THOUGHTS AND SCENES IN WISCONSIN.--SOCIETY IN MILWAUKIE.--INDIAN
ANECDOTE.--SEERESS OF PREVORST.--MILWAUKIE.
A territory, not yet a State;[A] still nearer the acorn than we were.
[Footnote A: Wisconsin was not admitted into the Union as a State till
1847, after this volume was written.--ED.]
It was very pleasant coming up. These large and elegant boats are so
well arranged that every excursion may be a party of pleasure. There
are many fair shows to see on the lake and its shores, almost always
new and agreeable persons on board, pretty children playing about,
ladies singing (and if not very well, there is room, to keep out of
the way). You may see a great deal here of Life, in the London sense,
if you know a few people; or if you do not, and have the tact to look
about you without seeming to stare.
We came to Milwaukie, where we were to pass a fortnight or more.
This place is most beautifully situated. A little river, with romantic
banks, passes up through the town. The bank of the lake is here a
bold bluff, eighty feet in height. From its summit is enjoyed a noble
outlook on the lake. A little narrow path winds along the edge of the
lake below. I liked this walk much,--above me this high wall of rich
earth, garlanded on its crest with trees, the long ripples of the lake
coming up to my feet. Here, standing in the shadow, I could appreciate
better its magnificent changes of color, which are the chief beauties
of the lake-waters; but these are indescribable.
It was fine to ascend into the lighthouse, above this bluff, and
thence watch the thunder-clouds which so frequently rose over the
lake, or the great boats coming in. Approaching the Milwaukie pier,
they made a bend, and seemed to do obeisance in the heavy style
of some dowager duchess entering a circle she wishes to treat with
especial respect.
These boats come in and out every day, and still afford a cause for
general excitement. The people swarm, down to greet them, to receive
and send away their packages and letters. To me they seemed such
mighty messengers, to give, by their noble motion, such an idea of the
power and fulness of life, that they were worthy to carry despatches
from king to king. It must be very pleasant for those who have an
active share in carrying on the affairs of this great and growing
world to see them approach, and pleasant to such as have dearly loved
friends at the next station. To those who have neither business nor
friends, it sometimes gives a desolating sense of insignificance.
The town promises to be, some time, a fine one, as it is so well
situated; and they have good building material,--a yellow brick, very
pleasing to the eye. It seems to grow before you, and has indeed but
just emerged from the thickets of oak and wild-roses. A few steps
will take you into the thickets, and certainly I never saw so many
wild-roses, or of so beautiful a red. Of such a color were the first
red ones the world ever saw, when, says the legend, Venus flying to
the assistance of Adonis, the rose-bushes kept catching her to make
her stay, and the drops of blood the thorns drew from her feet, as
she tore herself a way, fell on the white roses, and turned them this
beautiful red.
One day, walking along the river's bank in search of a waterfall to be
seen from one ravine, we heard tones from a band of music, and saw a
gay troop shooting at a mark, on the opposite bank. Between every shot
the band played; the effect was very pretty.
On this walk we found two of the oldest and most gnarled hemlocks that
ever afforded study for a painter. They were the only ones we saw;
they seemed the veterans of a former race.
At Milwaukie, as at Chicago, are many pleasant people, drawn together
from all parts of the world. A resident here would find great piquancy
in the associations,--those he met having such dissimilar histories
and topics. And several persons I saw, evidently transplanted from the
most refined circles to be met in this country. There are lures enough
in the West for people of all kinds;--the enthusiast and the cunning
man; the naturalist, and the lover who needs to be rich for the sake
of her he loves.
The torrent of immigration swells very strongly towards this place.
During the fine weather, the poor refugees arrive daily, in their
national dresses, all travel-soiled and worn. The night they pass in
rude shantees, in a particular quarter of the town, then walk off into
the country,--the mothers carrying their infants, the fathers leading
the little children by the hand, seeking a home where their hands may
maintain them.
One morning we set off in their track, and travelled a day's
journey into this country,--fair, yet not, in that part which I saw,
comparable, in my eyes, to the Rock River region. Rich fields, proper
for grain, alternate with oak openings, as they are called; bold,
various, and beautiful were the features of the scene, but I saw
not those majestic sweeps, those boundless distances, those heavenly
fields; it was not the same world.
Neither did we travel in the same delightful manner. We were now in a
nice carriage, which must not go off the road, for fear of breakage,
with a regular coachman, whose chief care was not to tire his horses,
and who had no taste for entering fields in pursuit of wild-flowers,
or tempting some strange wood-path, in search of whatever might
befall. It was pleasant, but almost as tame as New England.
But charming indeed was the place where we stopped. It was in the
vicinity of a chain of lakes, and on the bank of the loveliest
little stream, called, the Bark River, which, flowed in rapid amber
brightness, through fields, and dells, and stately knolls, of most
poetic beauty.
The little log-cabin where we slept, with its flower-garden in front,
disturbed the scene no more than a stray lock on the fair cheek.
The hospitality of that house I may well call princely; it was the
boundless hospitality of the heart, which, if it has no Aladdin's lamp
to create a palace for the guest, does him still higher service by the
freedom of its bounty to the very last drop of its powers.
Sweet were the sunsets seen in the valley of this stream, though,
here, and, I grieve to say, no less near the Rock River, the fiend,
who has every liberty to tempt the happy in this world, appeared in
the shape of mosquitos, and allowed us no bodily to enjoy our mental
peace.
One day we ladies gave, under the guidance of our host, to visiting
all the beauties of the adjacent lakes,--Nomabbin, Silver, and Pine
Lakes. On the shore of Nomabbin had formerly been one of the finest
Indian villages. Our host said, that once, as he was lying there
beneath the bank, he saw a tall Indian standing at gaze on the knoll.
He lay a long time, curious to see how long the figure would maintain
its statue-like absorption. But at last his patience yielded, and,
in moving, he made a slight noise. The Indian saw him, gave a wild,
snorting sound of indignation and pain, and strode away.
What feelings must consume their hearts at such moments! I scarcely
see how they can forbear to shoot the white man where he stands.
But the power of fate is with, the white man, and the Indian feels it.
This same gentleman told of his travelling through the wilderness with
an Indian guide. He had with him a bottle of spirit which he meant to
give him in small quantities, but the Indian, once excited, wanted
the whole at once. "I would not," said Mr. ----, "give it him, for I
thought, if he got really drunk, there was an end to his services as
a guide. But he persisted, and at last tried to take it from me. I
was not armed; he was, and twice as strong as I. But I knew an Indian
could not resist the look of a white man, and I fixed my eye steadily
on his. He bore it for a moment, then his eye fell; he let go the
bottle. I took his gun and threw it to a distance. After a few
moments' pause, I told him to go and fetch it, and left it in his
hands. From that moment he was quite obedient, even servile, all the
rest of the way."
This gentleman, though in other respects of most kindly and liberal
heart, showed the aversion that the white man soon learns to feel for
the Indian on whom he encroaches,--the aversion of the injurer for him
he has degraded. After telling the anecdote of his seeing the Indian
gazing at the seat of his former home,
"A thing for human feelings the most trying,"
and which, one would think, would have awakened soft compassion--
almost remorse--in the present owner of that fair hill, which
contained for the exile the bones of his dead, the ashes of his
hopes, he observed: "They cannot be prevented from straggling back
here to their old haunts. I wish they could. They ought not to be
permitted to drive away _our_ game." OUR game,--just heavens!
The same gentleman showed, on a slight occasion, the true spirit of a
sportsman, or perhaps I might say of Man, when engaged in any kind
of chase. Showing us some antlers, he said: "This one belonged to a
majestic creature. But this other was the beauty. I had been lying a
long time at watch, when at last I heard them come crackling along. I
lifted my head cautiously, as they burst through the trees. The first
was a magnificent fellow; but then I saw coming one, the prettiest,
the most graceful I ever beheld,--there was something so soft and
beseeching in its look. I chose him at once, took aim, and shot him
dead. You see the antlers are not very large; it was young, but the
prettiest creature!"
In the course of this morning's drive, we visited the gentlemen on
their fishing party. They hailed us gayly, and rowed ashore to show us
what fine booty they had. No disappointment there, no dull work.
On the beautiful point of land from which we first saw them lived a
contented woman, the only one I heard of out there. She was English,
and said she had seen so much suffering in her own country, that the
hardships of this seemed as nothing to her. But the others--even our
sweet and gentle hostess--found their labors disproportioned to their
strength, if not to their patience; and, while their husbands and
brothers enjoyed the country in hunting or fishing, they found
themselves confined to a comfortless and laborious in-door life. But
it need not be so long.
This afternoon, driving about on the banks of these lakes, we found
the scene all of one kind of loveliness; wide, graceful woods, and
then these fine sheets of water, with, fine points of land jutting out
boldly into them. It was lovely, but not striking or peculiar.
All woods suggest pictures. The European forest, with its long glades
and green, sunny dells, naturally suggested the figures of armed
knight on his proud steed, or maiden, decked in gold and pearl,
pricking along them on a snow-white palfrey; the green dells, of weary
Palmer sleeping there beside the spring with his head upon his wallet.
Our minds, familiar with such, figures, people with them the New
England woods, wherever the sunlight falls down a longer than usual
cart-track, wherever a cleared spot has lain still enough for the
trees to look friendly, with their exposed sides cultivated by the
light, and the grass to look velvet warm, and be embroidered with
flowers. These Western woods suggest a different kind of ballad. The
Indian legends have often an air of the wildest solitude, as has the
one Mr. Lowell has put into verse in his late volume. But I did not
see those wild woods; only such as suggest to me little romances of
love and sorrow, like this:--
GUNHILDA.
A maiden sat beneath the tree,
Tear-bedewed her pale cheeks be,
And she sigheth heavily.
From forth the wood into the light
A hunter strides, with carol light,
And a glance so bold and bright.
He careless stopped and eyed the maid;
"Why weepest thou?" he gently said;
"I love thee well; be not afraid."
He takes her hand, and leads her on;
She should have waited there alone,
For he was not her chosen one.
He leans her head upon his breast,
She knew 't was not her home of rest,
But ah! she had been sore distrest.
The sacred stars looked sadly down;
The parting moon appeared to frown,
To see thus dimmed the diamond crown.
Then from the thicket starts a deer,
The huntsman, seizing on his spear,
Cries, "Maiden, wait thou for me here."
She sees him vanish into night,
She starts from sleep in deep affright,
For it was not her own true knight.
Though but in dream Gunhilda failed.
Though but a fancied ill assailed,
Though she but fancied fault bewailed,--
Yet thought of day makes dream of night:
She is not worthy of the knight,
The inmost altar burns not bright.
If loneliness thou canst not bear,
Cannot the dragon's venom dare,
Of the pure meed thou shouldst despair.
Now sadder that lone maiden sighs,
Far bitterer tears profane her eyes,
Crushed, in the dust her heart's flower lies.
On the bank of Silver Lake we saw an Indian encampment. A shower
threatened us, but we resolved to try if we could not visit it before
it came on. We crossed a wide field on foot, and found the Indians
amid the trees on a shelving bank; just as we reached them, the rain
began to fall in torrents, with frequent thunderclaps, and we had
to take refuge in their lodges. These were very small, being for
temporary use, and we crowded the occupants much, among whom were
several sick, on the damp ground, or with only a ragged mat between
them and it. But they showed all the gentle courtesy which, marks
their demeanor towards the stranger, who stands in any need; though it
was obvious that the visit, which inconvenienced them, could only
have been caused by the most impertinent curiosity, they made us as
comfortable as their extreme poverty permitted. They seemed to think
we would not like to touch them; a sick girl in the lodge where I was,
persisted in moving so as to give me the dry place; a woman, with the
sweet melancholy eye of the race, kept off the children and wet dogs
from even the hem of my garment.
Without, their fires smouldered, and black kettles, hung over them on
sticks, smoked, and seethed in the rain. An old, theatrical-looking
Indian stood with arms folded, looking up to the heavens, from
which the rain clashed and the thunder reverberated; his air was
French-Roman; that is, more Romanesque than Roman. The Indian ponies,
much excited, kept careering through the wood, around the encampment,
and now and then, halting suddenly, would thrust in their intelligent,
though amazed faces, as if to ask their masters when this awful pother
would cease, and then, after a moment, rush and trample off again.
At last we got away, well wetted, but with a picturesque scene for
memory. At a house where we stopped to get dry, they told us that
this wandering band (of Pottawattamies), who had returned, on a visit,
either from homesickness, or need of relief, were extremely destitute.
The women had been there to see if they could barter for food their
head-bands, with which they club their hair behind into a form not
unlike a Grecian knot. They seemed, indeed, to have neither food,
utensils, clothes, nor bedding; nothing but the ground, the sky, and
their own strength. Little wonder if they drove off the game!
Part of the same band I had seen in Milwaukee, on a begging dance.
The effect of this was wild and grotesque. They wore much paint and
feather head-dresses. "Indians without paint are poor coots," said a
gentleman who had been a great deal with, and really liked, them;
and I like the effect of the paint on them; it reminds of the gay
fantasies of nature. With them in Milwaukie was a chief, the finest
Indian figure I saw, more than six feet in height, erect, and of a
sullen, but grand gait and gesture. He wore a deep-red blanket, which
fell in large folds from his shoulders to his feet, did not join in
the dance, but slowly strode about through the streets, a fine
sight, not a French-Roman, but a real Roman. He looked unhappy,
but listlessly unhappy, as if he felt it was of no use to strive or
resist.
While in the neighborhood of these lakes, we visited also a foreign
settlement of great interest. Here were minds, it seemed, to
"comprehend the trust" of their new life; and, if they can only stand
true to them, will derive and bestow great benefits therefrom.
But sad and sickening to the enthusiast who comes to these shores,
hoping the tranquil enjoyment of intellectual blessings, and the
pure happiness of mutual love, must be a part of the scene that he
encounters at first. He has escaped from the heartlessness of courts,
to encounter the vulgarity of the mob; he has secured solitude, but
it is a lonely, a deserted solitude. Amid the abundance of nature,
he cannot, from petty, but insuperable obstacles, procure, for a long
time, comforts or a home.
But let him come sufficiently armed with patience to learn the new
spells which the new dragons require, (and this can only be done
on the spot,) he will not finally be disappointed of the promised
treasure; the mob will resolve itself into men, yet crude, but of good
dispositions, and capable of good character; the solitude will become
sufficiently enlivened, and home grow up at last from the rich sod.
In this transition state we found one of these homes. As we
approached, it seemed the very Eden which earth might still afford to
a pair willing to give up the hackneyed pleasures of the world for a
better and more intimate communion with one another and with beauty:
the wild road led through wide, beautiful woods, to the wilder and
more beautiful shores of the finest lake we saw. On its waters,
glittering in the morning sun, a few Indians were paddling to and fro
in their light canoes. On one of those fair knolls I have so often
mentioned stood the cottage, beneath trees which stooped as if
they yet felt brotherhood with its roof-tree. Flowers waved, birds
fluttered round, all had the sweetness of a happy seclusion; all
invited to cry to those who inhabited it, All hail, ye happy ones!
But on entrance to those evidently rich in personal beauty, talents,
love, and courage, the aspect of things was rather sad. Sickness had
been with them, death, care, and labor; these had not yet blighted
them, but had turned their gay smiles grave. It seemed that hope and
joy had given place to resolution. How much, too, was there in them,
worthless in this place, which would have been so valuable
elsewhere! Refined graces, cultivated powers, shine in vain before
field-laborers, as laborers are in this present world; you might as
well cultivate heliotropes to present to an ox. Oxen and heliotropes
are both good, but not for one another.
With them were some of the old means of enjoyment, the books,
the pencil, the guitar; but where the wash-tub and the axe are so
constantly in requisition, there is not much time and pliancy of hand
for these.
In the inner room, the master of the house was seated; he had been
sitting there long, for he had injured his foot on ship-board, and his
farming had to be done by proxy. His beautiful young wife was his
only attendant and nurse, as well as a farm, housekeeper. How well
she performed hard and unaccustomed duties, the objects of her care
showed; everything that belonged to the house was rude, but neatly
arranged. The invalid, confined to an uneasy wooden chair, (they had
not been able to induce any one to bring them an easy-chair from the
town,) looked as neat and elegant as if he had been dressed by the
valet of a duke. He was of Northern blood, with clear, full blue eyes,
calm features, a tempering of the soldier, scholar, and man of the
world, in his aspect. Either various intercourses had given him that
thoroughbred look never seen in Americans, or it was inherited from
a race who had known all these disciplines. He formed a great but
pleasing contrast to his wife, whose glowing complexion and dark
yellow eye bespoke an origin in some climate more familiar with the
sun. He looked as if he could sit there a great while patiently,
and live on his own mind, biding his time; she, as if she could bear
anything for affection's sake, but would feel the weight of each
moment as it passed.
Seeing the album full of drawings and verses, which bespoke the circle
of elegant and affectionate intercourse they had left behind, we could
not but see that the young wife sometimes must need a sister, the
husband a companion, and both must often miss that electricity which
sparkles from the chain of congenial minds.
For mankind, a position is desirable in some degree proportioned to
education. Mr. Birkbeck was bred a farmer, but these were nurslings
of the court and city; they may persevere, for an affectionate courage
shone in their eyes, and, if so, become true lords of the soil, and
informing geniuses to those around; then, perhaps, they will feel that
they have not paid too clear for the tormented independence of the new
settler's life. But, generally, damask roses will not thrive in the
wood, and a ruder growth, if healthy and pure, we wish rather to see
there.
I feel about these foreigners very differently from what I do about
Americans. American men and women are inexcusable if they do not bring
up children so as to be fit for vicissitudes; the meaning of our star
is, that here all men being free and equal, every man should be fitted
for freedom and an independence by his own resources wherever the
changeful wave of our mighty stream may take him. But the star of
Europe brought a different horoscope, and to mix destinies breaks the
thread of both. The Arabian horse will not plough well, nor can the
plough-horse be rode to play the jereed. Yet a man is a man wherever
he goes, and something precious cannot fail to be gained by one who
knows how to abide by a resolution of any kind, and pay the cost
without a murmur.
Returning, the fine carriage at last fulfilled its threat of breaking
down. We took refuge in a farm-house. Here was a pleasant scene,--a
rich and beautiful estate, several happy families, who had removed
together, and formed a natural community, ready to help and enliven
one another. They were farmers at home, in Western New York, and both
men and women knew how to work. Yet even here the women did not like
the change, but they were willing, "as it might be best for the young
folks." Their hospitality was great: the houseful of women and pretty
children seemed all of one mind.
Returning to Milwaukie much fatigued, I entertained myself: for a
day or two with reading. The book I had brought with me was in strong
contrast with, the life around, me. Very strange was this vision of
an exalted and sensitive existence, which seemed to invade the next
sphere, in contrast with the spontaneous, instinctive life, so healthy
and so near the ground I had been surveying. This was the German book
entitled:--
"The Seeress of Prevorst.--Revelations concerning the Inward Life of
Man, and the Projection of a World of Spirits into ours, communicated
by Justinus Kerner."
This book, published in Germany some twelve years since, and which
called forth there plenteous dews of admiration, as plenteous
hail-storms of jeers and scorns, I never saw mentioned in any English
publication till some year or two since. Then a playful, but not
sarcastic account of it, in the Dublin Magazine, so far excited my
curiosity, that I procured the book, intending to read it so soon as I
should have some leisure days, such as this journey has afforded.
Dr. Kerner, its author, is a man of distinction in his native land,
both as a physician and a thinker, though always on the side of
reverence, marvel, and mysticism. He was known to me only through two
or three little poems of his in Catholic legends, which I much admired
for the fine sense they showed of the beauty of symbols.
He here gives a biography, mental and physical, of one of the
most remarkable cases of high nervous excitement that the age,
so interested in such, yet affords, with all its phenomena of
clairvoyance and susceptibility of magnetic influences. As to my own
mental positron on these subjects, it may be briefly expressed by
a dialogue between several persons who honor me with a portion of
friendly confidence and criticism, and myself, personified as _Free
Hope_. The others may be styled _Old Church_, _Good Sense_, and
_Self-Poise_.
DIALOGUE.
_Good Sense._ I wonder you can take any interest in such observations
or experiments. Don't you see how almost impossible it is to make them
with any exactness, how entirely impossible to know anything about
them unless made by yourself, when the least leaven of credulity,
excited fancy, to say nothing of willing or careless imposture,
spoils the whole loaf? Beside, allowing the possibility of some clear
glimpses into a higher state of being, what do we want of it now? All
around us lies what we neither understand nor use. Our capacities, our
instincts for this our present sphere, are but half developed. Let
us confine ourselves to that till the lesson be learned; let us be
completely natural, before we trouble ourselves with the supernatural.
I never see any of these things but I long to get away and lie under
a green tree, and let the wind blow on me. There is marvel and charm
enough in that for me.
_Free Hope._ And for me also. Nothing is truer than the Wordsworthian
creed, on which Carlyle lays such stress, that we need only look
on the miracle of every day, to sate ourselves with thought and
admiration every day. But how are our faculties sharpened to do it?
Precisely by apprehending the infinite results of every day.
Who sees the meaning of the flower uprooted in the ploughed field? The
ploughman who does not look beyond its boundaries and does not raise
his eyes from the ground? No,--but the poet who sees that field in its
relations with the universe, and looks oftener to the sky than on the
ground. Only the dreamer shall understand realities, though, in truth,
his dreaming must be not out of proportion to his waking!
The mind, roused powerfully by this existence, stretches of itself
into what the French sage calls the "aromal state." From the hope thus
gleaned it forms the hypothesis, under whose banner it collects its
facts.
Long before these slight attempts were made to establish, as a science
what is at present called animal magnetism, always, in fact, men were
occupied more or less with this vital principle,--principle of
flux and influx,--dynamic of our mental mechanics,--human phase of
electricity. Poetic observation was pure, there was no quackery in its
free course, as there is so often in this wilful tampering with the
hidden springs of life, for it is tampering unless done in a patient
spirit and with severe truth; yet it may be, by the rude or greedy
miners, some good ore is unearthed. And some there are who work in
the true temper, patient and accurate in trial, not rushing to
conclusions, feeling there is a mystery, not eager to call it by name
till they can know it as a reality: such may learn, such may teach.
Subject to the sudden revelations, the breaks in habitual existence,
caused by the aspect of death, the touch of love, the flood of music,
I never lived, that I remember, what you call a common natural day.
All my days are touched by the supernatural, for I feel the pressure
of hidden causes, and the presence, sometimes the communion, of unseen
powers. It needs not that I should ask the clairvoyant whether "a
spirit-world projects into ours." As to the specific evidence, I would
not tarnish my mind by hasty reception. The mind is not, I know, a
highway, but a temple, and its doors should not be carelessly left
open. Yet it were sin, if indolence or coldness excluded what had a
claim to enter; and I doubt whether, in the eyes of pure intelligence,
an ill-grounded hasty rejection be not a greater sign of weakness than
an ill-grounded and hasty faith.
I will quote, as my best plea, the saying of a man old in years, but
not in heart, and whose long life has been distinguished by that
clear adaptation of means to ends which gives the credit of practical
wisdom. He wrote to his child, "I have lived too long, and seen too
much, to be _in_ credulous." Noble the thought, no less so its frank
expression, instead of saws of caution, mean advices, and other modern
instances. Such was the romance of Socrates when he bade his disciples
"sacrifice a cock to Æsculapius."
_Old Church._ You are always so quick-witted and voluble, Free Hope,
you don't get time to see how often you err, and even, perhaps, sin
and blaspheme. The Author of all has intended to confine our knowledge
within certain boundaries, has given us a short span of time for
a certain probation, for which our faculties are adapted. By wild
speculation and intemperate curiosity we violate His will, and incur
dangerous, perhaps fatal, consequences. We waste our powers, and,
becoming morbid and visionary, are unfitted to obey positive precepts,
and perform positive duties.
_Free Hope._ I do not see how it is possible to go further beyond the
results of a limited human experience than those do who pretend to
settle the origin and nature of sin, the final destiny of souls, and
the whole plan of the Causal Spirit with regard to them. I think those
who take your view have not examined themselves, and do not know the
ground on which they stand.
I acknowledge no limit, set up by man's opinion, as to the capacities
of man. "Care is taken," I see it, "that the trees grow not up into
heaven"; but, to me it seems, the more vigorously they aspire, the
better. Only let it be a vigorous, not a partial or sickly aspiration.
Let not the tree forget its root.
So long as the child insists on knowing where its dead parent is, so
long as bright eyes weep at mysterious pressures, too heavy for the
life, so long as that impulse is constantly arising which made the
Roman emperor address his soul in a strain of such touching softness,
vanishing from, the thought, as the column of smoke from the eye, I
know of no inquiry which the impulse of man suggests that is forbidden
to the resolution of man to pursue. In every inquiry, unless sustained
by a pure and reverent spirit, he gropes in the dark, or falls
headlong.
_Self-Poise._ All this may be very true, but what is the use of all
this straining? Far-sought is dear-bought. When we know that all is in
each, and that the ordinary contains the extraordinary, why should we
play the baby, and insist upon having the moon for a toy when a tin
dish will do as well? Our deep ignorance is a chasm that we can only
fill up by degrees, but the commonest rubbish will help us as well
as shred silk. The god Brahma, while on earth, was set to fill up a
valley, but he had only a basket given him in which to fetch earth for
this purpose; so is it with us all. No leaps, no starts, will avail
us; by patient crystallization alone, the equal temper of wisdom is
attainable. Sit at home, and the spirit-world will look in at your
window with moonlit eyes; run out to find it, and rainbow and golden
cup will have vanished, and left you the beggarly child you were. The
better part of wisdom is a sublime prudence, a pure and patient truth,
that will receive nothing it is not sure it can permanently lay to
heart. Of our study, there should be in proportion two thirds of
rejection to one of acceptance. And, amid the manifold infatuations
and illusions of this world of emotion, a being capable of clear
intelligence can do no better service than to hold himself upright,
avoid nonsense, and do what chores lie in his way, acknowledging every
moment that primal truth, which no fact exhibits, nor, if pressed by
too warm a hope, will even indicate. I think, indeed, it is part of
our lesson to give a formal consent to what is farcical, and to
pick up our living and our virtue amid what is so ridiculous, hardly
deigning a smile, and certainly not vexed. The work is done through
all, if not by every one.
_Free Hope._ Thou art greatly wise, my friend, and ever respected by
me, yet I find not in your theory or your scope room enough for the
lyric inspirations or the mysterious whispers of life. To me it
seems that it is madder never to abandon one's self, than often to be
infatuated; better to be wounded, a captive, and a slave, than always
to walk in armor. As to magnetism, that is only a matter of fancy. You
sometimes need just such a field in which to wander vagrant, and if it
bear a higher name, yet it may be that, in last result, the trance of
Pythagoras might be classed with the more infantine transports of the
Seeress of Prevorst.
What is done interests me more than what is thought and supposed.
Every fact is impure, but every fact contains in it the juices of
life. Every fact is a clod, from which may grow an amaranth or a palm.
Climb you the snowy peaks whence come the streams, where the
atmosphere is rare, where you can see the sky nearer, from which you
can get a commanding view of the landscape? I see great disadvantages
as well as advantages in this dignified position. I had rather walk
myself through all kinds of places, even at the risk of being robbed
in the forest, half drowned at the ford, and covered with dust in the
street.
I would beat with the living heart of the world, and understand all
the moods, even the fancies or fantasies, of nature. I dare to
trust to the interpreting spirit to bring me out all right at
last,--establish truth through error.
Whether this be the best way is of no consequence, if it be the one
individual character points out.
For one, like me, it would be vain
From glittering heights the eyes to strain;
I the truth can only know,
Tested by life's most fiery glow.
Seeds of thought will never thrive,
Till dews of love shall bid them live.
Let me stand in my age with all its waters flowing round me. If
they sometimes subdue, they must finally upbear me, for I seek the
universal,--and that must be the best.
The Spirit, no doubt, leads in every movement of my time: if I seek
the How, I shall find it, as well as if I busied myself more with the
Why.
Whatever is, is right, if only men are steadily bent to make it so, by
comprehending and fulfilling its design.
May not I have an office, too, in my hospitality and ready sympathy?
If I sometimes entertain guests who cannot pay with gold coin,
with "fair rose nobles," that is better than to lose the chance of
entertaining angels unawares.
You, my three friends, are held, in heart-honor, by me. You,
especially, Good Sense, because where you do not go yourself, you do
not object to another's going, if he will. You are really liberal.
You, Old Church, are of use, by keeping unforgot the effigies of old
religion, and reviving the tone of pure Spenserian sentiment, which
this time is apt to stifle in its childish haste. But you are very
faulty in censuring and wishing to limit others by your own
standard. You, Self-Poise, fill a priestly office. Could but a larger
intelligence of the vocations of others, and a tender sympathy with
their individual natures, be added, had you more of love, or more of
apprehensive genius, (for either would give you the needed expansion
and delicacy,) you would command my entire reverence. As it is, I must
at times deny and oppose you, and so must others, for you tend, by
your influence, to exclude us from our full, free life. We must
be content when you censure, and rejoiced when you approve; always
admonished to good by your whole being, and sometimes by your
judgment.
* * * * *
Do not blame me that I have written so much suggested by the German
seeress, while you were looking for news of the West. Here on the
pier, I see disembarking the Germans, the Norwegians, the Swedes, the
Swiss. Who knows how much of old legendary lore, of modern wonder,
they have already planted amid the Wisconsin forests? Soon, their
tales of the origin of things, and the Providence which rules them,
will be so mingled with those of the Indian, that the very oak-tree
will not know them apart,--will not know whether itself be a Runic, a
Druid, or a Winnebago oak.
Some seeds of all growths that have ever been known in this world
might, no doubt, already be found in these Western wilds, if we had
the power to call them to life.
I saw, in the newspaper, that the American Tract Society boasted of
their agent's having exchanged, at a Western cabin door, tracts for
the "Devil on Two Sticks," and then burnt that more entertaining than
edifying volume. No wonder, though, they study it there. Could one
but have the gift of reading the dreams dreamed by men of such various
birth, various history, various mind, it would afford much, more
extensive amusement than did the chambers of one Spanish city!
Could I but have flown at night through such mental experiences,
instead of being shut up in my little bedroom at the Milwaukie
boarding-house, this chapter would have been worth reading. As it is,
let us hasten to a close.
Had I been rich in money, I might have built a house, or set up in
business, during my fortnight's stay at Milwaukie, matters move on
there at so rapid a rate. But being only rich in curiosity, I was
obliged to walk the streets and pick up what I could in casual
intercourse. When I left the street, indeed, and walked on the bluffs,
or sat beside the lake in their shadow, my mind was rich in dreams
congenial to the scene, some time to be realized, though not by me.
A boat was left, keel up, half on the sand, half in the water, swaying
with each swell of the lake. It gave a picturesque grace to that part
of the shore, as the only image of inaction,--only object of a pensive
character to be seen. Near this I sat, to dream my dreams and watch
the colors of the lake, changing hourly, till the sun sank. These
hours yielded impulses, wove webs, such as life will not again afford.
Returning to the boarding-house, which was also a boarding-school, we
were sure to be greeted by gay laughter.
This school was conducted by two girls of nineteen and seventeen
years; their pupils were nearly as old as themselves. The relation
seemed very pleasant between them; the only superiority--that of
superior knowledge--was sufficient to maintain authority,--all the
authority that was needed to keep daily life in good order.
In the West, people are not respected merely because they are old in
years; people there have not time to keep up appearances in that way;
when persons cease to have a real advantage in wisdom, knowledge,
or enterprise, they must stand back, and let those who are oldest in
character "go ahead," however few years they may count. There are no
banks of established respectability in which to bury the talent there;
no napkin of precedent in which to wrap it. What cannot be made to
pass current, is not esteemed coin of the realm.
To the windows of this house, where the daughter of a famous "Indian
fighter," i.e. fighter against the Indians, was learning French, and
the piano, came wild, tawny figures, offering for sale their baskets
of berries. The boys now, instead of brandishing the tomahawk, tame
their hands to pick raspberries.
Here the evenings were much lightened by the gay chat of one of the
party, who with the excellent practical sense of mature experience,
and the kindest heart, united a _naïveté_ and innocence such as I
never saw in any other who had walked so long life's tangled path.
Like a child, she was everywhere at home, and, like a child, received
and bestowed entertainment from all places, all persons. I thanked her
for making me laugh, as did the sick and poor, whom she was sure to
find out in her briefest sojourn in any place, for more substantial
aid. Happy are those who never grieve, and so often aid and enliven
their fellow-men!
This scene, however, I was not sorry to exchange for the much
celebrated beauties of the island of Mackinaw.