"That thou givest them they gather. Thou openest thine hand; they are filled with good."

104th Psalm.

The traveller from the Old World to the New is apt to lose himself in reflection when he should be observing. Speculations come in crowds in the wilderness. He finds himself philosophizing with every step he takes, as luxuriously as by his study fireside, or in his rare solitary walk at home.

In England, everything comes complete and finished under notice. Each man may be aware of some one process of formation, which it is his business to conduct; but all else is presented to him in its entireness. The statesman knows what it is to compose an act of parliament; to proceed from the first perception of the want of it, through the gathering together of facts and opinions, the selection from these, the elaborating, adjusting, moulding, specifying, excluding, consolidating, till it becomes an entire something, which he throws down for parliament to find fault with. When it is passed, the rest of society looks upon it as a whole, as a child does upon a table or a doll, without being aware of any process of formation. The shoemaker, thus, takes his loaf of bread, and the clock that ticks behind his door, as if they came down from the clouds as they are, in return for so much of his wages; and he analyzes nothing but shoes. The baker and watchmaker receive their shoes in the same way, and analyze nothing but bread and clocks. Too many gentlemen and ladies analyze nothing at all. If better taught, and introduced at an early age into the world of analysis, nothing, in the whole course of education, is probably so striking to their minds. They begin a fresh existence from the day when they first obtain a glimpse into this new region of discovery.

Such an era is the traveller's entrance upon the wilder regions of America. His old experience is all reversed. He sees nothing of art in its entireness; but little of nature in her instrumentality. Nature is there the empress, not the handmaid. Art is her inexperienced page, and no longer the Prospero to whom she is the Ariel.

It is an absorbing thing to watch the process of world-making:—both the formation of the natural and the conventional world. I witnessed both in America; and when I look back upon it now, it seems as if I had been in another planet. I saw something of the process of creating the natural globe in the depths of the largest explored cave in the world. In its depths, in this noiseless workshop, was Nature employed with her blind and dumb agents, fashioning mysteries which the earthquake of a thousand years hence may bring to light, to give man a new sense of the shortness of his life. I saw something of the process of world-making behind the fall of Niagara, in the thunder cavern, where the rocks that have stood for ever tremble to their fall amidst the roar of the unexhausted floods. I stood where soon human foot shall stand no more. Foot-hold after foot-hold is destined to be thrown down, till, after more ages than the world has yet known, the last rocky barrier shall be overpowered, and an ocean shall overspread countries which are but just entering upon civilized existence. Niagara itself is but one of the shifting scenes of life, like all of the outward that we hold most permanent. Niagara itself, like the systems of the sky, is one of the hands of Nature's clock, moving, though too slowly to be perceived by the unheeding,—still moving, to mark the lapse of time. Niagara itself is destined to be as the traditionary monsters of the ancient earth—a giant existence, to be spoken of to wondering ears in studious hours, and believed in from the sole evidence of its surviving grandeur and beauty. While I stood in the wet whirlwind, with the crystal roof above me, the thundering floor beneath, and the foaming whirlpool and rushing flood before me, I saw those quiet, studious hours of the future world when this cataract shall have become a tradition, and the spot on which I stood shall be the centre of a wide sea, a new region of life. This was seeing world-making. So it was on the Mississippi, when a sort of scum on the waters betokened the birth-place of new land. All things help in this creation. The cliffs of the upper Missouri detach their soil, and send it thousands of miles down the stream. The river brings it, and deposits it, in continual increase, till a barrier is raised against the rushing waters themselves. The air brings seeds, and drops them where they sprout, and strike downwards, so that their roots bind the soft soil, and enable it to bear the weight of new accretions. The infant forest, floating, as it appeared, on the surface of the turbid and rapid waters, may reveal no beauty to the painter; but to the eye of one who loves to watch the process of world-making, it is full of delight. These islands are seen in every stage of growth. The cotton-wood trees, from being like cresses in a pool, rise breast-high; then they are like the thickets, to whose shade the alligator may retreat; then, like groves that bid the sun good-night, while he is still lighting up the forest; then like the forest itself, with the wood-cutter's house within its screen, flowers springing about its stems, and the wild-vine climbing to meet the night breezes on its lofty canopy. This was seeing world-making. Here was strong instigation to the exercise of analysis.

One of the most frequent thoughts of a speculator in these wildernesses, is the rarity of the chance which brings him here to speculate. The primitive glories of nature have, almost always since the world began, been dispensed to savages; to men who, dearly as they love the wilderness, have no power of bringing into contrast with it the mind of man, as enriched and stimulated by cultivated society. Busy colonists, pressed by bodily wants, are the next class brought over the threshold of this temple: and they come for other purposes than to meditate. The next are those who would make haste to be rich; selfish adventurers, who drive out the red man, and drive in the black man, and, amidst the forests and the floods, think only of cotton and of gold. Not to such alone should the primitive glories of nature be dispensed; glories which can never be restored. The philosopher should come, before they are effaced, and find combinations and proportions of life and truth which are not to be found elsewhere. The painter should come, and find combinations and proportions of visible beauty which are not to be found elsewhere. The architect should come, and find suggestions and irradiations of his art which are not to be found elsewhere. The poet should come, and witness a supremacy of nature such as he imagines in the old days when the world's sires came forth at the tidings of the rainbow in the cloud. The chance which opens to the meditative the almost untouched regions of nature, is a rare one; and they should not be left to the vanishing savage, the busy and the sordid.

I watched also the progress of conventional life. I saw it in every stage of advancement, from the clearing in the woods, where the settler, carrying merely his axe, makes his very tools, his house, his fireplace, his bed, his table; carves out his fields, catches from among wild or strayed animals his farm stock, and creates his own food, warmth, and winter light,—from primitive life like this, to that of the highest finish, which excludes all thought of analysis.

The position or prospects of men in a new country may best be made intelligible by accounts of what the traveller saw and heard while among them. Pictures serve the purpose better than reports. I will, therefore, give pictures of some of the many varieties of dwellers that I saw, amidst their different localities, circumstances, and modes of living. No one of them is aware how vivid an idea he impresses on the mind of humanity; nor how distinct a place he fills in her records. No one of them, probably, is aware how much happier he is than Alexander, in having before him more worlds to conquer.

My narratives, or pictures, must be but a few selected from among a multitude. My chapter would extend to a greater length than any old novel, if I were to give all I possess.

The United States are not only vast in extent: they are inestimably rich in material wealth. There are fisheries and granite quarries along the northern coasts; and shipping from the whole commercial world within their ports. There are tanneries within reach of their oak woods, and manufactures in the north from the cotton growth of the south. There is unlimited wealth of corn, sugar-cane and beet, hemp, flax, tobacco, and rice. There are regions of pasture land. There are varieties of grape for wine, and mulberries for silk. There is salt. There are mineral springs. There is marble, gold, lead, iron, and coal. There is a chain of mountains, dividing the great fertile western valley from the busy eastern region which lies between the mountains and the Atlantic. These mountains yield the springs by which the great rivers are to be fed for ever, to fertilize the great valley, and be the vehicle of its commerce with the world. Out of the reach of these rivers, in the vast breadth of the north, lie the great lakes, to be likewise the servants of commerce, and to afford in their fisheries the means of life and luxury to thousands. These inland seas temper the climate, summer and winter, and insure health to the heart of the vast continent. Never was a country more gifted by nature.

It is blessed also in the variety of its inhabitants. However it may gratify the pride of a nation to be descended from one stock, it is ultimately better that it should have been compounded from many nations. The blending of qualities, physical and intellectual, the absorption of national prejudices, the increase of mental resources, will be found in the end highly conducive to the elevation of the national character. America will find herself largely blessed in this way, however much she may now complain of the immigration of strangers. She complains of some for their poverty; but such bring a will to work, and a capacity for labour. She complains of others for their coming from countries governed by a despotism; but it is the love of freedom which they cannot enjoy at home, that brings such. She complains of others that they keep up their national language, manners, and modes of thinking, while they use her privileges of citizenship. This may appear ungracious; but it proceeds from that love of country and home institutions which will make staunch American patriots of their children's children. It is all well. The New England States may pride themselves on their population being homogeneous, while that of other States is mongrel. It is well that stability should thus have been temporarily provided for in one part of the Union, which should, for the season, be the acknowledged superior over the rest: but, this purpose of the arrangement having been fulfilled, New England may perhaps hereafter admit, what some others see already, that, if she inherits many of the virtues of the Pilgrims, she requires fortifying in others; and that a large reinforcement from other races would help her to throw off the burden of their inherited faults.

There can scarcely be a finer set of elements for the composition of a nation than the United States now contain. It will take centuries to fuse them; and by that time, pride of ancestry,—vanity of physical derivation,—will be at an end. The ancestry of moral qualities will be the only pedigree preserved: and of these every civilized nation under heaven possesses an ample, and probably an equal, share. Let the United States then cherish their industrious Germans and Dutch; their hardy Irish; their intelligent Scotch; their kindly Africans, as well as the intellectual Yankee, the insouciant Southerner, and the complacent Westerner. All are good in their way; and augment the moral value of their country, as diversities of soil, climate, and productions, do its material wealth.

Among the most interesting personages in the United States, are the Solitaries;—solitary families, not individuals. Europeans, who think it much to lodge in a country cottage for six weeks in the summer, can form little idea of the life of a solitary family in the wilds. I did not see the most sequestered, as I never happened to lose my way in the forests or on the prairies: but I witnessed some modes of life which realized all I had conceived of the romantic, or of the dismal.

One rainy October day, I saw a settler at work in the forest, on which he appeared to have just entered. His clearing looked, in comparison with the forest behind him, of about the size of a pincushion. He was standing, up to the knees in water, among the stubborn stumps, and charred stems of dead trees. He was notching logs with his axe, beside his small log hut and stye. There was swamp behind, and swamp on each side;—a pool of mud around each dead tree, which had been wont to drink the moisture. There was a semblance of a tumble-down fence: no orchard yet; no grave-yard; no poultry; none of the graces of fixed habitation had grown up. On looking back to catch a last view of the scene, I saw two little boys, about three and four years old, leading a horse home from the forest; one driving the animal behind with an armful of bush, and the other reaching up on tiptoe to keep his hold of the halter; and both looking as if they would be drowned in the swamp. If the mother was watching from the hut, she must have thought this strange dismal play for her little ones. The hard-working father must be toiling for his children; for the success of his after life can hardly atone to him for such a destitution of comfort as I saw him in the midst of. Many such scenes are passed on every road in the western parts of the States. They become cheering when the plough is seen, or a few sheep are straggling on the hill side, seeming lost in space.

One day, at Niagara, I had spent hours at the Falls, till, longing for the stillness of the forest, I wandered deep into its wild paths, meeting nothing but the belled heifer, grazing, and the slim, clean swine which live on the mast and roots they can find for themselves. I saw some motion in a thicket, a little way from the path, and went to see what it was. I found a little boy and girl, working away, by turns, with an axe, at the branches of a huge hickory, which had been lately felled. "Father" had felled the hickory the day before, and had sent the children to make faggots from the branches. They were heated and out of breath. I had heard of the toughness of hickory, and longed to know what the labour of wood-cutting really was. Here was an irresistible opportunity for an experiment I made the children sit down on the fallen tree, and find out the use of my ear-trumpet, while I helped to make their faggot. When I had hewn through one stout branch, I was quite sufficiently warmed, and glad to sit down to hear the children's story. Their father had been a weaver and a preacher in England. He had brought out his wife and six children. During the week, he worked at his land, finding some employment or another for all of his children who could walk alone; and going some distance on Sundays to preach. This last particular told volumes. The weaver has not lost heart over his hard field-labour. His spirit must be strong and lively, to enable him to spend his seventh day thus, after plying the axe for six. The children did not seem to know whether they liked Manchester or the forest best; but they looked stout and rosy.

They, however, were within reach of church and habitation; buried, as they appeared, in the depths of the woods. I saw, in New Hampshire, a family who had always lived absolutely alone, except when an occasional traveller came to their door, during the summer months. The old man had run away with his wife, forty-six years before, and brought her to the Red Mountain, near the top of which she had lived ever since. It was well that she married for love, for she saw no one but her husband and children, for many a long year after she jumped out of her window, in her father's house, to run away.

Our party, consisting of four, was in the humour to be struck with the romance of the domestic history of the old man of the mountain, as the guide is called. We had crossed Lake Winnepisseogee, the day before, and watched from our piazza, at Centre Harbour, the softening of the evening light over the broad sheet of water, and the purple islands that rested upon it. After dark, fires blazed forth from the promontories, and glimmered in the islands; every flaming bush and burning stem being distinctly reflected in the grey mirror of the waters. These fires were signs of civilization approaching the wild districts on which we were entering. Land on the lake shores has become very valuable; and it is being fast cleared.

We were to have set off very early on our mountain expedition, next day; but the morning was misty, and we did not leave Centre Harbour till near eight;—nearly an hour and a half after breakfast. We were in a wagon, drawn by the horses on which the two ladies were to ascend the mountain from the guide's house. The sky was grey, but promising; for its curtains were rising at the other end of the lake, and disclosing ridge after ridge of pines on the mountain side. The road became very rough as we began to ascend; and it was a wonder to me how the wagon could be lifted up, as it was, from shelf to shelf of limestone. One shelf sloped a little too much, even for our wagon. Its line of direction was no longer within the base, as children are taught at school that it should be. All the party, except myself, rolled out. The driver, sprawling on his back on a terribly sharp eminence of limestone, tugged manfully at the reins, and shouted, "Whoi-ee" as cheerfully as if he had been sitting on a cushion, in his proper place. He was not a man to desert his duty in an extremity. He was but little hurt, and nobody else at all.

The wagon was left here, and we ascended a mile, a steep path, among woods and rocks, to the guide's little farm; plunging into a cloud, just before we reached the house. It was baking day; and we found the old dame, with a deaf and dumb daughter,—one of three deaf,—busy among new bread, pies, and apples. Strings of apples hung against the walls; and there was every symptom of plenty and contentment within and without doors. The old dame might have been twin sister to Juliet's nurse. She was delighted to have an opportunity of using her tongue, and was profuse in her invitations to us to stay,—to come again,—to be sociable. The exercise she takes in speaking must be one cause of her buxom health. Out of a pantomime, I never saw anything so energetic as her action; the deafness of her children being no doubt the cause of this. She seemed heartily proud of them; the more, evidently, on account of their singularity. She told us that the daughter now at home had never left it. "Her father could not spare her to school; but I could have spared her." What a life of little incidents magnified must their's be! As one of my companions observed, the bursting of a shoe, or the breaking of a plate, must furnish talk for a week. The welcome discovery was made that we had a mutual acquaintance. A beloved friend of mine had ascended the mountain some weeks before, and had followed her usual practice of carrying away all the hearts she found there. The old dame spoke lovingly of her as "that Liza;" and she talked about her till she had seen my foot into the stirrup, and given me her blessing up the mountain.

The path was steep, and the summit bare. There was an opening for a single moment on our arrival; the mist parted and closed again, having shown us what a view there was beneath us of green mountains, and blue ponds, and wooded levels. We were entertained for some time with such glimpses; more beautiful perhaps than an unrestricted vision. Such revelations take away one's breath. When all was misty again, we amused ourselves with gathering blue-berries, which grew profusely under foot. The old man, too, was ready with any information we desired about himself; and with abundance of anecdotes of summer travellers, to whom he had acted as guide.

He was a soldier of the revolution; and at its close, retired hither, with his bride, among bears and deer. There are no deer left; and he killed nineteen bears with his own hand: the last, thirty-five years before. One of them was nearly the death of him. A shot which he intended to be mortal was not so. The wounded bear chased him; and there was nothing to be done but to run round and round a tree, loading his gun, while the bear was at his heels, blowing foam and blood upon him. He fired over his shoulder, and dispatched his pursuer. He told us, when the curtain of mist finally drew up, the opinions of learned men whom he had conducted hither, about this mountain having once been an island in the midst of a vast lake. He pointed out how it is, even now, nearly surrounded by waters; Long Pond, Lake Winnepisseogee, and Squam Lake. The two last are so crowded with islands that the expression of the water is broken up. The islands lie in dark slips upon the gleamy surface, dividing it into too many pond-like portions. But the mountain horizon was altogether beautiful. Some had sharp peaks, some notched; the sides of some were bare, with traces of tremendous slides: others, green as the spring, with wandering sun gleams and cloud shadows. I found myself much mistaken in my fancy that I did not care for bird's-eye views.

The dame was looking out for us when we descended, anxious to detain us for more talk, and to make us bearers of a present to "that Liza." She hung some strings of her drying apples over the arm of a gentleman of the party, with the utmost faith that he would take care of them all the way to Boston. He kindly received them; and I can testify that he did his best to make them reach their destination. It was kindness well bestowed; for no doubt it was a winter luxury of the good dame's to fancy our mutual friend enjoying her Red Mountain applesauce. The sending a present to Boston must be a rare event to dwellers in such a solitude.

Not many miles from this place, stands a deserted dwelling whose inhabitants lived in a deeper solitude, and perished all in one night, far from human aid. No house stands within many miles of it, even now. I had heard the story before I saw the place; but I had no idea of the difference between listening to a sad tale, and seeing the spot of which it is told. In a deep narrow valley among the White Mountains, lived a family of the name of Willey. Their dwelling was a comfortable log-house, on a green platform, at the foot of one of the steepest mountains. There were but few travellers among these mountains in their day; but those few were kindly welcomed: and the cheerful host and hostess, and their comely children, were always well spoken of. On a stormy August night, 1826, a tremendous slide came crashing down the mountain side, at the rear of the house. If the family had remained in their chambers, they would have been safe: a rock at the edge of the green platform, behind the dwelling, parted the slide, so that the grassy plot remained untouched,—a bright island in the midst, of the desolation. The family, to the number of nine, were overwhelmed, and all perished. The bodies of seven were found. The bones of the other two are doubtless buried under the slide, where rank verdure and young trees are growing up, as if trying to efface the horrors of the wreck. The scene must have been dreadful to those who first arrived at the spot, after the event. The house, safe on its grass plot; its door standing wide; the beds and clothes of the family showing that they had sprung up from sleep, and so fled from the only place where they would have been safe; no one there; a deadly silence brooding over the quiet spot, and chaotic desolation around;—it is no wonder that the house remains deserted, and the valley untenanted.

Some miles further on, the traveller may witness what comfortable cheer may be afforded by dwellers in the wilderness. All travellers in the White Mountains know Ethan A. Crawford's hospitality. He cannot be said to live in solitude, inasmuch as there is another house in the valley: but everybody is aware how little sociability there is between two dwellers in a lonely place. One may enjoy life there; and several may get on well; but two never: and Ethan Crawford's is a virtual solitude, except for three months in the year. The fate of the Willeys was uppermost in our minds when we arrived; and we were little prepared for such entertainment as we found. After a supper of fine lake trout, a son of our host played to us on a nameless instrument, made by the joiners who put the house together, and highly creditable to their ingenuity. It was something like the harmonica in form, and the bagpipes in tone; but, well-played as it was by the boy, it was highly agreeable. Then Mr. Crawford danced an American jig, to the fiddling of a relation of his. The dancing was somewhat solemn; but its good faith made up for any want of mirth. He had other resources for the amusement of his guests: a gun wherewith he was wont to startle the mountain echoes, till, one day, it burst: (leaving nothing for us to do but to look at the fragments:) also, a horn, which, blown on a calm day, brings a chorus of sweet responses from the far hill sides. Retirement in such a valley, and with such resources as Ethan Crawford's, is attractive enough to the passing traveller; and, to judge by the countenance of the host, anything but dispiriting to those who have made trial of it.

No solitude can be more romantic than that at the mouth of the Mammoth Cave in Kentucky; so called, not because any mammoth-bones have been found there, but because it is the largest explored cave in the world. I was told, not only by the guides, but by a gentleman who is learned in caves, that it can be travelled through, in different directions, to the extent of sixty miles. We could not think of achieving the entire underground journey; but we resolved to see all we could; and, for that purpose, preferred devoting the half of two days to the object, to one entire day, the weariness of which would probably curtail our rambles. After a most interesting and exciting journey of nearly two nights and a day from Nashville, Tennessee, our party, consisting of four, arrived at Bell's hotel, twelve miles from the cave, at half-past seven, on a bright May morning. We slept till one o'clock, and then set off in a stage and four for the cave. My expectations had been so excited, that every object on the road seemed to paint itself on my very spirit; and I now feel as if I saw the bright hemp fields, the oak copses, the gorgeous wild flowers, and clear streams, running over their limestone beds, that adorned our short journey.

The house at the cave stands on the greenest sward that earth and dews can produce; and it grows up to the very walls of the dwelling. The well, with its sweep,—a long pole, with a rope and bucket at one end, laid across the top of a high post,—this primitive well, on the same plot of turf, and the carriage in which two travellers—young men—had just arrived, were the only occupiers of the grass, besides the house. We lost no time in proceeding to the cave. The other party of travellers and the guides carried lamps, and grease to trim them with; an ample supply of both; for the guides know something of the horrors of being left in darkness in the mazes of a cave. We went down a steep path into a glen, from which the golden sunlight seemed reflected, as from water; so bright was the May verdure. The guides carried our cloaks; which seemed to us very ridiculous; for we were panting with the heat. But, when we had wound down to the yawning, shadowy cave, with its diamond drips and clustering creepers about the entrance, a blast of wintry wind gushed from it, and chilled our very hearts. I found it possible to stand on one foot, and be in the midst of melting heat; and leaning forward on the other, to feel half frozen. The humming birds must be astonished, when they flit across the entrance, to meet winter in the middle of the glen, and emerge into summer again on the other side.

The entrance of the cave serves as an ice-house to the family of the guide. They keep their meat there, and go to refresh themselves when relaxed by the heat. The temperature is delightful, after the first two or three minutes; and we were glad to leave our cloaks by the way side. The ladies tied handkerchiefs over their heads, and tucked up their gowns for the scramble over the loose limestone; looking thereby very picturesque, and not totally unlike the witches in Macbeth. The gloom, the echo of the footsteps, the hollow sound of voices, the startling effect of lights seen unexpectedly in a recess, in a crevice, or high overhead,—these impressions may be recalled in those who have wandered in caves, but can never be communicated to those who have not. It is in vain to describe a cave. Call it a chaos of darkness and rocks, with wandering and inexplicable sounds and motions, and all is done. Everything appears alive: the slowly growing stalactites, the water ever dropping into the plashing pool, the whispering airs,—all seem conscious. The coolness, vastness, suggestions of architecture, and dim disclosures, occasion different feelings from any that are known under the lights of the sky. The air in the neighbourhood of the waterfall was delicious to breathe; and the pool was so clear that I could not, for some time, see the water, in a pretty full light. That Rembrandt light on the drip of water, on the piled rocks, and on our figures,—light swallowed up before it could reach the unseen canopy under which we stood, can never be forgotten. Milton's lake of fire might have brought the roof into view:—nothing less.

The young guides, brothers, were fine dashing youths, as Kentucky youths are. They told us some horrible tales, and one very marvellous story about darkness and bewilderment in the labyrinth of the cave. They told us (before they knew that any of us were English) that "all the lords and lights of England had been to see the cave, except the king." While they were about it, they might as well have included his majesty. Perhaps they have, by this time; good stories being of very rapid growth. They reported that ladies hold on in the cave better than gentlemen. One of the party supposed this was because they were lighter; but the guide believed it was owing to their having more curiosity.

I was amused at their assurances about the number of miles that we had walked; and thought it as good a story as any they had told us: but, to my utter amazement, I found, on emerging from the cave, that the stars were shining resplendently down into the glen, while the summer lightning was quivering incessantly over the "verdurous wall" which sprang up to a lofty height on either hand. There seemed to be none of the coolness of night abroad. A breathless faintness came over us on quitting the freshness of the cave, and taught us the necessary caution of resting awhile at the entrance.

Supper was ready when we returned; and then the best room was assigned to the three ladies, while the gentlemen were to have the loft. We saw the stars through chinks in our walls; but it was warm May, and we feared no cold. Shallow tin-pans,—milk-pans, I believe,—were furnished to satisfy our request for ewer and basin. The windows had blinds of paper-hanging; a common sort of window-blind at hotels, and in country places. Before it was light, I was wakened by a strong cold breeze blowing upon me; and at dawn, I found that the entire lower half of the window was absent. A deer had leaped through it, a few weeks before; and there had been no opportunity of mending it. But everything was clean; everybody was obliging; the hostess was motherly; and the conclusion that we came to in the morning was that we had all slept well, and were ready for a second ramble in the cave.

We saw, this day, the Grotto and the Deserted Chamber. Few visitors attempt the grotto, the entrance to it being in one part only a foot and a half high. We were obliged, not only to go on hands and knees, but to crawl lying flat. It is a sensation worth knowing, to feel oneself imprisoned in the very heart of a mountain, miles from the sun-light, and with no mode of escape but the imperceptible hole which a child might block up in five minutes. Never was there a more magnificent prison or sepulchre. Whether the singularity of our mode of access magnified to our eyes the beauties we had thereby come into the midst of, or whether Nature does work most con amore in retired places, this grotto seemed to us all by far the most beautiful part of the cave. The dry sandy floor was pleasant to the tread, after the loose limestone; the pillars were majestic; the freaks of nature most wild and elegant. The air was so fresh and cool that, if only a Rosicrucian lamp could be hung in this magnificent chamber, it would be the place of all others in which to spend the sultry summer's day,—entering when the beauties of the sunrise had given place to glare, and issuing forth at the rising of the evening star.

On our way to the Deserted Chamber, we cut off half a mile by a descent through a crevice, and a re-ascent by another. We were presently startled by the apparition of two yellow stars, at what appeared an immeasurable distance. In this cave, I was reminded, after a total forgetfulness of many years, of the night-mare visitations of my childhood; especially of the sense of infinite distance, which used to terrify me indescribably. Here, too, the senses and the reason were baulked. Those two yellow stars might have been worlds, many millions of miles off in space, or,—what they were,—two shabby lamps, fifty yards off. A new visitor had arrived; and the old man of the solitary house had brought him down, in hopes of meeting our larger party. One of the gentlemen presently slipped on the loose stones, and fell into a hole, with his back against a sharp rock; and he seemed at first unable to rise. This was the only misadventure we had; and it did not prove a serious one. He was somewhat shaken and bruised, and rendered unwilling to go with the rest to the Bottomless Pit: but there was no eventual injury. He and I staid in the Deserted Chamber, while our companions disappeared, one by one, through a crevice, on their way to the pit. The dead silence, and the glimmer of our single lamp, were very striking; and we were more disposed to look round upon the low-roofed apartment, piled with stones as far as the eye could reach, than to talk. I tried to swallow a piece of bread or cake, very like a shoe-sole, and speculated upon these piles of stones;—by whose hand they were reared, and how long ago. There is much cane—doubtless, once used for fuel—scattered about the deeper recesses of the cave; and these stones were evidently heaped up by human hands: and those not Indian. It is supposed that this cave was made use of by that mysterious race which existed before the Indians, and of which so many curious traces remain in the middle States of the West; a race more civilized, to judge by the works of their hands, than the Indians have ever been; but of which no tradition remains.

Our party returned safe, and refreshed by a draught of water, better worth having than my luncheon of bread. When we left the cave, our guides insisted upon it that we had walked, this morning, ten or eleven miles. I pronounced it four. Others of the party said seven; and the point remains unsettled. We all agreed that it was twice as much as we could have accomplished in the heat above ground; and perhaps the most remarkable walk we had ever taken in our lives. Our hostess was with us the whole time; and it was amusing to see in her the effect of custom. She trod the mazes of this cave just as people do the walks of their own garden.

The gush of sun-light pouring in at the mouth of the cave, green and soft, as we emerged from the darkness, was exquisitely beautiful. So was the foliage of the trees, after the rigid forms which had been printing themselves upon our eye-sight for so many hours. As we sat at the entrance, to accustom ourselves to the warm outward air, I saw, growing high in the steep woods, the richest of kalmias, in full bloom. One of the gentlemen ran to bring me some; and when it came, it was truly a feast to the eye. How apt are we to look upon all things as made for us! How many seasons has this kalmia bloomed?

We were truly sorry to bid farewell to our motherly hostess, and her "smart" sons. Theirs is a singular mode of life; and it left nearly as vivid an impression on our minds as their mighty neighbour, the cave. If any of us should ever happen to be banished, and to have a home to seek, I fancy we should look out for a plot of green sward, among flowering kalmias, near the mouth of an enormous cave, with humming birds flitting about it by day, and fire-flies and summer lightning by night.

In strong contrast in my mind with such a scene as this, stands a gay encampment in the wilderness, at which I soon after arrived. The watering places among the Virginia mountains are as new and striking a spectacle as the United States can afford. The journeyings of those who visit them are a perpetual succession of contrasts. I may as well give the whole journey from Cincinnati to the eastern base of the Alleghanies.

We left Cincinnati at noon on the 25th of June: as sultry a summer's day as ever occurs on the Ohio. The glare was reflected from the water with a blinding and scorching heat; and feather fans were whisking all day in the ladies' cabin of our steam-boat. Hot as it was, I could not remain in the shady cabin. The shores of the Ohio are so beautiful, that I could not bear to lose a single glimpse between the hills. It is holiday-travelling to have such a succession of pictures as I saw there made to pass noiselessly before one's eyes. There were the children running among the gigantic trees on the bank, to see the boat pass; the girl with her milk-pail, half way up the hill; the horseman on the ridge, or the wagoner with his ox-team pausing on the slope. Then there was the flitting blue jay under the cool shadow of the banks; the butterflies crossing the river in zig-zag flight; the terrapins (small turtle) floundering in the water, with their pert little heads above the surface; and the glancing fire-flies every night.

On the afternoon of this day, we were met by the storm which swept over the whole country, and which will be remembered as having caused the death of the son of Chief-Justice Marshall, at Baltimore, on his way to his dying father. I watched, from the deck, the approach of the storm. First, the sky, above the white clouds, was of a dark grey, which might have been mistaken for the deep blue of twilight. Then a mass of black clouds came hurrying up below the white. Then a flash escaped from out of the upper grey, darting perpendicularly into the forest; and then another, exploding like the four rays of a star. I saw the squall coming in a dark line, straight across the river. Our boat was hurried under the bank to await it. The burst was furious: a roaring gust, and a flood of rain, which poured in under our cabin door, close shut as it was. All was nearly as dark as night for a while, and all silent but the elements. Then the day seemed to dawn again; but loud peals of thunder lasted long, and the lightning was all abroad in the air. Faint flashes now wandered by; and now a brilliant white zig-zag quivered across the sky. One splendid violet-coloured shaft shot straight down into the forest; and I saw a tall tree first blaze and then smoulder at the touch. A noble horse floated by, dead and swollen. When we drew out into the middle of the river, it was as if spring had come in at the heels of the dog-days; all was so cool and calm.

The company on board were of the lowest class we ever happened to meet with in our travels. They were obliging enough; as everybody is throughout the country, as far as my experience goes; but otherwise they were no fair specimens of American manners. One woman excited my curiosity from the beginning; but I entertained a much more agreeable feeling towards her when we parted, after several days' travelling in company. Her first deed was to ask where we were going; and her next, to take my book out of my lap, and examine it. Much of the rest of her time was occupied in dressing her hair, which was, notwithstanding, almost as rough as a negro's. She wore in her head a silver comb, another set with brilliants, and a third, an enormous tortoiseshell, so stuck in, on one side, as to remind the observer, irresistibly, of a unicorn. She pulled down her hair in company, and put it up again, many times in a day, whenever, as it seemed to me, she could not think of anything else to be doing. Her young companion, meantime, sat rubbing her teeth with dragon-root. The other cabin company seemed much of the same class. I was dressing in my state room between four and five the next morning, when an old lady, who was presently going ashore, burst in, and snatched the one tumbler glass from my hand. She was probably as much amazed at my having carried it out of sight as I was at her mode of recovering it.

I loved the early morning on the great rivers, and therefore rose at dawn. I loved the first grey gleams that came from between the hills, and the bright figures of people in white, (the men all in linen jackets in hot weather,) on the banks. I loved to watch the river craft; the fussy steamer making rapid way; the fairy canoe shooting silently across; the flat-boat, with its wreath of blue smoke, stealing down in the shadow of the banks, her navigators helping her along in the current by catching at the branches as they passed: and the perilous looking raft, with half-a-dozen people on it, under their canopy of green boughs, their shapeless floor bending and walloping in the middle of the stream. I loved the trees, looking as if they stood self-poised, their roots were washed so bare. I loved the dwellings that stood behind their screen, those on the eastern bank seeming fast asleep; those on the western shore gay with the flickering shadows cast on them by the breezy sunrise through the trees.

On passing Catletsburgh we bade adieu to glorious Kentucky. At that point, our eyes rested on three sovereign States at one glance, Ohio, Kentucky, and Virginia. We landed at Guyandot, and proceeded by stage the next morning to Charleston, on the Kanawha river. The road, all the way to the Springs, is marvellously good for so wild a part of the country. The bridges over the streams are, some of them, prettily finished; and the accommodations by the road side are above the average. The scenery is beautiful the whole way. We were leaving the great Western Valley; and the road offered a succession of ascents and levels. There were many rivulets and small waterfalls; the brier-rose was in full bloom along the ground; the road ran half way up the wooded hills, so that there were basins of foliage underneath, the whole apparently woven into so compact a mass by the wild vine, that it seemed as if one might walk across the valley on the tree tops. The next day's dawn broke over the salt works and coal pits, or rather caverns of coal, on the hill sides. The corn was less tall and rich, the trees were less lofty, and it was apparent that we were mounting to a higher region. It occurred to me, in a careless kind of way, that we were now not very far from the Hawk's Nest. Some ladies in the Guyandot Hotel had said to me, "Be sure you see the Hawk's Nest." "What is that?" "A place that travellers can see if they choose; the driver always stops a few minutes to let them see the Hawk's Nest." I had never heard of it before, and I never heard of it again. The world is fairly awakened to Niagara; but it is still drowsy about two scenes which moved me—the one more than Niagara, the other nearly as much; the platform at Pine Orchard House, on the top of the Catshills, and the Hawk's Nest.

The last of the Kanawha River, as we bade adieu to it on the 28th of June, was smooth and sweet, with its islets of rocks, and the pretty bridge by which we crossed the Gauley, and entered upon the ascent above New River. The Gauley and the New River join to make the Kanawha. The ascent of the mountains above New River is trying to weak nerves. The horses have to stop, here and there, to rest; and it appears that if they were to back three steps, it would be death. The road, however, is really broad, though it appears a mere ledge when the eye catches the depth below, where the brown river is rushing and brawling in its rocky bed. A passenger dropped his cap in the steepest part, and the driver made no difficulty about stopping to let him recover it. What a depth it was! like the dreamy visions of one's childhood of what winged messengers may first learn of man's dwelling-place, when they light on a mountain-top; like Satan's glimpses from the Mount of Soliloquy; like any unusual or forbidden peep from above into the retirements of nature, or the arrangements of man. On our left rose the blasted rocks which had been compelled to yield us a passage; but their aspect was already softened by the trails of crimson and green creepers which were spreading over their front. The unmeasured pent-house of wild vine was still below us on the right, with rich rhododendron blossoms bursting through, and rock-plants shooting up from every ledge and crevice at the edge of the precipice. After a long while, (I have nothing to say of time or distance, for I thought of neither,) a turn in the road shut out the whole from our sight. I leaned out of the stage, further and further, to catch, as I supposed, a last glimpse of the tremendous valley; and when I drew in again, it was with a feeling of deep grief that such a scene was to be beheld by me no more. I saw a house, a comfortable homestead, in this wild place, with its pasture and corn-fields about it; and I longed to get out, and ask the people to let me live with them.

In a few minutes the stage stopped. "If any of the passengers wish to go to the Hawk's Nest ..." shouted the driver. He gave us ten minutes, and pointed with his whip to a beaten path in the wood to the right. It seems to me now that I was unaccountably cool and careless about it. I was absorbed by what I had seen, or I might have known, from the direction we were taking, that we were coming out above the river again. We had not many yards to go. We issued suddenly from the covert of the wood, upon a small platform of rock;—a Devil's Pulpit it would be called, if its present name were not so much better;—a platform of rock, springing from the mountain side, without any visible support, and looking sheer down upon an angle of the roaring river, between eleven and twelve hundred feet below. Nothing whatever intervenes. Spread out beneath, shooting up around, are blue mountain peaks, extending in boundless expanse. No one, I believe, could look down over the edge of this airy shelf, but for the stunted pines which are fast rooted in it. With each arm clasping a pine-stem, I looked over, and saw more, I cannot but think, than the world has in reserve to show me.

It is said that this place was discovered by Chief Justice Marshall, when, as a young man, he was surveying among the mountains. But how many Indians knew it before? How did it strike the mysterious race who gave place to the Indians? Perhaps one of these may have stood there to see the summer storm careering below; to feel that his foothold was too lofty to be shaken by the thunderpeals that burst beneath; to trace the quiverings of the lightnings afar, while the heaven was clear above his own head. Perhaps this was the stand chosen by the last Indian, from which to cast his lingering glance upon the glorious regions from which the white intruders were driving his race. If so, here he must have pined and died, or hence he must have cast himself down. I cannot conceive that from this spot any man could turn away, to go into exile. But it cannot be that Marshall was more than the earliest of Saxon race who discovered this place. Nature's thrones are not left to be first mounted by men who can be made Chief Justices. We know not what races of wild monarchs may have had them first.

We travelled the rest of the day through an Alpine region, still full of beauty. The road is so new that the stopping places seemed to have no names. The accommodations were wonderfully good. At eleven we reached a place where we were allowed, not only to sup, but to lie down for two hours; a similar mercy to that afforded us the night before. Those who are impatient of fatigue should not attempt this method of reaching the Virginia Springs, though they are much to be pitied if they adopt any other. Our first re-entrance upon the world was at Lewisburg, at noon, on the 29th. It appears to be a neat village. The militia were parading: very respectable men, I do not doubt, but not much like soldiers. In a quarter of an hour we were off for the White Sulphur Springs, nine miles (of dusty road) from Lewisburg, and arrived there at half-past two, just as the company were dispersing about the walks, after dinner.

Nothing could be more striking than the contrast between our stage-coach society and that which was thronging the green area into which we were driven. We were heated, wearied, shabby, and all of one dust colour, from head to foot, and, I doubt not, looking very sheepish under the general stare. Every body else was gay and spruce, and at full leisure to criticise us. Gentlemen in the piazza in glossy coats and polished pumps; ladies in pink, blue, and white, standing on green grass, shading their delicate faces and gay head-dresses under parasols; never was there a more astonishing contrast than all this presented with what we had been seeing of late. The friends who were expecting us, however, were not ashamed of us, and came bounding over the green to welcome us, and carry us within reach of refreshment.

It was doubtful whether "a cabin" could be spared to us. We were fortunate in being so favoured as to be put in possession of one in the course of the afternoon. Several carriages full of visitors arrived within a few days, each with its load of trunks, its tin pail dangling behind (wherewith to water the horses in the wilderness) and its crowd of expecting and anxious faces at the windows, and were turned back to seek a resting-place elsewhere. That we were accommodated at all, I believe to this day to be owing to some secret self-denying ordinance on the part of our friends.

On one side of the green, are the large rooms, in which the company at the Springs dine, play cards, and dance. Also, the bar-room, and stage, post, and superintendent's offices. The cabins are disposed round the other sides, and dropped down, in convenient situations behind. These cabins consist of one, two, or more rooms, each containing a bed, a table, a looking-glass, and two or three chairs. All company is received in a room with a bed in it: there is no help for it. The better cabins have a piazza in front; and all have a back door opening upon the hill side; so that the attendants, and their domestic business, are kept out of sight.

The sulphur fountain is in the middle of the southern end of the green; and near it is the sulphur bathing-house. The fountain rises in the midst of a small temple, which is surmounted by a statue of Hygeia, presented to the establishment by a grateful visitor from New Orleans.

The water, pure and transparent, and far more agreeable to the eye than to the taste, forms a pool in its octagon-shaped cistern; and hither the visitors lounge, three times a day, to drink their two or three half-pint tumblers of nauseousness.

I heard many complaints, from new-comers, of the drowsiness caused by drinking the water. Some lay down to sleep more than once in the day; and others apologised for their dulness in society; but this is only a temporary effect, if one may judge by the activity visible on the green from morning till night. One of the greatest amusements was to listen to the variety of theories afloat about the properties and modes of application of the waters.

These springs had been visited only about fifteen years. No philosophising on cases appears to have been instituted: no recording, classifying, inferring, and stating. The patients come from distances of a thousand miles in every direction, with a great variety of complaints; they grow better or do not; they go away, and nobody is the wiser for their experience. It would be difficult to trace them, and to make a record of anything more than their experience while on the spot. The application of these waters will probably continue for a long time to be purely empirical. All that is really known to the patients themselves is, that they are first sleepy, then ravenous; that they must then leave the White Sulphur Spring, and go to the Warm Springs, to be bathed; then to the Sweet Springs, to be braced; and then home, to send all their ailing friends into Virginia next year.

Upwards of two hundred visitors were accommodated when I was in the White Sulphur Valley; and cabins were being built in all directions. The valley, a deep basin among the mountains; presents such beauties to the eye, as perhaps few watering-places in the world can boast. There has been no time yet to lay them open, for the benefit of the invalids; but there are plans for the formation of walks and drives through the woods, and along the mountain sides. At present, all is wild, beyond the precincts of the establishment; and, for the pleasure of the healthy, for those who can mount, and ramble, and scramble, it seems a pity that it should not remain so. The mocking-bird makes the woods ring with its delicious song; and no hand has bridged the rapid streams. If you want to cross them, you must throw in your own stepping-stones. If you desire to be alone, you have only to proceed from the gate of the establishment to the first turn in the road, force your way into the thicket, and look abroad from your retreat upon as sweet and untouched a scene of mountain and valley as the eye of the red man loves to rest upon. The gentlemen who are not invalids go out shooting in the wilderness. A friend of mine returned from such an expedition, the day after my arrival. He brought home a deer; had been overtaken by a storm in the mountains, and had, with his companions, made a house and a fire. Such amusements would diversify the occupations of Bath and Cheltenham very agreeably.

The morning after our arrival, we were too weary to be roused by the notice bell, which rings an hour before every meal; and we were ready only just in time for the last bell. Breakfast is carried to the cabins, if required; but every person who is able prefers breakfasting in company. On rainy mornings, it is a curious sight to see the company scudding across the green to the public-room, under umbrellas, and in cloaks and india-rubber shoes. Very unlike the slow pace, under a parasol, in a July sun.

There was less meat on the table at breakfast and tea than I was accustomed to see. The bread and tea were good. For the other eatables there is little to be said. It is a table spread in the wilderness; and a provision of tender meat and juicy vegetables for two or three hundred people is not to be had for the wishing. The dietary is sure to be improved, from year to year; the most that is to be expected at present is, that there should be enough for everybody. The sum paid for board per week is eight dollars; and other charges may make the expenses mount up to twelve. Pitchers of water and of milk may be seen, at every meal, all down the tables; little or no wine.

The establishment is under the management of the proprietor, who has been offered 500,000 dollars for it, that it may be conducted by a company of share-holders, who would introduce the necessary improvements. When I was there, the proprietor was still holding off from this bargain, the company not being willing to continue to him the superintendence of the concern. I hope that arrangements, satisfactory to all parties, may have been made by this time. The average gross receipts of a season were reported to be 50,000 dollars. It was added that these might easily be doubled, if all were done that might be.

Rheumatism and liver complaints seemed the most common grievances. Two little girls, perhaps four and five years old, sat opposite to me, who were sufferers from rheumatism. But the visitors who came for pleasure seemed to outnumber considerably those who came for health.

After breakfast, we sauntered about the green, and visited various new acquaintances in their piazzas. Then we went home for our bonnets, and rambled through the woods, till we were sent back by the rain, and took shelter beside the fountain. The effect was strange of seeing there a family of emigrants, parents and nine children, who were walking from North Carolina into Illinois. There must have been twins among these children, so many of them looked just alike. The contrast between this group of way-worn travellers, stopping out of curiosity to taste the waters, and the gay company among whom they very properly held up their independent heads, was striking to a stranger.

We dined at two; and afterwards found that a fire would be comfortable, though it was the last day of June. As many friends as our room would hold came home with us, and sat on the bed, table, and the few chairs we could muster, while one made the wood fire, and another bought ice-creams, which a country lad brought to the door. These ice-creams seemed to be thin custard, with a sprinkling of snow in it; but the boy declared that they were ice-creams when he left home. When we had finished our dessert, washed and returned the glasses, and joked and talked till the new-comers of our party grew ashamed of their drowsiness, we crossed the green to diversify the afternoon amusements of certain of our friends. Some were romping with their dogs; some reading books brought by themselves; (for there is no library yet;) some playing at chess or backgammon; all deploring the rain.

After tea, we stormed the great scales, and our whole party were individually weighed. It must be an interesting occupation to the valetudinarians of the place to watch their own and each others' weight, from day to day, or from week to week. For my part, I found my weight just what it always has been, the few times in my life that I have remembered to ascertain it. Such unenviable persons can never make a pursuit of the scales, as others can whose gravity is more discriminating.—From the scales, we adjourned to the ball-room, where I met friends and acquaintances from Mobile and New Orleans; saw new-comers from the Carolinas and Georgia; was introduced to personages of note from Boston; recognized some whom I had known at Philadelphia; and sat between two gentlemen who had fought a duel. There was music, dancing, and refreshments; laughing and flirting here; grave conversation there;—all the common characteristics of a ball, with the added circumstances that almost every State in the Union was here represented; and that we were gathered together in the heart of the mountains.

One more visit remained to be paid this day. We had promised to look in upon some friends who were not at the ball, in order to try the charms and virtues of egg-nogg, which had been lauded to us by an eminent statesman, who has had opportunity, during his diplomatic missions, to learn what there is best in this world. The egg-nogg having been duly enjoyed, we at length went home, to write letters as long as we could hold up our heads, after so extremely busy a day:—a day which may be considered a fair specimen of life at the White Sulphur Springs.

One of the personages whom I referred to as low company, at the beginning of my story, declared himself in the stage-coach to be a gambler, about to visit the Springs for professional purposes. He said to another man, who looked fit company for him, that he played higher at faro than any man in the country but one. These two men slept while we were mounting to the Hawk's Nest. People who pursue their profession by night, as such people do, must sleep in the day, happen what may. They were rather self-important during the journey; it was a comfort to see how poor a figure they cut at the Springs. They seemed to sink into the deepest insignificance that could be desired. Such persons are the pests of society in the south and west; and they are apt to boast that their profession is highly profitable in the eastern cities. I fear this is no empty vaunt.

We left the White Sulphur Springs, a party of six, in "an extra exclusive return stage," and with two saddle horses. Nothing could be more promising. The stage was perfectly new, having been used only to bring General C—— and his lady from Philadelphia to the Springs. We had a shrewd and agreeable Yankee driver, for the whole way. The weather was as fine as July weather ought to be; and as cool as is its wont near the tops of mountains: the very weather for the saddle, or for having the stage open on all sides; or for walking. The alternations were frequently tried. Roses and mountain laurels adorned our road; the breezy woods cast their shadows over us; and we remembered what waters were springing beneath us;—that we were passing over the sources of the mighty rivers of the West, which we had lately navigated with deep awe and delight. The few dwellings we passed were almost all houses of entertainment; but nothing could be more quiet than their air, nestling as they did in the most enviable situations, and resembling more the lodges in the avenues of the parks of English gentry than the hotels of the high road.

We reached the Sweet Springs, twelve miles, I believe, from the White Sulphur, at half-past two. We were as hungry as mountain travellers should be, and dinner was over. However, we were soon set down to hot stewed venison, beet, hominy, ham, and fruit pies; and, thus reinforced, we issued forth to examine the place. The spring at the bathhouse looked so tempting, that I resolved to bathe at sun-down, which, in this valley, would be at five o'clock. The establishment here is inferior to the one we had left. The green was not paled in; the cabins were more shabby; the dining-room smaller. We had it almost to ourselves. The season had not begun, few having been yet sufficiently sulphured and bathed elsewhere to come here to be braced. The water is a little warm; it has a slight briskness; and bubbles up prettily in its well under the piazza. The luxury is to have nothing to do with its disagreeable taste, but to bathe in it, as it gushes, tepid, from its spout. It would be worth while, if there were nothing but trouble in crossing the mountains to get to it. The Sweet Springs lie in one of the highest valleys of the Alleghanies, and one of the fairest. Five times that afternoon did I climb the steep breezy slope behind our cabin, bringing first one of our party, then another, to look abroad; and then returning to enjoy the sun-set alone. The crowds of blue peaks, the bright clearings, the clumps of forest trees, lilac in the sunset with the shepherds lying in their shadow, and the sheep grazing on the sunny slopes, the cluster of cabins below, with their thin smokes rising straight into the golden air,—the whole looked as if the near heavens had opened to let down a gush of their inner light upon this high region. Never shall I forget those tufty purple hills. Cold twilight came on; and we sat round a blazing wood fire, telling ghost and murder stories till we could have declared it was a Christmas night.

At supper, I observed a hale, brisk, intellectual-looking gentleman who satisfied himself with a basin of liquid; as he did at breakfast the next morning; and as he may be seen to do at every meal he takes. He told us his story. Twenty years before, he nearly closed his oesophagus by taking too powerful an emetic. For twenty years, he has had no illness; he rises at dawn all the year round, and has never been known to be low-spirited for two minutes. We all began to think of living upon liquids; but I have not heard of any of the party having proceeded beyond the suggestion.

We rose at five, the next morning, having thirty mountain miles to go during the day, with the same horses. It must not be supposed that this mountain travelling is scrambling among craggy peaks, piercing through dark defiles, and so forth. The roads wind so gently among the slopes, that a sleeping or blind traveller would not discover that the carriage was not, for the greater part of the time, proceeding on level ground. Woody slopes at hand, and a crowd of blue summits afar, are the most characteristic features of the scenery. A white speck of a house, on its tiny green clearing, comes into sight, high up among the hills, from a turn in the road, and the traveller says to himself, "What a perch to live on!" In two hours, he stops at that very house to dine, not being aware how he has got up to it, and looking round with wonder on the snug comforts of the homestead.

Our thirty miles of this day were delicious. Having breakfasted, we bade adieu, at half-past six, to the Sweet Springs, steaming in the bitter cold morning air, and followed a gentleman of our party who had proceeded on foot to the top of the first ridge. There we found him, sitting under a tree, having succeeded in warming himself by the walk. Up the second ridge, the whole party walked, I having started off, ahead of the rest. It was warm, and I stopped, here and there, to rest and gather wild flowers. The rhododendrons and kalmias grew in profusion; and there were plenty of roses, the fine orange columbine of the hills, vetches, and a few splendid scarlet lilies. The peeps down into abysses of foliage were glorious; and, yet more, the cloudlike expanse of mountain tops, growing bluer and fainter till they faded quite away. A steep road on an opposite mountain was the only sign of humanity being near. On the summit, however, there was a small farm. In it lived an elderly woman, who had never been further from the spot than eight miles. If she was born to travel no further than eight miles, no better dwelling place could have been assigned her; for hence she sees more at a glance, any sunset, than some, with all means of locomotion, have ever beheld.

It was a strange feeling, the beginning to descend. It was strange to cross, soon after, the path of the tornado. I had seen something of its ravages before, on the banks of the Cumberland river: the stoutest forest-trees wrenched and twisted, like red-hot iron in the vice of the blacksmith; and snapped off, all at the same height; so that the forest looked like a gigantic scorched stubble-field. Here, a similar desolation was seen in immediate contrast with the rich fertility of the little valley beneath. The hurricane had seared a path for itself up the mountain side, passing over the lowly roofs in the depths. We arrived to dinner at a house on Barber Creek, where we entreated to be fed without delay, on anything whatsoever that was eatable; as time was precious, this day. Yet were we kept waiting two hours and a half. I found much to do by the creek side watching the minnows making their way up against the current; watching two girls who had set up their washing establishment in pretty style under a tree beside the water; their wood fire, black cauldron, and stand of tubs; while the bushes stood round about to be used as drying horses. I also actually saw a hog voluntarily walk three times through the clear water; and the delay of the dinner afforded time for speculation whether the race was not improving. When the dinner was on the table, no one of us could tell what it consisted of. The dish from which I ate was, according to some, mutton; to others, pork: my own idea is that it was dog. Whatever it was, it was at last done with, and paid for, and I was in my saddle, listening to the creek as it rattled under the grey rocks. Having crossed one mountain top on foot, in the morning, I was about to pass another on my horse this afternoon. There is no describing what it is to be pacing upwards, on the extreme edge of the steep road, with one's feet hanging over the green abyss; the shadowy mountains retreating, advancing, interlacing, opening, to disclose a low far-off bit of meadow, with a diminutive dwelling, quiet as a lonely star. What blessed work road-making must be in such places! It was with no little pleasure that, after fourteen miles from Barber Creek, I saw a fine house on an eminence; and then the town of Fincastle, spread out below us, on some rising grounds.

The scenes of the day left me little disposed for sociability in the evening. We were kept waiting long for supper, by the arrival of a party of New Yorkers; to avoid an introduction to whom, some of us pretended to read, and some to be asleep, while others did our duty, talk. The night closed in worthily. From the balcony of my chamber, I saw how modestly the young moon eyed with me the region which will be spread before her for ever, but which I was looking back upon for the last time.

Here I must break off; and, instead of adding another description of the Natural Bridge to the hundred which exist, bring into contrast with life at the Virginia Springs, life in a New England farm-house.

Nothing can he quieter or more refreshing, after a winter's visiting at Boston or New York, than such an abode in a country village as I made trial of last May. The weeks slipped away only too fast. Dr. and Mrs. F., their little boy, six years old, and myself, were fortunate enough to prevail with a farmer's widow at Stockbridge, Massachusetts, to take us into her house. The house was conspicuous from almost every part of the sweet valley into which it looked; the valley of the Housatonic. It was at the top of a steep hill; a sort of air palace. From our parlour windows we could see all that went on in the village; and I often found it difficult to take off my attention from this kind of spying. It was tempting to trace the horseman's progress along the road, which wound among the meadows, and over the bridge. It was tempting to watch the neighbours going in and out, and the children playing in the courts, or under the tall elms; all the people looking as small and busy as ants upon a hillock. On week-days there was the ox-team in the field; and on Sundays the gathering at the church-door. The larger of the two churches stood in the middle of a green, with stalls behind it for the horses and vehicles which brought the churchgoers from a distance. It was a pretty sight to see them converging from every point in the valley, so that the scene was all alive; and then disappear for the space of an hour and a half, as if an earthquake had swallowed up all life; and then pour out from the church door, and, after grouping on the green for a few minutes, betake themselves homewards. Monument Mountain reared itself opposite to us, with its thick woods, and here and there a grey crag protruding. Other mountains closed in the valley, one of which treated us for some nights with the spectacle of a spreading fire in its woods. From the bases of these hills, up to our very door-step, there was one bright carpet of green. Everything, houses, trees, churches, were planted down into this green, so that there was no interruption but the one road, and the blue mazy Housatonic. The softness of the scene, early in a May morning, or when the sun was withdrawing, could not be surpassed by anything seen under a Greek or Italian sky. Sometimes I could scarcely believe it real: it looked air-painted, cloud-moulded.

It was as a favour that the widow Jones[8] took us in. She does not let lodgings. She opened her house to us, and made us a part of her family. Two of her daughters were at home, and a married son lived at hand. We had a parlour, with three windows, commanding different views of the valley: two good-sized chambers, conveniently furnished, and a large closet between; our board with the family, and every convenience that could be provided: and all for two dollars per week each, and half price for the child. She was advised to ask more, but she refused, as she did not wish to be "grasping." It was a merry afternoon when we followed the wagon up the hill to our new abode, and unpacked, and settled ourselves for our long-expected month of May. Never was unpacking a pleasanter task.

The blossomy cherry-tree beside my chamber window was the first object I saw in the morning when I threw up the sash; and beneath it was a broad fallow, over which the blue jay flitted. By this window there was an easy chair and a light table, a most luxurious arrangement for reading. We breakfasted at half-past seven on excellent bread, potatoes, hung beef, eggs, and strong tea. We admitted no visitors during the forenoon, as our theory was that we were very busy people. Writing and reading did occupy much of our time, but it was surprising how much was left for the exercise of our tongues. Then there were visits to be made to the post-office, and the crockery store, and the cobbler; and Charley found occasion to burst in, a dozen times a-day, with a bunch of violets, or news of the horse or cow, or of the ride he had had, or of the oxen in the field.

We all dined together at two. One of the daughters absented herself at breakfast, that she might arrange our rooms; but both were present at dinner, dressed, and ready for their afternoon's occupation of working and reading. One was fond of flowers, and had learned a great deal about them. She was skilful in drying them, and could direct us to the places in the woods and meadows where they grew. Some members of the family, more literary than the rest, were gone westward; but there was a taste for books among them all. I often saw a volume on the table of the widow's parlour, with her spectacles in it. She told me, one day, of her satisfaction in her children, that they were given to good pursuits, and all received church members. All young people in these villages are more or less instructed. Schooling is considered a necessary of life. I happened to be looking over an old almanack one day, when I found, among the directions relating to the preparations for winter on a farm, the following: "Secure your cellars from frost. Fasten loose clap-boards and shingles. Secure a good school-master." It seemed doubtful, at the first glance, whether some new farming utensil had not been thus whimsically named; as the brass plate which hooks upon the fender, or upper bar of the grate, is called "the footman;" but the context clearly showed that a man with learning in his head was the article required to be provided before the winter. The only respect, as far as I know, in which we made our kind hostess uneasy, was in our neglect of Charley's book-studies. Charley's little head was full of knowledge of other kinds; but the widow's children had all known more of the produce of the press at his age than he; and she had a few anxious thoughts about him.

In the afternoon we rambled abroad, if the weather was fine; if rainy, we lighted our wood fire, and pursued our employments of the morning, not uncheered by a parting gleam from the west; a bar of bright yellow sky above the hill tops, or a gush of golden light burnishing the dewy valley at the last. Our walks were along the hill road to the lake, on the way to Lenox, or through the farmyard and wood to a tumbling brook in a small ravine. We tried all manner of experiments with moss, stones, and twigs, among its sunny and shadowy reaches, and tiny falls. We hunted up marsh flowers, wood anemones, and violets, and unfolded the delicate ferns, still closely buttoned up, and waiting for the full power of the summer sun. It was some trouble to me, in America, that I could not get opportunity to walk so much as I think necessary to health. It is not the custom there: partly owing to the climate, the extreme heat of summer, and cold of winter; and partly to the absence of convenient and pretty walks in and about the cities; a want which, I trust, will be supplied in time. In Stockbridge much pedestrian exercise may be and is accomplished; and I took the opportunity of indulging in it, much to the surprise of some persons, who were not aware how English ladies can walk. One very warm afternoon, we were going on a visit to Lenox, five miles off. My friends went in a wagon; I preferred walking. The widow's son watched me along the road, and then remarked, "You will see no more of her till you get to Lenox. I would not walk off at that rate, if they gave me Lenox when I got there."

In the evenings, we made a descent upon the village, or the village came up to us. In the latter case, our hostess was always ready with a simple and graceful welcome, and her best endeavours to provide seats for our many friends. If we staid below till after nine, the family had gone to rest on our return. We had only to lift the latch, light our candles, and make our way to the milk-pans, if we were thirsty. For twenty-five years, the widow has lived on the top of her hill, with only a latch to her door. She sleeps undefended, for she has no enemies; and in her village there are no thieves.

One night, when we were visiting some friends in the valley, it was brought home to us what it is to live in a place where there are no hackney coaches, or other travelling shelter. When we should have been going home, it was a tremendous spring-storm; wind, thunder and lightning, and rain in floods. We waited long; but it seemed to have no intention of abating. When at length we did set out, we were a remarkable looking troop; a gentlemanly young lawyer in a pea jacket; the other gentlemen in the roughest coats that could be found; the ladies leaving bonnets and caps behind, with handkerchiefs over their heads, India-rubbers on their feet, their dresses tucked up, and cloaks swathed round them. Our party were speeded up the hill by the fear that Charley would be wakened and alarmed by the storm; but it was a breathless sort of novelty to be working our way through one continued pond to the foot of the hill, and then up the slippery ascent, unbonneted, with the strangling gust in our faces, and no possibility of our finding our way in the pitchy darkness but by the flashes of blue lightning. Well clad as we were, we felt, I believe, something like being paupers, or gentry of the highway, or some such houseless personages exposed to the pelting of the pitiless storm. Charley was found to be sound asleep, and we ourselves no worse off than being steeped over the ankles.

The time came too soon when I must leave the beloved village, when I must see no longer the morning baking and the evening milking; and the soap cauldron boiling in the open air behind the house, with Charley mounted on a log, peeping into it; and the reading and working, and tying up of flowers in the afternoon. The time was come when the motherly and sisterly kiss were ready for me, and my country life in New England was at an end. It is well for us that our best pleasures have an immortality like our own; that the unseen life is a glorification of the seen. But for this, no one with a human heart would travel abroad, and attach himself to scenes and persons which he cannot but love, but which he must leave.

It was not always that the villagers of New England could place themselves on hill tops, and leave their doors unfastened. There is a striking contrast between their present security and the fears of their forefathers, in the days when the nursling went to church, because it was unsafe at home, in the absence of its father. Father, mother, and children, all went on one horse to meet the total population within the walls of the church; the one parent armed, the other prying about for traces of the fearful red man. Those were the days when the English regicides had fled to the colonies, and were there secreted. Those were the days when anything that was to be made known to all was announced in church, because everybody was sure to be there; and a fast-day was ordained if anything very remarkable was to be done, or conveyed. Sometimes formal announcements were made; sometimes intimations were so interwoven with the texture of the discourse, as that unfriendly ears, if such should be present, should not apprehend the meaning. When any emissary of Charles the Second was prowling in search of a concealed regicide, the pastor preached from some such text as, "Hide the outcasts. Bewray not him that wandereth;"[9] and the flock understood that they were to be on their guard against spies. Charles the Second could never get hold of one of his enemies who had taken refuge in these colonies.

On looking abroad over the valley of the Connecticut, from the top of Mount Holyoke, I saw the village of Hadley, seated in the meadows, and extending across a promontory, formed by the winding of the river. This promontory afforded a secure grazing ground for the cattle by day, which were driven by night into the area of the village, where the church stood. Goffe, the regicide, was concealed for many years in the parsonage at Hadley; all the people in the village, except two or three, being, in this instance, unaware of an outcast being among them. One Sunday, the Indians attacked the village while the people were all in church. The women and children were left in the church, while their husbands, fathers, and brothers went out to do battle with the cruel foe. It went hard with the whites; the Indians were fast bearing them down, when an unknown figure appeared in their ranks, with flowing robes, streaming white hair, and a glittering sword. The cry was raised that the angel Gabriel had been sent in answer to the prayers of the women in the church. Every spirit was cheered, every arm was nerved, and the Indians were beaten off, with great slaughter. Upon this, Gabriel vanished; but tradition long preserved the memory of his miraculous appearance. The very few who recognized in him Goffe, with his undressed hair, and in his morning gown, kept the secret faithfully. How blessed a change has come over rural life in Massachusetts since those days! Never may its peace and security be invaded by those social abuses which are more hateful than foreign spies; more cruel and treacherous than the injured and exasperated red man of the wilderness!

The contrast is also striking between the country life of New England and that of the west. I staid for some weeks in the house of a wealthy land-owner in Kentucky. Our days were passed in great luxury; and some of hottest of them very idly. The house was in the midst of grounds, gay with verdure and flowers, in the opening month of June; and our favourite seats were the steps of the hall, and chairs under the trees. From thence we could watch the play of the children on the grass-plat, and some of the drolleries of the little negroes. The red bird and the blue bird flew close by; and the black and white woodpecker with crimson head, tapped at all the tree-trunks, as if we were no interruption. We relished the table fare, after that with which we had been obliged to content ourselves on board the steam-boats. The tender meat, fresh vegetables, good claret and champagne, with the daily piles of strawberries and towers of ice-cream, were welcome luxuries. There were thirty-three horses in the stables, and we roved about the neighbouring country accordingly. There was more literature at hand than time to profit by it. Books could be had at home; but not the woods of Kentucky;—clear, sunny woods, with maple and sycamore springing up to a height which makes man feel dwarfish. The glades, with their turf so clean, every fallen leaf having been absorbed, reminded me of Ivanhoe, I almost looked for Gurth in my rambles. All this was, not many years ago, one vast canebrake, with a multitude of buffalo and deer: the pea-vine spreading everywhere, and the fertility far greater than even now.

One morning I took a lesson in rifle-shooting; the gentlemen having brought out their weapons for a few hours' sport among the squirrels. A rifle does not bounce like a musket, and affords, therefore, an easy beginning. I took aim at twenty-five paces, and hitting within an inch, thought it best to leave off with credit. A child of eighteen months stood in the middle of the gravel-walk, very composedly, while the rifles were popping off; and his elder brothers were busy examining the shots. Children seem born to their future pursuits, in new countries. Negro children seem all born riders and drivers. It was an amusement to see little children that in England could not hold themselves on a large horse, playing pranks with a whole equipage that they were leading to water.

In the afternoon of this day we took a long drive in search of buffalo; the only herd of those hideous animals now to be seen in Kentucky. None of the family liked to be left behind, so we filled the barouche and the phaeton, and Master H., eight years old, in his garden costume, mounted the mare, whose foal could not be induced to remain at home, and frolicked beside us all the way. We rattled on through lanes, over open ground above a pond, beneath locust groves, and beechen shades, seeing herds of mules, and the finest of cattle within the verge of the woods. The mules are raised for exportation to the fields of Louisiana. Then we reached the hill-side where eight buffalo were grazing, four of the pure and four of a mixed breed. The creatures stood looking at us as if they had been turned into stone at the sight of us. Their sidelong gaze, as they stood motionless beside a stump, or beneath a tree, was horrid. I never saw an eye and attitude of which I should be so much afraid. As they appeared to have no intention of moving a hair of their tails or huge necks while we halted, a little slave, named Oliver, was sent up the hill to put them in motion; there being no danger whatever in the operation. Oliver disappeared, and no result of his exertions was visible. When the buffalo and we had mutually stared for another five minutes, Oliver's master called to him to know what he was about. He replied that the buffalo looked too hard at him. At last, however, he went near enough to put them in motion; and then they moved all at once, each seeming more clumsy than the others in its headlong run. I am glad to have seen buffalo, but there is nothing to be said for their beauty or grace.

In the evening we repaired to the cool grass-plat, to amuse ourselves with the pretty sport of trying which should find out the first star. It was then ascertained that two gentlemen present were well qualified to entertain us with stories of horrible western murders,—more fearful than any other murders. So we sat till late at night, amidst summer lightning and the glancing of fire-flies, listening to the most harrowing and chilling set of tales of human misdeeds and their retributions, that it ever was my fortune to listen to. The Christmas firesides of England yield no impressions of horror like the plain facts of a life in the wilderness, told under the trees, in a sultry night, while the pale lightning is exploding on the horizon.

We had tidings of a camp-meeting to be held at some distance, the next day. I had never seen a camp-meeting; but the notice was too short, and the distance too great, and I missed the chance.

One of the slaves of a neighbouring gentleman came and asked his master what he would give him for two bee-holes. "You are a pretty fellow," said his master, "to ask me to pay for my own trees." The negro urged that his master would never have found out the bee-holes for himself; which was very true. He was referred to his mistress; and it was finally arranged that three of us English strangers should see the felling of a bee-tree; a spectacle we had all heard of, but not seen. A large party dined at this gentleman's house; and, presently after dinner, all set out in carriages, or on horseback, for the spot in the woods where the bee-tree stood. It was a shabby black walnut, which seemed scarcely fit company for the noble array of trees around it. It was of so respectable a circumference near the ground, however, and the negroes were making such slow progress into its interior, that it was plain we should have time for a drive in the woods before the catastrophe; so my host mounted the box of our barouche, and we wound hither and thither under the trees, over the rich grass; and, seldom having to stoop to avoid the branches, catching bright glimpses of a hundred glades. It was a full hour before the tree fell. We arrived just when it was chopped into the middle, and some minutes before the event. It is a pretty sight to see the top branches of the falling glory quiver, its canopy shake, and its huge bulk come crashing down, while everybody runs away at the shout which tells that it is coming. This tree fell on the wrong side, and destroyed several yards of fence, snapping the stakes, and setting them flying in all directions.

Straw and sulphur were burned in the hollow of the trunk. A few little startled bees flew out, and wreaked their vengeance on our host and myself; but most of them perished very quietly. I was asked whether I should like to look into the cleft; and when I was stepping over the bristling branches for the purpose, a bough was put into my hand, with directions to wave it before me. I returned, stung, but having seen what I wanted; and then I was told that if I had not waved a bough, I should have escaped the bees. Mine was the common fate of persons who follow unasked advice. Our host capered among the trees, with a bee or two under his cravat and hair. It was impossible to help laughing. A stout gentleman of the party did the same, under the mere idea of bees being upon him; and, while tossing his head and arms about, he ran up, with a great shock, against his own horse; on which sat a little negro, grinning from ear to ear. The result of the whole was,—half a tumbler glass full of blackened honey, and the high gratification of the spectators, native and foreign, unharmed and stung.

Such is a fair specimen of our life in the West. Contrasts rise up before my mind's eye, as the scenes of my journeying present themselves; contrasts in the face of the country, as striking as in the modes of living.

When I was at Salem, in Massachusetts, the friends whose hospitality I was enjoying proposed an excursion to Cape Ann, (the northern point of Massachusetts' bay,) and round the peninsula which constitutes the township of Gloucester. This excursion impressed me strongly, from the peculiar character of the scenery: but I know not whether it is an impression which can be conveyed by description. Whether it be or not, I would recommend all strangers to go and visit this peninsula; and, if convenient, in fine autumn weather, when the atmosphere lends its best aid to the characteristic charms of the landscape.

It was the 19th of October, a foggy morning, when we mounted the carry-all,—a carriage which holds four,—and drove merrily out of Salem, upon a carpet of fallen leaves. I love streets that have trees in them; Summer Street in Boston; State Street in Albany; and Chesnut Street in Salem. We passed through Beverley, where, as in most of the small New England towns, the population has a character of its own. At Marblehead, on the bay, near Salem, the people are noisy, restless, high-spirited, and democratic. At Beverley, in the near neighbourhood, they are quiet, economical, sober, and whig. Such, at least, is the theory: and one fact in this connexion is, that the largest sums in the Boston savings' banks are from Beverley. We passed over a long bridge,—a respectable toll-bridge. The Americans are not fond of tolls of above a certain age,—for fear of monopoly. There is a small bridge, called Spite Bridge, because it spites the Beverley toll, which is much used in preference. Seven miles further is Manchester;—how unlike the English Manchester! A mere with pond-lilies! woods with the glorious magnolia flourishing in the midst! This is the only place in New England where the magnolia grows. In summer, parties are formed to visit the woods; and children make much money as guides and gatherers. Cabinet-making is the great business of the place. We saw logs of mahogany lying outside the houses; and much furniture in pieces standing up against the walls, ready to be packed for New Orleans. The furniture of the southern cities is almost entirely derived from this neighbourhood. One manufacturer, who makes the furniture here, and sells it from his warehouse at New Orleans, has an income of 150,000 dollars. The inhabitants of Manchester are very prosperous. The houses were all good, except, here and there, the abode of a drunkard, known by its unpainted walls, loose shingles, broken shutters, and decayed door-step, in striking contrast with the neat white or yellow painted houses of the neighbours, with their bright windows, and spruce Venetian blinds.

Seven miles further, stands Gloucester; the road to it winding among wooded rocks; sometimes close down to the shore; and sometimes overhanging the rippling waters of Massachusetts Bay. The gay autumn copses harmonized well with the grey granite, out of which they seemed to grow; and with the pearly sea, sinning out from beneath the dissolving mist.

We crossed a little canal which opens into the bay, near Gloucester; and hastened onto the most interesting ground we had to traverse, stopping only a few minutes at Gloucester, to consult a map which indicated almost every rock and house in the peninsula.

The population of the peninsula is homogeneous. There is probably no individual beyond Gloucester whose parentage may not be referred to a particular set of people, at a particular date in English history. It has great wealth of granite and fish. It is composed of granite; and almost its only visitors are fish.

It is a singular region. If a little orchard plot is seen, here and there it seems rescued by some chance from being grown over with granite. It was pleasant to see such a hollow, with its apple tree, the ladder reared against it, the basket beneath, and the children picking up the fallen fruit. The houses look as if they were squeezed in among the rocks. The granite rises straight behind a house, encroaches on each side, and overhangs the roof, leaving space only for a sprinkling of grass about the door, for a red shrub or two to wave from a crevice, and a drip of water to flow down among gay weeds. Room for these dwellings is obtained by blasting the rocks. Formerly, people were frightened at fragments falling through the roof after a blasting: but now, it has become too common an occurrence to alarm any body. One precaution is enforced: no one is allowed to keep more than twenty-eight pounds of powder in one town or village; and the powder-houses may be seen, insulated on rocks, and looking something like watch-boxes, at some distance from every settlement. The school-houses are also remarkable buildings. The school-house may always be known at a glance: a single square room, generally painted white or pale green, and reared on a grassy eminence, with a number of small heads to be seen through the windows, or little people gathered about the door. There are twenty-one school-houses in this township of Gloucester, the population of which is nine thousand.

We dined at Sandy Bay, in a neat little hotel, whose windows bloomed with chrysanthemums, nasturtium, and geraniums; and where we feasted on chowder, an excellent dish when well cooked. It consists of fish, (in this instance haddock,) stewed in milk, with potatoes. The parlour table was graced with a fair collection of books; as was almost every parlour I saw, throughout the country. Sandy Bay is a thriving place. It has a pretty, and very conspicuous church, and a breakwater, built by the people, at an expense of 40,000 dollars, but now too small for their purposes. The Atlantic rolls in upon their coast fiercely in winter: and the utility of a harbour hereabouts for all vessels, is a sufficient ground for an application to Congress for an appropriation of 100,000 dollars, to make a larger breakwater. If the application has succeeded, Sandy Bay will soon be an important place. While dinner was preparing, we went down to the little harbour, and saw the dancing fishing-vessels, the ranges and piles of mackarel barrels, and an immense display of the fish drying. The mackarel fishery begins in June, and continues almost through the year. There are three orders of mackarel, to which the unfortunate individuals which are detained in their summer excursion are assigned, according to their plumpness; one dollar per barrel being the superiority of price of one over another.

After dinner, we proceeded on our travels, first visiting Cape Ann, the extreme north end of Massachusetts Bay. We had the bay before us, and the great Atlantic on our left. We ought to have seen Boston; but the fog had not quite cleared away in the distance. Thatcher's Island was near, with its two lighthouses, and a bright, green sea playing about it. Then we turned and drove northward along the shore, with busy and most picturesque quarries to our left. There were tall poles in the quarries, with stretched ropes, the pulleys by which the blocks of stone were raised: there were ox-teams and sleds: there were groups of workmen in the recesses of the rocks, and beside the teams, and about the little bays and creeks, where graceful sloops were riding under the lee of tiny breakwaters, where the embarkation of the stone for foreign parts goes on. Blocks of granite lay by the road-side, marked, either in reference to its quality, if for sale; or to its proportion among the materials which are being prepared to order for some great building in New York, or Mobile, or New Orleans. Some may wonder how granite should be exposed for sale in such a district; and who would be likely to buy it. I saw, this afternoon, gate-posts, corner-posts, and foundations of common houses, of undressed granite; and, also, an entire house, the abode of the blacksmith. The friend who sat beside me told me that he hoped to see many more such mechanics' dwellings before he dies. Stone becomes cheaper, and wood dearer, continually; and there is no question which is the more desirable material for those who can afford it. With regard to beauty merely, I know of no building material to equal granite; dressed in the city; undressed in the country. We went into a quarry, and saw an untold wealth of fissured stone. The workmen contrive to pursue their business even in the winter. When the snow is on the ground, and the process of drilling is stopped, they remove ordinary pieces out of the way, and make all clear for their spring labours. They "turn out" 250,000 dollars'-worth a-year; and the demand is perpetually on the increase.

Along the north side of the peninsula the road was very pretty. The grey, distant coast of New Hampshire bounded the sea view. Groups of children were playing on the sands of a deep cove; and the farmers were collecting or spreading their manure of sea-weed and fish-heads. Squam river, which forms the peninsula, flowed out into the sea, and the village of Annisquam spread along its bank. We crossed the bridge, close by the only tide mill I ever saw. It works for six hours, and stops for six, while the flow of the tide fills the pond above. The gates are then shut, and a water-power is obtained till the tide again flows.

We saw what we could of Gloucester, on our return to that little town, before sunset. There are some very good houses, newly-built; and the place has the air of prosperity that gladdens the eye wherever it turns, in New England. We ran down to the shore. It is overlooked by a windmill, from whose grassy platform we beheld the scene in the singular light which here succeeds an autumn sunset. The sky and sea were, without exaggeration, of a deep scarlet: Ten Pound Island sat black upon the waters, with its yellow beacon just lighted. Fishing vessels lay still, every rope being reflected in the red mirror; and a boat, in which a boy was sculling across the harbour, was the only moving object.

After tea, a clergyman and his wife called; and then a long succession of the hospitable inhabitants of Gloucester came to bid us welcome: from which it appeared that small articles of intelligence circulate as rapidly here as in other country-places. In another respect, Gloucester resembled all the villages and small towns I passed through: in the pretty attention of presenting flowers. In some of the larger cities, bouquets of rich and rare flowers were sent to me, however severe might have been the frost, or however dreary the season. In the smallest villages, I had offerings, quite as welcome, in bunches of flowers from the woods and meadows. Many of these last were new to me, and as gladly received as the luscious hyacinths which greeted me every morning at Charleston. At Lenox, in Massachusetts, where I spent one night, my table was covered with meadow-flowers, and with fine specimens of Jack-in-the-pulpit, and the moccassin-flower, or lady's slipper: and at Gloucester, when I returned from my early visit to the beach, where I had been to see the fishermen go out, I found a gorgeous bouquet of autumn flowers; dahlias more various and rich than could have been supposed to grow in such a region.

On our return to Salem, we diverged a little from our road, near Manchester, to see a farm, whose situation would make an envious person miserable. The house lies under the shelter of a wooded hill, and enjoys a glorious view of Massachusetts Bay. The property lies between two bays, and has a fine fishing-station off the point. The fields look fertile, and a wide range of pasturage skirts the bay. A woman and children were busy in the orchard, with a cart and barrels, taking in a fine crop of apples; and we could only hope that they were sensible of their privilege in living in such a place. These are the region, teeming with the virtues of the Pilgrims, and as yet uninfected by the mercenary and political cowardice of the cities, where the most gladdening aspects of human life are to be seen.

The newly-settled districts of the southern States are as unlike as possible to all this. They are extreme opposite cases. If human life presents its fairest aspects in the retired townships of New England,—some of its very worst, perhaps, are seen in the raw settlements of Alabama and Mississippi.

When we drew near to Columbus, Georgia, we were struck with amazement at the stories that were told, and the anecdotes that were dropped, in the stage, about recent attempts on human life in the neighbourhood; and at the number of incidents of the same kind which were the news of the day along the road. Our driver from Macon had been shot at, in attempting to carry off a young lady. A gentleman, boarding in the hotel at Columbus, was shot in the back, in the street, and laid by for months. No inquiry was made, or nothing came of it. The then present governor of the State of Mississippi had recently stood over two combatants, pistol in hand, to see fair play. This was stated as a remarkable fact. The landlord of the house where we stopped to breakfast on the day we were to reach Columbus, April 9th, 1835, was, besides keeping a house of entertainment, a captain of militia, and a member of the legislature of Georgia. He was talking over with his guests a late case of homicide in a feud between the Myers and Macklimore families. He declared that he would have laws like those of the Medes and Persians against homicide; and, in the same breath, said that if he were a Myers, he would shoot Mr. Macklimore and all his sons.

We arrived at Columbus before sunset, and determined to stay a day to see how the place had got on since Captain Hall saw it cut out of the woods, ten years before. During the evening, I could do nothing but watch the Indians from my window. The place swarmed with them; a few Choctaws, and the rest Creeks. A sad havoc has taken place among them since; and this neighbourhood has been made the scene of a short but fierce war. But all looked fair and friendly when we were there. Groups of Indians were crouching about the entries of the stores, or looking in at the windows. The squaws went by, walking one behind another, with their hair, growing low on the forehead, loose, or tied at the back of the head, forming a fine contrast with the young lady who had presided at our breakfast-table at five that morning, with her long hair braided and adorned with brilliant combs, while her fingers shone in pearl and gold rings. These squaws carried large Indian baskets on their backs, and shuffled along, bare-footed, while their lords paced before them, well mounted; or, if walking, gay with blue and red clothing and embroidered leggings, with tufts of hair at the knees, while pouches and white fringes dangled about them. They looked like grave merry-andrews; or, more still, like solemn fanatical harvest men going out for largess. By eight o'clock they had all disappeared; but the streets were full of them again the next morning.

Our hostess was civil, and made no difficulty about giving us a late breakfast by ourselves, in consideration of our fatigues. Before one o'clock we dined, in company with seventy-five persons, at one long table. The provisions were good, but ill-cooked; and the knives so blunt that it was a mystery to me how the rest of the company obtained so quick a succession of mouthfuls as they did.

The Chattahoochee, on whose banks Columbus stands, is unlike any river I saw in the United States, unless it be some parts of the Susquehanna. Its rapids, overhung by beech and pine woods, keep up a perpetual melody, grateful alike to the ear of the white and the red man. It is broad and full, whirling over and around the rocks with which it is studded, and under the frail wooden foot-bridge which spans a portion of its width, between the shore and a pile of rocks in the middle of the channel. On this foot-bridge I stood, and saw a fish caught in a net laid among the eddies. A dark fisherman stood on each little promontory; and a group was assembled about some canoes in a creek on the opposite Alabama shore, where the steepness of the hills seemed scarcely to allow a foothold between the rushing water and the ascent. The river is spanned by a long covered bridge, which we crossed the same night on our way into Alabama.

There are three principal streets in Columbus, with many smaller, branching out into the forest. Some pretty bits of greensward are left, here and there, with a church, or a detached house upon each—village-like. There are some good houses, five hotels, and a population of above 2,000,—as nearly as I could make out among the different accounts of the accession of inhabitants since the census. The stores looked creditably stocked; and a great many gentlemanly men were to be seen in the streets. It bears the appearance of being a thriving, spacious, handsome village, well worth stopping to see.

We left it, at seven in the evening, by the long bridge, at the other end of which we stopped for the driver to hold a parley, about a parcel, with a woman, who spoke almost altogether in oaths. A gentleman in the stage remarked, that we must have got quite to the end of the world. The roads were as bad as roads could be; and we rolled from side to side so incessantly, as to obviate all chance of sleeping. The passengers were very patient during the hours of darkness; but, after daylight, they seemed to think they had been long enough employed in shifting their weight to keep the coach on its four wheels. "I say, driver," cried one, "you won't upset us, now daylight is come?" "Driver," shouted another, "keep this side up." "Gentlemen," replied the driver, "I shall mind nothing you say till the ladies begin to complain." A reply equally politic and gallant.

At half past five, we stopped to breakfast at a log dwelling, composed of two rooms, with an open passage between. We asked for water and towel. There was neither basin nor towel; but a shallow tin dish of water was served up in the open passage where all our fellow-travellers were standing. We asked leave to carry our dish into the right-hand room. The family were not all dressed. Into the left-hand room. A lady lodged there!

We travelled till sunset through the Creek Territory, the roads continuing to be extremely bad. The woods were superb in their spring beauty. The thickets were in full leaf; and the ground was gay with violets, may-apple, buck-eye, blue lupin, iris, and crow-poison. The last is like the white lily, growing close to the ground. Its root, boiled, mixed with corn, and thrown out into the fields, poisons crows. If eaten by cattle, it injures but does not destroy them. The sour-wood is a beautiful shrub. To-day it looked like a splendid white fuchsia, with tassels of black butterflies hanging from the extremities of the twigs. But the grandest flower of all, perhaps the most exquisite I ever beheld, is the honeysuckle of the southern woods. It bears little resemblance to the ragged flower which has the same name elsewhere. It is a globe of blossoms, larger than my hand, growing firmly at the end of an upright stalk, with the richest and most harmonious colouring, the most delicate long anthers, and the flowers exquisitely grouped among the leaves. It is the queen of flowers. I generally contrived, in my journeys through the southern States, to have a bunch of honeysuckles in the stage before my eyes; and they seemed to be visible wherever I turned, springing from the roots of the forest trees, or dangling from their topmost boughs, or mixing in with the various greens of the thickets.

We saw to-day, the common sight of companies of slaves travelling westwards; and the very uncommon one of a party returning into South Carolina. When we overtook such a company proceeding westwards, and asked where they were going, the answer commonly given by the slaves was, "Into Yellibama."—Sometimes these poor creatures were encamped under the care of the slave-trader, on the banks of a clear stream, to spend a day in washing their clothes. Sometimes they were loitering along the road; the old folks and infants mounted on the top of a wagon-load of luggage; the able-bodied, on foot, perhaps silent, perhaps laughing; the prettier of the girls, perhaps with a flower in the hair, and a lover's arm around her shoulder. There were wide differences in the air and gait of these people. It is usual to call the most depressed of them brutish in appearance. In some sense they are so; but I never saw in any brute an expression of countenance so low, so lost, as in the most degraded class of negroes. There is some life and intelligence in the countenance of every animal; even in that of "the silly sheep," nothing so dead as the vacant, unheeding look of the depressed slave is to be seen. To-day, there was a spectacle by the roadside which showed that this has nothing to do with negro nature; though no such proof is needed by those who have seen negroes in favourable circumstances, and know how pleasant an aspect those grotesque features may wear. To-day we passed, in the Creek Territory, an establishment of Indians who held slaves. Negroes are anxious to be sold to Indians, who give them moderate work, and accommodations as good as their own. Those seen to-day among the Indians, were sleek, intelligent, and cheerful-looking, like the most favoured house-slaves, or free servants of colour, where the prejudice is least strong.

We were on the look-out for Indians, all the way through this Creek Territory. Some on horseback gave us a grave glance as we passed. Some individuals were to be seen in the shadow of the forest, leaning against a tree or a fence. One lay asleep by the roadside, overcome with "whiskey too much," as they style intoxication. They are so intent on having their full bargain of whiskey, that they turn their bottle upside down, when it has been filled to the cork, to have the hollow at the bottom filled. The piazza at the post-office was full of solemn Indians. Miserable-looking squaws were about the dwellings, with their naked children, who were gobbling up their supper of hominy from a wooden bowl.

We left the Creek Territory just as the full moon rose, and hoped to reach Montgomery by two hours before midnight. We presently began to ascend a long hill; and the gentlemen passengers got out, according to custom, to walk up the rising ground. In two minutes, the driver stopped, and came to tell us ladies that he was sorry to trouble us to get out; but that an emigrant's wagon had blocked up the ford of a creek which we had to cross; and he feared we might be wetted if we remained in the stage while he took it through a deeper part. A gentleman was waiting, he said, to hand us over the log which was to be our bridge. This gentleman, I believe, was the emigrant himself. I made for what seemed to me the end of the log; but was deceived by the treacherous moonlight, which made wood, ground, and water, look all one colour. I plunged up to the waist into the creek; and, when I was out again, could hardly keep upon the log for laughing. There was time, before we overtook the rest of the party, to provide against my taking cold; and there remained only the ridiculous image of my deliberate walk into the water.

It must not be supposed a common circumstance that an emigrant's wagon was left in a creek. The "camping out" is usually done in a sheltered, dry spot in the woods, not far from some little stream, where the kettle may be filled, and where the dusty children may be washed. Sleepy as I might be, in our night journeys, I was ever awake to this picture, and never tired of contemplating it. A dun haze would first appear through the darkness; and then gleams of light across the road. Then the whole scene opened. If earlier than ten at night, the fire would be blazing, the pot boiling, the shadowy horses behind, at rest, the groups fixed in their attitudes to gaze at us, whether they were stretching their sailcloth on poles to windward, or drawing up the carts in line, or gathering sticks, or cooking. While watching us, they little thought what a picture they themselves made. If after midnight, the huge fire was flickering and smouldering; figures were seen crouching under the sailcloth, or a head or two was lifted up in the wagon. A solitary figure was seen in relief against the fire; the watch, standing to keep himself awake; or, if greeted by our driver, thrusting a pine slip into the fire, and approaching with his blazing torch to ask or to give information. In the morning, the places where such encampments have been cannot be mistaken. There is a clear, trodden space, strewed with chips and refuse food, with the bare poles which had supported the sailcloth, standing in the midst, and a scorched spot where the fire had been kindled. Others, besides emigrants, camp out in the woods. Farmers, on their way to a distant market, find it cheaper to bring food, and trust otherwise to the hospitality of dame Nature, than to put up at hotels. Between the one and the other, we were amply treated with the untiring spectacle.

We had bespoken accommodations for the night at the hotel at Montgomery, by a friend who had preceded us. On our arrival at past eleven o'clock, we found we were expected; but no one would have guessed it. In my chamber, there was neither water, nor sheets, nor anything that afforded a prospect of my getting to rest, wet as my clothes were. We were hungry, and tired, and cold; and there was no one to help us but a slave, who set about her work as slaves do. We ate some biscuits that we had with us, and gave orders, and made requests with so much success as to have the room in tolerable order by an hour after midnight. When I awoke in the morning, the first thing I saw was, that two mice were running after one another round my trunk, and that the floor of the room seemed to contain the dust of a twelvemonth. The breakfast was to atone for all. The hostess and another lady, three children, and an array of slaves, placed themselves so as to see us eat our breakfast; but it seemed to me that the contents of the table were more wonderful to look at than ourselves. Besides the tea and coffee, there were corn bread, buns, buck-wheat cakes, broiled chicken, bacon, eggs, rice, hominy, fish, fresh and pickled, and beef-steak. The hostess strove to make us feel at home, and recommended her plentiful meal by her hearty welcome to it. She was anxious to explain that her house was soon to be in better order. Her husband was going to Mobile to buy furniture; and, just now, all was in confusion, from her head slave having swallowed a fish bone, and being unable to look after the affairs of the house. When our friends came to carry us to their plantation, she sent in refreshments, and made herself one of the party, in all heartiness.

It was Sunday, and we went to the Methodist church, hoping to hear the regular pastor, who is a highly-esteemed preacher. But a stranger was in the pulpit, who gave us an extraordinary piece of doctrine, propounded with all possible vehemence. His text was the passage about the tower of Siloam; and his doctrine was that great sinners would somehow die a violent death. Perhaps this might be thought a useful proposition in a town where life is held so cheap as in Montgomery; but we could not exactly understand how it was derived from the text. The place was intensely light and hot, there being no blinds to the windows, on each side of the pulpit: and the quietness of the children was not to be boasted of.

On the way to our friends' plantation, we passed a party of negroes, enjoying their Sunday drive. They never appear better than on such occasions, as they all ride and drive well, and are very gallant to their ladies. We passed a small prairie, the first we had seen; and very serene and pretty it looked, after the forest. It was green and undulating, with a fringe of trees.

Our friends, now residing seven miles from Montgomery, were from South Carolina; and the lady, at least, does not relish living in Alabama. It was delightful to me to be a guest in such an abode as theirs. They were about to build a good house: meantime, they were in one which I liked exceedingly: a log-house, with the usual open passage in the middle. Roses and honeysuckles, to which humming-birds resort, grew before the door. Abundance of books, and handsome furniture and plate, were within the house, while daylight was to be seen through its walls. In my well furnished chamber, I could see the stars through the chinks between the logs. During the summer, I should be sorry to change this primitive kind of abode for a better.

It is not difficult to procure the necessaries and comforts of life. Most articles of food are provided on the plantation. Wine and groceries are obtained from Mobile or New Orleans; and clothing and furniture from the north. Tea is twenty shillings English per lb.; brown sugar, threepence-halfpenny; white sugar, sixpence-halfpenny. A gentleman's family, where there are children to be educated, cannot live for less than from seven hundred pounds to one thousand pounds per annum. The sons take land and buy slaves very early; and the daughters marry almost in childhood; so that education is less thought of, and sooner ended, than in almost any part of the world. The pioneers of civilisation, as the settlers in these new districts may be regarded, care for other things more than for education; or they would not come. They are, from whatever motive, money-getters; and few but money-getting qualifications are to be looked for in them. It was partly amusing, and partly sad, to observe the young people of these regions; some, fit for a better mode of life, discontented; some youths pedantic, some maidens romantic, to a degree which makes the stranger almost doubt the reality of the scenes and personages before his eyes. The few better educated who come to get money, see the absurdity, and feel the wearisomeness of this kind of literary cultivation; but the being in such society is the tax they must pay for making haste to be rich.

I heard in Montgomery of a wealthy old planter in the neighbourhood, who has amassed millions of dollars, while his children can scarcely write their names. Becoming aware of their deficiencies, as the place began to be peopled from the eastward, he sent a son of sixteen to school, and a younger one to college; but they proved "such gawks," that they were unable to learn, or even to remain in the society of others who were learning; and their old father has bought land in Missouri, whither he was about to take his children, to remove them from the contempt of their neighbours. They are doomed to the lowest office of social beings; to be the mechanical, unintelligent pioneers of man in the wilderness. Surely such a warning as this should strike awe into the whole region, lest they should also perish to all the best purposes of life, by getting to consider money, not as a means, but an end.

I suppose there must be such pioneers; but the result is a society which it is a punishment to its best members to live in. There is pedantry in those who read; prejudice in those who do not; coxcombry among the young gentlemen; bad manners among the young ladies; and an absence of all reference to the higher, the real objects of life. When to all this is added that tremendous curse, the possession of irresponsible power, (over slaves,) it is easy to see how character must become, in such regions, what it was described to me on the spot, "composed of the chivalric elements, badly combined:" and the wise will feel that, though a man may save his soul anywhere, it is better to live on bread and water where existence is most idealized, than to grow suddenly rich in the gorgeous regions where mind is corrupted or starved amidst the luxuriance of nature. The hard-working settler of the north-west, who hews his way into independence with his own hands, is, or may be, exempt from the curse of this mental corruption or starvation; but it falls inevitably and heavily upon those who fatten upon the bounty of Nature, in the society of money-getters like themselves, and through the labours of degraded fellow-men, whom they hold in their injurious power.

We saw several plantations while we were in this neighbourhood. Nothing can be richer than the soil of one to which we went, to take a lesson in cotton-growing. It will never want more than to have the cotton seed returned to it. We saw the plough, which is very shallow. Two throw up a ridge, which is wrought by hand into little mounds. After these are drilled, the seed is put in by hand. This plantation consists of nine hundred and fifty acres, and is flourishing in every way. The air is healthy, as the situation is high prairie land. The water is generally good; but, after rain, so impregnated with lime, as to be disagreeable to the smell and taste. Another grievance is, a weed which grows on the prairie, which the cows like in summer, but which makes the milk so disagreeable, that cream, half-an-inch thick, is thrown to the pigs. They only can estimate this evil who know what the refreshment of milk is in hot climates. Another grievance is, that no trees can be allowed to grow near the house, for fear of the mosquitoes. Everything else is done for coolness; there are wide piazzas on both sides of the house; the rooms are lofty, and amply provided with green blinds; but all this does not compensate to the eye for the want of the shade of trees. The bareness of the villages of the south is very striking to the eye of a stranger, as he approaches them. They lie scorching and glaring on the rising grounds, or on the plain, hazy with the heat, while the forest, with its myriads of trees, its depth of shade, is on the horizon. But the plague of mosquitoes is a sufficient warrant for any sacrifice of the pleasures of the eye; for they allow but little enjoyment of anything in their presence.

On this, and many other estates that we saw, the ladies make it their business to cut out all the clothes for the negroes. Many a fair pair of hands have I seen dyed with blue, and bearing the marks of the large scissars. The slave women cannot be taught, it is said, to cut out even their scanty and unshapely garments economically. Nothing can be more hideous than their working costume. There would be nothing to lose on the score of beauty, and probably much gained, if they could be permitted to clothe themselves. But it is universally said that they cannot learn. A few ladies keep a woman for this purpose, very naturally disliking the coarse employment.

We visited the negro quarter; a part of the estate which filled me with disgust, wherever I went. It is something between a haunt of monkeys and a dwelling-place of human beings. The natural good taste, so remarkable in free negroes, is here extinguished. Their small, dingy, untidy houses, their cribs, the children crouching round the fire, the animal deportment of the grown-up, the brutish chagrins and enjoyments of the old, were all loathsome. There was some relief in seeing the children playing in the sun, and sometimes fowls clucking and strutting round the houses; but otherwise, a walk through a lunatic asylum is far less painful than a visit to the slave quarter of an estate. The children are left, during working hours, in the charge of a woman; and they are bright, and brisk, and merry enough, for the season, however slow and stupid they may be destined to become.

My next visit was to a school—the Franklin Institute, in Montgomery, established by a gentleman who has bestowed unwearied pains on its organization, and to whose care it does great credit. On our approach, we saw five horses walking about the enclosure, and five saddles hung over the fence: a true sign that some of the pupils came from a distance. The school was hung with prints; there was a collection of shells; many books and maps; and some philosophical apparatus. The boys, and a few girls, were steadily employed over their books and mapping; and nothing could exceed the order and neatness of the place. If the event corresponds with the appearance, the proprietor must be one of the most useful citizens the place has yet been honoured with.

I spent some days at a plantation a few miles from Montgomery, and heard there of an old lady who treats her slaves in a way very unusual, but quite safe, as far as appears. She gives them knowledge, which is against the law; but the law leaves her in peace and quiet. She also commits to them the entire management of the estate, requiring only that they should make her comfortable, and letting them take the rest. There is an obligation by law to keep an overseer; to obviate insurrection. How she manages about this, I omitted to inquire: but all goes on well; the cultivation of the estate is creditable, and all parties are contented. This is only a temporary ease and contentment. The old lady must die; and her slaves will either be sold to a new owner, whose temper will be an accident; or, if freed, must leave the State: but the story is satisfactory in as far as it gives evidence of the trust-worthiness of the negroes.

Our drives about the plantation and neighbouring country were delicious. The inundations from the rivers are remarkable; a perfect Eden appears when they subside. At the landing place of this plantation, I saw a board nailed near the top of a lofty tree, and asked what it could be for. It was the high-water mark. The river, the Alabama, was now upwards of twenty feet higher than usual; and logs, corn-stalks, and green boughs were being carried down its rapid current, as often as we went to the shore. There were evidences of its having laid even houses under water; but, on its subsiding, it would be found to have left a deposit of two inches and a half of fine new soil on the fields on either side of its channel. I never stood on the banks of the southern rivers without being reminded of Daniell's Views in India and Ceylon: the water level, shadowy and still, and the thickets actually springing out of it, with dark-green recesses, with the relief of a slender white stem, or dangling creeper here and there. Some creepers rise like a ladder, straight from the water to a bough one hundred and twenty feet high. As for the softness of the evening light on the water, it is indescribable. It is as if the atmosphere were purified from all mortal breathings, it is so bright, and yet not dazzling; there is such a profusion of verdure.

There were black women ploughing in the field, with their ugly, scanty, dingy dresses, their walloping gait, and vacant countenance. There were scarlet and blue birds flitting over the dark fallows. There was persimon sprouting in the woods, and the young corn-plants in the field, with a handful of cotton-seed laid round each sprout. There was a view from a bluff which fully equalled all my expectations of what the scenery of the southern States would be; yet, tropical as it was in many respects, it reminded me strongly of the view from Richmond Hill. We were standing on the verge of a precipice, of a height which I dare not specify. A deep fissure to our right was spanned by a log which it made one shudder to think of crossing. Behind us lay a cotton-field of 7,000 acres within one fence. All this, and the young aloes, and wild vines, were little enough like Richmond; and so was the faint blue line of hills on the horizon; but it was the intervening plain, through which the river ran, and on which an infinite variety of noble trees grew, as it appeared, to an interminable distance. Here their tops seemed woven into compactness; there they were so sprinkled as to display the majesty and grace of their forms. I looked upon this as a glorification of the Richmond view.

It was now the middle of April. In the kitchen garden the peas were ripening, and the strawberries turning red, though the spring of 1835 was very backward. We had salads, young asparagus, and radishes.

The following may be considered a pretty fair account of the provision for a planter's table, at this season; and, except with regard to vegetables, I believe it does not vary much throughout the year. Breakfast at seven; hot wheat bread, generally sour; corn bread, biscuits, waffles, hominy, dozens of eggs, broiled ham, beef-steak or broiled fowl, tea and coffee. Lunch at eleven; cake and wine, or liqueur. Dinner at two; now and then soup (not good,) always roast turkey and ham; a boiled fowl here, a tongue there; a small piece of nondescript meat, which generally turns out to be pork disguised; hominy, rice, hot corn-bread, sweet potatoes; potatoes mashed with spice, very hot; salad and radishes, and an extraordinary variety of pickles. Of these, you are asked to eat everything with everything else. If you have turkey and ham on your plate, you are requested to add tongue, pork, hominy, and pickles. Then succeed pies of apple, squash, and pumpkin; custard, and a variety of preserves as extraordinary as the preceding pickles: pine-apple, peach, limes, ginger, guava jelly, cocoa-nut, and every sort of plums. These are almost all from the West-Indies. Dispersed about the table are shell almonds, raisins, hickory, and other nuts; and, to crown the whole, large blocks of ice-cream. Champagne is abundant, and cider frequent. Ale and porter may now and then be seen; but claret is the most common drink. During dinner a slave stands at a corner of the table, keeping off the flies by waving a large bunch of peacock's feathers fastened into a handle,—an ampler fan than those of our grandmothers.

Supper takes place at six, or seven. Sometimes the family sits round the table; but more commonly the tray is handed round, with plates which must be held in the lap. Then follow tea and coffee, waffles, biscuits, sliced ham or hung-beef, and sweet cake. Last of all, is the offer of cake and wine at nine or ten.

The profits of cotton-growing, when I was in Alabama, were thirty-five per cent. One planter whom I knew had bought fifteen thousand dollars' worth of land within two years, which he could then have sold for sixty-five thousand dollars. He expected to make, that season, fifty or sixty thousand dollars of his growing crop. It is certainly the place to become rich in; but the state of society is fearful. One of my hosts, a man of great good-nature, as he shows in the treatment of his slaves, and in his family relations, had been stabbed in the back in the reading-room of the town, two years before, and no prosecution was instituted. Another of my hosts carried loaded pistols for a fortnight, just before I arrived, knowing that he was lain in wait for by persons against whose illegal practices he had given information to a magistrate, whose carriage was therefore broken in pieces, and thrown into the river. A lawyer with whom we were in company one afternoon, was sent for to take the deposition of a dying man who had been sitting with his family in the shade, when he received three balls in the back from three men who took aim at him from behind trees. The tales of jail-breaking and rescue were numberless; and a lady of Montgomery told me that she had lived there four years, during which time no day, she believed, had passed without some one's life having been attempted, either by duelling or assassination. It will be understood that I describe this region as presenting an extreme case of the material advantages and moral evils of a new settlement, under the institution of slavery. The most prominent relief is the hospitality,—that virtue of young society. It is so remarkable, and to the stranger so grateful, that there is danger of its blinding him to the real state of affairs. In the drawing-room, the piazza, the barouche, all is so gay and friendly, there is such a prevailing hilarity and kindness, that it seems positively ungrateful and unjust to pronounce, even in one's own heart, that all this way of life is full of wrong and peril. Yet it is impossible to sit down to reflect, with every order of human beings filling an equal space before one's mental eye, without being struck to the soul with the conviction that the state of society, and no less of individual families, is false and hollow, whether their members are aware of it or not; that they forget that they must be just before they can be generous. The severity of this truth is much softened to sympathetic persons on the spot; but it returns with awful force when they look back upon it from afar.

In the slave quarter of a plantation hereabouts I saw a poor wretch who had run away three times, and been re-captured. The last time he was found in the woods, with both legs frost-bitten above the knees, so as to render amputation necessary. I passed by when he was sitting on the door-step of his hut, and longed to see him breathe his last. But he is a young man, likely to drag out his helpless and hopeless existence for many a dreary year. I dread to tell the rest; but such things must be told sometimes, to show to what a pass of fiendish cruelty the human spirit may be brought by merely witnessing the exercise of irresponsible power over the defenceless. I give the very words of the speaker, premising that she is not American by birth or education, nor yet English.

The master and mistress of this poor slave, with their children, had always treated him and his fellow-slaves very kindly. He made no complaint of them. It was not from their cruelty that he attempted to escape. His running away was therefore a mystery to the person to whom I have alluded. She recapitulated all the clothes that had been given to him; and all the indulgences, and forgivenesses for his ingratitude in running away from such a master, with which he had been blessed. She told me that she had advised his master and mistress to refuse him clothes, when he had torn his old ones with trying to make his way through the woods; but his master had been too kind, and had again covered his nakedness. She turned round upon me, and asked what could make the ungrateful wretch run away a third time from such a master?

"He wanted to be free."

"Free! from such a master!"

"From any master."

"The villain! I went to him when he had had his legs cut off, and I said to him, it serves you right...."

"What! when you knew he could not run away any more?"

"Yes, that I did; I said to him, you wretch! but for your master's sake I am glad it has happened to you. You deserve it, that you do. If I were your master I would let you die; I'd give you no help nor nursing. It serves you right; it is just what you deserve. It's fit that it should happen to you ...!"

"You did not—you dared not so insult the miserable creature!" I cried.

"Oh, who knows," replied she, "but that the Lord may bless a word of grace in season!"

Some readers may conceive this to be a freak of idiotcy. It was not so. This person is shrewd and sensible in matters where rights and duties are not in question. Of these she is, as it appears, profoundly ignorant; in a state of superinduced darkness; but her character is that of a clever, and, with some, a profoundly religious woman. Happily, she has no slaves of her own: at least, no black ones.

I saw this day, driving a wagon, a man who is a schoolmaster, lawyer, almanack-maker, speculator in old iron, and dealer in eggs, in addition to a few other occupations. His must be a very active existence.

This little history of a portion of my southern journey may give an idea of what life is in the wilder districts of the south. I will offer but one more sketch, and that will exemplify life in the wilder districts of the north. The picture of my travels in and around Michigan will convey the real state of things there, at present.

Our travelling party consisted of Mr. and Mrs. L., the before-mentioned Charley, his father and mother, and myself. We were prepared to see everything to advantage; for there was strong friendship among us all; and a very unusual agreement of opinion on subjects which education, temperament, or the circumstances of the time, made most interesting to us. The great ornament of the party—our prince of Denmark—was Charley; a boy of uncommon beauty and promise, and fully worthy of the character given him by one of our drivers, with whom the boy had ingratiated himself by his chatter on the box;—"An eternal smart boy, and the greatest hand at talk I ever came across."

We landed at Detroit, from Lake Erie, at seven o'clock in the morning of the 13th of June, 1836. We reached the American just in time for breakfast. At that long table, I had the pleasure of seeing the healthiest set of faces that I had beheld since I left England. The breakfast was excellent, and we were served with much consideration; but the place was so full, and the accommodations of Detroit are so insufficient for the influx of people who are betaking themselves thither, that strangers must patiently put up with much delay and inconvenience till new houses of entertainment are opened. We had to wait till near one o'clock before any of us could have a room in which to dress; but I had many letters to write, and could wait; and before I had done, Charley came with his shining face and clean collar, to show me that accommodation had been provided. In the afternoon, we saw what we could of the place, and walked by the side of the full and tranquil river St. Clair. The streets of the town are wide and airy; but the houses, churches, and stores, are poor for the capital city of a Territory or State. This is a defect which is presently cured, in the stirring northern regions of the United States. Wooden planks, laid on the grass, form the pavement, in all the outskirts of the place. The deficiency is of stone, not of labour. Thousands of settlers are pouring in every year; and of these, many are Irish, Germans, or Dutch, working their way into the back country, and glad to be employed for a while at Detroit, to earn money to carry them further. Paving-stones will be imported here, I suppose, as I saw them at New Orleans, to the great improvement of the health and comfort of the place. The block-wood pavement, of which trial has been made in a part of Broadway, New York, is thought likely to answer better at Detroit than any other kind, and is going to be tried.

The country round Detroit is as flat as can be imagined; and, indeed, it is said that the highest mountain in the State boasts only sixty feet of elevation. A lady of Detroit once declared, that if she were to build a house in Michigan, she would build a hill first. The Canada side of the river looks dull enough from the city; but I cannot speak from a near view of it, having been disappointed in my attempts to get over to it. On one occasion, we were too late for the ferry-boat; and we never had time again for the excursion.

A cool wind from the northern lakes blows over the whole face of the country, in the midst of the hottest days of summer; and in the depth of winter, the snow never lies deep, nor long. These circumstances may partly account for the healthiness of the row of faces at the table of the American.

The society of Detroit is very choice; and, as it has continued so since the old colonial days, through the territorial days, there is every reason to think that it will become, under its new dignities, a more and more desirable place of residence. Some of its interior society is still very youthful; a gentleman, for instance, saying in the reading-room, in the hearing of one of our party, that, though it did not sound well at a distance, Lynching[10] was the only way to treat Abolitionists: but the most enlightened society is, I believe, equal to any which is to be found in the United States. Here we began to see some of the half-breeds, of whom we afterwards met so many at the north. They are the children of white men who have married squaws; and may be known at a glance, not only by the dark complexion, but by the high cheekbones, straight black hair, and an indescribable mischievous expression about the eyes. I never saw such imps and Flibbertigibbets as the half-breed boys that we used to see rowing or diving in the waters, or playing pranks on the shores of Michigan.

We had two great pleasures this day; a drive along the quiet Lake St. Clair, and a charming evening party at General Mason's. After a pilgrimage through the State of New York, a few exciting days at Niagara, and a disagreeable voyage along Lake Erie, we were prepared to enjoy to the utmost the novelty of a good evening party; and we were as merry as children at a ball. It was wholly unexpected to find ourselves in accomplished society on the far side of Lake Erie; and there was something stimulating in the contrast between the high civilisation of the evening, and the primitive scenes that we were to plunge into the next day. Though we had to pack up and write, and be off very early in the morning, we were unable to persuade ourselves to go home till late; and then we talked over Detroit as if we were wholly at leisure.

The scenery of Lake St. Clair was new to me. I had seen nothing in the United States like its level green banks, with trees slanting over the water, festooned with the wild vine; the groups of cattle beneath them; the distant steam-boat, scarcely seeming to disturb the grey surface of the still waters. This was the first of many scenes in Michigan which made me think of Holland; though the day of canals has not yet arrived.

15th. An obliging girl at the American provided us with coffee and biscuits at half-past five, by which time our "exclusive extra" was at the door. Charley had lost his cap. It was impossible that he should go bare-headed through the State; and it was lucky for us that a store was already open where he was furnished in a trice with a willow-hat. The brimming river was bright in the morning sun; and our road was, for a mile or two, thronged with Indians. Some of the inhabitants of Detroit, who knew the most about their dark neighbours, told me that they found it impossible to be romantic about these poor creatures. We, however, could not help feeling the excitement of the spectacle, when we saw them standing in their singularly majestic attitudes by the road-side, or on a rising ground: one, with a bunch of feathers tied at the back of the head; another, with his arms folded in his blanket; and a third, with her infant lashed to a board, and thus carried on her shoulders. Their appearance was dreadfully squalid.

As soon as we had entered the woods, the roads became as bad as, I suppose, roads ever are. Something snapped, and the driver cried out that we were "broke to bits." The team-bolt had given way. Our gentlemen, and those of the mail-stage, which happened to be at hand, helped to mend the coach; and we ladies walked on, gathering abundance of flowers, and picking our way along the swampy corduroy road. In less than an hour, the stage took us up, and no more accidents happened before breakfast. We were abundantly amused while our meal was preparing at Danversville. One of the passengers of the mail-stage took up a violin, and offered to play to us. Books with pictures were lying about. The lady of the house sat by the window, fixing her candle-wicks into the moulds. In the piazza, sat a party of emigrants, who interested us much. The wife had her eight children with her; the youngest, puny twins. She said she had brought them in a wagon four hundred miles; and if they could only live through the one hundred that remained before they reached her husband's lot of land, she hoped they might thrive; but she had been robbed, the day before, of her bundle of baby things. Some one had stolen it from the wagon. After a good meal, we saw the stage-passengers stowed into a lumber wagon; and we presently followed in our more comfortable vehicle.

Before long, something else snapped. The splinter-bar was broken. The driver was mortified; but it was no fault of his. Juggernaut's car would have been "broke to bits" on such a road. We went into a settler's house, where we were welcomed to rest and refresh ourselves. Three years before, the owner bought his eighty acres of land for a dollar an acre. He could now sell it for twenty dollars an acre. He shot, last year, a hundred deer, and sold them for three dollars a-piece. He and his family need have no fears of poverty. We dined well, nine miles before reaching Ypsilanti. The log-houses,—always comfortable when well made, being easily kept clean, cool in summer, and warm in winter,—have here an air of beauty about them. The hue always harmonizes well with the soil and vegetation. Those in Michigan have the bark left on, and the corners sawn off close; and are thus both picturesque and neat.

At Ypsilanti, I picked up an Ann Arbor newspaper. It was badly printed; but its contents were pretty good; and it could happen nowhere out of America, that so raw a settlement as that at Ann Arbor, where there is difficulty in procuring decent accommodations, should have a newspaper.

It was past seven before we left the inn at Ypsilanti, to go thirteen miles further. We departed on foot. There was a bridge building at Ypsilanti; but, till it was ready, all vehicles had to go a mile down the water-side to the ferry, while the passengers generally preferred crossing the foot-bridge, and walking on through the wood. We found in our path, lupins, wild geraniums, blue-eye grass, blue iris, wild sunflower, and many others. The mild summer night was delicious, after the fatigues of the day. I saw the youngest of golden moons, and two bright stars set, before we reached Wallace's Tavern, where we were to sleep. Of course, we were told that there was no room for us; but, by a little coaxing and management, and one of the party consenting to sleep on the parlour-floor, everything was made easy.

16th. We were off by half-past six; and, not having rested quite enough, and having the prospect of fourteen miles before breakfast, we, with one accord, finished our sleep in the stage. We reached Tecumseh by half-past nine, and perceived that its characteristic was chair-making. Every other house seemed to be a chair manufactory. One bore the inscription, "Cousin George's Store:" the meaning of which I do not pretend to furnish. Perhaps the idea is, that purchasers may feel free and easy, as if dealing with cousin George. Everybody has a cousin George. Elsewhere, we saw a little hotel inscribed, "Our House;" a prettier sign than "Traveller's Rest," or any other such tempting invitation that I am acquainted with. At Tecumseh, I saw the first strawberries of the season. All that I tasted in Michigan, of prairie growth, were superior to those of the west, grown in gardens.

Charley was delighted to-day by the sight of several spotted fawns, tamed by children. If a fawn be carried a hundred yards from its bush, it will follow the finder, and remain with him, if kindly treated. They are prettiest when very young, as they afterwards lose their spots.

We fairly entered the "rolling country" to-day: and nothing could be brighter and more flourishing than it looked. The young corn was coming up well in the settlers' fields. The copses, called "oak-openings," looked fresh after the passing thunder-showers; and so did the rising grounds, strewed with wild flowers and strawberries. "The little hills rejoiced on every side." The ponds, gleaming between the hills and copses, gave a park-like air to the scenery. The settlers leave trees in their clearings; and from these came the song of the wood-thrush; and from the dells the cry of the quail. There seemed to be a gay wood-pecker to every tree.

Our only accident to-day was driving over a poor hog: we can only hope it died soon. Wherever we stopped, we found that the crowds of emigrants had eaten up all the eggs; and we happened to think eggs the best article of diet of all on a journey. It occurred to me that we might get some by the way, and carry them on to our resting-place. All agreed that we might probably procure them: but how to carry them safely over such roads was the question. This day we resolved to try. We made a solemn stir for eggs in a small settlement; and procured a dozen. We each carried one in each hand,—except Charley, who was too young to be trusted. His two were wrapped up each in a bag. During eight miles of jolting, not one was hurt; and we delivered them to our host at Jonesville with much satisfaction. We wished that some of our entertainers had been as rich as a Frenchman at Baltimore, who, talking of his poultry-yard, informed a friend that he had "fifty head of hen."

At Jonesville, the ladies and Charley were favoured with a large and comfortable chamber. The gentlemen had to sleep with the multitude below; ranged like walking-sticks, or umbrellas, on a shop-counter.

17th. The road was more deplorable than ever to-day. The worst of it was, that whenever it was dangerous for the carriage, so that we were obliged to get out, it was, in proportion, difficult to be passed on foot. It was amusing to see us in such passes as we had to go through to-day. I generally acted as pioneer, the gentlemen having their ladies to assist; and it was pleasant to stand on some dry perch, and watch my companions through the holes and pools that I had passed. Such hopping and jumping; such slipping and sliding; such looks of despair from the middle of a pond; such shifting of logs, and carrying of planks, and handing along the fallen trunks of trees! The driver, meantime, was looking back provokingly from his box, having dragged the carriage through; and far behind stood Charley, high and dry, singing or eating his bit of bread, till his father could come back for him. Three times this day was such a scene enacted; and, the third time, there was a party of emigrant ladies to be assisted, too. When it was all over, and I saw one with her entire feet cased in mud, I concluded we must all be very wet, and looked at my own shoes: and lo! even the soles were as dry as when they were made! How little the worst troubles of travelling amount to, in proportion to the apprehension of them! What a world of anxiety do travellers suffer lest they should get wet, or be without food! How many really faint with hunger, or fall into an ague with damp and cold? I was never in danger of either the one or the other, in any of the twenty-three States which I visited.

At one part of our journey to-day, where the road was absolutely impassable, we went above a mile through the wood, where there was no track, but where the trees are blazed, to serve as guide-posts, summer and winter. It was very wild. Our carriage twisted and wound about to avoid blows against the noble beech-stems. The waters of the swamp plashed under our wheels, and the boughs crunched overhead. An overturn would have been a disaster in such a place. We travelled only forty-two miles this long day; but the weariness of the way was much beguiled by singing, by a mock oration, story-telling, and other such amusements. The wit and humour of Americans, abundant under ordinary circumstances, are never, I believe, known to fail in emergencies, serious or trifling. Their humour helps themselves and their visitors through any Sloughs of Despond, as charitably as their infinite abundance of logs through the swamps of their bad roads.

We did not reach Sturgis's Prairie till night. We had heard so poor an account of the stage-house, that we proceeded to another, whose owner has the reputation of treating his guests magnificently, or not at all. He treated us on juste milieu principles. He did what he could for us; and that could not be called magnificent. The house was crowded with emigrants. When, after three hours waiting, we had supper, two full-grown persons were asleep on some blankets in the corner of the room, and as many as fifteen or sixteen children on chairs and on the floor. Our hearts ached for one mother. Her little girl, two years old, had either sprained or broken her arm, and the mother did not know what to do with it. The child shrieked when the arm was touched, and wailed mournfully at other times. We found in the morning, however, that she had had some sleep. I have often wondered since how she bore the motion of the wagon on the worst parts of the road. It was oppressively hot. I had a little closet, whose door would not shut, and which was too small to give me room to take off the soft feather-bed. The window would not keep open without being propped by the tin water-jug; and though this was done, I could not sleep for the heat. This reminds me of the considerate kindness of an hotel-keeper in an earlier stage of our journey. When he found that I wished to have my window open, there being no fastening, he told me he would bring his own tooth-brush for a prop,—which he accordingly did.

18th. Our drive of twelve miles to breakfast was very refreshing. The roads were the best we had travelled since we left New York State. We passed through a wilderness of flowers; trailing roses, enormous white convolvulus, scarlet lilies, and ground-ivy, with many others, being added to those we had before seen. Milton must have travelled in Michigan before he wrote the garden parts of "Paradise Lost." Sturgis's and White Pigeon Prairies are highly cultivated, and look just like any other rich and perfectly level land. We breakfasted at White Pigeon Prairie, and saw the rising ground where the Indian chief lies buried, whose name has been given to the place.

The charms of the settlement, to us, were a kind landlady, an admirable breakfast, at which eggs abounded, and a blooming garden. Thirty-seven miles further brought us to Niles, where we arrived by five in the afternoon. The roads were so much improved that we had not to walk at all; which was well, as there was much pelting rain during the day.

Niles is a thriving town on the river St. Joseph, on the borders of the Potowatomie territory. Three years ago, it consisted of three houses. We could not learn the present number of inhabitants; probably because the number is never the same two days together. A Potowatomie village stands within a mile; and we saw two Indians on horseback, fording the rapid river very majestically, and ascending the wooded hills on the other side. Many Indian women were about the streets; one with a nose-ring; some with plates of silver on the bosom, and other barbaric ornaments. Such a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning came on, with a deluge of rain, that we were prevented seeing anything of the place, except from our windows. I had sent my boots to a cobbler, over the way. He had to put on India rubbers, which reached above the knee, to bring his work home; the street was so flooded. We little imagined for the hour the real extent and violence of this storm, and the effect it would have on our journeying.

The prairie strawberries, at breakfast this morning, were so large, sweet, and ripe, that we were inclined for more in the course of the day. Many of the children of the settlers were dispersed near the road-side, with their baskets, gathering strawberries; they would not sell any: they did not know what mother would say if they went home without any berries for father. But they could get enough for father, too, they were told, if they would sell us what they had already gathered. No; they did not want to sell. Our driver observed, that money was "no object to them." I began to think that we had, at last, got to the end of the world; or rather, perhaps, to the beginning of another and a better.

19th. No plan could be more cleverly and confidently laid than ours was for this day's journey. We were to travel through the lands of the Potowatomies, and reach the shores of the glorious Lake Michigan, at Michigan City, in time for an early supper. We were to proceed on the morrow round the southern extremity of the lake, so as, if possible, to reach Chicago in one day. It was wisely and prettily planned: and the plan was so far followed, as that we actually did leave Niles some time before six in the morning. Within three minutes, it began to rain again, and continued, with but few and short intervals, all day.

We crossed the St. Joseph by a rope ferry, the ingenious management of which, when stage-coaches had to be carried over, was a perpetual study to me. The effect of crossing a rapid river by a rope-ferry, by torch-light, in a dark night, is very striking; and not the less so for one's becoming familiarized with it, as the traveller does in the United States. As we drove up the steep bank, we found ourselves in the Indian territory. All was very wild; and the more so for the rain. There were many lodges in the glades, with the red light of fires hanging around them. The few log huts looked drenched; the tree-stems black in the wet; and the very wild flowers were dripping. The soil was sandy; so that the ugliest features of a rainy day, the mud and puddles, were obviated. The sand sucked up the rain, so that we jumped out of the carriage as often as a wild-flower of peculiar beauty tempted us. The bride-like, white convolvulus, nearly as large as my hand, grew in trails all over the ground.

The poor, helpless, squalid Potowatomies are sadly troubled by squatters. It seems hard enough that they should be restricted within a narrow territory, so surrounded by whites that the game is sure soon to disappear, and leave them stripped of their only resource. It is too hard that they should also be encroached upon by men who sit down, without leave or title, upon lands which are not intended for sale. I enjoyed hearing of an occasional alarm among the squatters, caused by some threatening demonstrations by the Indians. I should like to see every squatter frightened away from Indian lands, however advantageous their squatting may be upon lands which are unclaimed, or whose owners can defend their own property. I was glad to hear to-day that a deputation of Potowatomies had been sent to visit a distant warlike tribe, in consequence of the importunities of squatters, who wanted to buy the land they had been living upon. The deputation returned, painted, and under other hostile signals, and declared that the Potowatomies did not intend to part with their lands. We stopped for some milk, this morning, at the "location" of a squatter, whose wife was milking as we passed. The gigantic personage, her husband, told us how anxious he was to pay for the land which repaid his tillage so well; but that his Indian neighbours would not sell. I hope that, by this time, he has had to remove, and leave them the benefit of his house and fences. Such an establishment in the wild woods is the destruction of the game,—and of those who live upon it.

At breakfast, we saw a fine specimen of a settler's family. We had observed the prosperity and cheerfulness of the settlers, all along the road; but this family exceeded the best. I never saw such an affectionate set of people. They, like many others, were from one of the southern States: and I was not surprised to find all emigrants from North and South Carolina well satisfied with the change they had made. The old lady seemed to enjoy her pipe, and there was much mirth going on between the beautiful daughter and all the other men and maidens. They gave us an excellent breakfast in one of the two lower rooms; the table being placed across the foot of the two beds. No pains were spared by them to save us from the wet in the stage; but the rain was too pelting and penetrating for any defence to avail long. It streamed in at all corners, and we gave the matter up for the day. We were now entering Indiana; and one of our intentions had been to see the celebrated Door Prairie; so called from exquisite views into it being opened through intervals in the growth of wood with which it is belted. I did obtain something like an idea of it through the reeking rain, and thought that it was the first prairie that I had seen that answered to my idea of one. But I dare say we formed no conception of what it must be in sunshine, and with the cloud shadows, which adorn a prairie as they do still water.

We reached Laporte, on the edge of the Door Prairie, at three o'clock, and were told that the weather did not promise an easy access to Michigan City. We changed horses, however, and set forward again on a very bad road, along the shore of a little lake, which must be pretty in fine weather. Then we entered a wood, and jolted and rocked from side to side, till, at last, the carriage leaned three parts over, and stuck. We all jumped out into the rain, and the gentlemen literally put their shoulders to the wheel, and lifted it out of its hole. The same little incident was repeated in half an hour. At five or six miles from Laporte, and seven from Michigan City, our driver stopped, and held a long parley with somebody by the road side. The news was that a bridge in the middle of a marsh had been carried away by a tremendous freshet; and with how much log-road on either side, could not be ascertained till the waters should subside. The mails, however, would have to be carried over, by some means, the next day; and we must wait where we were till we could profit by the post-office experiment. The next question was, where were we to be harboured? There was no house of entertainment near. We shrank from going back to Laporte over the perilous road which was growing worse every minute. A family lived at hand, who hospitably offered to receive us; and we were only too ready to accept their kindness. The good man stopped our acknowledgments by saying, in the most cheerful manner, "You know you would not have staid with me, if you could have helped it; and I would not have had you, if I could have helped it: so no more words about it; but let us make ourselves comfortable."

We perceived by a glance at the beard and costume of our host, that there was something remarkable about him. He was of the Tunker sect of Baptists, (from Tunken, to dip,) a very peculiar sect of religionists. He explained, without any reserve, his faith, and the reasons on which it was founded.

It was all interesting, as showing how the true and the fanciful, the principle and the emblem, the eternal truth and the supposed type, may become all mixed together, so as to be received alike as articles of faith. This man might almost compare with Origen in his mystical divinations of scripture. The most profitable and delightful part of his communication related to the operation upon his life and fortunes of his peace principles. He had gone through life on the non-resistance principle; and it was animating to learn how well it had served him; as every high exercise of faith does serve every one who has strength and simplicity of heart to commit himself to it. It was animating to learn, not only his own consistency, but the force of his moral power over others; how the careless had been won to thoughtfulness of his interests, and the criminal to respect of his rights. He seemed to have unconsciously secured the promise and the fruit of the life that now is, more effectually than many who think less of that which is to come. It was done, he said, by always supposing that the good was in men. His wife won our hearts by the beauty of her countenance, set off by the neat plain dress of her sect. She was ill; but they made us thoroughly comfortable, without apparently discomposing themselves. Sixteen out of seventeen children were living; of whom two sons and five daughters were absent, and six sons and three daughters at home: the youngest was three years old.

Their estate consists of eight hundred acres, a large portion of which is not yet broken up. The owner says he walks over the ground once a year, to see the huckleberries grow. He gave the upset price for the land; a dollar and a-quarter an acre. He is now offered forty dollars an acre, and says the land is worth fifty, its situation being very advantageous; but he does not wish to sell. He has thus become worth 40,000 dollars in the three years which have elapsed since he came out of Ohio. His sons, as they grow up, settle at a distance; and he does not want money, and has no inducement to sell. I have no idea, however, that the huckleberries will be long permitted to grow in peace and quiet, in so busy a district as this is destined to become. The good man will be constrained by the march and pressure of circumstances, either to sell or cultivate.

The house, log-built, consisted of three rooms; two under one roof; and another apparently added afterwards. There were also out-houses. In one of these three rooms, the cooking and eating went on; another was given up to us ladies, with a few of the little children; and in the other, the rest of the family, the gentlemen of our party, and another weather-bound traveller, slept. Huge fires of logs blazed in the chimneys; two or three of the little ones were offered us as hand-maidens; and the entire abode was as clean as could be conceived. Here was comfort!

As we warmed and dried ourselves in the chimney corners, and looked upon the clear windows, the bright tin water-pails, and the sheets and towels as white as snow, we had only one anxiety. It was necessary for Mr. and Mrs. L. to be at home, a thousand miles off, by a particular day. We had already met with some delays; and there was no seeing the end of the present adventure. There was some doubt whether we should not have done better to cross the southern end of Lake Michigan, from Niles to Chicago, by a little steam-boat, the Delaware, which was to leave Niles a few hours after our stage. It had been thought of at Niles; but there was some uncertainty about the departure of the boat; and we all anxiously desired to skirt the extremity of this great inland sea, and to see the new settlements on its shores. Had we done right in incurring this risk of detention? Right or wrong, here we were; and here we must wait upon events.

Our sleep, amidst the luxury of cleanliness and hospitality, was most refreshing. The next morning it was still raining, but less vehemently. After breakfast, we ladies employed ourselves in sweeping and dusting our room, and making the beds; as we had given our kind hostess too much trouble already. Then there was a Michigan City newspaper to be read; and I sat down to write letters. Before long, a wagon and four drove up to the door, the driver of which cried out that if there was any getting to Michigan City, he was our man. We equipped ourselves in our warmest and thickest clothing, put on our india rubber shoes, packed ourselves and our luggage in the wagon, put up our umbrellas, and wondered what was to be our fate. When it had come to saying farewell, our hostess put her hands on my shoulders, kissed me on each cheek, and said she had hoped for the pleasure of our company for another day. For my own part, I would willingly take her at her word, if my destiny should ever carry me near the great lakes again.

We jolted on for two miles and a half through the woods, admiring the scarlet lilies, and the pink and white moccasin flower, which was brilliant. Then we arrived at the place of the vanished bridge. Our first prospect was of being paddled over, one by one, in the smallest of boats. But, when the capabilities of the place were examined, it was decided that we should wait in a house on the hill, while the neighbours, the passengers of the mail-stage, and the drivers, built a bridge. We waited patiently for nearly three hours, watching the busy men going in and out, gathering tidings of the freshet, and its effects, and being pleased to see how affectionate the woman of the house was to her husband, while she was cross to everybody else. It must have been vexatious to her to have her floor made wet and dirty, and all her household operations disturbed by a dozen strangers whom she had never invited. She let us have some dough nuts, and gave us a gracious glance or two at parting.

We learned that a gentleman who followed us from Niles, the preceding day, found the water nine feet deep, and was near drowning his horses, in a place which we had crossed without difficulty. This very morning, a bridge which we had proved and passed, gave way with the stage, and the horses had to be dug and rolled out of the mud, when they were on the point of suffocation. Such a freshet had never been known to the present inhabitants.

Our driver was an original; and so were some of the other muddy gentlemen who came in to dry themselves, after their bridge making. One asked if such an one was not a "smart fellow." "He! he can't see through a ladder." Our driver informed us, "when they send a man to jail here, they put him abroad into the woods. Only, they set a man after him, that they may knew where he is." A pretty expensive method of imprisonment, though there be no bills for jail building. This man conversed with his horses in much the same style as with us, averring that they understood him as well. On one occasion, he boxed the ears of one of the leaders, for not standing still when bidden, declaring, "If you go on doing so, I'll give you something you can't buy at the grocer's shop." I was not before aware that there was anything that was not to be bought at a back-country grocer's shop.

At half-past two, the bridge was announced complete, and we re-entered our wagon, to lead the cavalcade across it. Slowly, anxiously, with a man at the head of each leader, we entered the water, and saw it rise to the nave of the wheels. Instead of jolting, as usual, we mounted and descended each log individually. The mail-wagon followed, with two or three horsemen. There was also a singularly benevolent personage, who jumped from the other wagon, and waded through all the doubtful places, to prove them. He leaped and splashed through the water, which was sometimes up to his waist, as if it was the most agreeable sport in the world. In one of these gullies, the fore part of our wagon sank and stuck, so as to throw us forward, and make it doubtful in what mode we should emerge from the water. Then the rim of one of the wheels was found to be loose; and the whole cavalcade stopped till it was mended. I never could understand how wagons were made in the back-country; they seemed to be elastic, from the shocks and twisting they would bear without giving way. To form an accurate idea of what they have to bear, a traveller should sit on a seat without springs, placed between the hind wheels, and thus proceed on a corduroy road. The effect is less fatiguing and more amusing, of riding in a wagon whose seats are on springs, while the vehicle itself is not. In that case, the feet are dancing an involuntary jig, all the way; while the rest of the body is in a state of entire repose.

The drive was so exciting and pleasant, the rain having ceased, that I was taken by surprise by our arrival at Michigan City. The driver announced our approach by a series of flourishes on one note of his common horn, which made the most ludicrous music I ever listened to. How many minutes he went on, I dare not say; but we were so convulsed with laughter that we could not alight with becoming gravity, amidst the groups in the piazza of the hotel. The man must be first cousin to Paganini.

Such a city as this was surely never before seen. It is three years since it was begun; and it is said to have one thousand five hundred inhabitants. It is cut out of the forest, and curiously interspersed with little swamps, which we no doubt saw in their worst condition after the heavy rains. New, good houses, some only half finished, stood in the midst of the thick wood. A large area was half cleared. The finished stores were scattered about; and the streets were littered with stumps. The situation is beautiful. The undulations of the ground, within and about it, and its being closed in by lake or forest on every side, render it unique. An appropriation has been made by Government for a harbour; and two piers are to be built out beyond the sand, as far as the clay soil of the lake. Mr. L—— and I were anxious to see the mighty fresh water sea. We made inquiry in the piazza; and a sandy hill, close by, covered with the pea vine, was pointed out to us. We ran up it, and there beheld what we had come so far to see. There it was, deep, green, and swelling on the horizon, and whitening into a broad and heavy surf as it rolled in towards the shore. Hence, too, we could make out the geography of the city. The whole scene stands insulated in my memory, as absolutely singular; and, at this distance of time, scarcely credible. I was so well aware on the spot that it would be so, that I made careful and copious notes of what I saw: but memoranda have nothing to do with such emotions as were caused by the sight of that enormous body of tumultuous waters, rolling in apparently upon the helpless forest,—everywhere else so majestic.

The day was damp and chilly, as we were told every day is here. There is scarcely ever a day of summer in which fire is not acceptable. The windows were dim; the metals rusted, and the new wood about the house red with damp. We could not have a fire. The storm had thrown down a chimney; and the house was too full of workmen, providing accommodation for future guests, to allow of the comfort of those present being much attended to. We were permitted to sit round a flue in a chamber, where a remarkably pretty and graceful girl was sewing. She has a widowed mother to support, and she "gets considerable" by sewing here, where the women lead a bustling life, which leaves no time for the needle. We had to wait long for something to eat; that is, till supper time; for the people are too busy to serve up anything between meals. Two little girls brought a music book, and sang to us; and then we sang to them; and then Dr. F. brought me two harebells.—one of the rarest flowers in the country. I found some at Trenton Falls; and in one or two other rocky and sandy places; but so seldom as to make a solitary one a great treasure.

Our supper of young pork, good bread, potatoes, preserves, and tea, was served at two tables, where the gentlemen were in proportion to the ladies as ten to one. In such places, there is a large proportion of young men who are to go back for wives when they have gathered a few other comforts about them. The appearance of health was as striking as at Detroit, and everywhere on this side of Lake Erie.

Immediately after supper we went for a walk, which, in peculiarity, comes next to that in the Mammoth Cave; if, indeed, it be second to it. The scene was like what I had always fancied the Norway coast, but for the wild flowers, which grew among the pines on the slope, almost into the tide. I longed to spend an entire day on this flowery and shadowy margin of the inland sea. I plucked handfuls of pea-vine and other trailing flowers, which seemed to run over all the ground. We found on the sands an army, like Pharaoh's drowned host, of disabled butterflies, beetles, and flies of the richest colours and lustre, driven over the lake by the storm. Charley found a small turtle alive. An elegant little schooner, "the Sea Serpent of Chicago," was stranded, and formed a beautiful object as she lay dark between the sand and the surf. The sun was going down. We watched the sunset, not remembering that the refraction above the fresh waters would probably cause some remarkable appearance. We looked at one another in amazement at what we saw. First, there were three gay, inverted rainbows between the water and the sun, then hidden behind a little streak of cloud. Then the sun emerged from behind this only cloud, urn-shaped; a glistering golden urn. Then it changed, rather suddenly, to an enormous golden acorn. Then to a precise resemblance, except being prodigiously magnified, of Saturn with his ring. This was the most beautiful apparition of all. Then it was quickly narrowed and elongated till it was like the shaft of a golden pillar; and thus it went down square. Long after its disappearance, a lustrous, deep crimson dome, seemingly solid, rested steadily on the heaving waters. An inexperienced navigator might be pardoned for making all sail towards it; it looked so real. What do the Indians think of such phenomena? Probably as the child does of the compass, the upas tree, and all the marvels of Madame Genlis' story of Alphonso and Dalinda; that such things are no more wonderful than all other things. The age of wonder from natural appearances has not arrived in children and savages. It is one of the privileges of advancing years. A grave Indian, who could look with apathy upon the cataract and all the tremendous shows of the wilderness, found himself in a glass-house at Pittsburg. He saw a glassblower put a handle upon a pitcher. The savage was transported out of his previous silence and reserve. He seized and grasped the hand of the workman, crying out that it was now plain that he had had intercourse with the Great Spirit. I remember in my childhood, being more struck with seeing a square box made in three minutes out of a piece of writing-paper, than with all that I read about the loadstone and the lunar influence upon the tides. In those days I should have looked upon this Indiana sunset with the same kind of feeling as upon a cloud which might look "very like a whale."

We walked briskly home, beside the skiey sea, with the half-grown moon above us, riding high. Then came the struggling for room to lie down, for sheets and fresh water. The principal range of chambers could have been of no manner of use to us, in their present state. There were, I think, thirty, in one range along a passage. A small bed stood in the middle of each, made up for use; but the walls were as yet only scantily lathed, without any plaster; so that everything was visible along the whole row. They must have been designed for persons who cannot see through a ladder.

When I arose at daybreak, I found myself stiff with cold. No wonder: the window, close to my head, had lost a pane. I think the business of a perambulating glazier might be a very profitable one, in most parts of the United States. When we seated ourselves in our wagon, we found that the leathern cushions were soaked with wet; like so many sponges. They were taken in to a hot fire, and soon brought out, each sending up a cloud of steam. Blankets were furnished to lay over them; and we set off. We were cruelly jolted through the bright dewy woods, for four miles, and then arrived on the borders of a swamp where the bridge had been carried away. A man waded in; declared the depth to be more than six feet; how much more he could not tell. There was nothing to be done but to go back. Back again we jolted, and arrived at the piazza of the hotel just as the breakfast-bell was ringing. All the "force" that could be collected on a hasty summons,—that is, almost every able-bodied man in the city and neighbourhood, was sent out with axes to build us a bridge. We breakfasted, gathered and dried flowers, and wandered about till ten o'clock, when we were summoned to try our fortune again in the wagon. We found a very pretty scene at the swamp. Part of the "force" was engaged on our side of the swamp, and part on the other. As we sat under the trees, making garlands and wreaths of flowers and oakleaves for Charley, we could see one lofty tree-top after another, in the opposite forest, tremble and fall; and the workmen cluster about it, like bees, lop off its branches, and, in a trice, roll it, an ugly log, into the water, and pin it down upon the sleepers. Charley was as busy as anybody, making islands in the water at the edge of the marsh. The moccasin flower grew here in great profusion and splendour. We sat thus upwards of two hours; and the work done in that time appeared almost incredible. But the Americans in the back country seem to like the repairing of accidents—a social employment—better than their regular labour; and even the drivers appeared to prefer adventurous travelling to easy journeys. A gentleman in a light gig made the first trial of the new bridge: our wagon followed, plunging and rocking, and we scrambled in safety up the opposite bank.

There were other bad places in the road, but none which occasioned further delay. The next singular scene was an expanse of sand, before reaching the lake-shore,—sand, so extensive, hot, and dazzling, as to realise very fairly one's conceptions of the middle of the Great Desert; except for the trailing roses which skirted it. I walked on, a-head of the whole party, till I had lost sight of them behind some low sand-hills. Other such hills hid the lake from me; and, indeed, I did not know how near it was. I had ploughed my way through the ankle-deep sand till I was much heated, and turned in hope of meeting a breath of wind. At the moment, the cavalcade came slowly into view from behind the hills; the labouring horses, the listless walkers, and smoothly rolling vehicles, all painted absolutely black against the dazzling sand. It was as good as being in Arabia. For cavalcade, one might read caravan. Then the horses were watered at a single house on the beach; and we proceeded on the best part of our day's journey; a ride of seven miles on the hard sand of the beach, actually in the lapsing waves. We saw another vessel ashore, with her cargo piled upon the beach. The sight of the clear waters suggested thoughts of bathing. Charley dearly loves bathing. He follows the very natural practice of expressing himself in abstract propositions when his emotions are the strongest. He heard the speculations on the facilities for bathing which might offer at our resting-place; and besought his mother to let him bathe. He was told that it was doubtful whether we should reach our destination before sunset, and whether any body would be able to try the water. Might he ask his father?—Yes: but he would find his father no more certain than the rest of us. "Mother," cried the boy, in an agony of earnestness, "does not a father know when his child ought to bathe?"—There was no bathing. The sun had set, and it was too cold.

The single house at which we were to stop for the night, while the mail-wagon, with its passengers, proceeded, promised well, at first sight. It was a log-house on a sand-bank, perfectly clean below stairs, and prettily dressed with green boughs. We had a good supper, (except that there was an absence of milk,) and we concluded ourselves fortunate in our resting-place. Never was there a greater mistake. We walked out, after supper, and when we returned, found that we could not have any portion of the lower rooms. There was a loft, which I will not describe, into which, having ascended a ladder, we were to be all stowed. I would fain have slept on the soft sand, out of doors, beneath the wagon; but rain came on. There was no place for us to put our heads into but the loft. Enough. I will only say that this house was, as far as I remember, the only place in the United States where I met with bad treatment. Everywhere else, people gave me the best they had,—whether it was bad or good.

On our road to Chicago, the next day,—a road winding in and out among the sand-hills, we were called to alight, and run up a bank to see a wreck. It was the wreck of the Delaware;—the steamer in which it had been a question whether we should not proceed from Niles to Chicago. She had a singular twist in her middle, where she was nearly broken in two. Her passengers stood up to the neck in water, for twenty-four hours before they were taken off; a worse inconvenience than any that we had suffered by coming the other way. The first thing the passengers from the Delaware did, when they had dried and warmed themselves on shore, was to sign a letter to the captain, which appeared in all the neighbouring newspapers, thanking him for the great comfort they had enjoyed on board his vessel. It is to be presumed that they meant previously to their having to stand up to their necks in water.

In the wood which borders the prairie on which Chicago stands, we saw an encampment of United States' troops. Since the rising of the Creeks in Georgia, some months before, there had been apprehensions of an Indian war along the whole frontier. It was believed that a correspondence had taken place among all the tribes, from the Cumanches, who were engaged to fight for the Mexicans in Texas, up to the northern tribes among whom we were going. It was believed that the war-belt was circulating among the Winnebagoes, the warlike tribe who inhabit the western shores of Lake Michigan; and the government had sent troops to Chicago, to keep them in awe. It was of some consequence to us to ascertain the real state of the case; and we were glad to find that alarm was subsiding so fast, that the troops were soon allowed to go where they were more wanted. As soon as they had recovered from the storm which seemed to have incommoded everybody, they broke up their encampment, and departed.

Chicago looks raw and bare, standing on the high prairie above the lake-shore. The houses appeared insignificant, and run up in various directions, without any principle at all. A friend of mine who resides there had told me that we should find the inns intolerable, at the period of the great land sales, which bring a concourse of speculators to the place. It was even so. The very sight of them was intolerable; and there was not room for our party among them all. I do not know what we should have done, (unless to betake ourselves to the vessels in the harbour,) if our coming had not been foreknown, and most kindly provided for. We were divided between three families, who had the art of removing all our scruples about intruding on perfect strangers. None of us will lose the lively and pleasant associations with the place, which were caused by the hospitalities of its inhabitants.

I never saw a busier place than Chicago was at the time of our arrival. The streets were crowded with land speculators, hurrying from one sale to another. A negro, dressed up in scarlet, bearing a scarlet flag, and riding a white horse with housings of scarlet, announced the times of sale. At every street-corner where he stopped, the crowd flocked round him; and it seemed as if some prevalent mania infected the whole people. The rage for speculation might fairly be so regarded. As the gentlemen of our party walked the streets, store-keepers hailed them from their doors, with offers of farms, and all manner of land-lots, advising them to speculate before the price of land rose higher. A young lawyer, of my acquaintance there, had realised five hundred dollars per day, the five preceding days, by merely making out titles to land. Another friend had realised, in two years, ten times as much money as he had before fixed upon as a competence for life. Of course, this rapid money-making is a merely temporary evil. A bursting of the bubble must come soon. The absurdity of the speculation is so striking, that the wonder is that the fever should have attained such a height as I witnessed. The immediate occasion of the bustle which prevailed, the week we were at Chicago, was the sale of lots, to the value of two millions of dollars, along the course of a projected canal; and of another set, immediately behind these. Persons not intending to game, and not infected with mania, would endeavour to form some reasonable conjecture as to the ultimate value of the lots, by calculating the cost of the canal, the risks from accident, from the possible competition from other places, &c., and, finally, the possible profits, under the most favourable circumstances, within so many years' purchase. Such a calculation would serve as some sort of guide as to the amount of purchase-money to be risked. Whereas, wild land on the banks of a canal, not yet even marked out, was selling at Chicago for more than rich land, well improved, in the finest part of the valley of the Mohawk, on the banks of a canal which is already the medium of an almost inestimable amount of traffic. If sharpers and gamblers were to be the sufferers by the impending crash at Chicago, no one would feel much concerned: but they, unfortunately, are the people who encourage the delusion, in order to profit by it. Many a high-spirited, but inexperienced, young man; many a simple settler, will be ruined for the advantage of knaves.

Others, besides lawyers and speculators by trade, make a fortune in such extraordinary times. A poor man at Chicago had a pre-emption right to some land, for which he paid in the morning one hundred and fifty dollars. In the afternoon, he sold it to a friend of mine for five thousand dollars. A poor Frenchman, married to a squaw, had a suit pending, when I was there, which he was likely to gain, for the right of purchasing some land by the lake for one hundred dollars, which would immediately become worth one million dollars.

There was much gaiety going on at Chicago, as well as business. On the evening of our arrival a fancy fair took place. As I was too much fatigued to go, the ladies sent me a bouquet of prairie flowers. There is some allowable pride in the place about its society. It is a remarkable thing to meet such an assemblage of educated, refined, and wealthy persons as may be found there, living in small, inconvenient houses on the edge of a wild prairie. There is a mixture, of course. I heard of a family of half-breeds setting up a carriage, and wearing fine jewellery. When the present intoxication of prosperity passes away, some of the inhabitants will go back to the eastward; there will be an accession of settlers from the mechanic classes; good houses will have been built for the richer families, and the singularity of the place will subside. It will be like all the other new and thriving lake and river ports of America. Meantime, I am glad to have seen it in its strange early days.

We dined one day with a gentleman who had been Indian agent among the Winnebagoes for some years. He and his lady seem to have had the art of making themselves as absolutely Indian in their sympathies and manners as the welfare of the savages among whom they lived required. They were the only persons I met with who, really knowing the Indians, had any regard for them. The testimony was universal to the good faith, and other virtues of savage life of the unsophisticated Indians; but they were spoken of in a tone of dislike, as well as pity, by all but this family; and they certainly had studied their Indian neighbours very thoroughly. The ladies of Indian agents ought to be women of nerve. Our hostess had slept for weeks with a loaded pistol on each side her pillow, and a dagger under it, when expecting an attack from a hostile tribe. The foe did not, however, come nearer than within a few miles. Her husband's sister was in the massacre when the fort was abandoned, in 1812. Her father and her husband were in the battle, and her mother and young brothers and sisters sat in a boat on the lake near. Out of seventy whites, only seventeen escaped, among whom were her family. She was wounded in the ankle, as she sat on her horse. A painted Indian, in warlike costume, came leaping up to her, and seized her horse, as she supposed, to murder her. She fought him vigorously, and he bore it without doing her any injury. He spoke, but she could not understand him. Another frightful savage came up, and the two led her horse to the lake, and into it, in spite of her resistance, till the water reached their chins. She concluded that they meant to drown her; but they contented themselves with holding her on her horse till the massacre was over, when they led her out in safety. They were friendly Indians, sent by her husband to guard her. She could not but admire their patience when she found how she had been treating her protectors.

We had the fearful pleasure of seeing various savage dances performed by the Indian agent and his brother, with the accompaniments of complete costume, barbaric music, and whooping. The most intelligible to us was the Discovery Dance, a highly descriptive pantomime. We saw the Indian go out armed for war. We saw him reconnoitre, make signs to his comrades, sleep, warm himself, load his rifle, sharpen his scalping-knife, steal through the grass within rifle-shot of his foes, fire, scalp one of them, and dance, whooping and triumphing. There was a dreadful truth about the whole, and it made our blood run cold. It realised hatred and horror as effectually as Taglioni does love and grace.

We were unexpectedly detained over the Sunday at Chicago; and Dr. F. was requested to preach. Though only two hours' notice was given, a respectable congregation was assembled in the large room of the Lake House; a new hotel then building. Our seats were a few chairs and benches, and planks laid on trestles. The preacher stood behind a rough pine-table, on which a large Bible was placed. I was never present at a more interesting service; and I know that there were others who felt with me.

From Chicago, we made an excursion into the prairies. Our young lawyer-friend threw behind him the five hundred dollars per day which he was making, and went with us. I thought him wise; for there is that to be had in the wilderness which money cannot buy. We drove out of the town at ten o'clock in the morning, too late by two hours; but it was impossible to overcome the introductions to strangers, and the bustle of our preparations, any sooner. Our party consisted of seven, besides the driver. Our vehicle was a wagon with four horses.

We had first to cross the prairie, nine miles wide, on the lake edge of which Chicago stands. This prairie is not usually wet so early in the year; but at this time the water stood almost up to the nave of the wheels: and we crossed it at a walking pace. I saw here, for the first time in the United States, the American primrose. It grew in profusion over the whole prairie, as far as I could see; not so large and fine as in English greenhouses, but graceful and pretty. I now found the truth of what I had read about the difficulty of distinguishing distances on a prairie. The feeling is quite bewildering. A man walking near looks like a Goliath a mile off. I mistook a covered wagon without horses, at a distance of fifty yards, for a white house near the horizon: and so on. We were not sorry to reach the belt of trees, which bounded the swamp we had passed. At a house here, where we stopped to water the horses, and eat dough nuts, we saw a crowd of emigrants; which showed that we had not yet reached the bounds of civilisation. A little further on we came to the river Aux Plaines, spelled on a sign board "Oplain." The ferry here is a monopoly, and the public suffers accordingly. There is only one small flat boat for the service of the concourse of people now pouring into the prairies. Though we happened to arrive nearly first of the crowd of to-day, we were detained on the bank above an hour; and then our horses went over at two crossings, and the wagon and ourselves at the third. It was a pretty scene, if we had not been in a hurry; the country wagons and teams in the wood by the side of the quiet clear river; and the oxen swimming over, yoked, with only their patient faces visible above the surface. After crossing, we proceeded briskly till we reached a single house, where, or nowhere, we were to dine. The kind hostess bestirred herself to provide us a good dinner of tea, bread, ham, potatoes, and strawberries, of which a whole pailful, ripe and sweet, had been gathered by the children in the grass round the house, within one hour. While dinner was preparing, we amused ourselves with looking over an excellent small collection of books, belonging to Miss Cynthia, the slaughter of the hostess.

I never saw insulation, (not desolation,) to compare with the situation of a settler on a wide prairie. A single house in the middle of Salisbury Plain would be desolate. A single house on a prairie has clumps of trees near it, rich fields about it; and flowers, strawberries, and running water at hand. But when I saw a settler's child tripping out of home-bounds, I had a feeling that it would never get back again. It looked like putting out into Lake Michigan in a canoe. The soil round the dwellings is very rich. It makes no dust, it is so entirely vegetable. It requires merely to be once turned over to produce largely; and, at present, it appears to be inexhaustible. As we proceeded, the scenery became more and more like what all travellers compare it to,—a boundless English park. The grass was wilder, the occasional footpath not so trim, and the single trees less majestic; but no park ever displayed anything equal to the grouping of the trees within the windings of the blue, brimming river Aux Plaines.

We had met with so many delays that we felt doubts about reaching the place where we had intended to spend the night. At sunset, we found ourselves still nine miles from Joliet;[11] but we were told that the road was good, except a small "slew" or two; and there was half a moon shining behind a thin veil of clouds; so we pushed on. We seemed latterly to be travelling on a terrace overlooking a wide champaign, where a dark, waving line might indicate the winding of the river, between its clumpy banks. Our driver descended, and went forward, two or three times, to make sure of our road; and at length, we rattled down a steep descent, and found ourselves among houses. This was not our resting-place, however. The Joliet hotel lay on the other side of the river. We were directed to a foot-bridge by which we were to pass; and a ford below for the wagon. We strained our eyes in vain for the foot-bridge; and our gentlemen peeped and pryed about for some time. All was still but the rippling river, and everybody asleep in the houses that were scattered about. We ladies were presently summoned to put on our water-proof shoes, and alight. A man showed himself who had risen from his bed to help us in our need. The foot-bridge consisted, for some way, of two planks, with a hand-rail on one side: but, when we were about a third of the way over, one half of the planks, and the hand-rail, had disappeared. We actually had to cross the rushing, deep river on a line of single planks, by dim moonlight, at past eleven o'clock at night. The great anxiety was about Charley; but between his father and the guide, he managed very well. This guide would accept nothing but thanks. He "did not calculate to take any pay." Then we waited some time for the wagon to come up from the ford. I suspected it had passed the spot where we stood, and had proceeded to the village, where we saw a twinkling light, now disappearing, and now re-appearing. It was so, and the driver came back to look for us, and tell us that the light we saw was a signal from the hotel-keeper, whom we found, standing on his door-step, and sheltering his candle with his hand. We sat down and drank milk in the bar, while he went to consult with his wife what was to be done with us, as every bed in the house was occupied. We, meanwhile, agreed that the time was now come for us to enjoy an adventure which we had often anticipated; sleeping in a barn. We had all declared ourselves anxious to sleep in a barn, if we could meet with one that was air-tight, and well-supplied with hay. Such a barn was actually on these premises. We were prevented, however, from all practising the freak by the prompt hospitality of our hostess. Before we knew what she was about, she had risen and dressed herself, put clean sheets on her own bed, and made up two others on the floor of the same room; so that the ladies and Charley were luxuriously accommodated. Two sleepy personages crawled down stairs to offer their beds to our gentlemen. Mr. L. and our Chicago friend, however, persisted in sleeping in the barn. Next morning, we all gave a very gratifying report of our lodgings. When we made our acknowledgments to our hostess, she said she thought that people who could go to bed quietly every night ought to be ready to give up to tired travellers. Whenever she travels, I hope she will be treated as she treated us. She let us have breakfast as early as half-past five, the next morning, and gave Charley a bun at parting, lest he should be too hungry before we could dine.

The great object of our expedition, Mount Joliet, was two miles distant from this place. We had to visit it, and perform the journey back to Chicago, forty miles, before night. The mount is only sixty feet high; yet it commands a view which I shall not attempt to describe, either in its vastness, or its soft beauty. The very spirit of tranquillity resides in this paradisy scene. The next painter who would worthily illustrate Milton's Morning Hymn, should come and paint what he sees from Mount Joliet, on a dewy summer's morning, when a few light clouds are gently sailing in the sky, and their shadows traversing the prairie. I thought I had never seen green levels till now; and only among mountains had I before known the beauty of wandering showers. Mount Joliet has the appearance of being an artificial mound, its sides are so uniformly steep, and its form so regular. Its declivity was bristling with flowers; among which were conspicuous the scarlet lily, the white convolvulus, and a tall, red flower of the scabia form. We disturbed a night-hawk, sitting on her eggs, on the ground. She wheeled round and round over our heads, and, I hope, returned to her eggs before they were cold.

Not far from the mount was a log-house, where the rest of the party went in to dry their feet, after having stood long in the wet grass. I remained outside, watching the light showers, shifting in the partial sunlight from clump to level, and from reach to reach of the brimming and winding river. The nine miles of prairie, which we had traversed in dim moonlight last night, were now exquisitely beautiful, as the sun shone fitfully upon them.

We saw a prairie wolf, very like a yellow dog, trotting across our path, this afternoon. Our hostess of the preceding day, expecting us, had an excellent dinner ready for us. We were detained a shorter time at the ferry, and reached the belt of trees at the edge of Nine-mile Prairie, before sunset. Here, in common prudence, we ought to have stopped till the next day, even if no other accommodation could be afforded us than a roof over our heads. We deserved an ague for crossing the swamp after dark, in an open wagon, at a foot pace. Nobody was aware of this in time, and we set forward: the feet of our wearied horses plashing in water at every step of the nine miles. There was no road; and we had to trust to the instinct of driver and horses to keep us in the right direction. I rather think the driver attempted to amuse himself by exciting our fears. He hinted more than once at the difficulty of finding the way; at the improbability that we should reach Chicago before midnight; and at the danger of our wandering about the marsh all night, and finding ourselves at the opposite edge of the prairie in the morning. Charley was bruised and tired. All the rest were hungry and cold. It was very dreary. The driver bade us look to our right hand. A black bear was trotting alongside of us, at a little distance. After keeping up his trot for some time, he turned off from our track. The sight of him made up for all,—even if ague should follow, which I verily believed it would. But we escaped all illness. It is remarkable that I never saw ague but once. The single case that I met with was in autumn, at the Falls of Niagara.

I had promised Dr. F. a long story about English politics, when a convenient opportunity should occur. I thought the present an admirable one; for nobody seemed to have anything to say, and it was highly desirable that something should be said. I made my story long enough to beguile four miles; by which time, some were too tired, and others too much disheartened, for more conversation. Something white was soon after visible. Our driver gave out that it was a house, half a mile from Chicago. But no: it was an emigrant encampment, on a morsel of raised, dry ground; and again we were uncertain whether we were in the right road. Presently, however, the Chicago beacon was visible, shining a welcome to us through the dim, misty air. The horses seemed to see it, for they quickened their pace; and before half-past ten, we were on the bridge.

The family, at my temporary home, were gone up to their chambers; but the wood-fire was soon replenished, tea made, and the conversation growing lively. My companions were received as readily at their several resting-places. When we next met, we found ourselves all disposed to place warm hospitality very high on the list of virtues.

While we were at Detroit, we were most strongly urged to return thither by the Lakes, instead of by either of the Michigan roads. From place to place, in my previous travelling, I had been told of the charms of the Lakes, and especially of the Island of Mackinaw. Every officer's lady who has been in garrison there, is eloquent upon the delights of Mackinaw. As our whole party, however, could not spare time to make so wide a circuit, we had not intended to indulge ourselves with a further variation in our travels than to take the upper road back to Detroit; having left it by the lower. On Sunday, June 27th, news arrived at Chicago that this upper road had been rendered impassable by the rains. A sailing vessel, the only one on the Lakes, and now on her first trip, was to leave Chicago for Detroit and Buffalo, the next day. The case was clear: the party must divide. Those who were obliged to hasten home must return by the road we came: the rest must proceed by water. On Charley's account, the change of plan was desirable; as the heats were beginning to be so oppressive as to render travelling in open wagons unsafe for a child. It was painful to break up our party at the extreme point of our journey; but it was clearly right. So Mr. and Mrs. L. took their chance by land; and the rest of us went on board the Milwaukee, at two o'clock on the afternoon of the 28th.

Mrs. F. and I were the only ladies on board; and there was no stewardess. The steward was obliging, and the ladies' cabin was clean and capacious; and we took possession of it with a feeling of comfort. Our pleasant impressions, however, were not of long duration. The vessel was crowded with persons who had come to the land sales at Chicago, and were taking their passage back to Milwaukee; a settlement on the western shore of the lake, about eighty miles from Chicago. Till we should reach Milwaukee, we could have the ladies' cabin only during a part of the day. I say a part of the day, because some of the gentry did not leave our cabin till near nine in the morning; and others chose to come down, and go to bed, as early as seven in the evening, without troubling themselves to give us five minutes' notice, or to wait till we could put up our needles, or wipe our pens. This ship was the only place in America where I saw a prevalence of bad manners. It was the place of all others to select for the study of such; and no reasonable person would look for anything better among land-speculators, and settlers in regions so new as to be almost without women. None of us had ever before seen, in America, a disregard of women. The swearing was incessant; and the spitting such as to amaze my American companions as much as myself.

Supper was announced presently after we had sailed; and when we came to the table, it was full, and no one offered to stir, to make room for us. The captain, who was very careful of our comfort, arranged that we should be better served henceforth; and no difficulty afterwards occurred. At dinner, the next day, we had a specimen of how such personages as we had on board are managed on an emergency. The captain gave notice, from the head of the table, that he did not choose our party to be intruded on in the cabin; and that any one who did not behave with civility at table should be turned out. He spoke with decision and good-humour; and the effect was remarkable. Everything on the table was handed to us; and no more of the gentry came down into our cabin to smoke, or throw themselves on the cushions to sleep, while we sat at work.

Our fare was what might be expected on Lake Michigan. Salt beef and pork, and sea-biscuit; tea without milk, bread, and potatoes. Charley throve upon potatoes and bread: and we all had the best results of food,—health and strength.

A little schooner which left Chicago at the same time with ourselves, and reached Milwaukee first, was a pretty object. On the 29th, we were only twenty-five miles from the settlement; but the wind was so unfavourable that it was doubtful whether we should reach it that day. Some of the passengers amused themselves by gaming, down in the hold; others by parodying a methodist sermon, and singing a mock hymn. We did not get rid of them till noon on the 30th, when we had the pleasure of seeing our ship disgorge twenty-five into one boat, and two into another. The atmosphere was so transparent as to make the whole scene appear as if viewed through an opera-glass; the still, green waters, the dark boats with their busy oars, the moving passengers, and the struggles of one to recover his hat, which had fallen overboard. We were yet five miles from Milwaukee; but we could see the bright, wooded coast, with a few white dots of houses.

While Dr. F. went on shore, to see what was to be seen, we had the cabin cleaned out, and took, once more, complete possession of it, for both day and night. As soon as this was done, seven young women came down the companion-way, seated themselves round the cabin, and began to question us. They were the total female population of Milwaukee; which settlement now contains four hundred souls. We were glad to see these ladies; for it was natural enough that the seven women should wish to behold two more, when such a chance offered. A gentleman of the place, who came on board this afternoon, told me that a printing-press had arrived a few hours before; and that a newspaper would speedily appear. He was kind enough to forward the first number to me a few weeks afterwards; and I was amused to see how pathetic an appeal to the ladies of more thickly-settled districts it contained; imploring them to cast a favourable eye on Milwaukee, and its hundreds of bachelors. Milwaukee had been settled since the preceding November. It had good stores, (to judge by the nature and quality of goods sent ashore from our ship;) it had a printing-press and newspaper, before the settlers had had time to get wives. I heard these new settlements sometimes called "patriarchal;" but what would the patriarchs have said to such an order of affairs?

Dr. F. returned from the town, with apple-pies, cheese, and ale, wherewith to vary our ship-diet. With him arrived such a number of towns-people, that the steward wanted to turn us out of our cabin once more; but we were sturdy, appealed to the captain, and were confirmed in possession. From this time began the delights of our voyage. The moon, with her long train of glory, was magnificent to-night; the vast body of waters on which she shone being as calm as if the winds were dead.

The navigation of these lakes is, at present, a mystery. They have not yet been properly surveyed. Our captain had gone to and fro on Lake Huron, but had never before been on Lake Michigan; and this was rather an anxious voyage to him. We had got aground on the sand-bar before Milwaukee harbour; and on the 1st of July, all hands were busy in unshipping the cargo, to lighten the vessel, instead of carrying her up to the town. An elegant little schooner was riding at anchor near us; and we were well amused in admiring her, and in watching the bustle on deck, till some New-England youths, and our Milwaukee acquaintance, brought us, from the shore, two newspapers, some pebbles, flowers, and a pitcher of fine strawberries.

As soon as we were off the bar, the vessel hove round, and we cast anchor in deeper water. Charley was called to see the sailors work the windlass, and to have a ride thereon. The sailors were very kind to the boy. They dressed up their dog for him in sheep-skins and a man's hat; a sight to make older people than Charley laugh. They took him down into the forecastle to show him prints that were pasted up there. They asked him to drink rum and water with them: to which Charley answered that he should be happy to drink water with them, but had rather not have any rum. While we were watching the red sunset over the leaden waters, betokening a change of weather, the steamer "New York" came ploughing the bay, three weeks after her time; such is the uncertainty in the navigation of these stormy lakes. She got aground on the sand-bank, as we had done; and boats were going from her to the shore and back, as long as we could see.

The next day there was rain and some wind. The captain and steward went off to make final purchases: but the fresh meat which had been bespoken for us had been bought up by somebody else; and no milk was to be had; only two cows being visible in all the place. Ale was the only luxury we could obtain. When the captain returned, he brought with him a stout gentleman, one of the proprietors of the vessel, who must have a berth in our cabin as far as Mackinaw; those elsewhere being too small for him. Under the circumstances, we had no right to complain; so we helped the steward to partition off a portion of the cabin with a counterpane, fastened with four forks. This gentleman, Mr. D., was engaged in the fur trade at Mackinaw, and had a farm there, to which he kindly invited us.

On Sunday, the 3rd, there was much speculation as to whether we should be at Mackinaw in time to witness the celebration of the great day. All desired it; but I was afraid of missing the Manitou Isles in the dark. There was much fog; the wind was nearly fair; the question was whether it would last. Towards evening, the fog thickened, and the wind freshened. The mate would not believe we were in the middle of the lake, as every one else supposed. He said the fog was too warm not to come from near land. Charley caught something of the spirit of uncertainty, and came to me in high, joyous excitement, to drag me to the side of the ship, that I might see how fast we cut through the waves, and how steadily we leaned over the water, till Charley almost thought he could touch it. He burst out about the "kind of a feeling" that it was "not to see a bit of land," and not to know where we were; and to think "if we should upset!" and that we never did upset:—it was "a good and a bad feeling at once;" and he should never be able to tell people at home what it was like. The boy had no fear: he was roused, as the brave man loves to be. Just as the dim light of the sunset was fading from the fog, it opened, and disclosed to us, just at hand, the high, sandy shore of Michigan. It was well that this happened before dark. The captain hastened up to the mast-head, and reported that we were off Cape Sable, forty miles from the Manitou Isles.

Three bats and several butterflies were seen to-day, clinging to the mainsail,—blown over from the shore. The sailors set their dog at a bat, of which it was evidently afraid. A flock of pretty pigeons flew round and over the ship; of which six were shot. Four fell into the water; and the other two were reserved for the mate's breakfast; he being an invalid.

We were up before five, on the morning of the 4th of July, to see the Manitou Isles, which were then just coming in sight. They are the Sacred Isles of the Indians, to whom they belong. Manitou is the name of their Great Spirit, and of everything sacred. It is said that they believe these islands to be the resort of the spirits of the departed. They are two: sandy and precipitous at the south end; and clothed with wood, from the crest of the cliffs to the north extremity, which slopes down gradually to the water. It was a cool, sunny morning, and these dark islands lay still, and apparently deserted, on the bright green waters. Far behind, to the south, were two glittering white sails, on the horizon. They remained in sight all day, and lessened the feeling of loneliness which the navigators of these vast lakes cannot but have, while careering among the solemn islands and shores. On our right lay the Michigan shore, high and sandy, with the dark eminence, called the Sleeping Bear, conspicuous on the ridge. No land speculators have set foot here yet. A few Indian dwellings, with evergreen woods and sandy cliffs, are all. Just here, Mr. D. pointed out to us a schooner of his which was wrecked, in a snowstorm, the preceding November. She looked pretty and forlorn, lying on her side in that desolate place, seeming a mere plaything thrown in among the cliffs. "Ah!" said her owner, with a sigh, "she was a lovely creature, and as stiff as a church." Two lives were lost. Two young Germans, stout lads, could not comprehend the orders given them to put on all their clothing, and keep themselves warm. They only half-dressed themselves: "the cold took them," and they died. The rest tried to make fire by friction of wood; but got only smoke. Some one found traces of a dog in the snow. These were followed for three miles, and ended at an Indian lodge, where the sailors were warmed, and kindly treated.

During the bright morning of this day we passed the Fox and Beaver Islands. The captain was in fine spirits, though there was no longer any prospect of reaching Mackinaw in time for the festivities of the day. This island is chiefly known as a principal station of the great north-western fur trade. Others know it as the seat of an Indian mission. Others, again, as a frontier garrison. It is known to me as the wildest and tenderest little piece of beauty that I have yet seen on God's earth. It is a small island, nine miles in circumference, being in the strait between the Lakes Michigan and Huron, and between the coasts of Michigan and Wisconsin.

Towards evening the Wisconsin coast came into view, the strait suddenly narrowed, and we were about to bid farewell to the great Lake whose total length we had traversed, after sweeping round its southern extremity. The ugly light-ship, which looked heavy enough, came into view about six o'clock; the first token of our approach to Mackinaw. The office of the light-ship is to tow vessels in the dark through the strait. We were too early for this; but perhaps it performed that office for the two schooners whose white specks of sails had been on our southern horizon all day. Next we saw a white speck before us; it was the barracks of Mackinaw, stretching along the side of its green hills, and clearly visible before the town came into view.

The island looked enchanting as we approached, as I think it always must, though we had the advantage of seeing it first steeped in the most golden sunshine that ever hallowed lake or shore. The colours were up on all the little vessels in the harbour. The national flag streamed from the garrison. The soldiers thronged the walls of the barracks; half-breed boys were paddling about in their little canoes, in the transparent waters; the half-French, half-Indian population of the place were all abroad in their best. An Indian lodge was on the shore, and a picturesque dark group stood beside it. The cows were coming down the steep green slopes to the milking. Nothing could be more bright and joyous.

The houses of the old French village are shabby-looking, dusky, and roofed with bark. There are some neat yellow houses, with red shutters, which have a foreign air, with their porches and flights of steps. The better houses stand on the first of the three terraces which are distinctly marked. Behind them are swelling green knolls; before them gardens sloping down to the narrow slip of white beach, so that the grass seems to grow almost into the clear rippling waves. The gardens were rich with mountain ash, roses, stocks, currant bushes, springing corn, and a great variety of kitchen vegetables. There were two small piers with little barks alongside, and piles of wood for the steam-boats. Some way to the right stood the quadrangle of missionary buildings, and the white mission church. Still further to the right was a shrubby precipice down to the lake; and beyond, the blue waters. While we were gazing at all this, a pretty schooner sailed into the harbour after us, in fine style, sweeping round our bows so suddenly as nearly to swamp a little fleet of canoes, each with its pair of half-breed boys.

We had been alarmed by a declaration from the captain that he should stay only three hours at the island. He seemed to have no intention of taking us ashore this evening. The dreadful idea occurred to us that we might be carried away from this paradise, without having set foot in it. We looked at each other in dismay. Mr. D. stood our friend. He had some furs on board which were to be landed. He said this should not be done till the morning; and he would take care that his people did it with the utmost possible slowness. He thought he could gain us an additional hour in this way. Meantime, thunder-clouds were coming up rapidly from the west, and the sun was near its setting. After much consultation, and an assurance having been obtained from the captain that we might command the boat at any hour in the morning, we decided that Dr. F. and Charley should go ashore, and deliver our letters, and accept any arrangements that might be offered for our seeing the best of the scenery in the morning.

Scarcely any one was left in the ship but Mrs. F. and myself. We sat on deck, and gazed as if this were to be the last use we were ever to have of our eyes. There was growling thunder now, and the church bell, and Charley's clear voice from afar: the waters were so still. The Indians lighted a fire before their lodge; and we saw their shining red forms as they bent over the blaze. We watched Dr. F. and Charley mounting to the garrison; we saw them descend again with the commanding officer, and go to the house of the Indian agent. Then we traced them along the shore, and into the Indian lodge; then to the church; then, the parting with the commandant on the shore, and lastly, the passage of the dark boat to our ship's side. They brought news that the commandant and his family would be on the watch for us before five in the morning, and be our guides to as much of the island as the captain would allow us time to see.

Some pretty purchases of Indian manufactures were brought on board this evening; light matting of various colours, and small baskets of birch-bark, embroidered with porcupine-quills, and filled with maple sugar.

The next morning all was bright. At five o'clock we descended the ship's side, and from the boat could see the commandant and his dog hastening down from the garrison to the landing-place. We returned with him up the hill, through the barrack-yard; and were joined by three members of his family on the velvet green slope behind the garrison. No words can give an idea of the charms of this morning walk. We wound about in a vast shrubbery, with ripe strawberries under foot, wild flowers all around, and scattered knolls and opening vistas tempting curiosity in every direction. "Now run up," said the commandant, as we arrived at the foot of one of these knolls. I did so, and was almost struck backwards by what I saw. Below me was the Natural Bridge of Mackinaw, of which I had heard frequent mention. It is a limestone arch, about one hundred and fifty feet high in the centre, with a span of fifty feet; one pillar resting on a rocky projection in the lake, the other on the hill. We viewed it from above, so that the horizon line of the lake fell behind the bridge, and the blue expanse of waters filled the entire arch. Birch and ash grew around the bases of the pillars, and shrubbery tufted the sides, and dangled from the bridge. The soft rich hues in which the whole was dressed seemed borrowed from the autumn sky.

But even this scene was nothing to one we saw from the fort, on the crown of the island; old Fort Holmes, called Fort George when in the possession of the British. I can compare it to nothing but to what Noah might have seen, the first bright morning after the deluge. Such a cluster of little paradises rising out of such a congregation of waters, I can hardly fancy to have been seen elsewhere. The capacity of the human eye seems here suddenly enlarged, as if it could see to the verge of the watery creation. Blue, level waters appear to expand for thousands of miles in every direction; wholly unlike any aspect of the sea. Cloud shadows, and specks of white vessels, at rare intervals, alone diversify it. Bowery islands rise out of it; bowery promontories stretch down into it; while at one's feet lies the melting beauty which one almost fears will vanish in its softness before one's eyes; the beauty of the shadowy dells and sunny mounds, with browsing cattle, and springing fruit and flowers. Thus, and no otherwise, would I fain think did the world emerge from the flood. I was never before so unwilling to have objects named. The essential unity of the scene seemed to be marred by any distinction of its parts. But this feeling, to me new, did not alter the state of the case; that it was Lake Huron that we saw stretching to the eastward; Lake Michigan opening to the west; the island of Bois Blanc, green to the brink in front; and Round Island and others interspersed. I stood now at the confluence of those great northern lakes, the very names of which awed my childhood; calling up, as they did, images of the fearful red man of the deep pine-forest, and the music of the moaning winds, imprisoned beneath the ice of winter. How different from the scene, as actually beheld, dressed in verdure, flowers, and the sunshine of a summer's morning!

It was breakfast-time when we descended to the barracks; and we despatched a messenger to the captain to know whether we might breakfast with the commandant. We sat in the piazza, and overlooked the village, the harbour, the straits, and the white beach, where there were now four Indian lodges. The island is so healthy that, according to the commandant, people who want to die must go somewhere else. I saw only three tombstones in the cemetery. The commandant has lost but one man since he has been stationed at Mackinaw; and that was by drowning. I asked about the climate; the answer was, "We have nine months winter, and three months cold weather."

It would have been a pity to have missed the breakfast at the garrison, which afforded a strong contrast with any we had seen for a week. We concealed, as well as we could, our glee at the appearance of the rich cream, the new bread and butter, fresh lake trout, and pile of snow-white eggs.

There is reason to think that the mission is the least satisfactory part of the establishment on this island. A great latitude of imagination or representation is usually admitted on the subject of missions to the heathen. The reporters of this one appear to be peculiarly imaginative. I fear that the common process has here been gone through of attempting to take from the savage the venerable and the true which he possessed, and to force upon him something else which is to him neither venerable nor true.

The Indians have been proved, by the success of the French among them, to be capable of civilisation. Near Little Traverse, in the north-west part of Michigan, within easy reach of Mackinaw, there is an Indian village, full of orderly and industrious inhabitants, employed chiefly in agriculture. The English and Americans have never succeeded with the aborigines so well as the French; and it may be doubted whether the clergy have been a much greater blessing to them than the traders.

It was with great regret that we parted with the commandant and his large young family, and stepped into the boat to return to the ship. The captain looked a little grave upon the delay which all his passengers had helped to achieve. We sailed about nine. We were in great delight at having seen Mackinaw, at having the possession of its singular imagery for life: but this delight was at present dashed with the sorrow of leaving it. I could not have believed how deeply it is possible to regret a place, after so brief an acquaintance with it. We watched the island as we rapidly receded, trying to catch the aspect of it which had given it its name—the Great Turtle. Its flag first vanished: then its green terraces and slopes, its white barracks, and dark promontories faded, till the whole disappeared behind a headland and light-house of the Michigan shore.

Lake Huron was squally, as usual. Little remarkable happened while we traversed it. We enjoyed the lake trout. We occasionally saw the faint outline of the Manitouline Islands and Canada. We saw a sunset which looked very like the general conflagration having begun: the whole western sky and water being as if of red flame and molten lead. This was succeeded by paler fires. A yellow planet sank into the heaving waters to the south; and the northern lights opened like a silver wheat-sheaf, and spread themselves half over the sky. It is luxury to sail on Lake Huron, and watch the northern lights.

On the 7th we were only twenty miles from the river St. Clair: but the wind was "right ahead," and we did not reach the mouth of the river till the evening of the 8th. The approach and entrance kept us all in a state of high excitement, from the captain down to Charley. On the afternoon of the 8th, Fort Gratiot and the narrow mouth of the St. Clair, became visible. Our scope for tacking grew narrower, every turn. The captain did not come to dinner; he kept the lead going incessantly. Two vessels were trying with us for the mouth of the river. The American schooner got in first, from being the smallest. The British vessel and ours contested the point stoutly for a long while, sweeping round and crossing each other, much as if they were dancing a minuet. A squall came, and broke one of our chains, and our rival beat us. In the midst of the struggle, we could not but observe that the sky was black as night to windward; and that the captain cast momentary glances thither, as if calculating how soon he must make all tight for the storm. The British vessel was seen to have come to an anchor. Our sails were all taken in, our anchor dropped, and a grim, silence prevailed. The waters were flat as ice about the ship. The next moment, the sky-organ began to blow in our rigging. Fort Gratiot was blotted out; then the woods; then the other ship; then came the orderly march of the rain over the myrtle-green waters; then the storm seized us. We could scarcely see each others' faces, except for the lightning; the ship groaned, and dragged her anchor, so that a second was dropped.

In twenty minutes, the sun gilded the fort, the woods, and the green, prairie-like, Canada shore. On the verge of this prairie, under the shelter of the forest, an immense herd of wild horses were seen scampering, and whisking their long tails. A cloud of pigeons, in countless thousands, was shadowing alternately the forests, the lake, and the prairie; and an extensive encampment of wild Indians was revealed on the Michigan shore. It was a dark curtain lifted up on a scene of wild and singular beauty.

Then we went to the anxious work of tacking again. We seemed to be running aground on either shore, as we approached each. Our motions were watched by several gazers. On the Canada side, there were men on the sands, and in a canoe, with a sail which looked twice as big as the bark. The keepers of the Gratiot light-house looked out from the lantern. A party of squaws, in the Indian encampment, seated on the sands, stopped their work of cleaning fish, to see how we got through the rapids. A majestic personage, his arms folded in his blanket, stood on an eminence in the midst of the camp; and behind him, on the brow of the hill, were groups of unclothed boys and men, looking so demon-like, as even in that scene to remind me of the great staircase in the ballet of Faust. Our ship twisted round and round in the eddies, as helplessly as a log, and stuck, at last, with her stem within a stone's throw of the Indians. Nothing more could be done that night. We dropped anchor, and hoped the sailors would have good repose after two days of tacking to achieve a progress of twenty miles. Two or three of them went ashore, to try to get milk. While they were gone, a party of settlers stood on the high bank, to gaze at us; and we were sorry to see them, even down to the little children, whisking boughs without ceasing. This was a threat of mosquitoes which was not to be mistaken. When the sailors returned, they said we were sure to have a good watch kept, for the mosquitoes would let no one sleep. We tried to shut up our cabin from them; but they were already there: and I, for one, was answerable for many murders before I closed my eyes. In the twilight, I observed something stirring on the high bank; and on looking closely, saw a party of Indians, stepping along, in single file, under the shadow of the wood. Their simplest acts are characteristic; and, in their wild state, I never saw them without thinking of ghosts or demons.

In the morning, I found we were floating down the current, stern foremost, frequently swinging round in the eddies, so as to touch the one shore or the other. There seemed to be no intermission of settlers' houses; all at regular distances along the bank. The reason of this appearance is a good old French arrangement, by which the land is divided into long, narrow strips, that each lot may have a water frontage. We were evidently returning to a well-settled country. The more comfortable houses on the Canada side were surrounded by spacious and thriving fields: the poorer by dreary enclosures of swamp. We saw a good garden, with a white paling. Cows were being milked. Cow-bells, and the merry voices of singing children, were heard from under the clumps; and piles of wood for the steam-boats, and large stocks of shingles for roofing were laid up on either hand. The Gratiot steamer puffed away under the Michigan bank. Canoes shot across in a streak of light; and a schooner came down the clear river, as if on the wing between the sky and the water. I watched two horsemen on the shore, for many miles, tracing the bay pony and the white horse through the woody screen, and over the brooks, and along the rickety bridges. I could see that they were constantly chatting, and that they stopped to exchange salutations with every one they met or overtook. These, to be sure, were few enough. I was quite sorry when the twilight drew on, and hid them from me. I saw a little boy on a log, with a paddle, pushing himself off from a bank of wild roses, and making his way in the sunshine, up the river. It looked very pretty, and very unsafe; but I dare say he knew best. The captain and mate were both ill to-day. The boat was sent ashore for what could be had. The men made haste, and rowed bravely; but we were carried down four miles before we could "heave to," for them to overtake us. They brought brandy for the captain; and for us, butter just out of the churn. The mosquitoes again drove us from the deck, soon after dark.

The next morning, the 10th, the deck was in great confusion. The captain was worse: the mate was too ill to command; and the second mate seemed to be more efficient in swearing, and getting the men to swear, than at anything else. After breakfast, there was a search made after a pilferer, who had abstracted certain small articles from our cabin; among which was Charley's maple-sugar basket, which had been seen in the wheel-house, with a tea-spoon in it. This seemed to point out one of the juniors in the forecastle as the offender; the steward, however, offered to clear himself by taking an oath, "on a bible as big as the ship," that he knew nothing of the matter. As we did not happen to have such a bible on board, we could not avail ourselves of his offer. A comb and tooth-brush, which had been missing, were found, restored to their proper places: but Charley's pretty basket was seen no more.

It was a comfortless day. We seemed within easy reach of Detroit; but the little wind we had was dead ahead; the sun was hot; the mosquitoes abounded; the captain was downcast, and the passengers cross. There was some amusement, however. Dr. F. went ashore, and brought us milk, of which we each had a draught before it turned sour. He saw on shore a sight which is but too common. An hotel-keeper let an Indian get drunk; and then made a quarrel between him and another, for selfish purposes. The whites seem to have neither honour nor mercy towards the red men.

A canoe full of Indians,—two men and four children,—came alongside, this afternoon, to offer to traffic. They had no clothing but a coarse shirt each. The smallest child had enormous ear-ornaments of blue and white beads. They were closely packed in their canoe, which rocked with every motion. They sold two large baskets for a quarter dollar and two loaves of bread. Their faces were intelligent, and far from solemn. The children look merry, as children should. I saw others fishing afar off, till long after dark. A dusky figure stood, in a splendid attitude, at the bow of a canoe, and now paddled with one end of his long lance, now struck at a fish with the other. He speared his prey directly through the middle; and succeeded but seldom. At dark, a pine torch was held over the water; and by its blaze, I could still see something of his operations.

The groaning of our ship's timbers told us, before we rose, that we were in rapid motion. The wind was fair; and we were likely to reach Detroit, forty miles, to dinner. Lake St. Clair, with its placid waters and low shores, presents nothing to look at. The captain was very ill, and unable to leave his berth. No one on board knew the channel of the Detroit river but himself; and, from the time we entered it, the lead was kept going. When we were within four miles of Detroit, hungry, hot, tired of the disordered ship, and thinking of friends, breezes, and a good dinner at the city, we went aground,—grinding, grinding, till the ship trembled in every timber. The water was so shallow that one might have touched the gravel on either side with a walking-stick. There was no hope of our being got off speedily. The cook applied himself to chopping wood, in order to lighting a fire, in order to baking some bread, in order to give us something to eat; for not a scrap of meat, or an ounce of biscuit, was left on board.

It occurred to me that our party might reach the city, either by paying high for one of the ship's boats, or by getting the mate to hail one of the schooners that were in the river. The boats could not be spared. The mate hoisted a signal for a schooner; and one came alongside, very fully laden with shingles. Fifteen of us, passengers, with our luggage, were piled on the top of the cargo, and sailed gently up to the city. The captain was too ill, and the mate too full of vexation, to bid us farewell; and thus we left our poor ship. We were glad, however, to pass her in the river, the next day, and to find that she had been got off the shoal before night.

As we drew near, Charley, in all good faith, hung out his little handkerchief to show the people of Detroit that we were come back. They did not seem to know us, however. "What!" cried some men on a raft, to the master of our schooner, "have you been robbing a steam-boat?" "No," replied the master, gravely; "it is a boat that has gone to the bottom in the lakes." We expected that some stupendous alarm would arise out of this. When we reached New York, a fortnight after, we found that our friends there had been made uneasy by the news that a steam-boat had sunk on the Lakes, and that eight hundred passengers were drowned. Catastrophes grow as fast as other things in America.

Though our friends did not happen to see Charley's pocket-handkerchief from the river, they were soon about us, congratulating us on having made the circuit of the Lakes. It was indeed matter of congratulation.

I have now given sketches of some of the most remarkable parts of the country, hoping that a pretty distinct idea might thus be afforded of their primary resources, and of the modes of life of their inhabitants. I have said nothing of the towns, in this connection; town-life in America having nothing very peculiar about it, viewed in the way of general survey. The several departments of industry will now be particularly considered.