[Illustration: ARCHED ROCK AT MACKINAW]

 SUMMER ON THE LAKES

 IN 1843

 BY

 S. M. FULLER

 MDCCCXLIV. 

SUMMER ON THE LAKES. 

 Summer days of busy leisure, Long summer days of dear-bought pleasure, You have done your teaching well; Had the scholar means to tell How grew the vine of bitter-sweet, What made the path for truant feet, Winter nights would quickly pass, Gazing on the magic glass O'er which the new-world shadows pass; But, in fault of wizard spell, Moderns their tale can only tell In dull words, with a poor reed Breaking at each time of need. But those to whom a hint suffices Mottoes find for all devices, See the knights behind their shields, Through dried grasses, blooming fields. 

TO A FRIEND. 

 Some dried grass-tufts from the wide flowery plain, A muscle shell from the lone fairy shore, Some antlers from tall woods which never more To the wild deer a safe retreat can yield, An eagle's feather which adorned a Brave, Well-nigh the last of his despairing band, For such slight gifts wilt thou extend thy hand When weary hours a brief refreshment crave? I give you what I can, not what I would, If my small drinking-cup would hold a flood, As Scandinavia sung those must contain With which the giants gods may entertain; In our dwarf day we drain few drops, and soon must thirst again. 

CHAPTER I. 

 Niagara, June 10, 1843. 

Since you are to share with me such foot-notes as may be made on thepages of my life during this summer's wanderings, I should not be quitesilent as to this magnificent prologue to the, as yet, unknown drama. Yet I, like others, have little to say where the spectacle is, for once, great enough to fill the whole life, and supersede thought, giving usonly its own presence. "It is good to be here, " is the best as thesimplest expression that occurs to the mind. 

We have been here eight days, and I am quite willing to go away. Sogreat a sight soon satisfies, making us content with itself, and withwhat is less than itself. Our desires, once realized, haunt us againless readily. Having "lived one day" we would depart, and become worthyto live another. 

We have not been fortunate in weather, for there cannot be too much, ortoo warm sunlight for this scene, and the skies have been lowering, withcold, unkind winds. My nerves, too much braced up by such an atmosphere, do not well bear the continual stress of sight and sound. For here thereis no escape from the weight of a perpetual creation; all other formsand motions come and go, the tide rises and recedes, the wind, at itsmightiest, moves in gales and gusts, but here is really an incessant, anindefatigable motion. Awake or asleep, there is no escape, still thisrushing round you and through you. It is in this way I have most feltthe grandeur--somewhat eternal, if not infinite. 

At times a secondary music rises; the cataract seems to seize its ownrhythm and sing it over again, so that the ear and soul are roused by adouble vibration. This is some effect of the wind, causing echoes to thethundering anthem. It is very sublime, giving the effect of a spiritualrepetition through all the spheres. 

When I first came I felt nothing but a quiet satisfaction. I found thatdrawings, the panorama, &c. Had given me a clear notion of the positionand proportions of all objects here; I knew where to look foreverything, and everything looked as I thought it would. 

Long ago, I was looking from a hill-side with a friend at one of thefinest sunsets that ever enriched this world. A little cow-boy, trudgingalong, wondered what we could be gazing at. After spying about sometime, he found it could only be the sunset, and looking, too, a moment, he said approvingly "that sun looks well enough;" a speech worthy ofShakspeare's Cloten, or the infant Mercury, up to everything from thecradle, as you please to take it. 

Even such a familiarity, worthy of Jonathan, our national hero, in aprince's palace, or "stumping" as he boasts to have done, "up theVatican stairs, into the Pope's presence, in my old boots, " I felthere; it looks really _well enough_, I felt, and was inclined, as yousuggested, to give my approbation as to the one object in the world thatwould not disappoint. 

But all great expression, which, on a superficial survey, seems so easyas well as so simple, furnishes, after a while, to the faithful observerits own standard by which to appreciate it. Daily these proportionswidened and towered more and more upon my sight, and I got, at last, aproper foreground for these sublime distances. Before coming away, Ithink I really saw the full wonder of the scene. After awhile it so drewme into itself as to inspire an undefined dread, such as I never knewbefore, such as may be felt when death is about to usher us into a newexistence. The perpetual trampling of the waters seized my senses. Ifelt that no other sound, however near, could be heard, and would startand look behind me for a foe. I realized the identity of that mood ofnature in which these waters were poured down with such absorbing force, with that in which the Indian was shaped on the same soil. Forcontinually upon my mind came, unsought and unwelcome, images, such asnever haunted it before, of naked savages stealing behind me withuplifted tomahawks; again and again this illusion recurred, and evenafter I had thought it over, and tried to shake it off, I could not helpstarting and looking behind me. 

As picture, the Falls can only be seen from the British side. There theyare seen in their veils, and at sufficient distance to appreciate themagical effects of these, and the light and shade. From the boat, asyou cross, the effects and contrasts are more melodramatic. On the roadback from the whirlpool, we saw them as a reduced picture with delight. But what I liked best was to sit on Table Rock, close to the great fall. There all power of observing details, all separate consciousness, wasquite lost. 

Once, just as I had seated myself there, a man came to take his firstlook. He walked close up to the fall, and, after looking at it a moment, with an air as if thinking how he could best appropriate it to his ownuse, he spat into it. 

This trait seemed wholly worthy of an age whose love of _utility_ issuch that the Prince Puckler Muskau suggests the probability of mencoming to put the bodies of their dead parents in the fields tofertilize them, and of a country such as Dickens has described; butthese will not, I hope, be seen on the historic page to be truly the ageor truly the America. A little leaven is leavening the whole mass forother bread. 

The whirlpool I like very much. It is seen to advantage after the greatfalls; it is so sternly solemn. The river cannot look moreimperturbable, almost sullen in its marble green, than it does justbelow the great fall; but the slight circles that mark the hiddenvortex, seem to whisper mysteries the thundering voice above could notproclaim, --a meaning as untold as ever. 

It is fearful, too, to know, as you look, that whatever has beenswallowed by the cataract, is like to rise suddenly to light here, whether uprooted tree, or body of man or bird. 

The rapids enchanted me far beyond what I expected; they are so swiftthat they cease to seem so; you can think only of their beauty. Thefountain beyond the Moss Islands, I discovered for myself, and thoughtit for some time an accidental beauty which it would not do to leave, lest I might never see it again. After I found it permanent, I returnedmany times to watch the play of its crest. In the little waterfallbeyond, nature seems, as she often does, to have made a study for somelarger design. She delights in this, --a sketch within a sketch, a dreamwithin a dream. Wherever we see it, the lines of the great buttress inthe fragment of stone, the hues of the waterfall, copied in the flowersthat star its bordering mosses, we are delighted; for all the lineamentsbecome fluent, and we mould the scene in congenial thought with itsgenius. 

People complain of the buildings at Niagara, and fear to see it furtherdeformed. I cannot sympathize with such an apprehension: the spectacleis capable to swallow up all such objects; they are not seen in thegreat whole, more than an earthworm in a wide field. 

The beautiful wood on Goat Island is full of flowers; many of thefairest love to do homage here. The Wake Robin and May Apple are inbloom now; the former, white, pink, green, purple, copying the rainbowof the fall, and fit to make a garland for its presiding deity when hewalks the land, for they are of imperial size, and shaped like stonesfor a diadem. Of the May Apple, I did not raise one green tent withoutfinding a flower beneath. 

And now farewell, Niagara. I have seen thee, and I think all who comehere must in some sort see thee; thou art not to be got rid of as easilyas the stars. I will be here again beneath some flooding July moon andsun. Owing to the absence of light, I have seen the rainbow only two orthree times by day; the lunar bow not at all. However, the imperialpresence needs not its crown, though illustrated by it. 

General Porter and Jack Downing were not unsuitable figures here. Theformer heroically planted the bridges by which we cross to Goat Island, and the Wake-Robin-crowned genius has punished his temerity withdeafness, which must, I think, have come upon him when he sank the firststone in the rapids. Jack seemed an acute and entertainingrepresentative of Jonathan, come to look at his great water-privilege. He told us all about the Americanisms of the spectacle; that is to say, the battles that have been fought here. It seems strange that men couldfight in such a place; but no temple can still the personal griefs andstrifes in the breasts of its visiters. 

No less strange is the fact that, in this neighborhood, an eagle shouldbe chained for a plaything. When a child, I used often to stand at awindow from which I could see an eagle chained in the balcony of amuseum. The people used to poke at it with sticks, and my childish heartwould swell with indignation as I saw their insults, and the mien withwhich they were borne by the monarch-bird. Its eye was dull, and itsplumage soiled and shabby, yet, in its form and attitude, all the kingwas visible, though sorrowful and dethroned. I never saw another of thefamily till, when passing through the Notch of the White Mountains, atthat moment striding before us in all the panoply of sunset, the drivershouted, "Look there!" and following with our eyes his upward-pointingfinger, we saw, soaring slow in majestic poise above the highest summit, the bird of Jove. It was a glorious sight, yet I know not that I feltmore on seeing the bird in all its natural freedom and royalty, thanwhen, imprisoned and insulted, he had filled my early thoughts with theByronic "silent rages" of misanthropy. 

Now, again, I saw him a captive, and addressed by the vulgar with thelanguage they seem to find most appropriate to such occasions--that ofthrusts and blows. Silently, his head averted, he ignored theirexistence, as Plotinus or Sophocles might that of a modern reviewer. Probably, he listened to the voice of the cataract, and felt thatcongenial powers flowed free, and was consoled, though his own wing wasbroken. 

The story of the Recluse of Niagara interested me a little. It iswonderful that men do not oftener attach their lives to localities ofgreat beauty--that, when once deeply penetrated, they will letthemselves so easily be borne away by the general stream of things, tolive any where and any how. But there is something ludicrous in beingthe hermit of a show-place, unlike St. Francis in his mountain-bed, where none but the stars and rising sun ever saw him. 

There is also a "guide to the falls, " who wears his title labeled on hishat; otherwise, indeed, one might as soon think of asking for agentleman usher to point out the moon. Yet why should we wonder at such, either, when we have Commentaries on Shakspeare, and Harmonics of theGospels?

And now you have the little all I have to write. Can it interest you? Toone who has enjoyed the full life of any scene, of any hour, whatthoughts can be recorded about it, seem like the commas and semicolonsin the paragraph, mere stops. Yet I suppose it is not so to the absent. At least, I have read things written about Niagara, music, and the like, that interested _me_. Once I was moved by Mr. Greenwood's remark, thathe could not realize this marvel till, opening his eyes the next morningafter he had seen it, his doubt as to the possibility of its being stillthere, taught him what he had experienced. I remember this now withpleasure, though, or because, it is exactly the opposite to what Imyself felt. For all greatness affects different minds, each in "its ownparticular kind, " and the variations of testimony mark the truth offeeling. 

I will add a brief narrative of the experience of another here, as beingmuch better than anything I could write, because more simple andindividual. 

"Now that I have left this 'Earth-wonder, ' and the emotions it excitedare past, it seems not so much like profanation to analyze my feelings, to recall minutely and accurately the effect of this manifestation ofthe Eternal. But one should go to such a scene prepared to yieldentirely to its influences, to forget one's little self and one's littlemind. To see a miserable worm creep to the brink of this falling worldof waters, and watch the trembling of its own petty bosom, and fancythat this is made alone, to act upon him excites--derision?--No, --pity. "

As I rode up to the neighborhood of the falls, a solemn aweimperceptibly stole over me, and the deep sound of the ever-hurryingrapids prepared my mind for the lofty emotions to be experienced. When Ireached the hotel, I felt a strange indifference about seeing theaspiration of my life's hopes. I lounged about the rooms, read the stagebills upon the walls, looked over the register, and, finding the name ofan acquaintance, sent to see if he was still there. What this hesitationarose from, I know not; perhaps it was a feeling of my unworthiness toenter this temple which nature has erected to its God. 

At last, slowly and thoughtfully I walked down to the bridge leading toGoat Island, and when I stood upon this frail support, and saw a quarterof a mile of tumbling, rushing rapids, and heard their everlasting roar, my emotions overpowered me, a choaking sensation rose to my throat, athrill rushed through my veins, "my blood ran rippling to my finger'sends. " This was the climax of the effect which the falls produced uponme--neither the American nor the British fall moved me as did theserapids. For the magnificence, the sublimity of the latter I was preparedby descriptions and by paintings. When I arrived in sight of them Imerely felt, "ah, yes, here is the fall, just as I have seen it inpicture. " When I arrived at the terrapin bridge, I expected to beoverwhelmed, to retire trembling from this giddy eminence, and gazewith unlimited wonder and awe upon the immense mass rolling on and on, but, somehow or other, I thought only of comparing the effect on my mindwith what I had read and heard. I looked for a short time, and then withalmost a feeling of disappointment, turned to go to the other points ofview to see if I was not mistaken in not feeling any surpassing emotionat this sight. But from the foot of Biddle's stairs, and the middle ofthe river, and from below the table rock, it was still "barren, barrenall. " And, provoked with my stupidity in feeling most moved in the wrongplace, I turned away to the hotel, determined to set off for Buffalothat afternoon. But the stage did not go, and, after nightfall, as therewas a splendid moon, I went down to the bridge, and leaned over theparapet, where the boiling rapids came down in their might. It wasgrand, and it was also gorgeous; the yellow rays of the moon made thebroken waves appear like auburn tresses twining around the black rocks. But they did not inspire me as before. I felt a foreboding of a mightieremotion to rise up and swallow all others, and I passed on to theterrapin bridge. Everything was changed, the misty apparition had takenoff its many-colored crown which it had worn by day, and a bow ofsilvery white spanned its summit. The moonlight gave a poeticalindefiniteness to the distant parts of the waters, and while the rapidswere glancing in her beams, the river below the falls was black asnight, save where the reflection of the sky gave it the appearance of ashield of blued steel. No gaping tourists loitered, eyeing with theirglasses, or sketching on cards the hoary locks of the ancient river god. All tended to harmonize with the natural grandeur of the scene. I gazedlong. I saw how here mutability and unchangeableness were united. Isurveyed the conspiring waters rushing against the rocky ledge tooverthrow it at one mad plunge, till, like toppling ambition, o'erleaping themselves, they fall on t'other side, expanding into foamere they reach the deep channel where they creep submissively away. 

Then arose in my breast a genuine admiration, and a humble adoration ofthe Being who was the architect of this and of all. Happy were the firstdiscoverers of Niagara, those who could come unawares upon this view andupon that, whose feelings were entirely their own. With what gusto doesFather Hennepin describe "this great downfall of water, " "this vast andprodigious cadence of water, which falls down after a surprising andastonishing manner, insomuch that the universe does not afford itsparallel. 'Tis true Italy and Swedeland boast of some such things, butwe may well say that they be sorry patterns when compared with this ofwhich we do now speak. "

CHAPTER II. 

THE LAKES. 

 SCENE, STEAMBOAT. --_About to leave Buffalo--Baggage coming on board--Passengers bustling for their berths--Little boys persecuting everybody with their newspapers and pamphlets--J. , S. And M. Huddled up in a forlorn corner, behind a large trunk--A heavy rain falling_. 

_M_. Water, water everywhere. After Niagara one would like a dry stripof existence. And at any rate it is quite enough for me to have it underfoot without having it over head in this way. 

_J_. Ah, do not abuse the gentle element. It is hardly possible to havetoo much of it, and indeed, if I were obliged to choose amid the four, it would be the one in which I could bear confinement best. 

_S_. You would make a pretty Undine, to be sure!

_J_. Nay, I only offered myself as a Triton, a boisterous Triton of thesounding shell . .. You; M. I suppose, would be a salamander, rather. 

_M_. No! that is too equivocal a position, whether in modern mythology, or Hoffman's tales. I should choose to be a gnome. 

_J_. That choice savors of the pride that apes humility. 

_M_. By no means; the gnomes are the most important of all the elementaltribes. Is it not they who make the money?

_J_. And are accordingly a dark, mean, scoffing, --

_M_. You talk as if you had always lived in that wild unprofitableelement you are so fond of, where all things glitter, and nothing isgold; all show and no substance. My people work in the secret, and theirworks praise them in the open light; they remain in the dark becauseonly there such marvels could be bred. You call them mean. They do notspend their energies on their own growth, or their own play, but to feedthe veins of mother earth with permanent splendors, very different fromwhat she shows on the surface. 

Think of passing a life, not merely in heaping together, but makinggold. Of all dreams, that of the alchymist is the most poetical, for helooked at the finest symbol. Gold, says one of our friends, is thehidden light of the earth, it crowns the mineral, as wine the vegetableorder, being the last expression of vital energy. 

_J_. Have you paid for your passage?

_M_. Yes! and in gold, not in shells or pebbles. 

_J_. No really wise gnome would scoff at the water, the beautiful water. "The spirit of man is like the water. "

_S_. Yes, and like the air and fire, no less. 

_J_. Yes, but not like the earth, this low-minded creature's chosendwelling. 

_M_. The earth is spirit made fruitful, --life. And its heart-beats aretold in gold and wine. 

_J_. Oh! it is shocking to hear such sentiments in these times. Ithought that Bacchic energy of yours was long since repressed. 

_M_. No! I have only learned to mix water with my wine, and stamp uponmy gold the heads of kings, or the hieroglyphics of worship. But since Ihave learnt to mix with water, let's hear what you have to say in praiseof your favorite. 

_J_. From water Venus was born, what more would you have? It is themother of Beauty, the girdle of earth, and the marriage of nations. 

_S_. Without any of that high-flown poetry, it is enough, I think, thatit is the great artist, turning all objects that approach it to picture. 

_J_. True, no object that touches it, whether it be the cart thatploughs the wave for sea-weed, or the boat or plank that rides upon it, but is brought at once from the demesne of coarse utilities into that ofpicture. All trades, all callings, become picturesque by the water'sside, or on the water. The soil, the slovenliness is washed out of everycalling by its touch. All river-crafts, sea-crafts, are picturesque, arepoetical. Their very slang is poetry. 

_M_. The reasons for that are complex. 

_J_. The reason is, that there can be no plodding, groping words andmotions, on my water as there are on your earth. There is no time, nochance for them where all moves so rapidly, though so smoothly, everything connected with water must be like itself, forcible, butclear. That is why sea-slang is so poetical; there is a word foreverything and every act, and a thing and an act for every word. Seamenmust speak quick and bold, but also with utmost precision. They cannotreef and brace other than in a Homeric dialect--therefore, --(Steamboatbell rings. ) But I must say a quick good-by. 

_M_. What, going, going back to earth after all this talk upon the otherside. Well, that is nowise Homeric, but truly modern. 

J. Is borne off without time for any reply, but a laugh--at himself, ofcourse. 

S. And M. Retire to their state-rooms to forget the wet, the chill andsteamboat smell in their just-bought new world of novels. 

Next day, when we stopped at Cleveland, the storm was just clearing up;ascending the bluff, we had one of the finest views of the lake thatcould have been wished. The varying depths of these lakes give to theirsurface a great variety of coloring, and beneath this wild sky andchangeful lights, the waters presented kaleidoscopic varieties of hues, rich, but mournful. I admire these bluffs of red, crumbling earth. Hereland and water meet under very different auspices from those of therock-bound coast to which I have been accustomed. There they meettenderly to challenge, and proudly to refuse, though not in fact repel. But here they meet to mingle, are always rushing together, and changingplaces; a new creation takes place beneath the eye. 

The weather grew gradually clearer, but not bright; yet we could seethe shore and appreciate the extent of these noble waters. 

Coming up the river St. Clair, we saw Indians for the first time. Theywere camped out on the bank. It was twilight, and their blanketed forms, in listless groups or stealing along the bank, with a lounge and astride so different in its wildness from the rudeness of the whitesettler, gave me the first feeling that I really approached the West. 

The people on the boat were almost all New Englanders, seeking theirfortunes. They had brought with them their habits of calculation, theircautious manners, their love of polemics. It grieved me to hear theseimmigrants who were to be the fathers of a new race, all, from the oldman down to the little girl, talking not of what they should do, but ofwhat they should get in the new scene. It was to them a prospect, not ofthe unfolding nobler energies, but of more ease, and largeraccumulation. It wearied me, too, to hear Trinity and Unity discussed inthe poor, narrow doctrinal way on these free waters; but that will sooncease, there is not time for this clash of opinions in the West, wherethe clash of material interests is so noisy. They will need the spiritof religion more than ever to guide them, but will find less time thanbefore for its doctrine. This change was to me, who am tired of the warof words on these subjects, and believe it only sows the wind to reapthe whirlwind, refreshing, but I argue nothing from it; there is nothingreal in the freedom of thought at the West, it is from the position ofmen's lives, not the state of their minds. So soon as they have time, unless they grow better meanwhile, they will cavil and criticise, andjudge other men by their own standard, and outrage the law of love everyway, just as they do with us. 

We reached Mackinaw the evening of the third day, but, to my greatdisappointment, it was too late and too rainy to go ashore. The beautyof the island, though seen under the most unfavorable circumstances, didnot disappoint my expectations. But I shall see it to more purpose on myreturn. 

As the day has passed dully, a cold rain preventing us from keeping outin the air, my thoughts have been dwelling on a story told when we wereoff Detroit, this morning, by a fellow passenger, and whose moral beautytouched me profoundly. 

Some years ago, said Mrs. L. , my father and mother stopped to dine atDetroit. A short time before dinner my father met in the hall CaptainP. , a friend of his youthful days. He had loved P. Extremely, as didmany who knew him, and had not been surprised to hear of the distinctionand popular esteem which his wide knowledge, talents, and noble tempercommanded, as he went onward in the world. P. Was every way fitted tosucceed; his aims were high, but not too high for his powers, suggestedby an instinct of his own capacities, not by an ideal standard drawnfrom culture. Though steadfast in his course, it was not to overrunothers, his wise self-possession was no less for them than himself. Hewas thoroughly the gentleman, gentle because manly, and was a strikinginstance that where there is strength for sincere courtesy, there is noneed of other adaptation to the character of others, to make one's wayfreely and gracefully through the crowd. 

My father was delighted to see him, and after a short parley in thehall--"We will dine together, " he cried, "then we shall have time totell all our stories. "

P. Hesitated a moment, then said, "My wife is with me. "

"And mine with me, " said my father, "that's well; they, too, will havean opportunity of getting acquainted and can entertain one another, ifthey get tired of our college stories. "

P. Acquiesced, with a grave bow, and shortly after they all met in thedining-room. My father was much surprised at the appearance of Mrs. P. He had heard that his friend married abroad, but nothing further, and hewas not prepared to see the calm, dignified P. With a woman on his arm, still handsome, indeed, but whose coarse and imperious expression showedas low habits of mind as her exaggerated dress and gesture did ofeducation. Nor could there be a greater contrast to my mother, who, though understanding her claims and place with the certainty of a lady, was soft and retiring in an uncommon degree. 

However, there was no time to wonder or fancy; they sat down, and P. Engaged in conversation, without much vivacity, but with his usual ease. The first quarter of an hour passed well enough. But soon it wasobservable that Mrs. P. Was drinking glass after glass of wine, to anextent few gentlemen did, even then, and soon that she was actuallyexcited by it. Before this, her manner had been brusque, if notcontemptuous towards her new acquaintance; now it became, towards mymother especially, quite rude. Presently she took up some slight remarkmade by my mother, which, though it did not naturally mean anything ofthe sort, could be twisted into some reflection upon England, and madeit a handle, first of vulgar sarcasm, and then, upon my mother'sdefending herself with some surprise and gentle dignity, hurled upon hera volley of abuse, beyond Billingsgate. 

My mother, confounded, feeling scenes and ideas presented to her mindequally new and painful, sat trembling; she knew not what to do, tearsrushed into her eyes. My father, no less distressed, yet unwilling tooutrage the feelings of his friend by doing or saying what hisindignation prompted, turned an appealing look on P. 

Never, as he often said, was the painful expression of that sighteffaced from his mind. It haunted his dreams and disturbed his wakingthoughts. P. Sat with his head bent forward, and his eyes cast down, pale, but calm, with a fixed expression, not merely of patient wo, butof patient shame, which it would not have been thought possible forthat, noble countenance to wear, "yet, " said my father, "it became him. At other times he was handsome, but then beautiful, though of a beautysaddened and abashed. For a spiritual light borrowed from the worldlyperfection of his mien that illustration by contrast, which thepenitence of the Magdalen does from the glowing earthliness of hercharms. "

Seeing that he preserved silence, while Mrs. P. Grew still moreexasperated, my father rose and led his wife to her own room. Half anhour had passed, in painful and wondering surmises, when a gentle knockwas heard at the door, and P. Entered equipped for a journey. "We arejust going, " he said, and holding out his hand, but without looking atthem, "Forgive. "

They each took his hand, and silently pressed it, then he went without aword more. 

Some time passed and they heard now and then of P. , as he passed fromone army station to another, with his uncongenial companion, who became, it was said, constantly more degraded. Whoever mentioned having seenthem, wondered at the chance which had yoked him to such a woman, butyet more at the silent fortitude with which he bore it. Many blamed himfor enduring it, apparently without efforts to check her; othersanswered that he had probably made such at an earlier period, andfinding them unavailing, had resigned himself to despair, and was toodelicate to meet the scandal that, with such a resistance as such awoman could offer, must attend a formal separation. 

But my father, who was not in such haste to come to conclusions, andsubstitute some plausible explanation for the truth, found something inthe look of P. At that trying moment to which none of these explanationsoffered a key. There was in it, he felt, a fortitude, but not thefortitude of the hero, a religious submission, above the penitent, ifnot enkindled with the enthusiasm of the martyr. 

I have said that my father, was not one of those who are ready tosubstitute specious explanations for truth, and those who are thusabstinent rarely lay their hand on a thread without making it a clue. Such an one, like the dexterous weaver, lets not one color go, till hefinds that which matches it in the pattern; he keeps on weaving, butchooses his shades, and my father found at last what he wanted to makeout the pattern for himself. He met a lady who had been intimate withboth himself and P. In early days, and finding she had seen the latterabroad, asked if she knew the circumstances of the marriage. "Thecircumstances of the act I know, " she said, "which sealed the misery ofour friend, though as much in the dark as any one about the motives thatled to it. "

We were quite intimate with P. In London, and he was our most delightfulcompanion. He was then in the full flower of the varied accomplishments, which set off his fine manners and dignified character, joined, towardsthose he loved, with a certain soft willingness which gives thedesirable chivalry to a man. None was more clear of choice where hispersonal affections were not touched, but where they were, it cost himpain to say no, on the slightest occasion. I have thought this must havehad some connexion with the mystery of his misfortunes. 

One day he called on me, and, without any preface, asked if I would bepresent next day at his marriage. I was so surprised, and sounpleasantly surprised, that I did not at first answer a word. We hadbeen on terms so familiar, that I thought I knew all about him, yet hadnever dreamed of his having an attachment, and, though I had neverinquired on the subject, yet this reserve, where perfect openness hadbeen supposed, and really, on my side, existed, seemed to me a kind oftreachery. Then it is never pleasant to know that a heart, on which wehave some claim, is to be given to another. We cannot tell how it willaffect our own relations with a person; it may strengthen or it mayswallow up other affections; the crisis is hazardous, and our firstthought, on such an occasion, is too often for ourselves, at least, minewas. Seeing me silent, he repeated his question. 

To whom, said I, are you to be married?

That, he replied, I cannot tell you. He was a moment silent, thencontinued with an impassive look of cold self-possession, that affectedme with strange sadness. 

"The name of the person you will hear, of course, at the time, but moreI cannot tell you. I need, however, the presence, not only of legal, butof respectable and friendly witnesses. I have hoped you and your husbandwould do me this kindness. Will you?"

Something in his manner made it impossible to refuse. I answered beforeI knew I was going to speak, "We will, " and he left me. 

I will not weary you with telling how I harassed myself and my husband, who was, however, scarce less interested, with doubts and conjectures. Suffice it that, next morning, P. Came and took us in a carriage to adistant church. We had just entered the porch when a cart, such as fruitand vegetables are brought to market in, drove up, containing an elderlywoman and a young girl. P. Assisted them to alight, and advanced withthe girl to the altar. 

The girl was neatly dressed and quite handsome, yet, something in herexpression displeased me the moment I looked upon her. Meanwhile theceremony was going on, and, at its close, P. Introduced us to the bride, and we all went to the door. 

Good-by, Fanny, said the elderly woman. The new-made Mrs. P. Repliedwithout any token of affection or emotion. The woman got into the cartand drove away. 

From that time I saw but little of P. Or his wife. I took our mutualfriends to see her, and they were civil to her for his sake. Curiositywas very much excited, but entirely baffled; no one, of course, daredspeak to P. On the subject, and no other means could be found of solvingthe riddle. 

He treated his wife with grave and kind politeness, but it was alwaysobvious that they had nothing in common between them. Her manners andtastes were not at that time gross, but her character showed itself hardand material. She was fond of riding, and spent much time so. Her stylein this, and in dress, seemed the opposite of P. 's; but he indulged allher wishes, while, for himself, he plunged into his own pursuits. 

For a time he seemed, if not happy, not positively unhappy; but, after afew years, Mrs. P. Fell into the habit of drinking, and then such scenesas you witnessed grew frequent. I have often heard of them, and alwaysthat P. Sat, as you describe him, his head bowed down and perfectlysilent all through, whatever might be done or whoever be present, andalways his aspect has inspired such sympathy that no person hasquestioned him or resented her insults, but merely got out of the way, so soon as possible. 

Hard and long penance, said my father, after some minutes musing, for anhour of passion, probably for his only error. 

Is that your explanation? said the lady. O, improbable. P. Might err, but not be led beyond himself. 

I know his cool gray eye and calm complexion seemed to say so, but adifferent story is told by the lip that could tremble, and showed whatflashes might pierce those deep blue heavens; and when these overintellectual beings do swerve aside, it is to fall down a precipice, fortheir narrow path lies over such. But he was not one to sin withoutmaking a brave atonement, and that it had become a holy one, was writtenon that downcast brow. 

The fourth day on these waters, the weather was milder and brighter, sothat we could now see them to some purpose. At night was clear moon, and, for the first time, from the upper deck, I saw one of the greatsteamboats come majestically up. It was glowing with lights, lookingmany-eyed and sagacious; in its heavy motion it seemed a dowager queen, and this motion, with its solemn pulse, and determined sweep, becomesthese smooth waters, especially at night, as much as the dip of thesail-ship the long billows of the ocean. 

But it was not so soon that I learned to appreciate the lake scenery; itwas only after a daily and careless familiarity that I entered into itsbeauty, for nature always refuses to be seen by being stared at. LikeBonaparte, she discharges her face of all expression when she catchesthe eye of impertinent curiosity fixed on her. But he who has gone tosleep in childish ease on her lap, or leaned an aching brow upon herbreast, seeking there comfort with full trust as from a mother, will seeall a mother's beauty in the look she bends upon him. Later, I felt thatI had really seen these regions, and shall speak of them again. 

In the afternoon we went on shore at the Manitou islands, where the boatstops to wood. No one lives here except woodcutters for the steamboats. I had thought of such a position, from its mixture of profound solitudewith service to the great world, as possessing an ideal beauty. I thinkso still, after seeing the woodcutters and their slovenly huts. 

In times of slower growth, man did not enter a situation without acertain preparation or adaptedness to it. He drew from it, if not to thepoetical extent, at least, in some proportion, its moral and itsmeaning. The woodcutter did not cut down so many trees a day, that thehamadryads had not time to make their plaints heard; the shepherd tendedhis sheep, and did no jobs or chores the while; the idyl had a chance togrow up, and modulate his oaten pipe. But now the poet must be at thewhole expense of the poetry in describing one of these positions; theworker is a true Midas to the gold he makes. The poet must describe, asthe painter sketches Irish peasant girls and Danish fishwives, addingthe beauty, and leaving out the dirt. 

I come to the west prepared for the distaste I must experience at itsmushroom growth. I know that where "go ahead" is the only motto, thevillage cannot grow into the gentle proportions that successive lives, and the gradations of experience involuntarily give. In older countriesthe house of the son grew from that of the father, as naturally as newjoints on a bough. And the cathedral crowned the whole as naturally asthe leafy summit the tree. This cannot be here. The march of peaceful isscarce less wanton than that of warlike invasion. The old landmarks arebroken down, and the land, for a season, bears none, except of therudeness of conquest and the needs of the day, whose bivouac firesblacken the sweetest forest glades. I have come prepared to see allthis, to dislike it, but not with stupid narrowness to distrust ordefame. On the contrary, while I will not be so obliging as to confoundugliness with beauty, discord with harmony, and laud and be contentedwith all I meet, when it conflicts with my best desires and tastes, Itrust by reverent faith to woo the mighty meaning of the scene, perhapsto foresee the law by which a new order, a new poetry is to be evokedfrom this chaos, and with a curiosity as ardent, but not so selfish asthat of Macbeth, to call up the apparitions of future kings from thestrange ingredients of the witch's caldron. Thus, I will not grieve thatall the noble trees are gone already from this island to feed thiscaldron, but believe it will have Medea's virtue, and reproduce them inthe form of new intellectual growths, since centuries cannot again adornthe land with such. 

On this most beautiful beach of smooth white pebbles, interspersed withagates and cornelians, for those who know how to find them, we stepped, not like the Indian, with some humble offering, which, if no better thanan arrow-head or a little parched corn, would, he judged, please theManitou, who looks only at the spirit in which it is offered. Our visitwas so far for a religious purpose that one of our party went to inquirethe fate of some Unitarian tracts left among the woodcutters a year ortwo before. But the old Manitou, though, daunted like his children bythe approach of the fire-ships which he probably considered demons of anew dynasty, he had suffered his woods to be felled to feed their pride, had been less patient of an encroachment, which did not to him seem soauthorized by the law of the strongest, and had scattered those leavesas carelessly as the others of that year. 

But S. And I, like other emigrants, went not to give, but to get, torifle the wood of flowers for the service of the fire-ship. We returnedwith a rich booty, among which was the uva ursi, whose leaves theIndians smoke, with the kinnick-kinnick, and which had then just putforth its highly-finished little blossoms, as pretty as those of theblueberry. 

Passing along still further, I thought it would be well if the crowdsassembled to stare from the various landings were still confined to thekinnick-kinnick, for almost all had tobacco written on their faces, their cheeks rounded with plugs, their eyes dull with its fumes. Wereached Chicago on the evening of the sixth day, having been out fivedays and a half, a rather longer passage than usual at a favorableseason of the year. 

 Chicago, June 20. 

There can be no two places in the world more completely thoroughfaresthan this place and Buffalo. They are the two correspondent valves thatopen and shut all the time, as the life-blood rushes from east to west, and back again from west to east. 

Since it is their office thus to be the doors, and let in and out, itwould be unfair to expect from them much character of their own. To makethe best provisions for the transmission of produce is their office, andthe people who live there are such as are suited for this; active, complaisant, inventive, business people. There are no provisions for thestudent or idler; to know what the place can give, you should be at workwith the rest, the mere traveller will not find it profitable to loiterthere as I did. 

Since circumstances made it necessary for me so to do, I read all thebooks I could find about the new region, which now began to become realto me. All the books about the Indians, a paltry collection, truly, yetwhich furnished material for many thoughts. The most narrow-minded andawkward recital, still bears some lineaments of the great features ofthis nature, and the races of men that illustrated them. 

Catlin's book is far the best. I was afterwards assured by thoseacquainted with the regions he describes, that he is not to be dependedon for the accuracy of his facts, and, indeed, it is obvious, withoutthe aid of such assertions, that he sometimes yields to the temptationof making out a story. They admitted, however, what from my feelings Iwas sure of, that he is true to the spirit of the scene, and that a farbetter view can be got from him than from any source at presentexisting, of the Indian tribes of the far west, and of the country wheretheir inheritance lay. 

Murray's travels I read, and was charmed by their accuracy and clearbroad tone. He is the only Englishman that seems to have traversed theseregions, as man, simply, not as John Bull. He deserves to belong to anaristocracy, for he showed his title to it more when left without aguide in the wilderness, than he can at the court of Victoria. He has, himself, no poetic force at description, but it is easy to make imagesfrom his hints. Yet we believe the Indian cannot be looked at trulyexcept by a poetic eye. The Pawnees, no doubt, are such as he describesthem, filthy in their habits, and treacherous in their character, butsome would have seen, and seen truly, more beauty and dignity than hedoes with all his manliness and fairness of mind. However, his one fineold man is enough to redeem the rest, and is perhaps the relic of abetter day, a Phocion among the Pawnees. 

Schoolcraft's Algic Researches is a valuable book, though a worse usecould hardly have been made of such fine material. Had the mythologicalor hunting stones of the Indians been written down exactly as they werereceived from the lips of the narrators, the collection could not havebeen surpassed in interest, both for the wild charm they carry withthem, and the light they throw on a peculiar modification of life andmind. As it is, though the incidents have an air of originality andpertinence to the occasion, that gives us confidence that they have notbeen altered, the phraseology in which they were expressed has beenentirely set aside, and the flimsy graces, common to the style ofannuals and souvenirs, substituted for the Spartan brevity and sinewygrasp of Indian speech. We can just guess what might have been there, aswe can detect the fine proportions of the Brave whom the bad taste ofsome white patron has arranged in frock-coat, hat, and pantaloons. 

The few stories Mrs. Jameson wrote out, though to these also asentimental air has been given, offend much less in that way than iscommon in this book. What would we give for a completely faithfulversion of some among them. Yet with all these drawbacks we cannot doubtfrom internal evidence that they truly ascribe to the Indian a delicacyof sentiment and of fancy that justifies Cooper in such inventions ashis Uncas. It is a white man's view of a savage hero, who would be farfiner in his natural proportions; still, through a masquerade figure, itimplies the truth. 

Irving's books I also read, some for the first, some for the secondtime, with increased interest, now that I was to meet such people as hereceived his materials from. Though the books are pleasing from theirgrace and luminous arrangement, yet, with the exception of the Tour tothe Prairies, they have a stereotype, second-hand air. They lack thebreath, the glow, the charming minute traits of living presence. Hisscenery is only fit to be glanced at from dioramic distance; his Indiansare academic figures only. He would have made the best of pictures, ifhe could have used his own eyes for studies and sketches; as it is, hissuccess is wonderful, but inadequate. 

McKenney's Tour to the Lakes is the dullest of books, yet faithful andquiet, and gives some facts not to be met with elsewhere. 

I also read a collection of Indian anecdotes and speeches, the worstcompiled and arranged book possible, yet not without clues of somevalue. All these books I read in anticipation of a canoe-voyage on LakeSuperior as far as the Pictured Rocks, and, though I was afterwardscompelled to give up this project, they aided me in judging of what Iafterwards saw and heard of the Indians. 

In Chicago I first saw the beautiful prairie flowers. They were in theirglory the first ten days we were there--

 "The golden and the flame-like flowers. "

The flame-like flower I was taught afterwards, by an Indian girl, tocall "Wickapee;" and she told me, too, that its splendors had a usefulside, for it was used by the Indians as a remedy for an illness to whichthey were subject. 

Beside these brilliant flowers, which gemmed and gilt the grass in asunny afternoon's drive near the blue lake, between the low oakwood andthe narrow beach, stimulated, whether sensuously by the optic nerve, unused to so much gold and crimson with such tender green, orsymbolically through some meaning dimly seen in the flowers, I enjoyed asort of fairyland exultation never felt before, and the first drive amidthe flowers gave me anticipation of the beauty of the prairies. 

At first, the prairie seemed to speak of the very desolation ofdullness. After sweeping over the vast monotony of the lakes to come tothis monotony of land, with all around a limitless horizon, --to walk, and walk, and run, but never climb, oh! it was too dreary for any but aHollander to bear. How the eye greeted the approach of a sail, or thesmoke of a steamboat; it seemed that any thing so animated must comefrom a better land, where mountains gave religion to the scene. 

The only thing I liked at first to do, was to trace with slow andunexpecting step the narrow margin of the lake. Sometimes a heavy swellgave it expression; at others, only its varied coloring, which I foundmore admirable every day, and which gave it an air of mirage instead ofthe vastness of ocean. Then there was a grandeur in the feeling that Imight continue that walk, if I had any seven-leagued mode of conveyanceto save fatigue, for hundreds of miles without an obstacle and without achange. 

But after I had rode out, and seen the flowers and seen the sun set withthat calmness seen only in the prairies, and the cattle winding slowlyhome to their homes in the "island groves"--peacefullest of sights--Ibegan to love because I began to know the scene, and shrank no longerfrom "the encircling vastness. "

It is always thus with the new form of life; we must learn to look at itby its own standard. At first, no doubt my accustomed eye kept saying, if the mind did not, What! no distant mountains? what, no valleys? Butafter a while I would ascend the roof of the house where we lived, andpass many hours, needing no sight but the moon reigning in the heavens, or starlight falling upon the lake, till all the lights were out in theisland grove of men beneath my feet, and felt nearer heaven that therewas nothing but this lovely, still reception on the earth; no toweringmountains, no deep tree-shadows, nothing but plain earth and waterbathed in light. 

Sunset, as seen from that place, presented most generally, low-lying, flaky clouds, of the softest serenity, "like, " said S. , "the Buddhisttracts. "

One night a star shot madly from its sphere, and it had a fair chance tobe seen, but that serenity could not be astonished. 

Yes! it was a peculiar beauty of those sunsets and moonlights on thelevels of Chicago which Chamouny or the Trosachs could not make meforget. 

Notwithstanding all the attractions I thus found out by degrees on theflat shores of the lake, I was delighted when I found myself really onmy way into the country for an excursion of two or three weeks. We setforth in a strong wagon, almost as large, and with the look of thoseused elsewhere for transporting caravans of wild beasteses, loaded withevery thing we might want, in case nobody would give it to us--forbuying and selling were no longer to be counted on--with a pair ofstrong horses, able and willing to force their way through mud holes andamid stumps, and a guide, equally admirable as marshal and companion, who knew by heart the country and its history, both natural andartificial, and whose clear hunter's eye needed neither road nor goal toguide it to all the spots where beauty best loves to dwell. 

Add to this the finest weather, and such country as I had never seen, even in my dreams, although these dreams had been haunted by wishes forjust such an one, and you may judge whether years of dullness might not, by these bright days, be redeemed, and a sweetness be shed over allthoughts of the West. 

The first day brought us through woods rich in the moccasin flower andlupine, and plains whose soft expanse was continually touched withexpression by the slow moving clouds which

 "Sweep over with their shadows, and beneath The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye; Dark hollows seem to glide along and chase The sunny ridges, "

to the banks of the Fox river, a sweet and graceful stream. We reachedGeneva just in time to escape being drenched by a violent thundershower, whose rise and disappearance threw expression into all thefeatures of the scene. 

Geneva reminds me of a New England village, as indeed there, and in theneighborhood, are many New Englanders of an excellent stamp, generous, intelligent, discreet, and seeking to win from life its true values. Such are much wanted, and seem like points of light among the swarms ofsettlers, whose aims are sordid, whose habits thoughtless and slovenly. 

With great pleasure we heard, with his attentive and affectionatecongregation, the Unitarian clergyman, Mr. Conant, and afterward visitedhim in his house, where almost everything bore traces of his own handywork or that of his father. He is just such a teacher as is wanted inthis region, familiar enough with the habits of those he addresses tocome home to their experience and their wants; earnest and enlightenedenough to draw the important inferences from the life of every day. 

A day or two we remained here, and passed some happy hours in the woodsthat fringe the stream, where the gentlemen found a rich booty of fish. 

Next day, travelling along the river's banks, was an uninterruptedpleasure. We closed our drive in the afternoon at the house of anEnglish gentleman, who has gratified, as few men do, the common wish topass the evening of an active day amid the quiet influences of countrylife. He showed us a bookcase filled with books about this country;these he had collected for years, and become so familiar with thelocalities that, on coming here at last, he sought and found, at once, the very spot he wanted, and where he is as content as he hoped to be, thus realizing Wordsworth's description of the wise man, who "sees whathe foresaw. "

A wood surrounds the house, through which paths are cut in everydirection. It is, for this new country, a large and handsome dwelling;but round it are its barns and farm yard, with cattle and poultry. These, however, in the framework of wood, have a very picturesque andpleasing effect. There is that mixture of culture and rudeness in theaspect of things as gives a feeling of freedom, not of confusion. 

I wish it were possible to give some idea of this scene as viewed by theearliest freshness of dewy dawn. This habitation of man seemed like anest in the grass, so thoroughly were the buildings and all the objectsof human care harmonized with what was natural. The tall trees bent andwhispered all around, as if to hail with sheltering love the men who hadcome to dwell among them. 

The young ladies were musicians, and spoke French fluently, having beeneducated in a convent. Here in the prairie, they had learned to takecare of the milk-room, and kill the rattlesnakes that assailed theirpoultry yard. Beneath the shade of heavy curtains you looked out fromthe high and large windows to see Norwegian peasants at work in theirnational dress. In the wood grew, not only the flowers I had beforeseen, and wealth of tall, wild roses, but the splendid blue spiderwort, that ornament of our gardens. Beautiful children strayed there, who weresoon to leave these civilized regions for some really wild and westernplace, a post in the buffalo country. Their no less beautiful mother wasof Welsh descent, and the eldest child bore the name of Gwynthleon. Perhaps there she will meet with some young descendants of Madoc, to beher friends; at any rate, her looks may retain that sweet, wild beauty, that is soon made to vanish from eyes which look too much on shops andstreets, and the vulgarities of city "parties. "

Next day we crossed the river. We ladies crossed on a littlefoot-bridge, from which we could look down the stream, and see the wagonpass over at the ford. A black thunder cloud was coming up. The sky andwaters heavy with expectation. The motion of the wagon, with its whitecover, and the laboring horses, gave just the due interest to thepicture, because it seemed as if they would not have time to crossbefore the storm came on. However, they did get across, and we were amile or two on our way before the violent shower obliged us to takerefuge in a solitary house upon the prairie. In this country it is aspleasant to stop as to go on, to lose your way as to find it, for thevariety in the population gives you a chance for fresh entertainment inevery hut, and the luxuriant beauty makes every path attractive. In thishouse we found a family "quite above the common, " but, I grieve to say, not above false pride, for the father, ashamed of being caught barefoot, told us a story of a man, one of the richest men, he said, in one of theeastern cities, who went barefoot, from choice and taste. 

Near the door grew a Provence rose, then in blossom. Other families wesaw had brought with them and planted the locust. It was pleasant to seetheir old home loves, brought into connection with their new splendors. Wherever there were traces of this tenderness of feeling, only too rareamong Americans, other things bore signs also of prosperity andintelligence, as if the ordering mind of man had some idea of homebeyond a mere shelter, beneath which to eat and sleep. 

No heaven need wear a lovelier aspect than earth did this afternoon, after the clearing up of the shower. We traversed the blooming plain, unmarked by any road, only the friendly track of wheels which tracked, not broke the grass. Our stations were not from town to town, but fromgrove to grove. These groves first floated like blue islands in thedistance. As we drew nearer, they seemed fair parks, and the little loghouses on the edge, with their curling smokes, harmonized beautifullywith them. 

One of these groves, Ross's grove, we reached just at sunset. It was ofthe noblest trees I saw during this journey, for the trees generallywere not large or lofty, but only of fair proportions. Here they werelarge enough to form with their clear stems pillars for grand cathedralaisles. There was space enough for crimson light to stream through uponthe floor of water which the shower had left. As we slowly plashedthrough, I thought I was never in a better place for vespers. 

That night we rested, or rather tarried at a grove some miles beyond, and there partook of the miseries so often jocosely portrayed, ofbedchambers for twelve, a milk dish for universal handbasin, andexpectations that you would use and lend your "hankercher" for a towel. But this was the only night, thanks to the hospitality of privatefamilies, that we passed thus, and it was well that we had this bit ofexperience, else might we have pronounced all Trollopian records of thekind to be inventions of pure malice. 

With us was a 'young lady who showed herself to have been bathed in theBritannic fluid, wittily described by a late French writer, by theimpossibility she experienced of accommodating herself to the indecorumsof the scene. We ladies were to sleep in the bar-room, from which itsdrinking visitors could be ejected only at a late hour. The outer doorhad no fastening to prevent their return. However, our host kindlyrequested we would call him, if they did, as he had "conquered them forus, " and would do so again. We had also rather hard couches; (mine wasthe supper table, ) but we yankees, born to rove, were altogether toomuch fatigued to stand upon trifles, and slept as sweetly as we would inthe "bigly bower" of any baroness. But I think England sat up all night, wrapped in her blanket shawl, and with a neat lace cap upon her head; sothat she would have looked perfectly the lady, if any one had come in;shuddering and listening. I know that she was very ill next day, inrequital. She watched, as her parent country watches the seas, thatnobody may do wrong in any case, and deserved to have met someinterruption, she was so well prepared. However, there was none, otherthan from the nearness of some twenty sets of powerful lungs, whichwould not leave the night to a deadly stillness. In this house we had, if not good beds, yet good tea, good bread, and wild strawberries, andwere entertained with most free communications of opinion and historyfrom our hosts. Neither shall any of us have a right to say again thatwe cannot find any who may be willing to hear all we may have to say. "A's fish that comes to the net, " should be painted on the sign at Papawgrove. 

CHAPTER III. 

In the afternoon of this day we reached the Rock river, in whoseneighborhood we proposed to make some stay, and crossed at Dixon'sferry. 

This beautiful stream flows full and wide over a bed of rocks, traversing a distance of near two hundred miles, to reach theMississippi. Great part of the country along its banks is the finestregion of Illinois, and the scene of some of the latest romance ofIndian warfare. To these beautiful regions Black Hawk returned with hisband "to pass the summer, " when he drew upon himself the warfare inwhich he was finally vanquished. No wonder he could not resist thelonging, unwise though its indulgence might be, to return in summer tothis home of beauty. 

Of Illinois, in general, it has often been remarked that it bears thecharacter of country which has been inhabited by a nation skilled likethe English in all the ornamental arts of life, especially in landscapegardening. That the villas and castles seem to have been burnt, theenclosures taken down, but the velvet lawns, the flower gardens, thestately parks, scattered at graceful intervals by the decorous hand ofart, the frequent deer, and the peaceful herd of cattle that makepicture of the plain, all suggest more of the masterly mind of man, thanthe prodigal, but careless, motherly love of nature. Especially is thistrue of the Rock river country. The river flows sometimes through theseparks and lawns, then betwixt high bluffs, whose grassy ridges arecovered with fine trees, or broken with crumbling stone, that easilyassumes, the forms of buttress, arch and clustered columns. Along theface of such crumbling rocks, swallows' nests are clustered, thick ascities, and eagles and deer do not disdain their summits. One morning, out in the boat along the base of these rocks, it was amusing, andaffecting too, to see these swallows put their heads out to look at us. There was something very hospitable about it, as if man had never shownhimself a tyrant near them. What a morning that was! Every sight isworth twice as much by the early morning light. We borrow something ofthe spirit of the hour to look upon them. 

The first place, where we stopped was one of singular beauty, a beautyof soft, luxuriant wildness. It was on the bend of the river, a placechosen by an Irish gentleman, whose absenteeship seems of the wisestkind, since for a sum which would have been but a drop of water to thethirsty fever of his native land, he commands a residence which has allthat is desirable, in its independence, its beautiful retirement, andmeans of benefit to others. 

His park, his deer-chase, he found already prepared; he had only tomake an avenue through it. This brought us by a drive, which in the heatof noon seemed long, though afterwards, in the cool of morning andevening, delightful, to the house. This is, for that part of the world, a large and commodious dwelling. Near it stands the log-cabin where itsmaster lived while it was building, a very ornamental accessory. 

In front of the house was a lawn, adorned by the most graceful trees. Afew of these had been taken out to give a full view of the river, gliding through banks such as I have described. On this bend the bank ishigh and bold, so from the house or the lawn the view was very rich andcommanding. But if you descended a ravine at the side to the water'sedge, you found there a long walk on the narrow shore, with a wall aboveof the richest hanging wood, in which they said the deer lay hid. Inever saw one, but often fancied that I heard them rustling, atdaybreak, by these bright clear waters, stretching out in such smilingpromise, where no sound broke the deep and blissful seclusion, unlessnow and then this rustling, or the plash of some fish a little gayerthan the others; it seemed not necessary to have any better heaven, orfuller expression of love and freedom than in the mood of nature here. 

Then, leaving the bank, you would walk far and far through long grassypaths, full of the most brilliant, also the most delicate flowers. Thebrilliant are more common on the prairie, but both kinds loved thisplace. 

Amid the grass of the lawn, with a profusion of wild strawberries, wegreeted also a familiar love, the Scottish harebell, the gentlest, andmost touching form of the flower-world. 

The master of the house was absent, but with a kindness beyond thankshad offered us a resting place there. Here we were taken care of by adeputy, who would, for his youth, have been assigned the place of a pagein former times, but in the young west, it seems he was old enough for asteward. Whatever be called his function, he did the honors of the placeso much in harmony with it, as to leave the guests free to imaginethemselves in Elysium. And the three days passed here were days ofunalloyed, spotless happiness. 

There was a peculiar charm in coming here, where the choice of location, and the unobtrusive good taste of all the arrangements, showed suchintelligent appreciation of the spirit of the scene, after seeing somany dwellings of the new settlers, which showed plainly that they hadno thought beyond satisfying the grossest material wants. Sometimes theylooked attractive, the little brown houses, the natural architecture ofthe country, in the edge of the timber. But almost always when you camenear, the slovenliness of the dwelling and the rude way in which objectsaround it were treated, when so little care would have presented acharming whole, were very repulsive. Seeing the traces of the Indians, who chose the most beautiful sites for their dwellings, and whose habitsdo not break in on that aspect of nature under which they were born, wefeel as if they were the rightful lords of a beauty they forbore todeform. But most of these settlers do not see it at all; it breathes, itspeaks in vain to those who are rushing into its sphere. Their progressis Gothic, not Roman, and their mode of cultivation will, in the courseof twenty, perhaps ten, years, obliterate the natural expression of thecountry. 

This is inevitable, fatal; we must not complain, but look forward to agood result. Still, in travelling through this country, I could not butbe struck with the force of a symbol. Wherever the hog comes, therattlesnake disappears; the omnivorous traveller, safe in its stupidity, willingly and easily makes a meal of the most dangerous of reptiles, andone whom the Indian looks on with a mystic awe. Even so the whitesettler pursues the Indian, and is victor in the chase. But I shall saymore upon the subject by-and-by. 

While we were here we had one grand thunder storm, which added new gloryto the scene. 

One beautiful feature was the return of the pigeons every afternoon totheir home. Every afternoon they came sweeping across the lawn, positively in clouds, and with a swiftness and softness of wingedmotion, more beautiful than anything of the kind I ever knew. Had I beena musician, such as Mendelsohn, I felt that I could have improvised amusic quite peculiar, from the sound they made, which should haveindicated all the beauty over which their wings bore them. I will hereinsert a few lines left at this house, on parting, which feebly indicatesome of the features. 

 Familiar to the childish mind were tales Of rock-girt isles amid a desert sea, Where unexpected stretch the flowery vales To soothe the shipwrecked sailor's misery. Fainting, he lay upon a sandy shore, And fancied that all hope of life was o'er; But let him patient climb the frowning wall, Within, the orange glows beneath the palm tree tall, And all that Eden boasted waits his call. 

 Almost these tales seem realized to-day, When the long dullness of the sultry way, Where "independent" settlers' careless cheer Made us indeed feel we were "strangers" here, Is cheered by sudden sight of this fair spot, On which "improvement" yet has made no blot, But Nature all-astonished stands, to find Her plan protected by the human mind. 

 Blest be the kindly genius of the scene; The river, bending in unbroken grace, The stately thickets, with their pathways green, Fair lonely trees, each in its fittest place. Those thickets haunted by the deer and fawn; Those cloudlike flights of birds across the lawn; The gentlest breezes here delight to blow, And sun and shower and star are emulous to deck the show. 

 Wondering, as Crusoe, we survey the land; Happier than Crusoe we, a friendly band; Blest be the hand that reared this friendly home, The heart and mind of him to whom we owe Hours of pure peace such as few mortals know; May he find such, should he be led to roam; Be tended by such ministering sprites-- Enjoy such gaily childish days, such hopeful nights! And yet, amid the goods to mortals given, To give those goods again is most like heaven. 

 Hazelwood, Rock River, June 30th, 1843. 

The only really rustic feature was of the many coops of poultry near thehouse, which I understood it to be one of the chief pleasures of themaster to feed. 

Leaving this place, we proceeded a day's journey along the beautifulstream, to a little town named Oregon. We called at a cabin, from whosedoor looked out one of those faces which, once seen, are neverforgotten; young, yet touched with many traces of feeling, not onlypossible, but endured; spirited, too, like the gleam of a finelytempered blade. It was a face that suggested a history, and manyhistories, but whose scene would have been in courts and camps. At thismoment their circles are dull for want of that life which is waningunexcited in this solitary recess. 

The master of the house proposed to show us a "short cut, " by which wemight, to especial advantage, pursue our journey. This proved to bealmost perpendicular down a hill, studded with young trees and stumps. From these he proposed, with a hospitality of service worthy anOriental, to free our wheels whenever they should get entangled, also, to be himself the drag, to prevent our too rapid descent. Suchgenerosity deserved trust; however, we women could not be persuaded torender it. We got out and admired, from afar, the process. Left by ourguide--and prop! we found ourselves in a wide field, where, by playfulquips and turns, an endless "creek, " seemed to divert itself with ourattempts to cross it. Failing in this, the next best was to whirl down asteep bank, which feat our charioteer performed with an air not unlikethat of Rhesus, had he but been as suitably furnished with chariot andsteeds!

At last, after wasting some two or three hours on the "short cut, " wegot out by following an Indian trail, --Black Hawk's! How fair the scenethrough which it led! How could they let themselves be conquered, withsuch a country to fight for!

Afterwards, in the wide prairie, we saw a lively picture of nonchalance, (to speak in the fashion of dear Ireland. ) There, in the wide sunnyfield, with neither tree nor umbrella above his head, sat a pedler, withhis pack, waiting apparently for customers. He was not disappointed. Webought, what hold in regard to the human world, as unmarked, asmysterious, and as important an existence, as the infusoria to thenatural, to wit, pins. This incident would have delighted those modernsages, who, in imitation of the sitting philosophers of ancient Ind, prefer silence to speech, waiting to going, and scornfully smile inanswer to the motions of earnest life, "Of itself will nothing come, That ye must still be seeking?"

However, it seemed to me to-day, as formerly on these sublime occasions, obvious that nothing would come, unless something would go; now, if wehad been as sublimely still as the pedler, his pins would have tarriedin the pack, and his pockets sustained an aching void of pence!

Passing through one of the fine, park-like woods, almost clear fromunderbrush and carpeted with thick grasses and flowers, we met, (for itwas Sunday, ) a little congregation just returning from their service, which had been performed in a rude house in its midst. It had a sweetand peaceful air, as if such words and thoughts were very dear to them. The parents had with them all their little children; but we saw no oldpeople; that charm was wanting, which exists in such scenes in oldersettlements, of seeing the silver bent in reverence beside the flaxenhead. 

At Oregon, the beauty of the scene was of even a more sumptuouscharacter than at our former "stopping place. " Here swelled the river inits boldest course, interspersed by halcyon isles on which nature hadlavished all her prodigality in tree, vine, and flower, banked by noblebluffs, three hundred feet high, their sharp ridges as exquisitelydefinite as the edge of a shell; their summits adorned with those samebeautiful trees, and with buttresses of rich rock, crested with oldhemlocks, which wore a touching and antique grace amid the softer andmore luxuriant vegetation. Lofty natural mounds rose amidst the rest, with the same lovely and sweeping outline, showing everywhere theplastic power of water, --water, mother of beauty, which, by its sweetand eager flow, had left such lineaments as human genius never dreamtof. 

Not far from the river was a high crag, called the Pine Rock, whichlooks out, as our guide observed, like a helmet above the brow of thecountry. It seems as if the water left here and there a vestige of formsand materials that preceded its course, just to set off its new andricher designs. 

The aspect of this country was to me enchanting, beyond any I have everseen, from its fullness of expression, its bold and impassionedsweetness. Here the flood of emotion has passed over and markedeverywhere its course by a smile. The fragments of rock touch it with awildness and liberality which give just the needed relief. I shouldnever be tired here, though I have elsewhere seen country of more secretand alluring charms, better calculated to stimulate and suggest. Herethe eye and heart are filled. 

How happy the Indians must have been here! It is not long since theywere driven away, and the ground, above and below, is full of theirtraces. 

 "The earth is full of men. "

You have only to turn up the sod to find arrowheads and Indian pottery. On an island, belonging to our host, and nearly opposite his house, theyloved to stay, and, no doubt, enjoyed its lavish beauty as much as themyriad wild pigeons that now haunt its flower-filled shades. Here arestill the marks of their tomahawks, the troughs in which they preparedtheir corn, their caches. 

A little way down the river is the site of an ancient Indian village, with its regularly arranged mounds. As usual, they had chosen with thefinest taste. It was one of those soft shadowy afternoons when we wentthere, when nature seems ready to weep, not from grief, but from anoverfull heart. Two prattling, lovely little girls, and an African boy, with glittering eye and ready grin, made our party gay; but all werestill as we entered their little inlet and trod those flowery paths. They may blacken Indian life as they will, talk of its dirt, itsbrutality, I will ever believe that the men who chose thatdwelling-place were able to feel emotions of noble happiness as theyreturned to it, and so were the women that received them. Neither werethe children sad or dull, who lived so familiarly with the deer and thebirds, and swam that clear wave in the shadow of the Seven Sisters. Thewhole scene suggested to me a Greek splendor, a Greek sweetness, and Ican believe that an Indian brave, accustomed to ramble in such paths, and be bathed by such sunbeams, might be mistaken for Apollo, as Apollowas for him by West. Two of the boldest bluffs are called the Deer'sWalk, (not because deer do _not_ walk there, ) and the Eagle's Nest. Thelatter I visited one glorious morning; it was that, of the fourth ofJuly, and certainly I think I had never felt so happy that I was born inAmerica. Wo to all country folks that never saw this spot, never sweptan enraptured gaze over the prospect that stretched beneath. I dobelieve Rome and Florence are suburbs compared to this capital ofnature's art. 

The bluff was decked with great bunches of a scarlet variety of themilkweed, like cut coral, and all starred with a mysterious-looking darkflower, whose cup rose lonely on a tall stem. This had, for two orthree days, disputed the ground with the lupine and phlox. My companionsdisliked, I liked it. 

Here I thought of, or rather saw, what the Greek expresses under theform of Jove's darling, Ganymede, and the following stanzas took form. 

 GANYMEDE TO HIS EAGLE, SUGGESTED BY A WORK OF THORWALDSEN'S. 

 Composed on the height called the Eagle's Nest, Oregon, Rock River, July 4th, 1843. 

 Upon the rocky mountain stood the boy, A goblet of pure water in his hand, His face and form spoke him one made for joy, A willing servant to sweet love's command, But a strange pain was written on his brow, And thrilled throughout his silver accents now--

 "My bird, " he cries, "my destined brother friend, O whither fleets to-day thy wayward flight? Hast thou forgotten that I here attend, From the full noon until this sad twilight? A hundred times, at least, from the clear spring, Since the full noon o'er hill and valley glowed, I've filled the vase which our Olympian king Upon my care for thy sole use bestowed; That at the moment when thou should'st descend, A pure refreshment might thy thirst attend. 

 Hast thou forgotten earth, forgotten me, Thy fellow bondsman in a royal cause, Who, from the sadness of infinity, Only with thee can know that peaceful pause In which we catch the flowing strain of love, Which binds our dim fates to the throne of Jove?

 Before I saw thee, I was like the May, Longing for summer that must mar its bloom, Or like the morning star that calls the day, Whose glories to its promise are the tomb; And as the eager fountain rises higher To throw itself more strongly back to earth, Still, as more sweet and full rose my desire, More fondly it reverted to its birth, For, what the rosebud seeks tells not the rose, The meaning foretold by the boy the man cannot disclose. 

 I was all Spring, for in my being dwelt Eternal youth, where flowers are the fruit, Full feeling was the thought of what was felt, Its music was the meaning of the lute; But heaven and earth such life will still deny, For earth, divorced from heaven, still asks the question _Why?_

 Upon the highest mountains my young feet Ached, that no pinions from their lightness grew, My starlike eyes the stars would fondly greet, Yet win no greeting from the circling blue; Fair, self-subsistent each in its own sphere, They had no care that there was none for me; Alike to them that I was far or near, Alike to them, time and eternity. 

 But, from the violet of lower air, Sometimes an answer to my wishing came, Those lightning births my nature seemed to share, They told the secrets of its fiery frame, The sudden messengers of hate and love, The thunderbolts that arm the hand of Jove, And strike sometimes the sacred spire, and strike the sacred grove. 

 Come in a moment, in a moment gone, They answered me, then left me still more lone, They told me that the thought which ruled the world, As yet no sail upon its course had furled, That the creation was but just begun, New leaves still leaving from the primal one, But spoke not of the goal to which _my_ rapid wheels would run. 

 Still, still my eyes, though tearfully, I strained To the far future which my heart contained, And no dull doubt my proper hope profaned. 

 At last, O bliss, thy living form I spied, Then a mere speck upon a distant sky, Yet my keen glance discerned its noble pride, And the full answer of that sun-filled eye; I knew it was the wing that must upbear My earthlier form into the realms of air. 

 Thou knowest how we gained that beauteous height, Where dwells the monarch of the sons of light, Thou knowest he declared us two to be The chosen servants of his ministry, Thou as his messenger, a sacred sign Of conquest, or with omen more benign, To give its due weight to the righteous cause, To express the verdict of Olympian laws. 

 And I to wait upon the lonely spring, Which slakes the thirst of bards to whom 'tis given The destined dues of hopes divine to sing, And weave the needed chain to bind to heaven. Only from such could be obtained a draught For him who in his early home from Jove's own cup has quaffed. 

 To wait, to wait, but not to wait too long, Till heavy grows the burthen of a song; O bird! too long hast thou been gone to-day, My feet are weary of their frequent way, The spell that opes the spring my tongue no more can say. 

 If soon thou com'st not, night will fall around, My head with a sad slumber will be bound, And the pure draught be spilt upon the ground. 

 Remember that I am not yet divine, Long years of service to the fatal Nine Are yet to make a Delphian vigor mine. 

 O, make them not too hard, thou bird of Jove, Answer the stripling's hope, confirm his love, Receive the service in which he delights, And bear him often to the serene heights, Where hands that were so prompt in serving thee, Shall be allowed the highest ministry, And Rapture live with bright Fidelity. 

The afternoon was spent in a very different manner. The family, whoseguests we were, possessed a gay and graceful hospitality that gave zestto each moment. They possessed that rare politeness which, while fertilein pleasant expedients to vary the enjoyment of a friend, leaves himperfectly free the moment he wishes to be so. With such hosts, pleasuremay be combined with repose. They lived on the bank opposite the town, and, as their house was full, we slept in the town, and passed threedays with them, passing to and fro morning and evening in their boats. (To one of these, called the Fairy, in which a sweet little daughter ofthe house moved about lighter than any Scotch Ellen ever sung, I shouldindite a poem, if I had not been guilty of rhyme on the very last page. )At morning this was very pleasant; at evening, I confess I was generallytoo tired with the excitements of the day to think it so. 

Their house--a double log cabin--was, to my eye, the model of a Westernvilla. Nature had laid out before it grounds which could not beimproved. Within, female taste had veiled every rudeness--availed itselfof every sylvan grace. 

In this charming abode what laughter, what sweet thoughts, what pleasingfancies, did we not enjoy! May such never desert those who reared it andmade us so kindly welcome to all its pleasures!

Fragments of city life were dexterously crumbled into the dish preparedfor general entertainment. Ice creams followed the dinner drawn by thegentlemen from the river, and music and fireworks wound up the eveningof days spent on the Eagle's Nest. Now they had prepared a little fleetto pass over to the Fourth of July celebration, which some queerdrumming and fifing, from the opposite bank, had announced to be "onhand. "

We found the free and independent citizens there collected beneath thetrees, among whom many a round Irish visage dimpled at the usual puffsof Ameriky. 

The orator was a New Englander, and the speech smacked loudly of Boston, but was received with much applause, and followed by a plentiful dinner, provided by and for the Sovereign People, to which Hail Columbia servedas grace. 

[Illustration: LOG CABIN AT ROCK RIVER]

Returning, the gay flotilla hailed the little flag which the childrenhad raised from a log-cabin, prettier than any president ever saw, anddrank the health of their country and all mankind, with a clearconscience. 

Dance and song wound up the day. I know not when the mere localhabitation has seemed to me to afford so fair a chance of happiness asthis. To a person of unspoiled tastes, the beauty alone would affordstimulus enough. But with it would be naturally associated all kinds ofwild sports, experiments, and the studies of natural history. In theseregards, the poet, the sportsman, the naturalist, would alike rejoice inthis wide range of untouched loveliness. 

Then, with a very little money, a ducal estate may be purchased, and bya very little more, and moderate labor, a family be maintained upon itwith raiment, food and shelter. The luxurious and minute comforts of acity life are not yet to be had without effort disproportionate to theirvalue. But, where there is so great, a counterpoise, cannot these begiven up once for all? If the houses are imperfectly built, they canafford immense fires and plenty of covering; if they are small, whocares?--with such fields to roam in. In winter, it may be borne; insummer, is of no consequence. With plenty of fish, and game, and wheat, can they not dispense with a baker to bring "muffins hot" every morningto the door for their breakfast?

Here a man need not take a small slice from the landscape, and fence itin from the obtrusions of an uncongenial neighbor, and there cut downhis fancies to miniature improvements which a chicken could run over inten minutes. He may have water and wood and land enough, to dread noincursions on his prospect from some chance Vandal that may enter hisneighborhood. He need not painfully economise and manage how he may useit all; he can afford to leave some of it wild, and to carry out his ownplans without obliterating those of nature. 

Here, whole families might live together, if they would. The sons mightreturn from their pilgrimages to settle near the parent hearth; thedaughters might find room near their mother. Those painful separations, which already desecrate and desolate the Atlantic coast, are notenforced here by the stern need of seeking bread; and where they arevoluntary, it is no matter. To me, too, used to the feelings which haunta society of struggling men, it was delightful to look upon a scenewhere nature still wore her motherly smile and seemed to promise roomnot only for those favored or cursed with the qualities best adaptingfor the strifes of competition, but for the delicate, the thoughtful, even the indolent or eccentric. She did not say, Fight or starve; noreven, Work or cease to exist; but, merely showing that the apple was afiner fruit than the wild crab, gave both room to grow in the garden. 

A pleasant society is formed of the families who live along the banks ofthis stream upon farms. They are from various parts of the world, andhave much to communicate to one another. Many have cultivated minds andrefined manners, all a varied experience, while they have in common theinterests of a new country and a new life. They must traverse somespace to get at one another, but the journey is through scenes that makeit a separate pleasure. They must bear inconveniences to stay in oneanother's houses; but these, to the well-disposed, are only a source ofamusement and adventure. 

The great drawback upon the lives of these settlers, at present, is theunfitness of the women for their new lot. It has generally been thechoice of the men, and the women follow, as women will, doing their bestfor affection's sake, but too often in heart-sickness and weariness. Beside it frequently not being a choice or conviction of their own mindsthat it is best to be here, their part is the hardest, and they areleast fitted for it. The men can find assistance in field labor, andrecreation with the gun and fishing-rod. Their bodily strength isgreater, and enables them to bear and enjoy both these forms of life. 

The women can rarely find any aid in domestic labor. All its various andcareful tasks must often be performed, sick or well, by the mother anddaughters, to whom a city education has imparted neither the strengthnor skill now demanded. 

The wives of the poorer settlers, having more hard work to do thanbefore, very frequently become slatterns; but the ladies, accustomed toa refined neatness, feel that they cannot degrade themselves by itsabsence, and struggle under every disadvantage to keep up the necessaryroutine of small arrangements. 

With all these disadvantages for work, their resources for pleasure arefewer. When they can leave the housework, they have not learnt to ride, to drive, to row, alone. Their culture has too generally been that givento women to make them "the ornaments of society. " They can dance, butnot draw; talk French, but know nothing of the language of flowers;neither in childhood were allowed to cultivate them, lest they shouldtan their complexions. Accustomed to the pavement of Broadway, they darenot tread the wild-wood paths for fear of rattlesnakes!

Seeing much of this joylessness, and inaptitude, both of body and mind, for a lot which would be full of blessings for those prepared for it, wecould not but look with deep interest on the little girls, and hope theywould grow up with the strength of body, dexterity, simple tastes, andresources that would fit them to enjoy and refine the western farmer'slife. 

But they have a great deal to war with in the habits of thought acquiredby their mothers from their own early life. Everywhere the fatal spiritof imitation, of reference to European standards, penetrates, andthreatens to blight whatever of original growth might adorn the soil. 

If the little girls grow up strong, resolute, able to exert theirfaculties, their mothers mourn over their want of fashionable delicacy. Are they gay, enterprising, ready to fly about in the various ways thatteach them so much, these ladies lament that "they cannot go to school, where they might learn to be quiet. " They lament the want of "education"for their daughters, as if the thousand needs which call out their youngenergies, and the language of nature around, yielded no education. 

Their grand ambition for their children, is to send them to school insome eastern city, the measure most likely to make them useless andunhappy at home. I earnestly hope that, ere long, the existence of goodschools near themselves, planned by persons of sufficient thought tomeet the wants of the place and time, instead of copying New York orBoston, will correct this mania. Instruction the children want to enablethem to profit by the great natural advantages of their position; butmethods copied from the education of some English Lady Augusta, are asill suited to the daughter of an Illinois farmer, as satin shoes toclimb the Indian mounds. An elegance she would diffuse around her, ifher mind were opened to appreciate elegance; it might be of a kind new, original, enchanting, as different from that of the city belle as thatof the prairie torch-flower from the shopworn article that touches thecheek of that lady within her bonnet. 

To a girl really skilled to make home beautiful and comfortable, withbodily strength to enjoy plenty of exercise, the woods, the streams, afew studies, music, and the sincere and familiar intercourse, far moreeasily to be met here than elsewhere, would afford happiness enough. Hereyes would not grow dim, nor her cheeks sunken, in the absence ofparties, morning visits, and milliner's shops. 

As to music, I wish I could see in such places the guitar rather thanthe piano, and good vocal more than instrumental music. 

The piano many carry with them, because it is the fashionable instrumentin the eastern cities. Even there, it is so merely from the habit ofimitating Europe, for not one in a thousand is willing to give the laborrequisite to ensure any valuable use of the instrument. 

But, out here, where the ladies have so much less leisure, it is stillless desirable. Add to this, they never know how to tune their owninstruments, and as persons seldom visit them who can do so, thesepianos are constantly out of tune, and would spoil the ear of one whobegan by having any. 

The guitar, or some portable instrument which requires less practice, and could be kept in tune by themselves, would be far more desirable formost of these ladies. It would give all they want as a householdcompanion to fill up the gaps of life with a pleasant stimulus orsolace, and be sufficient accompaniment to the voice in social meetings. 

Singing in parts is the most delightful family amusement, and those whoare constantly together can learn to sing in perfect accord. All thepractice it needs, after some good elementary instruction, is such asmeetings by summer twilight, and evening firelight naturally suggest. And, as music is an universal language, we cannot but think a fineItalian duet would be as much at home in the log cabin as one of Mrs. Gore's novels. 

The sixth July we left this beautiful place. It was one of those richdays of bright sunlight, varied by the purple shadows of large sweepingclouds. Many a backward look we cast, and left the heart behind. 

Our journey to-day was no less delightful than before, still all new, boundless, limitless. Kinmont says, that limits are sacred; that theGreeks were in the right to worship a god of limits. I say, that what islimitless is alone divine, that there was neither wall nor road in Eden, that those who walked there lost and found their way just as we did, andthat all the gain from the Fall was that we had a wagon to ride in. I donot think, either, that even the horses doubted whether this last wasany advantage. 

Everywhere the rattlesnake-weed grows in profusion. The antidotesurvives the bane. Soon the coarser plantain, the "white man'sfootstep, " shall take its place. 

We saw also the compass plant, and the western tea plant. Of some of thebrightest flowers an Indian girl afterwards told me the medicinalvirtues. I doubt not those students of the soil knew a use to every fairemblem, on which we could only look to admire its hues and shape. 

After noon we were ferried by a girl, (unfortunately not of the mostpicturesque appearance) across the Kishwaukie, the most graceful stream, and on whose bosom rested many full-blown water-lilies, twice as largeas any of ours. I was told that, _en revanche_, they were scentless, butI still regret that I could not get at one of them to try. 

Query, did the lilied fragrance which, in the miraculous times, accompanied visions of saints and angels, proceed from water or gardenlilies?

Kishwaukie is, according to tradition, the scene of a famous battle, andits many grassy mounds contain the bones of the valiant. On these wavedthickly the mysterious purple flower, of which I have spoken before. Ithink it springs from the blood of the Indians, as the hyacinth did fromthat of Apollo's darling. 

The ladies of our host's family at Oregon, when they first went there, after all the pains and plagues of building and settling, found theirfirst pastime in opening one of these mounds, in which they found, Ithink, three of the departed, seated in the Indian fashion. 

One of these same ladies, as she was making bread one winter morning, saw from the window a deer directly before the house. She ran out, withher hands covered with dough, calling the others, and they caught himbodily before he had time to escape. 

Here (at Kishwaukie) we received a visit from a ragged and barefoot, butbright-eyed gentleman, who seemed to be the intellectual loafer, thewalking Will's coffeehouse of the place. He told us many charming snakestories; among others, of himself having seen seventeen young onesreenter the mother snake, on the intrusion of a visiter. 

This night we reached Belvidere, a flourishing town in Boon county, where was the tomb, now despoiled, of Big Thunder. In this later day wefelt happy to find a really good hotel. 

From this place, by two days of very leisurely and devious journeying, we reached Chicago, and thus ended a journey, which one at least of theparty might have wished unending. 

I have not been particularly anxious to give the geography of thescene, inasmuch as it seemed to me no route, nor series of stations, buta garden interspersed with cottages, groves and flowery lawns, throughwhich a stately river ran. I had no guide-book, kept no diary, do notknow how many miles we travelled each day, nor how many in all. What Igot from the journey was the poetic impression of the country at large;it is all I have aimed to communicate. 

The narrative might have been made much more interesting, as life was atthe time, by many piquant anecdotes and tales drawn from private life. But here courtesy restrains the pen, for I know those who received thestranger with such frank kindness would feel ill requited by itsbecoming the means of fixing many spy-glasses, even though the scrutinymight be one of admiring interest, upon their private homes. 

For many of these, too, I was indebted to a friend, whose property theymore lawfully are. This friend was one of those rare beings who areequally at home in nature and with man. He knew a tale of all that ranand swam, and flew, or only grew, possessing that extensive familiaritywith things which shows equal sweetness of sympathy and playfulpenetration. Most refreshing to me was his unstudied lore, the unwrittenpoetry which common life presents to a strong and gentle mind. It was agreat contrast to the subtleties of analysis, the philosophic strainingsof which I had seen too much. But I will not attempt to transplant it. May it profit others as it did me in the region where it was born, where it belongs. The evening of our return to Chicago the sunset was ofa splendor and calmness beyond any we saw at the West. The twilight thatsucceeded was equally beautiful; soft, pathetic, but just so calm. Whenafterwards I learned this was the evening of Allston's death, it seemedto me as if this glorious pageant was not without connection with thatevent; at least, it inspired similar emotions, --a heavenly gate closinga path adorned with shows well worthy Paradise. 

 * * * * *

 Farewell, ye soft and sumptuous solitudes! Ye fairy distances, ye lordly woods, Haunted by paths like those that Poussin knew, When after his all gazers eyes he drew; I go, --and if I never more may steep An eager heart in your enchantments deep, Yet ever to itself that heart may say, Be not exacting; thou hast lived one day; Hast looked on that which matches with thy mood, Impassioned sweetness of full being's flood, Where nothing checked the bold yet gentle wave, Where nought repelled the lavish love that gave. A tender blessing lingers o'er the scene, Like some young mother's thought, fond, yet serene, And through its life new-born our lives have been. Once more farewell, --a sad, a sweet farewell; And, if I never must behold you more, In other worlds I will not cease to tell The rosary I here have numbered o'er; And bright-haired Hope will lend a gladdened ear, And Love will free him from the grasp of Fear, And Gorgon critics, while the tale they hear, Shall dew their stony glances with a tear, If I but catch one echo from your spell;-- And so farewell, --a grateful, sad farewell!

CHAPTER IV. 

CHICAGO AGAIN. 

Chicago had become interesting to me now, that I knew it as the portalto so fair a scene. I had become interested in the land, in the people, and looked sorrowfully on the lake on which I must soon embark, to leavebehind what I had just begun to enjoy. 

Now was the time to see the lake. The July moon was near its full, andnight after night it rose in a cloudless sky above this majestic sea. The heat was excessive, so that there was no enjoyment of life, exceptin the night, but then the air was of that delicious temperature, worthyof orange groves. However, they were not wanted;--nothing was, as thatfull light fell on the faintly rippling waters which then seemedboundless. 

A poem received shortly after, from a friend in Massachusetts, seemed tosay that the July moon shone there not less splendid, and may claiminsertion here. 

 TRIFORMIS. 

 So pure her forehead's dazzling white, So swift and clear her radiant eyes, Within the treasure of whose light Lay undeveloped destinies, -- Of thoughts repressed such hidden store Was hinted by each flitting smile, I could but wonder and adore, Far off, in awe, I gazed the while. 

 I gazed at her, as at the moon, Hanging in lustrous twilight skies, Whose virgin crescent, sinking soon, Peeps through the leaves before it flies. Untouched Diana, flitting dim, While sings the wood its evening hymn. 

 II. 

 Again we met. O joyful meeting! Her radiance now was all for me, Like kindly airs her kindly greeting, So full, so musical, so free. Within romantic forest aisles, Within romantic paths we walked, I bathed me in her sister smiles, I breathed her beauty as we talked. 

 So full-orbed Cynthia walks the skies, Filling the earth with melodies, Even so she condescends to kiss Drowsy Endymions, coarse and dull, Or fills our waking souls with bliss, Making long nights too beautiful. 

 III. 

 O fair, but fickle lady-moon, Why must thy full form ever wane? O love! O friendship! why so soon Must your sweet light recede again? I wake me in the dead of night, And start, --for through the misty gloom Red Hecate stares--a boding sight!-- Looks in, but never fills my room. 

 Thou music of my boyhood's hour! Thou shining light on manhood's way! No more dost thou fair influence shower To move my soul by night or day. O strange! that while in hall and street Thy hand I touch, thy grace I meet, Such miles of polar ice should part The slightest touch of mind and heart! But all thy love has waned, and so I gladly let thy beauty go. 

Now that I am borrowing, I will also give a letter received at thistime, and extracts from others from an earlier traveller, and in adifferent region of the country from that I saw, which, I think, indifferent ways, admirably descriptive of the country. 

[Illustration: PRAIRIE & LONG GROVE IN THE DISTANCE]

"And you, too, love the Prairies, flying voyager of a summer hour; but_I_ have only there owned the wild forest, the wide-spread meadows;there only built my house, and seen the livelong day the thoughtfulshadows of the great clouds color, with all-transient browns, theuntrampled floor of grass; there has Spring pranked the long smoothreaches with those golden flowers, whereby became the fields a seatoo golden to o'erlast the heats. Yes! and with many a yellow bell shegilded our unbounded path, that sank in the light swells of the variedsurface, skirted the unfilled barrens, nor shunned the steep banks ofrivers darting merrily on. There has the white snow frolicsomely strownitself, till all that vast, outstretched distance glittered like amirror in which only the heavens were reflected, and among these driftsour steps have been curbed. Ah! many days of precious weather are on thePrairies!

"You have then found, after many a weary hour, when Time has locked yourtemples as in a circle of heated metal, some cool, sweet, swift-glidingmoments, the iron ring of necessity ungirt, and the fevered pulses atrest. You have also found this where fresh nature suffers no ravage, amid those bowers of wild-wood, those dream-like, bee-sung, murmuringand musical plains, swimming under their hazy distances, as if there, inthat warm and deep back ground, stood the fairy castle of our hopes, with its fountains, its pictures, its many mystical figures in repose. Ever could we rove over those sunny distances, breathing that modulatedwind, eyeing those so well-blended, imaginative, yet thoughtfulsurfaces, and above us wide--wide a horizon effortless and superb as ayoung divinity. 

"I was a prisoner where you glide, the summer's pensioned guest, and mychains were the past and the future, darkness and blowing sand. There, very weary, I received from the distance a sweet emblem of anincorruptible, lofty and pervasive nature, but was I less weary? I wasa prisoner, and you, plains, were my prison bars. 

"Yet never, O never, beautiful plains, had I any feeling for you butprofoundest gratitude, for indeed ye are only fair, grand and majestic, while I had scarcely a right there. Now, ye stand in that past day, grateful images of unshattered repose, simple in your tranquillity, strong in your self-possession, yet ever musical and springing as thefootsteps of a child. 

"Ah! that to some poet, whose lyre had never lost a string, to whommortality, kinder than is her custom, had vouchsafed a day whose downhad been untouched, --that to him these plains might enter, and flowforth in airy song. And you, forests, under whose symmetrical shields ofdark green the colors of the fawns move, like the waters of the riverunder its spears, --its cimeters of flag, where, in gleaming circles ofsteel, the breasts of the wood-pigeons flash in the playful sunbeam, andmany sounds, many notes of no earthly music, come over the well-relievedglades, --should not your depth pass into that poet's heart, --in yourdepths should he not fuse his own?"

The other letters show the painter's eye, as this the poet's heart. 

 "Springfield, Illinois, May 20, 1840. 

"Yesterday morning I left Griggsville, my knapsack at my back, pursuedmy journey all day on foot, and found so new and great delight in thischarming country, that I must needs tell you about it. Do you rememberour saying once, that we never found the trees tall enough, the fieldsgreen enough. Well, the trees are for once tall, and fair to look upon, and one unvarying carpet of the tenderest green covers these marvellousfields, that spread out their smooth sod for miles and miles, till theyeven reach the horizon. But, to begin my day's journey. Griggsville issituated on the west side of the Illinois river, on a high prairie;between it and the river is a long range of bluffs which reaches ahundred miles north and south, then a wide river bottom, and then theriver. It was a mild, showery morning, and I directed my steps towardthe bluffs. They are covered with forest, not like our forests, tangledand impassable, but where the trees stand fair and apart from oneanother, so that you might ride every where about on horseback, and thetops of the hills are generally bald, and covered with green turf, likeour pastures. Indeed, the whole country reminds me perpetually of onethat has been carefully cultivated by a civilized people, who had beensuddenly removed from the earth, with all the works of their hands, andthe land given again into nature's keeping. The solitudes are notsavage; they have not that dreary, stony loneliness that used to affectme in our own country; they never repel; there are no lonely heights, noisolated spots, but all is gentle, mild, inviting, --all is accessible. In following this winding, hilly road for four or five miles, I think Icounted at least a dozen new kinds of wild flowers, not timid, retiringlittle plants like ours, but bold flowers of rich colors, covering theground in abundance. One very common flower resembles our cardinalflower, though not of so deep a color, another is very like rocket orphlox, but smaller and of various colors, white, blue and purple. Beautiful white lupines I find too, violets white and purple. The vinesand parasites are magnificent. I followed on this road till I came tothe prairie which skirts the river, and this, of all the beauties ofthis region, is the most peculiar and wonderful. Imagine a vast andgently-swelling pasture of the brightest green grass, stretching awayfrom you on every side, behind, toward these hills I have described, inall other directions, to a belt of tall trees, all growing up with nobleproportions, from the generous soil. It is an unimagined picture ofabundance and peace. Somewhere about, you are sure to see a huge herd, of cattle, often white, and generally brightly marked, grazing. Alllooks like the work of man's hand, but you see no vestige of man, saveperhaps an almost imperceptible hut on the edge of the prairie. Reachingthe river, I ferried myself across, and then crossed over to take theJacksonville railroad, but, finding there was no train, passed the nightat a farm house. And here may find its place this converse between thesolitary old man and the young traveller. 

 SOLITARY. 

 My son, with weariness thou seemest spent, And toiling on the dusty road all day, Weary and pale, yet with inconstant step, Hither and thither turning, --seekest thou To find aught lost, or what dark care pursues thee? If thou art weary, rest, if hungry, eat. 

 TRAVELLER. 

 Oh rather, father, let me ask of thee What is it I do seek, what thing I lack? These many days I've left my father's hall, Forth driven by insatiable desire, That, like the wind, now gently murmuring, Enticed me forward with its own sweet voice Through many-leaved woods, and valleys deep, Yet ever fled before me. Then with sound Stronger than hurrying tempest, seizing me, Forced me to fly its power. Forward still, Bound by enchanted ties, I seek its source. Sometimes it is a something I have lost, Known long since, before I bent my steps Toward this beautiful broad plane of earth. Sometimes it is a spirit yet unknown, In whose dim-imaged features seem to smile The dear delight of these high-mansioned thoughts, That sometimes visit me. Like unto mine Her lineaments appear, but beautiful, As of a sister in a far-off world, Waiting to welcome me. And when I think To reach and clasp the figure, it is gone, And some ill-omened ghastly vision comes To bid beware, and not too curiously Demand the secrets of that distant world, Whose shadow haunts me. --On the waves below But now I gazed, warmed with the setting sun, Who sent his golden streamers to my feet, It seemed a pathway to a world beyond, And I looked round, if that my spirit beckoned That I might follow it. 

 SOLITARY. 

 Dreams all, my son. Yes, even so I dreamed, And even so was thwarted. You must learn To dream another long and troublous dream. The dream of life. And you shall think you wake, And think the shadows substance, love and hate, Exchange and barter, joy, and weep, and dance, And this too shall be dream. 

 TRAVELLER. 

 Oh who can say Where lies the boundary? What solid things That daily mock our senses, shall dissolve Before the might within, while shadowy forms Freeze into stark reality, defying The force and will of man. These forms I see, They may go with me through eternity, And bless or curse with ceaseless company, While yonder man, that I met yesternight, Where is he now? He passed before my eyes, He is gone, but these stay with me ever. 

 That night the young man rested with the old, And, grave or gay, in laughter or in tears, They wore the night in converse. Morning came, The dreamer took his solitary way; And, as he pressed the old man's hand, he sighed, Must this too be a dream?

Afterwards, of the rolling prairie. "There was one of twenty miles inextent, not flat, but high and rolling, so that when you arrived at ahigh part, by gentle ascents, the view was beyond measure grand; as faras the eye could reach, nothing but the green, rolling plain, and at avast distance, groves, all looking gentle and cultivated, yet alluninhabited. I think it would impress you, as it does me, that thesescenes are truly sublime. I have a sensation of vastness which I havesought in vain among high mountains. Mountains crowd one sensation onanother, till all is excitement, all is surprise, wonder, enchantment. Here is neither enchantment or disappointment, but expectation fullyrealized. I have always had an attachment for a plain. The RomanCampagna is a prairie. Peoria is in a most lovely situation. In fact Iam so delighted that I am as full of superlatives as the Italianlanguage. I could, however, find fault enough, if you ask what Idislike. "

But no one did ask; it is not worth while where there is so much toadmire. Yet the following is a good statement of the shadow side. 

"As to the boasts about the rapid progress here, give me rather the firmfibre of a slow and knotty growth. I could not help, thinking as muchwhen I was talking to E. The other day, whom I met on board the boat. Hequarrelled with Boston for its slowness; said it was a bad place for ayoung man. He could not make himself felt, could not see the effects ofhis exertions as he could here. --To be sure he could not. Here he comes, like a yankee farmer, with all the knowledge that our hard soil andlaborious cultivation could give him, and what wonder if he is surprisedat the work of his own hands, when he comes to such a soil as this. Buthe feeds not so many mouths, though he tills more acres. The plants heraises have not so exquisite a form, the vegetables so fine a flavor. His cultivation becomes more negligent, he is not so good a farmer. Isnot this a true view? It strikes me continually. The traces of a man'shand in a new country are rarely productive of beauty. It is a cuttingdown of forest trees to make zigzag fences. "

The most picturesque objects to be seen from Chicago on the inland sidewere the lines of Hoosier wagons. These rude farmers, the large firstproduct of the soil, travel leisurely along, sleeping in their wagons bynight, eating only what they bring with them. In the town they observethe same plan, and trouble no luxurious hotel for board and lodging. Inthe town they look like foreign peasantry, and contrast well with themany Germans, Dutch, and Irish. In the country it is very pretty to seethem prepared to "camp out" at night, their horses taken out of harness, and they lounging under the trees, enjoying the evening meal. 

On the lake side it is fine to see the great boats come panting it fromtheir rapid and marvellous journey. Especially at night the motion oftheir lights is very majestic. 

When the favorite boats, the Great Western and Illinois, are going out, the town is thronged with people from the south and farther west, to goin them. These moonlight nights I would hear the French rippling andfluttering familiarly amid the rude ups and downs of the Hoosierdialect. 

At the hotel table were daily to be seen new faces, and new stories tobe learned. And any one who has a large acquaintance may be pretty sureof meeting some of them here in the course of a few days. 

Among those whom I met was Mrs. Z. , the aunt of an old schoolmate, towhom I impatiently hastened, as soon as the meal was over, to demandnews of Mariana. The answer startled me. Mariana, so full of life, wasdead. That form, the most rich in energy and coloring of any I had everseen, had faded from the earth. The circle of youthful associations hadgiven way in the part, that seemed the strongest. What I now learned ofthe story of this life, and what was by myself remembered, may be boundtogether in this slight sketch. 

At the boarding-school to which I was too early sent, a fond, a proud, and timid child, I saw among the ranks of the gay and graceful, brightor earnest girls, only one who interested my fancy or touched my youngheart; and this was Mariana. She was, on the father's side, of SpanishCreole blood, but had been sent to the Atlantic coast, to receive aschool education under the care of her aunt, Mrs. Z. 

This lady had kept her mostly at home with herself, and Mariana had gonefrom her house to a day-school; but the aunt, being absent for a time inEurope, she had now been unfortunately committed for some time to themercies of a boarding-school. 

A strange bird she proved there, --a lonely swallow that could not makefor itself a summer. At first, her schoolmates were captivated with herways; her love of wild dances and sudden song, her freaks of passion andof wit. She was always new, always surprising, and, for a time, charming. 

But, after awhile, they tired of her. She could never be depended on tojoin in their plans, yet she expected them to follow out hers withtheir whole strength. She was very loving, even infatuated in her ownaffections, and exacted from those who had professed any love for her, the devotion she was willing to bestow. 

Yet there was a vein of haughty caprice in her character; a love ofsolitude, which made her at times wish to retire entirely, and at thesetimes she would expect to be thoroughly understood, and let alone, yetto be welcomed back when she returned. She did not thwart others intheir humors, but she never doubted of great indulgence from them. 

Some singular habits she had which, when new, charmed, but, afteracquaintance, displeased her companions. She had by nature the samehabit and power of excitement that is described in the spinningdervishes of the East. Like them, she would spin until all around herwere giddy, while her own brain, instead of being disturbed, was excitedto great action. Pausing, she would declaim verse of others or her own;act many parts, with strange catch-words and burdens that seemed to actwith mystical power on her own fancy, sometimes stimulating her toconvulse the hearer with laughter, sometimes to melt him to tears. Whenher power began to languish, she would spin again till fired torecommence her singular drama, into which she wove figures from thescenes of her earlier childhood, her companions, and the dignitaries shesometimes saw, with fantasies unknown to life, unknown to heaven orearth. 

This excitement, as may be supposed, was not good for her. It oftenestcame on in the evening, and often spoiled her sleep. She would wake inthe night, and cheat her restlessness by inventions that teazed, whilethey sometimes diverted her companions. 

She was also a sleep-walker; and this one trait of her case did somewhatalarm her guardians, who, otherwise, showed the same profound stupidityas to this peculiar being, usual in the overseers of the young. Theyconsulted a physician, who said she would outgrow it, and prescribed amilk diet. 

Meantime, the fever of this ardent and too early stimulated nature wasconstantly increased by the restraints and narrow routine of theboarding school. She was always devising means to break in upon it. Shehad a taste which would have seemed ludicrous to her mates, if they hadnot felt some awe of her, from a touch of genius and power that neverleft her, for costume and fancy dresses, always some sash twisted abouther, some drapery, something odd in the arrangement of her hair anddress, so that the methodical preceptress dared not let her go outwithout a careful scrutiny and remodelling, whose soberizing effectsgenerally disappeared the moment she was in the free air. 

At last, a vent for her was found in private theatricals. Play followedplay, and in these and the rehearsals she found entertainment congenialwith her. The principal parts, as a matter of course, fell to her lot;most of the good suggestions and arrangements came from her, and for atime she ruled masterly and shone triumphant. 

During these performances the girls had heightened their natural bloomwith artificial red; this was delightful to them--it was something soout of the way. But Mariana, after the plays were over, kept her carminesaucer on the dressing-table, and put on her blushes regularly as themorning. 

When stared and jeered at, she at first said she did it because shethought it made her look prettier; but, after a while, she became quitepetulant about it, --would make no reply to any joke, but merely kept ondoing it. 

This irritated the girls, as all eccentricity does the world in general, more than vice or malignity. They talked it over among themselves, tillthey got wrought up to a desire of punishing, once for all, thissometimes amusing, but so often provoking nonconformist. 

Having obtained the leave of the mistress, they laid, with great glee, aplan one evening, which was to be carried into execution next day atdinner. 

Among Mariana's irregularities was a great aversion to the meal-timeceremonial. So long, so tiresome she found it, to be seated at a certainmoment, to wait while each one was served at so large a table, and onewhere there was scarcely any conversation; from day to day it becamemore heavy to her to sit there, or go there at all. Often as possibleshe excused herself on the ever-convenient plea of headache, and washardly ever ready when the dinner-bell rang. 

To-day it found her on the balcony, lost in gazing on the beautifulprospect. I have heard her say afterwards, she had rarely in her lifebeen so happy, --and she was one with whom happiness was a stillrapture. It was one of the most blessed summer days; the shadows ofgreat white clouds empurpled the distant hills for a few moments only toleave them more golden; the tall grass of the wide fields waved in thesoftest breeze. Pure blue were the heavens, and the same hue of purecontentment was in the heart of Mariana. 

Suddenly on her bright mood jarred the dinner bell. At first rose herusual thought, I will not, cannot go; and then the _must_, which dailylife can always enforce, even upon the butterflies and birds, came, andshe walked reluctantly to her room. She merely changed her dress, andnever thought of adding the artificial rose to her cheek. 

When she took her seat in the dining-hall, and was asked if she would behelped, raising her eyes, she saw the person who asked her was deeplyrouged, with a bright glaring spot, perfectly round, in either cheek. She looked at the next, same apparition! She then slowly passed her eyesdown the whole line, and saw the same, with a suppressed smiledistorting every countenance. Catching the design at once, shedeliberately looked along her own side of the table, at every schoolmatein turn; every one had joined in the trick. The teachers strove to begrave, but she saw they enjoyed the joke. The servants could notsuppress a titter. 

When Warren Hastings stood at the bar of Westminster Hall--when theMethodist preacher walked through a line of men, each of whom greetedhim with a brickbat or a rotten egg, they had some preparation for thecrisis, and it might not be very difficult to meet it with an impassivebrow. Our little girl was quite unprepared to find herself in the midstof a world which despised her, and triumphed in her disgrace. 

She had ruled, like a queen, in the midst of her companions; she hadshed her animation through their lives, and loaded them with prodigalfavors, nor once suspected that a powerful favorite might not be loved. Now, she felt that she had been but a dangerous plaything in the handsof those whose hearts she never had doubted. 

Yet, the occasion found her equal to it, for Mariana had the kind ofspirit, which, in a better cause, had made the Roman matron truly say ofher death-wound, "It is not painful, Poetus. " She did not blench--shedid not change countenance. She swallowed her dinner with apparentcomposure. She made remarks to those near her, as if she had no eyes. 

The wrath of the foe of course rose higher, and the moment they werefreed from the restraints of the dining-room, they all ran off, gailycalling, and sarcastically laughing, with backward glances, at Mariana, left alone. 

She went alone to her room, locked the door, and threw herself on thefloor in strong convulsions. These had sometimes threatened her life, asa child, but of later years, she had outgrown them. School-hours came, and she was not there. A little girl, sent to her door, could get noanswer. The teachers became alarmed, and broke it open. Bitter was theirpenitence and that of her companions at the state in which they foundher. For some hours, terrible anxiety was felt; but, at last, nature, exhausted, relieved herself by a deep slumber. 

From this Mariana rose an altered being. She made no reply to theexpressions of sorrow from her companions, none to the grave and kind, but undiscerning comments of her teacher. She did not name the source ofher anguish, and its poisoned dart sank deeply in. It was this thoughtwhich stung her so. What, not one, not a single one, in the hour oftrial, to take my part, not one who refused to take part against me. Past words of love, and caresses, little heeded at the time, rose to hermemory, and gave fuel to her distempered thoughts. Beyond the sense ofuniversal perfidy, of burning resentment, she could not get. AndMariana, born for love, now hated all the world. 

The change, however, which these feelings made in her conduct andappearance bore no such construction to the careless observer. Her gayfreaks were quite gone, her wildness, her invention. Her dress wasuniform, her manner much subdued. Her chief interest seemed now to liein her studies, and in music. Her companions she never sought, but they, partly from uneasy remorseful feelings, partly that they really likedher much better now that she did not oppress and puzzle them, sought hercontinually. And here the black shadow comes upon her life, the onlystain upon the history of Mariana. 

They talked to her, as girls, having few topics, naturally do, of oneanother. And the demon rose within her, and spontaneously, withoutdesign, generally without words of positive falsehood, she became agenius of discord among them. She fanned those flames of envy andjealousy which a wise, true word from a third will often quench forever;by a glance, or a seemingly light reply, she planted the seeds ofdissension, till there was scarce a peaceful affection, or sincereintimacy in the circle where she lived, and could not but rule, for shewas one whose nature was to that of the others as fire to clay. 

It was at this time that I came to the school, and first saw Mariana. Meshe charmed at once, for I was a sentimental child, who, in my early illhealth, had been indulged in reading novels, till I had no eyes for thecommon greens and browns of life. The heroine of one of these, "TheBandit's Bride, " I immediately saw in Mariana. Surely the Bandit's Bridehad just such hair, and such strange, lively ways, and such a suddenflash of the eye. The Bandit's Bride, too, was born to be"misunderstood" by all but her lover. But Mariana, I was determined, should be more fortunate, for, until her lover appeared, I myself wouldbe the wise and delicate being who could understand her. 

It was not, however, easy to approach her for this purpose. Did I offerto run and fetch her handkerchief, she was obliged to go to her room, and would rather do it herself. She did not like to have people turnover for her the leaves of the music book as she played. Did I approachmy stool to her feet, she moved away, as if to give me room. The bunchof wild flowers which I timidly laid beside her plate was left there. 

After some weeks my desire to attract her notice really preyed upon me, and one day meeting her alone in the entry, I fell upon my knees, andkissing her hand, cried, "O Mariana, do let me love you, and try to loveme a little. " But my idol snatched away her hand, and, laughing morewildly than the Bandit's Bride was ever described to have done, ran intoher room. After that day her manner to me was not only cold, butrepulsive; I felt myself scorned, and became very unhappy. 

Perhaps four months had passed thus, when, one afternoon, it becameobvious that something more than common was brewing. Dismay and mysterywere written in many faces of the older girls; much whispering was goingon in corners. 

In the evening, after prayers, the principal bade us stay; and, in agrave, sad voice, summoned forth Mariana to answer charges to be madeagainst her. 

Mariana came forward, and leaned against the chimney-piece. Eight of theolder girls came forward, and preferred against her charges, alas, toowell-founded, of calumny and falsehood. 

My heart sank within me, as one after the other brought up their proofs, and I saw they were too strong to be resisted. I could not bear thethought of this second disgrace of my shining favorite. The first hadbeen whispered to me, though the girls did not like to talk about it. Imust confess, such is the charm of strength to softer natures, thatneither of these crises could deprive Mariana of hers in my eyes. 

At first, she defended herself with self-possession and eloquence. Butwhen she found she could no more resist the truth, she suddenly threwherself down, dashing her head, with all her force, against the ironhearth, on which a fire was burning, and was taken up senseless. 

The affright of those present was great. Now that they had perhapskilled her, they reflected it would have been as well, if they had takenwarning from the former occasion, and approached very carefully a natureso capable of any extreme. After awhile she revived, with a faint groan, amid the sobs of her companions. I was on my knees by the bed, and heldher cold hand. One of those most aggrieved took it from me to beg herpardon, and say it was impossible not to love her. She made no reply. 

Neither that night, nor for several days, could a word be obtained fromher, nor would she touch food; but, when it was presented to her, or anyone drew near for any cause, she merely turned away her head, and gaveno sign. The teacher saw that some terrible nervous affection had fallenupon her, that she grew more and more feverish. She knew not what to do. 

Meanwhile a new revolution had taken place in the mind of thepassionate, but nobly-tempered child. All these months nothing but thesense of injury had rankled in her heart. She had gone on in one mood, doing what the demon prompted, without scruple and without fear. 

But, at the moment of detection, the tide ebbed, and the bottom of hersoul lay revealed to her eye. How black, how stained and sad. Strange, strange that she had not seen before the baseness and cruelty offalsehood, the loveliness of truth. Now, amid the wreck, uprose themoral nature which never before had attained the ascendant. "But, " shethought, "too late, sin is revealed to me in all its deformity, and, sin-defiled, I will not, cannot live. The, mainspring of life isbroken. "

And thus passed slowly by her hours in that black despair of which onlyyouth is capable. In older years men suffer more dull pain, as eachsorrow that comes drops its leaden weight into the past, and, similarfeatures of character bringing similar results, draws up a heavy burdenburied in those depths. But only youth has energy, with fixed unwinkinggaze, to contemplate grief, to hold it in the arms and to the heart, like a child which makes it wretched, yet is indubitably its own. 

The lady who took charge of this sad child had never well understood herbefore, but had always looked on her with great tenderness. And now loveseemed, when all around were in greatest distress, fearing to call inmedical aid, fearing to do without it, to teach her where the only balmwas to be found that could have healed this wounded spirit. 

One night she came in, bringing a calming draught. Mariana was sitting, as usual, her hair loose, her dress the same robe they had put on her atfirst, her eyes fixed vacantly upon the whited wall. To the proffers andentreaties of her nurse she made no reply. 

The lady burst into tears, but Mariana did not seem even to observe it. 

The lady then said, "O my child, do not despair, do not think that onegreat fault can mar a whole life. Let me trust you, let me tell you thegriefs of my sad life. I will tell to you, Mariana, what I neverexpected to impart to any one. "

And so she told her tale: it was one of pain, of shame, borne, not forherself, but for one near and dear as herself. Mariana knew the lady, knew the pride and reserve of her nature; she had often admired to seehow the cheek, lovely, but no longer young, mantled with the deepestblush of youth, and the blue eyes were cast down at any little emotion. She had understood the proud sensibility of the character. She fixed hereyes on those now raised to hers, bright with fast falling tears. Sheheard the story to the end, and then, without saying a word, stretchedout her hand for the cup. 

She returned to life, but it was as one who has passed through thevalley of death. The heart of stone was quite broken in her. The fierylife fallen from flame to coal. When her strength was a little restored, she had all her companions summoned, and said to them; "I deserved todie, but a generous trust has called me back to life. I will be worthyof it, nor ever betray the truth, or resent injury more. Can you forgivethe past?"

And they not only forgave, but, with love and earnest tears, clasped intheir arms the returning sister. They vied with one another in officesof humble love to the humbled one; and, let it be recorded as aninstance of the pure honor of which young hearts are capable, that thesefacts, known to forty persons, never, so far as I know, transpiredbeyond those walls. 

It was not long after this that Mariana was summoned home. She wentthither a wonderfully instructed being, though in ways those who hadsent her forth to learn little dreamed of. 

Never was forgotten the vow of the returning prodigal. Mariana could notresent, could not play false. The terrible crisis, which she so earlypassed through, probably prevented the world from hearing much of her. Awild fire was tamed in that hour of penitence at the boarding school, such as has oftentimes wrapped court and camp in its destructive glow. 

But great were the perils she had yet to undergo, for she was one ofthose barks which easily get beyond soundings, and ride not lightly onthe plunging billow. 

Her return to her native climate seconded the effects of inwardrevolutions. The cool airs of the north had exasperated nerves toosusceptible for their tension. Those of the south restored her to a moresoft and indolent state. Energy gave place to feeling, turbulence tointensity of character. 

At this time love was the natural guest, and he came to her under a formthat might have deluded one less ready for delusion. 

Sylvain was a person well proportioned to her lot in years, family, andfortune. His personal beauty was not great, but of a noble character. Repose marked his slow gesture, and the steady gaze of his large browneye, but it was a repose that would give way to a blaze of energy whenthe occasion called. In his stature, expression, and heavy coloring, hemight not unfitly be represented by the great magnolias that inhabit theforests of that climate. His voice, like everything about him, was richand soft, rather than sweet or delicate. 

Mariana no sooner knew him than she loved, and her love, lovely as shewas, soon excited his. But, oh! it is a curse to woman to love first, ormost. In so doing she reverses the natural relations, and her heart cannever, never be satisfied with what ensues. 

Mariana loved first, and loved most, for she had most force and varietyto love with. Sylvain seemed, at first, to take her to himself, as thedeep southern night might some fair star. But it proved not so. 

Mariana was a very intellectual being, and she needed companionship. This she could only have with Sylvain, in the paths of passion andaction. Thoughts he had none, and little delicacy of sentiment. Thegifts she loved to prepare of such for him, he took with a sweet, butindolent smile; he held them lightly, and soon they fell from his grasp. He loved to have her near him, to feel the glow and fragrance of hernature, but cared not to explore the little secret paths whence thatfragrance was collected. 

Mariana knew not this for a long time. Loving so much, she imagined allthe rest, and, where she felt a blank, always hoped that furthercommunion would fill it up. When she found this could never be; thatthere was absolutely a whole province of her being to which nothing inhis answered, she was too deeply in love to leave him. Often afterpassing hours together, beneath the southern moon, when, amid the sweetintoxication of mutual love, she still felt the desolation of solitude, and a repression of her finer powers, she had asked herself, can I givehim up? But the heart always passionately answered, no! I may bemiserable with him, but I cannot live without him. 

And the last miserable feeling of these conflicts was, that if thelover, soon to be the bosom friend, could have dreamed of theseconflicts, he would have laughed, or else been angry, even enough togive her up. 

Ah weakness of the strong. Of these strong only where strength isweakness. Like others she had the decisions of life to make, before shehad light by which to make them. Let none condemn her. Those who havenot erred as fatally, should thank the guardian angel who gave them moretime to prepare for judgment, but blame no children who thought at arm'slength to find the moon. Mariana, with a heart capable of highest Eros, gave it to one who knew love only as a flower or plaything, and boundher heartstrings to one who parted his as lightly as the ripe fruitleaves the bough. The sequel could not fail. Many console themselves forthe one great mistake with their children, with the world. This was notpossible to Mariana. A few months of domestic life she still was almosthappy. But Sylvain then grew tired. He wanted business and the world;of these she had no knowledge, for them no faculties. He wanted in herthe head of his house; she to make her heart his home. No compromise waspossible between natures of such unequal poise, and which had met onlyon one or two points. Through all its stages she

 "felt The agonizing sense Of seeing lore from passion melt Into indifference; The fearful shame that, day by day, Burns onward, still to burn, To have thrown her precious heart away, And met this black return, "

till death at last closed the scene. Not that she died of one downrightblow on the heart. That is not the way such cases proceed. I cannotdetail all the symptoms, for I was not there to watch them, and aunt Z. Was neither so faithful an observer or narrator as I have shown myselfin the school-day passages; but, generally, they were as follows. 

Sylvain wanted to go into the world, or let it into his house. Marianaconsented; but, with an unsatisfied heart, and no lightness ofcharacter, she played her part ill there. The sort of talent andfacility she had displayed in early days, were not the least like whatis called out in the social world by the desire to please and to shine. Her excitement had been muse-like, that of the improvisatrice, whosekindling fancy seeks to create an atmosphere round it, and makes thechain through which to set free its electric sparks. That had been atime of wild and exuberant life. After her character became more tenderand concentrated, strong affection or a pure enthusiasm might still havecalled out beautiful talents in her. But in the first she was utterlydisappointed. The second was not roused within her thought. She did notexpand into various life, and remained unequal; sometimes too passive, sometimes too ardent, and not sufficiently occupied with what occupiedthose around her to come on the same level with them and embellish theirhours. 

Thus she lost ground daily with her husband, who, comparing her with thecareless shining dames of society, wondered why he had found her socharming in solitude. 

At intervals, when they were left alone, Mariana wanted to open herheart, to tell the thoughts of her mind. She was so conscious of secretriches within herself, that sometimes it seemed, could she but reveal aglimpse of them to the eye of Sylvain, he would be attracted near heragain, and take a path where they could walk hand in hand. Sylvain, inthese intervals, wanted an indolent repose. His home was his castle. Hewanted no scenes too exciting there. Light jousts and plays were wellenough, but no grave encounters. He liked to lounge, to sing, to read, to sleep. In fine, Sylvain became the kind, but preoccupied husband, Mariana, the solitary and wretched wife. He was off continually, withhis male companions, on excursions or affairs of pleasure. At homeMariana found that neither her books nor music would console her. 

She was of too strong a nature to yield without a struggle to so dull afiend as despair. She looked into other hearts, seeking whether shecould there find such home as an orphan asylum may afford. This she didrather because the chance came to her, and it seemed unfit not to seizethe proffered plank, than in hope, for she was not one to double herstakes, but rather with Cassandra power to discern early the sure courseof the game. And Cassandra whispered that she was one of those

 "Whom men love not, but yet regret. "

And so it proved. Just as in her childish days, though in a differentform, it happened betwixt her and these companions. She could not becontent to receive them quietly, but was stimulated to throw herself toomuch into the tie, into the hour, till she filled it too full for them. Like Fortunio, who sought to do homage to his friends by building a fireof cinnamon, not knowing that its perfume would be too strong for theirendurance, so did Mariana. What she wanted to tell, they did not wish tohear; a little had pleased, so much overpowered, and they preferred thefree air of the street, even, to the cinnamon perfume of her palace. 

However, this did not signify; had they staid, it would not have availedher! It was a nobler road, a higher aim she needed now; this did notbecome clear to her. 

She lost her appetite, she fell sick, had fever. Sylvain was alarmed, nursed her tenderly; she grew better. Then his care ceased, he saw notthe mind's disease, but left her to rise into health and recover thetone of her spirits, as she might. More solitary than ever, she tried toraise herself, but she knew not yet enough. The weight laid upon heryoung life was a little too heavy for it. One long day she passed alone, and the thoughts and presages came too thick for her strength. She knewnot what to do with them, relapsed into fever, and died. 

Notwithstanding this weakness, I must ever think of her as a fine sampleof womanhood, born to shed light and life on some palace home. Had sheknown more of God and the universe, she would not have given way whereso many have conquered. But peace be with her; she now, perhaps, hasentered into a larger freedom, which is knowledge. With her died a greatinterest in life to me. Since her I have never seen a Bandit's Bride. She, indeed, turned out to be only a merchant's. --Sylvain is marriedagain to a fair and laughing girl, who will not die, probably, tilltheir marriage grows a "golden marriage. "

Aunt Z. Had with her some papers of Mariana's, which faintly shadowforth the thoughts that engaged her in the last days. One of these seemsto have been written when some faint gleam had been thrown across thepath, only to make its darkness more visible. It seems to have beensuggested by remembrance of the beautiful ballad, _Helen of KirconnelLee_, which once she loved to recite, and in tones that would not havesent a chill to the heart from which it came. 

 "Death Opens her sweet white arms, and whispers Peace; Come, say thy sorrows in this bosom! This Will never close against thee, and my heart, Though cold, cannot be colder much than man's. "

 "I wish I were where Helen lies, " A lover in the times of old, Thus vents his grief in lonely sighs, And hot tears from a bosom cold. 

 But, mourner for thy martyred love, Could'st thou but know what hearts must feel, Where no sweet recollections move, Whose tears a desert fount reveal. 

 When "in thy arms burd Helen fell, " She died, sad man, she died for thee, Nor could the films of death dispel Her loving eye's sweet radiancy. 

 Thou wert beloved, and she had loved, Till death alone the whole could tell, Death every shade of doubt removed, And steeped the star in its cold well. 

 On some fond breast the parting soul Relies, --earth has no more to give; Who wholly loves has known the whole, The wholly loved doth truly live. 

 But some, sad outcasts from this prize, Wither down to a lonely grave, All hearts their hidden love despise, And leave them to the whelming wave. 

 They heart to heart have never pressed, Nor hands in holy pledge have given, By father's love were ne'er caressed, Nor in a mother's eye saw heaven. 

 A flowerless and fruitless tree, A dried up stream, a mateless bird, They live, yet never living be, They die, their music all unheard. 

 I wish I were where Helen lies, For there I could not be alone; But now, when this dull body dies, The spirit still will make its moan. 

 Love passed me by, nor touched my brow; Life would not yield one perfect boon; And all too late it calls me now, O all too late, and all too soon. 

 If thou couldst the dark riddle read Which leaves this dart within my breast, Then might I think thou lov'st indeed, Then were the whole to thee confest. 

 Father, they will not take me home, To the poor child no heart is free; In sleet and snow all night I roam; Father, --was this decreed by thee?

 I will not try another door, To seek what I have never found; Now, till the very last is o'er, Upon the earth I'll wander round. 

 I will not hear the treacherous call That bids me stay and rest awhile, For I have found that, one and all, They seek me for a prey and spoil. 

 They are not bad, I know it well; I know they know not what they do; They are the tools of the dread spell Which the lost lover must pursue. 

 In temples sometimes she may rest, In lonely groves, away from men, There bend the head, by heats distrest, Nor be by blows awoke again. 

 Nature is kind, and God is kind, And, if she had not had a heart, Only that great discerning mind, She might have acted well her part. 

 But oh this thirst, that none can still, Save those unfounden waters free; The angel of my life should fill And soothe me to Eternity!

It marks the defect in the position of woman that one like Marianashould have found reason to write thus. To a man of equal power, equalsincerity, no more!--many resources would have presented themselves. Hewould not have needed to seek, he would have been called by life, andnot permitted to be quite wrecked through the affections only. But suchwomen as Mariana are often lost, unless they meet some man ofsufficiently great soul to prize them. 

Van Artevelde's Elena, though in her individual nature unlike myMariana, is like her in a mind whose large impulses are disproportionedto the persons and occasions she meets, and which carry her beyond thosereserves which mark the appointed lot of woman. But, when she met VanArtevelde, he was too great not to revere her rare nature, withoutregard to the stains and errors of its past history; great enough toreceive her entirely and make a new life for her; man enough to be alover! But as such men come not so often as once an age, their presenceshould not be absolutely needed to sustain life. 

At Chicago I read again Philip Van Artevelde, and certain passages in itwill always be in my mind associated with the deep sound of the lake, asheard in the night. I used to read a short time at night, and then openthe blind to look out. The moon would be full upon the lake, and thecalm breath, pure light, and the deep voice harmonized well with thethought of the Flemish hero. When will this country have such a man? Itis what she needs; no thin Idealist, no coarse Realist, but a man whoseeye reads the heavens while his feet step firmly on the ground, and hishands are strong and dexterous for the use of human implements. A manreligious, virtuous and--sagacious; a man of universal sympathies, butself-possessed; a man who knows the region of emotion, though he is notits slave; a man to whom this world is no mere spectacle, or fleetingshadow, but a great solemn game to be played with good heed, for itsstakes are of eternal value, yet who, if his own play be true, heeds notwhat he loses by the falsehood of others. A man who hives from thepast, yet knows that its honey can but moderately avail him; whosecomprehensive eye scans the present, neither infatuated by its goldenlures, nor chilled by its many ventures; who possesses prescience, asthe wise man must, but not so far as to be driven mad to-day by the giftwhich discerns to-morrow. When there is such a man for America, thethought which urges her on will be expressed. 

Now that I am about to leave Illinois, feelings of regret and admirationcome over me, as in parting with a friend whom we have not had the goodsense to prize and study, while hours of association, never perhaps toreturn, were granted. I have fixed my attention almost exclusively onthe picturesque beauty of this region; it was so new, so inspiring. ButI ought to have been more interested in the housekeeping of thismagnificent state, in the education she is giving her children, in theirprospects. 

Illinois is, at present, a by-word of reproach among the nations, forthe careless, prodigal course, by which, in early youth, she hasendangered her honor. But you cannot look about you there, withoutseeing that there are resources abundant to retrieve, and soon toretrieve, far greater errors, if they are only directed with wisdom. 

[Illustration: ROLLING PRAIRIE OF ILLINOIS]

Might the simple maxim, that honesty is the best policy be laid toheart! Might a sense of the true aims of life elevate the tone ofpolitics and trade, till public and private honor become identical!Might the western man in that crowded and exciting life which developshis faculties so fully for to-day, not forget that better part whichcould not be taken from him! Might the western woman take that interestand acquire that light for the education of the children, for which shealone has leisure!

This is indeed the great problem of the place and time. If the nextgeneration be well prepared for their work, ambitious of good andskilful to achieve it, the children of the present settlers may beleaven enough for the mass constantly increasing by emigration. And howmuch is this needed where those rude foreigners can so little understandthe best interests of the land they seek for bread and shelter. It wouldbe a happiness to aid in this good work, and interweave the white andgolden threads into the fate of Illinois. It would be a work worthy thedevotion of any mind. 

In the little that I saw, was a large proportion of intelligence, activity, and kind feeling; but, if there was much serious laying toheart of the true purposes of life, it did not appear in the tone ofconversation. 

Having before me the Illinois guide-book, I find there mentioned, as a"visionary, " one of the men I should think of as able to be a trulyvaluable settler in a new and great country--Morris Birkbeck, ofEngland. Since my return, I have read his journey to, and letters from, Illinois. I see nothing promised there that will not surely belong tothe man who knows how to seek for it. 

Mr. Birkbeck was an enlightened philanthropist, the rather that he didnot wish to sacrifice himself to his fellow men, but to benefit themwith all he had, and was, and wished. He thought all the creatures of adivine love ought to be happy and ought to be good, and that his ownsoul and his own life were not less precious than those of others;indeed, that to keep these healthy, was his only means of a healthyinfluence. 

But his aims were altogether generous. Freedom, the liberty of law, notlicense; not indolence, work for himself and children, and all men, butunder genial and poetic influences;--these were his aims. How differentfrom those of the new settlers in general! And into his mind so long agoshone steadily the two thoughts, now so prevalent in thinking andaspiring minds, of "Resist not evil, " and "Every man his own priest, andthe heart the only true church. "

He has lost credit for sagacity from accidental circumstances. It doesnot appear that his position was ill chosen, or his meansdisproportioned to his ends, had he been sustained by funds fromEngland, as he had a right to expect. But through the profligacy of anear relative, commissioned to collect these dues, he was disappointedof them, and his paper protested and credit destroyed in our cities, before he became aware of his danger. 

Still, though more slowly and with more difficulty, he might havesucceeded in his designs. The English farmer might have made the Englishsettlement a model for good methods and good aims to all that region, had not death prematurely cut short his plans. 

I have wished to say these few words, because the veneration with whichI have been inspired for his character by those who knew him well, makes me impatient of this careless blame being passed from mouth tomouth and book, to book. Success is no test of a man's endeavor, andIllinois will yet, I hope, regard this man, who knew so well what_ought_ to be, as one of her true patriarchs, the Abraham of a promisedland. 

He was one too much before his time to be soon valued; but the time isgrowing up to him, and will understand his mild philanthropy and clear, large views. 

I subjoin the account of his death, given me by a friend, as expressing, in fair picture, the character of the man. 

"Mr. Birkbeck was returning from the seat of government, whither he hadbeen on public business, and was accompanied by his son Bradford, ayouth of sixteen or eighteen. It was necessary to cross a ford, whichwas rendered difficult by the swelling of the stream. Mr. B. 's horse wasunwilling to plunge into the water, so his son offered to go first, andhe followed. Bradford's horse had just gained footing on the oppositeshore, when he looked back and perceived his father was dismounted, struggling in the water, and carried down by the current. 

"Mr. Birkbeck could not swim; Bradford could; so he dismounted, andplunged into the stream to save his father. He got to him before hesank, held him up above water, and told him to take hold of his collar, and he would swim ashore with him. Mr. B. Did so, and Bradford exertedall his strength to stem the current and reach the shore at a pointwhere they could land; but, encumbered by his own clothing and hisfather's weight, he made no progress; and when Mr. B. Perceived this, he, with his characteristic calmness and resolution, gave up his hold ofhis son, and, motioning to him to save himself, resigned himself to hisfate. His son reached the shore, but was too much overwhelmed by hisloss to leave it. He was found by some travellers, many hours after, seated on the margin of the stream, with his head in his hands, stupefied with grief. 

"The body was found, and on the countenance was the sweetest smile; andBradford said, 'just so he smiled upon me when he let go and pushed meaway from him. '"

Many men can choose the right and best on a great occasion, but not manycan, with such ready and serene decision, lay aside even life, when itis right and best. This little narrative touched my imagination in veryearly youth, and often has come up, in lonely vision, that face, serenely smiling above the current which bore him away to another realmof being. 

CHAPTER V. 

WISCONSIN. 

A territory, not yet a state; still, nearer the acorn than we were. 

It was very pleasant coming up. These large and elegant boats are sowell arranged that every excursion may be a party of pleasure. There aremany fair shows to see on the lake and its shores, almost always new andagreeable persons on board, pretty children playing about, ladiessinging, (and if not very well, there is room to keep out of the way. )You may see a great deal here of Life, in the London sense, if you knowa few people; or if you do not, and have the tact to look about youwithout seeming to stare. 

We came to Milwaukie, where we were to pass a fortnight or more. 

This place is most beautifully situated. A little river, with romanticbanks, passes up through the town. The bank of the lake is here a boldbluff, eighty feet in height. From its summit, you enjoyed a nobleoutlook on the lake. A little narrow path wound along the edge of thelake below. I liked this walk much. Above me this high wall of richearth, garlanded on its crest with trees, the long ripples of the lakecoming up to my feet. Here, standing in the shadow, I could appreciatebetter its magnificent changes of color, which are the chief beauties ofthe lake-waters; but these are indescribable. 

It was fine to ascend into the lighthouse, above this bluff, and watchfrom thence the thunder-clouds which so frequently rose over the lake, or the great boats coming in. Approaching the Milwaukie pier, they madea bend, and seemed to do obeisance in the heavy style of some dowagerduchess entering a circle she wishes to treat with especial respect. 

These boats come in and out every day, and still afford a cause forgeneral excitement. The people swarm down to greet them, to receive andsend away their packages and letters. To me they seemed such mightymessengers, to give, by their noble motion, such an idea of the powerand fullness of life, that they were worthy to carry despatches fromking to king. It must be very pleasant for those who have an activeshare in carrying on the affairs of this great and growing world to seethem come in. It must be very pleasant to those who have dearly lovedfriends at the next station. To those who have neither business norfriends, it sometimes gives a desolating sense of insignificance. 

The town promises to be, some time, a fine one, as it is so wellsituated; and they have good building material--a yellow brick, verypleasing to the eye. It seems to grow before you, and has indeed butjust emerged from the thickets of oak and wild roses. A few steps willtake you into the thickets, and certainly I never saw so many wildroses, or of so beautiful a red. Of such a color were the first red onesthe world ever saw, when, says the legend, Venus flying to theassistance of Adonis, the rosebushes kept catching her to make her stay, and the drops of blood the thorns drew from her feet, as she toreherself away, fell on the white roses, and turned them this beautifulred. 

I will here insert, though with no excuse, except that it came to memoryat the time, this description of Titian's Venus and Adonis. 

"This picture has that perfect balance of lines and forms that it would, (as was said of all Raphael's) 'seen at any distance have the air of anornamental design. ' It also tolls its story at the first glance, though, like all beautiful works, it gains by study. 

"On one side slumbers the little God of Love, as an emblem, I suppose, that only the love of man is worth embodying, for surely Cytherea's isawake enough. The quiver of Cupid, suspended to a tree, gives sportivegrace to the scene which softens the tragedy of a breaking tie. The dogsof Adonis pull upon his hand; he can scarce forbear to burst from thedetaining arms of Beauty herself, yet he waits a moment to coax her--tomake an unmeaning promise. 'A moment, a moment, my love, and I willreturn; a moment only. ' Adonis is not beautiful, except in hisexpression of eager youth. The Queen of Beauty does not choose Apollo. Venus herself is very beautiful; especially the body is lovely as canbe; and the soft, imploring look, gives a conjugal delicacy to the facewhich purifies the whole picture. This Venus is not as fresh, as movingand breathing as Shakspeare's, yet lovelier to the mind if not to thesense. 'T is difficult to look at this picture without indignation, because it is, in one respect, so true. Why must women always try todetain and restrain what they love? Foolish beauty; let him go; it isthy tenderness that has spoiled him. Be less lovely--less feminine;abandon thy fancy for giving thyself wholly; cease to love so well, andany Hercules will spin among thy maids, if thou wilt. But let him gothis time; thou canst not keep him. Sit there, by thyself, on that bank, and, instead of thinking how soon he will come back, think how thoumay'st love him no better than he does thee, for the time has come. "

It was soon after this moment that the poor Queen, hearing thefrightened hounds, apprehended the rash huntsman's danger, and, flyingthrough the woods, gave their hue to the red roses. 

To return from the Grecian isles to Milwaukie. One day, walking alongthe river's bank in search of a waterfall to be seen from one ravine, weheard tones from a band of music, and saw a gay troop shooting at amark, on the opposite bank. Between every shot the band played; theeffect was very pretty. 

On this walk we found two of the oldest and most gnarled hemlocks thatever afforded study for a painter. They were the only ones we saw; theyseemed the veterans of a former race. 

At Milwaukie, as at Chicago, are many pleasant people, drawn togetherfrom all parts of the world. A resident here would find great piquancyin the associations, --those he met having such dissimilar histories andtopics. And several persons I saw evidently transplanted from the mostrefined circles to be met in this country. There are lures enough in theWest for people of all kinds;--the enthusiast and the cunning man; thenaturalist, and the lover who needs to be rich for the sake of her heloves. 

The torrent of emigration swells very strongly towards this place. During the fine weather, the poor refugees arrive daily, in theirnational dresses, all travel-soiled and worn. The night they pass inrude shantees, in a particular quarter of the town, then walk off intothe country--the mothers carrying their infants, the fathers leading thelittle children by the hand, seeking a home, where their hands maymaintain them. 

One morning we set off in their track, and travelled a day's journeyinto this country, --fair, yet not, in that part which I saw, comparable, in my eyes, to the Rock River region. It alternates rich fields, properfor grain, with oak openings, as they are called; bold, various andbeautiful were the features of the scene, but I saw not those majesticsweeps, those boundless distances, those heavenly fields; it was not thesame world. 

Neither did we travel in the same delightful manner. We were now in anice carriage, which must not go off the road, for fear of breakage, with a regular coachman, whose chief care was not to tire his horses, and who had no taste for entering fields in pursuit of wild flowers, ortempting some strange wood path in search of whatever might befall. Itwas pleasant, but almost as tame as New England. 

But charming indeed was the place where we stopped. It was in thevicinity of a chain of lakes, and on the bank of the loveliest littlestream, called the Bark river, which flowed in rapid amber brightness, through fields, and dells, and stately knolls, of most idylic beauty. 

The little log cabin where we slept, with its flower garden in front, disturbed the scene no more than a stray lock on the fair cheek. Thehospitality of that house I may well call princely; it was the boundlesshospitality of the heart, which, if it has no Aladdin's lamp to create apalace for the guest, does him still higher service by the freedom ofits bounty up to the very last drop of its powers. 

Sweet were the sunsets seen in the valley of this stream, though here, and, I grieve to say, no less near the Rock River, the fiend, who hasever liberty to tempt the happy in this world, appeared in the shape ofmosquitoes, and allowed us no bodily to enjoy our mental peace. 

One day we ladies gave, under the guidance of our host, to visiting allthe beauties of the adjacent lakes--Nomabbin, Silver, and Pine Lakes. Onthe shore of Nomabbin had formerly been one of the finest Indianvillages. Our host said that, one day, as he was lying there beneath thebank, he saw a tall Indian standing at gaze on the knoll. He lay a longtime, curious to see how long the figure would maintain its statue-likeabsorption. But, at last, his patience yielded, and, in moving, he madea slight noise. The Indian saw him, gave a wild, snorting sound ofindignation and pain, and strode away. 

What feelings must consume their heart at such moments! I scarcely seehow they can forbear to shoot the white man where he stands. 

But the power of fate is with the white man, and the Indian feels it. This same gentleman told of his travelling through the wilderness withan Indian guide. He had with him a bottle of spirit which he meant togive him in small quantities, but the Indian, once excited, wanted thewhole at once. I would not, said Mr. ----, give it him, for I thought ifhe got really drunk, there was an end to his services as a guide. But hepersisted, and at last tried to take it from me. I was not armed; hewas, and twice as strong as I. But I knew an Indian could not resist thelook of a white man, and I fixed my eye steadily on his. He bore it fora moment, then his eye fell; he let go the bottle. I took his gun andthrew it to a distance. After a few moments' pause, I told him to go andfetch it, and left it in his hands. From that moment he was quiteobedient, even servile, all the rest of the way. 

This gentleman, though in other respects of most kindly and liberalheart, showed the aversion that the white man soon learns to feel forthe Indian on whom he encroaches, the aversion of the injurer for him hehas degraded. After telling the anecdote of his seeing the Indian gazingat the seat of his former home, "A thing for human feelings the most trying, "

and which, one would think, would have awakened soft compassion--almostremorse--in the present owner of that fair hill, which contained for theexile the bones of his dead, the ashes of his hopes, --he observed, "Theycannot be prevented from straggling back here to their old haunts. Iwish they could. They ought not to permitted to drive away _our_ game. "OUR game--just heavens!

The same gentleman showed, on a slight occasion, the true spirit of thesportsman, or, perhaps I might say of Man, when engaged in any kind ofchase. Showing us some antlers, he said, "This one belonged to amajestic creature. But this other was the beauty. I had been lying along time at watch, when at last I heard them come crackling along. Ilifted my head cautiously, as they burst through the trees. The firstwas a magnificent fellow; but then I saw coming one, the prettiest, themost graceful I ever beheld--there was something so soft and beseechingin its look. I chose him at once; took aim, and shot him dead. You seethe antlers are not very large; it was young, but the prettiestcreature!"

In the course of this morning's drive, we visited the gentlemen on theirfishing party. They hailed us gaily, and rowed ashore to show us whatfine booty they had. No disappointment there, no dull work. On thebeautiful point of land from which we first saw them, lived a contentedwoman, the only one I heard of out there. She was English, and said shehad seen so much suffering in her own country that the hardships of thisseemed as nothing to her. But the others--even our sweet and gentlehostess--found their labors disproportioned to their strength, if notto their patience; and, while their husbands and brothers enjoyed thecountry in hunting or fishing, they found themselves confined to acomfortless and laborious indoor life. But it need not be so long. 

This afternoon, driving about on the banks of these lakes, we found thescene all of one kind of loveliness; wide, graceful woods, and thenthese fine sheets of water, with fine points of land jutting out boldlyinto them. It was lovely, but not striking or peculiar. 

All woods suggest pictures. The European forest, with its long gladesand green sunny dells, naturally suggested the figures of armed knighton his proud steed, or maiden, decked in gold and pearl, pricking alongthem on a snow white palfrey. The green dells, of weary Palmer sleepingthere beside the spring with his head upon his wallet. Our minds, familiar with such figures, people with them the New England woods, wherever the sunlight falls down a longer than usual cart-track, wherever a cleared spot has lain still enough for the trees to lookfriendly, with their exposed sides cultivated by the light, and thegrass to look velvet warm, and be embroidered with flowers. Thesewestern woods suggest a different kind of ballad. The Indian legendshave, often, an air of the wildest solitude, as has the one Mr. Lowellhas put into verse, in his late volume. But I did not see those wildwoods; only such as suggest little romances of love and sorrow, likethis:

 A maiden sat beneath the tree, Tear-bedewed her pale cheeks be, And she sigheth heavily. 

 From forth the wood into the light, A hunter strides with carol light, And a glance so bold and bright. 

 He careless stopped and eyed the maid; "Why weepest thou?" he gently said, "I love thee well; be not afraid. "

 He takes her hand, and leads her on; She should have waited there alone, For he was not her chosen one. 

 He leans her head upon his breast, She knew 't was not her home of rest, But ah! she had been sore distrest. 

 The sacred stars looked sadly down; The parting moon appeared to frown, To see thus dimmed the diamond crown. 

 Then from the thicket starts a deer, The huntsman, seizing on his spear, Cries, "Maiden, wait thou for me here. "

 She sees him vanish into night, She starts from sleep in deep affright, For it was not her own true knight. 

 Though but in dream Gunhilda failed; Though but a fancied ill assailed, Though she but fancied fault bewailed. 

 Yet thought of day makes dream of night: She is not worthy of the knight, The inmost altar burns not bright. 

 If loneliness thou canst not bear, Cannot the dragon's venom dare, Of the pure meed thou shouldst despair. 

 Now sadder that lone maiden sighs, Far bitterer tears profane her eyes, Crushed in the dust her heart's flower lies. 

[Illustration: INDIAN ENCAMPMENT]

On the bank of Silver Lake we saw an Indian encampment. A showerthreatened us, but we resolved to try if we could not visit it before itcame on. We crossed a wide field on foot, and found them amid the treeson a shelving bank; just as we reached them the rain began to fall intorrents, with frequent thunder claps, and we had to take refuge intheir lodges. These were very small, being for temporary use, and wecrowded the occupants much, among whom were several sick, on the dampground, or with only a ragged mat between them and it. But they showedall the gentle courtesy which marks them towards the stranger, whostands in any need; though it was obvious that the visit, whichinconvenienced them, could only have been caused by the most impertinentcuriosity, they made us as comfortable as their extreme povertypermitted. They seemed to think we would not like to touch them: a sickgirl in the lodge where I was, persisted in moving so as to give me thedry place; a woman with the sweet melancholy eye of the race, kept offthe children and wet dogs from even the hem of my garment. 

Without, their fires smouldered, and black kettles, hung over them onsticks, smoked and seethed in the rain. An old theatrical looking Indianstood with arms folded, looking up to the heavens, from which the raindashed and the thunder reverberated; his air was French-Roman, that is, more romanesque than Roman. The Indian ponies, much excited, keptcareering through the wood, around the encampment, and now and thenhalting suddenly, would thrust in their intelligent, though amazed, phizzes, as if to ask their masters when this awful pother would cease, and then, after a moment, rush and trample off again. 

At last we got off, well wetted, but with a picturesque scene formemory. At a house where we stopped to get dry, they told us that thiswandering band (of Pottawattamies, ) who had returned on a visit, eitherfrom homesickness, or need of relief, were extremely destitute. Thewomen had been there to see if they could barter their head bands withwhich they club their hair behind into a form not unlike a Grecian knot, for food. They seemed, indeed, to have neither food, utensils, clothes, nor bedding; nothing but the ground, the sky, and their own strength. Little wonder if they drove off the game!

Part of the same band I had seen in Milwaukie, on a begging dance. Theeffect of this was wild and grotesque. They wore much paint and featherhead-dresses. "Indians without paint are poor coots, " said a gentlemanwho had been a great deal with, and really liked, them; and I like theeffect of the paint on them; it reminds of the gay fantasies of nature. With them in Milwaukie, was a chief, the finest Indian figure I saw, more than six feet in height, erect, and of a sullen, but grand gait andgesture. He wore a deep red blanket, which fell in large folds from hisshoulders to his feet, did not join in the dance, but slowly strodeabout through the streets, a fine sight, not a French-Roman, but a realRoman. He looked unhappy, but listlessly unhappy, as if he felt it wasof no use to strive or resist. 

While in the neighborhood of these lakes, we visited also a foreignsettlement of great interest. Here were minds, it seemed, to "comprehendthe trusts, " of their new life; and if they can only stand true to them, will derive and bestow great benefits therefrom. 

But sad and sickening to the enthusiast who comes to these shores, hoping the tranquil enjoyment of intellectual blessings, and the purehappiness of mutual love, must be a part of the scene that he encountersat first. He has escaped from the heartlessness of courts, to encounterthe vulgarity of a mob; he has secured solitude, but it is a lonely, adeserted solitude. Amid the abundance of nature he cannot, from petty, but insuperable obstacles, procure, for a long time, comforts, or ahome. 

But let him come sufficiently armed with patience to learn the newspells which the new dragons require, (and this can only be done on thespot, ) he will not finally be disappointed of the promised treasure; themob will resolve itself into men, yet crude, but of good dispositions, and capable of good character; the solitude will become sufficientlyenlivened and home grow up at last from the rich sod. 

In this transition state we found one of these homes. As we approachedit seemed the very Eden which earth might still afford to a pair willingto give up the hackneyed pleasures of the world, for a better and moreintimate communion with one another and with beauty: the wild road ledthrough wide beautiful woods, to the wilder and more beautiful shores ofthe finest lake we saw. On its waters, glittering in the morning sun, afew Indians were paddling to and fro in their light canoes. On one ofthose fair knolls I have so often mentioned, stood the cottage, beneathtrees which stooped as if they yet felt brotherhood with its roof tree. Flowers waved, birds fluttered round, all had the sweetness of a happyseclusion; all invited on entrance to cry, All hail ye happy ones! tothose who inhabited it. 

But on entrance to those evidently rich in personal beauty, talents, love, and courage, the aspect of things was rather sad. Sickness hadbeen with them, death, care, and labor; these had not yet blighted them, but had turned their gay smiles grave. It seemed that hope and joy hadgiven place to resolution. How much, too, was there in them, worthlessin this place, which would have been so valuable elsewhere. Refinedgraces, cultivated powers, shine in vain before field laborers, aslaborers are in this present world; you might as well cultivateheliotropes to present to an ox. Oxen and heliotropes are both good, butnot for one another. 

With them were some of the old means of enjoyment, the books, thepencil, the guitar; but where the wash-tub and the axe are so constantlyin requisition, there is not much time and pliancy of hand for these. 

In the inner room the master of the house was seated; he had beensitting there long, for he had injured his foot on ship-board, and hisfarming had to be done by proxy. His beautiful young wife was his onlyattendant and nurse, as well as a farm housekeeper; how well sheperformed hard and unaccustomed duties, the objects of her care shewed;everything that belonged to the house was rude but neatly arranged; theinvalid, confined to an uneasy wooden chair, (they had not been able toinduce any one to bring them an easy chair from the town, ) looked asneat and elegant as if he had been dressed by the valet of a duke. Hewas of northern blood, with clear full blue eyes, calm features, atempering of the soldier, scholar, and man of the world, in his aspect;whether that various intercourses had given himself that thorough-bredlook never seen in Americans, or that it was inherited from a race whohad known all these disciplines. He formed a great but pleasing contrastto his wife, whose glowing complexion and dark mellow eye bespoke anorigin in some climate more familiar with the sun. He looked as if hecould sit there a great while patiently, and live on his own mind, biding his time; she, as if she could bear anything for affection'ssake, but would feel the weight of each moment as it passed. 

Seeing the album full of drawings and verses which bespoke the circle ofelegant and affectionate intercourse they had left, behind, we could notbut see that the young wife sometimes must need a sister, the husband acompanion, and both must often miss that electricity which sparkles fromthe chain of congenial minds. 

For man, a position is desirable in some degree proportioned to hiseducation. Mr. Birkbeck was bred a farmer, but these were nurslings ofthe court and city; they may persevere, for an affectionate courageshone in their eyes, and, if so, become true lords of the soil, andinforming geniuses to those around; then, perhaps, they will feel thatthey have not paid too dear for the tormented independence of the newsettler's life. But, generally, damask roses will not thrive in thewood, and a ruder growth, if healthy and pure, we wish rather to seethere. 

I feel very differently about these foreigners from Americans; Americanmen and women are inexcusable if they do not bring up children so as tobe fit for vicissitudes; that is the meaning of our star, that here allmen being free and equal, all should be fitted for freedom and anindependence by his own resources wherever the changeful wave of ourmighty stream may take him. But the star of Europe brought a differenthoroscope, and to mix destinies breaks the thread of both. The Arabianhorse will not plough well, nor can the plough-horse be rode to play thejereed. But a man is a man wherever he goes, and something preciouscannot fail to be gained by one who knows how to abide by a resolutionof any kind, and pay the cost without a murmur. 

Returning, the fine carriage at last fulfilled its threat of breakingdown. We took refuge in a farm house. Here was a pleasant scene. A richand beautiful estate, several happy families, who had removed together, and formed a natural community, ready to help and enliven one another. They were farmers at home, in western New York, and both men and womenknew how to work. Yet even here the women did not like the change, butthey were willing, "as it might be best for the young folks. " Theirhospitality was great, the housefull of women and pretty children seemedall of one mind. 

Returning to Milwaukie much fatigued, I entertained myself for a day ortwo with reading. The book I had brought with me was in strong contrastwith the life around me. Very strange was this vision of an exalted andsensitive existence, which seemed to invade the next sphere, in contrastwith the spontaneous, instinctive life, so healthy and so near theground I had been surveying. This was the German book entitled:

Die Scherin von Prevorst. --Eröffnungen über das innere Leben desMenschen und über das hereinragen einer Geisterwelt in die unsere. Mitgetheilt von Justinus Kerner. 

The Seeress of Prevorst. --Revelations concerning the inward life of man, and the projection of a world of spirits into ours, communicated byJustinus Kerner. 

This book, published in Germany some twelve years since, and whichcalled forth there plenteous dews of admiration, as plenteoushail-storms of jeers and scorns, I never saw mentioned till some year ortwo since, in any English publication. Then a playful, but not sarcasticaccount of it, in the Dublin Magazine, so far excited my curiosity thatI procured the book intending to read it so soon as I should have someleisure days, such as this journey has afforded. 

Dr. Kerner, its author, is a man of distinction in his native land, bothas a physician and a thinker, though always on the side of reverence, marvel, and mysticism. He was known to me only through two or threelittle poems of his in Catholic legends, which I much admired for thefine sense they showed of the beauty of symbols. 

He here gives a biography, mental and physical, of one of the mostremarkable cases of high nervous excitement that the age, so interestedin such, yet affords, with all its phenomena of clairvoyance andsusceptibility of magnetic influences. I insert some account of thisbiography at the request of many who have been interested by slightreferences to it. The book, a thick and heavy volume, written with trueGerman patience, some would say clumsiness, has not, probably, and maynot be translated into other languages. As to my own mental position onthese subjects it may be briefly expressed by a dialogue between severalpersons who honor me with a portion of friendly confidence and ofcriticism, and myself expressed as _Free Hope_. The others may be styled_Old Church, Good Sense_, and _Self-Poise_. 

_Good Sense_. I wonder you can take any interest in such observations orexperiments. Don't you see how almost impossible it is to make them withany exactness, how entirely impossible to know anything about themunless made by yourself, when the least leaven of credulity, excitedfancy, to say nothing of willing or careless imposture, spoils thewhole loaf. Beside, allowing the possibility of some clear glimpses intoa higher state of being, what do we want of it now? All around us lieswhat we neither understand nor use. Our capacities, our instincts forthis our present sphere are but half developed. Let us confine ourselvesto that till the lesson be learned; let us be completely natural, beforewe trouble ourselves with the supernatural. I never see any of thesethings but I long to get away and lie under a green tree and let thewind blow on me. There is marvel and charm enough in that for me. 

_Free Hope_. And for me also. Nothing is truer than the Wordsworthiancreed, on which Carlyle lays such stress, that we need only look on themiracle of every day, to sate ourselves with thought and admirationevery day. But how are our faculties sharpened to do it? Precisely byapprehending the infinite results of every day. 

Who sees the meaning of the flower uprooted in the ploughed field? Theploughman who does not look beyond its boundaries and does not raise hiseyes from the ground? No--but the poet who sees that field in itsrelations with the universe, and looks oftener to the sky than on theground. Only the dreamer shall understand realities, though, in truth, his dreaming must not be out of proportion to his waking!

The mind, roused powerfully by this existence, stretches of itself intowhat the French sage calls the "aromal state. " From the hope thusgleaned it forms the hypothesis, under whose banner it collects itsfacts. 

Long before these slight attempts were made to establish as a sciencewhat is at present called animal magnetism, always, in fact men wereoccupied more or less with this vital principle, principle of flux andinflux, dynamic of our mental mechanics, human phase of electricity. Poetic observation was pure, there was no quackery in its free course, as there is so often in this wilful tampering with the hidden springs oflife, for it is tampering unless done in a patient spirit and withsevere truth; yet it may be, by the rude or greedy miners, some good oreis unearthed. And some there are who work in the true temper, patientand accurate in trial, not rushing to conclusions, feeling there is amystery, not eager to call it by name, till they can know it as areality: such may learn, such may teach. 

Subject to the sudden revelations, the breaks in habitual existencecaused by the aspect of death, the touch of love, the flood of music, Inever lived, that I remember, what you call a common natural day. All mydays are touched by the supernatural, for I feel the pressure of hiddencauses, and the presence, sometimes the communion, of unseen powers. Itneeds not that I should ask the clairvoyant whether "a spirit-worldprojects into ours. " As to the specific evidence, I would not tarnish mymind by hasty reception. The mind is not, I know, a highway, but atemple, and its doors should not be carelessly left open. Yet it weresin, if indolence or coldness excluded what had a claim to enter; and Idoubt whether, in the eyes of pure intelligence, an ill-grounded hastyrejection be not a greater sign of weakness than an ill-grounded andhasty faith. 

I will quote, as my best plea, the saying of a man old in years, but notin heart, and whose long life has been distinguished by that clearadaptation of means to ends which gives the credit of practical wisdom. He wrote to his child, "I have lived too long, and seen too much to beincredulous. " Noble the thought, no less so its frank expression, instead of saws of caution, mean advices, and other modern instances. Such was the romance of Socrates when he bade his disciples "sacrifice acock to Aesculapius. "

_Old Church_. You are always so quick-witted and voluble, Free Hope, youdon't get time to see how often you err, and even, perhaps, sin andblaspheme. The Author of all has intended to confine our knowledgewithin certain boundaries, has given us a short span of time for acertain probation, for which our faculties are adapted. By wildspeculation and intemperate curiosity we violate his will and incurdangerous, perhaps fatal, consequences. We waste our powers, and, becoming morbid and visionary, are unfitted to obey positive precepts, and perform positive duties. 

_Free Hope_. I do not see how it is possible to go further beyond theresults of a limited human experience than those do who pretend tosettle the origin and nature of sin, the final destiny of souls, and thewhole plan of the causal spirit with regard to them. I think those whotake your view, have not examined themselves, and do not know the groundon which they stand. 

I acknowledge no limit, set up by man's opinion, as to the capacitiesof man. "Care is taken, " I see it, "that the trees grow not up intoheaven, " but, to me it seems, the more vigorously they aspire thebetter. Only let it be a vigorous, not a partial or sickly aspiration. Let not the tree forget its root. 

So long as the child insists on knowing where its dead parent is, solong as bright eyes weep at mysterious pressures, too heavy for thelife, so long as that impulse is constantly arising which made the Romanemperor address his soul in a strain of such touching softness, vanishing from the thought, as the column of smoke from the eye, I knowof no inquiry which the impulse of man suggests that is forbidden to theresolution of man to pursue. In every inquiry, unless sustained by apure and reverent spirit, he gropes in the dark, or falls headlong. 

_Self-Poise_. All this may be very true, but what is the use of all thisstraining? Far-sought is dear-bought. When we know that all is in each, and that the ordinary contains the extraordinary, why should we play thebaby, and insist upon having the moon for a toy when a tin dish will doas well. Our deep ignorance is a chasm that we can only fill up bydegrees, but the commonest rubbish will help us as well as shred silk. The God Brahma, while on earth, was set to fill up a valley, but he hadonly a basket given him in which to fetch earth for this purpose; so isit with us all. No leaps, no starts will avail us, by patientcrystallization alone the equal temper of wisdom is attainable. Sit athome and the spirit-world will look in at your window with moonliteyes; run out to find it, and rainbow and golden cup will have vanishedand left you the beggarly child you were. The better part of wisdom is asublime prudence, a pure and patient truth that will receive nothing itis not sure it can permanently lay to heart. Of our study there shouldbe in proportion two-thirds of rejection to one of acceptance. And, amidthe manifold infatuations and illusions of this world of emotion, abeing capable of clear intelligence can do no better service than tohold himself upright, avoid nonsense, and do what chores lie in his way, acknowledging every moment that primal truth, which no fact exhibits, nor, if pressed by too warm a hope, will even indicate. I think, indeed, it is part of our lesson to give a formal consent to what is farcical, and to pick up our living and our virtue amid what is so ridiculous, hardly deigning a smile, and certainly not vexed. The work is donethrough all, if not by every one. 

_Free Hope. _ Thou art greatly wise, my friend, and ever respected by me, yet I find not in your theory or your scope, room enough for the lyricinspirations, or the mysterious whispers of life. To me it seems that itis madder never to abandon oneself, than often to be infatuated; betterto be wounded, a captive, and a slave, than always to walk in armor. Asto magnetism, that is only a matter of fancy. You sometimes need justsuch a field in which to wander vagrant, and if it bear a higher name, yet it may be that, in last result, the trance of Pythagoras might beclassed with the more infantine transports of the Seeress of Prevorst. 

What is done interests me more than what is thought and supposed. Everyfact is impure, but every fact contains in it the juices of life. Everyfact is a clod, from which may grow an amaranth or a palm. 

Do you climb the snowy peaks from whence come the streams, where theatmosphere is rare, where you can see the sky nearer, from which you canget a commanding view of the landscape. I see great disadvantages aswell as advantages in this dignified position. I had rather walk myselfthrough all kinds of places, even at the risk of being robbed in theforest, half drowned at the ford, and covered with dust in the street. 

I would beat with the living heart of the world, and understand all themoods, even the fancies or fantasies, of nature. I dare to trust to theinterpreting spirit to bring me out all right at last--to establishtruth through error. 

Whether this be the best way is of no consequence, if it be the oneindividual character points out. 

 For one, like me, it would be vain From glittering heights the eyes to strain; I the truth can only know, Tested by life's most fiery glow. Seeds of thought will never thrive Till dews of love shall bid them live. 

Let me stand in my age with all its waters flowing round me. If theysometimes subdue, they must finally upbear me, for I seek theUniversal--and that must be the best. 

The Spirit, no doubt, leads in every movement of my time: if I seek theHow, I shall find it, as well as if I busied myself more with the Why. 

Whatever is, is right, if only men are steadily bent to make it so, bycomprehending and fulfilling its design. 

May not I have an office, too, in my hospitality and ready sympathy? IfI sometimes entertain guests who cannot pay with gold coin, with "fairrose nobles, " that is better than to lose the chance of entertainingangels unawares. 

You, my three friends, are held in heart-honor, by me. You, especially, Good-Sense, because where you do not go yourself, you do not object toanother's going, if he will. You are really liberal. You, Old Church, are of use, by keeping unforgot the effigies of old religion, andreviving the tone of pure Spenserian sentiment, which this time is aptto stifle in its childish haste. But you are very faulty in censuringand wishing to limit others by your own standard. You, Self-Poise, filla priestly office. Could but a larger intelligence of the vocations ofothers, and a tender sympathy with their individual natures be added, had you more of love, or more of apprehensive genius, (for either wouldgive you the needed expansion and delicacy) you would command my entirereverence. As it is, I must at times deny and oppose you, and so mustothers, for you tend, by your influence, to exclude us from our full, free life. We must be content when you censure, and rejoiced when youapprove; always admonished to good by your whole being, and sometimes byyour judgment. And so I pass on to interest myself and others in thememoir of the Scherin von Prevorst. 

Aside from Löwenstein, a town of Wirtemberg, on mountains whose highestsummit is more than eighteen hundred feet above the level of the sea, lies in romantic seclusion, surrounded on all sides by woods and hills, the hamlet of Prevorst. 

Its inhabitants number about four hundred and fifty, most of whomsupport themselves by wood-cutting, and making charcoal, and collectingwood seed. 

As is usual with those who live upon the mountains, these are a vigorousrace, and generally live to old age without sickness. Diseases thatinfest the valley, such as ague, never touch them; but they are subjectin youth to attacks upon the nerves, which one would not expect in sohealthy a class. In a town situated near to, and like Prevorst, thechildren were often attacked with a kind of St. Vitus's dance. Theywould foresee when it would seize upon them, and, if in the field, wouldhasten home to undergo the paroxysms there. From these they rose, asfrom magnetic sleep, without memory of what had happened. 

Other symptoms show the inhabitants of this region very susceptible tomagnetic and sidereal influences. 

On this mountain, and indeed in the hamlet of Prevorst, was, in 1801, awoman born, in whom a peculiar inner life discovered itself from earlychildhood. Frederica Hauffe, whose father was gamekeeper of thisdistrict of forest, was, as the position and solitude of her birthplacemade natural, brought up in the most simple manner. In the keen mountainair and long winter cold, she was not softened by tenderness either asto dress or bedding, but grew up lively and blooming; and while herbrothers and sisters, under the same circumstances, were subject torheumatic attacks, she remained free from them. On the other hand, herpeculiar tendency displayed itself in her dreams. If anything affectedher painfully, if her mind was excited by reproof, she had instructivewarning, or prophetic dreams. 

While yet quite young, her parents let her go, for the advantages ofinstruction, to her grandfather, Johann Schmidgall, in Löwenstein. 

Here were discovered in her the sensibility to magnetic and ghostlyinfluences, which, the good Kerner assures us, her grandparents deeplylamented, and did all in their power to repress. But, as it appears thather grandfather, also, had seen a ghost, and there were evidentlylegends in existence about the rooms in which the little Frederika sawghosts, and spots where the presence of human bones caused her suddenshivering, we may be allowed to doubt whether indirect influence was notmore powerful than direct repression upon these subjects. 

There is the true German impartiality with regard to the scene ofappearance for these imposing visiters; sometimes it is "a room in theCastle of Löwenstein, long disused, " à la Radcliffe, sometimes "adeserted kitchen. "

This "solemn, unhappy gift, " brought no disturbance to the childish lifeof the maiden, she enjoyed life with more vivacity than most of hercompanions. The only trouble she had was the extreme irritability of theoptic nerve, which, though without inflammation of the eyes, sometimesconfined her to a solitary chamber. "This, " says Dr. K. "was probably asign of the development of the spiritual in the fleshly eye. "

Sickness of her parents at last called her back to the lonely Prevorst, where, by trouble and watching beside sick beds, her feelings were toomuch excited, so that the faculty for prophetic dreams and the vision ofspirits increased upon her. 

From her seventeenth to her nineteenth year, when every outward relationwas pleasant for her, this inward life was not so active, and she wasdistinguished from other girls of her circle only by the moreintellectual nature, which displayed itself chiefly in the eyes, and bya greater liveliness which, however, never passed the bounds of graceand propriety. 

She had none of the sentimentality so common at that age, and it can beproved that she had never an attachment, nor was disappointed in love, as has been groundlessly asserted. 

In her nineteenth year, she was by her family betrothed to Herr H. Thematch was desirable on account of the excellence of the man, and thesure provision it afforded for her comfort through life. 

But, whether from presentiment of the years of suffering that werebefore her, or from other hidden feelings, of which we only know withcertainty that, if such there were, they were not occasioned by anotherattachment, she sank into a dejection, inexplicable to her family;passed whole days in weeping; scarcely slept for some weeks, and thusthe life of feeling which had been too powerful in her childhood wascalled up anew in full force. 

On the day of her solemn betrothal, took place, also, the funeral ofT. , the preacher of Oberstenfeld, a man of sixty and more years, whosepreaching, instruction, and character, (he was goodness itself, ) had hadgreat influence upon her life. She followed the dear remains, withothers, to the church-yard. Her heart till then so heavy, was suddenlyrelieved and calmed, as she stood beside the grave. She remained therelong, enjoying her new peace, and when she went away found herselftranquil, but indifferent to all the concerns of this world. Here beganthe period, not indeed as yet of sickness, but of her peculiar inwardlife, which knew afterward no pause. 

Later, in somnambulic state, she spoke of this day in the followingverses. The deceased had often appeared to her as a shape of light, protecting her from evil spirits. 

(These are little simple rhymes; they are not worth translating intoverse, though, in the original, they have a childish grace. )

 What was once so dark to me, I see now clearly. In that day When I had given in marriage myself away, I stood quite immersed in thee, Thou angel figure above thy grave mound. Willingly would I have exchanged with thee, Willingly given up to thee my earthly luck, Which those around praised as the blessing of heaven. 

 I prayed upon thy grave For one blessing only, That the wings of this angel Might henceforward On the hot path of life, Waft around me the peace of heaven. There standest thou, angel, now; my prayer was heard. 

She was, in consequence of her marriage, removed to Kürnbach, a place onthe borders of Würtemberg and Baden. Its position is low, gloomy, shutin by hills; opposite in all the influences of earth and atmosphere tothose of Prevorst and its vicinity. 

Those of electrical susceptibility are often made sick or well by changeof place. Papponi, (of whom Amoretti writes, ) a man of suchsusceptibility, was cured of convulsive attacks by change of place. Penriet could find repose while in one part of Calabria, only bywrapping himself in an oil-cloth mantle, thus, as it were, isolatinghimself. That great sense of sidereal and imponderable influences, whichafterward manifested itself so clearly in the Seherin, probably madethis change of place very unfavorable to her. Later, it appeared, thatthe lower she came down from the hills, the more she suffered fromspasms, but on the heights her tendency to the magnetic state was thegreatest. 

But also mental influences were hostile to her. Already withdrawn fromthe outward life, she was placed, where, as consort and housekeeper to alaboring man, the calls on her care and attention were incessant. Shewas obliged hourly to forsake her inner home, to provide for an outer, which did not correspond with it. 

She bore this seven months, though flying to solitude, whenever outwardrelations permitted. But longer it was not possible to conceal theinward verity by an outward action, "the body sank beneath the attempt, and the spirit took refuge in the inner circle. "

One night she dreamed that she awoke and found the dead body of thepreacher T. By her side; that at the same time her father, and twophysicians were considering what should be done for her in a severesickness. She called out that "the dead friend would help her; sheneeded no physician. " Her husband, hearing her cry out in sleep, wokeher. 

This dream was presage of a fever, which seized her next morning. Itlasted fourteen days with great violence, and was succeeded by attacksof convulsion and spasm. This was the beginning of that state of bodilysuffering and mental exaltation in which she passed the remaining sevenyears of her life. 

She seems to have been very injudiciously treated in the first stages ofher illness. Bleeding was resorted to, as usual in cases of extremesuffering where the nurses know not what else to do, and, as usual, themomentary relief was paid for by an increased nervousness, and capacityfor suffering. 

Magnetic influences from other persons were of frequent use to her, butthey were applied without care as to what characters and constitutionswere brought into connexion with hers, and were probably in the end justas injurious to her as the loss of blood. At last she became so weak, sodevoid of all power in herself, that her life seemed entirely dependenton artificial means and the influence of other men. 

There is a singular story of a woman in the neighborhood, who visitedher once or twice, apparently from an instinct that she should injureher, and afterwards, interfered in the same way, and with the sameresults, in the treatment of her child. 

This demoniacal impulse and power, which were ascribed to the Canidiasof ancient superstition, may be seen subtly influencing the members ofevery-day society. We see persons led, by an uneasy impulse, towards thepersons and the topics where they are sure they can irritate and annoy. This is constantly observable among children, also in the closestrelations between grown up people who have not yet the government ofthemselves, neither are governed by the better power. 

There is also an interesting story of a quack who treated her withamulets, whose parallel may be found in the action of such persons incommon society. It is an expression of the power that a vulgar andself-willed nature will attain over one delicate, poetical, but not yetclear within itself; outwardly it yields to a power which it inwardlydisclaims. 

A touching little passage is related of a time in the first years, whenshe seemed to be better, so much so as to receive an evening visit fromsome female friends. They grew merry and began to dance; she remainedsad and thoughtful. When they stopped, she was in the attitude ofprayer. One of her intimates, observing this, began to laugh. Thisaffected her so much, that she became cold and rigid like a corpse. Forsome time they did not hear her breathe, and, when she did, it was witha rattling noise. They applied mustard poultices, and used foot and handbaths; she was brought back to life, but to a state of great suffering. 

She recognized as her guardian spirit, who sometimes magnetized her orremoved from her neighborhood substances that were hurtful to her, hergrandmother; thus coinciding with the popular opinion that traitsreappear in the third generation. 

Now began still greater wonders; the second sight, numerous and variousvisits from spirits and so forth. 

The following may be mentioned in connection with theories andexperiments current among ourselves. 

"A friend, who was often with her at this time, wrote to me (Kerner):When I, with my finger, touch her _on the forehead between theeyebrows_, she says each time something that bears upon the state of mysoul. Some of these sentences I record. 

"Keep thy soul so that thou mayst bear it in thy hands. "

"When thou comest into a world of bustle and folly, hold the Lord fastin thy heart. "

"If any seek to veil from thee thy true feeling, pray to God for grace. "

"Permit not thyself to stifle the light that springs up within thyself. "

"Think often of the cross of Jesus; go forth and embrace it. "

"As the dove found a resting-place in Noah's ark, so wilt thou, also, find a resting-place which God has appointed for thee. "

When she was put under the care of Kerner, she had been five years inthis state, and was reduced to such weakness, that she was, withdifficulty, sustained from hour to hour. 

He thought at first it would be best to take no notice of her magneticstates and directions, and told her he should not, but should treat herwith regard to her bodily symptoms, as he would any other invalid. 

"At this time she fell every evening into magnetic sleep, and gaveorders about herself; to which, however, those round her no longer paidattention. 

I was now called in. I had never seen this woman, but had heard manyfalse or perverted accounts of her condition. I must confess that Ishared the evil opinion of the world as to her illness; that I advisedto pay no attention to her magnetic situation, and the orders she gavein it; in her spasms, to forbear the laying of hands upon her; to denyher the support of persons of stronger nerves; in short, to do allpossible to draw her out of the magnetic state, and to treat her withattention, but with absolutely none but the common medical means. 

These views were shared by my friend, Dr. Off, of Löwenstein, whocontinued to treat her accordingly. But without good results. Hemorrhage, spasms, night-sweats continued. Her gums were scorbuticallyaffected, and bled constantly; she lost all her teeth. Strengtheningremedies affected her like being drawn up from her bed by force; shesank into a fear of all men, and a deadly weakness. Her death was to bewished, but it came not. Her relations, in despair, not knowingthemselves what they could do with her, brought her, almost against mywill, to me at Weinsburg. 

She was brought hither an image of death, perfectly emaciated, unable toraise herself. Every three or four minutes, a teaspoonful of nourishmentmust be given her, else she fell into faintness or convulsion. Hersomnambulic situation alternated with fever, hemorrhage, andnight-sweats. Every evening, about seven o'clock, she fell into magneticsleep. She then spread out her arms, and found herself, from thatmoment, in a clairvoyant state; but only when she brought them back uponher breast, did she begin to speak. (Kerner mentions that her child, too, slept with its hands and feet crossed. ) In this state her eyes wereshut, her face calm and bright. As she fell asleep, the first nightafter her arrival, she asked for me, but I bade them tell her that Inow, and in future, should speak to her only when awake. 

After she awoke, I went to her and declared, in brief and earnest terms, that I should pay no attention to what she said in sleep, and that hersomnambulic state, which had lasted so long to the grief and trouble ofher family, must now come to an end. This declaration I accompanied byan earnest appeal, designed to awaken a firm will in her to put down theexcessive activity of brain that disordered her whole system. Afterwards, no address was made to her on any subject when in hersleep-waking state. She was left to lie unheeded. I pursued ahomoeopathic treatment of her case. But the medicines constantlyproduced effects opposite to what I expected. She now suffered less fromspasm and somnambulism, but with increasing marks of weakness anddecay. All seemed as if the end of her sufferings drew near. It was toolate for the means I wished to use. Affected so variously and powerfullyby magnetic means in the first years of her illness, she had now no lifemore, so thoroughly was the force of her own organization exhausted, butwhat she borrowed from others. In her now more infrequent magnetictrance, she was always seeking the true means of her cure. It wastouching to see how, retiring within herself, she sought for help. Thephysician who had aided her so little with his drugs, must often standabashed before this inner physician, perceiving it to be far betterskilled than himself. "

After some weeks forbearance, Kerner did ask her in her sleep what heshould do for her. She prescribed a magnetic treatment, which was foundof use. Afterwards, she described a machine, of which there is a drawingin this book, which she wished to have made for her use; it was so, andshe derived benefit from it. She had indicated such a machine in theearly stages of her disease, but at that time no one attended to her. Bydegrees she grew better under this treatment, and lived at Weinsberg, nearly two years, though in a state of great weakness, and more in themagnetic and clairvoyant than in the natural human state. 

How his acquaintance with her affected the physician, he thus expresses:

"During those last months of her abode on the earth, there remained toher only the life of a sylph. I have been interested to record, not ajournal of her sickness, but the mental phenomena of such an almostdisembodied life. Such may cast light on the period when also our Psychemay unfold her wings, free from bodily bonds, and the hindrances ofspace and time. I give facts; each reader may interpret them in his ownway. 

The manuals of animal magnetism and other writings have proposed manytheories by which to explain such. All these are known to me. I shallmake no reference to them, but only, by use of parallel facts here andthere, show that the phenomena of this case recall many in which thereis nothing marvellous, but which are manifestly grounded in our commonexistence. Such apparitions cannot too frequently, if only for moments, flash across that common existence, as electric lights from the higherworld. 

Frau H. Was, previous to my magnetic treatment, in so deep a somnambuliclife, that she was, in fact, never rightly awake, even when she seemedto be; or rather, let us say, she was at all times more awake thanothers are; for it is strange to term sleep this state which is justthat of the clearest wakefulness. Better to say she was immersed in theinward state. 

In this state and the consequent excitement of the nerves, she hadalmost wholly lost organic force, and received it only by transmissionfrom those of stronger condition, principally from their eyes and theends of the fingers. The atmosphere and nerve communications of others, said she, bring me the life which I need; they do not feel it; theseeffusions on which I live, would flow from them and be lost, if mynerves did not attract them; only in this way can I live. 

She often assured us that others did not suffer by loss of what theyimparted to her; but it cannot be denied that persons were weakened byconstant intercourse with her, suffered from contraction in the limbs, trembling, &c. They were weakened also in the eyes and pit of thestomach. From those related to her by blood, she could draw more benefitthan from others, and, when very weak, from them only; probably onaccount of a natural affinity of temperament. She could not bear to havearound her nervous and sick persons; those from whom she could gainnothing made her weaker. 

Even so it is remarked that flowers soon lose their beauty near thesick, and suffer peculiarly under the contact or care of some persons. 

Other physicians, beside myself, can vouch that the presence of somepersons affected her as a pabulum vitae, while, if left with certainothers or alone, she was sure to grow weaker. 

From the air, too, she seemed to draw a peculiar ethereal nourishment ofthe same sort; she could not remain without an open window in theseverest cold of winter. [1]

 [Footnote 1: Near us, this last winter, a person who suffered, and finally died, from spasms like those of the Seherin, also found relief from having the windows open, while the cold occasioned great suffering to his attendants. ]

The spirit of things, about which we have no perception, was sensible toher, and had influence on her; she showed this sense of the spirit ofmetals, plants, animals, and men. Imponderable existences, such as thevarious colors of the ray, showed distinct influences upon her. Theelectric fluid was visible and sensible to her when it was not to us. Yea! what is incredible! even the written words of men she coulddiscriminate by touch. [2]

 [Footnote 2: Facts of the same kind are asserted of late among ourselves, and believed, though "incredible. "]

These experiments are detailed under their several heads in the book. 

From her eyes flowed a peculiar spiritual light which impressed eventhose who saw her for a very short time. She was in each relation morespirit than human. 

Should we compare her with anything human, we would say she was as onedetained at the moment of dissolution, betwixt life and death; and whois better able to discern the affairs of the world that lies before, than that behind him. 

She was often in situations when one who had, like her, the power ofdiscerning spirits, would have seen her own free from the body, which atall times enveloped it only as a light veil. She saw herself often outof the body; saw herself double. She would say, "I seem out of myself, hover above my body, and think of it as something apart from myself. Butit is not a pleasant feeling, because I still sympathize with my body. If only my soul were bound more firmly to the nerve-spirit, it might bebound more closely with the nerves themselves; but the bond of mynerve-spirit is always becoming looser. "

She makes a distinction between spirit as the pure intelligence; soul, the ideal of this individual man; and nerve-spirit, the dynamic of histemporal existence. 

Of this feeling of double identity, an invalid, now wasting undernervous disease, often speaks to me. He has it when he first awakes fromsleep. Blake, the painter, whose life was almost as much a series oftrances as that of our Seherin, in his designs of the Resurrection, represents spirits as rising from, or hovering over, their bodies in thesame way. 

Often she seemed quite freed from her body, and to have no more sense ofits weight. 

As to artificial culture, or dressing, (dressur, ) Frau H. Had nothing ofit. She had learned no foreign tongue, neither history, nor geography, nor natural philosophy, nor any other of those branches now imparted tothose of her sex in their schools. The Bible and hymn-book were, especially in the long years of her sickness, her only reading: hermoral character was throughout blameless; she was pious withoutfanaticism. Even her long suffering, and the peculiar manner of it, sherecognized as the grace of God; as she expresses in the followingverses:

 Great God! how great is thy goodness, To me thou hast given faith and love, Holding me firm in the distress of my sufferings. 

 In the darkness of my sorrow, I was so far led away, As to beg for peace in speedy death. 

 But then came to me the mighty strong faith; Hope came; and came eternal love; They shut my earthly eyelids. When, O bliss!

 Dead lies my bodily frame, But in the inmost mind a light burns up, Such as none knows in the waking life. Is it a light? no! but a sun of grace!

Often in the sense of her sufferings, while in the magnetic trance, shemade prayers in verse, of which this is one:

 Father, hear me! Hear my prayer and supplication. Father, I implore thee, Let not thy child perish! Look on my anguish, my tears. 

 Shed hope into my heart, and still its longing, Father, on thee I call; have pity! Take something from me, the sick one, the poor one. 

 Father, I leave thee not, Though sickness and pain consume me. If I the spring's light, See only through the mist of tears, Father, I leave thee not. 

These verses lose their merit of a touching simplicity in an unrhymedtranslation; but they will serve to show the habitual temper of hermind. 

"As I was a maker of verses, " continues Dr. Kerner, "it was easy to say, Frau H. Derived this talent from my magnetic influence; but she madethese little verses before she came under my care. " Not without deepsignificance was Apollo distinguished as being at once the God of poesy, of prophecy, and the medical art. Sleep-waking develops the powers ofseeing, healing, and poesy. How nobly the ancients understood the innerlife; how fully is it indicated in their mysteries?

I know a peasant maiden, who cannot write, but who, in the magneticstate, speaks in measured verse. 

Galen was indebted to his nightly dreams for a part of his medicalknowledge. 

The calumnies spread about Frau H. Were many and gross; this she wellknew. As one day she heard so many of these as to be much affected bythem, we thought she would express her feelings that night in themagnetic sleep, but she only said "they can affect my body, but not myspirit. " Her mind, raised above such assaults by the consciousness ofinnocence, maintained its tranquillity and dwelt solely on spiritualmatters. 

Once in her sleep-waking she wrote thus:

 When the world declares of me Such cruel ill in calumny, And to your ears it finds a way, Do you believe it, yea or nay?

I answered:

 To us thou seemest true and pure, Let others view it as they will; We have our assurance still If our own sight can make us sure. 

People of all kinds, to my great trouble, were always pressing to seeher. If we refused them access to the sick room, they avengedthemselves by the invention of all kinds of falsehoods. 

She met all with an equal friendliness, even when it cost her bodilypain, and those who defamed her, she often defended. There came to herboth good and bad men. She felt the evil in men clearly, but would notcensure; lifted up a stone to cast at no sinner, but was rather likelyto awake, in the faulty beings she suffered near her, faith in aspiritual life which might make them better. 

Years before she was brought to me, the earth, with its atmosphere, andall that is about and upon it, human beings not excepted, was no morefor her. She needed, not only a magnetizer, not only a love, anearnestness, an insight, such as scarce lies within the capacity of anyman, but also what no mortal could bestow upon her, another heaven, other means of nourishment, other air than that of this earth. Shebelonged to the world of spirits, living here herself, as more than halfspirit. She belonged to the state after death, into which she hadadvanced more than half way. 

It is possible she might have been brought back to an adaptation forthis world in the second or third year of her malady; but, in the fifth, no mode of treatment could have effected this. But by care she was aidedto a greater harmony and clearness of the inward life; she enjoyed atWeinsberg, as she after said, the richest and happiest days of thislife, and to us her abode here remains a point of light. 

As to her outward form, we have already said it seemed but a thin veilabout her spirit. She was little, her features of an oriental cast, hereye had the penetrating look of a seer's eye, which was set off by theshade of long dark eyelashes. She was a light flower that only lived onrays. 

Eschenmayer writes thus of her in his "Mysteries. "

"Her natural state was a mild, friendly earnestness, always disposed toprayer and devotion; her eye had a highly spiritual expression, andremained, notwithstanding her great sufferings, always bright and clear. Her look was penetrating, would quickly change in the conversation, seemto give forth sparks, and remain fixed on some one place, --this was atoken that some strange apparition fettered it, --then would she resumethe conversation. When I first saw her, she was in a situation whichshowed that her bodily life could not long endure, and that recovery tothe common natural state was quite impossible. Without visiblederangement of the functions, her life seemed only a wick glimmering inthe socket. She was, as Kerner truly describes her, like one arrested inthe act of dying and detained in the body by magnetic influences. Spiritand soul seemed often divided, and the spirit to have taken up its abodein other regions, while the soul was yet bound to the body. "

I have given these extracts as being happily expressive of the relationbetween the physician and the clairvoyant, also of her character. 

It seems to have been one of singular gentleness, and grateful piety, simple and pure, but not at all one from which we should expectextraordinary development of brain in any way; yet the excitement of hertemperament from climate, scenery, the influence of traditions whichevidently flowed round her, and a great constitutional impressibilitydid develop in her brain the germs both of poetic creation and science. 

I say poetic creation, for, to my mind, the ghosts she saw wereprojections of herself into objective reality. The Hades she imagines isbased in fact, for it is one of souls, who, having neglected theiropportunities for better life, find themselves left forlorn, helpless, seeking aid from beings still ignorant and prejudiced, perhaps muchbelow themselves in natural powers. Having forfeited their chance ofdirect access to God, they seek mediation from the prayers of men. Butin the coloring and dress[3] of these ghosts, as also in their mannerand mode of speech, there is a great deal which seems merelyfanciful--local and peculiar. 

 [Footnote 3: The women ghosts all wear veils, put on the way admired by the Italian poets, of whom, however, she could know nothing. ]

To me, these interviews represent only prophecies of her mind; yet, considered in this way, they are, if not ghostly, spiritual facts ofhigh beauty, and which cast light on the state of the soul after itsseparation from the body. Her gentle patience with them, her steadyreference to a higher cause, her pure joy, when they became white in thelight of happiness obtained through aspiration, are worthy of a morethan half enfranchised angel. 

As to the stories of mental correspondence and visits to those stillengaged in this world, such as are told of her presentiment of herfather's death, and connexion with him in the last moments, these areprobably pure facts. Those who have sufficient strength of affection tobe easily disengaged from external impressions and habits, and who daretrust their mental impulses are familiar with such. 

Her invention of a language seems a simply natural motion of the mindwhen left to itself. The language we habitually use is so broken, and sohackneyed by ages of conventional use, that, in all deep states ofbeing, we crave one simple and primitive in its stead. Most persons makeone more or less clear from looks, tones, and symbols:--this woman, inthe long leisure of her loneliness, and a mind bent upon itself, attempted to compose one of letters and words. I look upon it as no giftfrom without, but a growth from her own mind. 

Her invention of a machine, of which she made a drawing, her power ofdrawing correctly her life-circle, and sun-circle, and the mathematicalfeeling she had of her existence, in correspondent sections of the two, are also valuable as mental facts. These figures describe her historyand exemplify the position of mathematics toward the world of creativethought. 

Every fact of mental existence ought to be capable of similardemonstration. I attach no especial importance to her circles:--we alllive in such; all who observe themselves have the same sense ofexactness and harmony in the revolutions of their destiny. But fewattend to what is simple and invariable in the motions of their minds, and still fewer seek out means clearly to express them to others. 

Goethe has taken up these facts in his Wanderjahre, where he speaks ofhis Macaria; also, one of these persons who are compensated for bodilyinfirmity by a more concentrated and acute state of mind, and consequentaccesses of wisdom, as being bound to a star. When she was engaged by asense of these larger revolutions, she seemed to those near her on theearth, to be sick; when she was, in fact, lower, but better adapted tothe details and variations of an earthly life, these said she was well. Macaria knew the sun and life circles, also, the lives of spirit andsoul, as did the forester's daughter of Prevorst. 

Her power of making little verses was one of her least gifts. Manyexcitable persons possess this talent at versification, as all maypossess it. It is merely that a certain exaltation of feeling raises themode of expression with it, in the same way as song differs from speech. Verses of this sort do not necessarily demand the high faculties thatconstitute the poet, --the creative powers. Many verses, good ones, arepersonal or national merely. Ballads, hymns, love-lyrics, have often noclaim differing from those of common prose speech, to the title ofpoems, except a greater keenness and terseness of expression. 

The verses of this Seherin are of the simplest character, the naturalgarb for the sighs or aspirations of a lonely heart. She uses theshortest words, the commonest rhymes, and the verses move us by theirnature and truth alone. 

The most interesting of these facts to me, are her impressions fromminerals and plants. Her impressions coincide with many ancientsuperstitions. 

The hazel woke her immediately and gave her more power, therefore thewitch with her hazel wand, probably found herself superior to thosearound her. We may also mention, in reference to witchcraft, that Dr. K. Asserts that, in certain moods of mind, she had no weight, but wasupborne upon water, like cork, thus confirming the propriety, andjustice of our forefathers' ordeal for witchcraft!

The laurel produced on her the highest magnetic effect, therefore theSibyls had good reasons for wearing it on their brows. 

"The laurel had on her, as on most sleep-wakers, a distinguishedmagnetic effect. We thus see why the priestess at Delphi, previous touttering her oracles, shook a laurel tree, and then seated herself on atripod covered with laurel boughs. In the temple of Aesculapius, andothers, the laurel was used to excite sleep and dream. "

From grapes she declared impressions, which corresponded with thosecaused by the wines made from them. Many kinds were given her, one afterthe other, by the person who raised them, and who gives a certificate asto the accuracy of her impressions, and his belief that she could nothave derived them from any cause, but that of the touch. 

She prescribed vegetable substances to be used in her machine, (as akind of vapor bath, ) and with good results to herself. 

She enjoyed contact with minerals, deriving from those she liked a senseof concentrated life. Her impressions of the precious stones, corresponded with many superstitions of the ancients, which led to thepreference of certain gems for amulets, on which they had engravedtalismanic figures. 

The ancients, in addition to their sense of the qualities thatdistinguish the diamond above all gems, venerated it as a talismanagainst wild beasts, poison, and evil spirits, thus expressing thenatural influence of what is so enduring, bright, and pure. Townshend, speaking of the effect of gems on one of his sleep-wakers, said, sheloved the diamond so much that she would lean her forehead towards it, whenever it was brought near her. 

It is observable that these sleep-wakers, in their prescriptions, resemble the ancient sages, who culled only simples for the sick. But ifthey have this fine sense, also, for the qualities of animal and mineralsubstances, there is no reason why they should not turn bane toantidote, and prescribe at least homeopathic doses of poison, to restorethe diseased to health. 

The Seherin ascribed different states to the right and left sides ofevery body, even of the lady moon. The left is most impressible. Query:Is this the reason why the left hand has been, by the custom of nations, so almost disused, because the heart is on the left side?

She also saw different sights in the left from the right eye. In theleft, the bodily state of the person; in the right, his real or destinedself, how often unknown to himself, almost always obscured or pervertedby his present ignorance or mistake. She had also the gift of secondsight. She saw the coffins of those about to die. She saw in mirrors, cups of water; in soap-bubbles, the coming future. 

We are here reminded of many beautiful superstitions and legends; of thesecret pool in which the daring may, at mid-moon of night, read thefuture; of the magic globe, on whose pure surface Britomart sees herfuture love, whom she must seek, arrayed in knightly armor, through adifficult and hostile world. 

 A looking-glass, right wondrously aguized, Whose virtues through the wyde world soon were solemnized. It vertue had to show in perfect sight, Whatever thing was in the world contayned, Betwixt the lowest earth and hevens hight; So that it to the looker appertayned, Whatever foe had wrought, or friend had fayned, Herein discovered was, ne ought mote pas, Ne ought in secret from the same remayned; Forthy it round and hollow shaped was, Like to the world itselfe, and seemed a World of Glas. 

 _Faerie Queene, Book III_. 

Such mirrors had Cornelius Agrippa and other wizards. The soap-bubble issuch a globe; only one had need of second sight or double sight to seethe pictures on so transitory a mirror. Perhaps it is some vagueexpectation of such wonders, that makes us so fond of blowing them inchildish years. But, perhaps, it is rather as a prelude to theoccupation of our lives, blowing bubbles where all things may be seen, that, "to the looker appertain, " if we can keep them long enough or lookquick enough. 

In short, were this biography of no other value, it would be mostinteresting as showing how the floating belief of nations, always nodoubt shadowing forth in its imperfect fashion the poetic facts withtheir scientific exposition, is found to grow up anew in a simple, buthigh-wrought nature. 

The fashioning spirit, working upwards from the clod to man, proffers asits last, highest essay, the brain of man. In the lowest zoophyte itaimed at this; some faint rudiments may there be discerned: but only inman has it perfected that immense galvanic battery that can be loadedfrom above, below, and around;--that engine, not only of perception, butof conception and consecutive thought, --whose right hand is memory, whose life is idea, the crown of nature, the platform from which spirittakes-wing. 

Yet, as gradation is the beautiful secret of nature, and the fashioningspirit, which loves to develop and transcend, loves no less to moderate, to modulate, and harmonize, it did not mean by thus drawing man onwardto the next state of existence, to destroy his fitness for this. It didnot mean to destroy his sympathies with the mineral, vegetable, andanimal realms, of whose components he is in great part composed; whichwere the preface to his being, of whom he is to take count, whom heshould govern as a reasoning head of a perfectly arranged body. He wasmeant to be the historian, the philosopher, the poet, the king of thisworld, no less than the prophet of the next. 

These functions should be in equipoise, and when they are not, when wesee excess either on the natural (so called as distinguished from thespiritual, ) or the spiritual side, we feel that the law is transgressed. And, if it be the greatest sorrow to see brain merged in body, to see aman more hands or feet than head, so that we feel he might, withpropriety, be on all fours again, or even crawl like the serpent; it isalso sad to see the brain, too much excited on some one side, which wecall madness, or even unduly and prematurely, so as to destroy in itsbloom, the common human existence of the person, as in the case beforeus, and others of the poetical and prophetical existence. 

We would rather minds should foresee less and see more surely, thatdeath should ensue by gentler gradation, and the brain be the governorand interpreter, rather than the destroyer, of the animal life. But, incases like this, where the animal life is prematurely broken up, and thebrain prematurely exercised, we may as well learn what we can from it, and believe that the glimpses thus caught, if not as precious as thefull view, are bright with the same light, and open to the same scene. 

There is a family character about all the German ghosts. We find thesame features in these stories as in those related by Jung Stilling andothers. They bear the same character as the pictures by the old masters, of a deep and simple piety. She stands before as, this piety, in a full, high-necked robe, a simple, hausfrauish cap, a clear, straightforwardblue eye. These are no terrible, gloomy ghosts with Spanish mantle orItalian dagger. We feel quite at home with them, and sure of their goodfaith. 

To the Seherin, they were a real society, constantly inspiring goodthoughts. The reference to them in these verses, written in her journalshortly before her death, is affecting, and shows her deep sense oftheir reality. She must have felt that she had been a true friend tothem, by refusing always, as she did, requests she thought wrong, andreferring them to a Saviour. 

 Farewell, my friends, All farewell, God bless you for your love-- Bless you for your goodness. All farewell!

 And you, how shall I name you? Who have so saddened me, I will name you also--Friends; You have been discipline to me. Farewell! farewell!

 Farewell! you my dear ones, Soon will you know[4] How hard have been my sufferings In the Pilgrim land. Farewell!

 Let it not grieve you, That my woes find an end; Farewell, dear ones, Till the second meeting; Farewell! Farewell!

 [Footnote 4: The physician thought she here referred to the examination of her body that would take place after her death. The brain was found to be sound, though there were marks of great disease elsewhere. ]

In this journal her thoughts dwell much upon those natural ties whichshe was not permitted to enjoy. She thought much of her children, andoften fancied she had saw the one who had died, growing in the spiritland. Any allusion to them called a sweet smile on her face when in hertrance. 

Other interesting poems are records of these often beautiful visions, especially of that preceding her own death; the address to herlife-circle, the thought of which is truly great, (this was translatedin the Dublin Magazine, ) and descriptions of her earthly state as animprisonment. The story of her life, though stained like others, bypartialities, and prejudices, which were not justly distinguished fromwhat was altogether true and fair, is a poem of so pure a music;presents such gentle and holy images, that we sympathize fully in thelove and gratitude Kerner and his friends felt towards her, as thefriend of their best life. She was a St. Theresa in her way. 

His address to her, with which his volume closes, may thus be translatedin homely guise. In the original it has no merit, except as uttering hisaffectionate and reverent feeling towards his patient, the peasantgirl, --"the sick one, the poor one. " But we like to see how, from themouths of babes and sucklings, praise may be so perfected as to commandthis reverence from the learned and worldly-wise. 

 Farewell; the debt I owe thee Ever in heart I bear; My soul sees, since I know thee, The spirit depths so clear. 

 Whether in light or shade, Thy soul now dwelling hath; Be, if my faith should fade, The guide upon my path. 

 Livest thou in mutual power, With spirits blest and bright, O be, in death's dark hour, My help to heaven's light. 

 Upon thy grave is growing, The plant by thee beloved, [5] St. Johns-wort golden glowing, Like St. John's thoughts of love. 

 Witness of sacred sorrow, Whene'er thou meet'st my eye, O flower, from thee I borrow, Thoughts for eternity. 

 Farewell! the woes of earth No more my soul affright; Who knows their temporal birth Can easy bear their weight. 

 [Footnote 5: She received great benefit from decoctions of this herb, and often prescribed it to others. ]

I do confess this is a paraphrase, not a translation, also, that in theother extracts, I have taken liberties with the original for the sakeof condensation, and clearness. What I have written must be received asa slight and conversational account, of the work. 

Two or three other remarks, I had forgotten, may come in here. 

The glances at the spirit-world have none of that large or universalsignificance, none of that value from philosophical analogy, that isfelt in any picture by Swedenborg, or Dante, of permanent relations. Themind of the forester's daughter was exalted and rapidly developed; stillthe wild cherry tree bore no orange; she was not transformed into aphilosophic or poetic organization. 

Yet many of her untaught notions remind of other seers of a largerscope. She, too, receives this life as one link in a long chain; andthinks that immediately after death, the meaning of the past life willappear to us as one word. 

She tends to a belief in the aromal state, and in successive existenceson this earth; for behind persons she often saw another being, whethertheir form in the state before or after this, I know not; behind a womana man, equipped for fight, and so forth. Her perception of character, even in cases of those whom she saw only as they passed her window, wascorrect. 

Kerner aims many a leaden sarcasm at those who despise his credulity. Hespeaks of those sages as men whose brain is a glass table, incapable ofreceiving the electric spark, and who will not believe, because, intheir mental isolation, they are incapable of feeling these facts. 

Certainly, I think he would be dull, who could see no meaning or beautyin the history of the forester's daughter of Prevorst. She lived butnine-and-twenty years, yet, in that time, had traversed a larger portionof the field of thought than all her race before, in their many and longlives. 

Of the abuses to which all these magical implements are prone, I have aninstance, since leaving Milwaukie, in the journal of a man equallysincere, but not equally inspired, led from Germany hither by signs andwonders, as a commissioned agent of Providence, who, indeed, hasarranged every detail of his life with a minuteness far beyond thepromised care of the sparrow. He props himself by spiritual aid from amaiden now in this country, who was once an attendant on the Seeress, and who seems to have caught from her the contagion of trance, but notits revelations. 

Do not blame me that I have written so much about Germany and Hades, while you were looking for news of the West. Here, on the pier, I seedisembarking the Germans, the Norwegians, the Swedes, the Swiss. Whoknows how much of old legendary lore, of modern wonder, they havealready planted amid the Wisconsin forests? Soon, soon their tales ofthe origin of things, and the Providence which rules them, will be somingled with those of the Indian, that the very oak trees will not knowthem apart, --will not know whether itself be a Runic, a Druid, or aWinnebago oak. 

Some seeds of all growths that have ever been known in this worldmight, no doubt, already be found in these Western wilds, if we had thepower to call them to life. 

I saw, in the newspaper, that the American Tract Society boasted oftheir agents' having exchanged, at a Western cabin door, tracts for theDevil on Two Sticks, and then burnt that more entertaining than edifyingvolume. No wonder, though, they study it there. Could one but have thegift of reading the dreams dreamed by men of such various birth, varioushistory, various mind, it would afford much more extensive amusementthan did the chambers of one Spanish city!

Could I but have flown at night through such mental experiences, insteadof being shut up in my little bedroom at the Milwaukie boarding house, this chapter would have been worth reading. As it is, let us hasten to aclose. 

Had I been rich in money, I might have built a house, or set up inbusiness, during my fortnight's stay at Milwaukie, matters move on thereat so rapid a rate. But, being only rich in curiosity, I was obliged towalk the streets and pick up what I could in casual intercourse. When Ileft the street, indeed, and walked on the bluffs, or sat beside thelake in their shadow, my mind was rich in dreams congenial to the scene, some time to be realized, though not by me. 

A boat was left, keel up, half on the sand, half in the water, swayingwith each swell of the lake. It gave a picturesque grace to that part ofthe shore, as the only image of inaction--only object of a pensivecharacter to be seen. Near this I sat, to dream my dreams and watch thecolors of the Jake, changing hourly, till the sun sank. These hoursyielded impulses, wove webs, such as life will not again afford. 

Returning to the boarding house, which was also a boarding school, wewere sure to be greeted by gay laughter. 

This school was conducted by two girls of nineteen and seventeen years;their pupils were nearly as old as themselves; the relation seemed verypleasant between them. The only superiority--that of superiorknowledge--was sufficient to maintain authority--all the authority thatwas needed to keep daily life in good order. 

In the West, people are not respected merely because they are old inyears; people there have not time to keep up appearances in that way;when they cease to have a real advantage in wisdom, knowledge, orenterprise, they must stand back, and let those who are oldest incharacter "go ahead, " however few years they may count. There are nobanks of established respectability in which to bury the talent there;no napkin of precedent in which to wrap it. What cannot be made to passcurrent, is not esteemed coin of the realm. 

To the windows of this house, where the daughter of a famous "Indianfighter, " i. E. Fighter against the Indians, was learning French and thepiano, came wild, tawny figures, offering for sale their baskets ofberries. The boys now, instead of brandishing the tomahawk, tame theirhands to pick raspberries. 

Here the evenings were much lightened by the gay chat of one of theparty, who, with the excellent practical sense of mature experience, andthe kindest heart, united a naiveté and innocence such as I never saw inany other who had walked so long life's tangled path. Like a child, shewas everywhere at home, and like a child, received and bestowedentertainment from all places, all persons. I thanked her for making melaugh, as did the sick and poor, whom she was sure to find out in herbriefest sojourn in any place, for more substantial aid. Happy are thosewho never grieve, and so often aid and enliven their fellow men!

This scene, however, I was not sorry to exchange for the much celebratedbeauties of the Island of Mackinaw. 

CHAPTER VI. 

MACKINAW. 

Late at night we reached this island, so famous for its beauty, and towhich I proposed a visit of some length. It was the last week in August, when a large representation from the Chippewa and Ottowa tribes are hereto receive their annual payments from the American government. As theirhabits make travelling easy and inexpensive to them, neither beingobliged to wait for steamboats, or write to see whether hotels are full, they come hither by thousands, and those thousands in families, secureof accommodation on the beach, and food from the lake, to make a longholiday out of the occasion. There were near two thousand encamped onthe island already, and more arriving every day. 

As our boat came in, the captain had some rockets let off. This greatlyexcited the Indians, and their yells and wild cries resounded along theshore. Except for the momentary flash of the rockets, it was perfectlydark, and my sensations as I walked with a stranger to a strange hotel, through the midst of these shrieking savages, and heard the pants andsnorts of the departing steamer, which carried away all my companions, were somewhat of the dismal sort; though it was pleasant, too, in theway that everything strange is; everything that breaks in upon theroutine that so easily incrusts us. 

I had reason to expect a room to myself at the hotel, but found none, and was obliged to take up my rest in the common parlor and eating-room, a circumstance which ensured my being an early riser. 

With the first rosy streak, I was out among my Indian neighbors, whoselodges honey-combed the beautiful beach, that curved away in long, fairoutline on either side the house. They were already on the alert, thechildren creeping out from beneath the blanket door of the lodge; thewomen pounding corn in their rude mortars, the young men playing ontheir pipes. I had been much amused, when the strain proper to theWinnebago courting flute was played to me on another instrument, at anyone fancying it a melody; but now, when I heard the notes in their truetone and time, I thought it not unworthy comparison, in its gracefulsequence, and the light flourish, at the close, with the sweetestbird-songs; and this, like the bird-song, is only practised to allure amate. The Indian, become a citizen and a husband, no more thinks ofplaying the flute than one of the "settled down" members of our societywould of choosing the "purple light of love" as dye-stuff for a surtout. 

Mackinaw has been fully described by able pens, and I can only add mytribute to the exceeding beauty of the spot and its position. It ischarming to be on an island so small that you can sail round it in anafternoon, yet large enough to admit of long secluded walks through itsgentle groves. You can go round it in your boat; or, on foot, you cantread its narrow beach, resting, at times, beneath the lofty walls ofstone, richly wooded, which rise from it in various architectural forms. In this stone, caves are continually forming, from the action of theatmosphere; one of these is quite deep, and with a fragment left at itsmouth, wreathed with little creeping plants, that looks, as you sitwithin, like a ruined pillar. 

[Illustration: ARCHED ROCK FROM THE WATER]

The arched rock surprised me, much as I had heard of it, from theperfection of the arch. It is perfect whether you look up through itfrom the lake, or down through it to the transparent waters. We bothascended and descended, no very easy matter, the steep and crumblingpath, and rested at the summit, beneath the trees, and at the foot uponthe cool mossy stones beside the lapsing wave. Nature has carefullydecorated all this architecture with shrubs that take root within thecrevices, and small creeping vines. These natural rains may vie forbeautiful effect with the remains of European grandeur, and have, beside, a charm as of a playful mood in nature. 

The sugar-loaf rock is a fragment in the same kind as the pine rock wesaw in Illinois. It has the same air of a helmet, as seen from aneminence at the side, which you descend by a long and steep path. Therock itself may be ascended by the bold and agile. Halfway up is aniche, to which those, who are neither, can climb by a ladder. A veryhandsome young officer and lady who were with us did so, and then, facing round, stood there side by side, looking in the niche, if notlike saints or angels wrought by pious hands in stone, as romantically, if not as holily, worthy the gazer's eye. 

The woods which adorn the central ridge of the island are very full infoliage, and, in August, showed the tender green and pliant leaf of Juneelsewhere. They are rich in beautiful mosses and the wild raspberry. 

From Fort Holmes, the old fort, we had the most commanding view of thelake and straits, opposite shores, and fair islets. Mackinaw, itself, isbest seen from the water. Its peculiar shape is supposed to have beenthe origin of its name, Michilimackinac, which means the Great Turtle. One person whom I saw, wished to establish another etymology, which hefancied to be more refined; but, I doubt not, this is the true one, bothbecause the shape might suggest such a name, and that the existence ofan island in this commanding position, which did so, would seem asignificant fact to the Indians. For Henry gives the details of peculiarworship paid to the Great Turtle, and the oracles received from thisextraordinary Apollo of the Indian Delphos. 

It is crowned most picturesquely, by the white fort, with its gay flag. From this, on one side, stretches the town. How pleasing a sight, afterthe raw, crude, staring assemblage of houses, everywhere else to be metin this country, an old French town, mellow in its coloring, and withthe harmonious effect of a slow growth, which assimilates, naturally, with objects round it. The people in its streets, Indian, French, half-breeds, and others, walked with a leisure step, as of those wholive a life of taste and inclination, rather than of the hard press ofbusiness, as in American towns elsewhere. 

On the other side, along the fair, curving beach, below the white housesscattered on the declivity, clustered the Indian lodges, with theiramber brown matting, so soft, and bright of hue, in the late afternoonsun. The first afternoon I was there, looking down from a near height, Ifelt that I never wished to see a more fascinating picture. It was anhour of the deepest serenity; bright blue and gold, rich shadows. Everymoment the sunlight fell more mellow. The Indians were grouped andscattered among the lodges; the women preparing food, in the kettle orfrying-pan, over the many small fires; the children, half-naked, wild aslittle goblins, were playing both in and out of the water. Here andthere lounged a young girl, with a baby at her back, whose bright eyesglanced, as if born into a world of courage and of joy, instead ofignominious servitude and slow decay. Some girls were cutting wood, alittle way from me, talking and laughing, in the low musical tone, socharming in the Indian women. Many bark canoes were upturned upon thebeach, and, by that light, of almost the same amber as the lodges. Others, coming in, their square sails set, and with almost arrowy speed, though heavily laden with dusky forms, and all the apparatus of theirhousehold. Here and there a sail-boat glided by, with a different, butscarce less pleasing motion. 

It was a scene of ideal loveliness, and these wild forms adorned it, aslooking so at home in it. All seemed happy, and they were happy thatday, for they had no firewater to madden them, as it was Sunday, and theshops were shut. 

From my window, at the boarding house, my eye was constantly attractedby these picturesque groups. I was never tired of seeing the canoes comein, and the new arrivals set up their temporary dwellings. The women ranto set up the tent-poles, and spread the mats on the ground. The menbrought the chests, kettles, &c. ; the mats were then laid on theoutside, the cedar boughs strewed on the ground, the blanket hung up fora door, and all was completed in less than twenty minutes. Then theybegan to prepare the night meal, and to learn of their neighbors thenews of the day. 

The habit of preparing food out of doors, gave all the gipsy charm andvariety to their conduct. Continually I wanted Sir. Walter Scott to havebeen there. If such romantic sketches were suggested to him, by thesight of a few gipsies, not a group near one of these fires but wouldhave furnished him material for a separate canvass. I was so taken upwith the spirit of the scene, that I could not follow out the storiessuggested by these weather-beaten, sullen, but eloquent figures. 

They talked a great deal, and with much variety of gesture, so that Ioften had a good guess at the meaning of their discourse. I saw that, whatever the Indian may be among the whites, he is anything buttaciturn with his own people. And he often would declaim, or narrate atlength, as indeed it is obvious, that these tribes possess great powerthat way, if only from the fables taken from their stores, by Mr. Schoolcraft. 

I liked very much to walk or sit among them. With the women I held muchcommunication by signs. They are almost invariably coarse and ugly, withthe exception of their eyes, with a peculiarly awkward gait, and formsbent by burthens. This gait, so different from the steady and noble stepof the men, marks the inferior position they occupy. I had heard mucheloquent contradiction of this. Mrs. Schoolcraft had maintained to afriend, that they were in fact as nearly on a par with their husbands asthe white woman with hers. "Although, " said she, "on account ofinevitable causes, the Indian woman is subjected to many hardships of apeculiar nature, yet her position, compared with that of the man, ishigher and freer than that of the white woman. Why will people look onlyon one side? They either exalt the Red man into a Demigod or degrade himinto a beast. They say that he compels his wife to do all the drudgery, while he does nothing but hunt and amuse himself; forgetting that, uponhis activity and power of endurance as a hunter, depends the support ofhis family; that this is labor of the most fatiguing kind, and that itis absolutely necessary that he should keep his frame unbent by burdensand unworn by toil, that he may be able to obtain the means ofsubsistence. I have witnessed scenes of conjugal and parental love inthe Indian's wigwam from which I have often, often thought the educatedwhite man, proud of his superior civilization, might learn an usefullesson. When he returns from hunting, worn out with fatigue, havingtasted nothing since dawn, his wife, if she is a good wife, will takeoff his moccasons and replace them with dry ones, and will prepare hisgame for their repast, while his children will climb upon him, and hewill caress them with all the tenderness of a woman; and in the eveningthe Indian wigwam is the scene of the purest domestic pleasures. Thefather will relate for the amusement of the wife, and for theinstruction of the children, all the events of the day's hunt, whilethey will treasure up every word that falls, and thus learn the theoryof the art, whose practice is to be the occupation of their lives. 

Mrs. Grant speaks thus of the position of woman amid the Mohawk Indians:

"Lady Mary Montague says, that the court of Vienna was the paradise ofold women, and that there is no other place in the world where a womanpast fifty excites the least interest. Had her travels extended to theinterior of North America, she would have seen another instance of thisinversion of the common mode of thinking. Here a woman never was ofconsequence, till she had a son old enough to fight the battles of hiscountry. From that date she held a superior rank in society; was allowedto live at ease, and even called to consultations on national affairs. In savage and warlike countries, the reign of beauty is very short, andits influence comparatively limited. The girls in childhood had a verypleasing appearance; but excepting their fine hair, eyes, and teeth, every external grace was soon banished by perpetual drudgery, carryingburdens too heavy to be borne, and other slavish employments consideredbeneath the dignity of the men. These walked before erect and graceful, decked with ornaments which set off to advantage the symmetry of theirwell-formed persons, while the poor women followed, meanly attired, bentunder the weight of the children and utensils, which they carriedeverywhere with them, and disfigured and degraded by ceaseless toils. They were very early married, for a Mohawk had no other servant but hiswife, and, whenever he commenced hunter, it was requisite he should havesome one to carry his load, cook his kettle, make his moccasons, and, above all, produce the young warriors who were to succeed him in thehonors of the chase and of the tomahawk. Wherever man is a mere hunter, woman is a mere slave. It is domestic intercourse that softens man, andelevates woman; and of that there can be but little, where theemployments and amusements are not in common; the ancient Caledonianshonored the fair; but then it is to be observed, they were fairhuntresses, and moved in the light of their beauty to the hill of roes;and the culinary toils were entirely left to the rougher sex. When theyoung warrior made his appearance, it softened the cares of his mother, who well knew that, when he grew up, every deficiency in tenderness tohis wife would be made up in superabundant duty and affection to her. Ifit were possible to carry filial veneration to excess, it was done here;for all other charities were absorbed in it. I wonder this system ofdepressing the sex in their early years, to exalt them when all theirjuvenile attractions were flown, and when mind alone can distinguishthem, has not occurred to our modern reformers. The Mohawks took goodcare not to admit their women to share their prerogatives, till theyapproved themselves good wives and mothers. "

The observations of women upon the position of woman are always morevaluable than those of men; but, of these two, Mrs. Grant's seems muchnearer the truth than Mrs. Schoolcraft's, because, though heropportunities for observation did not bring her so close, she lookedmore at both sides to find the truth. 

Carver, in his travels among the Winnebagoes, describes two queens, onenominally so, like Queen Victoria; the other invested with a genuineroyalty, springing from her own conduct. 

In the great town of the Winnebagoes, he found a queen presiding overthe tribe, instead of a sachem. He adds, that, in some tribes, thedescent is given to the female line in preference to the male, that is, a sister's son will succeed to the authority, rather than a brother'sson. 

The position of this Winnebago queen, reminded me forcibly of QueenVictoria's. 

"She sat in the council, but only asked a few questions, or gave sometrifling directions in matters relative to the state, for women arenever allowed to sit in their councils, except they happen to beinvested with the supreme authority, and then it is not customary forthem to make any formal speeches, as the chiefs do. She was a veryancient woman, small in stature, and not much distinguished by herdress from several young women that attended her. These, her attendants, seemed greatly pleased whenever I showed any tokens of respect to theirqueen, especially when I saluted her, which I frequently did to acquireher favor. "

The other was a woman, who being taken captive, found means to kill hercaptor, and make her escape, and the tribe were so struck withadmiration at the courage and calmness she displayed on the occasion, asto make her chieftainess in her own right. 

Notwithstanding the homage paid to women, and the consequence allowedher in some cases, it is impossible to look upon the Indian women, without feeling that they _do_ occupy a lower place than women among thenations of European civilization. The habits of drudgery expressed intheir form and gesture, the soft and wild but melancholy expression oftheir eye, reminded me of the tribe mentioned by Mackenzie, where thewomen destroy their female children, whenever they have a goodopportunity; and of the eloquent reproaches addressed by the Paraguaywoman to her mother, that she had not, in the same way, saved her fromthe anguish and weariness of her lot. 

More weariness than anguish, no doubt, falls to the lot of most of thesewomen. They inherit submission, and the minds of the generalityaccommodate themselves more or less to any posture. Perhaps they sufferless than their white sisters, who have more aspiration and refinement, with little power of self-sustenance. But their place is certainlylower, and their share of the human inheritance less. 

Their decorum and delicacy are striking, and show that when these arenative to the mind, no habits of life make any difference. Their wholegesture is timid, yet self-possessed. They used to crowd round me, toinspect little things I had to show them, but never press near; on thecontrary, would reprove and keep off the children. Anything they tookfrom my hand, was held with care, then shut or folded, and returned withan air of lady-like precision. They would not stare, however curiousthey might be, but cast sidelong glances. 

A locket that I wore, was an object of untiring interest; they seemed toregard it as a talisman. My little sun-shade was still more fascinatingto them; apparently they had never before seen one. For an umbrella theyentertain profound regard, probably looking upon it as the mostluxurious superfluity a person can possess, and therefore a badge ofgreat wealth. I used to see an old squaw, whose sullied skin and coarse, tanned locks, told that she had braved sun and storm, without a doubt orcare, for sixty years at the least, sitting gravely at the door of herlodge, with an old green umbrella over her head, happy for hourstogether in the dignified shade. For her happiness pomp came not, as itso often does, too late; she received it with grateful enjoyment. 

One day, as I was seated on one of the canoes, a woman came and satbeside me, with her baby in its cradle set up at her feet. She asked meby a gesture, to let her take my sun-shade, and then to show her how toopen it. Then she put it into her baby's hand, and held it over itshead, looking at me the while with a sweet, mischievous laugh, as muchas to say, "you carry a thing that is only fit for a baby;" herpantomime was very pretty. She, like the other women, had a glance, andshy, sweet expression in the eye; the men have a steady gaze. 

That noblest and loveliest of modern Preux, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, whocame through Buffalo to Detroit and Mackinaw, with Brant, and wasadopted into the Bear tribe by the name of Eghnidal, was struck, in thesame way, by the delicacy of manners in the women. He says, "Notwithstanding the life they lead, which would make most women roughand masculine, they are as soft, meek and modest, as the best brought upgirls in England. Somewhat coquettish too! Imagine the manners of Mimiin a poor _squaw_, that has been carrying packs in the woods all herlife. "

McKenney mentions that the young wife, during the short bloom of herbeauty, is an object of homage and tenderness to her husband. One Indianwoman, the Flying Pigeon, a beautiful, an excellent woman, of whom hegives some particulars, is an instance of the power uncommon characterswill always exert of breaking down the barriers custom has erected roundthem. She captivated by her charms, and inspired with reverence for hercharacter, her husband and son. The simple praise with which the husbandindicates the religion, the judgment, and the generosity he saw in her, are as satisfying as Count Zinzendorf's more labored eulogium on his"noble consort. " The conduct of her son, when, many years after herdeath, he saw her picture at Washington, is unspeakably affecting. Catlin gives anecdotes of the grief of a chief for the loss of adaughter, and the princely gifts he offers in exchange for her portrait, worthy not merely of European, but of Troubadour sentiment. It is alsoevident that, as Mrs. Schoolcraft says, the women have great power athome. It can never be otherwise, men being dependent upon them for thecomfort of their lives. Just, so among ourselves, wives who are neitheresteemed nor loved by their husbands, have great power over theirconduct by the friction of every day, and over the formation of theiropinions by the daily opportunities so close a relation affords, ofperverting testimony and instilling doubts. But these sentiments shouldnot come in brief flashes, but burn as a steady flame, then there wouldbe more women worthy to inspire them. This power is good for nothing, unless the woman be wise to use it aright. Has the Indian, has the whitewoman, as noble a feeling of life and its uses, as religious aself-respect, as worthy a field of thought and action, as man? If not, the white woman, the Indian woman, occupies an inferior position to thatof man. It is not so much a question of power, as of privilege. 

The men of these subjugated tribes, now accustomed to drunkenness andevery way degraded, bear but a faint impress of the lost grandeur of therace. They are no longer strong, tall, or finely proportioned. Yet asyou see them stealing along a height, or striding boldly forward, theyremind you of what _was_ majestic in the red man. 

On the shores of lake Superior, it is said, if you visit them athome, you may still see a remnant of the noble blood. ThePillagers--(Pilleurs)--a band celebrated by the old travellers, are:still existant there. 

 "Still some, 'the eagles of their tribe, ' may rush. "

I have spoken of the hatred felt by the white man for the Indian: withwhite women it seems to amount to disgust, to loathing. How I couldendure the dirt, the peculiar smell of the Indians, and their dwellings, was a great marvel in the eyes of my lady acquaintance; indeed, I wonderwhy they did not quite give me up, as they certainly looked on me withgreat distaste for it. "Get you gone, you Indian dog, " was the felt, ifnot the breathed, expression towards the hapless owners of the soil. Alltheir claims, all their sorrows quite forgot, in abhorrence of theirdirt, their tawny skins, and the vices the whites have taught them. 

A person who had seen them during great part of a life, expressed hisprejudices to me with such violence, that I was no longer surprised thatthe Indian children threw sticks at him, as he passed. A lady said, "dowhat you will for them, they will be ungrateful. The savage cannot bewashed out of them. Bring up an Indian child and see if you can attachit to you. " The next moment, she expressed, in the presence of one ofthose children whom she was bringing up, loathing at the odor left byone of her people, and one of the most respected, as he passed throughthe room. When the child is grown she will consider it basely ungratefulnot to love her, as it certainly will not; and this will be cited as aninstance of the impossibility of attaching the Indian. 

Whether the Indian could, by any efforts of love and intelligence fromthe white man, have been civilized and made a valuable ingredient in thenew state, I will not say; but this we are sure of; the FrenchCatholics, at least, did not harm them, nor disturb their minds merelyto corrupt them. The French they loved. But the stern Presbyterian, withhis dogmas and his task-work, the city circle and the college, withtheir niggard concessions and unfeeling stare, have never tried theexperiment. It has not been tried. Our people and our government havesinned alike against the first-born of the soil, and if they are thefated agents of a new era, they have done nothing--have invoked no godto keep them sinless while they do the hest of fate. 

Worst of all, when they invoke the holy power only to mask theiriniquity; when the felon trader, who, all the week, has been besottingand degrading the Indian with rum mixed with red pepper, and damagedtobacco, kneels with him on Sunday before a common altar, to tell therosary which recalls the thought of him crucified for love of sufferingmen, and to listen to sermons in praise of "purity"!!

My savage friends, cries the old fat priest, you must, above all things, aim at _purity_. 

Oh, my heart swelled when I saw them in a Christian church. Better theirown dog-feasts and bloody rites than such mockery of that other faith. 

"The dog, " said an Indian, "was once a spirit; he has fallen for hissin, and was given by the Great Spirit, in this shape, to man, as hismost intelligent companion. Therefore we sacrifice it in highest honorto our friends in this world, --to our protecting geniuses in another. "

There was religion in that thought. The white man sacrifices his ownbrother, and to Mammon, yet he turns in loathing from the dog-feast. 

"You say, " said the Indian of the South to the missionary, "thatChristianity is pleasing to God. How can that be?--Those men at Savannahare Christians. "

Yes! slave-drivers and Indian traders are called Christians, and theIndian is to be deemed less like the Son of Mary than they! Wonderful isthe deceit of man's heart!

I have not, on seeing something of them in their own haunts, foundreason to change the sentiments expressed in the following lines, when adeputation of the Sacs and Foxes visited Boston in 1837, and were, byone person at least, received in a dignified and courteous manner. 

 GOVERNOR EVERETT RECEIVING THE INDIAN CHIEFS, NOVEMBER, 1837. 

 Who says that Poesy is on the wane, And that the Muses tune their lyres in vain? 'Mid all the treasures of romantic story, When thought was fresh and fancy in her glory, Has ever Art found out a richer theme, More dark a shadow, or more soft a gleam, Than fall upon the scene, sketched carelessly, In the newspaper column of to-day?

 American romance is somewhat stale. Talk of the hatchet, and the faces pale, Wampum and calumets and forests dreary, Once so attractive, now begins to weary. Uncas and Magawisca please us still, Unreal, yet idealized with skill; But every poetaster scribbling witling, From the majestic oak his stylus whittling, Has helped to tire us, and to make us fear The monotone in which so much we hear Of "stoics of the wood, " and "men without a tear. "

 Yet Nature, ever buoyant, ever young, If let alone, will sing as erst she sung; The course of circumstance gives back again The Picturesque, erewhile pursued in vain; Shows us the fount of Romance is not wasted-- The lights and shades of contrast not exhausted. 

 Shorn of his strength, the Samson now must sue For fragments from the feast his fathers gave, The Indian dare not claim what is his due, But as a boon his heritage must crave; His stately form shall soon be seen no more Through all his father's land, th' Atlantic shore, Beneath the sun, to _us_ so kind, _they_ melt, More heavily each day our rule is felt; The tale is old, --we do as mortals must: Might makes right here, but God and Time are just. 

 So near the drama hastens to its close, On this last scene awhile your eyes repose; The polished Greek and Scythian meet again, The ancient life is lived by modern men-- The savage through our busy cities walks, -- He in his untouched grandeur silent stalks. Unmoved by all our gaieties and shows, Wonder nor shame can touch him as he goes; He gazes on the marvels we have wrought, But knows the models from whence all was brought; In God's first temples he has stood so oft, And listened to the natural organ loft-- Has watched the eagle's flight, the muttering thunder heard, Art cannot move him to a wondering word; Perhaps he sees that all this luxury Brings less food to the mind than to the eye; Perhaps a simple sentiment has brought More to him than your arts had ever taught. What are the petty triumphs _Art_ has given, To eyes familiar with the naked heaven?

 All has been seen--dock, railroad, and canal, Fort, market, bridge, college, and arsenal, Asylum, hospital, and cotton mill, The theatre, the lighthouse, and the jail. The Braves each novelty, reflecting, saw, And now and then growled out the earnest _yaw_. And now the time is come, 'tis understood, When, having seen and thought so much, a _talk_ may do some good. 

 A well-dressed mob have thronged the sight to greet, And motley figures throng the spacious street; Majestical and calm through all they stride, Wearing the blanket with a monarch's pride; The gazers stare and shrug, but can't deny Their noble forms and blameless symmetry. If the Great Spirit their morale has slighted, And wigwam smoke their mental culture blighted, Yet the physique, at least, perfection reaches, In wilds where neither Combe nor Spursheim teaches; Where whispering trees invite man to the chase, And bounding deer allure him to the race. 

 Would thou hadst seen it! That dark, stately band, Whose ancestors enjoyed all this fair land, Whence they, by force or fraud, were made to flee, Are brought, the white man's victory to see. Can kind emotions in their proud hearts glow, As through these realms, now decked by Art, they go? The church, the school, the railroad and the mart-- Can these a pleasure to their minds impart? All once was theirs--earth, ocean, forest, sky-- How can they joy in what now meets the eye? Not yet Religion has unlocked the soul, Nor Each has learned to glory in the Whole!

 Must they not think, so strange and sad their lot, That they by the Great Spirit are forgot? From the far border to which they are driven, They might look up in trust to the clear heaven; But _here_--what tales doth every object tell Where Massasoit sleeps--where Philip fell!

 We take our turn, and the Philosopher Sees through the clouds a hand which cannot err, An unimproving race, with all their graces And all their vices, must resign their places; And Human Culture rolls its onward flood Over the broad plains steeped in Indian blood. Such thoughts, steady our faith; yet there will rise Some natural tears into the calmest eyes-- Which gaze where forest princes haughty go, Made for a gaping crowd a raree show. 

 But _this_ a scene seems where, in courtesy, The pale face with the forest prince could vie, For One presided, who, for tact and grace, In any age had held an honored place, -- In Beauty's own dear day, had shone a polished Phidian vase!

 Oft have I listened to his accents bland, And owned the magic of his silvery voice, In all the graces which life's arts demand, Delighted by the justness of his choice. Not his the stream of lavish, fervid thought, -- The rhetoric by passion's magic wrought; Not his the massive style, the lion port, Which with the granite class of mind assort; But, in a range of excellence his own, With all the charms to soft persuasion known, Amid our busy people we admire him--"elegant and lone. "

 He scarce needs words, so exquisite the skill Which modulates the tones to do his will, That the mere sound enough would charm the ear, And lap in its Elysium all who hear. The intellectual paleness of his cheek, The heavy eyelids and slow, tranquil smile, The well cut lips from which the graces speak, Fit him alike to win or to beguile; Then those words so well chosen, fit, though few, Their linked sweetness as our thoughts pursue, We deem them spoken pearls, or radiant diamond dew. 

 And never yet did I admire the power Which makes so lustrous every threadbare theme-- Which won for Lafayette one other hour, And e'en on July Fourth could cast a gleam-- As now, when I behold him play the host, With all the dignity which red men boast-- With all the courtesy the whites have lost;-- Assume the very hue of savage mind, Yet in rude accents show the thought refined:-- Assume the naiveté of infant age, And in such prattle seem still more a sage; The golden mean with tact unerring seized, A courtly critic shone, a simple savage pleased; The stoic of the woods his skill confessed, As all the Father answered in his breast, To the sure mark the silver arrow sped, The man without a tear a tear has shed; And thou hadst wept, hadst thou been there, to see How true one sentiment must ever be, In court or camp, the city or the wild, To rouse the Father's heart, you need but name his Child. 

 'Twas a fair scene--and acted well by all; So here's a health to Indian braves so tall-- Our Governor and Boston people all!

I will copy the admirable speech of Governor Everett on that occasion, as I think it the happiest attempt ever made to meet the Indian in hisown way, and catch the tone of his mind. It was said, in thenewspapers, that Keokuck did actually shed tears when addressed as afather. If he did not with his eyes, he well might in his heart. 

EVERETT'S SPEECH. 

Chiefs and warriors of the Sauks and Foxes, you are welcome to our hallof council. 

Brothers! you have come a long way from home to visit your whitebrethren; we rejoice to take you by the hand. 

Brothers! we have heard the names of your chiefs and warriors; ourbrothers, who have travelled into the West, have told us a great deal ofthe Sauks and Foxes; we rejoice to see you with our own eyes, and takeyou by the hand. 

Brothers! we are called the Massachusetts. This is the name of the redmen that once lived here. Their wigwams filled yonder field; theircouncil fire was kindled on this spot. They were of the same great raceas the Sauks and Misquakuiks. 

Brothers! when our fathers came over the great waters, they were a smallband. The red man stood upon the rock by the seaside, and saw ourfathers. He might have pushed them into the water and drowned them. Buthe stretched out his arm to our fathers and said, "Welcome, white men!"Our fathers were hungry, and the red men gave them corn and venison. Ourfathers were cold, and the red man wrapped them up in his blanket. Weare now numerous and powerful, but we remember the kindness of the redman to our fathers. Brothers, you are welcome; we are glad to see you. 

Brothers! our faces are pale, and your faces are dark; but our heartsare alike. The Great Spirit has made his children of different colors, but he loves them all. 

Brothers! you dwell between the Mississippi and the Missouri. They aremighty rivers. They have one branch far East in the Alleghanies, and theother far West in the Rocky Mountains; but they flow together at lastinto one great stream, and run down together into the sea. In likemanner, the red man dwells in the West, and the white man in the East, by the great waters; but they are all one branch, one family; it hasmany branches and one head. 

Brothers! as you entered our council house, you beheld the image of ourgreat Father Washington. It is a cold stone--it cannot speak. But he wasthe friend of the red man, and bad his children live in peace with theirred brethren. He is gone to the world of spirits. But his words havemade a very deep print in our hearts, like the step of a strong buffaloon the soft clay of the prairie. 

Brother! I perceive your little son between your knees. God preserve hislife, my brother. He grows up before you like the tender sapling by theside of the mighty oak. May the oak and the sapling flourish a long timetogether. And when the mighty oak is fallen to the ground, may the youngtree fill its place in the forest, and spread out its branches over thetribe like the parent trunk. 

Brothers! I make you a short talk, and again bid you welcome to ourcouncil hall. 

Not often have they been addressed with such intelligence and tact. Thefew who have not approached them with sordid rapacity, but from love tothem, as men, and souls to be redeemed, have most frequently beenpersons intellectually too narrow, too straightly bound in sects oropinions, to throw themselves into the character or position of theIndians, or impart to them anything they can make available. The Christshown them by these missionaries, is to them but a new and more powerfulManito; the signs of the new religion, but the fetiches that have aidedthe conquerors. 

Here I will copy some remarks made by a discerning observer, on themethods used by the missionaries, and their natural results. 

"Mr. ---- and myself had a very interesting conversation, upon thesubject of the Indians, their character, capabilities, &c. After tenyears' experience among them, he was forced to acknowledge, that theresults of the missionary efforts had produced nothing calculated toencourage. He thought that there was an intrinsic disability in them, torise above, or go beyond the sphere in which they had so long moved. Hesaid, that even those Indians who had been converted, and who hadadopted the habits of civilization, were very little improved in theirreal character; they were as selfish, as deceitful, and as indolent, asthose who were still heathens. They had repaid the kindnesses of themissionaries with the basest ingratitude, killing their cattle andswine, and robbing them of their harvests, which they wantonlydestroyed. He had abandoned the idea of effecting any general good tothe Indians. He had conscientious scruples, as to promoting anenterprise so hopeless, as that of missions among the Indians, bysending accounts to the east, that might induce philanthropicindividuals to contribute to their support. In fact, the wholeexperience of his intercourse with them, seemed to have convinced him ofthe irremediable degradation of the race. Their fortitude undersuffering, he considered the result of physical and mentalinsensibility; their courage, a mere animal excitement, which they foundit necessary to inflame, before daring to meet a foe. They have noconstancy of purpose; and are, in fact, but little superior to thebrutes, in point of moral development. It is not astonishing, that onelooking upon the Indian character, from Mr. ----'s point of view, shouldentertain such sentiments. The object of his intercourse with them was, to make them apprehend the mysteries of a theology, which, to the mostenlightened, is an abstruse, metaphysical study; and it is not singularthey should prefer their pagan superstitions, which address themselvesmore directly to the senses. Failing in the attempt to christianize, before civilizing them, he inferred, that, in the intrinsic degradationof their faculties, the obstacle was to be found. "

Thus the missionary vainly attempts, by once or twice holding up thecross, to turn deer and tigers into lambs; vainly attempts to convincethe red man that a heavenly mandate takes from him his broad lands. Hebows his head, but does not at heart acquiesce. He cannot. It is nottrue; and if it were, the descent of blood through the same channels, for centuries, had formed habits of thought not so easily to bedisturbed. 

Amalgamation would afford the only true and profound means ofcivilization. But nature seems, like all else, to declare, that thisrace is fated to perish. Those of mixed blood fade early, and are notgenerally a fine race. They lose what is best in either type, ratherthan enhance the value of each, by mingling. There are exceptions, oneor two such I know of, but this, it is said, is the general rule. 

A traveller observes, that the white settlers, who live in the woods, soon become sallow, lanky, and dejected; the atmosphere of the treesdoes not agree with Caucasian lungs; and it is, perhaps, in part, aninstinct of this, which causes the hatred of the new settlers towardstrees. The Indian breathed the atmosphere of the forests freely; heloved their shade. As they are effaced from the land, he fleets too; apart of the same manifestation, which cannot linger behind its properera. 

The Chippewas have lately petitioned the state of Michigan, that theymay be admitted as citizens; but this would be vain, unless they couldbe admitted, as brothers, to the heart of the white man. And while thelatter feels that conviction of superiority, which enabled our Wisconsinfriend to throw away the gun, and send the Indian to fetch it, he hadneed to be very good, and very wise, not to abuse his position. But thewhite man, as yet, is a half-tamed pirate, and avails himself, as muchas ever, of the maxim, "Might makes right. " All that civilization doesfor the generality, is to cover up this with a veil of subtle evasionsand chicane, and here and there to rouse the individual mind to appealto heaven against it. 

I have no hope of liberalizing the missionary, of humanizing the sharksof trade, of infusing the conscientious drop into the flinty bosom ofpolicy, of saving the Indian from immediate degradation, and speedydeath. The, whole sermon may be preached from the text, "Needs be thatoffences must come, yet we them by whom they come. " Yet, ere theydepart, I wish there might be some masterly attempt to reproduce, in artor literature, what is proper to them, a kind of beauty and grandeur, which few of the every-day crowd have hearts to feel, yet which ought toleave in the world its monuments, to inspire the thought of geniusthrough all ages. Nothing in this kind has been done masterly; since itwas Clevengers's ambition, 'tis pity he had not opportunity to try fullyhis powers. We hope some other mind may be bent upon it, ere too late. 

At present the only lively impress of their passage through the world isto be found in such books as Catlin's and some stories told by the oldtravellers, of which I purpose a brief account. 

First, let me give another brief tale of the power exerted by the whiteman over the savage in a trying case, but, in this case, it wasrighteous, was moral power. 

"We were looking over McKenney's trip to the Lakes, and, on observingthe picture of Key-way-no-wut, or the Going Cloud, Mr. B. Observed "Ah, that is the fellow I came near having a fight with, " and he detailed atlength the circumstances. This Indian was a very desperate character, and whom all the Leech lake band stood in fear of. He would shoot downany Indian who offended him, without the least hesitation, and hadbecome quite the bully of that part of the tribe. The trader at Leechlake warned Mr. B. To beware of him, and said that he once, when he (thetrader) refused to give up to him his stock of wild rice, went and gothis gun and tomahawk, and shook the tomahawk over his head, saying"_Now_, give me your wild rice. " The trader complied with his exaction, but not so did Mr. B. In the adventure which I am about to relate. Key-way-no-wut came frequently to him with furs, wishing him to give forthem cotton cloth, sugar, flour, &c. Mr. B. Explained to him that hecould not trade for furs, as he was sent there as a teacher, and that itwould be like putting his hand into the fire to do so, as the traderswould inform against him, and he would be sent out of the country. Atthe same time, he _gave_ him the articles which he wished. Key-way-no-wut found this a very convenient way of getting what hewanted, and followed up this sort of game, until, at last, it becameinsupportable. One day the Indian brought a very large otter skin, andsaid "I want to get for this ten pounds of sugar, and some flour andcloth, " adding, "I am not like other Indians, _I_ want to pay for what Iget. Mr. B. Found that he must either be robbed of all he had bysubmitting to these exactions, or take a stand at once. He thought, however, he would try to avoid a scrape, and told his customer he hadnot so much sugar to spare. "Give me then, " said he, "what you canspare, " and Mr. B. Thinking to make him back out, told him he would givehim five pounds of sugar for his skin. "Take it, " said the Indian. Heleft the skin, telling Mr. B. To take good care of it. Mr. B. Took it atonce to the trader's store, and related the circumstance, congratulatinghimself that he had got rid of the Indian's exactions. But, in about amonth, Key-way-no-wut appeared bringing some dirty Indian sugar, andsaid "I have brought back the sugar that I borrowed of you, and I wantmy otter skin back. " Mr. B. Told him, "I _bought_ an otter skin of you, but if you will return the other articles you have got for it, perhaps Ican get it for you. " "Where is the skin?" said he very quickly, "whathave you done with it?" Mr. B. Replied it was in the trader's store, where he (the Indian) could not get it. At this information he wasfurious, laid his hands on his knife and tomahawk, and commanded Mr. B. To bring it at once. Mr. B. Found this was the crisis, where he musttake a stand or be "rode over rough shod" by this man; his wife, who waspresent was much alarmed, and begged he would get the skin for theIndian, but he told her that "either he or the Indian would soon bemaster of his house, and if she was afraid to see it decided which wasto be so, she had better retire. " He turned to Key-way-no-wut, andaddressed him in a stern voice as follows: "I will _not_ give you theskin. How often have you come to my house, and I have shared with youwhat I had. I gave you tobacco when you were well, and medicine when youwere sick, and you never went away from my wigwam with your handsempty. And this is the way you return my treatment to you. I had thoughtyou were a man and a chief, but you are not, you are nothing but an oldwoman. Leave this house, and never enter it again. " Mr. B. Said heexpected the Indian would attempt his life when he said this, but thathe had placed himself in a position so that he could defend himself, andhe looked straight into the Indian's eye, and like other wild beasts hequailed before the glance of mental and moral courage. He calmed down atonce, and soon began to make apologies. Mr. B. Then told him kindly, butfirmly, that, if he wished to walk in the same path with him, he mustwalk as straight as the crack on the floor before them; adding that hewould not walk with anybody who would jostle him by walking so crookedas he had done. He was perfectly tamed, and Mr. B. Said he never had anymore trouble with him. "

The conviction here livingly enforced of the superiority on the side ofthe white man, was thus expressed by the Indian orator at Mackinaw whilewe were there. After the customary compliments about sun, dew, &c. , "This, " said he, "is the difference between the white and the red man;the white man looks to the future and paves the way for posterity. " Thisis a statement uncommonly refined for an Indian; but one of thegentlemen present, who understood the Chippeway, vouched for it as aliteral rendering of his phrases; and he did indeed touch the vitalpoint of difference. But the Indian, if he understands, cannot make useof his intelligence. The fate of his people is against it, and Pontiacand Philip have no more chance, than Julian in the times of old. 

Now that I am engaged on this subject, let me give some notices ofwritings upon it, read either at Mackinaw or since my return. 

Mrs. Jameson made such good use of her brief visit to these regions, asleaves great cause to regret she did not stay longer and go farther;also, that she did not make more use of her acquaintance with, indeed, adoption by, the Johnson family. Mr. Johnson seems to have been almostthe only white man who knew how to regard with due intelligence andnobleness, his connexion with the race. Neither French or English, ofany powers of sympathy, or poetical apprehension, have lived among theIndians without high feelings of enjoyment. Perhaps no luxury has beengreater, than that experienced by the persons, who, sent either by tradeor war, during the last century, into these majestic regions, foundguides and shelter amid the children of the soil, and recognized in aform so new and of such varied, yet simple, charms, the tie ofbrotherhood. 

But these, even Sir William Johnston, whose life, surrounded by theIndians in his castle on the Mohawk, is described with such vivacity byMrs. Grant, have been men better fitted to enjoy and adapt themselves tothis life, than to observe and record it. The very faculties that madeit so easy for them to live in the present moment, were likely to unfitthem for keeping its chronicle. Men, whose life is full and instinctive, care little for the pen. But the father of Mrs. Schoolcraft seems tohave taken pleasure in observation and comparison, and to have impartedthe same tastes to his children. They have enough of European culture tohave a standard, by which to judge their native habits and inheritedlore. 

By the premature death of Mrs. Schoolcraft was lost a mine of poesy, towhich few had access, and from which Mrs. Jameson would have known howto coin a series of medals for the history of this ancient people. Wemight have known in clear outline, as now we shall not, the growths ofreligion and philosophy, under the influences of this climate andscenery, from such suggestions as nature and the teachings of the inwardmind presented. 

Now we can only gather that they had their own theory of the history ofthis globe; had perceived a gap in its genesis, and tried to fill it upby the intervention of some secondary power, with moral sympathies. Theyhave observed the action of fire and water upon this earth; also thatthe dynasty of animals has yielded to that of man. With these animalsthey have profound sympathy, and are always trying to restore to themtheir lost honors. On the rattlesnake, the beaver, and the bear, theyseem to look with a mixture of sympathy and veneration, as on theirfellow settlers in these realms. There is something that appealspowerfully to the imagination in the ceremonies they observe, even incase of destroying one of these animals. I will say more of thisby-and-by. 

The dog they cherish as having been once a spirit of high intelligence;and now in its fallen, and imprisoned state, given to man as hisspecial companion. He is therefore to them a sacrifice of peculiarworth: whether to a guardian spirit or a human friend. Yet nothing wouldbe a greater violation than giving the remains of a sacrificial feast tothe dogs, or even suffering them to touch the bones. 

Similar inconsistences may be observed in the treatment of the dog bythe white man. He is the most cherished companion in the familiar walksof many men; his virtues form the theme of poetry and history; thenobler races present grand traits, and are treated with proportionaterespect. Yet the epithets dog and hound, are there set apart to expressthe uttermost contempt. 

Goethe, who abhorred dogs, has selected that animal for the embodimentof the modern devil, who, in earlier times, chose rather the form of theserpent. 

There is, indeed, something that peculiarly breaks in on the harmony ofnature, in the bark of the dog, and that does not at all correspond withthe softness and sagacity observable in his eye. The baying the moon, Ihave been inclined to set down as an unfavorable indication; but, sinceFourier has found out that the moon is dead, and "no better thancarrion;" and the Greeks have designated her as Hecate, the deity ofsuicide and witchcraft, the dogs are perhaps in the right. 

They have among them the legend of the carbuncle, so famous in orientalmythos. Adair states that they believe this fabulous gem may be found onthe spot where the rattlesnake has been destroyed. 

If they have not the archetypal man, they have the archetypal animal, "the grandfather of all beavers;" to them, who do not know the elephant, this is the symbol of wisdom, as the rattlesnake and bear of power. 

I will insert here a little tale about the bear, which has not beforeappeared in print, as representing their human way of looking on theseanimals, even when engaged in their pursuit. To me such stories give afine sense of the lively perceptions and exercise of fancy, enjoyed bythem in their lives of woodcraft:

MUCKWA, OR THE BEAR. 

A young Indian, who lived a great while ago, when he was quite youngkilled a bear; and the tribe from that circumstance called him Muckwa. As he grew up he became an expert hunter, and his favorite game was thebear, many of which he killed. One day he started off to a river farremote from the lodges of his tribe, and where berries and grapes werevery plenty, in pursuit of bears. He hunted all day but found nothing;and just at night he came to some lodges which he thought to be those ofsome of his tribe. He approached the largest of them, lifted the curtainat its entrance, and went in, when he perceived the inmates to be bears, who were seated around the fire smoking. He said nothing, but seatedhimself also and smoked the pipe which they offered him, in silence. Anold grey bear, who was the chief, ordered supper to be brought for him, and after he had eaten it, addressed him as follows: "My son, I am gladto see you come among us in a friendly manner. You have been a greathunter, and all the she-bears of our tribe tremble when they hear yourname. But cease to trouble us, and come and live with me; we have a verypleasant life, living upon the fruits of the earth; and in the winter, instead of being obliged to hunt and travel through the deep snow, wesleep soundly until the sun unchains the streams, and makes the tenderbuds put forth for our subsistence. I will give you my daughter for awife, and we will live happily together. " Muckwa was inclined to acceptthe old bear's offer; but when he saw the daughter, who came and tookoff his wet moccasons, and gave him dry ones, he thought that he hadnever seen any Indian woman so beautiful. He accepted the offer of thechief of the bears, and lived with his wife very happily for some time. He had by her two sons, one of whom was like an Indian, and the otherlike a bear. When the bear-child was oppressed with heat, his motherwould take him into the deep cool caves, while the Indian-child wouldshiver with cold, and cry after her in vain. As the autumn advanced, thebears began to go out in search of acorns, and then the she-bear said toMuckwa, "Stay at home here and watch our house, while I go to gathersome nuts. " She departed and was gone for some days with her people. By-and-by Muckwa became tired of staying at home, and thought that hewould go off to a distance and resume his favorite bear-hunting. Heaccordingly started off, and at last came to a grove of lofty oaks, which were full of large acorns. He found signs of bear, and soon espieda fat she-bear on the top of a tree. He shot at her with a good aim, andshe fell, pierced by his unerring arrow. He went up to her, and foundit was his sister-in-law, who reproached him with his cruelty, and toldhim to return to his own people. Muckwa returned quietly home, andpretended not to have left his lodge. However, the old chief understood, and was disposed to kill him in revenge; but his wife found means toavert her father's anger. The winter season now coming on, Muckwaprepared to accompany his wife into winter quarters; they selected alarge tamarack tree, which was hollow, and lived there comfortably untila party of hunters discovered their retreat. The she-bear told Muckwa toremain quietly in the tree, and that she would decoy off the hunters. She came out of the hollow, jumped from a bough of the tree, and escapedunharmed, although the hunters shot after her. Some time after, shereturned to the tree, and told Muckwa that he had better go back to hisown people. "Since you have lived among us, " said she, "we have nothingbut ill-fortune; you have killed my sister; and now your friends havefollowed your footsteps to our retreats to kill us. The Indian and thebear cannot live in the same lodge, for the Master of Life has appointedfor them different habitations. " So Muckwa returned with his son to hisown people; but he never after would shoot a she-bear, for fear that heshould kill his wife. "

I admire this story for the _savoir faire_, the nonchalance, the VivianGreyism of Indian life. It is also a poetical expression of the sorrowsof unequal relations; those in which the Master of Life was notconsulted. Is it not pathetic; the picture of the mother carrying offthe child that was like herself into the deep, cool caves, while theother, shivering with cold, cried after her in vain? The moral, too, ofMuckwa's return to the bear lodges, thinking to hide his sin by silence, while it was at once discerned by those connected with him, is fine. 

We have a nursery tale, of which children never weary, of a little boyvisiting a bear house and holding intercourse with them on terms as freeas Muckwa did. So, perhaps, the child of Norman-Saxon blood, no lessthan the Indian, finds some pulse of the Orson in his veins. 

As they loved to draw the lower forms of nature up to them, diviningtheir histories, and imitating their ways, in their wild dances andpaintings; even so did they love to look upward and people theatmosphere that enfolds the earth, with fairies and manitoes. Thesister, obliged to leave her brother on the earth, bids him look up atevening, and he will see her painting her face in the west. 

All places, distinguished in any way by nature, aroused the feelings ofworship, which, however ignorant, are always elevating. See as instancesin this kind, the stories of Nanabojou, and the Winnebago Prince, at thefalls of St. Anthony. 

As with the Greeks, beautiful legends grow up which express the aspectsof various localities. From the distant sand-banks in the lakes, glittering in the sun, come stories of enchantresses combing, on theshore, the long golden hair of a beautiful daughter. The Lorelei of theRhine, with her syren song, and the sad events that follow, is found onthe lonely rocks of Lake Superior. 

The story to which I now refer, may be found in a book called Life onthe Lakes, or, a Trip to the Pictured Rocks. There are two which purportto be Indian tales; one is simply a romantic narrative, connected with aspot at Mackinaw, called Robinson's Folly. This, no less than the other, was unknown to those persons I saw on the island; but as they seementirely beyond the powers of the person who writes them down, and theother one has the profound and original meaning of Greek tragedy, Ibelieve they must be genuine legends. 

The one I admire is the story of a young warrior, who goes to keep, onthese lonely rocks, the fast which is to secure him vision of histutelary spirit. There the loneliness is broken by the voice of sweetmusic from the water. The Indian knows well that to break the fast, which is the crisis of his life, by turning his attention from seekingthe Great Spirit, to any lower object, will deprive him through life ofheavenly protection, probably call down the severest punishment. 

But the temptation is too strong for him; like the victims of theLorelei, he looks, like them beholds a maiden of unearthly beauty, tohim the harbinger of earthly wo. 

The development of his fate, that succeeds; of love, of heart-break, ofterrible revenge, which back upon itself recoils, may vie with anythingI have ever known of stern tragedy, is altogether unlike any other form, and with all the peculiar expression we see lurking in the Indian eye. The demon is not frightful and fantastic, like those that haunt theGerman forest; but terribly human, as if of full manhood, reared in theshadow of the black forests. An Indian sarcasm vibrates through it, which, with Indian fortitude, defies the inevitable torture. 

The Indian is steady to that simple creed, which forms the basis of allthis mythology; that there is a God, and a life beyond this; a right andwrong which each man can see, betwixt which each man should choose; thatgood brings with it its reward and vice its punishment. Their moralcode, if not refined as that of civilized nations, is clear and noble inthe stress laid upon truth and fidelity. And all unprejudiced observersbear testimony that the Indians, until broken from their old anchorageby intercourse with the whites, who offer them, instead, a religion ofwhich they furnish neither interpretation nor example, were singularlyvirtuous, if virtue be allowed to consist in a man's acting up to hisown ideas of right. 

Old Adair, who lived forty years among the Indians; not these tribes, indeed, but the southern Indians; does great justice to their religiousaspiration. He is persuaded that they are Jews, and his main object isto identify their manifold ritual, and customs connected with it, withthat of the Jews. His narrative contains much that is worthless, and iswritten in the most tedious manner of the folios. But his devotion tothe records of ancient Jewry, has really given him power to discerncongenial traits elsewhere, and for the sake of what he has expressed ofthe noble side of Indian character, we pardon him our having to wadethrough so many imbecilities. 

An infidel; he says, is, in their language, "one who has shaken handswith the accursed speech;" a religious man, "one who has shaken handswith the beloved speech. " If this be a correct definition, we could wishAdair more religious. 

He gives a fine account of their methods of purification. These show adeep reliance on the sustaining Spirit. By fasting and prayer they makeready for all important decisions and actions. Even for the war path, onwhich he is likely to endure such privations, the brave prepares by asolemn fast. His reliance is on the spirit in which he goes forth. 

We may contrast with the opinion of the missionary, as given on a formerpage, the testimony of one, who knew them as Adair did, to their heroismunder torture. 

He gives several stories, illustrative both of their courage, fortitude, and resource in time of peril, of which I will cite only the two first. 

"The Shawano Indians took a Muskohge warrior, known by the name of "OldScrany;" they bastinadoed him in the usual manner, and condemned him tothe fiery torture. He underwent a great deal, without showing anyconcern; his countenance and behavior were as if he suffered not theleast pain, and was formed beyond the common laws of nature. He toldthem, with a bold voice, that he was a very noted warrior, and gainedmost of his martial preferments at the expense of their nation, and wasdesirous of showing them in the act of dying that he was still as muchtheir superior, as when he headed his gallant countrymen against them. That, although he had fallen into their hands, in forfeiting theprotection of the divine power, by some impurity or other, yet he hadstill so much virtue remaining, as would enable him to punish himselfmore exquisitely than all their despicable, ignorant crowd couldpossibly do, if they gave him liberty by untying him, and would hand tohim one of the red hot gun-barrels out of the fire. The proposal, andhis method of address, appeared so exceedingly bold and uncommon, thathis request was granted. Then he suddenly seized one end of the red hotbarrel, and, brandishing it from side to side, he found his way throughthe armed and surprised multitude, and leaped down a prodigious steepand high bank into a branch of the river, dived through it, ran over asmall island, passed the other branch amidst a shower of bullets, and, though numbers of his eager enemies were in close pursuit of him, he gotto a bramble swamp, and in that naked, mangled condition, reached hisown country. He proved a sharp thorn in their side afterwards, to theday of his death. 

The Shawano also captivated a warrior of the Anantooiah, and put him tothe stake, according to their usual cruel solemnities. Havingunconcernedly suffered much sharp torture, he told them with scorn, theydid not know how to punish a noted enemy, therefore he was willing toteach them, and would confirm the truth of his assertion, if theyallowed him the opportunity. Accordingly he requested of them a pipe andsome tobacco, which was given him; as soon as he lighted it, he satdown, naked as he was, on the women's burning torches, that were withinhis circle, and continued smoking his pipe without the leastdiscomposure. On this a head warrior leaped up, and said they had seen, plain enough, that he was a warrior, and not afraid of dying; nor shouldhe have died, but that he was both spoiled by the fire, and devoted toit by their laws; however, though he was a very dangerous enemy, and hisnation a treacherous people, it should appear they paid a regard tobravery, even in one, who was marked over the body with war streaks atthe cost of many lives of their beloved kindred. And then, by way offavor, he, with his friendly tomahawk, put an end to all his pains:though this merciful but bloody instrument was ready some minutes beforeit gave the blow, yet, I was assured, the spectators could not perceivethe sufferer to change, either his posture, or his steady, erectcountenance in the least. "

Some stories as fine, but longer, follow. In reference to which Adairsays, "The intrepid behavior of these red stoics, their surprisingcontempt of and indifference to life or death, instead of lessening, helps to confirm our belief of that supernatural power, which supportedthe great number of primitive martyrs, who sealed the Christian faithwith their blood. The Indians have as much belief and expectation of afuture state, as the greater part of the Israelites seem to have. Butthe Christians of the first centuries, may justly be said to exceed eventhe most heroic American Indians, for they bore the bitterestpersecution with steady patience, in imitation of their divine leaderMessiah, in full confidence of divine support and of a gloriousrecompense of reward; and, instead of even wishing for revenge on theircruel enemies and malicious tormentors, (which is the chief principlethat actuates the Indians, ) they not only forgave them, but, in themidst of their tortures, earnestly prayed for them, with composedcountenances, sincere love, and unabated fervor. And not only men ofdifferent conditions, but the delicate women and children suffered withconstancy, and died praying for their tormentors: the Indian women andchildren, and their young men untrained to war, are incapable ofdisplaying the like patience and magnanimity. "

Thus impartially looks the old trader. I meant to have inserted otherpassages, that of the encampment at Yowanne, and the horse race to whichhe challenged them, to show how well he could convey in his garrulousfashion the whole presence of Indian life. That of Yowanne, especially, takes my fancy much, by its wild and subtle air, and the old-nursefashion in which every look and gesture is detailed. His enjoyment, too, at outwitting the Indians in their own fashion is contagious. There is afine history of a young man driven by a presentiment to run upon hisdeath. But I find, to copy these stories, as they stand, would half fillthis little book, and compression would spoil them, so I must wait someother occasion. 

The story, later, of giving an Indian liquid fire to swallow, I give atfull length, to show how a kind-hearted man and one well disposedtowards them, can treat them, and view his barbarity as a joke. It isnot then so much wonder, if the trader, with this same feeling that theymay be treated, (as however brutes should not be, ) brutally, mixes redpepper and damaged tobacco with the rum, intending in their fever tofleece them of all they possess. 

Like Murray and Henry, he has his great Indian chief, who representswhat the people should be, as Pericles and Phocion what the Greek peopleshould be. If we are entitled to judge by its best fruits of thegoodness of the tree, Adair's Red Shoes, and Henry's Wawatam, shouldmake us respect the first possessors of our country, and doubt whetherwe are in all ways worthy to fill their place. Of the whole tone ofcharacter, judgment may be formed by what is said of the death of RedShoes. 

"This chief, by his several transcendent qualities had arrived at thehighest pitch of the red glory. .. . 

He was murdered, for the sake of a French reward by one of his owncountrymen. He had the misfortune to be taken very sick on the road, andto lodge apart from the camp, according to their custom. A Judas, tempted by the high reward of the French for killing him, officiouslypretended to take great care of him. While Red Shoes kept his facetoward him, the barbarian had such feelings of awe and pity that he hadnot power to perpetrate his wicked design; but when he turned his back, then gave the fatal shot. In this manner fell this valuable brave man, by hands that would have trembled to attack him on an equality. "

Adair, with all his sympathy for the Indian, mixes quite unconsciouslysome white man's views of the most decided sort. For instance, herecommends that the tribes be stimulated as much as possible to warwith each other, that they may the more easily and completely be keptunder the dominion of the whites, and he gives the following record ofbrutality as quite a jocose and adroit procedure. 

"I told him; on his importuning me further, that I had a full bottle ofthe water of _ane hoome_, "bitter ears, " meaning long pepper, of whichhe was ignorant. We were of opinion that his eager thirst for liquor, aswell as his ignorance of the burning quality of the pepper, would inducethe bacchanal to try it. He accordingly applauded my generousdisposition, and said his heart had all along told him I would not actbeneath the character I bore among his country people. The bottle wasbrought, I laid it on the table, and then told him, as he was spittingvery much, (a general custom among the Indians when they are eager foranything, ) if I drank it all at one sitting it would cause me to spit inearnest, as I used it only when I ate, and then very moderately; butthough I loved it, if his heart was very poor for it, I should besilent, and not the least grudge him for pleasing his mouth. He said, 'your heart is honest, indeed; I thank you, for it is good to my heart, and makes it greatly to rejoice. ' Without any further ceremony he seizedthe bottle, uncorked it, and swallowed a large quantity of the burningliquid, till he was nearly strangled. He gasped for a considerable time, and as soon as he recovered his breath, he said _Hah_, and soon afterkept stroking his throat with his right hand. When the violence of thisburning draught was pretty well over, he began to flourish away inpraise of the strength of the liquor and bounty of the giver. He thenwent to his companion and held the liquor to his mouth according tocustom, till he took several hearty swallows. This Indian seemed rathermore sensible of its fiery quality than the other, for it suffocated himfor a considerable time; but as soon as he recovered his breath, hetumbled about the floor like a drunken person. In this manner theyfinished the whole bottle, into which two others had been decanted. Theburning liquor so highly inflamed their bodies, that one of theChoctaws, to cool his inward parts, drank water till he almost burst;the other, rather than bear the ridicule of the people, and the inwardfire that distracted him, drowned himself the second night after in abroad and shallow clay hole. .. . 

There was an incident similar, which happened among the Cherokees. Whenall the liquor was expended the Indians went home, leading with them, atmy request, those that were drunk. One, however, soon came back, andearnestly importuned me for more Nawahti, which signifies both physicand spirituous liquor. They, as they are now become great liars, suspectall others of being infected with their own disposition and principles. The more I excused myself, the more anxious he grew, so as to becomeoffensive. I then told him I had only one quarter of a bottle of strongphysic, which sick people might drink in small quantities, for the cureof inward pains: and, laying it down before him, I declared I did not onany account choose to part with it, but as his speech had become verylong and troublesome, he might do just as his heart directed himconcerning it. He took it up, saying, his heart was very poor forphysic, but he would cure it, and make it quite straight. The bottlecontained three gills of strong spirits of turpentine, which, in a shorttime he drank off. Such a quantity would have demolished me or any whiteperson. The Indians, in general, are either capable of sufferingexquisite pain longer than we are, or of showing more constancy andcomposure in their torments. The troublesome visiter soon tumbled downand foamed prodigiously. I then sent for some of his relations to carryhim home. They came; I told them he drank greedily, and too much of thephysic. They said, it was his usual custom, when the red people boughtthe English physic. They gave him a decoction of proper herbs and roots, the next day sweated him, repeated the former draught, and he got well. As these turpentine spirits did not inebriate him, but only inflamed hisintestines, he well remembered the burning quality of my favoritephysic, and cautioned the rest from ever teasing me for any physic I hadconcealed in any sort of bottles for my own use; otherwise they might besure it would spoil them like the eating of fire. "

We are pleased to note that the same white man, who so resolutelyresisted the encroachments of Key-way-no-wut, devised a more humaneexpedient in a similar dilemma. 

"Mr. B. Told me that, when he first went into the Indian country, theygot the taste of his peppermint, and, after that, colics prevailed amongthem to an alarming extent, till Mrs. B. Made a strong decoction offlagroot, and gave them in place of their favorite medicine. Thiseffected, as might be supposed, a radical cure. "

I am inclined to recommend Adair to the patient reader, if such may befound in these United States, with the assurance that, if he will havetolerance for its intolerable prolixity and dryness, he will find, onrising from the book, that he has partaken of an infusion of real Indianbitters, such as may not be drawn from any of the more attractivememoirs on the same subject. 

Another book of interest, from its fidelity and candid spirit, thoughwritten without vivacity, and by a person neither of large mind norprepared for various inquiry, is Carver's Travels, "for three yearsthroughout the interior parts of America, for more than five thousandmiles. "

He set out from Boston in "June, 1786, and proceeded, by way of Albanyand Niagara, to Michilimackinac, a fort situated between the Lakes Huronand Michigan, and distant from Boston 1300 miles. "

It is interesting to follow his footsteps in these localities, thoughthey be not bold footsteps. 

He mentions the town of the Sacs, on the Wisconsin, as the largest andbest built he saw, "composed of ninety houses, each large enough forseveral families. These are built of hewn plank, neatly jointed, andcovered with bark so compactly as to keep out the most penetratingrains. Before the doors are placed comfortable sheds, in which theinhabitants sit, when the weather will permit, and smoke their pipes. The streets are regular and spacious. In their plantations, which lieadjacent to their houses, and which are neatly laid out, they raisegreat quantities of Indian corn, beans and melons. "

Such settlements compare very well with those which were found on theMohawk. It was of such that the poor Indian was thinking, whom our hostsaw gazing on the shore of Nomabbin lake. 

He mentions the rise and fall of the lake-waters, by a tide of threefeet, once in seven years, --a phenomenon not yet accounted for. 

His view of the Indian character is truly impartial. He did not see itso fully drawn out by circumstances as Henry did, (of whose narrative weshall presently speak, ) but we come to similar results from the twowitnesses. They are in every feature Romans, as described by Carver, andpatriotism their leading impulse. He deserves the more credit for thejustice he is able to do them, that he had undergone the terrors ofdeath at their hands, when present at the surrender of one of the forts, and had seen them in that mood which they express by drinking the bloodand eating the hearts of their enemies, yet is able to understand theposition of their minds, and allow for their notions of duty. 

No selfish views, says he, influence their advice, or obstruct theirconsultations. 

Let me mention here the use they make of their vapor baths. "When aboutto decide on some important measure, they go into them, thus cleansingthe skin and carrying off any peccant humors, so that the body may, aslittle as possible, impede the mind by any ill conditions. "

They prepare the bath for one another when any arrangement is to bemade between families, on the opposite principle to the whites, who makethem drunk before bargaining with them. The bath serves them instead ofa cup of coffee, to stimulate the thinking powers. 

He mentions other instances of their kind of delicacy, which, ifdifferent from ours, was, perhaps, more rigidly observed. 

Lovers never spoke of love till the daylight was quite gone. 

"If an Indian goes to visit any particular person in a family, hementions for whom his visit is intended, and the rest of the family, immediately retiring to the other end of the hut or tent, are carefulnot to come near enough to interrupt them during the whole of theconversation. "

In cases of divorce, which was easily obtained, the advantage restedwith the woman. The reason given is indeed contemptuous toward her, buta chivalric direction is given to the contempt. 

"The children of the Indians are always distinguished by the name of themother, and, if a woman marries several husbands, and has issue by eachof them, they are called after her. The reason they give for this is, that, 'as their offspring are indebted to the father for the soul, theinvisible part of their essence, and to the mother for their corporealand apparent part, it is most rational that they should be distinguishedby the name of the latter, from whom they indubitably derive theirpresent being. '"

This is precisely the division of functions made by Ovid, as the fathersees Hercules perishing on the funeral pyre. 

 "Nec nisi materna Vulcanum parte potentem Sentiet. Aeternum est a me quod traxit et expers Atque immune necis, nullaqe domabile flamma. "

He is not enough acquainted with natural history to make valuableobservations. He mentions, however, as did my friend, the Indian girl, that those splendid flowers, the Wickapee and the root of theWake-Robin, afford valuable medicines. Here, as in the case of theLobelia, nature has blazoned her drug in higher colors than did everquack doctor. 

He observes some points of resemblance between the Indians and Tartars, but they are trivial, and not well considered. He mentions that theTartars have the same custom, with some of these tribes, of shaving allthe head except a tuft on the crown. Catlin says this is intended, toafford a convenient means by which to take away the scalp; for theyconsider it a great disgrace to have the foeman neglect this, as if heconsidered the conquest, of which the scalp is the certificate, noaddition to his honors. 

"The Tartars, " he says, "had a similar custom of sacrificing the dog;and among the Kamschatkans was a dance resembling the dog-dance of ourIndians. "

My friend, who joined me at Mackinaw, happened, on the homeward journey, to see a little Chinese girl, who had been sent over by one of themissions, and observed that, in features, complexion, and gesture, shewas a counterpart to the little Indian girls she had just seen playingabout on the lake shore. 

The parentage of these tribes is still an interesting subject ofspeculation, though, if they be not created for this region, they havebecome so assimilated to it as to retain little trace of any other. Tome it seems most probable, that a peculiar race was bestowed on eachregion, as the lion on one latitude and the white bear on another. Asman has two natures--one, like that of the plants and animals, adaptedto the uses and enjoyments of this planet, another, which presages anddemands a higher sphere--he is constantly breaking bounds, in proportionas the mental gets the better of the mere instinctive existence. As yet, he loses in harmony of being what he gains in height and extension; thecivilized man is a larger mind, but a more imperfect nature than thesavage. 

It is pleasant to meet, on the borders of these two states, one of thosepersons who combines some of the good qualities of both; not, as so manyof these adventurers do, the rapaciousness and cunning of the white, with the narrowness and ferocity of the savage, but the sentiment andthoughtfulness of the one, with the boldness, personal resource, andfortitude of the other. 

Such a person was Alexander Henry, who left Quebec in 1760, for Mackinawand the Sault St. Marie, and remained in those regions, of which he hasgiven us a most lively account, sixteen years. 

His visit to Mackinaw was premature; the Indians were far fromsatisfied; they hated their new masters. From the first, the omens werethreatening, and before many months passed, the discontent ended in theseizing of the fort at Mackinaw and massacre of its garrison; on whichoccasion Henry's life was saved by a fine act of Indian chivalry. 

Wawatam, a distinguished chief, had found himself drawn, by strongaffinity, to the English stranger. He had adopted him as a brother, inthe Indian mode. When he found that his tribe had determined on theslaughter of the whites, he obtained permission to take Henry away withhim, if he could. But not being able to prevail on him, as he could notassign the true reasons, he went away deeply saddened, but not withoutobtaining a promise that his brother should not be injured. The reasonhe was obliged to go, was, that his tribe felt his affections were soengaged, that his self-command could not be depended on to keep theirsecret. Their promise was not carefully observed, and, in consequence ofthe baseness of a French Canadian in whose house Henry tookrefuge, --baseness such as has not, even by their foes, been recorded ofany Indian, his life was placed in great hazard. But Wawatam returned intime to save him. The scene in which he appears, accompanied by hiswife--who seems to have gone hand in hand with him in this matter--laysdown all his best things in a heap, in the middle of the hall, as aransom for the captive, and his little, quiet speech, are as good as theIliad. They have the same simplicity, the same lively force andtenderness. 

Henry goes away with his adopted brother, and lives for some time amongthe tribe. The details of this life are truly interesting. One time heis lost for several days while on the chase. The description of theseweary, groping days, the aspect of natural objects and of the feelingsthus inspired, and the mental change after a good night's sleep, form alittle episode worthy the epic muse. He stripped off the entire bark ofa tree for a coverlet in the snow-storm, going to sleep with "the mostdistracted thoughts in the world, while the wolves around seemed to knowthe distress to which he was reduced;" but he waked in the morninganother man, clear-headed, able to think out the way to safety. 

When living in the lodge, he says: "At one time much scarcity of foodprevailed. We were often twenty-four hours without eating; and when inthe morning we had no victuals for the day before us, the custom was toblack our faces with grease and charcoal, and exhibit, throughresignation, a temper as cheerful as in the midst of plenty. " This wiseand dignified proceeding reminds one of a charming expression of what isbest in French character, as described by Rigolette, in the Mysteries ofParis, of the household of Pere Cretu and Ramnonette. 

He bears witness to much virtue among them. Their superstitions, asdescribed by him, seem childlike and touching. He gives with much humor, traits that show their sympathy with the lower animals, such as I havementioned. He speaks of them as, on the whole, taciturn, because theirrange of topics is so limited, and seems to have seen nothing of theirtalent for narration. Catlin, on the contrary, describes them as livelyand garrulous, and says, that their apparent taciturnity among thewhites is owing to their being surprised at what they see, andunwilling, from pride, to show that they are so, as well as that theyhave little to communicate on their side, that they think will bevaluable. 

After peace was restored, and Henry lived long at Mackinaw and the SaultSt. Marie, as a trader, the traits of his biography and intercourse withthe Indians, are told in the same bold and lively style. I wish I hadroom for many extracts, as the book is rare. 

He made a journey one winter on snow shoes, to Prairie du Chien, whichis of romantic interest as displaying his character. His companionscould not travel nearly so fast as he did, and detained him on the way. Provisions fell short; soon they were ready to perish of starvation. Apprehending this, on a long journey, in the depth of winter, broken byno hospitable station, Henry had secreted some chocolate. When he sawhis companions ready to lie down and die, he would heat water, boil init a square of this, and give them. By the heat of the water and thefancy of nourishment, they would be revived, and induced to proceed alittle further. At last they saw antlers sticking up from the ice, andfound the body of an elk, which had sunk in and been frozen there, andthus preserved to save their lives. On this "and excellent soup" madefrom bones they found they were sustained to their journey's end; thusfurnishing, says Henry, one other confirmation of the truth, that"despair was not made for man;" this expression, and his calmconsideration for the Canadian women that was willing to betray him todeath, denote the two sides of a fine character. 

He gives an interesting account of the tribe called "The Weepers, " onaccount of the rites with which they interrupt their feasts in honor oftheir friends. 

He gives this humorous notice of a chief, called "The Great Road. "

"The chief, to whose kindly reception we were so much indebted, was of acomplexion rather darker than that of the Indians in general. Hisappearance was greatly injured by the condition of his hair, and thiswas the result of an extraordinary superstition. 

"The Indians universally fix upon a particular object as sacred tothemselves--as the giver of prosperity and as their preserver from evil. The choice is determined either by a dream or some strong predilectionof fancy, and usually falls upon an animal, part of an animal, orsomething else which is to be met with by land, or by water; but theGreat Road had made choice of his hair, placing, like Samson, all hissafety in this portion of his proper substance! His hair was thefountain of all his happiness; it was his strength and his weapon--hisspear and his shield. It preserved him in battle, directed him in thechase, watched over him in the march, and gave length of days to hiswives and children. Hair, of a quality like this, was not to be profanedby the touch of human hands. I was assured that it never had been cutnor combed from his childhood upward, and that when any part of it fellfrom his head, he treasured that part with, care; meanwhile, it did notescape all care, even while growing on the head, but was in theespecial charge of a spirit, who dressed it while the owner slept. Thespirit's style of hair-dressing was peculiar, the hair being matted intoropes, which spread in all directions. "

I insert the following account of a visit from some Indians to him atMackinaw, with a design to frighten him, and one to Carver, for the samepurpose, as very descriptive of Indian manners:

"At two o'clock in the afternoon, the Chippeways came to my house, aboutsixty in number, and headed by Mina-va-va-na, their chief. They walkedin single file, each with his tomahawk in one hand, and scalping knifein the other. Their bodies were naked, from the waist upwards, except ina few examples, where blankets were thrown loosely over the shoulders. Their faces were painted with charcoal, worked up with grease; theirbodies with white clay in patterns of various fancies. Some had feathersthrust through their noses, and their heads decorated with the same. Itis unnecessary to dwell on the sensations with which I beheld theapproach of this uncouth, if not frightful, assemblage. "

"Looking out, I saw about twenty naked young Indians, the most perfectin their shape, and by far the handsomest I had ever seen, comingtowards me, and dancing as they approached to the music of their drums. At every ten or twelve yards they halted, and set up their yells andcries. 

When they reached my tent I asked them to come in, which, withoutdeigning to make me any answer, they did. As I observed they werepainted red and black, as they are when they go against an enemy, andperceived that some parts of the war-dance were intermixed with theirother movements, I doubted not but they were set on by the hostile chiefwho refused my salutation. I therefore determined to sell my life asdearly as possible. To this purpose I received them sitting on my chest, with my gun and pistols beside me; and ordered my men to keep a watchfuleye on them, and be also on their guard. 

The Indians being entered, they continued their dance alternately, singing at the same time of their heroic exploits, and the superiorityof their race over every other people. To enforce their language, thoughit was uncommonly nervous and expressive, and such as would of itselfhave carried terror to the firmest heart; at the end of every periodthey struck their war-clubs against the poles of my tent with suchviolence, that I expected every moment it would have tumbled upon us. Aseach of them in dancing round passed by me, they placed their righthands over their eyes, and coming close to me, looked me steadily in theface, which I could not construe into a token of friendship. My men gavethemselves up for lost; and I acknowledge for my own part, that I neverfound my apprehensions more tumultuous on any occasion. "

He mollified them, however, in the end by presents. 

It is pity that Lord Edward Fitzgerald did not leave a detailed accountof his journey through the wilderness, where he was pilot of an unknowncourse for twenty days, as Murray and Henry have of theirs. There isnothing more interesting than to see the civilized man thus thrownwholly on himself and his manhood, and _not_ found at fault. 

McKenney and Hall's book upon the Indians is a valuable work. Theportraits of the chiefs alone would make a history, and they arebeautifully colored. 

Most of the anecdotes may be found again in Drake's Book of the Indians;which will afford a useful magazine to their future historian. 

I shall, however, cite a few of them, as especially interesting tomyself. 

Of Guess, the inventor of the Cherokee alphabet, it was observable inthe picture, and observed in the text, that his face had an orientalcast. The same, we may recall, was said of that of the Seeress ofPrevorst, and the circumstance presents pleasing analogies. Intellectdawning through features still simple and national, presents verydifferent apparitions from the "expressive" and "historical" faces of abroken and cultured race, where there is always more to divine than tosee. 

Of the picture of the Flying Pigeon, the beautiful and excellent womanmentioned above, a keen observer said, "If you cover the forehead, youwould think the face that of a Madonna, but the forehead is stillsavage; the perceptive faculties look so sharp, and the forehead notmoulded like a European forehead. " This is very true; in her the moralnature was most developed, and the effect of a higher growth upon herface is entirely different from that upon Guess. 

His eye is inturned, while the proper Indian eye gazes steadily, as ifon a distant object. That is half the romance of it, that it makes youthink of dark and distant places in the forest. 

Guess always preferred inventing his implements to receiving them fromothers: and, when considered as mad by his tribe, while bent on theinvention of his alphabet, contented himself with teaching it to hislittle daughter; an unimpeachable witness. 

Red Jacket's face, too, is much more intellectual than almost any other. But, in becoming so, it loses nothing of the peculiar Indian stamp, butonly carries these traits to their perfection. Irony, discernment, resolution, and a deep smouldering fire, that disdains to flicker whereit cannot blaze, may there be read. Nothing can better represent thesort of unfeelingness the whites have towards the Indians, than theirconduct towards his remains. He had steadily opposed the introduction ofwhite religion, or manners, among the Indians. He believed that for themto break down the barriers was to perish. On many occasions he hadexpressed this with all the force of his eloquence. He told thepreachers, "if the Great Spirit had meant your religion for the red man, he would have given it to them. What they (the missionaries) tell us, wedo not understand; and the light they ask for us, makes the straight andplain path trod by our fathers dark and dreary. "

When he died, he charged his people to inter him themselves. "Dig mygrave, yourselves, and let not the white man pursue me there. " Indefiance of this last solemn request, and the invariable tenor of hislife, the missionaries seized the body and performed their service overit, amid the sullen indignation of his people, at what, under thecircumstances, was sacrilege. 

Of Indian religion a fine specimen is given in the conduct of one of thewar chiefs, who, on an important occasion, made a vow to the sun ofentire renunciation in case he should be crowned with success. When hewas so, he first went through a fast, and sacrificial dance, involvinggreat personal torment, and lasting several days; then, distributing allhis property, even his lodges, and mats, among the tribe, he and hisfamily took up their lodging upon the bare ground, beneath the bare sky. 

The devotion of the Stylites and the hair-cloth saints, is in act, though not in motive, less noble, because this great chief proposed togo on in common life, where he had lived as a prince--a beggar. 

The memoir by Corn Plant of his early days is beautiful. 

Very fine anecdotes are told of two of the Western chiefs, father andson, who had the wisdom to see the true policy toward the whites, andsteadily to adhere to it. 

A murder having taken place in the jurisdiction of the father, hedelivered himself up, with those suspected, to imprisonment. One of hiscompanions chafed bitterly under confinement. He told the chief, if theyever got out, he would kill him, and did so. The son, then a boy, camein his rage and sorrow, to this Indian, and insulted him in every way. The squaw, angry at this, urged her husband "to kill the boy at once. "But he only replied with "the joy of the valiant, " "He will be a greatBrave, " and then delivered himself up to atone for his victim, and methis death with the noblest Roman composure. 

This boy became rather a great chief than a great brave, and theanecdotes about him are of signal beauty and significance. 

There is a fine story of an old mother, who gave herself to deathinstead of her son. The son, at the time, accepted the sacrifice, seeing, with Indian coolness, that it was better she should give up herfew solitary and useless days, than he a young existence full ofpromise. But he could not abide by this view, and after suffering awhileall the anguish of remorse, he put himself solemnly to death in thepresence of the tribe, as the only atonement he could make. His youngwife stood by, with her child in her arms, commanding her emotions, ashe desired, for, no doubt, it seemed to her also, a sacred duty. 

But the finest story of all is that of Petalesharro, in whose tribe atthe time, and not many years since, the custom of offering humansacrifices still subsisted. The fire was kindled, the victim, a youngfemale captive, bound to the stake, the tribe assembled round. The youngbrave darted through them, snatched the girl from her peril, placed herupon his horse, and both had vanished before the astonished spectatorshad thought to interpose. 

He placed the girl in her distant home, and then returned. Such is themight of right, when joined with courage, that none ventured a word ofresentment or question. His father, struck by truth, endeavored, andwith success, to abolish the barbarous custom in the tribe. On a lateroccasion, Petalesharro again offered his life, if required, but it wasnot. 

This young warrior visiting Washington, a medal was presented him inhonor of these acts. His reply deserves sculpture: "When I did it, Iknew not that it was good. I did it in ignorance. This medal makes meknow that it was good. "

The recorder, through his playful expressions of horror at a declarationso surprising to the civilized Good, shows himself sensible to the grandsimplicity of heroic impulse it denotes. Were we, too, so good, as toneed a medal to show us that we are!

The half-breed and half-civilized chiefs, however handsome, look vulgarbeside the pure blood. They have the dignity of neither race. 

The death of Oseola, (as described by Catlin, ) presents a fine picturein the stern, warlike kind, taking leave with kindness, as a privatefriend, of the American officers; but, as a foe in national regards, heraised himself in his dying bed, and painted his face with the tokens ofeternal enmity. 

The historian of the Indians should be one of their own race, as able tosympathize with them, and possessing a mind as enlarged and cultivatedas John Ross, and with his eye turned to the greatness of the past, rather than the scanty promise of the future. Hearing of the wampumbelts, supposed to have been sent to our tribes by Montezuma, on theinvasion of the Spaniard, we feel that an Indian who could gleantraditions familiarly from the old men, might collect much that we couldinterpret. 

Still, any clear outline, even of a portion of their past, is not to behoped, and we shall be well contented if we can have a collection ofgenuine fragments, that will indicate as clearly their life, as ahorse's head from the Parthenon the genius of Greece. 

Such, to me, are the stories I have cited above. And even Europeansketches of this greatness, distant and imperfect though they be, yetconvey the truth, if made in a sympathizing spirit. Adair's Red Shoes, Murray's old man, Catlin's noble Mandan chief, Henry's Wa-wa-tam, withwhat we know of Philip, Pontiac, Tecumseh and Red Jacket, would sufficeto give the ages a glimpse at what was great in Indian life and Indiancharacter. 

We hope, too, there will be a national institute, containing all theremains of the Indians, --all that has been preserved by officialintercourse at Washington, Catlin's collection, and a picture gallery ascomplete as can be made, with a collection of skulls from all parts ofthe country. To this should be joined the scanty library that exists onthe subject. 

I have not mentioned Mackenzie's Travels. He is an accurate observer, but sparing in his records, because his attention was wholly bent on hisown objects. This circumstance gives a heroic charm to his scanty andsimple narrative. Let what will happen, or who will go back, he cannot;he must find the sea, along those frozen rivers, through those starvingcountries, among tribes of stinted men, whose habitual interjection was"edui, it is hard, uttered in a querulous tone, " distrusted by hisfollowers, deserted by his guides, on, on he goes, till he sees thesea, cold, lowering, its strand bristling with foes; but he does see it. 

His few observations, especially on the tribes who lived on fish, andheld them in such superstitious observance, give a lively notion of thescene. 

A little pamphlet has lately been published, giving an account of themassacre at Chicago, which I wish much I had seen while there, as itwould have imparted an interest to spots otherwise barren. It is writtenwith animation, and in an excellent style, telling just what we want tohear, and no more. The traits given of Indian generosity are ascharacteristic as those of Indian cruelty. A lady, who was saved by afriendly chief holding her under the waters of the lake, while the ballswere whizzing around, received also, in the heat of the conflict, areviving draught from a squaw, who saw she was exhausted; and, as shelay down, a mat was hung up between her and the scene of butchery, sothat she was protected from the sight, though she could not be fromsounds, full of horror. 

I have not wished to write sentimentally about the Indians, howevermoved by the thought of their wrongs and speedy extinction. I know thatthe Europeans who took possession of this country, felt themselvesjustified by their superior civilization and religious ideas. Had theybeen truly civilized or Christianized, the conflicts which sprang fromthe collision of the two races, might have been avoided; but this cannotbe expected in movements made by masses of men. The mass has never yetbeen humanized, though the age may develop a human thought. 

Since those conflicts and differences did arise, the hatred whichsprang, from terror and suffering, on the European side, has naturallywarped the whites still farther from justice. 

The Indian, brandishing the scalps of his friends and wife, drinkingtheir blood and eating their hearts, is by him viewed as a fiend, though, at a distant day, he will no doubt be considered as having actedthe Roman or Carthaginian part of heroic and patriotic self-defence, according to the standard of right and motives prescribed by hisreligious faith and education. Looked at by his own standard, he isvirtuous when he most injures his enemy, and the white, if he be reallythe superior in enlargement of thought, ought to cast aside hisinherited prejudices enough to see this, --to look on him in pity andbrotherly goodwill, and do all he can to mitigate the doom of those whosurvive his past injuries. 

In McKenney's book, is proposed a project for organizing the Indiansunder a patriarchal government, but it does not look feasible, even onpaper. Could their own intelligent men be left to act unimpeded in theirbehalf, they would do far better for them than the white thinker, withall his general knowledge. But we dare not hope the designs of such willnot always be frustrated by the same barbarous selfishness they were inGeorgia. There was a chance of seeing what might have been done, nowlost forever. 

Yet let every man look to himself how far this blood shall be requiredat his hands. Let the missionary, instead of preaching to the Indian, preach to the trader who ruins him, of the dreadful account which willbe demanded of the followers of Cain, in a sphere where the accents ofpurity and love come on the ear more decisively than in ours. Let everylegislator take the subject to heart, and if he cannot undo the effectsof past sin, try for that clear view and right sense that may save usfrom sinning still more deeply. And let every man and every woman, intheir private dealings with the subjugated race, avoid all share inembittering, by insult or unfeeling prejudice, the captivity of Israel. 

CHAPTER VII. 

SAULT ST. MARIE. 

Nine days I passed alone at Mackinaw, except for occasional visits fromkind and agreeable residents at the fort, and Mr. And Mrs. A. Mr. A. , long engaged in the fur-trade, is gratefully remembered by manytravellers. From Mrs. A. , also, I received kind attentions, paid in thevivacious and graceful manner of her nation. 

The society at the boarding house entertained, being of a kind entirelynew to me. There were many traders from the remote stations, such as LaPointe, Arbre Croche, --men who had become half wild and wholly rude, byliving in the wild; but good-humored, observing, and with a store ofknowledge to impart, of the kind proper to their place. 

There were two little girls here, that were pleasant companions for me. One gay, frank, impetuous, but sweet and winning. She was an American, fair, and with bright brown hair. The other, a little French Canadian, used to join me in my walks, silently take my hand, and sit at my feetwhen I stopped in beautiful places. She seemed to understand without aword; and I never shall forget her little figure, with its light, butpensive motion, and her delicate, grave features, with the pale, clearcomplexion and soft eye. She was motherless, and much left alone by herfather and brothers, who were boatmen. The two little girls were aspretty representatives of Allegro and Penseroso, as one would wish tosee. 

I had been wishing that a boat would come in to take me to the Sault St. Marie, and several times started to the window at night in hopes thatthe pant and dusky-red light crossing the waters belonged to such anone; but they were always boats for Chicago or Buffalo, till, on the28th of August, Allegro, who shared my plans and wishes, rushed in totell me that the General Scott had come, and, in this little steamer, accordingly, I set off the next morning. 

I was the only lady, and attended in the cabin by a Dutch girl and anIndian woman. They both spoke English fluently, and entertained me muchby accounts of their different experiences. 

The Dutch girl told me of a dance among the common people at Amsterdam, called the shepherd's dance. The two leaders are dressed as shepherd andshepherdess; they invent to the music all kinds of movements, descriptive of things that may happen in the field, and the rest wereobliged to follow. I have never heard of any dance which gave such freeplay to the fancy as this. French dances merely describe the politemovements of society; Spanish and Neapolitan, love; the beautifulMazurkas, &c. , are warlike or expressive of wild scenery. But in thisone is great room both for fun and fancy. 

The Indian was married, when young, by her parents, to a man she did notlove. He became dissipated, and did not maintain her. She left him. Taking with her their child; for whom and herself she earns asubsistence by going as chambermaid in these boats. Now and then, shesaid, her husband called on her, and asked if he might live with heragain; but she always answered, no. Here she was far freer than shewould have been in civilized life. 

I was pleased by the nonchalance of this woman, and the perfectlynational manner she had preserved after so many years of contact withall kinds of people. The two women, when I left the boat, made mepresents of Indian work, such as travellers value, and the manner of thetwo was characteristic of their different nations. The Indian brought mehers, when I was alone, looked bashfully down when she gave it, and madean almost sentimental little speech. The Dutch girl brought hers inpublic, and, bridling her short chin with a self-complacent air, observed she had _bought_ it for me. But the feeling of affectionateregard was the same in the minds of both. 

Island after island we passed, all fairly shaped and clusteringfriendly, but with little variety of vegetation. 

In the afternoon the weather became foggy, and we could not proceedafter dark. That was as dull an evening as ever fell. 

The next morning the fog still lay heavy, but the captain took me out inhis boat on an exploring expedition, and we found the remains of theold English fort on Point St. Joseph's. All around was so whollyunmarked by anything but stress of wind and weather, the shores of theseislands and their woods so like one another, wild and lonely, butnowhere rich and majestic, that there was some charm in the remains ofthe garden, the remains even of chimneys and a pier. They gave featureto the scene. 

Here I gathered many flowers, but they were the same as at Mackinaw. 

The captain, though he had been on this trip hundreds of times, hadnever seen this spot, and never would, but for this fog, and his desireto entertain me. He presented a striking instance how men, for the sakeof getting a living, forget to live. It is just the same in the mostromantic as the most dull and vulgar places. Men get the harness on sofast, that they can never shake it off unless they guard against thisdanger from the very first. In Chicago, how many men, who never foundtime to see the prairies or learn anything unconnected with the businessof the day, or about the country they were living in!

So this captain, a man of strong sense and good eyesight, rarely foundtime to go off the track or look about him on it. He lamented, too, thatthere had been no call which induced him to develop his powers ofexpression, so that he might communicate what he had seen, for theenjoyment or instruction of others. 

This is a common fault among the active men, the truly living, who couldtell what life is. It should not be so. Literature should not be left tothe mere literati--eloquence to the mere orator. Every Caesar should beable to write his own commentary. We want a more equal, more thorough, more harmonious development, and there is nothing to hinder from it themen of this country, except their own supineness, or sordid views. 

When the weather did clear, our course up the river was delightful. Longstretched before us the island of St. Joseph's, with its fair woods ofsugar maple. A gentleman on board, who belongs to the Fort at the Sault, said their pastime was to come in the season of making sugar, and passsome time on this island, --the days at work, and the evening in dancingand other amusements. 

I wished to extract here Henry's account of this, for it was just thesame sixty years ago as now, but have already occupied too much roomwith extracts. Work of this kind done in the open air, where everythingis temporary, and every utensil prepared on the spot, gives life a trulyfestive air. At such times, there is labor and no care--energy withgaiety, gaiety of the heart. 

I think with the same pleasure of the Italian vintage, the Scotchharvest-home, with its evening dance in the barn, the Russiancabbage-feast even, and our huskings and hop-gatherings--thehop-gatherings where the groups of men and girls are pulling down andfilling baskets with the gay festoons, present as graceful pictures asthe Italian vintage. 

I should also like to insert Henry's descriptions of the method ofcatching trout and white fish, the delicacies of this region, for thesame reason as I want his account of the Gens de Terre, the savagesamong savages, and his tales, dramatic, if not true, of cannibalism. 

I have no less grieved to omit Carver's account of the devotion of aWinnebago prince at the Falls of St. Anthony, which he describes with asimplicity and intelligence, that are very pleasing. 

I take the more pleasure in both Carver and Henry's power ofappreciating what is good in the Indian character, that both had run thegreatest risk of losing their lives during their intercourse with theIndians, and had seen them in their utmost exasperation, with all itsrevolting circumstances. 

I wish I had a thread long enough to string on it all these beads thattake my fancy; but, as I have not, I can only refer the reader to thebooks themselves, which may be found in the library of Harvard College, if not elsewhere. 

How pleasant is the course along a new river, the sight of new shores;like a life, would but life flow as fast, and upbear us with as full astream. I hoped we should come in sight of the rapids by daylight; butthe beautiful sunset was quite gone, and only a young moon tremblingover the scene, when we came within hearing of them. 

I sat up long to hear them merely. It was a thoughtful hour. These twodays, the 29th and 30th August, are memorable in my life; the latter isthe birthday of a near friend. I pass them alone, approaching LakeSuperior; but I shall not enter into that truly wild and free region;shall not have the canoe voyage, whose daily adventure, with thecamping out at night beneath the stars, would have given an interludeof such value to my existence. I shall not see the Pictured Rocks, theirchapels and urns. It did not depend on me; it never has, whether suchthings shall be done or not. 

My friends! may they see, and do, and be more, especially those who havebefore them a greater number of birthdays, and of a more healthy andunfettered existence:

 TO EDITH, ON HER BIRTHDAY. 

 If the same star our fates together bind, Why are we thus divided, mind from mind? If the same law one grief to both impart, How could'st thou grieve a trusting mother's heart?

 Our aspiration seeks a common aim, Why were we tempered of such differing frame? --But 'tis too late to turn this wrong to right; Too cold, too damp, too deep, has fallen the night. 

 And yet, the angel of my life replies, Upon that night a Morning Star shall rise, Fairer than that which ruled the temporal birth, Undimmed by vapors of the dreamy earth;

 It says, that, where a heart thy claim denies, Genius shall read its secret ere it flies; The earthly form may vanish from thy side, Pure love will make thee still the spirit's bride. 

 And thou, ungentle, yet much loving child, Whose heart still shows the "untamed haggard wild, " A heart which justly makes the highest claim, Too easily is checked by transient blame;

 Ere such an orb can ascertain its sphere, The ordeal must be various and severe; My prayers attend thee, though the feet may fly, I hear thy music in the silent, sky. 

I should like, however, to hear some notes of earthly music to-night. Bythe faint moonshine I can hardly see the banks; how they look I have noguess, except that there are trees, and, now and then, a light lets meknow there are homes with their various interests. I should like to hearsome strains of the flute from beneath those trees, just to break thesound of the rapids. 

 When no gentle eyebeam charms; No fond hope the bosom warms: Of thinking the lone mind is tired-- Nought seems bright to be desired;

 Music, be thy sails unfurled, Bear me to thy better world; O'er a cold and weltering sea, Blow thy breezes warm and free;

 By sad sighs they ne'er were chilled, By sceptic spell were never stilled; Take me to that far-offshore, Where lovers meet to part no more; There doubt, and fear and sin are o'er, The star of love shall set no more. 

With the first light of dawn I was up and out, and then was glad I hadnot seen all the night before; it came upon me with such power in itsdewy freshness. O! they are beautiful indeed, these rapids! The grace isso much more obvious than the power. I went up through the old Chippewayburying ground to their head, and sat down on a large stone to look. Alittle way off was one of the home lodges, unlike in shape to thetemporary ones at Mackinaw, but these have been described by Mrs. Jameson. Women, too, I saw coming home from the woods, stooping undergreat loads of cedar boughs, that were strapped upon their backs. But inmany European countries women carry great loads, even of wood, upontheir backs. I used to hear the girls singing and laughing as they werecutting down boughs at Mackinaw; this part of their employment, thoughlaborious, gives them the pleasure of being a great deal in the freewoods. 

I had ordered a canoe to take me down the rapids, and presently I saw itcoming, with the two Indian canoe-men in pink calico shirts, moving itabout with their long poles, with a grace and dexterity worthy fairyland. Now and then they cast the scoop-net; all looked just as I hadfancied, only far prettier. 

When they came to me, they spread a mat in the middle of the canoe; Isat down, and in less than four minutes we had descended the rapids, adistance of more than three quarters of a mile. I was somewhatdisappointed in this being no more of an exploit than I found it. Havingheard such expressions used as of "darting, " or, "shooting down, " theserapids, I had fancied there was a wall of rock somewhere, where descentwould somehow be accomplished, and that there would come some one gaspof terror and delight, some sensation entirely new to me; but I foundmyself in smooth water, before I had time to feel anything but thebuoyant pleasure of being carried so lightly through this surf amid thebreakers. Now and then the Indians spoke to one another in a vehementjabber, which, however, had no tone that expressed other than pleasantexcitement. It is, no doubt, an act of wonderful dexterity to steer amidthese jagged rocks, when one rude touch would tear a hole in the birchcanoe; but these men are evidently so used to doing it, and so adroit, that the silliest person could not feel afraid. I should like to havecome down twenty times, that I might have had leisure to realize thepleasure. But the fog which had detained us on the way, shortened theboat's stay at the Sault, and I wanted my time to walk about. 

While coming down the rapids, the Indians caught a white-fish for mybreakfast; and certainly it was the best of breakfasts. The white-fish Ifound quite another thing caught on this spot, and cooked immediately, from what I had found it at Chicago or Mackinaw. Before, I had had thebad taste to prefer the trout, despite the solemn and eloquentremonstrances of the Habitués, to whom the superiority of white fishseemed a cardinal point of faith. 

I am here reminded that I have omitted that indispensable part of atravelling journal, the account of what we found to eat. I cannot hopeto make up, by one bold stroke, all my omissions of daily record; butthat I may show myself not destitute of the common feelings of humanity, I will observe that he whose affections turn in summer towardsvegetables, should not come to this region, till the subject of diet bebetter understood; that of fruit, too, there is little yet, even at thebest hotel tables; that the prairie chickens require no praise from me, and that the trout and white-fish are worthy the transparency of thelake waters. 

In this brief mention I by no means mean to give myself an air ofsuperiority to the subject. If a dinner in the Illinois woods, on drybread and drier meat, with water from the stream that flowed hard by, pleased me best of all, yet at one time, when living at a house wherenothing was prepared for the table fit to touch, and even the breadcould not be partaken of without a headach in consequence, I learnt tounderstand and sympathize with the anxious tone in which fathers offamilies, about to take their innocent children into some scene of wildbeauty, ask first of all, "Is there a good table?" I shall ask just soin future. Only those whom the Powers have furnished small travellingcases of ambrosia, can take exercise all day, and be happy without evenbread morning or night. 

Our voyage back was all pleasure. It was the fairest day. I saw theriver, the islands, the clouds to the greatest advantage. 

On board was an old man, an Illinois farmer, whom I found a mostagreeable companion. He had just been with his son, and eleven otheryoung men, on an exploring expedition to the shores of lake Superior. Hewas the only old man of the party, but he had enjoyed, most of any, thejourney. He had been the counsellor and playmate, too, of the youngones. He was one of those parents, --why so rare?--who understand andlive a new life in that of their children, instead of wasting time andyoung happiness in trying to make them conform to an object and standardof their own. The character and history of each child may be a new andpoetic experience to the parent, if he will let it. Our farmer wasdomestic, judicious, solid; the son, inventive, enterprising, superficial, full of follies, full of resources, always liable tofailure, sure to rise above it. The father conformed to, and learntfrom, a character he could not change, and won the sweet from thebitter. 

His account of his life at home, and of his late adventures among theIndians, was very amusing, but I want talent to write it down. I havenot heard the slang of these people intimately enough. There is a goodbook about Indiana, called the New Purchase, written by a person whoknows the people of the country well enough to describe them in theirown way. It is not witty, but penetrating, valuable for its practicalwisdom and good-humored fun. 

[Illustration: MACKINAW BEACH]

There were many sportsman stories told, too, by those from Illinois andWisconsin. I do not retain any of these well enough, nor any that Iheard earlier, to write them down, though they always interested me frombringing wild, natural scenes before the mind. It is pleasant for thesportsman to be in countries so alive with game; yet it is so plentythat one would think shooting pigeons or grouse would seem more likeslaughter, than the excitement of skill to a good sportsman. Huntingthe deer is full of adventure, and needs only a Scrope to describe it toinvest the western woods with _historic_ associations. 

How pleasant it was to sit and hear rough men tell pieces out of theirown common lives, in place of the frippery talk of some fine circle withits conventional sentiment, and timid, second-hand criticism. Free blewthe wind, and boldly flowed the stream, named for Mary mother mild. 

A fine thunder shower came on in the afternoon. It cleared at sunset, just as we came in sight of beautiful Mackinaw, over which a rainbowbent in promise of peace. 

I have always wondered, in reading travels, at the childish joytravellers felt at meeting people they knew, and their sense ofloneliness when they did not, in places where there was everything newto occupy the attention. So childish, I thought, always to be longingfor the new in the old, and the old in the new. Yet just such sadness Ifelt, when I looked on the island, glittering in the sunset, canopied bythe rainbow, and thought no friend would welcome me there; just suchchildish joy I felt, to see unexpectedly on the landing, the face of onewhom I called friend. 

The remaining two or three days were delightfully spent, in walking orboating, or sitting at the window to see the Indians go. This was notquite so pleasant as their coming in, though accomplished with the samerapidity; a family not taking half an hour to prepare for departure, andthe departing canoe a beautiful object. But they left behind, on all theshore, the blemishes of their stay--old rags, dried boughs, fragmentsof food, the marks of their fires. Nature likes to cover up and glossover spots and scars, but it would take her some time to restore thatbeach to the state it was in before they came. 

S. And I had a mind for a canoe excursion, and we asked one of thetraders to engage us two good Indians, that would not only take us out, but be sure and bring us back, as we could not hold converse with them. Two others offered their aid, beside the chief's son, a fine lookingyouth of about sixteen, richly dressed in blue broadcloth, scarlet sashand leggins, with a scarf of brighter red than the rest, tied around hishead, its ends falling gracefully on one shoulder. They thought it, apparently, fine amusement to be attending two white women; they carriedus into the path of the steamboat, which was going out, and paddled withall their force, --rather too fast, indeed, for there was something of aswell on the lake, and they sometimes threw water into the canoe. However, it flew over the waves, light as a sea-gull. They would say, "Pull away, " and "Ver' warm, " and, after these words, would laugh gaily. They enjoyed the hour, I believe, as much as we. 

The house where we lived belonged to the widow of a French trader, anIndian by birth, and wearing the dress of her country. She spoke Frenchfluently, and was very ladylike in her manners. She is a great characteramong them. They were all the time coming to pay her homage, or to gether aid and advice; for she is, I am told, a shrewd woman of business. My companion carried about her sketch-book with her, and the Indianswere interested when they saw her using her pencil, though less so thanabout the sun-shade. This lady of the tribe wanted to borrow thesketches of the beach, with its lodges and wild groups, "to show to the_savages_, " she said. 

Of the practical ability of the Indian women, a good specimen is givenby McKenney, in an amusing story of one who went to Washington, andacted her part there in the "first circles, " with a tact and sustaineddissimulation worthy of Cagliostro. She seemed to have a thorough loveof intrigue for its own sake, and much dramatic talent. Like the chiefsof her nation, when on an expedition among the foe, whether for revengeor profit, no impulses of vanity or wayside seductions had power to turnher aside from carrying out her plan as she had originally projected it. 

Although I have little to tell, I feel that I have learnt a great dealof the Indians, from observing them even in this broken and degradedcondition. There is a language of eye and motion which cannot be putinto words, and which teaches what words never can. I feel acquaintedwith the soul of this race; I read its nobler thought in their defacedfigures. There _was_ a greatness, unique and precious, which he who doesnot feel will never duly appreciate the majesty of nature in thisAmerican continent. 

I have mentioned that the Indian orator, who addressed the agents onthis occasion, said, the difference between the white man and the redman is this: "the white man no sooner came here, than he thought ofpreparing the way for his posterity; the red man never thought of this. "I was assured this was exactly his phrase; and it defines the truedifference. We get the better because we do

 "Look before and after. "

But, from the same cause, we

 "Pine for what is not. "

The red man, when happy, was thoroughly happy; when good, was simplygood. He needed the medal, to let him know that he _was_ good. 

These evenings we were happy, looking over the old-fashioned garden, over the beach, over the waters and pretty island opposite, beneath thegrowing moon; we did not stay to see it full at Mackinaw. At twoo'clock, one night, or rather morning, the Great Western came snortingin, and we must go; and Mackinaw, and all the north-west summer, is nowto me no more than picture and dream;--

 "A dream within a dream. "

These last days at Mackinaw have been pleasanter than the "lonesome"nine, for I have recovered the companion with whom I set out from theEast, one who sees all, prizes all, enjoys much, interrupts never. 

At Detroit we stopped for half a day. This place is famous in ourhistory, and the unjust anger at its surrender is still expressed byalmost every one who passes there. I had always shared the commonfeeling on this subject; for the indignation at a disgrace to our armsthat seemed so unnecessary, has been handed down from father to child, and few of us have taken the pains to ascertain where the blame lay. Butnow, upon the spot, having read all the testimony, I felt convinced thatit should rest solely with the government, which, by neglecting tosustain General Hull, as he had a right to expect they would, compelledhim to take this step, or sacrifice many lives, and of the defencelessinhabitants, not of soldiers, to the cruelty of a savage foe, for thesake of his reputation. 

I am a woman, and unlearned in such affairs; but, to a person withcommon sense and good eyesight, it is clear, when viewing the location, that, under the circumstances, he had no prospect of successful defence, and that to attempt it would have been an act of vanity, not valor. 

I feel that I am not biased in this judgment by my personal relations, for I have always heard both sides, and, though my feelings had beenmoved by the picture of the old man sitting down, in the midst of hischildren, to a retired and despoiled old age, after a life of honor andhappy intercourse with the public, yet tranquil, always secure thatjustice must be done at last, I supposed, like others, that he deceivedhimself, and deserved to pay the penalty for failure to theresponsibility he had undertaken. Now on the spot, I change, and believethe country at large must, ere long, change from this opinion. And Iwish to add my testimony, however trifling its weight, before it bedrowned in the voice of general assent, that I may do some justice tothe feelings which possessed me here and now. 

A noble boat, the Wisconsin, was to be launched this afternoon, thewhole town was out in many-colored array, the band playing. Our boatswept round to a good position, and all was ready but--the Wisconsin, which could not be made to stir. This was quite a disappointment. Itwould have been an imposing sight. 

In the boat many signs admonished that we were floating eastward. Ashabbily dressed phrenologist laid his hand on every head which wouldbend, with half-conceited, half-sheepish expression, to the trial of hisskill. Knots of people gathered here and there to discuss points oftheology. A bereaved lover was seeking religious consolationin--Butler's Analogy, which he had purchased for that purpose. However, he did not turn over many pages before his attention was drawn aside bythe gay glances of certain damsels that came on board at Detroit, and, though Butler might afterwards be seen sticking from his pocket, it hadnot weight to impede him from many a feat of lightness and liveliness. Idoubt if it went with him from the boat. Some there were, even, discussing the doctrines of Fourier. It seemed pity they were not goingto, rather than from, the rich and free country where it would be somuch easier, than with us, to try the great experiment of voluntaryassociation, and show, beyond a doubt, that "an ounce of prevention isworth a pound of cure, " a maxim of the "wisdom of nations, " which hasproved of little practical efficacy as yet. 

Better to stop before landing at Buffalo, while I have yet the advantageover some of my readers. 

 * * * * *

 THE BOOK TO THE READER

 WHO OPENS, AS AMERICAN READERS OFTEN DO, AT THE END, WITH DOGGEREL SUBMISSION. 

 To see your cousin in her country home, If at the time of blackberries you come, "Welcome, my friends, " she cries with ready glee, "The fruit is ripened, and the paths are free. But, madam, you will tear that handsome gown; The little boy be sure to tumble down; And, in the thickets where they ripen best, The matted ivy, too, its bower has drest. And then, the thorns your hands are sure to rend, Unless with heavy gloves you will defend; Amid most thorns the sweetest roses blow, Amid most thorns the sweetest berries grow. "

 If, undeterred, you to the fields must go, You tear your dresses and you scratch your hands; But, in the places where the berries grow, A sweeter fruit the ready sense commands, Of wild, gay feelings, fancies springing sweet-- Of bird-like pleasures, fluttering and fleet. 

 Another year, you cannot go yourself, To win the berries from the thickets wild, And housewife skill, instead, has filled the shelf With blackberry jam, "by best receipts compiled, -- Not made with country sugar, for too strong The flavors that to maple juice belong; But foreign sugar, nicely mixed 'to suit The taste, ' spoils not the fragrance of the fruit. "

 "'Tis pretty good, " half-tasting, you reply, "I scarce should know it from fresh blackberry. But the best pleasure such a fruit can yield, Is to be gathered in the open field; If only as an article of food, Cherry or crab-apple are quite as good; And, for occasions of festivity, West India sweetmeats you had better buy. "

 Thus, such a dish of homely sweets as these In neither way may chance the taste to please. 

 Yet try a little with the evening-bread; Bring a good needle for the spool of thread; Take fact with fiction, silver with the lead, And, at the mint, you can get gold instead; In fine, read me, even as you would be read.