The site of every Indian town throughout the west is marked by the

fragments of pottery scattered around it; and the cemeteries of the

various tribes abound with rude vessels of clay, piously deposited with

the dead. Previous to the discovery, the art of the potter was much more

important, and its practice more general than it afterwards became, upon

the introduction of metallic vessels. The mode of preparing and moulding

the materials is minutely described by the early observers, and seems to

have been common to all the tribes, and not to have varied materially

from that day to this. The work devolved almost exclusively upon the

women, who kneaded the clay and formed the vessels. Experience seems to

have suggested the means of so tempering the material as to resist

the action of fire; accordingly we find pounded shells, quartz, and

sometimes simple coarse sand from the streams mixed with the clay.

None of the pottery of the present races, found in the Ohio valley,

is destitute of this feature; and it is not uncommon, in certain

localities, where from the abundance of fragments, and from other

circumstances, it is supposed the manufacture was specially carried on,

to find quantities of the decayed shells of the fresh water molluscs,

intermixed with the earth, probably brought to the spot to be used in

the process. Amongst the Indians along the Gulf, a greater degree

of skill was displayed than with those on the upper waters of the

Mississippi, and on the lakes. Their vessels were generally larger and

more symmetrical, and of a superior finish. They moulded them over

gourds and models, and baked them in ovens. In the construction of those

of large size, it was customary to model them in baskets of willow or

splints, which, at the proper period, were burned off, leaving the

vessel perfect in form, and retaining the somewhat ornamental markings

of their moulds. Some of those found on the Ohio seem to have been

modelled in bags or nettings of coarse thread or twisted bark. These

practices are still retained by some of the remote western tribes.

* * * * *

=_Benjamin Silliman, 1779-1864._= (Manual, p. 505.)

From "A Tour to Canada."

=_268._= THE FALLS OF MONTMORENCI.

... The Montmorenci, after a gentle previous declivity, which, greatly

increases its velocity, takes its stupendous leap of two hundred and

forty feet, into a chasm among the rocks, where it boils and foams in a

natural rocky basin, from which, after its force is in some measure

exhausted in its own whirlpools and eddies, it flows away in a gentle

stream towards the St. Lawrence. The fall is nearly perpendicular, and

appears not to deviate more than three or four degrees from it. This

deviation is caused by the ledges of rock below, and is just sufficient

to break the water completely into foam and spray.

The effect on the beholder is most delightful. The river, at some

distance, seems suspended in a sheet of billowy foam, and contrasted

as it is, with the black frowning abyss into which it falls, it is an

object of the highest interest. As we approached nearer to its foot, the

impressions of grandeur and sublimity were, in the most perfect manner

imaginable, blended with those of extreme beauty.

This river is of so considerable a magnitude, that, precipitated as it

is from this amazing height, the thundering noise, and mighty rush

of waters, and the never-ceasing wind and rain produced by the fall,

powerfully arrest the attention: the spectator stands in profound awe,

mingled with delight, especially when he contrasts the magnitude of

the fall, with that of a villa, on the edge of the dark precipices

of frowning rock which form the western bank, and with the casual

spectators looking down from the same elevation.

The sheet of foam which breaks over the ridge, is more and more divided

as it is dashed against the successive layers of rocks, which it

almost completely veils from view; the spray becomes very delicate and

abundant, from top to bottom, hanging over, and revolving around the

torrent, till it becomes lighter and more evanescent than the whitest

fleecy clouds of summer, than the finest attenuated web, than the

lightest gossamer, constituting the most airy and sumptuous drapery that

can be imagined. Yet, like the drapery of some of the Grecian statues,

which, while it veils, exhibits more forcibly the form beneath, this

does not hide, but exalts the effect produced by this noble cataract.

The rainbow we saw in great perfection; bow within bow, and (what I

never saw elsewhere so perfectly), as I advanced into the spray, the

bow became complete, myself being a part of its circumference, and its

transcendent glories moving with every change of position.

This beautiful and splendid sight was to be enjoyed only by advancing

quite into the shower of spray; as if, in the language of ancient

poetry, and fable, the genii of the place, pleased with the beholder's

near approach to the seat of their empire, decked the devotee with the

appropriate robes of the cataract, the vestal veil of fleecy spray, and

the heavenly splendors of the bow.

* * * * *

=_John L. Stephens, 1808-1852._= (Manual, p. 504.)

From the "Travels in Central America."

=_269._= DISCOVERY OF A RUINED CITY IN THE WOODS

The sight of this unexpected monument put at rest, at once and forever,

in our minds, all uncertainty in regard to the character of American

antiquities, and gave as the assurance that the objects we were in

search of were interesting, not only as the remains of an unknown

people, but as works of art, proving, like newly-discovered historical

records, that the people who once occupied the continent of America were

not savages. With an interest perhaps stronger than we had ever felt

in wandering among the ruins of Egypt, we followed our guide, who,

sometimes missing his way, with a constant and vigorous use of his

machete, conducted us through the thick forest, among half-buried

fragments, to fourteen monuments of the same character and appearance,

some with more elegant designs, and some in workmanship equal to the

finest monuments of the Egyptians; one displaced from its pedestal by

enormous roots; another locked in the close embrace of branches of

trees, and almost lifted out of the earth; another hurled to the ground,

and bound down by huge vines and creepers; and one standing, with its

altar before it, in a grove of trees which grew around it, seemingly to

shade and shroud it as a sacred thing; in the solemn stillness of the

woods it seemed a divinity mourning over a fallen people. The only

sounds that disturbed the quiet of this buried city, were the noise of

monkeys moving among the tops of the trees, and the cracking of dry

branches broken by their weight. They moved over our heads in long and

swift processions, forty or fifty at a time; some, with little ones

wound in their long arms, walking out to the end of boughs, and holding

on with their hind feet, or a curl of the tail, sprang to a branch of

the next tree, and with a noise like a current of wind, passed on into

the depths of the forest. It was the first time we had seen these

mockeries of humanity, and with the strange monuments around us, they

seemed like wandering spirits of the departed race, guarding the ruins

of their former habitations.

... We sat down on the very edge of the wall, and strove in vain to

penetrate the mystery by which we were surrounded. Who were the people

that built this city? In the ruined cities of Egypt,--even in the long

lost Petra, the stranger knows the story of the people whose vestiges

are around him. America, say historians, was peopled by savages; but

savages never reared these structures, savages never carved these

stones.

* * * * *

=_John Charles Fremont, 1813-._= (Manual, p. 505.)

From "Report of an Exploring Expedition."

=_270._= ASCENT OF A PEAK OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.

We continued climbing, and in a short time reached the crest. I sprang

upon the summit, and another step would have precipitated me into an

immense snow field five hundred feet below. To the edge of this field

was a sheer icy precipice; and then, with a gradual fall, the field

sloped off for about a mile, until it struck the foot of another lower

ridge. I stood on a narrow crest, about three feet in width, with an

inclination of about 20° N., 51° E. As soon as I had gratified the first

feelings of curiosity, I descended, and each man ascended in his

turn; for I would only allow one at a time to mount the unstable and

precarious slab, which it seemed a breath would hurl into the abyss

below. We mounted the barometer in the snow of the summit, and fixing a

ramrod in a crevice, unfurled the national flag to wave in the breeze,

where never flag waved before. During our morning's ascent, we had met

no sign of animal life, except the small sparrow-like bird already

mentioned. A stillness the most profound, and a terrible solitude forced

themselves constantly on the mind, as the great features of the place.

Here, on the summit, where the stillness was absolute, unbroken by any

sound, and the solitude complete, we thought ourselves beyond the region

of animated life; but while we were sitting on the rock, a solitary bee

(_bromus_, the bumble bee) came winging his flight from the eastern

valley, and lit on the knee of one of the men.

* * * * *

=_271._= THE COLUMBIA RIVER, OREGON.

The Columbia is the only river which traverses the whole breadth of the

country, breaking through all the ranges, and entering the sea. Drawing

its waters from a section of ten degrees of latitude in the Rocky

Mountains, which are collected into one stream by three main forks

(Lewis', Clark's, and the North Fork) near the center of the Oregon

valley, this great river thence proceeds by a single channel to the sea,

while its three forks lead each to a pass in the mountains which opens

the way into the interior of the continent. This fact in relation to the

rivers of this region, gives an immense value to the Columbia. Its mouth

is the only inlet and outlet, to and from the sea; its three forks

lead to the passes in the mountains; it is therefore the only line of

communication between the Pacific and the interior of North America; and

all operations of war or commerce, of national or social intercourse,

must be conducted upon it. This gives it a value beyond estimation,

and would involve irreparable injury if lost. In this unity and

concentration of its waters, the Pacific side of our continent differs

entirely from the Atlantic side, where the waters of the Alleghany

mountains are dispersed into many rivers, having their different

entrances into the sea, and opening many lines of communication with the

interior.

* * * * *

=_Elisha Kent Kane,[68] 1822-1857._=

From "Arctic Explorations."

=_272._= THE DISCOVERY OF AN OPEN SEA.

As Morton, leaving Hans and his dogs, passed between Sir John Franklin

Island and the narrow beach-line, the coast became more wall-like, and

dark masses of porphyritic rock abutted into the sea. With growing

difficulty, he managed to climb from rock to rock, in hopes of doubling

the promontory and sighting the coasts beyond, but the water kept

encroaching more and more on his track.

It must have been an imposing sight, as he stood at this termination of

his journey, looking out upon the great waste of waters before him. Not

a "speck of ice," to use his own words, could be seen. There, from a

height of four hundred and eighty feet, which commanded a horizon of

almost forty miles, his ears were gladdened with the novel music of

dashing waves; and a surf, breaking in among the rocks at his feet,

stayed his farther progress.

Beyond this cape all is surmise. The high ridges to the north-west

dwindled off into low blue knobs, which blended finally with the air.

Morton called the cape, which baffled his labors, after his commander;

but I have given it the more enduring name of Cape Constitution.

... I am reluctant to close my notice of this discovery of an open sea

without adding that the details of Mr. Morton's narrative harmonized

with the observations of all our party. I do not propose to discuss here

the causes or conditions of this phenomenon. How far it may

extend--whether it exist simply as a feature of the immediate region, or

as part of a great and unexplored area communicating with the Polar

basin, and what may be the argument in favor of one or the other

hypothesis, or the explanation which reconciles it with established

laws--may be questions for men skilled in scientific deductions. Mine

has been the more humble duty of recording what we saw. Coming as it

did, a mysterious fluidity in the midst of vast plains of solid ice, it

was well calculated to arouse emotions of the highest order; and I do

not believe there was a man among us who did not long for the means of

embarking upon its bright and lonely waters.

[Footnote 68: A traveller, explorer, and writer of high merit; a native

of Philadelphia, and a Surgeon in the Navy. His early death was much

deplored.]

* * * * *

=_Bayard Taylor, 1825-._= (Manual, pp. 505, 523, 531.)

From "Eldorado."

=_273._= MONTEREY, CALIFORNIA.

No one can be in Monterey a single night, without being startled and

awed by the deep, solemn crashes of the surf, as it breaks along the

shore. There is no continuous roar of the plunging waves, as we hear on

the Atlantic seaboard; the slow, regular swells--quiet pulsations of

the great Pacific's heart--roll inward in unbroken lines, and fall with

single grand crashes, with intervals of dead silence between. They may

be heard through the day, if one listens, like a solemn undertone to all

the shallow noises of the town; but at midnight, when all else is

still, those successive shocks fall upon the ear with a sensation of

inexpressible solemnity. All the air, from the pine forests to the sea,

is filled with a light tremor, and the intermitting beats of sound are

strong enough to jar a delicate ear. Their constant repetition at last

produces a feeling something like terror. A spirit worn and weakened by

some scathing sorrow could scarcely bear the reverberation.

* * * * *

=_274._= APPROACH TO SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA.

Sunset came on as we approached the strait opening from Pablo Bay into

the Bay of San Francisco. The cloudless sky became gradually suffused

with a soft rose-tint, which covered its whole surface, painting alike

the glassy sheet of the bay, and glowing most vividly on the mountains

to the eastward. The color deepened every moment, and the peaks of the

Coast Range burned with a rich vermilion light, like that of a live

coal. This faded gradually into as glowing a purple, and at last into a

blue as intense as that of the sea at noon-day. The first effect of the

light was most wonderful; the mountains stretched around the horizon

like a belt of varying fire and amethyst, between the two roseate deeps

of air and water; the shores were transmuted into solid, the air into

fluid gems. Could the pencil faithfully represent this magnificent

transfiguration of Nature, it would appear utterly unreal and impossible

to eyes which never beheld the reality.... It lingered, and lingered,

changing almost imperceptibly and with so beautiful a decay, that one

lost himself in the enjoyment of each successive charm, without regret

for those which were over. The dark blue of the mountains deepened into

their night-garb of dusky shadow without any interfusion of dead, ashy

color, and the heaven overhead was spangled with all its stars long

before the brilliant arch of orange in the west had sunk below the

horizon. I have seen the dazzling sunsets of the Mediterranean flush

the beauty of its shores, and the mellow skies which Claude used to

contemplate from the Pincian Hill; but lovely as they are in my memory,

they seem cold and pale when I think of the splendor of such a scene, on

the Bay of San Francisco.

* * * * *

The Little Land of Appenzell.

=_275._= SWISS SCENERY,--A BATTLEFIELD; PICTURESQUE DWELLINGS.

On the right lay the land of Appenzell,--not a table-land, but a region

of mountain, ridge, and summit, of valley and deep, dark gorge, green as

emerald, up to the line of snow, and so thickly studded with dwellings,

grouped or isolated, that there seemed to be one scattered village as

far as the eye could reach. To the south, over forests of fir, the

Sentis lifted his huge towers of rock, crowned with white, wintry

pyramids.

Here, where we are, said the postillion, "was the first battle; but

there was another, two years afterwards, over there, the other side of

Trogen, where the road goes down to the Rhine. Stoss is the place, and

there's a chapel built on the very spot. Duke Frederick of Austria came

to help the Abbott Runo, and the Appenzellers were only one to ten

against them. It was a great fight, they say, and the women helped,--not

with pikes and guns, but in this way: they put on white shirts, and came

out of the woods, above where the lighting was going on. Now when the

Austrians and the Abbot's people saw them, they thought there were

spirits helping the Appenzellers, (the women were all white you see,

and too far off to show plainly,) and so they gave up the fight, after

losing nine hundred knights and troopers. After that, it was ordered,

that the women should go first to the sacrament, so that no man might

forget the help they gave in that battle. And the people go every year

to the chapel, on the same day when it took place."

If one could only transport--a few of these houses to the United

States! Our country architecture is not only hideous, but frequently

unpractical, being at worst, shanties, and at best, city residences set

in the fields. An Appenzell farmer lives in a house from forty to sixty

feet square, and rarely less than four stories in height. The two upper

stories, however, are narrowed by the high, steep roof, so that the true

front of the house is one of the gables. The roof projects at least four

feet on all sides, giving shelter to balconies of carved wood, which

cross the front under each row of windows. The outer walls are covered

with upright, overlapping shingles, not more than two or three inches

broad, and rounded at the ends, suggesting the scale armor of ancient

times. This covering secures the greatest warmth; and when the shingles

have acquired from age that rich burnt-sienna tint--which no paint could

exactly imitate, the effect is exceedingly beautiful. The lowest story

is generally of stone, plastered and whitewashed. The stories are low,

(seven to eight feet) but the windows are placed side by side, and each

room is thoroughly lighted. Such a house is very warm, very durable,

and, without any apparent expenditure of ornament, is externally so

picturesque that no ornament could improve it....

The view of a broad Alpine landscape dotted all over with such beautiful

homes, from the little shelf of green hanging on the sides of a rocky

gorge, and the strips of sunny pasture between the ascending forests, to

the very summits of the lower heights and the saddles between them, was

something quite new in my experience.

* * * * *

NOVELISTS AND WRITERS OF FICTION.

=_Charles Brockden Brown, 1771-1810._= (Manual, pp. 478, 505.)

From "Ormond."

=_276._= THE YELLOW FEVER IN PHILADELPHIA.

As she approached the house to which she was going, her reluctance to

proceed increased. Frequently she paused to recollect the motives that

had prescribed this task, and to re-enforce her purposes. At length she

arrived at the house. Now, for the first time, her attention was excited

by the silence and desolation that surrounded her. This evidence of fear

and of danger struck upon her heart. All appeared to have fled from the

presence of this unseen and terrible foe. The temerity of adventuring

thus into the jaws of the pest, now appeared to her in glaring colors.

... She cast her eye towards the house opposite to where she now stood.

Her heart drooped on perceiving proofs that the dwelling was still

inhabited. The door was open, and the windows in the second and third

story were raised. Near the entrance, in the street, stood a cart. The

horse attached to it, in his form, and furniture, and attitude, was an

emblem of torpor and decay. His gaunt sides, motionless limbs, his gummy

and dead eyes, and his head hanging to the ground, were in unison with

the craziness of the vehicle to which he belonged, and the paltry and

bedusted harness which covered him. No attendant nor any human face was

visible. The stillness, though at an hour customarily busy, was

uninterrupted, except by the sound of wheels moving at an almost

indistinguishable distance.

She paused for a moment to contemplate this unwonted spectacle. Her

trepidations were mingled with emotions not unakin to sublimity; but the

consciousness of danger speedily prevailed, and she hastened to acquit

herself of her engagement. She approached the door for this purpose, but

before she could draw the bell, her motions were arrested by sounds

from within. The staircase was opposite the door. Two persons were now

discovered descending the stair. They lifted between them a heavy mass,

which was presently discerned to be a coffin. Shocked by this discovery,

and trembling, she withdrew from the entrance.

* * * * *

=_Washington Allston, 1779-1843._= (Manual, pp. 504, 510.)

From "Monaldi."

=_277._= IMPERSONATION OF THE POWER OF EVIL.

The light (which descended from above) was so powerful, that for nearly

a minute I could distinguish nothing, and I rested on a form attached

to the wainscoting. I then put up my hand to shade my eyes, when--the

fearful vision is even now before me--I seemed to be standing before

an abyss in space, boundless and black. In the midst of this permeable

pitch stood a colossal mass of gold, in shape like an altar, and girdled

about by a huge serpent, gorgeous and terrible; his body flecked with

diamonds, and his head, an enormous carbuncle, floating like a meteor

on the air above. Such was the Throne. But no words can describe

the gigantic Being that sat thereon--the grace, the majesty, its

transcendent form--and yet I shuddered as I looked, for its superhuman

countenance seemed, as it were, to radiate falsehood; every feature was

in contradiction--the eye, the mouth, even to the nostril--whilst the

expression of the whole was of that unnatural softness which can only be

conceived of malignant blandishment. It was the appalling beauty of the

King of Hell. The frightful discord vibrated through my whole frame, and

I turned for relief to the figure below.... But I had turned from the

first, only to witness in the second object, its withering fascination.

I beheld the mortal conflict between the conscience and the will--the

visible struggle of a soul in the toils of sin.

* * * * *

From his "Letters."

=_278._= ON A PICTURE BY CARRACCI.

The subject was the body of the virgin borne for interment by four

apostles. The figures are colossal; the tone dark, and of tremendous

color. It seemed, as I looked at it, as if the ground shook at their

tread, and the air was darkened by their grief.

* * * * *

=_279._= ORIGINALITY OF MIND.

An original mind is rarely understood until it has been _reflected_ from

some half dozen congenial with it; so averse are men to admitting the

true in an unusual form; whilst any novelty, however fantastic, however

false, is greedily swallowed.

* * * * *

=_James K. Paulding, 1779-1860._= (Manual, p. 510.)

From "Letters from the South."

=_280._= CHARACTER OF THE DUTCH AND GERMAN SETTLERS.

In almost every part of the United States where I have chanced to be,

except among the Dutch, the Germans, and the Quakers, people seem to

build everything extempore and pro tempore, as if they looked forward

to a speedy removal or did not expect to want it long. Nowhere else, it

seems to me, do people work more for the present, less for the future,

or live so commonly up to the extent of their means. If we build houses,

they are generally of wood, and hardly calculated to outlast the

builder. If we plant trees, they are generally Lombardy poplars, that

spring up of a sudden, give no more shade than a broom stuck on end, and

grow old with their planters. Still, however, I believe all this has

a salutary and quickening influence on the character of the people,

because it offers another spur to activity, stimulating it not only

by the hope of gain, but the necessity of exertion to remedy passing

inconveniences. Thus the young heir, instead of stepping into the

possession of a house completely finished, and replete with every

convenience--an estate requiring no labor or exertion to repair its

dilapidations, finds it absolutely necessary to bestir himself to

complete what his ancestor had only begun, and thus is relieved from the

tedium and temptations of idleness.

But you can always tell when you get among the Dutch and the Quakers,

for there you perceive that something has been done for posterity. Their

houses are of stone, and built for duration, not for show. If a German

builds a house, its walls are twice as thick as others--if he puts down

a gate-post, it is sure to be nearly as thick as it is long. Every

thing about him, animate and inanimate, partakes of this character of

solidity. His wife even is a jolly, portly dame, his children

chubby rogues, with legs shaped like little old-fashioned mahogany

bannisters--his barns as big as fortresses--his horses like

mammoths--his cattle enormous--and his breeches surprisingly redundant in

linseywoolsey. It matters not to him, whether the form of sideboards or

bureaus changes, or whether other people wear tight breeches or cossack

pantaloons in the shape of meal-bags. Let fashion change as it may,

his low, round-crowned, broad-brimmed hat, keeps its ground, his

galligaskins support the same liberal dimensions, and his old oaken

chest and clothes-press of curled maple, with the Anno Domini of their

construction upon them, together with the dresser glistening with

pewter-plates, still stand their ground, while the baseless fabrics

of fashion fade away, without leaving a wreck behind. Ceaseless and

unwearied industry is his delight, and enterprise and speculation his

abhorrence. Riches do not corrupt, nor poverty depress him; for his

mind is a sort of Pacific ocean, such as the first navigators described

it--unmoved by tempests, and only intolerable from its dead and tedious

calms. Thus he moves on, and when he dies his son moves on in the

same pace, till generations have passed away, without one of the name

becoming distinguished by his exploits or his crimes. These are useful

citizens, for they bless a country with useful works, and add to its

riches. But still, though industry, prudence, and economy are useful

habits, they are selfish after all, and can hardly aspire to the dignity

of virtues, except as they are preservatives against active vices.

* * * * *

From "Westward Ho."

=_281._= ABORTIVE TOWNS.

Zeno Paddock and his wife Mrs. Judith, departed from the village, never

to return. Such was the reputation of the proprietor of the Western Sun,

that a distinguished speculator, who was going to found a great city

at the junction of Big Dry, and Little Dry, Rivers, made him the most

advantageous offers to come and establish himself there, and puff the

embryo bantling into existence as fast as possible. He offered him a

whole square next to that where the college, the courthouse, the

church, the library, the athenaeum, and all the public buildings were

situated.... Truth obliges us to say, that on his arrival at the city of

New Pekin, as it was called, he found it covered with a forest of trees,

each of which would take a man half a day to walk round; and that on

discovering the square in which all the public buildings were situated,

he found, to his no small astonishment, on the very spot where the

court-house stood on the map, a flock of wild turkeys gobbling like so

many lawyers, and two or three white-headed owls sitting on the high

trees listening with most commendable gravity.... Zeno set himself down,

began to print his paper in a great hollow sycamore, and to live on

anticipation, as many great speculators had done before him.

* * * * *

=_James Fenimore Cooper, 1789-1851._= (Manual, pp. 478, 495, 506.)

From "The Pioneers."

=_282._= THE SHOOTING MATCH.

In the mean while, as Billy Kirby was preparing himself for another

shot, Natty left the goal, with an extremely dissatisfied manner,

muttering to himself, and speaking aloud.--

"There hasn't been such a thing as a good flint sold at the foot of

the lake, since the time when the Indian traders used to come into the

country;--and if a body should go into the flats along the streams in

the hills, to hunt, for such a thing, it's ten to one but they will be

all covered up with the plough. Heigho! its seems to me, that just as

the game grows scarce, and a body wants the best of ammunition, to get

a livelihood, everything that's bad falls on him, like a judgment. But

I'll change the stone, for Billy Kirby hasn't the eye for such a mark, I

know."

The wood-chopper seemed now entirely sensible that his reputation in

a great measure depended on his care; nor did he neglect any means to

ensure his success. He drew up his rifle, and renewed his aim, again and

again, still appearing reluctant to fire. No sound was heard from even

Brom, during these portentous movements, until Kirby discharged his

piece, with the same want of success as before. Then, indeed, the shouts

of the negro rung through the bushes, and sounded among the trees of the

neighboring forest, like the outcries of a tribe of Indians. He laughed,

rolling his head, first on one side, then on the other, until nature

seemed exhausted with mirth. He danced, until his legs were wearied with

motion, in the snow; and in short, he exhibited all that violence of joy

that characterizes the mirth of a thoughtless negro.

The wood-chopper had exerted his art, and felt a proportionate degree

of disappointment at his failure. He first examined the bird with the

utmost attention, and more than once suggested that he had touched its

feathers, but the voice of the multitude was against him, for it felt

disposed to listen to the often-repeated cries of the black, to "gib a

nigger fair play."

Finding it impossible to make out a title to the bird, Kirby turned

fiercely to the black, and said--

"Shut your oven, you crow! Where is the man that can hit a turkey's head

at a hundred yards? I was a fool for trying. You needn't make an uproar

like a falling pine-tree about it. Show me the man who can do it."

"Look this a-way, Billy Kirby," said Leather-Stocking, "and let them

clear the mark, and I'll show you a man who's made better shots afore

now, and that when he's been hard pressed by the savages and wild

beasts."

* * * * *

Although Natty Bumppo[69] had certainly made hundreds of more momentous

shots, at his enemies or his game, yet he never exerted himself more to

excel. He raised his piece three several times; once to get his range;

once to calculate his distance; and once because the bird, alarmed by

the deathlike stillness that prevailed, turned its head quickly to

examine its foes. But the fourth time he fired. The smoke, the report,

and the momentary shock, prevented most of the spectators from instantly

knowing the result; but Elizabeth, when she saw her champion drop the

end of his rifle in the snow, and open his mouth in one of its silent

laughs, and then proceed very coolly to recharge his piece, knew that he

had been successful. The boys rushed to the mark, and lifted the turkey

on high, lifeless, and with nothing but the remnant of a head.

"Bring in the critter," said Leather-Stocking, "and put it at the

feet of the lady. I was her deputy in the matter, and the bird is

her property." ... Elizabeth handed the black a piece of silver as a

remuneration for his loss, which had some effect in again unbending his

muscles, and then expressed to her companion her readiness to return

homeward.

[Footnote 69: Another name of Leather-Stocking.]

* * * * *

From "The Pilot."

=_283._= LONG TOM COFFIN.

The seaman who was addressed by this dire appellation arose slowly from

the place where he was stationed as cockswain of the boat, and seemed to

ascend high in air by the gradual evolution of numberless folds in his

body. When erect, he stood nearly six feet and as many inches in his

shoes, though, when elevated in his most perpendicular attitude, there

was a forward inclination about his head and shoulders, that appeared to

be the consequence of habitual confinement in limited lodgings.... One

of his hands grasped, with a sort of instinct, the staff of a bright

harpoon, the lower end of which he placed firmly on the rock, as, in

obedience to the order of his commander, he left the place, where,

considering his vast dimensions, he had been established in an

incredibly small space.

... The hardy old seaman, thus addressed, turned his grave visage on his

commander, and replied with a becoming gravity,--

"Give me a plenty of sea-room, and good canvas, where there is no

occasion for pilots at all, sir. For my part, I was born on board a

chebacco-man, and never could see the use of more land than now and then

a small island, to raise a few vegetables, and to dry your fish--I'm

sure the sight of it always makes me feel uncomfortable, unless we have

the wind dead off shore."

... "I am more than half of your mind, that an island now and then is

all the terra firma that a seaman needs."

"It's reason and philosophy, sir," returned the sedate cock-swain; "and

what land there is, should always be a soft mud, or a sandy ooze, in

order that an anchor might hold, and to make soundings sartin. I have

lost many a deep-sea, besides hand-leads by the dozens, on rocky

bottoms; but give me the roadstead where a lead comes up light, and an

anchor heavy. There's a boat pulling athwart our fore-foot, Captain

Barnstable; shall I run her aboard, or give her a berth, sir."

* * * * *

From "The Prairie."

=284.= DEATH OF THE AGED TRAPPER, IN THE PAWNEE VILLAGE.

The trapper had remained nearly motionless for an hour. His eyes alone

had occasionally opened and shut. When opened, his gaze seemed fastened

on the clouds which hung around the western horizon, reflecting the

bright colors, and giving form and loveliness to the glorious tints

of an American sunset. The hour, the calm beauty of the season, the

occasion, all conspired to fill the spectators with solemn awe.

Suddenly, while musing on the remarkable position in which he was

placed, Middleton felt the hand which he held grasp his own with

incredible power, and the old man, supported on either side by his

friends, rose upright to his feet. For a moment he looked about him, as

if to invite all in presence to listen (the lingering remnant of human

frailty), and then, with a fine military elevation of the head, and with

a voice that might be heard in every part of that numerous assembly, he

pronounced the word "Here!"

A movement so entirely unexpected, and the air of grandeur and humility

which were so remarkably united in the mien of the trapper, together

with the clear and uncommon force of his utterance, produced a short

period of confusion in the faculties of all present. When Middleton and

Hard-Heart, each of whom had involuntarily extended a hand to support

the form of the old man, turned to him again, they found that the

subject of their interest was removed forever beyond the necessity of

their care.

* * * * *

From "The Red Rover."

=_285._= ESCAPE FROM THE WRECK.

... The boat was soon cleared of what, under their circumstances, was

literally lumber; leaving, however, far more than enough to meet all

their wants, and not a few of their comforts, in the event that the

elements should accord the permission to use them.

Then, and not till then, did Wilder relax in his exertions. He had

arranged his sails ready to be hoisted in an instant; he had carefully

examined that no straggling rope connected the boat to the wreck, to

draw them under with the foundering mass; and he had assured himself

that food, water, compass, and the imperfect instruments that were there

then in use to ascertain the position of a ship, were all perfectly

disposed of in their several places, and ready to his hand. When all was

in this state of preparation, he disposed of himself in the stern of the

boat, and endeavored by the composure of his manner, to inspire his less

resolute companions with a portion of his own firmness.

The bright sunshine was sleeping in a thousand places on every side of

the silent and deserted wreck. The sea had subsided to such a state of

utter rest that it was only at long intervals that the huge and helpless

mass, on which the ark of the expectants lay, was lifted from its dull

quietude, to roll heavily, for a moment in the washing waters, and

then to settle lower into the greedy and absorbing element. Still the

disappearance of the hull was slow, and even tedious, to those who

looked forward with such impatience to its total immersion, as to the

crisis of their own fortunes.

* * * * *

Then came the moon, with its mild and deceptive light, to throw the

delusion of its glow on the varying but ever frightful scene.

"See," said Wilder, as the luminary lifted its pale and melancholy orb

out of the bed of the ocean; "we shall have light for our hazardous

launch!"

"Is it at hand?" demanded Mrs. Wyllis, with all the resolution of manner

she could assume in so trying a situation.

"It is--the ship has already brought her scuppers to the water.

Sometimes a vessel will float until saturated with the brine. If ours

sink at all, it will be soon." "If at all! Is there then hope that she

can float?"

"None!" said Wilder, pausing to listen to the hollow and threatening

sounds which issued from the depths of the vessel, as the water broke

through her divisions, in passing from side to side, and which sounded

like the groaning of some heavy monster in the last agony of nature.

"None; she is already losing her level!"

His companions saw the change; but not for the empire of the world,

could either of them have uttered a syllable. Another low, threatening,

rumbling sound was heard, and then the pent air beneath blew up the

forward part of the deck, with an explosion like that of a gun.

"Now grasp the ropes I have given you" cried Wilder, breathless with his

eagerness to speak.

His words were smothered by the rushing and gurgling of waters. The

vessel made a plunge like a dying whale; and raising its stern high into

the air, glided into the depths of the sea, like the leviathan seeking

his secret places. The motionless boat was lifted with the ship, until

it stood in an attitude fearfully approaching to the perpendicular. As

the wreck descended, the bows of the launch met the element, burying

themselves nearly to filling; but buoyant and light, it rose again, and,

struck powerfully on the stern by the settling mass, the little ark shot

ahead, as though it had been driven by the hand of man. Still, as the

water rushed into the vortex, every thing within its influence yielded

to the suction; and at the next instant, the launch was seen darting

down the declivity, as if eager to follow the vast machine, of which it

had so long formed a dependant, through the same gaping whirlpool, to

the bottom. Then it rose, rocking to the surface, and for a moment, was

tossed and whirled like a bubble circling in the eddies of a pool. After

which, the ocean moaned, and slept again; the moon-beams playing across

its treacherous bosom, sweetly and calm, as the rays are seen to quiver

on a lake that is embedded in sheltering mountains.

* * * * *

From "The History of the United States Navy."

=_286._= NAVAL RESULTS OF THE WAR OF 1812.

Thus terminated the war of 1812, so far as it was connected with the

American marine. The navy came out of this struggle with a vast increase

of reputation. The brilliant style in which the ships had been carried

into action, the steadiness and rapidity with which they had been

handled, and the fatal accuracy of their fire, on nearly every occasion,

produced a new era in naval warfare. Most of the frigate actions had

been as soon decided as circumstances would at all allow, and in no

instance was it found necessary to keep up the fire of a sloop-of-war an

hour, when singly engaged. Most of the combats of the latter, indeed,

were decided in about half that time. The execution done in these short

conflicts was often equal to that made by the largest vessels of

Europe in general actions, and, in some of them, the slain and wounded

comprised a very large proportion of the crews.

It is not easy to say in which nation this unlooked-for result created

the most surprise, America or England. In the first it produced a

confidence in itself that had been greatly wanted, but which, in the

end, perhaps, degenerated to a feeling of self-esteem and security that

were not without danger, or entirely without exaggeration.... The ablest

and bravest captains of the English fleet were ready to admit that a new

power was about to appear on the ocean, and that it was not improbable

the battle for the mastery of the seas would have to be fought over

again.

That the tone and discipline of the service were high, is true; but it

must be ascribed to moral, and not to physical, causes, to that aptitude

in the American character for the sea which has been so constantly

manifested, from the day the first pinnace sailed along the coast, on

the trading voyages of the seventeenth century, down to the present

moment.

Many false modes of accounting for the novel character that had been

given to naval battles were resorted to, and among other reasons, it was

affirmed that the American vessels of war sailed with crews of picked

seamen. That a nation which practiced impressment should imagine that

another in which enlistments were voluntary, could possess an advantage

of this nature, infers a strong disposition to listen to any means but

the right one to account for an unpleasant truth. It is not known that a

single vessel left the country, the case of the Constitution on her two

last cruises excepted, with a crew that could he deemed extraordinary

in this respect. No American man-of-war ever sailed with a complement

composed of nothing but able seamen; and some of the hardest fought

battles that occurred during this war, were fought by ships' companies

that were materially worse than common. The people that manned the

vessels on Lake Champlain, in particular, were of a quality much

inferior to those usually found in ships of war. Neither were the

officers, in general, old or very experienced. The navy itself dated but

fourteen years back, when the war commenced; and some of the commanders

began their professional careers several years after the first

appointments had been made. Perhaps one half of the lieutenants in the

service at the peace of 1815, had first gone on board ship within six

years from the declaration of the war, and very many of them within

three or four. So far from the midshipmen having been masters and mates

of merchantmen, as was reported at the time, they were generally youths

that first went from the ease and comforts of the paternal home, when

they appeared on the quarter-deck of a man-of-war.

* * * * *

=_Catharine M. Sedgwick, 1789-1867._= (Manual, p. 484.)

From "Hope Leslie."

=_287._= THE MINISTER CONDEMNING VAIN APPAREL.

Mr. Cotton, the regular pastor, rose to remind his brethren of the

decree "that private members should be very sparing in their questions

and observations after public sermons," and to say that he should

postpone any further discussion of the precious points before them, as

it was now near nine o'clock, after which it was not suitable for any

Christian family to be unnecessarily abroad.

Hope now, and many others, instinctively rose, in anticipation of the

dismissing benediction; but Mr. Cotton waved his hand for them to sit

down till he could communicate to the congregation the decision to

which the ruling elders and himself had come on the subject of the last

Sabbath sermon. "He would not repeat what he had before said upon that

lust of costly apparel which was fast gaining ground, and had already,

as was well known, crept into godly families. He was pleased that there

were among them gracious women, ready to turn at a rebuke, as was

manifested in many veils being left at home that were floating over the

congregation like so many butterflies' wings in the morning. Economy,"

he justly observed, "was, as well as simplicity, a Christian grace; and,

therefore, the rulers had determined that those persons who had run into

the excess of immoderate veils and sleeves, embroidered caps, and gold

and silver lace, should be permitted to wear them out, but new ones

should be forfeited."

This sumptuary regulation announced, the meeting was dismissed.

Madame Winthrop whispered to Everell that she was going, with his

father, to look in upon a sick neighbor, and would thank him to see her

niece home. Everell stole a glance at Hope, and dutifully offered his

arm to Miss Downing.

Hope, intent only on one object, was hurrying out of the pew, intending,

in the jostling of the crowd, to escape alone; but she was arrested by

Madame Winthrop's saying, "Miss Leslie, Sir Philip offers you his arm;"

and at the same moment, her aunt stooped forward to beg her to wait a

moment, till she could send a message to Deacon Knowles' wife, that she

might wear her new gown with the Turkish sleeves, the next day.... "It

is but doing as a body would be done by, to let Mistress Knowles know

she may come out in her new gown to-morrow."

* * * * *

From "The Linwoods."

=_288._= KOSCIUSKO'S GARDEN AT WEST POINT.

The harmonies of Nature's orchestra were the only and the fitting sounds

in this seclusion; the early wooing of the birds; the water from the

fountains of the heights, that, filtering through the rocks, dropped

from ledge to ledge with the regularity of a water-clock; the ripple of

the waves, as they broke upon the rocky points of the shore, or softly

kissed its pebbly margin; and the voice of the tiny stream, that,

gliding down a dark, deep, and almost hidden channel in the rocks,

disappeared and welled up again in the center of the turfy slope, stole

over it, and trickled down the lower ledge of granite to the river.

Tradition has named this little, green shelf on the rocks, "Kosciusko's

Garden;" but, as no traces have been discovered of any other than

Nature's plantings, it was probably merely his favorite retreat, and, as

such, is a monument of his taste and love of nature.

* * * * *

=_John Neal, 1793-._= (Manual, p. 510.)

From "Randolph."

=_289._= THE NATURE OF TRUE POETRY.

Poetry is the naked expression of power and eloquence; but, for many

hundred years, poetry has been confounded with false music, measure,

and cadence, the soul with the body, the thought with the language, the

manner of speaking with the mode of thinking.... What I call poetry,

has nothing to do with art or learning. It is a natural music, the

music of woods and waters, not that of the orchestra.... Poetry is

a religion, as well as a music. Nay, it is eloquence. It is whatever

affects, touches, or disturbs the animal or moral sense of man. I care

not how poetry may be expressed, nor in what language; it is still

poetry; as the melody of the waters, wherever they may run, in the

desert or the wilderness, among the rocks or the grass, will always be

melody.... It is not the composition of a master, the language of art,

painfully and entirely exact, but is the wild, capricious melody of

nature, pathetic or brilliant, like the roundelay of innumerable birds

whistling all about you, in the wind and water, sky and air, or the

coquetting of a river breeze over the fine string's of an Aeolian harp,

concealed among green, leaves and apple blossoms.

* * * * *

=_John Pendleton Kennedy, 1795-1870._= (Manual, pp. 490, 510.)

From "Swallow Barn."

=_290._= THE MANSION AND THE BARN.

Swallow Barn is an aristocratical old edifice, which sits, like a

brooding hen, on the southern bank of the James River. It looks down

upon a shady pocket, or nook, formed by an indentation of the shore,

from a gentle acclivity, thinly sprinkled with oaks, whose magnificent

branches afford habitation to sundry friendly colonies of squirrels and

woodpeckers.

This time-honored mansion was the residence of the family of Hazards....

The main building is more than a century old. It is built with thick

brick walls, but one story in height, and surmounted by a double-faced

or hipped roof, which gives the idea of a ship, bottom upwards. Later

buildings have been added to this, as the wants or ambition of the

family have expanded. These are all constructed of wood, and seem

to have been built in defiance of all laws of congruity, just as

convenience required....

... Beyond the bridge, at some distance, stands a prominent object in

the perspective of this picture,--the most venerable appendage to the

establishment,--a huge barn, with an immense roof hanging almost to the

ground, and thatched a foot thick with sun-burnt straw, which reaches

below the eaves in ragged flakes. It has a singularly drowsy and

decrepit aspect.

* * * * *

=_291._= A DISAPPOINTED POLITICIAN.

"Things are getting worse and worse," replied the other. "I can see how

it's going. Here, the first thing General Jackson did, when he came in,

he wanted to have the president elected for six years; and, by and by,

they will want him for ten; and now they want to cut up our orchards and

meadows, whether or no. That's just the way Bonaparte went on. What's

the use of states, if they are all to be cut up with canals, and

railroads, and tariffs? No, no, gentlemen; you may depend Old Virginny's

not going to let Congress carry on in her day."

"How can they help it?" asked Sandy.

"We haven't _fout_ and bled," rejoined the other, taking out of his

pocket a large piece of tobacco, and cutting off a quid, as he spoke in

a somewhat subdued tone,--"we haven't _fout_ and bled for our liberties

to have our posterity and their land circumcised after this rate, to

suit the figaries of Congress. So let them try it when they will."

"Mr. Ned Hazard, what do you call state rights?" demanded Sandy.

"It's a sort of a law," said the other speaker, taking the answer to

himself, "against cotton and wool."

* * * * *

From his "Life of William Wirt."

=_292._= WIRT'S STYLE OF ORATORY.

He became, in the maturity of his career, one of the most philosophic

and accomplished lawyers of his time. In earlier life, he was remarked

for a florid imagination, and a power of vivid declamation,--faculties

which are but too apt to seduce their possessor to waste his strength

in that flimsier eloquence, which more captivates the crowd without

the bar, than the Judge upon the bench, and whose fatal facility often

ensnares ambitious youth capable of better things, by its cheap applause

and temptation to that indolence which may be indulged without loss of

popularity. The public seem to have ascribed to Mr. Wirt some such,

reputation as this, when he first attracted notice. He came upon the

broader theater of his fame under this disadvantage. He was aware of

it himself, and labored with matchless perseverance to disabuse the

tribunals, with which he was familiar, of this disparaging opinion. How

he succeeded, his compeers at the bar have often testified. None amongst

them ever brought to the judgment-seat a more complete preparation for

trial--none ever more thoroughly argued a case through minute analysis

and nice discrimination of principles. In logical precision of mind,

clearness of statement, full investigation of complicated points, and

close comparison of precedents, he had no superior at the bar of the

Supreme Court. He often relieved the tedium of argument with playful

sallies of wit and humor. He had a prompt and effective talent for

this exercise, to which his extensive and various reading administered

abundant resource; and he indulged it not less to the gratification of

his auditory than to the aid of his cause. In such tactics, Mr. Wirt was

well versed. In sarcasm and invective he was often exceedingly strong,

and denounced with a power that made transgressors tremble; but the bent

of his nature being kindly and tolerant of error, he took more pleasure

in exciting the laugh, than in conjuring the spirit of censure or

rebuke.

His manner in speaking was singularly attractive. His manly form,

his intellectual countenance and musical voice, set off by a rare

gracefulness of gesture, won, in advance, the favor of his auditory. He

was calm, deliberate, and distinct in his enunciation, not often rising

into any high exhibition of passion, and never sinking into tameness.

His key was that of earnest and animated argument, frequently alternated

with that of a playful and sprightly humor. His language was neat, well

chosen, and uttered without impediment or slovenly repetition. The tones

of his voice played, with a natural skill, through the various cadences

most appropriate to express the flitting emotions of his mind, and the

changes of his thought. To these external properties of his elocution,

we may ascribe the pleasure which persons of all conditions found in

listening to him. Women often crowded the court-rooms to hear him, and

as often astonished him, not only by the patience, but the visible

enjoyment with which they were wont to sit out his argument to the

end,--even when the topic was too dry to interest them, or too abstruse

for them to understand his discourse.... His oratory was not of

that strong, bold, and impetuous nature which is often the chief

characteristic of the highest eloquence, and which is said to sway the

Senate with absolute dominion, and to imprison or set free the storm of

human passion, in the multitude, according to the speaker's will. It was

smooth, polished, scholar-like, sparkling with pleasant fancies,

and beguiling the listener by its varied graces, out of all note or

consciousness of time.

* * * * *

=_William Ware, 1797-1852._= (Manual, p. 510.)

From "Aurelian, or Rome in the Third Century."

=_293._= THE CHRISTIAN MARTYR.

When now he had stood there not many minutes, one of the doors of the

vivaria was suddenly thrown back, and bounding forth with a roar that

seemed to shake the walls of the theatre, a lion of huge dimensions

leaped upon the arena. Majesty and power were inscribed upon his lordly

limbs; and, as he stood there where he had first sprung, and looked

round upon the multitude, how did his gentle eye and noble carriage,

with which no one for a moment could associate meanness, or cruelty,

or revenge, cast shame upon the human monsters assembled to behold a

solitary, unarmed man torn limb from limb! When he had in this way

looked upon that cloud of faces, he then turned, and moved round the

arena through its whole circumference, still looking upwards upon those

who filled the seats, not till he had come again to the point from which

he started so much as noticing him who stood his victim in the midst.

Then, as if apparently for the first time becoming conscious of his

presence, he caught the form of Probus, and, moving slowly towards him,

looked steadfastly upon him, receiving in return the settled gaze of the

Christian. Standing there still a while, each looking upon the other, he

then walked round him, then approached nearer, making suddenly, and for

a moment, those motions which indicated the roused appetite; but, as

it were, in the spirit of self-rebuke, he immediately retreated a few

paces, and lay down in the sand, stretching out his head towards Probus,

and closing his eyes, as if for sleep.

* * * * *

=_Lydia Maria Child, 1802-._= (Manual, p. 434.)

From "Autumnal Leaves."

=_294._= ILL TEMPER CONTAGIOUS.

It is curious to observe how a man's spiritual state reflects itself in

the people and animals around him; nay, in the very garments, trees, and

stones.

Reuben Black was an infestation in the neighborhood where he resided.

The very sight of him produced effects similar to the Hindoo magical

tune called Raug, which is said to bring on clouds, storms, and

earthquakes. His wife seemed lean, sharp, and uncomfortable. The heads

of his boys had a bristling aspect, as if each individual hair stood on

end with perpetual fear. The cows poked out their horns horizontally, as

soon as he opened the barn-yard gate. The dog dropped his tail between

his legs, and eyed him askance, to see what humor he was in. The cat

looked wild and scraggy, and had been known to rush straight up the

chimney when he moved towards her. Fanny Kemble's expressive description

of the Pennsylvania stage-horses was exactly suited to Reuben's poor

old nag. "His hide resembled an old hair-trunk." Continual whipping and

kicking had made him such a stoic, that no amount of blows could quicken

his pace, and no chirruping could change the dejected drooping of his

head. All his natural language said, as plainly as a horse _could_

say it, that he was a most unhappy beast. Even the trees on Reuben's

premises had a gnarled and knotted appearance. The bark wept little

sickly tears of gum, and the branches grew awry, as if they felt the

continual discord, and made sorry faces at each other behind their

owner's back. His fields were red with sorrel, or run over with mullein.

Every thing seemed as hard and arid as his own visage. Every day, he

cursed the town and the neighborhood, because they poisoned his dogs,

and stoned his hens, and shot his cats. Continual law-suits involved him

in so much expense, that he had neither time nor money to spend on the

improvement of his farm.

Against Joe Smith, a poor laborer in the neighborhood, he had brought

three suits in succession. Joe said he had returned a spade he borrowed,

and Reuben swore he had not. He sued Joe, and recovered damages, for

which he ordered the sheriff to seize his pig. Joe, in his wrath, called

him an old swindler, and a curse to the neighborhood. These remarks were

soon repeated to Reuben. He brought an action for slander, and recovered

twenty-five cents. Provoked at the laugh this occasioned, he watched for

Joe to pass by, and set his big dog upon him, screaming furiously, "Call

me an old swindler again, will you." An evil spirit is more contagious

than the plague. Joe went home and scolded his wife, and boxed little

Joe's ears, and kicked the cat; and not one of them knew what it was

all for. A fortnight after, Reuben's big dog was found dead by poison.

Whereupon he brought another action against Joe Smith, and not being

able to prove him guilty of the charge of dog-murder, he took his

revenge by poisoning a pet lamb belonging to Mrs. Smith. Thus the bad

game went on, with mutual worriment and loss. Joe's temper grew more

and more vindictive, and the love of talking over his troubles at the

grog-shop increased on him. Poor Mrs. Smith cried, and said it was all

owing to Reuben Black; for a better hearted man never lived than her

Joe, when she first married him.

* * * * *

=_Robert M. Bird, 1803-1854._= (Manual, p. 510.)

From "Nick of the Woods: a Tale of Kentucky."

=_295._= THE QUAKER HUNTSMAN.

"I have a thing to say to thee, which it concerns thee and the fair

maid, thee cousin, to know. There was a will, friend, a true and lawful

last will and testament of thee deceased uncle, in which theeself and

thee cousin was made the sole heirs of the same. Truly, friend, I did

take it from the breast of the villain that plotted thee ruin; but,

truly, it was taken from me again, I know not how."

"I have it safe," said Roland, displaying it, for a moment, with great

satisfaction, to Nathan's eyes. "It makes me master of wealth, which

you, Nathan, shall be the first to share. You must leave this wild life

of the border, go with me to Virginia--"

"I, friend!" exclaimed Nathan, with a melancholy shake of the head;

"thee would not have me back in the Settlements, to scandalize them that

is of my faith? No, friend; my lot is cast in the woods, and thee must

not ask me again to leave them. And, friend, thee must not think I have

served thee for the lucre of money or gain; for truly these things are

now to me as nothing. The meat that feeds me, the skins that cover, the

leaves that make my bed, are all in the forest around me, to be mine

when I want them; and what more can I desire? Yet, friend, if thee

thinks theeself obliged by whatever I have done for thee, I would ask of

thee one favor that thee can grant."

"A hundred!" said the Virginian, warmly.

"Nay, friend," muttered Nathan, with both a warning and beseeching

look, "all that I ask is, that thee shall say nothing of me that should

scandalize and disparage the faith to which I was born."

"I understand you," said Roland, "and will remember your wish.... Come

with us, Nathan; come with us."

But Nathan, ashamed of the weakness which he could not resist, had

turned away to conceal his emotion, and, stalking silently off, with the

ever-faithful Peter at his heels, was soon hidden from their eyes.

* * * * *

=_Nathaniel Hawthorne,_= about =_1805-1864._= (Manual, pp. 505, 508.)

From the "Twice-Told Tales."

=_296._= PORTRAIT OF EDWARD RANDOLPH.

Within the antique frame which so recently had enclosed a sable waste of

canvas, now appeared a visible picture--still dark, indeed, in its hues

and shadings, but thrown forward in strong relief.... The whole portrait

started so distinctly out of the background, that it had the effect of

a person looking down from the wall at the astonished and awe-stricken

spectators. The expression of the face, if any words can convey an idea

of it, was that of a wretch detected in some hideous guilt, and exposed

to the bitter hatred, and laughter, and withering scorn of a vast,

surrounding multitude. There was the struggle of defiance, beaten down

and overwhelmed by the crushing weight of ignominy. The torture of the

soul had come forth upon the countenance. It seemed as if the picture,

while hidden behind the cloud of immemorial years, had been all the time

acquiring an intenser depth and darkness of expression, till now it

gloomed forth again, and threw its evil omen over the present hour.

Such, if the wild legend may be credited, was the portrait of Edward

Randolph, as he appeared when a people's curse had wrought its influence

upon his nature.

* * * * *

=_297._= DESCRIPTION OF AN OLD SAILOR.

Many such a day did I sit snugly in Mr. Bartlett's store, attentive

to the yarns of Uncle Parker--uncle to the whole village by right of

seniority, but of southern blood, with no kindred in New England. His

figure is before me now, enthroned upon a mackerel barrel--a lean, old

man, of great height, but bent with years, and twisted into an uncouth,

shape by seven broken limbs; furrowed, also, and weather-worn, as if

every gale, for the better part of a century, had caught him somewhere

on the sea. He looked like a harbinger of tempest, a shipmate of the

Flying Dutchman.... One of Uncle Parker's eyes had been blown out with

gunpowder, and the other did but glimmer in its socket. Turning it

upward as he spoke, it was his delight to tell of cruises against the

French, and battles with his own ship-mates, when he and an antagonist

used to be seated astride of a sailor's chest, each fastened down, by a

spike-nail through his trousers, and there to fight it out.

* * * * *

From the "Blithedale Romance."

=_298._= A PICTURE OF GIRLHOOD.

Priscilla had now grown to be a very pretty girl, and still kept budding

and blossoming, and daily putting on some new charm, which you no sooner

became sensible of than you thought it worth all she had previously

possessed. So unformed, vague, and without substance, as she had come to

us, it seemed as if we could see Nature shaping out a woman before our

very eyes, and yet had only a more reverential sense of the mystery of a

woman's soul and frame. Yesterday, her cheek was pale,--to-day it had

a bloom. Priscilla's smile, like a baby's first one, was a wondrous

novelty. Her imperfections and short-comings affected me with a kind of

playful pathos, which was as absolutely bewitching a sensation as ever I

experienced. After she had been a month or two at Blithedale, her animal

spirits waxed high, and kept her pretty constantly in a state of bubble

and ferment, impelling her to far more bodily activity than she had yet

strength to endure. She was very fond of playing with the other girls

out of doors. There is hardly another sight in the world so pretty as

that of a company of young girls, almost women grown, at play, and so

giving themselves up to their airy impulse that their tiptoes barely

touch the ground.

Girls are incomparably wilder and more effervescent than boys, more

untamable, and regardless of rule and limit, with an ever-shifting

variety, breaking continually into new modes of fun, yet with a

harmonious propriety through all. Their steps, their voices, appear free

as the wind, but keep consonance with a strain of music inaudible to us.

Young men and boys, on the other hand, play according to recognized law,

old, traditionary games, permitting no caprioles of fancy, but with

scope enough for the outbreak of savage instincts....

Especially it is delightful to see a vigorous young girl run a race,

with her head thrown back, her limbs moving more friskily than

they need, and an air between that of a bird and a young colt. But

Priscilla's peculiar, charm, in a foot-race, was the weakness and

irregularity with which she ran....

When she had come to be quite at home among us, I used to fancy that

Priscilla played more pranks, and perpetrated more mischief, than any

other girl in the community. For example, I once heard Silas Foster,

in a very gruff voice, threatening to rivet three horse-shoes round

Priscilla's neck, and chain her to a post, because she, with some other

young people, had clambered upon a load of hay, and caused it to slide

off the cart. How she made her peace I never knew; but very soon

afterwards I saw old Silas, with his brawny hands round Priscilla's

waist, swinging her to and fro, and finally depositing her on one of the

oxen, to take her first lessons in riding. She met with terrible mishaps

in her efforts to milk a cow; she let the poultry into the garden; she

generally spoilt whatever part of the dinner she took in charge;

she broke crockery; she dropped our biggest pitcher into the well;

and--except with her needle and those little wooden instruments for

purse-making--was as unserviceable a member of society as any young

lady in the land. There was no other sort of efficiency about her. Yet

everybody was kind to Priscilla; everybody loved her and laughed at her

to her face, and did not laugh behind her back; everybody would have

given her half of his last crust, or the bigger share of his plum-cake.

These were pretty certain indications that we were all conscious of a

pleasant weakness in the girl, and considered her not quite able to look

after her own interests, or fight her battle with the world.

* * * * *

From "The Marble Faun."

=_299._= SCULPTURE: ART AND ARTISTS.

A sculptor, indeed, to meet the demands which our preconceptions make

upon him, should be even more indispensably a poet than those who deal

in measured verse and rhyme. His material, or instrument, which serves

him in the stead of shifting and transitory language, is a pure, white,

undecaying substance. It insures immortality to whatever is wrought in

it, and therefore makes it a religious obligation to commit no idea

to its mighty guardianship, save such as may repay the marble for

its faithful care, its incorruptible fidelity, by warming it with an

etherial life. Under this aspect, marble assumes a sacred character; and

no man should dare to touch it unless he feels within himself a certain

consecration and a priesthood, the only evidence of which, for the

public eye, will be the high treatment of heroic subjects, or the

delicate evolution of spiritual, through material beauty....

No ideas such as the foregoing--no misgivings suggested by

them--probably troubled the self complacency of most of these clever

sculptors. Marble, in their view, had no such sanctity as we impute to

it....

Yet we love the artists, in every kind; even these, whose merits we are

not quite able to appreciate. Sculptors, painters, crayon sketchers, or

whatever branch of aesthetics they adopted, were certainly pleasanter

people, as we saw them that evening, than the average whom we meet

in ordinary society. They were not wholly confined within the sordid

compass of practical life; they had a pursuit which, if followed

faithfully out, would lead them to the beautiful, and always had a

tendency thitherward, even if they lingered to gather up golden drops

by the wayside. Their actual business (though they talked about it very

much as other men talk of cotton, politics, flour barrels, and sugar)

necessarily illuminated their conversation with something akin to the

ideal....

As interesting as any of these relics was a large portfolio of old

drawings, some of which, in the opinion of their possessor, bore

evidence on their faces of the touch of master-hands.

... According to the judgment of several connoisseurs, Raphael's own

hand had communicated its magnetism to one of these sketches; and if

genuine, it was evidently his first conception of a favorite Madonna,

now hanging in the private apartment of the Grand Duke, at Florence....

There were at least half a dozen others, to which the owner assigned as

high an origin. It was delightful to believe in their authenticity, at

all events; for these things make the spectator, more vividly sensible

of a great painter's power, than the final glow and perfected art of the

most consummate picture that may have been elaborated from them. There

is an effluence of divinity in the first sketch; and there, if any

where, you find the pure light of inspiration, which the subsequent toil

of the artist serves to bring out in stronger lustre, indeed, but

likewise adulterates it with what belongs to an inferior mood. The aroma

and fragrance of new thought were perceptible in these designs, after

three centuries of wear and tear. The charm lay partly in their very

imperfection; for this is suggestive, and sets the imagination at work;

whereas, the finished picture, if a good one, leaves the spectator

nothing to do, and if bad, confuses, stupefies, disenchants, and

disheartens him.

* * * * *

From the "English Note Books."

=_300._= RUINS OF FURNESS ABBEY.

The most interesting part is that which was formerly the church, and

which, though now roofless, is still surrounded by walls, and retains

the remnants of the pillars that formerly supported the intermingling

curves of the arches. The floor is all overgrown with grass strewn with

fragments and capitals of pillars. It was a great and stately edifice,

the length of the nave and choir having been nearly three hundred feet,

and that of the transept more than half as much. The pillars along the

nave were alternately, a round solid one, and a clustered one. Now, what

remains of some of them is even with the ground: others present a stump

just high enough to form a seat; and others are perhaps a man's height

from the ground; and all are mossy, and with grass and weeds rooted into

their chinks, and here and there a tuft of flowers giving its tender

little beauty to their decay. The material of the edifice is a soft red

stone, and it is now extensively overgrown with a lichen of a very light

gray hue, which at a little distance makes the walls look as if they

had long ago been whitewashed and now had partially returned to their

original color. The arches of the nave and transept were noble and

immense; there were four of them together, supporting a tower which has

long since disappeared,--arches loftier than I ever conceived to have

been made by man. Very possibly, in some cathedral that I have seen,

or am yet to see, there may be arches as stately as these, but I doubt

whether they can ever show to such advantage in a perfect edifice as

they do in this ruin,--most of them broken, only one, as far as I

recollect, still completing its sweep. In this state they suggest a

greater majesty and beauty than any finished human work can show; the

crumbling traces of the half-obliterated design producing somewhat of

the effect of the first idea of any thing admirable, when it dawns upon

the mind of an artist or a poet,--an idea which, do what he may, he is

sure to fall short of in his attempt to embody it....

Conceive all these shattered walls, with here and there an arched

door, or the great arched vacancy of a window; these broken stones and

monuments scattered about; these rows of pillars up and down the nave,

these arches, through which a giant might have stepped, and not

needed to bow his head, unless in reverence to the sanctity of the

place,--conceive it all, with such verdure and embroidery of flowers as

the gentle, kindly moisture of the English climate procreates on all old

things, making them more beautiful than new, conceive it with the grass

for sole pavement of the long and spacious aisle, and the sky above for

the only roof. The sky, to be sure, is more majestic than the tallest

of those arches; and yet these latter, perhaps, make the stronger

impression of sublimity, because they translate the sweep of the sky to

our finite comprehension. It was a most beautiful, warm, sunny day, and

the ruins had all the pictorial advantage of bright light, and deep

shadows. I must not forget that birds flew in and out among the

recesses, and chirped and warbled, and made themselves at home there.

Doubtless, the birds of the present generation are the posterity of

those who first settled in the ruins, after the Reformation; and perhaps

the old monks of a still earlier day may have watched them building

about the abbey, before it was a ruin at all.

* * * * *

From the "American Note Books."

=_301._= SCENERY OF THE MERRIMAC.

I never could have conceived that there was so beautiful a river-scene

in Concord as this of the North Branch. The stream flows through the

midmost privacy and deepest heart of a wood, which, as if but half

satisfied with its presence, calm, gentle and unobtrusive as it is,

seems to crowd upon it, and barely to allow it passage, for the trees

are rooted on the very verge of the water, and dip their pendent

branches into it. On one side there is a high bank forming the side of a

hill, the Indian name of which I have forgotten, though Mr. Thoreau told

it to me; and here in some instances the trees stand leaning over the

river, stretching out their arms as if about to plunge in headlong. On

the other side, the bank is almost on a level with the water, and there

the quiet congregation of trees stood with feet in the flood, and

fringed with foliage down to its very surface. Vines here and there

twine themselves about bushes or aspens or alder-trees, and hang their

clusters, though scanty and infrequent this season, so that I can reach

them from my boat, I scarcely remember a scene of more complete and

lovely seclusion than the passage of the river through this wood. Even

an Indian canoe in olden times, could not have floated onward in deeper

solitude than my boat. I have never elsewhere had such an opportunity to

observe how much more beautiful reflection is than what we call reality.

The sky and the clustering foliage on either hand, and the effect of

sunlight as it found its way through the shade, giving lightsome hues in

contrast with the quiet depth of the prevailing tints, all these

seemed unsurpassably beautiful when beheld in upper air. But on gazing

downward, there they were, the same even to the minutest particular, yet

arrayed in ideal beauty which satisfied the spirit incomparably more

than the actual scene. I am half convinced that the reflection is indeed

the reality, the real thing which Nature imperfectly images to our

grosser sense. At any rate the disembodied shadow is nearest to the

soul.

* * * * *

From the "French and Italian Note Books."

=_302._= A DUNGEON OF ANCIENT ROME.

We were now in the deepest and ugliest part of the old Mamertine Prison,

one of the few remains of the kingly period of Rome, and which served

the Romans as a state prison for hundreds of years before the Christian

era. A multitude of criminals or innocent persons, no doubt, have

languished here in misery, and perished in darkness. Here Jugurtha

starved; here Catiline's adherents were strangled; and methinks, there

can not be in the world another such an evil den, so haunted with black

memories and indistinct surmises of guilt and suffering. In old Rome, I

suppose, the citizens never spoke of this dungeon above their breath.

It looks just as bad as it is; round, only seven paces across, yet so

obscure that our tapers could not illuminate it from side to side,--the

stones of which it is constructed being as black as midnight. The

custode showed us a stone post at the side of the cell, with the hole in

the top of it, into which, he said, St. Peter's chain had been fastened;

and he uncovered a spring of water, in the middle of the stone floor,

which he told us had miraculously gushed up to enable the Saint to

baptize his jailor. The miracle was perhaps the more easily wrought,

inasmuch as Jugurtha had found the floor of the dungeon oozy with wet.

However, it is best to be as simple and childlike as we can in these

matters; and whether St. Peter stamped his visage into the stone, and

wrought this other miracle or no, and whether or no he ever was in the

prison at all, still the belief of a thousand years and more, gives a

sort of reality and substance to such traditions. The custode dipped an

iron ladle into the miraculous water, and we each of us drank a sip;

and, what is very, remarkable, to me it seemed hard water and almost

brackish, while many persons think it the sweetest in Rome. I suspect

that St. Peter still dabbles in this water, and tempers its qualities

according to the faith of those who drink it.

* * * * *

=_William Gilmore Simms, 1806-1870._= (Manual, pp. 490, 510.)

From "Eutaw, a Sequel to The Foragers."

=_303._= THE BATTLE OF EUTAW.

Up to this moment nothing had seemed more certain than the victory of

the Americans. The consternation in the British camp was complete.

Everything was given up for lost by a considerable portion of the army.

The commissaries destroyed their stores, the loyalists and American

deserters, dreading the rope, seizing every horse which they could

command, fled incontinently for Charleston, whither they carried such

an alarm that the stores along the road were destroyed, and the trees

felled across it for the obstruction of the victorious Americans, who

were supposed to be pressing down upon the city with all their might.

Equally deceived were the conquerors. Flushed with success, the infantry

scattered themselves about the British camp, which, as all the tents had

been left standing, presented a thousand objects to tempt the appetites

of a half-starved and half-naked soldiery. Insubordination followed

disorder....

No more could be done. The laurels won in the first act of this exciting

drama, were all withered in the second. Both parties claimed a victory.

It belonged to neither. The British were beaten from the field at the

point of the bayonet, sought shelter in a fortress, and repulsed their

assailants from that fortress. It is to the shame and discredit of the

Americans that they were repulsed. The victory was in their hands.

* * * * *

From the "Life of Francis Marion."

=_304._= CHARACTER AND SERVICES OF GENERAL MARION.

No commander had ever been more solicitous of the safety and comfort of

his men. It was this which had rendered him so sure of their fidelity,

which had enabled him to extract from them such admirable service. This

simple entreaty stayed their quarrels; ... No duel took place among his

officers during the whole of his command.

The province which was assigned to his control by Governor Rutledge, was

the constant theatre of war. He was required to cover an immense extent

of country. With a force constantly unequal and constantly fluctuating,

he contrived to supply its deficiencies by the resources of his own

vigilance and skill. His personal bravery was frequently shown, and the

fact that he himself conducted an enterprise, was enough to convince his

men that they were certain to be led to victory.... He had no lives to

waste, and the game he played was that which enabled him to secure the

greatest results, with the smallest amount of hazard. Yet, when the

occasion seemed to require it, he could advance and strike with an

audacity, which in the ordinary relations of the leader with the

soldier, might well be thought inexcusable rashness.... The reader will

perceive a singular discrepancy between the actual events detailed in

the life of every popular hero, and the peculiar fame which he holds in

the minds of his countrymen. Thus, while Marion is every where regarded

as the peculiar representative in the southern States, of the genius of

partizan warfare, we are surprised, when we would trace, in the pages of

the annalist, the sources of this fame, to find the details so meagre

and so unsatisfactory. Tradition mumbles over his broken memories, which

we vainly strive to pluck from his lips, and bind together in coherent

and satisfactory records. The spirited surprise, the happy ambush, the

daring onslaught, the fortunate escape,--these, as they involve no

monstrous slaughter,--no murderous strife of masses,--no rending of

walled towns and sack of cities, the ordinary historian disdains. The

military reputation of Marion consists in the frequent performance of

deeds, unexpectedly, with inferior means, by which the enemy was annoyed

and dispirited, and the hearts and courage of his countrymen warmed into

corresponding exertions with his own. To him we owe that the fires of

patriotism were never extinguished, even in the most disastrous hours,

in the low country of South Carolina. He made our swamps and forests

sacred, as well because of the refuge which they gave to the fugitive

patriot, as for the frequent sacrifices which they enabled him to make,

on the altars of liberty and a befitting vengeance.... It is enough

that his fame has entered largely into that of his country, forming a

valuable portion of its national stock of character. His memory is in

the very hearts of our people.

* * * * *

=_Harriet Beecher Stowe, 1812-._= (Manual, p. 484.)

From "Uncle Tom's Cabin."

=_305._= MEMORIALS OF A DEAD CHILD.

At the door, however, he stopped a moment, and then coming back, he

said, with some hesitation,--

"Mary, I don't know how you'd feel about it, but there's that drawer

full of things-of-of-poor little Henry's." So saying, he turned quickly

on his heel, and shut the door after him.

His wife opened the little bedroom door adjoining her room, and taking

the candle, set it down on the top of a bureau there; then from a small

recess she took a key, and put it thoughtfully in the lock of a drawer,

and made a sudden pause, while two boys, who, boy-like, had followed

close on her heels, stood looking, with silent, significant glances, at

their mother. And O, mother that reads this, has there never been in

your house a drawer, or a closet, the opening of which has been to you

like the opening again of a little grave? Ah! happy mother that you are,

if it has not been so.

Mrs. Bird slowly opened the drawer. There were little coats, of many a

form and pattern, piles of aprons, and rows of small stockings; and even

a pair of little shoes, worn and rubbed at the toes, were peeping

from the folds of a paper. There was a toy horse and wagon, a top, a

ball,--memorials gathered with many a tear and many a heart-break! She

sat down by the drawer, and leaning her head on her hands over it, wept

till the tears fell through her fingers into the drawer; then, suddenly

raising her head, she began, with nervous haste, selecting the plainest

and most substantial articles, and gathering them into a bundle.

"Mamma," said one of the boys, gently touching her arm, "are you going

to give away those things?"

"My dear boys," she said, softly and earnestly, "if our dear loving

little Henry looks down from heaven, he would be glad to have us do

this. I could not find it in my heart to give them away to any common

person--to anybody that was happy; but I give them to a mother more

heart-broken and sorrowful than I am; and I hope God will send his

blessing with, them!"

* * * * *

From "Old-Town Folks."

=_306._= THE OLD MEETING HOUSE.

Going to meeting, in that state of society into which I was born, was as

necessary and inevitable a consequence of waking up on Sunday morning,

as eating one's breakfast. Nobody thought of staying away,--and, for

that matter, nobody wanted to stay away. Our weekly life was simple,

monotonous, and laborious; and the chance of seeing the whole

neighborhood together in their best clothes on Sunday, was a thing

which, in the dearth of all other sources of amusement, appealed to the

idlest and most unspiritual of loafers. They who did not care for the

sermon or the prayers, wanted to see Major Broad's scarlet coat and

laced ruffles, and his wife's brocade dress, and the new bonnet which

Lady Lothrop had just had sent up from Boston. Whoever had not seen

these would be out of society for a week to come, and not be able to

converse understandingly on the topics of the day.

The meeting on Sunday united in those days, as nearly as possible, the

whole population of a town,--men, women, and children. There was then

in a village but one fold and one shepherd, and long habit had made the

tendency to this one central point so much a necessity to every one,

that to stay away from "meetin," for any reason whatever, was always a

secret source of uneasiness. I remember in my early days, sometimes when

I had been left at home by reason of some of the transient ailments of

childhood, how ghostly and supernatural the stillness of the whole house

and village outside the meeting-house used to appear to me, how loudly

the clock ticked and the flies buzzed down the window-pane, and how I

listened in the breathless stillness to the distant psalm-singing, the

solemn tones of the long prayer, and then to the monotone of the sermon,

and then again to the closing echoes of the last hymn, and thought

sadly, what if some day I should be left out, when all my relations and

friends had gone to meeting in the New Jerusalem, and hear afar the

music from the crystal walls.

The arrangement of our house of worship in Oldtown was somewhat

peculiar, owing to the fact of its having originally been built as a

missionary church for the Indians. The central portion of the house,

usually appropriated to the best pews, was in ours devoted to them; and

here were arranged benches of the simplest and most primitive form; on

which were collected every Sunday, the thin and wasted remnants of

what once was a numerous and powerful tribe. There were four or five

respectable Indian families, who owned comfortable farms in the

neighborhood, and came to meeting in their farm-wagons, like any of

their white neighbors.

... Besides our Indian population, we had also a few negroes, and a side

gallery was appropriated to them. One of them was that of Aunt Nancy

Prime, famous for making election-cake and ginger-pop, and who was sent

for at all the great houses on occasions of high festivity, as learned

in all mysteries relating to the confection of cakes and pies. A tight,

trig, bustling body she, black and polished as ebony, smooth-spoken

and respectful, and quite a favorite with everybody. Nancy had treated

herself to an expensive luxury in the shape of a husband,--an idle,

worthless mulatto man, who was owned as a slave in Boston. Nancy bought

him, by intense labors in spinning flax, but found him an undesirable

acquisition, and was often heard to declare, in the bitterness of her

soul, when her husband returned from his drinking bouts, that she should

never buy another nigger, she knew. Prominent there was the stately form

of old Boston Foodah, an African Prince, who had been stolen from the

coast of Guinea in early youth, and sold in Boston at some period of

antiquity whereto the memory of man runneth not.

* * * * *

=_Maria J. McIntosh, 1815-._= (Manual, p. 484.)

From "Two Pictures."

=_307._= DEBATE BETWEEN WEBSTER AND HAYNE.

... Webster, Clay, Calhoun--the triumvirate to which, it is to be

feared, we shall long have to look back as to our last, were still

living; and as Augusta Moray gazed on the dark, melancholy eyes of the

first, shadowed by that wonderful brow, or looked into the face of the

second, where if prescient thought sometimes rose as a flitting cloud,

it was chased away before the glow of the warm heart and the quick

kindling fancy, or turned to the sharp angular lines and firmly

compressed lips that marked the iron strength of the third, she felt

that she stood in the midst of her dream fulfilment. The session was one

of peculiar interest. Great questions agitated the public mind, and were

treated greatly. Two great parties, springing from the very foundations

of our civil polity, strove for supremacy in our legislative halls. The

one, looking into the depths of our colonial history, took its stand on

the unquestionable truth, that each state of the Union was sovereign

over herself, from which was drawn the corollary, that she was as free

to leave as she had been to enter the Union. The other contended that

the present constitution of these United States defined the boundary of

the powers of each state, as well as of the great whole into which they

had been voluntarily fused; that to look behind that, was such a resort

to first principles or natural rights, as is involved in revolution, and

must be decided as revolution ever is, by the relative strength of the

ruling and the revolting forces.

On neither side was there any trickery, any bullying, any flimsy display

of rhetorical power. All was grand as the subject for which they

contended, solemn as the doom to which they seemed, approaching. In the

chief magistrate of that time all saw the unflinching executor of the

nation's will--a man whose words were the sure prefigurements of his

deeds. Their verdict must be carefully weighed, for it would be surely

executed. In stern silence each sat to hear, to deliberate, to judge.

The sharp logic and fiery vehemence of Hayne called up no angry flash,

roused no personal vindictiveness; and the deep tones of Webster found

as ready an entrance to southern as to northern hearts, while in those

powerful, words which seemed the fit weapons of a nation's champion, his

mighty mind swept away all that opposed it, save that principle which

lay imbedded in the very deepest stratum of the life of his opponents,

and which could not be torn away from them till feeling and life were

extinct.

It was in the capital, and in the presence of these great men, that

Augusta liked best to find herself. We are afraid she did not always

listen when men of more ordinary power occupied the floor,--the gallery

was an excellent dreaming place at such times.

* * * * *

=_Catharine Anne Warfield,[70] 1817-._=

From "The Romance of Beauseincourt."

=_308._= VIEW OF THE SKY BY NIGHT.

I had derived great and constant pleasure from the undisturbed

possession of this place of promenade during my whole sojourn.... Often,

when my mind had been distracted with anxious cares, I had literally

waited down its excitement and anguish in my fierce and rapid movements

to and fro, over its smooth painted floor, the daily care of Sylphy, who

might be heard in the hot season busily employed in refreshing it with

mop and broom and water during the first hours of the morning, the

pleasant, dewy freshness of which operation might be felt gratefully in

the atmosphere of our heated chamber.

The long gallery was very solitary, of course, at an hour like this, and

it was with a feeling of calm relief that I paced its lonely length,

stopping at intervals to look out upon the night; one of cloudy

sultriness, occasionally relieved by gusts of warm, damp wind, that bore

the distant odors of swamp and forest on its wings, and promised speedy

rain. Here and there in the dappled heavens were liquid purple spaces,

like the open sea described by Arctic voyagers, around which hung masses

of silvery clouds, projecting like ice cliffs; and into these patches of

sky the large yellow moon would now and then sail majestically, suddenly

emerging, like a ship from a fog, from the fleecy screen that veiled her

light, to cross these spaces, and plunge into mist and shadow again.

There was something in the whole effect calculated to absorb the mind of

an absent dreamer, intent on the future, and for the first time for many

weeks putting aside all foreign considerations, in favor of self too

long merged in others and neglected.

[Footnote 70: One of our most accomplished female writers; a native of

Mississippi, but long resident in Kentucky.]

* * * * *

=_Herman Melville, 1819-._= (Manual, p. 505.)

From "Moby Dick."

=_309._= SPERM WHALE FISHING.

It was a sight full of quick wonder and awe! The vast swells of the

omnipotent sea; the surging, hollow roar they made as they rolled along

the eight gunwales, like gigantic bowls in a boundless bowling-green;

the brief suspended agony of the boat, as it would tip for an instant on

the knife-like edge of the sharper waves, that almost seemed threatening

to cut it in two; the sudden profound dip into the watery glens and

hollows; the keen spurrings and goadings to gain the top of the opposite

hill; the headlong, sled-like slide down its other side; all these, with

the cries of the headsmen and harpooners, and the shuddering gasps of

the oarsmen, with the wondrous sight of the ivory Pequod bearing down

upon her boats, with outstretched sails, like a wild hen after her

screaming brood; all this was thrilling. Not the raw recruit, marching

from the bosom of his wife into the fever heat of his first battle; not

the dead man's ghost, encountering the first unknown phantom in the

other world; neither of these can feel stranger and stronger emotions

than that man does, who for the first time finds himself pulling into

the charmed, churned circle of the hunted sperm whale.

Soon we were running through a suffusing wide veil of mist; neither ship

nor boat to be seen.

"Give way, men," whispered Starbuck, drawing still further aft the sheet

of his sail; "there is time to kill a fish yet before the squall comes.

There's white water again! close to! Spring!" Though not one of the

oarsmen was then facing the life and death peril so close to them ahead,

yet with their eyes on the intense countenance of the mate in the stern

of the boat, they knew that the imminent instant had come; they heard,

too, an enormous wallowing sound as of fifty elephants stirring in their

litter. Meanwhile the boat was still booming through the mist, the

waves curling and hissing around us like the erected crests of enraged

serpents.

"That's his hump. _There, there_, give it to him!" whispered Starbuck.

A short rushing sound leaped out of the boat; it was the darted iron of

Queequeg. Then all in one welded commotion, came an invisible push from

astern, while forward the boat seemed striking on a ledge; the sail

collapsed and exploded; a gush of scalding vapor shot up near by;

something rolled and tumbled like an earthquake beneath us. The whole

crew were half suffocated as they were tossed helter-skelter into the

white curdling cream of the squall. Squall, whale, and harpoon had all

blended together and the whale, merely grazed by the iron, escaped.

Though completely swamped, the boat was nearly unharmed. Swimming round

it we picked up the floating oars, and lashing them across the gunwale,

tumbled back to our places. There we sat up to our knees in the sea, the

water covering every rib and plank, so that to our downward gazing eyes,

the suspended craft seemed a coral boat grown up to us from the bottom

of the ocean.

* * * * *

=_Josiah Gilbert Holland, 1819-._=

From The Bay Path.

=_310._= THE WEDDING-PRESENT.

John Woodcock was the first to break the silence. Rising from his seat,

and making his way out of the crowd around him, he crossed the room to

where his daughter was standing absorbed in, and half bewildered by the

scene, and whispering a few words in her ear, took her by the hand, and

led her before the married pair. Mary extended her hand to him instantly

and cordially, and exclaimed, "I knew that you would come to me and

congratulate me."

"That wan't my arrant any way," said Woodcock bluntly, "and I shouldn't

begin with you if it was."

"Why John! I am astonished!" exclaimed the bride; "I thought you was one

of the best friends I had in the world."

But Mary was somewhat affected with Woodcock's seriousness, and, with no

reply to Holyoke, beyond a smile, she asked Woodcock's reasons for the

statement he had made.

"I didn't come up here to talk about this, and p'raps it ain't the right

time to do it, but there's no use backin' down when you begin. I've got

a consait that men and women ain't built out of the same kind of timber.

Look at my hand--a great pile o' bones covered with brown luther, with

the hair on,--and then look at yourn. White oak ain't bass, is it? Every

man's hand ain't so black as mine, and every woman's ain't so white as

yourn, but there's always difference enough to show, and there's just as

much odds in their doin's and dispositions as there is in their hands. I

know what women be. I've wintered and summered with 'em, and take 'em by

and large, they're better'n men. Now and then a feller gets hitched to a

hedgehog, but most of 'em get a woman that's too good for 'em. They're

gentle and kind, and runnin' over with good feelin's, and will stick to

a fellow a mighty sight longer'n he'll stick to himself. My woman's dead

and gone, but if there wan't any women in the world, and I owned it, I'd

sell out for three shillin's, and throw in stars enough to make it an

object for somebody to take it off my hands.

"Some time ago," resumed Woodcock. "I heerd the little ones and some of

the old ones tellin' what they was goin' to give Mary Pynchon when she

got married; and it set me to thinkin' what I could give her, for I

knew if anybody ought to give her anything, it was me. But I hadn't any

money, and I couldn't send to the Bay for anything, and I shouldn't 'a

known what to get if I could, I might have shot a buck, but I couldn't

'a brought it to the weddin', and it didn't seem exactly ship-shape to

give her anything she could eat up and forget. So I thought I'd give her

a keepsake my wife left me when she died. It's all I've got of any vally

to me, and it's somethin' that'll grow better every day it is kep', if

you'll take care of it. I don't know what'll come of me, and I want to

leave it in good hands."

The bride began to grow curious, and despite their late repulse the

group began to collect again.

"It's a queer thing for a present, perhaps, (and Woodcock's lip began to

quiver and his eye to moisten,) but I hope it'll do you some service.

'Taint anything't you can wear in your hair, or throw over your

shoulders. It's--it's--"

"It's what?" inquired Mary, with an encouraging smile.

Woodcock took hold of the hand of his child, and placing it in that of

the questioner, burst out with, "God knows that's the handle to it," and

retreated to the window, where he spent several minutes looking out into

the night, and endeavoring to repress the spasms of a choking throat.

Neither Mary Holyoke nor her husband could disguise their emotions, as

they saw before them the living testimonial of Woodcock's gratitude and

trust. Mary stooped and kissed the gift-child, who clung to her as

if, contrary to her father's statement, she was an article of wearing

apparel.

* * * * *

=_John Esten Cooke,[71] 1830-._=

From "Estcourt, or the Memoirs of a Virginia Gentleman."

=_311._= THE PORTRAIT.

"I see you are prepared now," said the painter; "the thought I

endeavored to suggest has entered your mind, for I read the expression

in your face like an open book. Well, see if I have deceived you--look!"

And as he spoke, the painter removed a green curtain from the frame of a

picture, so arranged that the full light of the middle window fell upon

it.

Estcourt almost cried out with astonishment. Here, before him, as

though ready to start from the canvas, was the woman who had been, his

fate--who had died long years before; there in the full blaze of light,

he saw her who had thrown the shadow upon his existence, which still

clouded it, fresh, softly smiling, alive almost on the speaking and

eloquent canvas. The blue eyes beamed with a tender and subdued

sweetness, the delicate forehead, with its soft brown curls, rose airily

above the perfectly arched brows, the innocent lips were half parted,

and the portrait seemed almost ready to move from its frame, and

descend, a living woman, into the apartment.

[Footnote 71: Conspicuous among the younger writers of Virginia, of which

State he is a native; author of many novels.]

* * * * *

=_312._= ASPECTS OF SUMMER.

The glory of the summer deepened and grew more intense, the foliage

assumed a darker tint of emerald, the sky glowed with a more dazzling

blue, and the songs of the busy harvesters came sad and slow, like the

long, melancholy swell of pensive sighs across the hills and fields,

dying away finally into the "harvest home," which told that the golden

grain would wave no more in the wind until another year. The "harvest

moon" looked down on bare fields now, and June was dead. At last came

August, the month of great white clouds and imperial sunsets, the

crowning hours of the rich summer, soon to fade away into the yellow

autumn, the month of reveries and dreams on the banks of shadowy

streams, or beneath, the old majestic trees of silent forests.

* * * * *

=_Sarah A. Dorsey,[72] about 1835-._=

From "Lucia Dare."

=_313._= SCENERY AND SOCIETY AT NATCHEZ, MISSISSIPPI.

The village of Natchez, under the hill, was clustered close to the

water's edge; the bluffs rose precipitously, garnished with pine trees,

and locusts, and tufted grasses; the vista here terminated in Brown's

beautiful gardens, gay with flower-beds and closely-clipped hedges. Far

away over the river stretched the broad emerald plain of Louisiana,

level with the stream, extending for many, many miles, its champaign

checkered with groups of white plantation-houses, spotted with groves of

trees, rich in autumnal beauty, glowing with crimson, gold, and green,

softened by veils of long, gray moss. This plain was dotted with lovely

lakes, whose waters shone in the slanting rays of the declining sun....

The sun went down quickly, as he does at sea, a round, red fire-ball,

while light, splendid clouds of purple, pink, lilac, and gray, on the

blue, blue heavens, refracted the ascending, slender, quivering rays of

the disappearing orb, the type of Deity in all natural religions, the

Totem of the Natchez Indians. Beloved city--bright "city of the Sun"!

How often have I paced with restless child's feet, the road that Lucian

was now traveling over, and listened, as he did, but more lingeringly,

to the sounds of gentle human life, stirring within thy peaceful homes!

How often have I thanked God for my beautiful childhood's home--for my

precious Southern Land--for its sunshine, its verdure, its forests,

its flowers, its perfume; but oh! above all, for the loving, refined,

intelligent, gentle race of people it was my great, my priceless

privilege, to be born amongst--a people worthy to live with, yes,

_worthy to die for_! The stern besom of war has wept over you, beloved

Natchez--your fairest homes have been desolated, your lovely gardens are

now only remembrances--your family circles are broken up--your bravest

sons are sleeping in the dust of death, or weeping tears of bitterness

in exile--your daughters, bowed down with penury and grief, are mourning

beside their darkened firesides--your joyous households transferred to

other and kindlier lands. The forms of my kindred faded into phantoms of

the past--strangers sit now in the place that once was mine; but yet,

thou art lovely, still beloved in thy ruin, in thy desolation--city of

my heart--city of my love--city of my childish joy! Oh! city of my dead!

[Footnote 72: Prominent among the living authors of Louisiana.]

* * * * *

=_Anne Moncure Crane.[73]_=

From "Opportunity;" a Novel.

=_314._= IMPRESSION OF A SEA SCENE.

The tide had been out, but it was now rising; and they stood silently

watching the long, low waves dissolve in foam, whose white edges each

time crept nearer and nearer their feet. No one was conscious of the

duration of the silence. The sea's monotony of motion and sound seemed

to fill the void, and lull them to quietude. But beautiful as was the

scene that lay before her, Harvey gradually forgot it ...

The two women had been nearly facing each other; and in a moment or two

Harvey put his hand upon Rose's shoulder, and with the other, motioned

her to look out upon the sea at her side. As she obeyed, her faint,

inarticulate expression of surprise and pleasure made both men follow

her example. It was only a coasting vessel, which had come rather close

to the shore, and was sailing swiftly by, before the freshening breeze;

but Its broad, white sails, with the moonlight upon them, and its

gliding, soundless motion, gave it an unearthly effect, as of a phantom

of light floating between the dark sea and sky, or a great white-winged

spirit sweeping past. When it had vanished into the distance and

darkness, Rose turned, and looked up at Harvey with mute but half-parted

lips, with eyes dilating with light, only this for a moment, but Miss

Barney knew she had accomplished her wish.

The others also did not speak. But Grahame made an involuntary angry

movement of his foot upon the sand.

[Footnote 73: A young authoress of Maryland: has written two novels of

unusual promise.]

* * * * *

=_Mary Clemmer Ames,[74] about 1837-._=

From "A Woman's Right."

=_315._= A RAILWAY DEPOT IN THE COUNTRY.

... Yet this depot was the centre of attraction for miles around. It was

the grand hall of re-union for all the people of the scattered town,

not second in importance even to the meeting-house. Here, twice a day,

stopped the great Western and Eastern trains, the two fiery arteries

through which flowed all the tumultuous life of the vast outer world

that had ever come to this secluded hamlet. Its primitive inhabitants

in their isolated farm-houses, under the hills and on the stony

mountain-moors, could never have realized the existence of another world

than the green, grand world of nature around them and above them, and

would have been as oblivious of the great god "News" as the denizens of

Greenland, if it had not been for the daily visits of this Cyclops with

the burning eye. Now twice a day, the shriek of his diabolical whistle

pierced the umbrageous woods and hilly gorges for miles away, and its

cry to many a solitary household was the epoch of the day. Hearing it,

John mounted his nag and scampered away to the station for the Boston

journals of yesterday. Seth harnessed Peggy, and drove off in the buggy

in all possible haste, to see if the mail had brought a letter from Amzi

who was in New York, or from Nimrod who had gone to work in "Bosting,"

or if the train had brought Sally and her children from the city, who

were expected home on a visit. Here, under pretext of waiting for the

cars, congregated the drones and supernumeraries of the different

neighborhoods, lounging on the steps, hacking the benches with their

jack-knives for hours together, while they discussed politics, and

talked over their own and their neighbors' affairs.

A walk to the station on a summer evening, was more to the boys and

girls of this rural region, than a Broadway promenade to a metropolitan

belle. Their day's task done, here they met in pairs, comparing finery

and indulging in flirtations, with an impunity which would not have been

tolerated by their elders at the Sunday recess in the meeting-house.

Then, besides, it was such an exciting sight to see the cars come in,

to see the long rows of strange faces, and to catch glimpses of the new

fashions at their open windows. Besides, at rare intervals, a real city

lady would actually alight at the rustic station of Hilltop, followed

by an avalanche of trunks, "larger than hen-houses," the girls would

afterwards affirm to their astonished mothers, when it was discovered

that the city-lady, in her languishing necessity for country-air, had

really condescended to come in search of a remote country-cousin.

Besides the fine lady, sometimes small companies of dashing young

gentlemen, with fishing-rods and retinues of long-eared dogs, or a

long-haired artist with a portfolio under his arm, all lured by the

mountains and woods and streams, to seek pleasure in far different ways,

would alight at the station, and ask of some staring rustic where they

could find the hotel.

[Footnote 74: An active writer, chiefly known as a newspaper

correspondent from Washington; a native of Vermont, has published a

novel of much descriptive vigor.]