In the February number, we gave a short extract from Upham’s Manual of

Peace, in relation to the cost of the Army and Navy of the United

States. That article has brought out an officer of the Navy, with the

following—in which we get abuse for facts, and sharp sentences for

figures. We can stand a moderate amount of flaying without blubbering,

and have no faith in the theory that a drop of ink will raise a blister,

except upon persons exceedingly thin-skinned. But our correspondent, who

takes a narrow view of both _time and figures_, appears to think the

question a new one, and settled by his article, and both Upham and

Graham demolished.

“Sir,—Freedom of speech, and freedom of the press, are among the best

privileges guarantied by a republican form of government; but freedom of

speech is not to be taken as a license to state for fact what is not

true without possibility of contradiction. Nor is freedom of speech to

be construed into a privilege of saying sharp or impertinent and

impudent things with impunity. It has been said as a rule, ‘joke as much

as you please, but never trespass on fact,’ which means, when you fall

into an error, you are bound to correct it.

“With these notions fresh upon me, I venture to point out an erroneous

statement in the first page of the February number of Graham, which is

calculated to prejudice a large number of people against the Navy and

Army of the country. Graham (Upham) states that the cost of maintaining

the Army and Navy of the United States is equal to eighty per cent.,

that is, four-fifths of the entire revenue. This must strike every

reflecting mind to be an expense so enormous as to render it desirable

to be rid of both Army and Navy. But the statement is entirely

erroneous, as a moment’s thought will show. If four-fifths of the

revenue are absorbed in maintaining the Army and Navy, only one fifth is

left to meet the expense of the ‘civil list,’ president and officers of

the cabinet, foreign ministers and consuls, custom-house officers,

light-houses, etc. etc.

“The total expenditure for the Navy and

Marine Corps, for the fiscal year ending

June 30, 1850, was $5,523,722 83

The expenditure for the Army about 6,476,278 17

——————

Total, $12,000,000 00

The revenue for the same period was $47,421,748 90

“So that in round numbers, the expense of the Army and Navy together, is

about one-fourth, or twenty-five per cent. of the revenue instead of 80

per cent., as stated, which is an excess of at least 55 per cent.

“It should not be forgotten, however, that twenty-five per cent. of the

whole revenue for military establishments is a large proportion; but

without these establishments, it is possible we might soon be entirely

without revenue, because our commerce, without a navy, would be open to

the depredation of pirates of all nations, and might be crippled if not

totally destroyed.

“The expense of keeping a dog may be considerable; but if that dog

protects us from thieves and burglars, the money spent for his

maintenance may be regarded as money well laid out.

“The expense of the military establishments is not their fault or sin;

but the evil is to be attributed to the ignorance of mankind. When the

whole world becomes educated and instructed, all wars will be conducted

with pen and ink, and aid of arithmetic. Sensible men, while in their

senses, never cut each other’s throats for differences of opinion; they

argue the difference; and he who has most logic and good sense, is

always willing to ‘do to others as he would others should do unto him.’

“Therefore, friend Graham (Upham) continue to teach your readers TRUTH,

and they will acquire so strong a sense of justice, as to do away with

any necessity for fighting among themselves or against others.”

Well, we will “_continue_ to teach our readers _truth_,” and the advice

points a moral. Navy _officers are bad logicians_!—but are a pretty

good set of fellows so long as they are paid well for the fighting that

_may be done_, in the next generation; and are allowed to say

themselves, that “the expense of the military establishments is to be

attributed to the ignorance of mankind,” without using any means to

enlighten mankind upon the subject.

Since our correspondent finds fault with us, or Upham, about his facts

and figures, we give him the following from a gentleman[3] who has paid

some attention to the matter, and ask him to look the question in the

face fairly, and answer the arguments and figures, and if he makes out

but a partial case, we will publish his reply, however sharp and acrid.

I do not propose to dwell upon the immense cost of War itself. That will

be present to the minds of all, in the mountainous accumulations of

debt, piled like Ossa upon Pelion, with which Europe is pressed to the

earth. According to the most recent tables to which I have had access,

the public debt of the different European States, so far as it is known,

amounts to the terrific sum of $6,387,000,000, all of this the growth of

War! It is said that there are throughout these states, 17,900,000

paupers, or persons subsisting at the expense of the country, without

contributing to its resources. If these millions of the public debt,

forming only a part of what has been wasted in War, could be apportioned

among these poor, it would give to each of them $375, a sum which would

place all above want, and which is about equal to the average value of

the property of each inhabitant of Massachusetts.

The public debt of Great Britain reached in 1839 to $4,265,000,000, the

growth of War since 1688! This amount is nearly equal to the sum-total,

according to the calculations of Humboldt, of all the treasures which

have been reaped from the harvest of gold and silver in the mines of

Spanish America, including Mexico and Peru, since the first discovery of

our hemisphere by Christopher Columbus! It is much larger than the mass

of all precious metals, which at this moment form the circulating medium

of the world! It is sometimes rashly said by those who have given little

attention to this subject, that all this expenditure was widely

distributed, and therefore beneficial to the people; but this apology

does not bear in mind that it was not bestowed in any productive

industry, or on any _useful_ object. The magnitude of this waste will

appear by a contrast with other expenditures; the aggregate capital of

all the joint stock companies in England, of which there was any known

record in 1842, embracing canals, docks, bridges, insurance companies,

banks, gas-lights, water, mines, railways, and other miscellaneous

objects, was about $835,000,000; a sum which has been devoted to the

welfare of the people, but how much less in amount than the War Debt!

For the six years ending in 1836, the average payment for the interest

on this debt was about $140,000,000 annually. If we add to this sum,

$60,000,000 during this same period paid annually to the army, navy and

ordnance, we shall have $200,000,000 as the annual tax of the English

people, to pay for former wars and to prepare for new. During this same

period there was an annual appropriation of only $20,000,000 for all the

civil purposes of the Government. It thus appears that _War_ absorbed

ninety cents of every dollar that was pressed by heavy taxation from the

English people, who almost seem to sweat blood! What fabulous monster,

or chimera dire, ever raged with a maw so ravenous? The remaining ten

cents sufficed to maintain the splendor of the throne, the

administration of justice, and the diplomatic relations with foreign

powers, in short, all the proper objects of a Christian State.[4]

Thus much for the general cost of War. Let us now look exclusively at

the _Preparations for War in time of peace_. It is one of the miseries

of War, that, even in peace, its evils continue to be felt by the world,

beyond any other evils by which poor suffering Humanity is oppressed. If

Bellona withdraws from the field, we only lose the sight of her flaming

torches; the bay of her dogs is heard on the mountains, and civilized

man thinks to find protection from their sudden fury, only by inclosing

himself in the barbarous armor of battle. At this moment the Christian

nations, worshiping a symbol of common brotherhood, live as in

entrenched camps in which they keep armed watch, to prevent surprise

from each other. Recognizing the _custom_ of War as a proper Arbiter of

Justice, they hold themselves perpetually ready for the bloody umpirage.

It is difficult, if not impossible, to arrive at any exact estimate of

the cost of these preparations, ranging under four different heads; the

Standing Army; the Navy; the Fortifications and Arsenals; and the

Militia or irregular troops.

The number of soldiers now affecting to keep the peace of European

Christendom, as a _Standing Army_, without counting the Navy, is upward

of two millions. Some estimates place it as high as three millions. The

army of Great Britain exceeds 300,000 men; that of France 350,000; that

of Russia 730,000, and is reckoned by some as high as 1,000,000; that of

Austria 275,000; that of Prussia 150,000. Taking the smaller number,

suppose these two millions to require for their annual support an

average sum of only $150 each, the result would be $300,000,000, for

their sustenance alone; and reckoning one officer to ten soldiers, and

allowing to each of the latter an English shilling a day, or $87 a year,

for wages, and to the former an average salary of $500 a year, we should

have for the pay of the whole no less than $256,000,000, or an appalling

sum-total for both sustenance and pay of $556,000,000. If the same

calculation be made, supposing the forces to amount to three millions,

the sum-total will be $835,000,000! But to this enormous sum another

still more enormous must be added on account of the loss sustained by

the withdrawal of two millions of hardy, healthy men, in the bloom of

life, from useful, productive labor. It is supposed that it costs an

average sum of $500 to rear a soldier; and that the value of his labor,

if devoted to useful objects, would be $150 a year. The Christian

Powers, therefore, in setting apart two millions of men, as soldiers,

sustain a loss of $1,000,000,000 on account of their training; and

$300,000,000 annually, on account of their labor, in addition to the

millions already mentioned as annually expended for sustenance and pay.

So much for the cost of the standing army of European Christendom in

time of Peace.

Glance now at the _Navy_ of European Christendom. The Royal Navy of

Great Britain consists at present of 557 ships of all classes; but

deducting such as are used for convict ships, floating chapels, coal

depots, the efficient navy consists of 88 sail of the line; 109

frigates; 190 small frigates, corvettes, brigs and cutters, including

packets; 65 steamers of various sizes; 3 troop-ships and yachts; in all

455 ships. Of these there were in commission in 1839, 190 ships,

carrying in all 4,202 guns. The number of hands employed was 34,465. The

Navy of France, though not comparable in size with that of England, is

of vast force. By royal ordinance of 1st January, 1837, it was fixed in

time of peace at 40 ships of the line, 50 frigates, 40 steamers, and 190

smaller vessels; and the amount of crews in 1839, was 20,317. The

Russian Navy consists of two large fleets in the Gulf of Finland and the

Black Sea; but the exact amount of their force and their available

resources has been a subject of dispute among naval men and politicians.

Some idea of the size of the navy may be derived from the number of

hands employed. The crews of the Baltic fleet amounted in 1837, to not

less than 30,800 men; and those of the fleet in the Black Sea to 19,800,

or altogether 50,600. The Austrian Navy consisted in 1837, of 8 ships of

the line, 8 frigates, 4 sloops, 6 brigs, 7 schooners or galleys, and a

number of smaller vessels; the number of men in its service in 1839, was

4,547. The Navy of Denmark consisted at the close of 1837, of 7 ships of

the line, 7 frigates, 5 sloops, 6 brigs, 3 schooners, 5 cutters, 58

gun-boats, 6 gun-rafts, and 3 bomb-vessels, requiring about 6,500 men to

man them. The Navy of Sweden and Norway consisted recently of 238

gun-boats, 11 ships of the line, 8 frigates, 4 corvettes, 6 brigs, with

several smaller vessels. The Navy of Greece consists of 32 ships of war,

carrying 190 guns, and 2,400 men. The Navy of Holland in 1839 consisted

of 8 ships of the line, 21 frigates, 15 corvettes, 21 brigs, and 95

gun-boats. Of the immense cost of all these mighty Preparations for War,

it is impossible to give any accurate idea. But we may lament that

means, so gigantic, should be applied by European Christendom to the

erection in time of Peace, of such superfluous wooden walls!

In the _Fortifications and Arsenals_ of Europe, crowning every height,

commanding every valley, and frowning over every plain and every sea,

wealth beyond calculation has been sunk. Who can tell the immense sums

that have been expended in hollowing out, for the purposes of War, the

living rock of Gibraltar? Who can calculate the cost of all the

Preparations at Woolwich, its 27,000 cannons, and its hundreds of

thousands of small arms? France alone contains upward of one hundred and

twenty fortified places. And it is supposed that the yet unfinished

fortifications of Paris have cost upward of _fifty millions of dollars_!

The cost of the _Militia_ or irregular troops, the Yeomanry of England,

the National Guards of Paris, and the _Landwehr_ and _Landsturm_ of

Prussia, must add other incalculable sums to these enormous amounts.

Turn now to the _United States_, separated by a broad ocean from

immediate contact with the great powers of Christendom, bound by

treaties of amity and commerce with all the nations of the earth;

connected with all by the strong ties of mutual interest; and professing

a devotion to the principles of Peace. Are the Treaties of Amity mere

words? Are the relations of commerce and mutual interest mere things of

a day? Are the professions of Peace vain? Else why not repose in quiet,

unvexed by Preparations for War?

Enormous as are the expenses of this character in Europe, those in our

own country are still greater in proportion to the other expenditures of

the Federal Government.

It appears that the average _annual_ expenditure of the Federal

Government for the six years ending with 1840, exclusive of payments on

account of debt, were $26,474,892. Of this sum the average appropriation

each year for military and naval purposes amounted to $21,328,903, being

eighty per cent. of the whole amount! Yes; of all the annual

appropriations by the Federal Government, eighty cents in every dollar

were applied in this irrational and unproductive manner. The remaining

twenty cents sufficed to maintain the Government in all its branches,

Executive, Legislative, and Judicial, the administration of justice, our

relations with foreign nations, the post-office and all the

light-houses, which—in happy useful contrast with any forts—shed their

cheerful signals over the rough waves beating upon our long and indented

coast, from the bay of Fundy to the mouth of the Mississippi. A table of

the relative expenditure of nations, for military Preparations in time

of Peace, exclusive of payments on account of the debts, presents

results which will surprise the advocates of economy in our country.

These are in proportion to the whole expenditure of Government:

In Austria, as 33 per cent.,

In France, as 38 per cent.,

In Prussia, as 44 per cent.,

In Great Britain, as 74 per cent.,

In the United States, as 80 per cent.![5]

To this magnificent waste by the Federal Government, may be added the

still larger and equally superfluous expenses of the Militia throughout

the country, placed recently by a candid and able writer, at $50,000,000

a year![6]

By a table[7] of the expenditures of the United States, exclusive of

payments on account of the Public Debt, it appears, that, _in the

fifty-three years from the formation of our present Government_, from

1789 down to 1843, $246,620,055 have been expended for civil purposes,

comprehending the executive, the legislature, the judiciary, the post

office, light-houses, and intercourse with foreign governments. During

this same period $368,626,594 have been devoted to the military

establishment, and $170,437,684 to the naval establishment; the two

forming an aggregate of $538,964,278. Deducting from this sum the

appropriations during three years of war, and we shall find that more

than _four hundred millions_ were absorbed by vain Preparations in time

of peace for War. Add to this amount a moderate sum for the expenses of

the Militia during the same period, which, as we have already seen, have

been placed recently at $50,000,000 a year; for the past years we may

take an average of $25,000,000; and we shall have the enormous sum of

$1,335,000,000 to be added to the $400,000,000; the whole amounting to

_seventeen hundred and thirty-five millions_ of dollars, a sum beyond

the conception of human faculties, sunk under the sanction of the

Government of the United States in mere _peaceful Preparations for War_;

more than _seven times_ as much as was dedicated by the Government,

during the same period, to all other purposes whatsoever!

From this serried array of figures the mind instinctively retreats. If

we examine them from a nearer point of view, and, selecting some

particular part, compare it with the figures representing other

interests in the community, they will present a front still more dread.

Let us attempt the comparison.

Within a short distance of this city (Boston) stands an institution of

learning, which was one of the earliest cares of the early forefathers

of the country, the conscientious Puritans. Favored child of an age of

trial and struggle, carefully nursed through a period of hardship and

anxiety, endowed at that time by the oblations of men like Harvard,

sustained from its first foundation by the paternal arm of the

Commonwealth, by a constant succession of munificent bequests and by the

prayers of all good men, the University of Cambridge now invites our

homage as the most ancient, the most interesting, and the most important

seat of learning in the land; possessing the oldest and most valuable

library, one of the largest museums of mineralogy and natural history—a

School of Law, which annually receives into its bosom more than one

hundred and fifty sons from all parts of the Union, where they listen to

instruction from professors whose names have become among the most

valuable possessions of the land—a School of Divinity, the nurse of

true learning and piety—one of the largest and most flourishing Schools

of Medicine in the country—besides these, a general body of teachers,

twenty-seven in number, many of whose names help to keep the name of the

country respectable in every part of the globe, where science, learning,

and taste are cherished—the whole presided over at this moment by a

gentleman, early distinguished in public life by his unconquerable

energies and his masculine eloquence, at a later period, by the

unsurpassed ability with which he administered the affairs of our city,

and now in a green old age, full of years and honor, preparing to lay

down his present high trust.[8] Such is Harvard University; and as one

of the humblest of her children, happy in the recollection of a youth

nurtured in her classic retreats, I cannot allude to her without an

expression of filial affection and respect.

It appears from the last Report of the Treasurer, that the whole

available property of the University, the various accumulations of more

than two centuries of generosity, amounts to $703,175.

Change the scene, and cast your eyes upon another object. There now

swings idly at her moorings, in this harbor, a ship of the line, the

Ohio, carrying ninety guns, finished as late as 1836 for $547,888;

repaired only two years after, in 1838, for $223,012; with an armament

which has cost $53,945; making an amount of $834,845,[9] as the actual

cost at this moment of that single ship; more than $100,000 beyond all

the available accumulations of the richest and most ancient seat of

learning in the land! Choose ye, my fellow-citizens of a Christian

state, between the two caskets—that wherein is the loveliness of

knowledge and truth, or that which contains the carrion death.

I refer thus particularly to the Ohio, because she happens to be in our

waters. But in so doing I do not take the strongest case afforded by our

Navy. Other ships have absorbed still larger sums. The expense of the

Delaware in 1842, had been _one million and fifty-one thousand dollars_.

Pursue the comparison still further. The expenditures of the University

during the last year, for the general purposes of the College, the

instruction of the Under-graduates, and for the Schools of Law and

Divinity, amount to $46,949. The cost of the Ohio for one year in

service, in salaries, wages, and provisions, is $220,000; being $175,000

more than the annual expenditures of the University; more than _four

times_ as much. In other words, for the annual sum which is lavished on

one ship of the line, _four_ institutions, like Harvard University,

might be sustained throughout the country!

Still further let us pursue the comparison. The pay of the Captain of a

ship like the Ohio, is $4,500 when in service; $3,500, when on leave of

absence, or off duty. The salary of the President of the Harvard

University is $2,205; without leave of absence, and never being off

duty!

If the large endowments of Harvard University are dwarfed by a

comparison with the expense of a single ship of the line, how much more

must it be so with those of other institutions of learning and

beneficence, less favored by the bounty of many generations. The average

cost of a sloop of war is $315,000; more, probably, than all the

endowments of those twin stars of learning in the Western part of

Massachusetts, the Colleges at Williamstown and Amherst, and of that

single star in the East, the guide to many ingenuous youth, the Seminary

at Andover. The yearly cost of a sloop of war in service is above

$50,000; more than the annual expenditures of these three institutions

combined.

I might press the comparison with other institutions of Beneficence,

with the annual expenditures for the Blind—that noble and successful

charity, which has shed true lustre upon our Commonwealth—amounting to

$12,000; and the annual expenditures for the Insane of the Commonwealth,

another charity dear to humanity, amounting to $27,844.

Take all the Institutions of Learning and Beneficence, the precious

jewels of the Commonwealth, the schools, colleges, hospitals and

asylums, and the sums, by which they have been purchased and preserved,

are trivial and beggarly, compared with the treasures squandered within

the borders of Massachusetts, in vain preparations for War. There is the

Navy Yard at Charleston, with its stores on hand, all costing

$4,741,000; the Fortifications in the harbors of Massachusetts, in which

incalculable sums have been already sunk, and in which it is now

proposed to sink $3,853,000 more;[10] and besides the Arsenal at

Springfield, containing in 1842, 175,118 muskets, valued at

$2,999,998,[11] and which is fed by an annual appropriation of about

$200,000; but whose highest value will ever be, in the judgment of all

lovers of truth, that it inspired a poem, which in its influence shall

be mightier than a battle, and shall endure when arsenals and

fortifications have crumbled to the earth. Some of the verses of this

Psalm of Peace may happily relieve the detail of statistics, while they

blend with my argument.

Were half the power that fills the world with terror,

Were half the wealth, bestowed on camp and courts,

Given to redeem the human mind from error,

There were no need of arsenals and forts.

The warrior’s name would be a name abhorred!

And every nation that should lift again

Its hand against its brother, on its forehead

Would wear for evermore the curse of Cain!

Look now for one moment at a high and peculiar interest of the nation,

the administration of justice. Perhaps no part of our system is

regarded, by the enlightened sense of the country, with more pride and

confidence. To this, indeed, all the other concerns of Government, all

its complications of machinery are in a manner subordinate, since it is

for the sake of justice that men come together in states and establish

laws. What part of the Government can compare in importance, with the

Federal Judiciary, that great balance-wheel of the Constitution,

controlling the relations of the States to each other, the legislation

of Congress and of the States, besides private interests to an

incalculable amount? Nor can the citizen, who discerns the True Glory of

his country, fail to recognize in the judicial labors of Marshall, now

departed, and in the immortal judgments of Story, who is still spared to

us—_cerus in cœlum redeat_—a higher claim to admiration and gratitude

than can be found in any triumph of battle. The expenses of the

administration of justice throughout the United States, under the

Federal Government, in 1842—embracing the salaries of the judges, the

cost of juries, court-houses, and all officers thereof, in short, all

the outlay by which justice, according to the requirements of Magna

Charta, is carried to every man’s door—amounted to $560,990, a larger

sum than is usually appropriated for this purpose, but how insignificant

compared with the cormorant demands of the Army and Navy!

Let me allude to one more _curiosity_ of waste. It appears, by a

calculation founded on the expenses of the Navy, that the average cost

of each gun, carried over the ocean, for one year, amounts to about

fifteen thousand dollars; a sum sufficient to sustain ten or even twenty

professors of Colleges, and equal to the salaries of all the Judges of

the Supreme Court of Massachusetts and the Governor combined!

Such are a few brief illustrations of the tax which the nations

constituting the great Federation of civilization, and particularly our

own country, impose on the people in time of profound peace, for no

permanent, productive work, for no institution of learning, for no

gentle charity, for no purpose of good. As we wearily climb, in this

survey, from expenditure to expenditure, from waste to waste, we seem to

pass beyond the region of ordinary calculation; Alps on Alps arise, on

whose crowning heights of everlasting ice, far above the habitations of

man, where no green thing lives, where no creature draws its breath, we

behold the cold, sharp, flashing glacier of War.

In the contemplation of this spectacle the soul swells with alternate

despair and hope; with despair, at the thought of such wealth, capable

of rendering such service to Humanity, not merely wasted but given to

perpetuate Hate; with hope, as the blessed vision arises of the devotion

of all these incalculable means to the purposes of Peace. The whole

world labors at this moment with poverty and distress; and the painful

question occurs to every observer, in Europe more than here at

home—what shall become of the poor—the increasing Standing Army of the

Poor. Could the humble voice that now addresses you, penetrate those

distant counsels, or counsels nearer home, it would say, disband your

Standing Armies of soldiers, apply your Navies to purposes of peaceful

and enriching commerce, abandon your Fortifications and Arsenals, or

dedicate them to works of Beneficence, as the statue of Jupiter

Capitolinus was changed to the image of a Christian saint; in fine,

utterly forsake the present incongruous system of _armed_ Peace.

That I may not seem to press to this conclusion with too much haste, at

least as regards our own country, I shall consider briefly, as becomes

the occasion, the asserted usefulness of the national armaments which it

is proposed to abandon, and shall next expose the outrageous fallacy—at

least in the present age, and among the Christian Nations, of the maxim

by which alone they are vindicated, that in time of Peace we must

prepare for War.

_What is the use of the Standing Army of the United States?_ It has been

a principle of freedom, during many generations, to avoid a standing

army; and one of the complaints in the Declaration of Independence was,

that George III. had quartered large bodies of troops in the colonies.

For the first years after the adoption of the Federal

Constitution—during our weakness, before our power was assured, before

our name had become respected in the family of nations, under the

administration of Washington—a small sum was deemed ample for the

military establishment of the United States. It was only when the

country, at a later day, had been touched by martial insanity, that, in

unworthy imitation of monarchical states, it abandoned the true economy

of a Republic, and lavished the means which it begrudged to the purposes

of Peace, in vain preparation for War. It may now be said of our army,

as Dunning said of the influence of the crown, it has increased, is

increasing, and ought to be diminished. At this moment there are, in the

country, more than fifty-five military posts. It would be difficult to

assign a reasonable apology for any of these—unless, perhaps, on some

distant Indian frontier. Of what use is the detachment of the second

regiment of Artillery in the quiet town of New London in Connecticut? Of

what use is the detachment of the first regiment of Artillery in that

pleasant resort of fashion, Newport? By their exhilarating music and

showy parade they may serve to amuse an idle hour, but it is doubtful if

emotions of a different character will not be aroused in generous

bosoms. Surely, he must have lost something of his sensibility to the

true dignity of human nature, who, without regret and mortification, can

observe the discipline, the drill, the unprofitable marching and

counter-marching—the putting guns to the shoulder and then dropping

them to the earth—which fill the lives of the poor soldiers, and

prepare them to become the rude, inanimate parts of that _machine_, to

which an army has been likened by the great living master of the Art of

War. And this sensibility must be more offended by the spectacle of a

chosen body of ingenuous youth, under the auspices of the Government,

amidst the bewitching scenery of West Point, painfully trained to these

same fantastic and humiliating exercises—at a cost to the country since

the establishment of this Academy, of upwards of four millions of

dollars.

In Europe, Standing Armies are supposed to be needed to sustain the

power of Governments; but this excuse cannot prevail here. The monarchs

of the Old World, like the chiefs of the ancient German tribes, are

upborne by the shields of the soldiery. Happily with us the Government

springs from the hearts of the people, and needs no janizaries for its

support.

But I hear the voice of some defender of this abuse, some upholder of

this “rotten borough” of our Constitution, crying, the Army is needed

for the defense of the country! As well might you say that the shadow is

needed for the defense of the body; for what is the army of the United

States but the feeble shadow of the power of the American people? _In

placing the army on its present footing, so small in numbers compared

with the forces of the great European States, our Government has tacitly

admitted its superfluousness for defense._ It only remains to declare

distinctly, that the country will repose in the consciousness of right,

without the wanton excess of supporting soldiers, lazy consumers of the

fruits of the earth, who might do the State good service in the various

departments of useful industry.

_What is the use of the Navy of the United States?_ The annual expense

of our Navy, during recent years, has been upward of six millions of

dollars. For what purpose is this paid? Not for the apprehension of

pirates; for frigates and ships of the line are of too great bulk to be

of service for this purpose. Not for the suppression of the Slave Trade;

for under the stipulations with Great Britain, we employ only eighty

guns in this holy alliance. Not to protect our coasts; for all agree

that our few ships would form an unavailing defense against any serious

attack. Not for these purposes, you will admit, _but for the protection

of our Navigation_. This is not the occasion for minute calculations.

Suffice it to say, that an intelligent merchant, who has been

extensively engaged in commerce for the last twenty years, and who

speaks, therefore, with the authority of knowledge, has demonstrated in

a tract of perfect clearness, that the annual profits of the whole

mercantile marine of the country do not equal the annual expenditure of

our Navy. Admitting the profit of a merchant ship to be four thousand

dollars a year, which is a large allowance, it will take the earnings of

one hundred ships to build and employ for one year a single sloop of

War—one hundred and fifty ships to build and employ a frigate, and

nearly three hundred ships to build and employ a ship of the line. Thus

more than five hundred ships must do a profitable business, in order to

earn a sufficient sum to sustain this little fleet. Still further,

taking a received estimate of the value of the mercantile marine of the

United States at forty millions of dollars, we find that it is only a

little more than six times the annual cost of the navy; so that this

interest is protected at a charge of more than _fifteen per cent._ of

its whole value! Protection at such price is more ruinous than one of

Pyrrhus’s victories!

-----

[3] Orations and Speeches by Charles Sumner, vol. I, page 71.

[4] I have relied here and in subsequent pages upon McCulloch’s

Commercial Dictionary; The Edinburgh Geography, founded on the works of

Malte Brun and Balbi; and the calculations of Mr. Jay in _Peace and

War_, p. 16, and in his Address before the Peace Society, pp. 28, 29.

[5] I have verified these results by the expenditures of these different

nations, but I do little more than follow Mr. Jay, who has illustrated

this important point with his accustomed accuracy.—_Address_, p. 30.

[6] Jay’s Peace and War, p. 13.

[7] American Almanac for 1845, p. 143.

[8] Hon. Josiah Quincy.

[9] Document No. 132, House of Representatives, 3rd session, 27th

Congress.

[10] Document; Report of Secretary of War; No. 2. Senate, 27th Congress,

2nd session; where it is proposed to invest in a general system of land

defenses $51,677,929.

[11] Exec. Documents of 1842-43, Vol. I. No. 3.

* * * * *

LINES ON SOME VIOLETS,

LEFT UPON MY DESK WHILE I WAS AT A FUNERAL.

He brought these violets yester eve,

While I was with the dead,

And when I hither came to grieve,

To me they meekly said—

“Let not thy gentle heart-founts flow

For her who is at rest,

But joy and sing for all who go

To sit among the Blest.

“Weep for thyself, and not for her,

Child of melodious Grief!

And pray thy angels, hovering near,

To make Life’s journey brief.

“For now we hear thy spirit beat

With bleeding plumes its grate,

And treading with impatient feet,

Like one that could not wait.

“Like one who, pale ’mid dungeon gloom,

Paces his scanty floor,

Awaiting till the jailer come

To ope his prison-door!”

E. ANNA LEWIS.

* * * * *

[Illustration: Painted by J. Martin

THE DESTRUCTION OF SODOM AND GOMORRAH.]

* * * * *

THE DESTRUCTION OF SODOM.

[WITH A STEEL ENGRAVING.]

BY MARGARET JUNKIN.

The fair, broad plains of Jordan, rich with all

Their wealth of summer fruitage, stretched themselves

Beneath the orient day. The haunting mists

Still folded to their bosoms the hushed streams,

O’er which they had kept night-watch. Flocks and herds

Dotting the green, fresh pastures stirless lay,

While shepherds slept beside them.

Peacefully

The morning twilight slowly raised its lids

On the devoted city, quiet now,

With its wild midnight orgies overworn—

As from its gate a little band stole forth

With fearful footsteps, and affrighted gaze

Turned ever upward to the clear, deep heavens,

Where all the stars were fading into day.

A light, irradiate as the astral glow

Of planetary lustre, marked the brows

Of those who guided them—betokening

Angelic nature, as in the quick haste

Of their divine commission fast they urged

The trembling lingerers. They pressed the speed

Of the old man, bewildered and amazed

By weakening terror, and they caught the hands

Which the distracted mother madly wrung,

To think upon her children left behind,

’Mid the doomed multitude, and drew her on

With gentle violence: they cheered the flight

Of the twain daughters, who, aghast with fear,

Were fain to lay their foreheads in the dust,

In palsied helplessness. With the sweet power

Of angel eloquence—with sympathies

That yearned above their poor humanity

In Christ-like tenderness, they hasted still

Their lagging steps.

“Escape ye, for your lives

Look not behind you! neither tarry ye

In all the verdant plain:—Escape, escape

Safe to the mountain, lest ye be consumed:”

The level sunbeams slant athwart the plain

Through the long shadows of the flying group—

Yet the destruction lingered; yet the sky

Gave forth no presage of the coming wrath.

The sward, dew-beaded, yielded to their tread

Never more softly, and the bannered palms

Playfully dallied with the morning breeze.

Doubt grew to strength within the mother’s soul,

Beneath the firmamental quietude;

And though the angel’s clasp was on her hand,

She backward looked, with longing, loving gaze,

Incredulous of evil, to the roofs

And lines of fair, white walls, that glittering lay

Serene in the pure dawn. The rigid hand

Dropped icy from the angel’s—the stark form

Stood fixed, and motionless, and marble pale—

A ghostly monument of unbelief.

Dumb with the tracking fear that suffered not

A moment’s waste in sorrow—on they pressed

And gained the place of refuge. Then they turned,

Breathless and tottering, with their straining eyes

Clouded with horror, and their lips apart

In speechless eagerness, and awful dread,

Toward the distant city.

The calm morn

Seemed sliding downward to abysmal night:

All Nature’s face grew sickly: through the plain,

The fell simoom came sweeping like a fiend,

Twisting the tallest palm-trees, as their stems

Were lithest summer reeds, and wrenching up

Centurial cedars. Silver-threaded streams

Grew to a leaden blackness: tempest-clouds,

Lurid with fiery fringes, marshaled all

Their most terrific grandeur, and rolled on

In thunderous darkness, till the funeral heavens

Thrilled to the shock, and the fast-anchored earth

Seemed throbbing in the agitated swell

Of fathomless ether. Sulphurous, forked flames,

Like myriads of avenging swords, flashed out

Above the guilty cities, and the shriek

Of frantic multitudes came roaring on

In dismal howls, as if the eternal pit

Had emptied forth its demons. The hot wrath

Of God’s fierce anger rained with scathing breath

The deluge-fire of a descending hell—

And in the flaming sheets, the stately towers—

The lofty mausoleums—the proud walls—

The rich abodes of princes—and the homes

Of Heaven-defying wickedness, were wrapped

As in a fitting cerement.

When the strength

Of the spent storm of fury died away,

And the ghast ministers of wrath drew off

Their fearful hosts from that grim battle-field—

The holy Patriarch, who had sought by prayer

To turn aside the vengeance, stretched his view

Across the plains of Jordan; but no walls

Gleamed in the early sunshine; no fair flocks

Studded the bleak, swart slopes; no waving trees

Bent to the morning wind. Destruction swooped,

Like a fierce raven screaming o’er its prey,

Above the desert-waste: the seething smoke

Hung, pall-like, round the ruins: and he bowed

His head in sad yet meek submissiveness

Before the righteous judgments of his God.

* * * * *

EMINENT YOUNG MEN.—NO. I.

BENJAMIN H. BREWSTER

In our last number we proposed to give a short biographical sketch of

Benjamin Harris Brewster, as the first of a series of rapid portraits of

such eminent young men as chance and association have made us intimate

with, that we might thereby incite in the minds of some of the young men

amongst our readers a laudable ambition to excel, and arouse that latent

energy of character which is the foundation of all true personal

greatness in America.

Benjamin Harris Brewster is a lineal descendant on his father’s side of

Elder William Brewster, whose name is embalmed in all true hearts as the

intrepid ruling elder in that Band of Heroes and unbending worshipers of

freedom of conscience, who landed from the Mayflower at Plymouth, in

December 1620. The heroism of Brewster, Robinson and others of that

immortal band of brave men and women, prior to their embarkation at

Holland, are facts of history, and as familiar to every student as their

subsequent trials and dauntless energy in braving them.

Mr. Brewster’s family were originally from New Jersey. A descendant of

Elder Brewster’s removed from Plymouth to New Jersey, and there Mr. B.

H. Brewster, his great-grandson, was born. In his mother’s family a

great-grandfather—a Duval, was a refugee Huguenot—“one of that handful

of whom the world was not worthy, who without stain, without reproach,

were crushed to the dust, were delivered up to the rack, the scourge,

the dungeon, the stake, as if accursed of Heaven, until at last a

weeping and bleeding remnant of them found their way to our land and

poured into our veins the rich stream of Huguenot blood.” Thus from both

sides of his house he inherits rich, old democratic blood. Puritan and

Huguenot blood. Blood that an American may be proud of. His ancestors

assisted in planting that holy seed of Liberty which has sprung into so

mighty a tree, and under whose thick spreading branches the oppressed of

all nations find shelter.

Mr. Brewster was born in Salem county, New Jersey, during a transient

residence of his parents in that place. When only a few months old his

parents returned to their former residence in Philadelphia, where he has

ever since lived. He early gave promise of great quickness of intellect,

but from his earliest childhood he was particularly remarkable for

strict truthfulness and integrity—he scorned a lie, even an evasion,

though it might save him the dreaded humiliation of punishment. “Manly,

straightforward, upright,” were words always applied to him by those who

knew him in youth, and these qualities made him a stay and a comfort to

his family at an age when most young men are dependents.

He left the preparatory school of Dr. Wiltbank at fourteen and entered

the University of Pennsylvania, but was removed from it six months after

to Princeton College, where he graduated at the age of eighteen years,

and commenced the study of law in this city, in the office of Eli K.

Price, Esq. In 1837, at the age of 21 years, he became a member of the

Philadelphia bar. Starting on the road of life in that most arduous of

all professions, the law, with few friends, he early exhibited those

peculiar traits of fitness for his profession that so speedily placed

him among its leaders. His success has been remarkable—not in the sense

of the world generally—but in the substantial character of his

business, and in his position among his brethren of the bar. He early

saw the door of distinction open to him, and resolved to pass its

threshold and make for himself an honorable name. With that industry and

energy that are part of his character, he speedily, while yet a young

man, rose in his profession, and took a prominent place among the best

of that bar, long since acknowledged to be the strongest in the country.

His mind is Analytical in an eminent degree, it perceives and grasps

with a quickness, oftentimes wonderful, the strong points of a case,

which are lucidly put before the jury. He uses little ornament, as we

usually understand it, though he has at times shown his ability to wield

that most effective of all the orator’s weapons; he presents in a brief,

sententious style, with all the force that such a style is so naturally

fitted for the gist of his case. His forte as a lawyer is before the

court in banc upon a question of law—the forum that tests the real

ability of so many—where mere speech-making—the tinsel and clap-trap

of the profession pass at their real value, and where mind alone is the

genuine currency—where educated minds are to be taught, altered, or

convinced. In this department of his profession Mr. Brewster is at home,

and brings to bear on the argument of his cases, all the powers of his

peculiarly well-stored mind. He is by no means, however, deficient

before a jury, as many of our citizens will recollect, in recalling to

mind his many triumphs in this city. While he is kind to his colleagues,

he is respectful but independent in his bearing toward the Court, but

permitting no undue interference in his or his client’s business, yet

giving to all the respect that position or talents should demand.

Mr. Brewster’s appearance before the Court is impressive. Thoughtful,

earnest, and of fine manners, he at once impresses you with the

importance of his cause, and that that which he is about to say is the

result of no passing thought, but of care and deliberation—graceful and

dignified in his manner he yet becomes, when warm with his subject,

vehement without losing his self-possession, oftentimes treading a

little out of his path to indulge in a pleasantry to relieve the dry

detail of legal discussion, still maintaining the thread and course of

his argument. Always courteous in an eminent degree to his adversary,

high-toned and honorable in all his intercourse with the world, he

exhibits it in argument, by refusing at all times to pervert facts, to

overstrain or misstate the well-settled law of the land. He is ready and

apt; exhibiting his readiness, and the ability with which he has

prepared his case by the prompt answers of points against him suggested

during argument by the Court or his adversary.

Mr. Kingman, the highly talented and veteran correspondent of the New

York Journal of Commerce, said of him, “His (Mr. Brewster’s) manner is

happy and winning—his voice mellow and flowing, and, as Mr. Wirt used

to say of one of his favorites, he can render interesting to any

auditory the dryest legal citation by the magical effect of his tasteful

reading.” His talents as a lawyer have drawn him from our local courts,

and the scenes of his greatest success have been in that “strongest of

Courts” the Supreme Court of the United States at Washington. In a case

that now presents itself to our mind, he more than distinguished

himself—we mention, we are sure, from its public character, and the

importance of the questions involved to all, a familiar case, when we

name “The United States vs. The County of Philadelphia.” It involved the

great constitutional question of the right of a State Government to tax

the unceded realty of the United States necessary for the purposes of

the Federal Government. This was a question particularly suited to the

turn of mind of Mr. Brewster, and it was to be argued before a Court,

the ablest and the brightest in the land. His argument elicited from all

parts the highest and the warmest praise. The New York Tribune, a paper

of high character for ability and impartiality, says, that “a long,

elaborate, and powerful argument was delivered before the Supreme Court

yesterday by Benjamin H. Brewster, of Philadelphia, which has produced a

great impression in our legal circles, and secured at once for Mr.

Brewster the reputation of being one of the ablest constitutional

lawyers in the country. The principle to be defined and settled in the

case in which Mr. B. is engaged, is of the highest importance, and the

whole country is certainly greatly indebted to the learning and

eloquence of that gentleman for the convincing manner in which he

pointed out and defined the rights of the States, and the ability with

which he defended those rights against Federal encroachment.” The New

York Journal of Commerce said of it, “Mr. Brewster’s argument

necessarily embraced some detail, and some citations, and various

illustrations, and still he managed to bring it all within the compass

of less than two hours. Mr. Brewster is a rising star, and destined at

no distant day to become a shining light of the federal tribunal.” And

these are but two, selected at random from a host of such compliments.

The result showed the truth of these views of Mr. Brewster’s argument.

His argument in this now famous case, was not published, notwithstanding

the urgent request of many friends that it should be—with a modesty

that we think false, but which is usually the attendant upon real

ability, he was contented with having done work well without seeking by

parade to make it the medium of pecuniary benefit. His character does

not, of course, stand upon this case alone, as the records of the court

at Washington will show, though, in truth, it might stand on a less

secure foundation. Almost as a necessary consequence of Mr. Brewster’s

professional life, he has been more or less identified with the various

political questions of the day. Early in life he attached himself from

conviction to the Democratic party, and steadily since, “through good

and evil report,” he has adhered to and defended with voice and pen, the

interest and doctrines of that party. He was a senatorial delegate from

Pennsylvania to the Baltimore Convention of 1844, and was the mover of

the “two-third rule” in that Convention, to which fact Mr. Polk

unquestionably owed his nomination. Shortly after the inauguration, Mr.

Polk tendered him, unsolicited, the judicial appointment of Cherokee

Commissioner. This Mr. Brewster accepted. It was an arduous and

responsible position, requiring great industry and ability to discharge

faithfully. By his course as Commissioner, he won the esteem and respect

of the suitors, and saved to the government, from the jaws of rapacious

speculators, millions of dollars. He received at the expiration of the

term for which the office was enacted, the thanks and approval of the

President.

Mr. Brewster is a warm supporter of the political views of Gen. Cass,

and is, perhaps, the most efficient, both with voice and pen, of the

many friends of that distinguished statesman in Pennsylvania. Differing

widely, as we do, from Mr. Brewster in political sentiment, we can yet

bear testimony to the intrepid conduct of the man, his high-hearted

courage in the cause of his friend, and his energetic endeavors to

secure the ultimate triumph of General Cass in the next Baltimore

Convention. And although we cannot vote for General Cass, we can almost

wish him success for the sake of seeing Mr. Brewster’s earnest and manly

efforts crowned with success. If General Cass has many such friends—and

Mr. Brewster’s friendship is of personal intimacy—he must have

qualities that most politicians deny opponents and rivals, for we are

satisfied that no man can attach to himself _heartily_, any number of

men of intellectual force such as Brewster has, without possessing

qualities of head and heart far above the grade of many aspiring

candidates for the presidency.

Since his retirement from connection with the administration of Mr.

Polk, Mr. Brewster has been engaged so much in the active pursuits of

his profession as to prevent his giving much of his time to active

politics, though often since by his pen, he has shown his interest in

the great questions that have been lately agitating the country; and

whenever the interests of General Cass are in jeopardy, his voice is

heard in council, and his pen, lightning-winged, flies to the rescue.

Having thus hastily glanced at Mr. Brewster’s position as a lawyer and a

public man, and used, as we confess we have done, the opinions and

sentiments of more than one member of the Philadelphia bar in high

standing, and the unsolicited endorsement of men high in his party, let

us take a closer view of the man—of his personal character, the proud

arch and basis of the structure, and tell, with all the freedom of an

intimate friend, what we feel we _ought_ to say, both in justice to our

readers, to give them a fair view of the man, and to Mr. Brewster, to

show how great have been his achievements against formidable odds.

Mr. Brewster has inherited in an eminent degree the endurance and high

courage of his ancestors. His path has been a rough one, with an

accumulation of difficulties besetting him on all sides, at the very

threshold of boyhood, which would have prostrated almost any other man.

But he at that early age made a resolute front, and met and pressed

struggling through all opposition.

He in early life met with an accident, the scars from which still linger

upon his countenance. This, in the opinion of the timid and ill-advised,

was sufficient for them to urge him into a more quiet and secluded

profession than that of an advocate. But they little knew, these weak

ones, the dauntless bravery of his soul—the fearless, determined

purpose, the iron will of the man. His motto has been, from early

boyhood, and his life has illustrated it nobly—“There is nothing

unconquerable to him that dares.” His whole life has been one of

struggles, of resolves and of victories. His manly self-possession under

all disasters, his vehement purpose to overcome, in spite of fate and

circumstances, have given an impetuosity and daring to his character

which enable him to overleap the impossibilities of other men. Had he

submitted to the dictation of the doubtful, regarded the counsel of the

timid-wise, his lofty soul would have been dwarfed, his heroic will

chafing for action in seclusion, would have made him a misanthrope—a

pining and peevish companion, a cynic toward man and a snarler at

Providence—the plague of a household, a weariness unto himself.

But with the true courage which faces disasters, the inborn greatness

which judges of its own capacity to endure, with an eye fixed upon the

successful future, which lifts its blazing front to the gaze of true

genius, he spurned all control, and consulting the inward teachings of

his own spirit, he resolved, he dared and he has triumphed. With a manly

heart, lifted in its gigantic resolves above all mere considerations of

self—obeying all of its generous and noble impulses, he has from early

manhood devoted his energies to build a paradise around those he

loves—to render his home the abode of all that refines, of Art, Music

and Society—to gather around him those who appreciated his manhood, and

to impart by all the delicate and tender relations and attentions of a

son and a brother, the largest amount of happiness which domestic life

can afford. With what a royalty of soul he has done all this, let those

answer who have spent their most delightful hours in his

drawing-rooms—where the stern lawyer, the energetic champion of

political principles and rights has unbended, and let loose the bounding

joyousness of the man—where his heart has let off its bubbles in very

glee, and where the exhaustless stores of his memory are poured out in

wantonness, and his imagination and wit flash and play in perfect

abandonment. No man who has not enjoyed his intimacy, his confidence and

his friendship, can make any just estimate of his ability or worth.

As a conversationalist, it has not been our fortune to meet with many

who are his equals, either in the readiness or the variety of his

topics, the fine play of his fancy, or the mellow flow of his words.

There is not at this bar, a man of his years, who is his equal in

scholarship—who has accumulated so vast a mass of curious learning.

Upon all questions of History, Philosophy or Biography—he is the

referee among his friends. His accuracy is singularly nice—no event of

which he has read, seems ever to escape the tenacious grasp of his

memory. No quotation from the Classics, apt at the moment, is ever

wanting to illustrate or point an anecdote or a sentence. His knowledge

of old English literature is thorough, and his acquaintance with the

modern familiar and full. He is, in all respects a thorough

student—stealing the hours which others devote to idle pleasure or

indolent sleep, to enlarge his stores of knowledge and make broader and

surer the foundations of intellectual power.

The defect of Mr. Brewster’s character has been the terrible impetuosity

of his impulses, which would carry him to the gates of Hades in pursuit

of a foe, and through a burning river in support of a

friend—frequently, too, without stopping to ask whether either was

worth the sacrifice. Hence, he has sometimes become the assailant and

the champion, without the clearest notions as to which side victory

justly belonged. These impulses, too, were as quick as they were strong.

The lightning was not more sudden than his wrath—nor more certain in

its destructiveness. No man made an enemy of him and escaped the

well-timed blow. But his vengeance was rarely garnered, but blazed out

in a fury which lent additional terror to the funeral pile of his

victim. His generous sentiments are easily touched. His time, his

talents, his whole soul are given to the cause of a friend. There is no

halfway-house on the road to his heart—the door is fast shut, or the

whole of the spacious apartments are thrown open, and the visitor is

received amid a blaze of light from every genial corner.

Mr. Brewster has recently been abroad, and travel, which is so often a

test of character, has improved him. He returns from Europe with his

energy of soul held in check—his feelings are composed and

chastened—his manner is subdued to a more Christian serenity—his voice

has not its old, impetuous volume—the rushing heat of passion comes

from his lips with less of its scorching severity. Life has broader aims

in his eyes than formerly—the hour and to-day, are less important—the

immediate success less looked to—the distant future is lived for more

earnestly, with wiser hopes of a happy present hereafter. All this comes

upon us—his old associate—with a force the greater, because we have

been less with him, of late; and the gradual, familiar growing of these

better purposes of soul have been less visible to us—they burst upon us

like a strain of pure music when discord has suddenly been stilled. Mr.

Brewster, himself, is a happier man—his old exuberant gayety is a

well-tempered serenity and joyousness—the picture has been toned down,

and the artist dwells upon it as a diviner effort of the Creator.

Mr. Brewster has nothing to do now but to _wait_!—high honors will come

to him unsolicited. His position is assured. His ability, his integrity,

his earnest energy of soul for the right and the true, open the pathway

for all that the ambition of a Christian has a right to look for. This

is Prophecy—the Inspiration which Truth impresses upon the soul.

G. R. G.

* * * * *

SORRENTO.

BY C. P. CRANCH.

On such a blue and breezy summer’s day,

The winds seem charmed that wander round this bay.

The waves that murmur on the sunward beach,

Whisper of things beyond the Present’s reach.

Each winged bark that skims along the sea

Seems gliding like a dream of mystery.

Light of far Grecian days comes glimmering through

This pure crystaline sky of cloudless blue.

Here are the rocks where gold-haired syrens sang;

Here Tasso’s harp in later ages rang.

Over the sacred waves the purple isles

Answer the heavens with their serenest smiles:

Round yonder point, steep Capri with her caves;

Beyond, where the sky kisses the far waves,

Those amethystine sisters of the sea,

Prochyta and the blue Inarime.

Along the shore from Baia’s rained towers

To marble Pompeii, half embalmed in flowers,

Stretches the chain of towns along the sea;

And gleaming in the midst, proud Napoli

Sits like a young and pearl-crowned ocean queen

Gazing into her mirror of clear green.

And over all the bodeful genius

Of this fair clime—fire-eyed Vesuvius

Frowns, the sole troubled spirit of the scene—

And even him the distance makes serene.

All this I see from my still summer home,

A bower where nought but peace and beauty come.

Geraniums and roses round me bloom—

From orange-groves, amid whose verdant gloom

Gold fruit and silver flowers together shine,

Come orient odors. A thick blossoming vine

Shadows the terrace where, even as I write,

The wind snows down the olive-blossoms white.

Above, the birds’ sweet and unwearied song;

Beneath, the ocean whispers all day long.

Sometimes, when morning lights the rippling waves

Below the steep rocks and the ocean caves,

The sunshine weaves a net of flickering gleams.

Fit to entrap a Syren in her dreams.

There tangled braids of ever-changing light

In golden mazes glitter up the sand,

And underneath, the rocks and pebbles bright

Glow like rich jewels of the Eastern land.

Well might such sweet, transparent waters hold

Tritons and nymphs with locks of liquid gold;

For nothing were too beautiful to be

Born from the pure depths of this summer sea.

———

Four moons have passed—and nights and days have flown

Cloudless—a summer of an orient tone,

Since my unequal pen essayed to tell

Brief passages of what I loved so well.

Above me now, where blossoms fell in spring,

Large purple grapes hang thickly clustering;

The fig-tree near, with ample leaves displayed,

Shelters its sweet, cool fruit beneath their shade.

Still hang the oranges upon their stems,

Whose dark green foliage makes them glow like gems.

The cypresses by yonder convent wall

Shoot up as freshly green, as stately tall,

And there the drowsy vesper-bell ne’er tires

Calling to prayers the brown-robed, bearded friars.

Down on the beach, content with slender gain,

Still drag their nets the red-capped fishermen.

Still glide the days as fair—the nights more cool,

The sea is still as ever beautiful;

And yonder purple mount, towering as proud

Still blends its light smoke with the flying cloud.

And now, ere I these pleasant scenes resign,

I would yet linger o’er and make them mine.

I would remember every odorous breeze

That wafted incense from these orange-trees—

The roses clustering on their leafy stalks,

Dropping their faint leaves in the garden walks—

The sweet geraniums and the passion flowers

Entwined with multifloras—the noon hours

When underneath the oaks I watched the sea

Rippling below me calm and dreamily.

The hueless olives where the full moon came

Kindling behind them with a holy flame,

Touching their pale leaves with mysterious sheen

And shimmering o’er old boughs of silvery green—

Above, the inextinguishable lights

That made all nights in heaven like festal nights,

That seemed too holy for frail men to keep,

And yet too costly to be spent in sleep.

O lovely nights and days! too quickly flown;

Leave me the memory of your sweetest tone.

O ocean! long I’ve lingered on thy shore,

Lulled by thy whisper, wakened by thy roar.

Ere I depart and see no more thy face,

Let me retain some sign of thy embrace—

Not pearls nor painted shells, nor coral rare,

But dreams of Beauty. So the goddess fair,

Who rules all hearts, and fills the Olympian home,

Rose in a sea-shell from thy glittering foam—

Sprang an immortal to the blaze of day,

And wide o’er gods and men extends her sway.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE CARIBOO; OR AMERICAN REIN-DEER.]

* * * * *

THE GAME OF THE SEASON.

BY FRANK FORESTER, AUTHOR OF “FIELD SPORTS OF AMERICA,” “FISH AND

FISHING,” ETC.

THE CARIBOO; AND CARIBOO HUNTING

_Cervus Tarandus._ American Rein-Deer.

[SEE ENGRAVING.]

It is not a little extraordinary, that this magnificent and noble

species, which exists in considerable numbers within two hundred miles

of the spot where I sit writing, in the Adirondack Highlands—I mean, of

New York—which abounds in the north-eastern part of Maine, swarms in

New Brunswick and Newfoundland, and indeed everywhere North of the St.

Lawrence and Ottawa, to the extremest Arctic Regions yet penetrated by

the foot of man, should be yet less known to American writers—even on

the topic of Natural History—than most animals of Central Asia, or the

inhospitable wilds of Southern Africa. It is not even determined—so

little care has been taken in examining or identifying

specimens—whether it is one and the same, or a different species from

the Reindeer of the Europe-Asiatic continent; nor have any of its

peculiarities been noted down, such as the common indications of its

stature, antlers, pelage, and color, much less its anatomical and

osseous structure, so as to permit of any accurate comparison being

drawn, or decision arrived at.

In proof of the loose way in which these self-styled descriptions of

rare animals are drawn, in books of solemn pretension and supposed

authority, I shall proceed to quote the following from the Encyclopædia

Americana—a work of which I can only say, that it is equally profuse of

needless information on subjects trite to every Sophomore, and sparing

of facts, such as require research and are required by men of ordinary

reading, who will search its pages vainly for what on occasion they may

need to ask it.

“_Reindeer_”—says the authority. “These animals inhabit the Arctic

Islands of Spitzbergen, and the northern extremity of the Old Continent,

never having extended, according to Cuvier, to the southward of the

Baltic. They have been long domesticated, and their appearance and

habits are well described by naturalists. The American Reindeer, or

Cariboo, are much less generally known; they have, however, so strong a

resemblance to the Lapland deer, that they have always been considered

to be the same species, though the fact has never been completely

established. The American Indians have never profited by the docility of

this animal, to aid them in transporting their families and property,

though they annually destroy great numbers for their flesh and hides.

There appear to be several varieties of this useful quadruped peculiar

to the high northern regions of the American Continent, which are ably

described by Doctor Richardson, one of the companions of Captain

Franklin, in his arduous attempt to reach the North Pole by land. The

closeness of the hair of the Cariboo, and the lightness of its skin,

when dressed, render it the most appropriate article for winter clothing

in the high latitudes. The hoofs of the Reindeer are very large, and

spread greatly, and thus enable it to cross the yielding snows without

sinking.”

And this—without one word of the height, weight, color, or habitat of

the animal—is the only information which the Editor of the American

Encyclopædia thinks proper to give his readers—except a brief

description of Doctor Richardson, about whom he seems to know a little,

if he knew nothing about Cariboo—concerning an animal, which is killed

almost annually within fifty miles of Albany, sold annually in Montreal,

and in New Brunswick and Nova Scotia almost as common an article as

venison, or Moose-meat during winter in the markets.

Would not any one suppose, on reading the above, that he was dealing

with the description of an animal, which roamed only wastes untrodden by

the foot of the white man, save the adventurous explorers of the Arctic

Circles, and concerning which no information can be gained by the

ordinary naturalists of this country?

Cuvier and Richardson, and Audubon’s stupendous work are not attainable

by general readers, or even ordinary writers of cities; to those of the

country they are utterly inaccessible—but to Encyclopædists, and to men

who sit down to reproduce great works on Natural History, who choose to

consult them, they are perfectly and easily open; and there is no shadow

of excuse for those who profess to teach others, yet refuse to learn

themselves.

Had the writer of the above worthless trash thought fit to compare

Doctor Richardson’s description of the Cariboo, which it seems he had

read—and which, like all that singularly able naturalist’s

descriptions, is doubtless as minute as correct—with Cuvier’s

description of the Reindeer, he might have pronounced as easily, as he

could whether two and two make four or five, whether the American and

Europe-Asiatic deer are identical or different. Godman, in his

“Quadrupeds of North America,” though a little more definite than Dr.

Leiber, is scarce less bald and brief. Dr. Dekay, whose lamented life

has recently been brought to an untimely close, though he suspected it

to be a denizen of New York, was not fully assured of the fact, and

therefore has not, I think, described it in his Fauna of that State.

I have myself, unfortunately, no immediate access to either Richardson

or Cuvier; nor even to any well established work on the Animals of

Northern Europe. But I have seen a large herd, in my youth, of the

Lapland Reindeer, which, with their Esquimaux attendants were exhibited

many years ago in London; previous to a futile attempt at naturalizing

them in the Highlands and Western Isles of Scotland; and have a fair,

general remembrance of the animal. I possess antlers of the Cariboo,

which hang in my hall, and which are accurately portrayed in the

wood-cut; I have handled twenty times the hides of this great deer; and

I have daily opportunities—in the office of my friend, W. T. Porter, of

the Spirit of the Times—to examine the preserved heads and legs of even

finer specimens than my own. I have also letters, private, and writings

published, of a New Brunswicker, who has killed the Cariboo fifty times,

and had opportunities of seeing the European Reindeer, at the Zoological

Gardens in London, long since myself. I can, therefore, form a very fair

conjecture at the identity or non-identity of the species. At least I

can give some particulars of structure, stature, and pelage of the

American Cariboo, which will enable others to judge, who are better

posted up than I, in the peculiarities of the Lapland Reindeer. And

first—I will premise that although I have never seen the Cariboo in

life, or in his native woods—which I trust to do before the snows of

the next March shall have melted—the wood-cut illustration of this

number is so closely made up from measurements of the various parts,

heads, antlers, legs and hides of the animal, that I believe it to be as

nearly correct as any likeness can be, which is not taken from an

especial individual of the race.

In the first place—as to the stature of the Cariboo, I was long ago

struck by the statements of the New Brunswick writer, “Meadows,” alias

Mr. Barton Wallop, alluded to above, which may be found in Porter’s

edition of Hawker’s Field Sports, p. 326-333—“The Cariboo of this

country are very like the Reindeer, only a little larger”—and

again—“as this is the first time you have seen a Cariboo trail, you

will observe it is much like that of an _ox_, save that the cleft is

much more open, and the pastern of the animal being very long and

flexible, comes down the whole length on the snow, and gives the animal

additional support.”

Arguing on this statement, in my “Field Sports,” knowing Meadows to have

seen both animals, that they must be distinct, I pointed out—no one

could dream of comparing a Lapland Reindeer’s track to that of an _ox_,

any more than to that of an elephant; and observed further, that the

Lapland Reindeer is not a larger, but—to my recollection—a smaller

animal than the common American Red-deer, _Cervus_ _Virginianus_ of

Naturalists. This coming casually under Mr. Wallop’s eye, he wrote to

me, in full confirmation of my opinion, that he had recently seen

Lapland Reindeer in the Regent’s Park Zoological Gardens, and wished to

amend his former _dictum_, by saying, that the Cariboo is at least

one-third taller than the Lapland deer, and otherwise larger, and in

other respects very different. Also, that the Lapland animal is not

taller than the British Stag, or the American Common Deer, or, if at

all, very slightly so.

Now, to come to my own observation, verified by measurement. The Cariboo

antlers in my own possession, not an unusually large pair, measure as

follows:

Extreme width from tip to tip, one foot 4½ inches. Length of curvature

of antlers, from root to tip, two feet 3½ inches. Direct height, 23

inches. Breadth of the palmated brow antlers, 8 inches. Length of do.,

11 inches. Breadth of upper palm, 8 inches. Length of do., 12 inches.

Girth at the root of antler, 5½ inches. At insertion of upper prong, 4

inches. Number of prongs at the tips, unequal—three and two. At the

upper palms, three. On the lower palms, seven processes, including the

principal point.

Compare with this, the measurements of the antlers of a very fine

specimen of the common American deer, _Cervus Virginianus_.

Extreme width from tip to tip, 11 inches. Length of curvature along the

back of antlers from root to tip, two feet and half an inch. Direct

height, 15 inches.

Observe, however, that the greater curvature in the horns of the

American deer, while it causes a larger comparative measurement, leaves

a vast excess in height and show to the Cariboo.

In the Cariboo, moreover—see cut—the structure of the horns is

directly the reverse of that of any other palmated-horned animal I ever

remember to have seen; as the Moose, the English Fallow-deer, and to the

best of my recollection the Europe-Asiatic Reindeer. In both the former

of these animals, the broad palms form the extreme upper tips; while the

lower spurs and brow antlers are round prongs; and, to the best of my

memory, the reindeer has no very conspicuous palms at all.

In our common deer, again, contrary to any other deer I have ever

seen—except a very noble non-descript specimen recently sent from

Calcutta to the Spirit of the Times—the main branch of the antlers

curves _forward_ over the brow, offering the main defenses, the true

brow antlers being mere erect prongs; while all the tines are posterior

to the main branch.

In the American Elk, and in the British Stag, or Red-deer, and in all

other round-horned deer I ever saw, the main antlers rise erectly, with

a slight _backward_ curve, the brow antler and all the other tines

springing from it anteriorly, and forming the true weapons for the

animal’s defense.

The Cariboo, therefore, presents a curious combination of the

round-horned and palmated-horned deer, in the first instance; and of the

usual, and American, round-horn structure, in the second. First, it has

the round, pointed tips and sharp, round prongs of the round-horned deer

above, with the flat, leaf-like blades of the palmated-horned deer

below. And, secondly, it has the forward curve at the tips and backward

prongs, above, of the American round-horn, with the terrible brow

antlers and forward tines of the usual structure below.

Lastly, it differs from all in this—that its brow antlers, instead of

dividing with an outward curve over and without each eye, closes with a

straight inward inclination, until the tips almost meet, nearly in the

centre of a brow.

Once more, as to size, there are the leg, with hoof, pastern and

cannon-bone of an ordinary sized Cariboo; and the leg, with hoof,

pastern and cannon-bone of an extraordinarily large-sized American deer,

and as such selected, hanging side by side in Mr. Porter’s office. The

limb of the Cariboo is considerably more than one-third superior in size

to that of the common deer, and is fully equal to that of a yearling

heifer of the very largest stature, and from its peculiar structure,

being cleft nearly the full length of the pastern to the fetlock-joint,

would evidently leave a much larger track.

I have seen and ridden aged thorough-bred horses of fourteen and a half

hands—four foot ten inches high—whose limbs were in all respects

inferior to that of this superb specimen of the deer tribe; and right

confident am I, from observation of several of their heads, their hides

and hoofs, that from fourteen and a half to fifteen hands will be found

to be the average height of the Cariboo. If the Lapland Reindeer ever

exceeds thirteen it will be surprising to me. While on this topic,

however, I will beg the first Canadian or Nova Scotian hunter whose eye

this may meet, to furnish me with the full statements of height, weight

and measurement of any Cariboo he may be so fortunate as to kill, or to

have killed, during the present winter. Readers of Graham will find in

the February number of the present year a correct and spirited

representation of the antlers of the English red-deer; and, if they will

look back to the June and August numbers of 1851, they will find those

of the moose and American deer, designed by myself from the life, which

will far more easily convey the comparison which I desire to draw than

written words.

As regards the nature of the pelage, or fur, for it is almost such, of

the Cariboo, so far from its being, as the wiseacre of the Encyclopædia

states, remarkable for closeness and compactness, it is by all odds the

loosest and longest haired of any deer I ever saw; being, particularly

about the head and neck, so shaggy as to appear almost maned.

In color, it is the most grizzly of deer, and though comparatively dark

brown on the back, the hide is generally speaking light, almost dun

colored, and on the head and neck fulvous, or tawny gray, largely mixed

with white hairs.

The flesh is said to be delicious; and the leather made by the Indians

from its skin, by their peculiar process, is of unsurpassed excellence

for leggings, moccasons or the like; especially for the moccason to be

used under snow-shoes.

As to its habits, while the Lapland or Siberian Reindeer is the tamest

and most docile of its genus, the American Cariboo is the fiercest,

fleetest, wildest, shyest and most untameable. So much so, that they are

rarely pursued by white hunters, or shot by them, except through casual

good-fortune; Indians alone having the patience and instinctive craft,

which enables them to crawl on them unseen, unsmelt—for the nose of the

Cariboo can detect the smallest taint upon the air of any thing human at

least two miles up wind of him—and unsuspected. If he take alarm and

start off on the run, no one dreams of pursuing. As well pursue the

wind, of which no man knoweth whence it cometh or whither it goeth.

Snow-shoes against him alone avail nothing, for propped up on the broad,

natural snow-shoes of his long, elastic pasterns and wide-cleft clacking

hoofs, he shoots over the thinnest crust, over the deepest drifts,

unbroken; in which the lordly moose would soon flounder, shoulder-deep,

if hard pressed, and the graceful deer would fall despairing, and bleat

in vain for mercy—but he, the ship of the winter wilderness, outspeeds

the wind among his native pines and tamaracks—even as the desert ship,

the dromedary, outtrots the red simoom on the terrible Zahara—and once

started, may be seen no more by human eyes, nor run down by fleetest

feet of man, no, not if they pursue him from their nightly-casual camps,

unwearied, following his trail by the day, by the week, by the month,

till a fresh snow efface his tracks, and leave the hunter at the last,

as he was at the first of the chase; less only the fatigue, the

disappointment and the folly.

Therefore by woodsmen, whether white or red-skinned, he is never

followed. Indians by hundreds in the provinces, and many loggers and

hunters in the Eastern states, can take and keep his trail in suitable

weather—the best _time_ is the latter end of February or the beginning

of March; the best _weather_ is when a light, fresh snow of some three

or four inches has fallen on the top of deep drifts and a solid crust;

the fresh snow giving the means of following the trail; the firm crust

yielding a support to the broad snow-shoes and enabling the stalkers to

trail with silence and celerity combined. Then they crawl onward,

breathless and voiceless, up wind always, following the foot-prints of

the wandering, pasturing, wantoning deer; judging by signs, unmistakable

to the veteran hunter, undistinguishable to the novice, of the distance

or proximity of their game; until they steal upon the herd unsuspected,

and either finish the day with a sure shot and a triumphant whoop; or

discover that the game has taken alarm and started on the jump, and so

give it up in despair.

One man perhaps in a thousand can still-hunt, or stalk, Cariboo in the

summer season. He, when he has discovered a herd feeding _up wind_, at a

leisurely pace and clearly unalarmed, stations a comrade in close

ambush, well down wind and to leeward of their upward track, and then

himself, after closely observing their mood, motions and line of course,

strikes off in a wide circle well to leeward, until he has got a mile or

two ahead of the herd, when very slowly and guardedly, observing the

profoundest silence, he cuts across their direction, and gives them his

wind, as it is technically termed, dead ahead. This is the crisis of the

affair; if he give the wind too strongly, or too rashly, if he make the

slightest noise or motion, they scatter in an instant, and away. If he

give it slightly, gradually, and casually as it were, not fancying

themselves pursued, they merely turn away from the remote danger, and

instead of flying, merely _feed_ away from it, working their way _down

wind_ to the deadly ambush, of which their keenest scent cannot so

inform them. If he succeed in this, inch by inch, he crawls after them,

never pressing them, or drawing in upon them, but preserving the same

distance still, still giving them the same wind as at the first, so that

he creates no panic or confusion, until at length, when close upon the

hidden peril, his sudden whoop sends them headlong down the deceitful

breeze upon the treacherous rifle.

Of all wood-craft none is so difficult, none requires so rare a

combination as this, of quickness of sight, wariness of tread, very

instinct of the craft, and perfection of judgment. When resorted to, and

performed to the very admiration of woodmen, it does not succeed once in

a hundred times—therefore not by one man in a thousand is it ever

resorted to at all, and by him, rather in the wantonness of wood-craft,

and by way of boastful experiment, than with any hope, much less

expectation of success.

For once, in my illustration, the trick has been played, and the game

wins—the whoop is pealing on the wind beyond the dark, sheltering pines

and hemlocks—the herd is scattered to the four winds of heaven—but the

monarch of the wilderness, the prime bull of the herd, bears down in his

headlong terror full on the ambushed rifle.

Lo! with how brave a bound he clears that prostrate log. But the keen

eye of the woodman is upon him; another moment, and it shall glare along

the deadly rifle; the sharp, short crack shall awake the echoes of the

forest, and ere they shall have subsided into silence, the pride of the

woods shall have gasped out his last sigh on the gory green-sward.

But this you will say is fancy—scarcely fact. Be it so. What follows

shall be fact, not fancy. For I shall beg leave to quote a few pages

from Porter’s Hawker by that “Meadows,” whom I have already

mentioned—since his is the best description of this noble sport extant;

since to reproduce it, giving his thoughts in my own altered words were

rankest plagiary; and since, if it meet his eye, he will be rather

pleased than hurt that I have winged his words into a wider field and to

a larger audience than he at first addressed them.

I will premise only, that “Howard,” who figures as the hero, is a New

Brunswicker, in New Brunswick; “Meadows,” the narrator, an English tyro

visiting his friend in the province; Sabatisie, a Micmac Indian,

henchman and guide of Meadows; and Billy, last not least, Howard’s pet

bull terrier. Scene, daybreak! they have issued from the camp close to

the hunting-ground where the Cariboo are supposed to “won”—as Chaucer

would have written it—when lo! quoth Meadows—

“After a hearty meal, every thing being ready, we _mounted_ our

snow-shoes and marched. The first golden rays were just struggling

through the gray East, and dispersing the thick mist which hung over our

camp, as I strode forth on my first Cariboo hunt, my heart leaping in

anxious anticipation, and my nerves strung by the healthy atmosphere. We

proceeded in silence, and had ample time to observe the lonely grandeur

of the surrounding forest; the death-like stillness enlivened only by

the cheerful chirp of the active ground-squirrel, or the loud boring of

that most beautiful of woodpeckers, the Hid. We crossed Cariboo tracks

at every step, but still the Indian proceeded, his quick eye glancing at

every trail. After about an hour’s walk, we found ourselves ascending a

steep mountain. Here the Indian came to a halt: in a low tone he told us

that we were now near the Cariboo ground, this being the warm side of

the hill, and good feeding ground; cautioning us to be quiet, we again

advanced, but had not gone far before we came to a trail that the Indian

said was only made last night. Sabatisie chose the outside track of the

herd, to take the wind—which, having followed about three miles,

brought us to where the Cariboo had rested during the night. Tom placed

his hand on the damp snow, and remarked that the Cariboo had not been up

much before us, and could not be far off.

“Rifles were now examined, and fresh caps put on—Billy secured by a

cord to Howard’s belt. The tracks from the resting-place of the Cariboo

branched off in every direction; and the Indian leaving us, took a

_cast_ round, some distance, and having ascertained the direction the

herd had taken, he returned, and we cautiously followed him. I now

perceived that at the bottom of the tracks the snow was a deep blue, and

quite soft; we were therefore quite near the game. Sabatisie halted and

took off his snow-shoes that he might proceed with less noise. Howard

beckoned me to him, and in a low whisper said—‘Do exactly as you see me

do—follow close upon my track, and do not for your life make the

slightest noise—we are close on them!’

“Sabatisie and Howard now slung their snow-shoes on their backs: to

prevent the crackling of the crust, the Indian with his fingers broke

the snow before him, and placing his foot in the hole he made, quietly

advanced—Howard putting his in the track the Indian had left, I mine in

Howard’s. By this means we proceeded without the slightest noise; and as

our movements were simultaneous, we should to a person in front appear

as one body. Our situations were certainly any thing but agreeable, up

to the waist in snow. The trail became every moment more fresh, and the

eagle eye of our sagacious guide pried far into the depths of the forest

in front. Suddenly he cast himself at full length on the snow, and

remained so long in that position that I innocently thrust my head out

of the line to see what was the matter; but the Indian glared at me with

anger and contempt, and Howard’s sign recalled my senses. In front, the

wood being quite open, Sabatisie had seen the Cariboo, and now made for

a large pine to shelter his approach. His movements, as he dragged

himself along on his belly in the snow, were snake-like; and we

followed, endeavoring as far as possible to imitate his very

_interesting contortions_. At last I caught sight of the game. They were

a large herd of 18 or 20—some rubbing the bark from the

branches—others performing their morning toilet, licking their

dark-brown, glossy jackets, and combing them with their noble antlers.

All appeared unconscious of the approach of their most deadly foes, save

one noble bull, the leader of the herd. He seemed suspicious—with head

erect, eyes darting in every direction, ears wagging to and fro, and

nostril expanded, he snuffed the breeze. Upon this splendid creature the

Indian kept his eye, never venturing to move save when the head of the

Cariboo was turned away. Inch by inch we approached the tree. Oh! the

agony of suspense I suffered in those few minutes!

“At length we reached our shelter. No time was lost. Howard signed to me

to single out a Cariboo, while he took the noble leader, which was about

100 yards distant—the Indian reserving his fire. We stationed ourselves

each side of the tree, and our rifles exploded almost at the same

moment. Springing up to see the effect of my shot, I was pulled down by

the Indian; what was my astonishment to see the bull Howard had fired

at, stamping the snow, and gazing around, with fire and rage in his eye,

in search of his hidden enemy. As I looked at his formidable antlers,

his majestic height, and great strength—a thought of our helpless

situation crossed my mind. The Indian now rested his gun quietly on the

tree, and took a long, steady aim—the cap alone exploded with a sharp

crack! Quick as lightning the bull discovered our ambush, and with a

loud snort made directly for us. Defense or retreat against such a foe,

in our situation, up to the waist in snow, was almost impossible. In

another bound the antlers of the enraged beast would have been in my

side, when our gallant little dog dashed forward and seized the bull by

the muzzle. Sabatisie and Howard were busily employed putting on their

snow-shoes; and I endeavored to do the same, but with little success.

The dog had luckily checked the beast, but he was no match for the

enormous strength and wonderful activity of his adversary. Tossing his

head, the Cariboo beat the poor little fellow on the snow and against

the tree, till I thought every bone was broken. Finding this of no

avail, the bull reared, and with his fore-legs dealt such a shower of

quick and powerful blows, that I expected to see the dog drop every

minute. While the Cariboo was in this position, the Indian approached

him behind and endeavored to hamstring him. But the eye of the bull was

too quick; wheeling like lightning, he made a rush at Sabatisie, which

must have been serious, but was avoided by his falling flat on his face,

the Cariboo passing over him and wounding his back. Meanwhile Howard had

loaded, but his rifle having become wet, he could not discharge it. The

violent exertions of the Cariboo had by this time broke the hold of the

dog, and the furious beast now turned to the prostrate Indian—but

before he could reach his prey, the dog was again at his head, checking,

but not stopping his mad career. Sabatisie on his knee received the

shock, and at the moment grasping the bull by the antlers, brought him

down; when Howard sprang forward and plunged his knife to the hilt in

the breast of the Cariboo. With a last mighty effort, the noble creature

dashed the Indian in the air, and the next moment his own strong limbs

were quivering in death.

“From the commencement of this burst, I confess, I was a little

agitated—so much so, that I had not coolness sufficient to tie on my

snow-shoes, or load my rifle; but let not any blame me until they

themselves have had the pleasure of being placed in the same delicate

situation, up to the waist in snow, and one of those emperors of the

deer tribe dancing round in mad fury, threatening instant annihilation.

On examination, we found Howard’s ball had taken effect just behind the

shoulder, and would have caused death in a short time.

“‘Hillo! old boy, are you hurt?’ said Tom Howard, seeing the Indian

still on his back.

“‘Cariboo _sartain bery strong_,’ grunted the poor fellow. His back was

much lacerated. ‘Brother cut some gum, and soon be well,’ said

Sabatisie.

“Howard gathered some balsam formed by the sap running from the bark of

the fir-tree, and spreading it on a piece of his handkerchief, formed a

strong adhesive plaster—staunching the blood, he placed it on the

wound.

“‘And now, Meadows, what has become of your game—think he is hit?’

“‘Yes, by Jove, I’ll bet my rifle to a pop-gun he is—for see, Billy has

settled down on his track, and is in chase.’

“‘On with your snow-shoes, and away!—the track with the blood will be

plain as a van wagon—if you come up with the Cariboo, do not fire

unless you are sure to kill. I must stop and see if the Indian is much

hurt, and swab out my rifle—but I will soon overtake you—away now!’

“So urged, I started off, and found large drops of blood on the track

the prime little dog had taken. As I proceeded, I saw the strides of the

Cariboo were shorter, and he had been down several times. As I pressed

on, in great hopes of overtaking the game before Howard came up, I

observed the Cariboo had made for the valley, and after a sharp walk of

an hour, I came to the stream, which was open. Here I lost the track,

but saw the marks of the dog down the stream—these I followed, and soon

heard the baying of the dog. As I proceeded, the river was every moment

more rapid. After a sharp turn the stream was compressed between two

huge cliffs, and rushed down a water-gap, forming a cascade of nearly

one hundred feet. To the very verge of the fall the river was open; but

over the fall itself there was a thin coating of transparent ice, which

clung to the perpendicular cliffs on each side of the narrow gap,

forming a gauze-like veil. The towering cliffs around were covered with

a frosting of ice; and from the stunted pines which clung to the barren

rock, hung myriads of fantastic icicles. At the foot of the fall, the

blue water rushed out, dashing the white foam many feet in the air; and

through the thick woods which overhung the cascade, the sun cast his

rays upon the gorgeous prospect, making every object throw forth a

thousand brilliant shades, and the glittering ice which encircled the

fall was so transparent, that the blue water could be seen beneath

dashing furiously down, as if enraged at restraint. Not ten feet from

the verge of the fall, on a rock in the centre of the river, stood the

wounded Cariboo. The water around him was fearfully rapid—one false

step would carry him under the ice, and down the fall. On the bank stood

the dog: my first care was to secure him, as he appeared ready every

instant to make a spring that must have been fatal. The Cariboo had

chosen a most admirable place of retreat; nothing living could approach

him with safety. On each side the perpendicular cliffs towered many feet

over his head—before him the roaring torrent, and behind the ice-bound

cataract. After feasting my eyes on this wild and romantic scene, I

approached as near the fall as the rugged cliff would permit. The

Cariboo saw me, and with glaring eye-balls he shook his branching

antlers in impotent rage, presenting to my rifle his broad front, as in

defiance. I am not ashamed to say I was happy when I glanced at the

rapid water and rugged cliff between me and my devoted prey; for I have

no doubt, had it been in his power he would have soon shortened the

distance between us—and after what I had so lately witnessed, I had no

very great desire (seeing I was not as yet a perfect harlequin on

snow-shoes,) to play the same game over again with my friend on the

rock. To put an end to his wishes and my fears, I presented. My ball

took effect directly in his brain, and he quietly dropped into the

stream, leaving me master of the _field_. The next moment I could see,

through the transparent ice, his glossy hide gliding down the cascade.”

Amiable reader, thus it was that “Meadows” slew his first Cariboo; and

thus, pray for me, that I may kill mine, this very month. If I do,

believe me, I will try to tell you how I did it, as well—better I may

not tell you—as Meadows. And so, until next month, fare you well!

* * * * *

A THOUGHT OF THE FUTURE.

Do we not _all_, sometimes, desire to look into the future, but is it

not _well_ for us, that it is _hidden from our view_? S. D. S.

Couldst thou have looked beyond the mist that veiled

The unseen Future from thy longing sight,

Would not thy courage in that hour have failed,

To see the shadows of Death’s coming night?

Wouldst thou have grieved that nevermore for thee

Would the clear waters gush, the sweet flowers bloom?

That more than one fond heart would homeless be,

When thou wert gone in silence to the tomb?

What didst _dream_ of? when the rose-lip smiled,

And bade thee welcome to the social hearth,

Where voices low and sweet the hours beguiled—

Were they not dear, those fireside hours of mirth?

What didst thou hope for? with thy kindling eye,

And thoughtful brow, that wore the laurels well;

As thou wert climbing to the temple high,

Not hearing on the winds the passing knell!

Till ah! one morn, thy throbbing heart grew chill,

And from thy pale lip faintly came the breath;

We saw thee slumbering beautiful and still,

And knew it was the dreamless sleep of death!

Through the “dark valley,” and the “shadows” dim,

Thy Father’s “rod and staff” did comfort thee!

Meekly didst thou repose thy trust in Him,

And launch thy frail bark on Eternity!

Could some bright spirit, from a distant sphere,

Bend down to listen to our feeble wail,

To our vain longings with a pitying ear,

And for one moment raise the mystic veil!

That we might see, though rocking on the tide,

If our frail barks would gain the port at last;

If sailing on Life’s ocean far and wide

We’d gain the haven when the storm was past.

Oh! looking backward on our dreary way—

Recalling all our dreams of love and truth,

And the “green spots” wherein we might not stay,

Far back upon the “fairy isle” of Youth—

And thinking of the hours of grief and pain,

Of all the bitter tears that we have shed,

That only ceased awhile, to flow again,

Above the loved, the beautiful, the dead!

Would we not close our eyes, nor dare the sight?

The many blighted hopes, the cares, the fears—

The fond eyes closed, that round us shed their light,

The clouds that hang above our coming years?

Would not a fearful shriek then pierce the sky,

Sent up by thousands from this erring world

Would they not then for pardon wildly cry,

Ere in the whirlpool of Destruction hurled?

’Tis “hidden from our view,” and it is well!

But traveling through this vale of sin and strife,

Should not thy memory be to us a spell,

Thy pure and holy thoughts, thy blameless life?

They who above thy grave so sadly wept

Shall change as other years roll swiftly by—

And look upon the tokens they have kept,

Scarce yielding thee the tribute of a sigh.

Oh what is Life? We live a few short hours.

Eternal joy or pain hang on a breath;

We pass from earth, as fade the summer flowers,

Wither and die away—and _this is Death_!

Cora

* * * * *

WAS THE WORLD MADE OUT OF NOTHING?

The idea of creation may be symbolically represented under a variety of

images: under that of the evolution of numbers from an original unity;

that of the eradiation of light from an original light; or that of an

expression of syllables and tones, answered for aught we know to the

contrary, _by an echo_. The Hebrews seem to have preferred this last

symbol. “In the beginning God _created_ (Heb. BARA, _brought forth_) the

heavens and the earth.” In the verb _bara_, the meaning _create_ and

_cry_ are identified: for this reason, it is eminently adapted to denote

a creation capable of being symbolically represented by a vocal

utterance.

“The primary sense of _create_ and _cry_”—says Noah Webster, and we are

careful to adduce in this place the testimony of a man whom no one will

suppose to have been led astray by ontological speculations—“is the

same, to throw, to drive out, to bring forth, precisely as in the

Shemitic BARA.” The Hebrew text may indeed be correctly but inadequately

rendered: “In the beginning God _bore_ (or _bare_, preserving in the

English word the radical letters of the original BARA) the heavens and

the earth.” For the same lexicographer says in another place, “The verb

_to bear_, I suppose to be radically the same as the Shemitic BARA, to

produce: the primary sense is, to throw out, to bring forth, to thrust,

to drive along.”

The author of the epistle to the Hebrews says: “By faith we understand

that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that things which are

seen were not made of things which do appear.” These things which _do

not appear_ are real existences; for the apostle says, “the things which

are seen are temporal, but the things that are unseen (that is, which do

not appear,) are eternal.” The text therefore does not affirm that the

worlds were made out of nothing, but implies, on the contrary, that they

were framed out of invisible (that is, virtual or potential) things.

Plato says: “Let us lay down two classes of being, the seen and the

unseen; the unseen, eternal in their relations; the seen, never the same

but ever changing.”

A cause which creates from nothing as material on which to operate, must

of necessity itself stand as substance to its own creature: in such a

case, the creator and the creature must be consubstantial. The dogma

therefore that the worlds are created absolutely out of nothing, is

_Pantheism_. The statement that the worlds are created out of nothing is

not found in Scripture, neither is it possible that it should be found

there; for the idea is absurd in itself, since out of nothing, nothing

can come, and a universe absolutely created out of nothing would be a

mere prolongation of Supreme Power; and moreover, there is no Hebrew

word, nor known collocation of Hebrew words, capable of expressing such

an absolute creation. The verb BARA, as we have seen, signifies

something quite different.

Fabre d’Olivet, who has endeavored to reconstruct the Hebrew language

from its biliteral roots, translates the passage, “The earth was without

_form and void_ (Heb. _tho-hu va bo-hu_)” as follows: “The earth was a

contingent potentiality of being, and in a potentiality of being.” He

affirms that the term _hu_ is derived from _hua_ (_being_, that which

_is_,) and that it is formed of _h_, the letter of life, taken in

connection with one of the signs of manifestation. The signs of

manifestation are these, _i_, _o_, _u_, and are used in this way: _u_

represents latent or virtual manifestation, _i_ represents the passage

from potentiality into actuality, _o_ represents manifestation in its

intensity and actual realization. Thus _hu_, in tho-hu va bo-hu, is

latent or virtual being, while _ho_, in Jehovah, is Being in the

fullness of actual existence. The blinding of the vowel in _ho_, which

gives _hu_, represents the retrocession of being from the fullness of

actuality into mere invisibility or potentiality; while on the contrary,

the opening of the vowel in _hu_, that is, the changing of _hu_ into

_ho_, represents the opposite process, or the procession of being from

potentiality into actuality. This same root appears again in the same

verse in the word _thehom_, translated in our version by the term

“deep.”