call of his master, at the edge of the water; the hunter contrives to
place himself behind a log, or some other cover well concealed, before
he begins his operations, taking care to observe that the direction of
the wind is not unfavourable to him, and that the flock he means to toll
is near enough to distinguish such objects on the shore, and under no
alarm at the time. By what motive these fowls are influenced, we have
not heard satisfactorily explained; but certain it is, they are very
commonly brought in from some hundreds of yards’ distance, in this way,
to within point-blank shot. It is said, and perhaps truly, in the case
of the dog, that they fancy themselves in pursuit of some animal, as the
fag, or mink, by which their young are annoyed at their breeding-places.
“The wild goose is yet more wary and vigilant to keep out of harm’s way
than the swan. He too is sharp-sighted, but depends much on his sense of
smell for protection: this is so well known to the huntsman, that he
never attempts, however he may be concealed from this bird, to approach
it from the direction of the wind; since he would assuredly be scented
before he could get within gun-shot, and left to lament his error, by
the sudden flight of the whole flock. These geese, towards spring, often
alight on the land, and feed on the herbage in fields; and sometimes in
such numbers as to do great injury to the wheat fields on the borders of
the river. When so employed they are difficult of approach, always
taking a position at a distance from cover of any kind, and marching in
a single and extended rank, flanked by a watch goose at each extremity;
which, while all the others are busily feeding, and advancing with their
heads down among the herbage, moves erect, keeping pace with his
comrades,—his eyes and nose in a position so as to give him the
earliest intelligence of the presence of an enemy, though at a great
distance; and the moment such is perceived, it is communicated to the
whole company by certain tones used for alarm; and immediately is
responded to by a halt, and the lifting of heads; and an instant flight,
or a deliberate return to feeding, takes place, according as the nature
of the danger, after the examination, may be considered.”
[Illustration]
CALDWELL, LAKE GEORGE.
* * * * *
In the future poetry of America, Lake George will hold the place of Loch
Katrine in Scotland. The best idea that can be given of it, indeed, to a
person who has seen Loch Katrine, is to say, that it is the Trosachs on
a little larger scale. There is the same remarkably clear water in
both,—the same jutting and bold shores, small green islands, and bright
vegetation; and the same profusion of nooks and bays. It struck me at
Loch Katrine, that the waters seemed to have overflowed the dells of an
undulating country, and left nothing visible but the small green
hill-tops loaded with vegetation. The impression was owing, no doubt, to
the reach of the shrubs and grass to the very edge of the water; and the
same thing produces the same effect at Lake George. When the bosom of
the lake is tranquil, the small islands, with their reflections below,
look like globes of heaped-up leaves suspended in the air.
The extraordinary purity of the waters of Lake George procured for it
the name of Lake Sacrament; and every stranger is struck with their
singular transparency. It is singular, that the waters on every side of
it,—those of Lake Champlain, for example, of the Hudson, and of the
whole region between the Green Mountains and the Mississippi,—are more
or less impregnated with lime, while Lake George alone is pellucid and
pure. It receives its waters, probably, from subjacent springs.
The surface of this lake is said to be one hundred feet higher than Lake
Champlain. Another, and probably a more correct estimate, makes the
difference three hundred. There are three steps to the falls, which form
the outlet into the latter lake; and the lower one, when the snow is
melting in spring, is a cataract of uncommon beauty. Lake George is
frozen over from three to four months; and it is remarked of it, that
the ice does not sink, as in Lake Champlain, but gradually dissolves.
Before it became a part of the fashionable tour, this lake was a
solitude, appropriated more particularly by the deer and the eagle. Both
have nearly disappeared. The echo of the steam-boat, that has now taken
the place of the noiseless canoe,—and the peppering of fancy sportsmen,
that have followed the far-between but more effectual shots of the
borderer’s rifle,—have drawn from its shores these and other
circumstances of romance. The only poetry of scene which can take the
place of that of nature, is historical and legendary; and ages must
lapse, and generations pass away, and many changes come over the land,
before that time. We are in the interregnum, now, least favourable for
poetry.
Caldwell is a flourishing town, built at the end of the lake, and
remarkable for nothing, in itself, but a famous hotel, where
scenery-hunters dine. We turn from this too succulent theme, to give an
extract from the works of a grave and eminent divine; proving, by its
glowing enthusiasm, the effect of this lovely scenery even on minds of
the most serious bent.
“The whole scenery of this lake is greatly enhanced in beauty and
splendour, by the progressive change which the traveller sailing on its
bosom perpetually finds in his position, and by the unceasing
variegations of light and shade which attend his progress. The gradual
and the sudden openings of scoops and basins, of islands and points, of
promontories and summits—the continual change of their forms, and their
equally gradual and sudden disappearance,—impart to every object a
brilliancy, life, and motion, scarcely inferior to that which is seen in
the images formed by the camera-obscura, and in strength and
distinctness greatly superior. Light and shade are here not only far
more diversified, but are much more obvious, intense, and flowing, than
in smooth, open countries. Every thing, whether on the land or water,
was here affected by the changes of the day; and the eye, without
forecast, found itself, however disposed on ordinary occasions to
inattention, instinctively engaged, and fastened with emotions
approximating to rapture. The shadows of the mountains, particularly on
the west, floating slowly over the bosom of the lake, and then softly
ascending that of the mountains on the east, presented to us, in a wide
expanse, the uncommon and most pleasing image of one vast range of
mountains slowly moving up the ascent of another.
“On the evening of Friday, the 1st of October, while we were returning
from Ticonderoga, we were presented with a prospect superior to any
which I ever beheld. An opening lay before us, between the mountains on
the west and those on the east, gilded by the departing sunbeams. The
lake, alternately glassy and gently rippled, of a light and exquisite
sapphire, gay and brilliant with the tremulous lustre already mentioned
floating upon its surface, stretched in prospect to a vast distance,
through a great variety of larger and smaller apertures. In the chasm,
formed by the mountains, lay a multitude of islands, differing in size,
shape, and umbrage, and clothed in deeply-shaded green. Beyond them, and
often partly hidden behind the tall and variously-figured trees with
which they were tufted, rose, in the west and south-west, a long range
of distant mountains, tinged with a deep misty azure, and crowned with
an immense succession of lofty pines. Above the mountains, and above
each other, were extended in great numbers long streaming clouds, of the
happiest forms, and painted with red and orange light, in all their
diversities of tincture.
“To complete the scenery of this lake, the efforts of cultivation are
obviously wanting. The hand of the husbandman has already begun to clear
these grounds, and will, at no great distance of time, adorn them with
all the smiling scenes of agriculture. It does not demand the gift of
prophecy to foresee, that the villas of opulence and refinement will,
within half a century, add here all the elegances of art to the beauty
and majesty of nature.”
[Illustration]
CENTRE HARBOUR, LAKE WINIPISEOGEE.
* * * * *
There are several considerable promontories which intrude into Lake
Winipiseogee, and on one of them is built the town of Centre Harbour.
The lake is near the middle of the state of New Hampshire, of a very
irregular form, and at the western end is divided into three large bays.
There are nine townships on its borders, of which Centre Harbour, the
largest, is on the north-west side. The waters of the lake in some
places are unfathomable, but abound with fish. It will still be some
years, probably, before the navigation of this body of water will become
of much importance.
Beside the beauty of nature, which is prodigal on the borders of this
lovely lake, there is little of interest beyond what is found in the
recollections of the Indian wars. Penhallow’s History, which till lately
has been a rare book, has rescued New Hampshire from the obscurity in
which some of the other states remain, on these curious and interesting
subjects. One wonders, in reading of the critical adventures of the
early settlers, what offset the country could give them against such a
frail tenure of life. “At one time,” says the journal, “the people of
Dunstable were advised of a party of two hundred and seventy Indians
that were coming upon them. Their first descent was on the 3d of July,
when they fell on a garrison that had twenty troopers in it, who, by
their negligence, keeping no watch, suffered them to enter, which tended
to the destruction of half their number. After that, a small party
attacked Daniel Galusha’s house, who held them in play for some time,
till the old man’s courage failed; when, on surrendering himself, he
informed them of the state of the garrison; how that one man was killed,
and only two men and a boy left; which caused them to rally anew, and
with greater courage than before. Upon which, one with the boy got out
on the back side, leaving only Jacob to fight the battle, who, for some
time, defended himself with much bravery; but overpowered with force,
and finding none to assist him, was obliged to quit it, and make his
escape as well as he could: but before he got far, the enemy laid hold
of him once and again; and yet, by much struggling, he rescued himself.
Upon this, they burnt the house; and next day about forty more fell on
Amesbury, where they killed eight: two, at the same time, who were at
work in a field, hearing an outcry, hastened to their relief, but being
pursued, ran to a deserted house, in which were two flankers, where each
of them found an old gun, but neither of them fit for service; and if
they were, had neither powder nor shot to load with: however, each took
a flanker, and made the best appearance they could, by thrusting the
muzzles of their guns outside the port-holes, crying aloud, ‘Here they
are, but do not fire till they come nearer;’ which put the enemy into
such a fright, that they instantly drew off.”—_Penhallow._
“From thence they went to Kingstown, where they killed and wounded
several cattle. About the same time, Joseph English, who was a friend
Indian, going from Dunstable to Chelmsford, with a man and his wife on
horseback, was shot dead; the woman taken, but the man made his escape.
On the 8th of July, five Indians, a little before night, fell on an
out-house in Reading, where they surprised a woman with eight children:
the former, with the three youngest, were instantly despatched, and the
others they carried captive; but one of the children, unable to travel,
they knocked on the head, and left in the swamp, concluding it was dead;
but awhile after, it was found alive. The neighbourhood being alarmed,
got ready by the morning, and coming on their track, pursued them so
near that they recovered three of the children, and put the enemy in
such a terror, that they not only quitted their plunder and blankets,
but the other captive also: several strokes were afterwards made on
Chelmsford, Sudbury, and Groton, where three soldiers, as they were
going to public worship, were waylaid by a small party, who killed two,
and made the other prisoner.
“At Exeter, a company of French Mohawks, who some time kept lurking
about Captain Hilton’s garrison, took a view of all that went in and
out; and observing some to go with their scythes to mow, lay in ambush
till they laid by their arms, and while at work, rushed on at once, and
by intercepting them from their arms, killed four, wounded one, and
carried three captive; so that out of ten, two only escaped. A while
after, two of those that were taken, viz. Mr. Edward Hall and Samuel
Myals, made their escape; but the fatigue and difficulty that they went
through (besides the terror and fear they were under of being taken)
were almost incredible; for in three weeks together, they had nothing to
subsist on except a few lily roots, and the rinds of trees.
“It would be an endless task to enumerate the various sufferings that
many groaned under, by long marching with heavy burdens through heat and
cold; and when ready to faint for want of food, they were frequently
knocked on the head: teeming women, in cold blood, have been ript open;
others fastened to stakes and burnt alive; and yet the finger of God did
eminently appear in several instances, of which I shall mention the
following:—
“Of Rebekah Taylor, who after her return from captivity, gave me the
following account:—That when she was going to Canada, on the back of
Montreal river, she was violently insulted by Sampson, her bloody
master, who without any provocation was resolved to hang her; and for
want of a rope, made use of his girdle, which when he had fastened about
her neck, he attempted to hoist her up on the limb of a tree (that hung
in the nature of a gibbet), but in hoisting her, the weight of her body
broke it asunder; which so exasperated the cruel tyrant that he made a
second attempt, resolving if he failed in that, to knock her on the
head; but before he had power to effect it, Bomaseen came along, and
seeing the tragedy on foot, prevented the fatal stroke.”
[Illustration]
YALE COLLEGE AT NEWHAVEN.
* * * * *
Yale College was founded in the year 1700, sixty-five years after the
erection of the first house in the Colony of Connecticut. Ten of the
principal ministers, nominated by general consent of the clergy, met at
New Haven, and formed themselves into a society, the object of which was
to found a college in the colony. At their next meeting each brought a
number of books, and presented them for the library, and the following
year the Legislature granted them a charter, constituting them “Trustees
of a Collegiate School in his Majesty’s Colony of Connecticut.”
The principal benefactor of the infant institution was the Hon. Elihu
Yale, of London, Governor of the East India Company. This gentleman was
descended from a family in Wales, which for many generations held the
manor of Plas Grannow, near Rexon. His father, Thomas Yale, Esq., came
from England with the first colonists of New Haven. In this town, Elihu,
the subsequent benefactor of the College, was born, and at ten years of
age he was sent to England. Thence he went to Hindostan, and after
twenty years’ residence, was made Governor of Madras. He returned to
London with an immense fortune, was chosen Governor of the East India
Company, and died at Rexon in 1721. “This gentleman,” says the College
historian, “sent, in several donations, to the Collegiate School, five
hundred pounds sterling; and a little before his death, ordered goods to
be sent out to the value of five hundred pounds more; but they were
never received. In gratitude for this munificence, the Trustees, by a
solemn act, named their seminary Yale College; a name which, it is
believed, will convey the memory of his good works to distant
generations.”
Among other benefactors to this institution was the Rev. Dr. Berkeley,
Dean of Derry, in Ireland, and afterwards Bishop of Cloyne. This
distinguished divine came to America in 1732, for the purpose of
establishing a college in the island of Bermuda; a purpose to which he
sacrificed considerable time, property and labour. He had been promised
twenty thousand pounds by the ministry for the completion of this work,
but the sum was never paid, and the project failed. Dr. Berkeley then
bought a farm in Newport, Rhode Island, and while residing there, became
acquainted with the circumstances of Yale College, and ultimately made
the institution a present of his farm, and sent the Trustees from
England “the finest collection of books that ever came at one time to
America.”
Since this period Yale College has continued to thrive in means and
usefulness, and it is now, in the numbers of its students, and in its
practical advantages, we believe, the first College in the United
States. That of Harvard, (founded sixty or seventy years earlier,) is
better endowed, but more expensive and less frequented. It is a curious
fact, in the early history of nations, by the way, that the Act to
incorporate Harvard College was passed, and the College in operation,
_ten years after the first settlement of the Colony_.
The whole amount of fees of tuition at Yale College is about thirty-five
dollars a year, near seven pounds sterling. Board and every expense
included, it is thought in New England that three hundred dollars
(60_l._) a year is a sufficient allowance for the education of a boy at
this institution. The course of study embraces four years, and the
discipline is impartial and severe. Instances occur annually of degrees
refused, and degradations of standing in consequence of failures in
examination; and over the morals of the students, particularly, the
vigilance of the faculty is untiring and effective.
Perhaps one of the best, and certainly one of the peculiar advantages of
Yale College, is the extent and excellence of the society in New Haven,
and its accessibility to the students. The town contains near ten
thousand inhabitants, most of them people of education, connected in
some way with the College; or opulent families drawn thither by the
extreme beauty of the town, and its air of refinement and repose. The
upper classes of students mingle freely in this simple and pure society,
which, it is not too much to say, is one of the most elegant and highly
cultivated in the world. Polished manners and the usages of social life
are thus insensibly gained with improvement of mind; and in a country
like this, where those advantages are not attainable by all in early
life, the privilege is inestimable.
The college buildings of New Haven are more remarkable for their utility
than for the beauty of their architecture; but, buried in trees, and
standing on the ridge of a sloping green, they have altogether a
beautiful effect, and an air of elegant and studious repose. Few
strangers ever pass through New Haven without expressing a wish to take
up their abode, and pass their days, among its picturesque avenues and
gardens.
[Illustration]
THE WILLEY-HOUSE—WHITE MOUNTAINS.
* * * * *
The particulars of what is called the _Willey Tragedy_ are well known to
all readers of newspapers. This family lived in the Notch of the White
Mountains, under the western range, and consisted of nine persons. They
had retired at night, when a very unusual noise in the mountains roused
them from their beds, and, in terror at its increasing thunders, they
unfortunately abandoned the house, and sought refuge in flight. A vast
mass of earth and rocks, disengaged from the precipices above them,
suddenly rushed down the side of the mountain, and sweeping every thing
before it, divided in the rear of the house, reunited again, leaving it
unharmed, and thundered down to the valley, overwhelming the fugitive
family in its career. The manuscript journal of a friend, who had made
two excursions to the spot, gives us an account of its present aspect.
“In a short time we came to the well-known house of the Willey family,
which of course we paused to examine. Nothing can be conceived more
lonely than this wild place. The mountains tower on both sides of the
valley to the height of four or five hundred feet, with deep channels
worn into their sides by the winter torrents; and in many places the
rocks are left bare for acres by the slides of avalanches that have
rushed into the valley. The house in which the unfortunate family dwelt
stands under the western range of mountains, and the avalanche came down
nearly from the summit. We remained gazing on the scene for some time.
The sky above was clear, and spanned the interval between the mountains,
seeming to rest on their summits, while a swift breeze drove over the
hills below, in swift succession, a few thin and fleecy clouds. The wind
entered the outer door of the desolate dwelling, which had been left
open, with a broken chair set against it; and as it surged back and
forth, violently shut and opened the inner doors, with a noise that
seemed the voice of the very spirit of desolation. The effect was
startling and dismal.”
This is, we believe, the most disastrous avalanche on record in this
country, and the only one of any importance, which was merely a descent
of earth and rocks. What is called a _cloud-burst_ is not uncommon in
the mountainous regions of the north; and there are several striking
examples recorded.
In the autumn of 1784, in the latter part of the night, a deluge of
water descended from Saddle Mountain, in Massachusetts. A family, which
lived in a house at some distance from the foot of the mountain, not far
from a brook, were suddenly awakened out of their sleep by the united
roaring of the wind and the torrent. In their flight they hastily
dressed themselves, and escaped from the house, the ground-floor of
which was by this time six inches under water. When they returned in the
morning, they found the house so completely swept away, that no part of
it was left. The brook, through the channel of which this flood
discharged itself, had never before, even in the highest freshets,
approached the house by a considerable distance.
Subsequent examination of the mountain disclosed that the descent of
water commenced not far from the summit; for two or three rods above the
spot where the ground first began to be broken, the trees and shrubs
appear to have been swept away by the violence of the deluge. The broken
ground is, at first, not more than six feet wide, but rapidly becomes
wider as it descends; so that within one hundred and fifty feet it is
about three rods in breadth, and in the widest place five or six.
Towards the lower limit its breadth gradually diminishes, until it
terminates in a gutter, which in some places is five or six feet deep;
this continues several rods, and then branches into other channels,
which, though covered with leaves and moss, are discernible quite down
to the brook at the foot of the mountain. The whole length of the broken
ground is about one hundred and thirty rods. Towards the bottom there
were standing the stumps of large trees, whose tops were broken off by
the deluge; and above they were entirely swept away, not leaving a
trace. By what means a mass of water, sufficient for these phenomena, is
collected and suspended over the mountains, or what occasioned the
disruption of the mass of earth and rock which overwhelmed the family in
the White Mountains, are points not easily settled.
[Illustration]
BATTLE MONUMENT, BALTIMORE.
* * * * *
This monument stands on the summit of a rising ground, in the centre of
one of the best built squares of Baltimore, and is a very considerable
ornament to the town. It is intended to commemorate the name and fame of
those citizens of Baltimore who fell in its defence in 1814. An Egyptian
base, raised to the height of about four feet from the pavement of the
street, is surmounted by a column, representing fasces, upon the bands
of which are placed in bronze letters the names of the thirty-nine
citizens. On each angle of the base are griffins, and the lower part of
the column is ornamented with _bassi relievi_, representing scenes of
the contest. The whole is crowned by a statue personifying the city,
with the eagle at her side, holding a laurel wreath. The entire height
of the monument is fifty-two feet.