rather that its severity 
 should be redoubled, than that his sagacity should 
 prove to have been at fault. 
 
 We reached the city long after nightfall. Ex- 
 cept in a few public places, it was pitchy dark. 
 The black streets received no light from the cloud- 
 ed heavens ; and looked themselves, like a more 
 dense continuation of the same darkness that reign- 
 ed in mid air ! The stage drove to a large and 
 well kept hotel, the name of which I now forget, 
 where we stopped for the night. 
 
 After supper I was ushered into a drawing- 
 room, where three or four highly dressed ladies, 
 and as many gentlemen, v/ere sitting at cards and 
 
352 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 backgammon. They were evidently playing to 
 wear away the evening, not from love of the games. 
 In the intervals of the games, they carried on a 
 desultory conversation ; and more inane or point- 
 less efforts of the kind, it has seldom fallen to my 
 lot to hear. The ladies were engrossed with " the 
 perfectly beautiful style" of something that had 
 lately made its appearance in the fashionable world ; 
 and the sole theme of their thought and speech 
 was how it would become them, or certain persons 
 of their acquaintance ; where it could be had and 
 what was its expense. 
 
 When all possible changes had been rung upon 
 these various branches of the momentous subject 
 and all varieties of opinion expressed, one took 
 up a Jeremiad over the loss of her piano ! She 
 was " immeasurably grieved that pa should have 
 thought it expedient to come west without it. Not 
 that she was very fond of music (a confession, by 
 the way, which was entirely superfluous, consider- 
 ing that her auditors were possessed of eyes), for 
 she was not, but it was an accomplishment that 
 she prized very highly, and she was certain that 
 now, when she was so far removed from everything 
 that could confer the smallest happiness on a re- 
 fined mind, she should feel the loss much more 
 painfully. In short she felt quite positive that 
 when they came to be settled in their new home, 
 she should be very wretched in consequence of 
 this loss ; to say nothing of the thousand other ele- 
 gancies which she had been compelled to resign 
 in coming to this dreadful country. Her com- 
 panions listened with an expression of respectful 
 sympathy for her sorrows, and she was evidently 
 fast working herself into the belief, that a more 
 unhappy and self-sacrificing female did not live, 
 when the door opened, and an elderly lady of fino 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 353 
 
 mien and most intelligent countenance walked into 
 the room. 
 
 She took a vacant chair near me, and, after lis- 
 tening a moment to the foolish lamentation still 
 pouring forth at the table, turned and addressed 
 herself to me in a few commonplace remarks. I 
 replied, and very soon found myself in earnest 
 conversation with one of the most intellectual and 
 affable women I had ever met. She was a stranger 
 like myself, but her observations on the country, 
 the character of its inhabitants, and the effect 
 which life in it was calculated to exert upon dif- 
 ferent classes of persons, evinced a mind gifted 
 with strong powers of perception, keen discrimi- 
 nation, and exalted feeling, 
 
 " I have never, said she, ** been more entirely 
 convinced of the empty and worthless character 
 of our plans of female education at the east, than 
 when I have seen the subjects of them transplant- 
 ed to this beautiful country. They unfit females 
 for everything like a natural or useful life. AH 
 things must be artificial about them. In truth they 
 become, while passing through these systems, as 
 nearly artificial themselves as a work of the Cre- 
 ator can. Instead of preparing them for any of 
 the duties and pleasures of life, they go far toward 
 destroying whatever natural capacity for these 
 may have been originally possessed. The more 
 finished and prolonged the process, the more com- 
 plete is the destruction of all power or wish to be 
 useful, or to reap enjoyment fi-om any but the 
 most false and unnatural state of society." 
 
 *' You are severe," I replied, *' nor can I deny 
 the justness of your remarks, lamentable as is the 
 truth they contain." 
 
 " Yes ; lamentable indeed, when one considers 
 the vast interests periled by it, and the ruin, dis- 
 23 gg2 
 
354 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 honesty, and faithlessness which grow out of it. 
 I never see a young female pining over the empty 
 sorrows created by these artificial wants, but I 
 think with pity on the stem and real griefs which 
 wait to follow in their time — the sore trials sure to 
 be multiplied a thousand -fold in consequence of 
 this very condition of her mind — and tremble for 
 the weak purpose and fainting integrity with 
 which she must meet them. And what is worst of 
 all," she added, after a moment's pause, " I fear 
 there is in the present state of society little rational 
 ground for hoping that it will be better." 
 
 ** I must be permitted to differ with you there," 
 I replied. " I entertain strong hope that a remedy 
 will soon be sought for this very evil." 
 
 " Your youth will account for that," said she, 
 with a smile. " When you have lived as many 
 years as I have, and seen men persist in the 
 wrong course when the right seemed plain as the 
 path of the sun, you v^dll have less confidence in 
 signs that promise reform. If by that time you 
 have lived much in society, and reflected on its 
 interests, you will have seen that the reform of a 
 wide-spread evil like this, is slow as the growth of 
 mountains." 
 
 '* I grant it is slow, painfully slow, to those who 
 see its need. But every moral movement, be it 
 individual or associated, is governed by laws ; and 
 once in progress, much hope is to be entertained 
 that if it be not consummated itself, it may lead to 
 others that will equally effect the object. The 
 first step toward the remedy of any evil, is that we 
 become convinced it is such. This conviction is, 
 I think, taking pretty general hold on society, in 
 reference to the present mode of educating females. 
 And as more rational views of the duties and ob- 
 ligations of woman get abroad, may we not oxpecl 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 355 
 
 that a better preparation for them will be de- 
 manded V 
 
 " To a certain extent, but I have less confidence 
 in the efficiency of reformatory doctrine, and the 
 force of new truth over old prejudices and long- 
 indulged habits, than your remarks betray in your 
 self. Nevertheless, I am willing, nay, anxious to 
 hope, could I but find that whereon to ground my 
 hope. Go among the educated classes of females 
 who have come hither from the east, and you will see 
 and hear that which will wonderfully depress your 
 sanguine expectations of reform. Daughters pining 
 over the absence of the finery in which they were 
 wont to decorate themselves, and interested in no- 
 thing so much as what will restore them to their 
 former outward estate ; mothers grieving that their 
 daughters are cut off from the opportunities of 
 education in fashionable schools; from French, 
 Italian, embroidery, and music ; mourning over 
 the loss they will sustain in these things, when the 
 volume of nature, filled to overflowing with what- 
 ever is best calculated to stimulate intellect, 
 strengthen the nobler feelings, in short, develope 
 the true and the strong in man or woman, is dis- 
 played all around them. I blush at such folly in 
 my sex." 
 
 " And grieve, I can well believe," said I, " for 
 the sufferings which, folly as it is, it inevitably 
 creates." 
 
 *' Yes, I cannot choose but do so," was the re- 
 ply ; ** though my pity is sometimes, I fear, quali- 
 fied with too much indignation." 
 
 As I was about to lead the conversation in an- 
 other channel, the door opened, and my brother, 
 accompanied by one of our fellow passengers, came 
 in. They had evidently just come from the en- 
 joyment of some rare joke, in which they seemed 
 
356 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 to think I might participate. It was a personal 
 adventure that had just befallen a gentleman who 
 had rode with us during the day. He was a 
 stranger in the country, one of the corps editorial 
 of the empire state, on a tour of observation through 
 the prairies. He had sat all day muffled in his 
 buffalo WTapper, scarcely speaking, but apparently 
 having a keen eye and ear for whatever was pass- 
 ing. On arriving in the city and learning that the 
 stage-coach would leave before daylight the fol- 
 lowing morning, he expressed a wish to see some- 
 thing of the place, and sallied forth, despite the 
 storm and darkness, and the remonstrances of his 
 companions, to look about. He had gone but a 
 few yards from the door when by some mischance 
 he fell prostrate in the black mud, not even saving 
 his face from the unworthy contact. His sudden 
 reappearance in such melancholy plight, and his 
 determination, facetiously expressed, to go to bed 
 and see no more of the city, after having left a 
 pretty bold impression upon it, was very heartily 
 enjoyed by his friends. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 At four o'clock we were again under weigh, 
 with the rain pouring in torrents through the 
 black morning upon the blacker earth. Daybreak 
 found us at the breakfasting place, the first post 
 from Springfield. The house was one of the bet- 
 ter class of cabins, and had about it some marks of 
 age and cultivation, such as fruit trees, and a few 
 currant bushes. The room which we entered 
 at once by the outer door, contained a great log 
 fire, blazing finely, a few chairs, a table, sundry 
 chests, a Yankee clock, giving the most exaggera- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. B51 
 
 ted report of time conceivable, two rifles suspend- 
 ed by wooden hooks from the beams overhead, 
 a variety of overcoats, et cet., upon the walls, and 
 two beds, both tenanted. 
 
 The entrance of eleven persons, two or three of 
 whom, the unfortunate outsides, were dripping 
 and smoking from the storm, and all cold and hun- 
 gry, was a circumstance so unfavorable to the 
 prolongation of slumber, that the four sleepers 
 proceeded forthwith to vacate their beds, and make 
 ready for the events that might follow our arrival. 
 In a very brief space of time they joined the circle 
 at the fire, and as it might be supposed, the new- 
 comers were more conversant with whatever was 
 going on abroad than they who had slept peace- 
 ably all night, proceeded to question one and an- 
 other on their several places of departure and 
 destination, how long they had been on the road, 
 how the traveling was, whether the storm was 
 likely to continue all day, and if not, when it 
 would cease. All these inquiries being duly an- 
 swered, and sufficient time having been taken to 
 collect themselves, after being so suddenly awak- 
 ened, they proceeded to complete their toilets. 
 The instruments wherewithal it was accomplished, 
 were a small iron skillet, on a bench beside the 
 back door, certain parti-colored pocket handker- 
 chiefs — their own personal property, and a small 
 wooden comb, a part of the personal estate of the 
 oldest member of the party. 
 
 When the processes of washing, drying and 
 combing were severally completed, they reentered, 
 seated themselves at a little distance from the fire, 
 and one of them drawing from his pocket a book, 
 proceeded to read inaudibly, the others maintaining, 
 meantime, a profound and studied silence. The 
 peculiarity of the affair was explained in a mo- 
 
358 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 ment by one of our company whispering " Mor- 
 mons." 
 
 The landlady looked aghast when she saw the 
 number of guests for whom she had to prepare 
 breakfast, but she nevertheless stirred about with 
 a right hearty zeal, setting on her quail, chicken, 
 pig, dodger, and biscuit. The table was ready 
 in a short time, and our cloaks, overcoats, &c., 
 being cast upon the unmade beds, we gathered 
 about it. The scarcity of chairs threatened at first 
 to be a very serious inconvenience ; but what with 
 mustering one or two small ones, aiad as many 
 with broken limbs from the kitchen, and moving a 
 large chest to one side of the table, we were all at 
 length seated ; though at such unequal heights as 
 almost caused the smile, with which each regarded 
 the rest, to break into a broad laugh. The good 
 woman — and a really good and gentle woman she 
 was, notwithstanding her rude, poorly furnished 
 cabin, and coarse attire — made many apologies, 
 and seemed quite overwhelmed to find herself the 
 entertainer of so many strangers. 
 
 *' It was a new thing," she said ; " they were not 
 prepared for it ; the passengers had always break- 
 fasted at the next house till the day before, when 
 some difficulty having occurred, she had been ap- 
 plied to for accommodation. If it continued, they 
 could be better prepared in a few days to make 
 travelers comfortable." There was so much willing- 
 ness in her manner, and such apparent truth in her 
 apologies, that we all felt disposed to receive them 
 with the utmost kindness. Just as she had delivered 
 them, a waggish lawyer, seated on the opposite side 
 of the table, in one of the small chairs, his head 
 just visible above the board, looked up and asked, 
 *' How long have you lived here, madam ]" and 
 when she replied " Seventeen years, sir," looked 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 359 
 
 down at his low seat with an expression so sug- 
 gestive of the disparity between the length of time 
 and what it had produced, that several incipient 
 bursts of laughter were just faintly heard, but sup- 
 pressed to be indulged on a more fitting occasion. 
 
 "I don't know," he added, when, the meal over, 
 we were seating ourselves in the coach ; " I may 
 err in judgment, but it seems to me that chairs 
 ought to have grown taller than that, in seventeen 
 years!" 
 
 All day the rain poured dismally down, and our 
 progress was very slow. Before nightfall, how- 
 ever, we reached the tovni at which we were to 
 part from our fellow passengers, and go on in an 
 " extra." We had yet sixty miles to accomplish, 
 and hoped by making forty the first day, to reach 
 our place of destination before the second night. 
 
 These same " extras " at the west are sometimes 
 curious specimens of their genus. Ours, in this 
 instance, was a farm waggon with slender bars of 
 wood fastened along inside the box as substitutes 
 for springs. They answered the purpose, how- 
 ever, exceedingly well. The roads were now so 
 heavy — and as we proceeded northward, where the 
 rain had not extended, were covered with so deep a 
 coat of snow — that we advanced much less speedily 
 than we had hoped. Having obtained directions we 
 set out about two o'clock to cross a considerable 
 prairie, beyond which was a grove, and still be- 
 yond, a house, at which it was proposed to 
 spend the night. "We went on slowly, toiling 
 over the snowy plain, not a little perplexed fre- 
 quently with the number and obscurity of the 
 diverging tracks, and finally altogether at a loss to 
 know whether we had followed the right one or not. 
 But if wrong there was no remedy till we should 
 meet some traveler or reach a house, of either of 
 
360 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 which there was no sign whatever. Immense flocks 
 of crows screamed and cawed from the low shrubs 
 and woods skirting the plain, or wheeled with a 
 kind of chilled and dismal motion through the cold 
 air above our heads ! Darkness began to creep 
 on, and still no sign of life or human habitation ! 
 Chilled and weary, our situation became at last ex- 
 tremely uncomfortable. The miles seemed length- 
 ened to leagues, and our uncertainty much increased 
 whatever else was disagreeable in the prospect 
 before us. At last we reached the grove which we 
 seemed to have been an age in approaching. We 
 entered, and the road still led on with nothing more 
 to cheer us than the plain had offered, except a 
 partial protection from the bleak winds ; and even 
 this was more than counterbalanced by the in- 
 creased darkness. 
 
 At last, however, just as the night began to con- 
 ceal the road from view, we found ourselves upon 
 the high bluff of a small stream with a mill below, 
 and a little cabin faintly visible on the opposite 
 height. To our great joy we had reached the 
 spot where we proposed to take up quarters for 
 the night. The long hill was descended, the 
 stream forded, and the opposite summit at last 
 gained. When we arrived at the house, there was 
 still just light enough to render visible two huge 
 emigi'ant waggons standing near the door. 
 
 " Those immense waggons and the small house 
 augur ill for our prospects of rest here," said my 
 brother. " Nevertheless, we will try." 
 
 The driver halted, and was about alighting to 
 make inquiry, when a man appeared at the door. 
 " Friend," said the last speaker, " can we find rest 
 with you to-night ] We are cold and very weary." 
 
 The man cast his eye at us, for a moment, as if 
 to assure himself of the right number, then at the 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 361 
 
 waggons, and then, turning quite around, took a 
 deliberate survey of the height and general dimen- 
 sions of the cabin. This done, he once more faced 
 us, and rolling his quid of tobacco in his cheek 
 once or twice, replied, " Wall, I reckon you'd find 
 it considerable snug in thar," making a backward 
 motion with his head, to signify that he meant in 
 the house. " Thar's my family, besides the man 
 that's runnin the mill, and a right smart one it is ;" 
 (whether this was a compliment to the family, the 
 mill, or the man who was running it, we were left 
 to conjecture ;) " then you see thar's the movers 
 that come in these 7iyur," — pointing to the wag- 
 gons — " and another man, a sort of lawyer, I reck- 
 on, that come on that beast, and allowed he 
 couldn't git any further, nohow, 'kase he'd had a 
 shake gitting through the grove." 
 
 Of course we had seen our fate long before this 
 statement of difficulties was completed, but it would 
 not do to leave the man while making it, and, 
 moreover, we were desirous of getting some infor- 
 mation as to the road and prospects for entertain- 
 ment beyond. 
 
 " The road," said he in reply, " I reckon you'll 
 find right bad; thar hain't been much rain lately, 
 but thar's a right smart of snow, and it's about half 
 melted now. That makes wheelin heavy." 
 
 " How far is it to the next house ]" 
 
 ** We call it a smart three mild and a half — it's 
 good that ; nearer four." 
 
 " Is it probable we can stop there 1" 
 
 " Wall, that's just what I can't tell you, nohow. 
 The old man has got a nice place thar, but his 
 woman ain't always so accommodatin as she 
 mought be." 
 
 The driver had drawn his reins and the horses 
 advanced a step or two, when he called out, " You 
 Hh 
 
362 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 hain't got sucli a thing as a bed in the waggon, I 
 
 reckon V* 
 
 " You are right," replied K — " we have not." 
 " I just allowed, if you had, you mought find a 
 
 place in thar to spread it down j the nights is so 
 
 dark and cold, that's all." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Plunging once more into the blackness that had 
 now almost become palpable, we journeyed on, 
 floundering through mud pools and patches of 
 half-melted snow, shivering, hungering, sometimes 
 groaning and sometimes laughing, till at last a fee- 
 ble light was descried in the distance, and visions 
 of a bright fire and warm supper began to float in 
 our despairing minds. We were favored with the 
 most liberal of all opportunities to indulge these 
 pleasant anticipations, for the approach to this 
 cheering beacon threatened to be interminable. 
 
 " * A good four mild,' indeed !" said the driver; 
 " he might well say that. It's nearer six. . In a 
 night like this, it would measure seven, with any 
 chain and compass I ever saw. But they say all 
 things have an end, and I s'pose this ride Mdll, by 
 and by ; I wish it would come sooner, that's all." 
 
 It did come at length. We stopped opposite 
 the light, for the outline of the house was perfectly 
 lost in the thick darkness and fog. A loud halloo 
 brought the " old man" to the door. 
 
 "Can we stop with you to-night, friend ?" said 
 K — . " There are three of us — my sister, and a 
 driver, beside myself." 
 
 " I reckon," was the laconic reply. 
 
 We were just rising on our benumbed feet to 
 avail ourselves of the privilege thus equivocally 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 363 
 
 granted, when he darted suddenly back, and re- 
 turning after an instant, said, ** My woman ain't 
 willin to it." 
 
 A parley now commenced, not exactly in dero- 
 gation of the "woman's" prerogative to say so, if 
 she chose, but inquiring into her reasons, and 
 faintly suggesting whether it was quite kind to 
 refuse strangers, already so much fatigued, and in 
 such a night. She presented herself to answer in 
 person, and seemed, at last, to compassionate our 
 condition somewhat, for she inquired again, how 
 many we were, and being told, asked if any two 
 could sleep together. 
 
 " O yes," was K — 's reply, " the driver and I could 
 occupy the same bed, if you have not enough for 
 all. We shall none of us be over nice in such a 
 night as this, after having ridden forty miles." 
 
 " Then you'll want," said the churlish woman, 
 ** two beds, and — " 
 
 " Supper," suggested the driver, in an under 
 tone. 
 
 •' And some supper," added my brother. 
 
 ** I reckon you may as well go on to the next 
 place," she replied, half closing the door, and 
 looking out from behind it, " 'tain't but a mild 
 and a half, and they often take folks there." So 
 saying she latched the door and cut off all chance 
 of remonstrance. 
 
 " That is no western woman," said I, indignantly, 
 as we drove slowly away. " So churlish and narrow 
 a heart as that was never born on the prairies !" 
 
 Now again we were toiling slowly onward. A 
 mile and a half! It was, doubtless, true; but 
 even if double that, there was no alternative but 
 to go patiently toward it. Dwelling with many 
 bitter denunciations on the inhospitable and even 
 lude rejection we had last met, estimating the 
 
364 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 distance we had traveled since morning, and 
 weighing the possibility of being compelled to go 
 on all night, we were quite busily employed, till 
 the feeble light from the next house glimmered 
 on our discouraged senses. It seemed a long way 
 from the road. Two or three sharp halloos, how- 
 ever, brought some one to the door, and again the 
 question was put, " Can you accommodate three 
 persons with supper and beds to-night ]" 
 
 " I expect," replied a man's voice ; ** I'll see 
 my woman, an' tell you." 
 
 " Heaven grant that the woman may be more 
 propitious this time !" I exclaimed. In a few 
 seconds he appeared again at the door, with a 
 cheerful " Yes," and an invitation to " come in !" 
 We rose to comply with this welcome request. 
 My brother had already alighted, and I had placed 
 one foot on the side of the waggon, preparatory to 
 launching into the unfathomable darkness below, 
 when the driver suddenly cried out, " Stop a 
 minute, till I see if he's got a stable. — I say, 
 friend," addressing himself to the kind host, who 
 was now approaching with a lantern to light our 
 way, ** have you a good warm stable 1 My horses 
 are very tired and warm." 
 
 ** Yes, I've got as good a stable, I calculate, as 
 any man in these parts." 
 
 My foot became entangled in my cloak, or I 
 should have been on the ground in another in- 
 stant, when he added, " 'T ain't just hyur, it's up 
 to t'other place." 
 
 " And where is the other place ]" said the 
 driver. 
 
 My heart misgave me ! 
 
 *' Oh, it's just up hyur, about three quarters of a 
 mild through the grove." 
 
 " Three quarters of a mile ! Pray, madam, be 
 
 \ 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 365 
 
 seated again, and you too, sir ; we must try once 
 more, if you please. Much obliged to you, sir," 
 he continued, speaking for the party, ** for your 
 kindness, but I can't think of walking three mile 
 to-night, and I can't go to bed without seeing my 
 horses once after they are put up. I would rather 
 drive them all night." 
 
 The settler, whose benevolent visage was now 
 faintly discernible by the light which he held 
 over his head, regarded the speaker with some 
 astonishment, and then replied, with a facetious 
 sort of grin, that we should have been welcome if 
 we'd •'* had a heap more !" 
 
 " Its five mild to the next house," he added, 
 ** and I reckon you'll hardly find 'em up when 
 you get there ; but they'es right clever, and won't 
 make much account of gittin up if they can take 
 you." 
 
 We jogged on. The kind, cheerful aspect and 
 demeanor of this man somewhat changed the 
 complexion of our feelings, and though it was 
 later than when we left the last house, and the 
 distance to the next nearly five times as great, we 
 had derived a courage and spirit for the task that 
 made it seem comparatively easy. 
 
 The ludicrous aspect, also, of the affair, began 
 now to present itself, and, what with the recollec- 
 tion of similar adventures, and the comments 
 which this drew forth, we grew very pleasant, 
 and had many a hearty laugh long before the five 
 miles were accomplished. Suddenly, the chance 
 of passing the house, in the profound darkness, it 
 being too late for the quiet settlers to have a light 
 still burning, checked our mirth, and made us 
 peer into the surrounding gloom with a business- 
 like feeling, quite in contrast with the careless 
 abandonment we had just been exhibiting, 
 li H 2 
 
366 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 *'Do you watch one side of the road," said 
 K — " and I will the other ; and if you see some- 
 thing that looks a shade blacker than all the rest 
 of creation, call out." 
 
 Nothing could be more favorable to the indul- 
 gence of fancy, and the seeing of sights, than to be 
 set on such a watch as this. Darkness is ever 
 more densely peopled than light, and with such 
 strange objects, too ! But when you look into a 
 good dense mass of it, expressly to see some- 
 thing, your senses all sharpened and awake for 
 that purpose, what an unlimited license your fancy 
 has ! The way which had hitherto been solitary, 
 became at once crowded. Cities, churches with 
 towers and tall spires, shooting into the clouds ; 
 fantastic clumps of trees ; farm-houses, large and 
 generous-looking, like those of the east ; coaches 
 with four horses ; single waggons and foot passen- 
 gers ; herds feeding in the adjoining fields ; great 
 overhanging piles of rock ; rivers and wooded 
 hills, rose up and spread about us as if by magic. 
 It was wonderful ! Many times I was on the eve 
 of calling out, but a little sharper look convinced 
 me that the object I was regarding was not the 
 cabin, but something very different, mere foggy 
 space ! 
 
 At last ! could I be mistaken ] No ! that was 
 surely a light gleaming before us, and there must 
 be the home of the settler ! But what did they 
 with a light at that hour ] It was certainly ten 
 o'clock, and only some extraordinary emergency 
 could keep them astir so late. We were beset 
 with fears. Sickness, a previous arrival, com- 
 pany, something which would conflict with our 
 prospects, was certainly afoot. 
 
 We reached the door, and called again. A man 
 stepped quickly out, and^ as he did so, revealed a 
 
I 
 
 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 367 
 
 great blazing fire and a clean-swept wide hearth, 
 that redoubled the gloom and cold of the outer 
 world. " Can we get lodging here, friend ]" was 
 the anxious inquiry. His first reply expressed a 
 doubt ; his second a stronger one ; and his third 
 the almost positive certainty that we must again go 
 on. 'But we had been rejected too often to yield 
 this last hope without some argument. Would he 
 tell us the reason 1 — some other beside mere con- 
 venience ; for, as to that, we could sleep almost 
 anywhere, and go without supper or get it our- 
 selves. We would be no trouble, if he would let 
 us come under his roof and rest from our long and 
 cold journey. 
 
 " I should be right glad to 'commodate you," 
 he said, in reply, ** but — " and he hesitated. 
 
 "But what, friend]" said my brother, somewhat 
 petulantly ; for, by this time, our patience was 
 pretty well exhausted. 
 
 " Why, the fact is," said the perplexed man, 
 " my wife is not well ; there's a couple of the 
 neighborin women hyur, and my oldest boy has 
 gone for the doctor now." 
 
 " Spoken like a man at last," said K — , unable 
 to suppress the laugh which the honest man's con- 
 fused and awkward manner provoked. " Drive 
 on ; we will not force ourselves upon your kind- 
 ness under such circumstances, if we find no shel- 
 ter till morning. But how far is it to C — V 
 
 '* Four mild, and you'd better not stop till you 
 get thar. The roads is tolerable good now, and 
 you'll find poor 'commodation any whar this side." 
 
 " Thank you." And for the fifth time we were 
 on the way. 
 
 " The fates are against us to-night, certainly," 
 said K — . ** I never knew the jades so perverse 
 before. I shouldn't wonder now, if there were 
 
368 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 no rest for us till we got to the end of our route. 
 How far is it, driver, from this place ahead to — V* 
 
 " Fifteen miles, I believe, sir, and I've been 
 thinking that perhaps we may as well go on." 
 
 " We'll try our fortunes once more at C , 
 
 and if they are not better we may perhaps think 
 best to do so." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 The roads proved, as the settler had told us 
 they were, much better than those we had passed, 
 and we soon found ourselves before a wooden 
 hotel, in the principal street of the village. A 
 bright fire wa& shining through the uncurtained 
 windows, and a gioup of men were sitting and 
 standing about it, smoking and apparently enjoy- 
 ing the highest degree of comfort. AVe alighted, 
 determined to stop here at all hazards. I followed 
 K — into the room, and we seated ourselves on 
 chairs that were vacated for us at the fire. The 
 apartment was redolent of tobacco- smoke and the 
 fumes of brandy. In one comer was a little 
 triangular box containing sundry bottles, glasses, 
 cigar boxes, &c. ; in the opposite one a flight of 
 stairs leading to the room above. The company, 
 with the exception of three or four sti*angers like 
 ourselves, seemed to consist principally of the vil- 
 lagers. They were complimenting each other in 
 various potations of brandy, whiskey, and other 
 similar beverages, betting on horses and candi- 
 dates for the county ofl[ices, and discussing a nota- 
 ble wolf hunt that had recently taken place, at 
 which a fine horse had broken a leg. A few were 
 more rationally talking over the different methods 
 of agriculture adopted in the neighborhood, and 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND* 369 
 
 Speculating on the probable results of each. With 
 one or two exceptions they were all western men, 
 and, I suppose, they presented very much the ap- 
 pearance which this class of persons always do in 
 such meetings. They seemed in the bar-room a 
 totally different order of beings from the same men 
 at home. I was pained with the contrast. 
 
 We were seated but a few minutes when the 
 door of an adjoining room opened, a little weazen- 
 faced man looked in, and after glancing at us, call- 
 ed out in the strangest of all voices to some one 
 in the apartment beyond, to " make a fire in the 
 ladies' parlor!" I was quite astonished. The idea 
 of a ladies' parlor was so remote from my anticipa- 
 tions ! Nothing could be more welcome, how- 
 ever, for the noise and bluster of the drinkers in- 
 creased and rendered the place anything but agree- 
 able. 
 
 ** If there is any other room with a fire," I whis- 
 pered to my brother, " pray let me go to it." He 
 followed the man with the wonderful voice, who 
 returned with him in a moment and told me if I 
 would just step into the kitchen till the fire was 
 rnade in the ladies' parlor, I would find myself 
 quite comfortable. " Certainly," I replied, " let me 
 go to your kitchen." I followed him across a naked 
 dining-room into an apartment apparently bound- 
 less ; its walls, if indeed it had any, being wholly 
 shrouded in darkness. Three or four filthy, ragged 
 servants were crouching and chattering over an im- 
 mense cooking-stove, on the top of which stood a 
 tallow candle, the only source of light and heat in 
 the room. There was no floor, save the black 
 earth trodden into numerous little hard hills and 
 hollows ; there was but one chair visible, and judg- 
 ing from the general aspect of the place, I dared 
 not sit upon this. The landlord had opened the 
 24 
 
370 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 door, motioned me in, and retreated with the light, 
 so that I had no alternatire but to stand there in 
 the black, cheerless room, till some one came to 
 relieve me. I did not wait long till he returned, 
 and saying that the fire was burning above, de- 
 sired me to follow him. I did so, and returning 
 to the bar-room was ushered up the open flight of 
 stairs, through two sleeping-rooms, into a third 
 containing a curtained bed, a Franklin stove in its 
 centre, a large rocking-chair robbed of one arm 
 and otherwise mutilated, some half-dozen wooden 
 chairs of various colors and fashion, and a volume 
 of dense blue smoke that quite took my breath. 
 
 A lamp was standing, as it appeared to me, in a 
 very precarious position on the stove ; but there 
 was nothing else on which to place it. The door 
 closed immediately after I entered the room, and 
 I was again alone. 
 
 Chilled as I had been with the long ride, I was 
 still trembling with cold, and thought only of get- 
 ting to the fire. I could be indifferent to every- 
 thing else if there were a generous fire in the stove. 
 I walked round in the front, A few blocks and 
 ends of boards were lying flat upon the hearth, 
 with here and there a remnant of a shaving between 
 them. There were no tongs, no andirons, no fire 
 — not a spark visible. Both the large windows in 
 front were wide open to permit the smoke to pass 
 out, the stove-pipe apparently having no connexion 
 whatever with this office. I took hold of the large 
 chair, and found my glove whitened with the dust 
 and ashes lying upon it ! This was the last blow 
 that my forbearance could endure. Walking straight 
 to the bed, I took one of the yellow pillow-cases 
 and rubbed every part of the chair with vv^hich my 
 clothes could come in contact, and then seated my- 
 self to wait the reappearance of the man who had 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 371 
 
 brought me thither. In a few minutes he came, 
 accompanied by my brother. The face of the 
 latter was glowing fi-om the warm fire he had just 
 left. 
 
 "What!" he exclaimed, "have you no fire 
 here 1 What does this mean, sir 1 You told me 
 she had a good fire and was very comfortable. 
 Do you call this comfort]" slamming the win- 
 dows down with a force that made them rattle. 
 
 " Dear me, sir," said the landlord, making a 
 violent stir among the blocks on the hearth, " I 
 told them to make a fire, and I supposed they 
 had." 
 
 " Supposed they had !" replied the other impa- 
 tiently ; ** would it not be as well, if your people 
 are no more to be trusted than this, to look a little 
 after the comfort of guests yourself?" 
 
 " I try to, sir," replied the little man, meekly, 
 " but I can't be everywhere at once." 
 
 " Well, in any case attend to ladies, when they 
 come in from such long cold rides as my sister has 
 had ; never leave one again in such a den as this, 
 without fire or light, and filled with smoke." 
 
 " There, that will do now," the shavings having 
 been coaxed by the application of the lamp and a 
 world of blowing, into a feeble blaze. 
 
 " Give us some hard wood, that will create a 
 little heat, and then see if we can have a warm 
 supper." 
 
 " None for me," said I, " I shall sleep better 
 without it; let me but get warm and I will re- 
 tire." 
 
 *' We can give you a good supper, ma'am," 
 said the obsequious host, rubbing his hands and 
 bowing. 
 
 " Well, where ] Your kitchen gives poor prom- 
 ise of that," I replied. " Give me a good fire and 
 
372 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 show me a sleeping-chamber, and I will ask no 
 more." 
 
 " Really, ma'am, I wish — " 
 
 " Will you get us some wood," interrupted K — , 
 " and leave us to our own choice in other matters !" 
 
 " Certainly, sir !" and he departed. 
 
 The next morning we were off at a brisk hour, 
 and breakfasted with the neat hospitable family of 
 an intelligent lUinoian, about five miles from 
 
 C . The warm, cheerful cabin, well lighted 
 
 by a couple of windows, the bright fire, the clean 
 floor, the generous table, and the frank hospitality 
 of both host and hostess, were in lively contrast 
 with the disappointment, churlishness, and impo- 
 sition we had encountered the previous day. 
 
 A little after noon we found ourselves at our 
 place of destination, where the comforts of a hotel, 
 rarely surpassed in the east or west, amply com- 
 pensated for the hardshios and toil we had endured 
 in reaching it. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 The opening of the following spring found me 
 domiciliated for a time vnth one of the pleasant- 
 est families in the beautiful city of Alton. I say 
 beautiful, because it was never otherwise to me. 
 When I first reached it fi'om the north, where win- 
 ter was still protracting his reign, the foliage of 
 spring was just bursting its brief bounds. The 
 days were bright and sunny, and such were wel- 
 come after my tedious pilgrimages in the more 
 rigorous north. 
 
 The position of Alton is one of much beauty. 
 It stands at one of the most charming points 
 on the upper Mississippi ; having its clear, dark 
 
 J 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 373 
 
 waters broken by two beautiful, wooded islands 
 near the opposite shore, and commanding from 
 the bluffs a fine view of the junction of the Mis- 
 souri with the former stream. Immediately above 
 the city, terminates a line of limestone bluffs, bold 
 and towering, which wall in the Mississippi for 
 near fifty miles. Immediately below, commences 
 the celebrated " American bottom," which extends 
 almost unbroken to the mouth of the Ohio. The 
 town is divided into upper, middle, and lower Al- 
 ton. The last-named lies along the water-side, and 
 is the principal place of business. Middle Town 
 extends back on the heights, and contains some 
 very picturesque and beautiful spots; and Upper 
 Town still farther back, and down the river, has 
 some points that, transferred to canvas, would bear 
 comparison with the boasted scenery of the old 
 world. 
 
 A considerable proportion of the houses in these 
 three divisions are built of stone ; the great abund- 
 ance of^it on the river rendering it as cheap as 
 any other material. The grounds are sufficiently 
 old to be ornamented With well-grown trees, shrub- 
 beries, &c. ; and in the season when the heights 
 and broken swells are covered with verdure, few 
 more beautiful spots are to be found in the country. 
 In the immediate vicinity of Lower and Middle 
 Town, indeed within their yet unsettled precincts, 
 there is great variety of scenery. High, rolling 
 ridges, divided by deep valleys or round basins, 
 as perfect in finish as if constructed by rules of 
 art, diversify the whole surface. The heights are 
 for the most part covered with the hazel, low shrub 
 oak, and forest trees. The level grounds between, 
 are clad with a smooth green turf, set during the 
 spring and summer with a great variety of wild 
 flowers. In the vicinity of the town are many 
 Ii 
 
374 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 beautiful groves and tracts of barrens ; and farther 
 back, are small prairies, divided and bordered by- 
 clumps of trees and clean open woodlands. 
 
 Many a charming ride and walk had we through 
 these natural parks, when they were in their per- 
 fection of beauty. When the early showers were 
 over, and the clouds had passed away, we used to 
 ramble into the groves or barrens and return after 
 an hour or two with great clusters of the phlox, 
 painted cap, moccasin flower and geranium, bright 
 and fi-esh from their pleasant homes by stream and 
 tree, to adorn and perfume ours. While we were 
 gathering them, the quail was running to and fro on 
 the clean turf, and whistling to the merry breeze; 
 the robin was singing in the tree trop, and the 
 brown thrasher performing his seriocomic solo, a 
 little farther off on the lower branches. The winds 
 ran wild among the trees, shaking their long arms 
 and making their lengthening shadows dance upon 
 the bright sward with a gay motion ; as. if the very 
 genius of mirth were disporting itself in the uni- 
 versal jubilee. 
 
 Oh, glorious were those days ! and beautiful the 
 life which they inspired in the members of our 
 little circle ! I have been in many places where 
 nature had lavished her charms as freely ; I have 
 visited such alone, and with others, but I scarcely 
 ever found that harmony between heart and heart 
 that gave society the power to enhance the emo- 
 tions which nature inspired. One is almost certain 
 to feel that it is better to be alone or with one 
 kindred spirit. We must deny ourselves the 
 social to enjoy the natural. Because the former 
 is false, and inharmonious ! Some selfish passion, 
 some carking care, some worldly anxiety pos- 
 sesses one heart or more of those you would have 
 free, and strikes a jarring chord in your own. The 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 375 
 
 flowers are less exquisite, the sunshine less bright, 
 the breezes less inspiring from that moment. Thus 
 much of what should be enjoyed is lost. The 
 dew is first brushed from the flower, then its ex- 
 quisite colors are dimmed, then it is crushed and 
 at length wholly lost. The plain of life is a dis- 
 mal waste, on which one sees neither verdure nor 
 bloom. But with us it was different. Of the few who 
 knelt together around this festive shrine of nature, 
 we could have spared no one without pain. All 
 were free, all harmonious ! The chaste and ele- 
 vated joy which nature afforded was not frittered 
 away in pitiful efforts to appear other than we 
 were, nor in any of the thousand petty cares and 
 strifes which so degrade the spirit ; but seized on 
 as a boon from heaven, and enjoyed with right 
 hearty zest and freedom. In such a social atmo- 
 sphere, and surrounded with such objects, one 
 feels that to be is a blessing, and wonders that 
 life could ever have been irksome. The toils and 
 vexations with which man seeks to enlarge him- 
 self before his fellows sink into their tnie insignifi- 
 cance. We suffer none of them to mislead us at 
 such a season. We laugh at them, and say in our 
 hearts, " See, what are all that you can bring, com- 
 pared to these birds, these fiowers and trees, and 
 running streams, and winds, and storms, and sun- 
 shine ! These are what God has provided for my 
 enjoyment. But ye are bom of men, toiling, strug- 
 gling men, whose spirits travail all their lives, and 
 bring forth monsters to brood upon their death-beds. 
 Away, we will none of ye ! The earth is a fair 
 heritage ; and blessings on its Author, it is mirs." 
 Even the cares and anxieties for the absent wer« 
 sweetened by the all-prevailing calmness and joy 
 of the season. Beautiful indeed was life during that 
 bri^f period. 
 
376 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Indeed we almost lived out of doors. What 
 with rides, walks, visits, calls on the few who made 
 up our free circle, we were very much abroad. 
 We could not have been too much so. A pleas- 
 ant proposition was made one evening to forsake 
 the abodes of men for a whole day and betake 
 ourselves to the woods. It met with unanimous 
 approval. We would all go, and take the chil- 
 dren. It should be an informal turn out ; no- 
 body should take any care beyond putting a loaf 
 of bread and a few other plain refreshments into a 
 basket. We would meet at the " White Cottage," 
 and without any preconcerted arrangement drive 
 into the woods, seeking pleasant places. An entry 
 made in my diary after our return, will show how 
 wise we were, and how foolish was the Ethiopian 
 monarch, when he commanded preparation to be 
 made for ten days' perfect happiness ! 
 
 " We started at eleven in high spirits for our 
 picnic ground ; which, by the way, was not select- 
 ed. Indeed, the direction we proposed to take wa,s 
 but vaguely conjectured by most of us. As many as 
 
 could be conveniently stowed in Mr. A 's large 
 
 farm waggon were thus disposed of, and the rest 
 followed in smaller vehicles, but all making a 
 merry band, hailing each other from the foremost 
 to the hindmost, and exchanging many gay chal- 
 lenges to marvelous feats when we should reach 
 our stopping-place. 
 
 "Before we started, every appearance of rain, 
 with which we had been threatened in the early 
 morning, had vanished, and the sky, softly and 
 beautifully blue, when seen, was skimmed over 
 with light, feathery clouds, screening us in the 
 most friendly manner from the otherwise too ar- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 377 
 
 dent rays of the sun. The moraing was breezy 
 and fresh in the green, open wood, and the bright 
 phlox, and dazzling painted cap, and tender gera- 
 nium danced and sparkled gaily, as the winds 
 went by, like careless children who had nothing to 
 do but revel in the life and beauty about them. 
 
 " We rode five miles. Our way, for the most part, 
 wound along the summit of swells that divided cool, 
 shadowy ravines, and then descended the height 
 to the shore of the Mississippi. Here we left our 
 carriages, took each a portion of the necessary ar- 
 ticles, and commenced the ascent of another bluff, 
 
 Mr. and myself preceding our friends a little, 
 
 as a committee of selection. We climbed the hill 
 for half a mile, and as we rose, that rose before 
 us ; now a little opening shaded by overhanging 
 oaks presented itself, and now we were bending 
 beneath their sweeping branches. Gradually as 
 we ascended, the prospect widened, until at length, 
 when the summit was fairly attained, a prospect 
 burst upon us magnificent beyond description ! 
 ' Eureka P exclaimed Mr. A — , and we both felt 
 that further search would be vain. 
 
 " On the very pinnacle of the bluff, the east side 
 of which was thickly wooded and the west opening 
 upon the river, we found a little shaded nook, just 
 large enough to admit our number. Here, after 
 the vines and light undergrowth had been cleared 
 away, we spread our white napkins, table cloths, 
 &c., and laid out our simple refreshments. Two 
 or three loaves of bread, a bottle of cream, some 
 golden butter, a trio of cold chickens, and a loaf 
 of plain family cake of the largest size, constituted 
 the whole. A committee was now appointed, and 
 sent out with authority to search the neighboring 
 hills and hollows for water. Their protracted in- 
 vestigations had begun to give rise to some anxi- 
 n2 
 
378 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 ety in the more youthful members of our party, 
 when they returned with a brimming pail of the 
 purest and coldest water. The thanks of the com- 
 pany having been tendered them, in a neat speech 
 by one of the gentlemen, we proceeded to seat 
 ourselves, in true oriental style, around the cloth. 
 ** Stories, songs, and hymns followed the lunch, 
 and when these were no more called for, one or two 
 chess boards were routed from their repose at the 
 bottom of the baskets, and put on duty by some, 
 while others strolled out to enjoy the prospect. I 
 was among the latter ; and rarely indeed had nature 
 invited more irresistibly, than in the pomp and 
 glory about me. Behind lay the still wood, into 
 the green depths of which the younger members 
 of our party had strayed, in search of flowers, and 
 whatever else of rare and beautiful might be found. 
 Before, and far below us the Mississippi rolled its 
 majestic waters, now sleeping as placidly in the 
 misty sunlight, as if they had never tumbled and 
 rushed in angry floods, terrifying the hearts of be- 
 holders. Away in the distance, where they shone 
 and flashed like molten silver, clusters of green 
 islands sat upon their bosom, the farther ones still, 
 as if chiseled in emerald, the nearer ones alive with 
 their tossing foliage. This river had been to our 
 childish minds an almost fabled creation. A far 
 away land had given us birth ; a far away clime 
 had lighted our early years. We had read of the 
 great rivers, and almost suspended our breath in 
 wonder at their magnitude ; but never dreamed 
 that our eyes would be favored to look upon them. 
 And now one was sweeping its silent way two 
 hundred feet below us, and the other rolHng its 
 turbid waters onward through the dense forest, 
 only a mile from the opposite shore ! It seemed 
 the reahzation of an impressive dream ! To the 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 379 
 
 left, on the Illinois side, bold rocky bluffs overhung 
 the waters in which they had been mirrored for 
 centuries. To the right, the horizon stretched 
 away in the faint sunhght, until the eye was pain- 
 ed with the endeavor to define it, and the Missis- 
 sippi might be seen at intervals, like a silver 
 thread, shimmering through the green extent. A 
 light haze rested on the distant hills, mellowing 
 and softening the landscape with that peculiar tint- 
 ing which only the hand of nature can impart. 
 Nothing could be imagined more magnificent 
 than the entire view, while in our immediate vicin- 
 ity the bluffs were alternately piled into high con- 
 ical hills and hollowed into deep ravines, laden 
 with vegetation, which, tossed by the winds, lent a 
 peculiar grace and changefulness to the landscape. 
 Beneath us a precipice, two hundred feet in height, 
 overhung the water — its face hollowed in so 
 deeply, that it was only by a somewhat dangerous 
 experiment that one of the gentlemen, laying him- 
 self flat upon its summit and looking over, could 
 see its entire depth ! On its very brow a deep- 
 worn, narrow track told of the wanderings of the 
 Indian ! Many a light-hearted troop had filed 
 along that dizzy height, conscious of perfect secu- 
 rity, while our tamer blood curdled in our veins if 
 one of us approached its brink ! 
 
 *' As we sat and gazed from these heights, my 
 thoughts reverted to the early time, when the 
 light canoe skimmed those majestic waters ; when, 
 from the surrounding heights, the council fires of a 
 mystery -loving and sanguinary race flashed against 
 the evening sky, and lithe and dusky forms trod 
 with free step the unsoiled turf! Now all that 
 had made the life of those scenes had departed ! 
 Only the mortal evidences that they had been, 
 remained. Rude graves, that had closed long 
 
380 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 years before over those who shared in them, were 
 piled around us on the summits of the hills. On 
 one of these a solitary wild rose-bud had unfolded 
 its delicate petals : but a blight had fallen upon 
 it, as on the mysterious race whose existence it 
 shadowed forth ! The bright and glowing green 
 had faded, while it was yet spring, into the sickly 
 yellow. The spirit of the departed had breathed 
 over it in sadness ; no kind hand was near to 
 cherish it, or remove the cankering rust ; and the 
 fair rose was already numbered among the fallen. 
 
 " A beautiful tale, told that blighted bud, of a 
 race that had passed away — of a people free as 
 the waters beneath, and swift as the winds playing 
 around, who had trodden the very spot where we 
 were seated; who had gazed upon the varying 
 landscape, the bright river, and the far hills, with 
 feelings we could never know — who had scaled 
 the beetling cliff, and mocked the eagle in his 
 flight; whose war-shout rang through the wild 
 wood, and over the water; and whose songs, once 
 heard there, were now for ever hushed ! 
 
 " With emotions chastened and elevated by the 
 scene upon which we had looked, and the recol- 
 lections with which it was fraught, we reassembled 
 after our devious ramblings. Conversation, music, 
 and anecdotes succeeded, till the shadows began 
 to lengthen on the hill side. Just as the second 
 lunch was spread, the white signal of a steamer, 
 far down the river, became visible, curling and 
 fading on the sunny breeze. Mere speck as she 
 appeared at first, she was pronounced by the 
 gentlemen, on her near approach, to be a boat of 
 the largest size. When directly opposite us, her 
 distance was still so gi'eat, that the large black 
 letters on the wheelhouse looked like a fine line 
 drawn across it. She ran close under the oppo- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 381 
 
 site shore, and, as the white wreaths rose from 
 her iron throat, and faded away among the green 
 boughs, and her hoarse breath sounded faintly- 
 over the waters, she formed a pleasing feature in 
 a landscape which had been hitherto made up 
 exclusively of natural objects. 
 
 " We had little relish for our second meal. The 
 sense of mere existence had been such a joy and 
 blessing all the day, that the common pleasures of 
 life had lost their power to engage our faculties. 
 We were merry, but our merriment was not that 
 which flashes in fitful gleams from the troubled 
 heart, or breaks forth for a moment to subside on 
 the recurrence of care into a deeper gravity than 
 before. It was founded on the deep, full, inward 
 joy which we had been all the day drawing from 
 the pure and beautiful world around us. And 
 when the frequent bursts of laughter, provoked by 
 the wit of the moment, subsided, they were fol- 
 lowed by no reproving or half-repentant visages, 
 but an expression which showed that we were 
 ready to enjoy the next as heartily. The deep 
 old wood resounded with our mirth. 
 
 ** Another report from the water committee was 
 called for, which those gentlemen very ingeniously 
 relieved themselves from making, by introducing, 
 with a very pompous preamble, a resolution that 
 we * were not dry.' It was passed by acclama- 
 tion, and followed by one as formally introduced, 
 unanimously applauding the acumen, research, 
 ability, and scientific profundity evinced by this 
 discovery. When the sun began to peep under 
 the arch of our leafy bower, we commenced 
 preparations for our return. The napkins, frag- 
 ments, et cet., were repacked, and, when all was 
 ready, we seated ourselves on the turf for a part- 
 ing song. * Rosin the Beau' was first sung, in 
 
382 
 
 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 full choir, and followed by the beautiful hymn, 
 * God is good.' We then bade adieu to the fairy 
 spot, and, taking up the line of march in true 
 Indian style, we descended the bluff, slaked our 
 thirst at a delicious spring that gushed from the 
 bank into a rocky basin below, and then stowing 
 ourselves into the waggons, were soon on our way 
 homeward, by the same road, now bright and 
 checkered with the shadows of evening. 
 
 ** It was a delightful close to a happy day. I 
 believe, as we retraced our steps, we each felt that 
 it was good to have spent it in communion with 
 nature and our ovvoi hearts, under her divine in- 
 fluences. As we were recounting our adventures 
 and enjoyments in presence of a person who had 
 not been of our party, he remarked that as every 
 sweet had its bitter, he waited to leani what ours 
 would be. But we had none. The very elements 
 had conspired with the fair earth and our own 
 spirits to make it an occasion of unalloyed happi- 
 ness. At half-past ten we retired, just enough 
 fatigued to appreciate the luxury of a quiet bed."^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 It will readily be credited that one could not 
 leave a place and society like those I have at- 
 tempted to picture, without many regrets ; but 
 the happiest seasons are sometimes the briefest, 
 and one may not hesitate when duty calls. With 
 the ripening summer I turned my footsteps north- 
 ward, and a few days after the picnic found me 
 in the village which had formerly been our home. 
 It had changed little in outward aspect since I 
 last saw it. But one little knows, when revisit- 
 ing places which are familiar and seem to the 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 383 
 
 eye unchanged, what events may have happened 
 to those who have never left it, to make olden 
 haunts and long-trodden paths the entrance to a 
 world all strange and new. It may be one of 
 jo)'' which fills the heart, or grief which crushes it. 
 The streets may be the same, the houses, the gar- 
 dens, the groves, the fields — nay, the very persons 
 who dwell among them, unchanged, as to their 
 identity ; and yet one may have entered a world 
 of happiness while pursuing his daily ways among 
 these things, while another has reached the oppo- 
 site goal. While the heart of the one is rejoicing 
 in its new-found possessions, and seeing brighter 
 flowers, and warmer sunshine, and gladder skies, 
 the other beholds all nature clad in funeral garb. 
 The winds that breathe around him tell of sorrow, 
 the sunshine brings no gaiety — all that was wont 
 to awaken joy and rejoicing is changed. And yet 
 they are the same ! 
 
 I had not been long absent from our village ; 
 yet events, clothed with power to work all these 
 miracles, had befallen many of its citizens. One 
 tragical occurrence, that wrapped the whole com- 
 munity in gloom, had fallen with such a crushing 
 weight upon the heart of a wife and mother, as 
 seemed to defy all attempts to heal and raise up 
 the broken spirit. A husband and father, whom I 
 have before introduced to the reader, had left his 
 home on a bright winter morning for a few hours' 
 sporting, and never returned to it ! His last words, 
 as he left the door, had been a playful invitation to 
 his wife to prepare some favorite dish for his sup- 
 per, for which he promised her a reward that death 
 never suffered him to pay. 
 
 As night drew on and brought him not to the 
 fireside and table where his beloved presence was 
 awaited, the expectant wife grew restless at the 
 
384 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 long delay, and often stood beside the window 
 overlooking the prairie, whence he was to ap- 
 proach. Twilight came and deepened into night ; 
 the evening wore away, and supper was at last 
 partaken without him. The mother, having ex- 
 pressed some wonder that he did not return, had 
 been assured by her sons that he had gone to the 
 house of a neighbor, about four miles away, where 
 he was wont to stop occasionally in his excursions. 
 
 At last the family retired. The heart of the wife 
 was not altogether quiet, but that, she reasoned, 
 was because it was so uncommon for him to be 
 from home. The mere sense of loneliness, not her 
 fears, she was certain, prevented her sleeping 
 well. The night was long, very long, in truth, but 
 then he would doubtless walk home to breakfast. 
 The morning was mild, and she thought with an 
 inward smile how pleasant it would be to him, who 
 so loved the activity of the outer world, to walk 
 those four miles, breathing the pure air, enjoying 
 uninterrupted communion with his own thoughts, 
 and, above all, anticipating a social breakfast at his 
 own home with those to whom his presence always 
 gave delight. 
 
 She rose early to prepare the morning meal ; 
 there was no need of this, for the long walk would 
 make him late ; but then it was pleasanter to be 
 up and occupied, than lying in bed when she could 
 not sleep ; and beside, he might rise early and be 
 there before she expected, and then she should be 
 prepared for him. So she had a bright fire blazing 
 a welcome that would greet him a long way off, 
 in case he should approach before daylight, and 
 her preparations for breakfast went cheerfully and 
 pleasantly forward. 
 
 Pausing in the door once or twice, she heard at 
 a distance the howling of wolves, that struck her 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 385 
 
 ear unpleasantly, and made her rather hope that he 
 would not start very early, lest he might encounter 
 some of them. When they grew louder and quite 
 dismayed her woman's heart, she thought with 
 much comfort that there was no probability of his 
 leaving the house early ; he would be fatigued 
 with the chase of the previous day and would rest 
 well, knowing that they would be perfectly easy 
 about him. Then she wondered that she should 
 have been so foolish as to think he would be there 
 early — still she could not help listening whenever 
 a sound from without met her ear, and once or 
 twice she started to the door with a bright smile on 
 her face, for she was almost certain she heard 
 his footsteps in the path. But when she got there, 
 the night was black and silent as ever; the low 
 moaning of the wind, or the dismal howling she 
 had heard, being the only sounds she could dis- 
 tinguish. 
 
 Daylight seemed long coming ; but then she had 
 risen early, and being alone must expect this. At 
 last a few faint streaks began to be visible in the 
 east ; then she summoned her sons that they might 
 have their cattle fed, and be ready for breakfast, 
 so as not to keep him waiting a moment ; for the 
 long walk would have sharpened his appetite. 
 
 So the usual stir of the morning commenced. 
 And very pleasant it seemed to her to have things 
 going on in their accustomed way. The stepping 
 in and out as the light gained, the milking and 
 setting the pail on the table, the straining and 
 placing it on the shelf where it belonged ; the 
 fading of the candle, and the assurance which the 
 broader light without gave her, that he would soon 
 be there ; the necessity arising from this, of bid- 
 ding her sons hasten to be ready, was all very 
 cheerful and agreeable. 
 25 Kk 
 
386 
 
 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 Finally everything was attended to without, and 
 the young men came in to wait breakfast. Here 
 all was ready too, and broad day was on the prai- 
 ries — a little greyer yet, perhaps, than it would be 
 half an hour hence ; but she could see a long way 
 down the plain. 
 
 There was no one yet in sight ; but the grove 
 was only a mile off; he might be in that yet, or 
 he might when she chanced to look out, be in one 
 of the many little hollows that cut the prairie. But 
 she wished now more than ever, that he would 
 come, for the waiting, when there was nothing to 
 do, was more tedious than before. The daylight 
 too made it more wearisome than when it had 
 been dark. As it wore on and the sun came up — 
 the sun, that, bright and clear as it was, ought to 
 have cheered her, she could not but confess to her 
 inmost soul a chilly sinking of her hopes. 
 
 For now the day was going on as it always did, 
 and yet he came not. While it was dark there 
 had been a sort of excited life in her feelings 
 which the full day almost extinguished. 
 
 At last she proposed faintly, hoping that her 
 sons would dissent from it, that they should wait 
 breakfast no longer ; she half suggested in a slow, 
 hesitating tone that perhaps their father would not 
 be there till late, and they would want to be at work. 
 Then it occurred to one of them that ne would 
 stop to breakfast where he had spent the night. 
 He had taken his game there with him, and as his 
 hostess had been an inmate of their family for some 
 time previous to her marriage, and knew so well 
 how to prepare his favorite grouse, and delighted 
 so in doing it for him too, of course he would 
 take breakfast with her, and afterward walk home. 
 What more probable than this ] Foolish woman ! 
 she thought, why had it not occurred to her be- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 387 
 
 fore 1 She wondered at her thoughtlessness. But 
 it was fortunate for them, she said with her own 
 sweet, patient smile, for the favorite dish of their 
 father was theirs also, and if she had not expected 
 him to breakfast, she should hardly have risen 
 early enough to prepare it. She had forgotten 
 that she could not sleep ! 
 
 They ate breakfast. She was a little nervous, 
 and started once or twice when something like 
 footsteps were heard about the door; but she 
 laughed faintly each time, saying how foolish it 
 was, for he would not be home till ten o'clock. 
 When the meal was over she set her house in 
 order, and thought, if it came on to snow, as the 
 grey gathering clouds seemed to promise, how 
 pleasant their fireside would be when they were 
 all there, and the storm was beating without. 
 Her sons left her to attend to their morning cares, 
 and she fell into her ordinary state of mind, feel- 
 ing quite as she did every day, when they were 
 all out engaged in their various duties. 
 
 The short morning wore away, and it was time 
 to prepare dinner. She was quite surprised when 
 she noted the hour — he had not come yet, and a 
 faint gleam of the feeling that had, she must con- 
 fess it now, dismayed her so in the morning, 
 returned. But then it was probable he had 
 stopped on the way for game, and, perhaps, even 
 now, would be there before her meal was ready. 
 So she went busily to work, and, as her labors pro- 
 ceeded, she glanced occasionally from the window 
 to see if he were near. No ! he was not yet ; 
 and then she bethought herself, with a suddenness 
 that blanched her whole face, that she had not 
 heard his gun all the morning ! She almost 
 opened the door with the intention of communi- 
 cating this to her sons, as a new and unthought-of 
 
388 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 evidence that they ought to be alarmed. But then 
 she could hardly persuade herself to do it. They 
 might laugh, and say it was not strange ; or wonder 
 that she would suffer herself to be anxious ; but 
 she was still more deterred, though she hardly 
 confessed this to herself, by her reluctance to give 
 form or expression to her feelings. 
 
 Noon came, but she did not call them to dinner; 
 they had better dine half an hour later, and be all 
 together. Beside, their breakfast was late, and 
 she did not feel the least appetite ! Half-past 
 twelve — one — and still no return ! Now the 
 phantom fears that had hovered in her mind, 
 would no longer be denied their hold. She was 
 no longer afraid to speak, and act, as she had 
 been half prompted to do all the day. With her 
 better defined apprehensions for him, she acquired 
 more courage over her own emotions. She called 
 her sons, and requested the younger, after he had 
 eaten his dinner, to ride down to Fanny's and 
 see if his father were unwell, or what detained him. 
 She spoke only thus; for, with all the calmness 
 she had acquired, she found it impossible to name 
 the alternative that was lurking in her bosom. 
 
 And now came another long period, during 
 which she must compose her feelings ; though it 
 was not so easy as it had been in the morning : 
 there was more expectation now ; and its termina- 
 tion was clearly before her mind. Her son would 
 return soon, and then — 
 
 He came. She had seen him a long way off" 
 over the naked plain, and felt her blood rush 
 tumultuously about her heart, when she saw him 
 alone ! But a moment's reflection taught her that 
 this was folly ; for, of course, his father would not 
 be with him ; and then she wondered she had 
 not thought to send another horse down ! But 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 389 
 
 why did he ride so fast? He was, perhaps, 
 hastening to reheve her fears ; or — and once 
 again she made a vain endeavor to supply the 
 remainder of the sentence. He came on fast and 
 faster yet ! His horse was almost running ! She 
 could see that his face was pale ! And then she 
 turned from the window, and placed one or two 
 chairs in order that had been left standing — took 
 up a work basket that was upon the table ; wound 
 some thread on a spool ; and laid it down again. 
 The same instant the swift feet stopped at the 
 gate; the rider dismounted, and, rushing in, pale 
 and breathless, exclaimed, *' Father has not been 
 there at all !" Then, seeing he had been too 
 abrupt (though he had only uttered words that 
 had been on his lips every step of the way home), 
 he attempted, by some broken speech, to soften 
 the terrible truth. He might have been led farther 
 from home than he intended, in pursuit of some 
 rare bird ; or he had met with some acquaintance 
 
 and gone down to D , a neighboring town 
 
 some ten miles distant, or — but here his bewil- 
 dered tongue refused to furnish another word in 
 aid of his attempt; and, when he looked mourn- 
 fully at his mother, he found she had not compre- 
 hended a word of what he had last said. She was 
 looking at him with a stony, unmeaning gaze, as if 
 she had a dim perception of his being there, and, 
 uttering something which she ought to under- 
 stand, but did not. He spoke to her in terms of 
 affection, and, after a little, she recovered, and 
 looking slowly about her, said, " Go find thy 
 brother, and then, perhaps, thee had better ride 
 up to the village, and — inquire, "^ she added, in a 
 tone below her breath. 
 
 He had not been at the village, neither had any 
 one seen him, but all thought, or, said at least, that 
 
 K K 2 
 
 
390 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 perhaps he would be home that night. It was 
 probable he would. If he did not they must go 
 out over the country next morning in search of 
 him. Meantime a few anxious individuals mount- 
 ed that night and rode out in various directions, 
 but neither heard, nor saw anything to report. 
 Thus the day closed ! 
 
 Night came on. Night which so much changes 
 the aspect of the whole world; which furnishes 
 new images to the mind, and new energies to the 
 physical powers ; which brings a cessation of care, 
 and a release from the burthens we have borae 
 through the busy day. 
 
 But it brought no change to her ! She could 
 not look so far over the prairie as before the dark- 
 ness came on, — the prairie over which she had 
 looked for many, many hours before ; though her 
 eyes scarcely turned from the great waste since 
 she sat down. There was but one object, indeed, 
 that could have stirred the sense, now blind to all 
 others, and that came not. 
 
 I said that night brought no change ; and it did 
 not. There she sat, sometimes speaking, when 
 her sons, or one of the kind friends who had come 
 in to be with her, addressed her; but her lips only 
 spoke. At length they persuaded her to seek 
 some rest. She retired, but lying down it was 
 just the same. The position and place might 
 change, but these had no relation to her stricken 
 soul. The connexion between the material and 
 the immaterial seemed to have been suddenly sev- 
 ered ; and the latter to be existing in a time long 
 past. The body might suffer changes, might grow 
 old, or be diseased. But until the spirit had re- 
 leased its hold upon that point of time, it could 
 take no cognizance of these. 
 
 Morning came and then hundreds of horsenien 
 
 f'i Tra« I mimiiMiii 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 391 
 
 might be seen, far and near, scouring the plain, 
 looking carefully through the groves and copses, 
 searching by the banks of streams and logs, and 
 then raising themselves up, and looking all abroad, 
 and then at each other, with countenances that 
 rendered speech superfluous. 
 
 Another night came and w^ent, and no trace of 
 the absent man could be found. They had looked 
 for shreds of clothing, for the hat, the gun, any- 
 thing that could give the faintest clue to the awful 
 mystery ; but nature refused all evidence, and 
 left them to conjectures made only more painful 
 by every disappointment. They had thought the 
 accidental discharge of his gun might have disa- 
 bled him, and they should find him somewhere 
 awaiting the arrival of help. A more terrible sup- 
 position was, that in this state he might have been 
 fallen upon by wolves ! but no traces of any such 
 fearful catastrophe could anywhere be found. He 
 might have fallen into the stream, but all search 
 that was practicable in its then frozen state was 
 made — to no purpose. Other days and nights 
 passed, but all ended as they had begun ; the 
 search was fruitless, and at last was gradually aban- 
 doned. What more could the utmost kindness 
 do '? His fate, from the hour when he left the 
 house with the gay challenge on his lips, was in- 
 volved in impenetrable mystery. Hope, even won- 
 der almost died in the lapse of time. But what 
 were her feelings 1 She had returned at last to a 
 full consciousness of what had befallen her ! She 
 had passed from the doubts, fears, hopes, and 
 dread of the long search, to the terrible certainty 
 that she was widowed ! But how 1 That was 
 the most painful of all. Had she smoothed his 
 dying pillow, had she heard his last kind words, 
 it were bliss compared to her present torture ! 
 
 miim 
 
 ^mm 
 
392 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 The most fearful conjectures thronged her agonized 
 mind. Death, in his most terrible aspect, seizing 
 on the helpless victim, was ever before her ! Raven- 
 ing wolves, overwhelming floods, bearing away 
 their prey despite the fearful struggles for life ; 
 or, more teiTible still, the slow death by starva- 
 tion, in some possible nook that had escaped the 
 eyes of those who sought to find her lost husband ! 
 Oh ! who shall ever conceive the agony of that 
 period, when to know that she was a widow was 
 a small part of the burthen that pressed upon her 
 heart, and made its agony almost palpable ! She 
 had friends with her, kind, gentle, loving friends, 
 who would have counted no effort too great, could 
 it have assuaged her grief. But what were these ] 
 They could tell her nothing. They could not an- 
 swer one of the many questions which her heart 
 never ceased to make everywhere and at all times. 
 
 Weeks wore away, and though the inquiry 
 ceased to be first on the lip when neighbors met, 
 and was followed, when made, with less earnest 
 conjectures, still it was alive there, pressing its 
 cankering tooth to the very core of her being. 
 
 The rude winds of winter at last began to be 
 followed, at intervals, by the softer breath of spring. 
 Nature began to dissolve her icy fetters on plain 
 and stream. The season of birds and flowers, and 
 universal beauty, which he had so loved, was ap- 
 proaching ; the season when their happy home 
 was even happier; when all its pleasant places 
 were pleasanter. What would they be now ] 
 
 On the stream which he had contemplated cross- 
 ing, four or five miles below his house, was a mill. 
 It stood in a pleasant spot — for woods and waters 
 are ever pleasant in the prairie land — and when 
 the winter ice had disappeared, and the fresh bur- 
 then of the early spring rushed along within its 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 393 
 
 banks, it was cheering to see it come dashing 
 past the mill, leaping the dam and bearing along 
 decayed logs, bits of board and fantastic branches, 
 rearing, plunging, resisting, and anon hurrying 
 along more madly than the waters themselves. 
 
 Here one sunny March day stood a lad, watch- 
 ing the frolic and haste of the stream as it curled 
 and foamed along, when suddenly the leaping 
 current deposited on the verge of the dam, a large 
 object which, at the first glance, he took to be a 
 log ! Then the water streaming from some de- 
 pendent fragments, made him look again with 
 somewhat of earnest curiosity ! He approached 
 to get a nearer view ! and then ran as for life to 
 the house ! In a few moments graver persons 
 appeared ; took the long-lost body ; laid it rever- 
 ently in a fit place ; and made preparation for the 
 legal and decent ceremonies of the occasion. 
 Though cruelly disfigured and changed, it could 
 not be mistaken. The strongly marked head 
 and face would have been recognized anywhere. 
 
 And now once more it returned to the home, 
 almost as much changed as itself. They dared 
 not let the widow see it at first, and as she was 
 ever patient and gentle in her grief as well as her 
 happiness, she did not murmur or attempt to op- 
 pose their wishes. At length, on the second day, 
 when her mind was calmer than it had been, and 
 she had learned to think of him as they described 
 him in a few words, the gentlest they could use, 
 as bloated, dark, bruised ! when they had separa- 
 ted from her mind the idea of what he had been and 
 brought it by the tenderest means to what he was ; 
 they led her to his bier. 
 
 There he lay, all that she had so loved in her 
 early youth and sober womanhood, the father of 
 her sons, the noble friend and protector of her 
 
 k. 
 
394 
 
 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 past life, the tender nurse, and sympathizing friend 
 of her sick years, her reliance when misfortune or 
 sorrow came, her shield, her strong and patient 
 friend in the adverse trials that had transplanted 
 them from affluence in the east to toil and com- 
 parative poverty in the west ! 
 
 She looked at him, and the blended emotions that 
 had harrowed and torn her bosom since the day of 
 their parting, were now all resolved into one simple 
 and overwhelming tide of grief There was no longer 
 doubt, nor fear, nor hope — all had died when she 
 looked on the mute witness that lay before her. 
 And a mighty grief, that seemed to strike with iron 
 fangs into her very heart, took possession of her. 
 
 They buried him, and she returned to her 
 home ! And there, when I saw her several months 
 after, she went meekly about, discharging her 
 daily cares and duties to her sons, and when she 
 thought no human eye was upon her, permitting, 
 as the only relief her feelings could have, without 
 being painful to others, tears to stream silently 
 down her pale, suffering face. I never looked 
 upon gi'ief so touching. 
 
 And this mother and her two sons were all that 
 remained of the family we left on a former page 
 in such happy and beautiful relation to each other, 
 and the world around them. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 The return of my husband was now the event 
 to which I looked forward. Sixteen months of 
 perilous wanderings in the wilderness, and upon 
 the ocean, were now dravdng to a close. His 
 arrival had been joyfully heralded by letters from 
 California, and last of all, by the public prints, 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 395 
 
 annoucing that it had been in his power to save the 
 lives, and restore the liberties of several of his 
 countrymen and Englishmen, prisoners to the au- 
 thorities of that misgoverned, but beautiful coun- 
 try. The period of waiting was prolonged much 
 beyond what I had anticipated. Days ran into 
 weeks, and summer was drawing to a close, and 
 still he came not. At last the third anniversary of 
 our departed boy's birth, among the last days of 
 August, brought him. It was early one morning, 
 just after breakfast, that he came into my friend's 
 house, following one of the villagers whom he had 
 met in the street, and who could not forbear play- 
 ing the startling office of usher on the occasion. 
 
 I pass over all that followed, the thousand inter- 
 esting things to be heard and communicated ; the 
 welcomes and congratulations of friends, and come 
 to the time but a few weeks forward, when we 
 were preparing to leave prairie land and sever all 
 the sacred ties that bound us to those who were 
 sleeping in its quiet bosom, and those who still trod 
 its beautiful surface, full of life and hope. 
 
 We visited Prairie Lodge and the resting-place 
 of those who had been laid in the quiet graves 
 near it, two long years before. At that distance 
 of time, I could look calmly upon those hallowed 
 spots, regarding them as what they really were — 
 one, the tomb of a woman who had lived, loved, 
 and suffered — the other, the tiny couch of an in- 
 fant, whose tender bud of being scarce opened ere 
 it closed again, to bloom in a more genial world. 
 They were now objects of faith and hope, not of 
 harrowing grief; and it was not altogether painful 
 to linger over them, and train the evergreens and 
 other plants which I had placed there long before. 
 The foliage of the surrounding trees and shrubs 
 had already faded from the high vigor and pomp 
 
396 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 of summer into the sober and gentle beauty of 
 autumn — the season Mary had so much loved. A 
 few short weeks, and the leaves would no more 
 rustle to the gentle winds, the birds would no more 
 dance in the boughs above, the mellow sunshine 
 would no longer stream through the trembling 
 canopy that softened its stronger glare into a tone 
 harmonious with the hallowed character of the 
 spot. All were departing ; and we were going 
 too ; a few days would see us bid farewell to the 
 country in which we had enjoyed and suffered so 
 much; which still contained so much of life and 
 death, to enchain our affections, and draw from 
 our hearts in after times strong longings to behold 
 it once more. 
 
 It was late in autumn when we bade adieu to 
 the little village in which our home had been, and 
 to the few faithful and beloved friends it contained. 
 Yet late as it was, nature was still clothed with 
 the full majesty of her departing grandeur. As 
 we rode slowly over the high rolling prairies of 
 the north toward our point of embarkation, I 
 thought I had never seen the country more mag- 
 nificent. It seemed inviting us to return. Distant 
 fires, scarcely kept alive by the gentle winds, crept 
 lazily over the great brown meadows, curtaining 
 them from the flood of sunlight that filled the up- 
 per air, and just veiling the line of the horizon, so 
 that it seemed an interminable distance away from 
 us, and from all mortal care and toil — a quiet and 
 holy region, where, indeed, earth and heaven might 
 meet without exalting the loveliness and peace of 
 the one, or lessening those of the other. Never 
 was prairie land more beautiful to us, than in her 
 farewell smiles. Never were our hearts more 
 deeply touched by her charms, than in those days 
 when we were passing away firom them all. 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 397 
 
 The surface of the river, till our steamer broke 
 it into foam, was smooth as the skies it reflected, 
 and even then its agitated waters fell off, as soon as 
 we had passed away, into a soft undulating motion, 
 that died upon the sleeping shore, as if the repose 
 of nature were too deep to be broken by man. 
 Trees, half disrobed of their trembling leaves and 
 bathed in sunshine, swayed softly to and fro, their 
 long arms reflected from the still waters with a 
 distinctness that suggested the idea )f another 
 creation slumbering beneath ! 
 
 Myriads of wild fowl sat upon the tranquil 
 stream, chattering in low tones, and lazily disport- 
 ing themselves in the genial element. They had 
 been arrested in their migi'atory flight by the won- 
 drous beauty and softness of those days, and now 
 lingered in the still waters, their dreamy rest bro- 
 ken occasionally by the panting steamer, and the 
 more cruel gun of the sportsman on the shore. At 
 long intervals, these merciless sounds boomed over 
 the surface, and sent thousands of geese, brant, 
 and ducks screaming into the air, till the silent 
 woods and long line of water reechoed to the cry. 
 These were the only painful features of the scene. 
 Nature would have been altogether lovely and 
 gentle in her repose ; but man was there, with his 
 selfishness and cruelty, to mar it ! 
 
 Our route lay through the theatre of many of 
 the most interesting scenes and events in the his- 
 tory of the race that has now almost disappeared 
 from these lands — the classic ground of the west ! 
 Legends of mighty deeds, such as make the boast 
 of prouder nations, fierce hatreds, undying loves, 
 such as troubadours delighted to sing of the knights 
 of olden times, float over all these beautiful realms. 
 
 There is the " Starved Rock ;" its frowning sides 
 overhanging the quiet waters — its half-naked sur- 
 
 L L 
 
 lar- Ti^'^i^iif rirr %iiiTaa^', r-a,^rf ii 
 
398 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 face strown with the bones of brave men, tender 
 women, and helpless children ! The stoiTns of 
 near a century have bleached and wasted them 
 into crumbling fragments ; for here, so long ago, 
 a band of warriors retreating with their wives and 
 little ones, took refuge from their more powerful 
 enemies, thinking to make their defence good on 
 the small area, which could only be approached by 
 one narrow passage connecting it with the main- 
 land. Here they spent many days, defying their 
 besiegers, and laughing at their efforts to drive 
 them from their shelter. Food they had in plenty, 
 and water ran at the foot of their fort, two hun- 
 dred and fifty feet below them, which they raised 
 in buckets attached to bark ropes. One afternoon, 
 however, a bucket was let down, but when the 
 Indian would draw it up, it was strangely light ! 
 Twice or thrice, after shooting it a few feet, he 
 returned it to the stream, wondering that it did 
 not dip ! At length, .weary at being thus foiled, 
 he drew it hastily to the top of the rock. Con- 
 sternation seized every bosom ! The rope had 
 been severed, and the bucket was gone ! The 
 experiment was repeated at another and another 
 point with the same result ! Where now was their 
 hope 1 The base of their rocky fortress was sur- 
 rounded by the canoes of their enemies ! If they 
 remained, a death more terrible than the toma- 
 hawks and scalping knives of their foes could in- 
 flict was before them. Yet, with their small num- 
 bers, and their wives and children there, it were 
 madness to venture a sally. A council was held, 
 at which it was determined by the wairiors to 
 await some relaxation on the part of their besie- 
 gers, or some intei-position of the Great Spirit in 
 their behalf. Days passed in this fearful condition. 
 Mothers with their nursing infants were famishing 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 399 
 
 of thirst. Their babes were starving for the food 
 which their exhausted systems could no longer 
 furnish ! Strong warriors began to look aghast, 
 and tremble, as they walked about ! The Great 
 Spirit was angry with them ; for clouds, charged 
 with the blessing they so much craved, floated 
 over them, and poured out their delicious treasures 
 on the senseless plains and woods around, but 
 never there. The clear river lay stretched for 
 miles before them, its waters glancing in the sun, 
 or maddening their thirst more fearfully when 
 clouds darkened its checkered surface, making 
 them look still more cool and inviting. Nay, it 
 ran at their very feet. When the gusty night-wind 
 swept over it, they could hear the waters faintly 
 plash and chime below, and could almost in their 
 madness have precipitated themselves into them, 
 from the fearful height, to revel for one brief mo- 
 ment in their abundance. Sometimes, at the deep- 
 est hour of night, a vessel would descend the rock, 
 stealthily and slowly, that no untoward contact 
 might arouse their cruel watchers, if haply they 
 slumbered. But vain and infuriating the hope and 
 effort. It resulted only in the loss of the vessel, 
 and the more dreadful aggravation of their suffer- 
 ings. The ten-ible watch was never relaxed for a 
 moment of the day or night, and the stern sufferer, 
 at every failure, could hear the exulting laugh and 
 the fierce congratulation of those who had caused 
 it. Then they would heighten his agonies by toy- 
 ing idly with the water, making it splash and leap 
 till the victim could almost see the light bubbles 
 dancing on its cool dark surface. Some of the fee- 
 ble women and the children died. But they could 
 not be buried. Their bodies were laid decently 
 away on the verge of the rock, and then the friends 
 sat down to wait till they should follow ! 
 
 ...,^...^.^.-,-^,.u^..^...^>.>.. .^-^ -v^.. 
 
400 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 Oh ! what days and nights were those. Mana- 
 cles on the limbs of the free, proud warrior, the 
 lighted deathfire, the flashing tomahawk would 
 have been his paradise, could he but have thrown 
 himself upon them. To sit in miserable inaction 
 all the day, he who was like the wind in svdftness 
 and love of motion ; to endure the raging torments 
 of thirst and hunger (for the latter had at length 
 been added to their sufferings) ; to see his vdves 
 and his young warriors sinking and dying around 
 him ; to make trial after trial for their relief, each 
 ending in failure, more exasperating than before 
 — was one of those fearful conditions of human 
 being, which occur but once in the history of ages, 
 and form in the annals of nations the proverbial evi- 
 dences of bravery and fortitude, to which count- 
 less ages turn back with pride and exultation. 
 
 At length, when the exquisite torture could be 
 no longer borne, and the prospect of an ignomini- 
 ous death by slow degrees was the only certainty 
 before them, they determined on a sally. Seizing 
 an hour, when those stationed on the landward 
 side would least expect a movement after their long 
 repose, and causing their women and children to 
 render redoubled vigilance necessary at the base 
 of the rock, they armed themselves, and, strong 
 in the fury which their fearful suffering had pro- 
 voked, issued silently from the retreat and fell upon 
 their foes. 
 
 The contest that followed was bitter as Indian 
 hatred and cruelty could make it. It resulted in 
 the total route and destruction of the Illinois. 
 From that day they were no more seen in council- 
 house or battle field. Their name became extinct 
 or was borne only by a few miserable wanderers 
 from tribe to tribe. Their bones were left to 
 crumble on the field, and their enfeebled women 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 401 
 
 and children slain within the fortress, whence they 
 watched the fatal struggle. 
 
 Such is the legend of the " Starved Rock 1" It 
 is now, in these tamer days, a curious and inter- 
 esting object to visitors. Surrounded on three 
 sides by the waters of the Illinois, it rears its 
 frowning suramit two hundred and fifty feet above 
 them. The sides are smooth in many places and 
 overhang the base, looking into the dark mirrror 
 below, as tranquilly as if they had never formed 
 an impassable barrier between mortal agony and 
 all that earth could afford to relieve it. The sum- 
 mit of the rock is crowned with vegetation ; rich 
 grasses and a light growth of young trees render 
 its surface a more agreeable resting-place now 
 than when the wretched Indian pined and famished 
 there in the noonday sun. From its top it com- 
 mands a view of the river foF many miles, broken 
 only here and there, by interposing trees or the 
 gigantic vegetation that crowds its banks. One 
 can imagine the unfortunate savage standing on it 
 and looking out upon those waters which his light 
 canoe had so often parted around him, with a des- 
 peration and agony that only the strong pride of 
 his race could prevent him from uttering in tones 
 of inexpressible anguish. To me it was a thrilling 
 and fearful spot.* 
 
 But here is Mont Joliet with its fair proportion- 
 ed valley, and swift running stream — the theatre 
 where the good French pere planted the first 
 cross ever reared in these sublime solitudes. The 
 
 * This rock is about six miles below Ottawa, on the east side 
 of the Illitiois. It projects far into the stream, and is connected 
 with the mainland by a narrow passage which could be defended 
 by a few men against thousands. Thither a band of the Illinois 
 retreated, after a severe engagement at the north, when pursued 
 by their more powerful and numerous enemies, the Pottowata" 
 xnies, and then occurred the painful scene described above, 
 26 L L 2 
 
 -'-"ir -^Y- ""r imVi^ ""^ 
 
402 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 tale is longer tlian I can tell, but it is a beautiful 
 one — beautiful in its exhibition of exalted virtue> 
 and its connexion with this lovely spot. It is one 
 of the most glowing of those old legends that en- 
 rich the past. The past in the prairie land ! What 
 romance, what mystery, what uncounted volumes 
 of thrilling interest sleep in its mighty bosom! 
 Into these majestic solitudes, ages ago, came the 
 wandering trapper and the solitary, self-sacrificing 
 missionary. Here they lived, alone and humbly, 
 among the proud sovereigns of the land. Their 
 rude cabins were constructed beneath the forests 
 that bordered the streams, and there, upon the 
 margin of the still waters, the former sprung his 
 trap, and the latter, clad in his long, coarse gown, 
 the symbol of his faith and calling pendent at his 
 girdle, preached, for the first time in these vast 
 domains of nature, the doctrines of the Cross. 
 
 Seasons came and went ; tender spring, glowing 
 summer, ripening autumn, stern winter; and in 
 them all was wondrous beauty or impressive ma- 
 jesty ! From fort to solitary fort they floated on 
 streams, thousands of miles in length, winding their 
 lazy ways through a country unparalleled' in fer- 
 tility, beauty, and grandeur. Forests, magnificent 
 in their richness, sublime in their loveliness, hung 
 upon the margins of these rivers, their dense foli- 
 age peopled with myriads of gay, glancing birds, 
 their dark mazes occasionally threaded by the 
 startling catamount and panther ! Passed these ! 
 and plains, not less impressive in their vastness, 
 stretched out before the eyes of the voyageur, dot- 
 ted with countless herds of the buffalo, the elk, the 
 deer, and the antelope, feeding upon their peace- 
 ful bosoms. The gaunt wolf, stealing silently 
 among them, hiding by day, and sending his dis- 
 mal howl into the silent hours of night, added a 
 
 1 
 
LIFE m PRAIRIE LAND. 403 
 
 Striking feature to the strange joyousness of sucli 
 wanderings. 
 
 Nor were these journeys less impressive when 
 undertaken by land. Their way from post to post 
 lay in the narrow trail which the Indian had trod 
 from time immemorial. Day after day they wan- 
 dered over these plains, and night after night slept 
 upon their bosoms, beneath soft skies and gentle 
 winds. Sunset and twilight, such as Italy would 
 boast, ushered in their slumbers ; and the grouse, 
 with his mournful matin song, aroused them with 
 the dawn, and sent them on their way with hearts 
 swelling in unison with the world-wide peace and 
 joy of nature I 
 
 What marvel, if they never wearied with telling 
 the wonders of their new home ! What marvel, if 
 they spread its fame to far lands, and were content 
 to die, away in its deep solitudes 1 What marvel 
 was all this 1 Streams, whose course was equal 
 to a quarter of the diameter of the globe, were 
 stretched around them ; ^orms, whose fearful 
 wrath made the firm earth tremble, gathered and 
 burst over them; sunshine and winds, birds and 
 animals, flowers and fruits, such as only the fairest 
 regions of the old world would return to unsparing 
 labor, were here spread over half a continent ! 
 What marvel, if, amid these, they felt that lan- 
 guage was too poor for their emotions, that fable 
 could not exaggerate them ? 
 
 Amid this magnificence they lived — alone with 
 the "untutored Indian," sole lord and sovereign of 
 it all. And wild and free was their life, with its 
 abundance — its great untried resources — its bound- 
 less variety. One may well conceive that, with 
 juinds such as they possessed, it was the realiza- 
 tion of their highest ideal. But it was destined to 
 vaftishi The second era of civilization dawned 
 
404 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 over these majestic realms, and its light dispelled 
 their dream. 
 
 While the streams were yet unvexed by the im- 
 petuous steamer, and the beaver and otter dwelt 
 unscared in their early homes ; while the forest 
 tracts were yet dark with the unbroken foliage, 
 and wide plains, over which ages were destined to 
 roll before plow or spade should mar their beauty, 
 lay spread around them ; came softly, one by one, 
 the white-topped waggons of the early emigrants. 
 They had left the dense forests of Ohio and Penn- 
 sylvania, the undulating hills of Kentucky, and the 
 old homes of Virginia, for the new and more hope- 
 ful country which adventurers assured them lay 
 beyond. Before them the Indian would retreat, 
 and his white friend must follow. The bond that 
 linked him to his kind was between him and the 
 red man. He had lived in his lodge, shared his 
 hospitality, smoked his pipe, united in his hunts, 
 scalped his enemies, and cemented still more 
 strongly their bond of union, by maiTying his 
 daughters. What had he in common with the cul- 
 tivator of the soil, though wearing a skin of the 
 same color? What had he not in common with 
 those who retired to make way for him 1 
 
 Here nature would be herself no longer. All 
 her former aspect would fade away beneath the 
 despoiling hand that labor would lay upon her 
 charms ; and they must flee to other regions where 
 the spoilers had not come ; their old haunts by 
 stream and woodside were forsaken ; the smoke 
 no longer ascended from their solitary forts and 
 villages ; the rank grass overgrew their well worn 
 trails, and the solitude of their familiar places was 
 deepened by every object which showed that man 
 had been there and departed. 
 
 Slowly, and with many regrets and painful yearn- 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 405 
 
 ings toward the land which time and association had 
 so much endeared, they wended their way to the yet 
 unbroken realms between them and the setting sun. 
 
 Scarcely less a distinct race than these, were 
 their successors. Their former lives — exposed as 
 some of them had been by contiguity to savage 
 neighbors, reared as others were in dependence 
 upon slave labor, and accustomed as all were to 
 the plain subsistence afforded by only partial in- 
 dustry — had begotten in them a love of ease, an 
 unrestrained freedom which the new country was 
 well calculated to foster. 
 
 To labor with the steady perseverance which 
 anticipates its reward — to toil for the gain which, 
 slow in accumulating, smiles only on the later 
 years of life, was not their mission. Why should 
 freemen do this, when nature was inviting them 
 by such pomp and fascination, to come abroad 
 with her, and enjoy every passing hour. The 
 first settler could not live far from her; a rude 
 cabin and a single field were all that he could 
 brook of separation ; more than these were bur- 
 thensome to the spirit, and reduced freemen to 
 slaves ; more was unnecessary in his new condi- 
 tion. We have already beheld him living thus, 
 content as if palaces rose around him. But a dark 
 shadow soon fell upon his home. Files of earnest 
 men, with hard hands and severe, calculating faces, 
 pressed toward it from the east. Tales of its beauty, 
 its grandeur, its freedom, its wondrous fertility, 
 have reached their far firesides and rocky fields ; 
 and they are pressing forward to see if such things 
 really are. When their eyes rest upon the glori- 
 ous plains and gigantic forests, they exclaim, " This 
 was no dream ! Here is all that we looked for, 
 and more than can be described ! We will build 
 our homes here." 
 
406 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 They sat down beside the second son of nature. 
 They fenced the plain adjacent to his field; they 
 built a cabin, more finished than his ; its smoke 
 was continually ascending before him ; their axe 
 "was heard in the neighboring grove, and the brave 
 old trees, that had tossed their arms in the storms 
 of ages, fell and were piled into lofty barns, that 
 were visible wherever he went. If he chased the 
 deer or hunted the grouse, or was returning firom 
 a visit to a neighboring settlement, there they stood, 
 the first objects that greeted his vision ; a blight 
 upon the fair scene whose fi:-ee aspect he had never 
 thus marred. They struck his sight unpleasantly. 
 He liked not these crowded ways of living, nor 
 the busy sounds that floated with the morning 
 light from his neighbor's home, nor his earnest toil 
 in field and wood, nor his large crops, nor any- 
 thing, in short, pertaining to his toilsome life. The 
 country was less pleasant than it used to be, when 
 there were no buildings, no fences, no living things 
 in sight but his own and nature's. 
 
 He begins now to contemplate the possibility 
 of following those who fled before him, and even 
 while he is doing it, comes his neighbor's friend 
 or brother, and proposes to bargain with him for 
 his cabin and field ! Now indeed, it is time for 
 him to betake himself to a land of liberty. "When 
 the Yankees, not content with curtailing his free- 
 dom, his very breath of life- — not content with 
 crowding around him, and making a prison of his 
 home, come and ask for that home itself— there is 
 no longer any alternative. Everything admonishes 
 him that the time of his departure has come ! He 
 therefore gathers his few worldly goods, and these, 
 except his horses and rifle, are more than he wishes 
 they were, and turns from his deserted hearth- 
 side to seek a more congenial spot, where industry 
 
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 407 
 
 and trade have not yet despoiled the fair earth, 
 or crowded it with busy, thriving homes. 
 
 And now in his place succeeds a permanent 
 population. His old haunts and pleasant ways 
 are trodden by men, who, while they cast a care- 
 less eye upon the flying deer, count the resources 
 of every acre which he scorns. 
 
 Broad farms open as by magic on the blooming 
 plain ; stately houses take the place of the solitary 
 cabin ; and industry, that counts her gains, has 
 stretched her transforming arm over all the fair 
 land. The wild, the free, the mysterious, are 
 fading beneath her touch. But a power is grow- 
 ing up where they vanish, before whose might a 
 continent may tremble. Who shall define the 
 limits of its growth ? Who shall conceive what 
 intelligence and moral purpose may do, when they 
 seize upon resources such as these, wherewith to 
 consummate their energies. 
 
 Lands, boundless in extent, exhaustless in fertil- 
 ity, lying under every variety of climate from the 
 tropical to the arctic ; accessible in all their parts 
 by continuous water-courses of magnitude unpar- 
 alleled on the globe, containing so much to stim- 
 ulate the nobler faculties and gratify the senses ; 
 so much that is calculated to induce a high state 
 of physical developement and fine perceptions of 
 the beautiful, the grand, and the true; lands whose 
 primeval glory, when it shall have become ancient, 
 will form the theme of the poet and glow on the 
 page of the historian ; though too feebly sung and 
 written to convey to future ages what the present 
 feels. It must be the theatre of a life larger than 
 human prophecy can foretell ! 
 
 When the tide of intelligence shall have swept 
 from the green barrier on the east, to the bald, 
 heaven-reared wall that stretches along the west, 
 
V 
 
 408 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 and from tlie northern lakes to the gulf; when 
 the remote tributaries of the great streams shall 
 have become the commercial channels of the vast 
 regions w^hich they drain ; and territories equal in 
 extent to empires renowned in history, and sur- 
 passing the gardens of the old world in fertility, 
 shall be overspread by a free brotherhood, united 
 as to the great purposes of life, and pursuing them 
 under a liberal and fostering policy — then will be 
 presented the phenomenon of a life, of which we 
 can have now but a faint conception. The pent-up, 
 famishing legions of Europe may find room and 
 abundance here, when they shall have burst the 
 fetters that bind them there ! And here may future 
 tyrants behold how great, and good, and strong, is 
 man when left to govern himself; free from want, 
 from oppression, from ignorance, from fear ! 
 
 But we are departing from prairie land ! The 
 bright waters of Lake Michigan dance around our 
 steamer. Blue and dim in the distance, fades the 
 mellow-tinted shore, its long faint outhne trembling 
 in the golden haze of the Indian summer ! Fare- 
 well ! land of majestic rivers and flowering plains 
 — of fearful storms and genial sunshine — of strong 
 life and glowing beauty ! Glorious in thy youth 
 — gi-eat in thy maturity — mighty in thy age — thou 
 ehalt yet rival the eastern lands of heroism and 
 song, in the worship and affection of man ! Thy 
 free plains and far-reaching streams shall be the 
 theatre of a power and intelligence never yet wit- 
 nessed ! Thy countless acres shall glow with 
 checkered beauty and hum with busy life, when 
 the generations of those who love thee now, sleep 
 in thy peaceful bosom ! Land of the silent past 
 and stirring future, farewell ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
i 
 
/'