first would alone have placed him in the highest roll of the names of
great men. The close of his military life (here represented) terminated
the first period. His civil career in the presidency terminated the
second; and here all comparison between Washington and any other man
that ever lived ceases entirely. With a fame as complete as his, on his
second retirement to Mount Vernon, a sincere and ardent wish to pass the
remainder of his days in peaceful seclusion, and domestic ties and
attachments of the strongest character; with all this around him, to
come out once more from his tent of glory, and at his country’s call to
expose his bright name again to the hazards of failure, and to the
eagerness of human envy and misconstruction,—this seems to me the
sublimest moment of the life of Washington.
“You know, Sir,” he says in his letter to the President, accepting the
office of commander-in-chief of the army, “what calculations I had made
relative to the probable course of events on my retiring from office,
and the determination with which I had consoled myself of closing the
remnant of my days in my present peaceful abode. You will, therefore, be
at no loss to conceive and appreciate the sensations I must have
experienced to bring my mind to any conclusion that would pledge me, at
so late a period of life, to leave scenes I sincerely love to enter upon
the boundless field of public action, incessant trouble, and high
responsibility.”
It is singular how all the contemporaneous judgments of Washington’s
character unite in ascribing the difficulty of drawing his portrait to
the unity, harmony, and perfectability of his character. Chastellux says
very forcibly, “If you are presented with medals of Cæsar, of Trajan, or
Alexander, on examining their features you will still be led to ask,
what was their stature and the form of their persons; but if you
discover in a heap of ruins the head or a limb of the Apollo, be not
curious about the other parts, but rest assured that they were all
conformable to those of a god. Let not this impression be attributed to
enthusiasm. I wish only to express the impression that Washington has
left on my mind: the idea of a perfect whole, that cannot be the produce
of enthusiasm, which rather would reject it, since the effect of
proportion is to diminish the idea of greatness.”
In a funereal eulogy pronounced by Mr. Ware at Hingham, occurs nearly
the same sentiment.
“The image of this great man is not like that of most others who have
shone with distinguished lustre in the annals of the world. It is not
composed of some bright spots surrounded with dark shades, so as to
dazzle without enlightening the beholder. His character is not an
assemblage of great talents by the side of great defects, and splendid
virtues contaminated by their vicinity to atrocious vices: he shone with
a clear and steady lustre, which, if it seldom appeared with flashes of
splendour to dazzle and astonish, was yet never mingled with shades, nor
intercepted by clouds. The circumstance which seems to distinguish his
name from that of all others, is not the pre-eminence of any one talent
or virtue, but a unity of character resulting from the perfect
combination and exact balancing of all those great and good qualities,
which enter into the character of one who is to possess public esteem,
guide public opinion, and command universal respect and confidence.”
[Illustration]
EAST PORT, AND PASSAMAQUODDY BAY.
* * * * *
The people of this beautiful State are just now enduring a double share
of the evils of border location, having not only the ill-directed
“_sympathy_” with the insurrectionists of Canada to repress, but the
excitement of the newly-vexed question of _boundary_. As this last
subject is one little understood, perhaps the history of the
negotiations on the subject may not be unacceptable to the readers of
the AMERICAN SCENERY.
“In their endeavours to bring about the settlement of another contested
point, the two governments were less successful than they had been with
respect to the commercial intercourse between America and the West India
Island. This point related to the fixing the north-eastern boundary of
the United States.
“By the treaty of 1783, which recognised their independence, it was
declared that the eastern boundary of the United States, dividing them
from Nova Scotia, should be ‘a line to be drawn along the middle of the
river St. Croix, from its mouth in the bay of Fundy to its source, and
from its source, directly north, to the highlands, which divide the
rivers that fall into the Atlantic Ocean from those which fall into the
river St. Lawrence.’ The northern line, separating Canada from the New
States, was to commence ‘from the north-west angle of Nova Scotia; viz.
that angle which is formed by a line drawn due north from the source of
the St. Croix river to the highlands, along the said highlands, which
divide those rivers that, empty themselves into the river St. Lawrence
from those which fall into the Atlantic Ocean, to the north-westernmost
head of Connecticut river; thence, descending along that river to the
forty-fifth degree of latitude, thence due west on that latitude, until
it strikes the river Iroquois or Cataruguy, thence along the middle of
the said river into Lake Ontario,’ &c.
“Being for the most part marked out by mathematical, or by well-known
natural lines, the frontier between the head of the Connecticut and Lake
Ontario afforded but little ground for dispute. But such was not the
case with the boundary from the head of the Connecticut to the sea.
Untrodden, except perhaps by the foot of the hunter, all the northern
division of the country between the Bay of Fundy and the St. Lawrence
then consisted of a dense forest, scattered over with mountains and
lakes, and intersected by streams of considerable magnitude. No survey
of it appears ever to have been made, and the British ministers were,
consequently, ignorant of its topographical features. Yet, even under
these circumstances, they can scarcely be excused for having admitted
such a vague description of the future limits, since, without much
difficulty, sufficient information might have been obtained to prevent
this defect. Their negligence gave birth to a controversy, which, after
the expiration of half a century, yet remains undecided. Only a few
years elapsed before a doubt arose respecting the river which was meant
under the name of St. Croix; the Americans insisting that the St. John
was the river which was intended. By the treaty of 1794, it was arranged
that this point should be left to the decision of a joint commission. In
1798, the commission decided that the extreme source of the northern
branch of the Scoodic river was the source of the St. Croix designated
in the treaty; and a monument was erected there, to indicate the spot
whence the line was to be drawn to the north. Thus far the question was
satisfactorily set at rest. Not such, however, was the result of the
subsequent proceedings. For some years, no further steps appear to have
been taken by either of the governments. While the territory in question
continued to be a wilderness, there was not much temptation to discuss
its limits; but when the new state of Maine, and the British province of
New Brunswick, began to extend their settlements into the interior, the
case was materially altered. The line of demarcation claimed by the
Americans would not only include an area of ten thousand square miles,
but would entirely cut off all direct communication between New
Brunswick and Lower Canada. From the source of the Scoodic river, they
prolonged the line northward, as far as a chain of mountains distant
less than thirty miles from the St. Lawrence; which chain, they
contended, formed the highlands specified in the treaty of 1783.
“The British, on the contrary, maintained that the north-west angle of
Nova Scotia was at Mars Hill, about forty miles from the source of the
Scoodic; and that the northern frontier of Maine ought to pass from
thence to the westward over a range of hills which lie at the sources of
the Penobscot, Kennebec, and Androscoggin. Neither party would recede
from its pretensions. In the treaty of Ghent, in 1814, it was agreed
that two commissioners should be appointed to make surveys and settle
the boundary. If they coincided in opinion, their decision was to be
final; but if they disagreed, some friendly sovereign, or state, was to
be chosen as umpire, and from his judgment there was to be no appeal.
“Affairs remained in this state till 1827, when the commissioners being
unable to agree, and some disputes as to questions of jurisdiction
having rendered it desirable to bring the frontier controversy to an
issue, a convention was concluded between the British and American
government, by which it was arranged that the king of the Netherlands
should be requested to act as arbitrator. To this request his majesty
assented; and their statements and surveys were accordingly laid before
him. The award of the sovereign umpire was not delivered till the 10th
of January, 1831. It was not calculated to satisfy either of the
claimants. Considering the pretensions of the two powers to be equally
balanced, it proceeded to lay down new limits, upon principles of mutual
convenience. The British frontier was to commence at the spot where the
line drawn due north from the source of the Scoodic intersects the St.
John, and was to pass up the latter river and the St. Francis, to the
highlands which run parallel with the St. Lawrence. Though this award
assigned to the Americans seven-eighths of the district which was
contended for by Great Britain, yet, as it gave a direct communication
between New Brunswick and Lower Canada, it was accepted by the British
government. The United States was not so yielding. The award was
immediately protested against by the American ministers at the Hague, on
the ground of the arbiter having exceeded his authority. The State of
Maine also entered its protest, and denied the right of the federal
government to cede any portion of the litigated territory. The matter
was finally brought before the senate by the President, and that body
decided that the umpire having gone beyond his powers, his award was not
binding; and that a new negotiation must be opened with Great Britain.
Since that period, however, no steps have been taken to accomplish an
arrangement.”
[Illustration]
CEMETERY OF MOUNT AUBURN.
* * * * *
This picturesque and beautiful burial-place occupies a grove, formerly
an academic and sylvan retreat for the students of Harvard College, near
by. It is about five miles from Boston, and presents naturally a most
agreeable mixture of hill, valley, and water, forming altogether the
beau-ideal of a site for the purpose to which it is at present devoted.
If we are not mistaken, the people of the United States owe the most
creditable and delicate taste, newly awakened throughout the country on
the subject of sepulture, to one of their most distinguished poets, the
Rev. John Pierpoint, author of the “Airs of Palestine.” By his
exertions, mainly, a society was formed for the purchase, appropriation,
and improvement, of the beautiful spot represented in the drawing; and,
at present, most of the wealthier citizens of the capital of New England
are possessors of verdant and flowery enclosures, which are ornamented
even more tastefully than the celebrated cemeteries of Père la Chaise.
In doing away thus with the neglectfulness and dreariness of the outer
aspect of the grave, death, it seems to us, is divested of half its
terrors, while a refined and salutary feeling is awakened in the bosoms
of the living.
The example of this cemetery has been followed in other cities; and at
Philadelphia, particularly, there is a most sweet spot selected upon the
banks of the Schuylkill, and appropriated to this purpose. The
refinement has spread all over the country; and in a few years,
probably, the burial of the dead will be associated in the minds of the
people of the United States only with sylvan repose, and the sacred
loveliness of consecrated natural beauty.
[Illustration]
NORTHAMPTON, MASSACHUSETTS.
* * * * *
It is recorded of the first settlers of Northampton, that in the tenth
year of their establishment in the wilderness, in 1663, they paid for
the support of a clergyman one hundred and twenty pounds sterling.
According to the change in the value of money, and the circumstances of
the persons who formed the congregation, this sum was equal to at least
six times the amount of the present valuation. In this one fact is to be
found a leaven which has pervaded the town ever since, preserving for
its inhabitants the rigid morality, the religious feeling, and almost
the stern manners of the Puritan pilgrims.
The inflexible justice practised among such men had its effect on the
Indians among whom they settled; and Northampton, in consequence, was
one of the last towns affected by the general hostilities of Philip’s
war.
In their first purchases, they secured no less their own rights than the
rights of the natives; and the latter were always considered as having a
right to dwell and hunt in the lands they had sold. In the year 1664,
they requested leave of the settlers to build themselves a fort within
the town; and leave was granted on the following conditions:—
“That the Indians do not work, game, or carry burdens within the town on
the Sabbath; nor _powow_ here, or anywhere else;
“Nor get liquor, nor cider, nor get drunk;
“Nor admit Indians from without the town;
“Nor break down the fences of the inhabitants;
“Nor let cattle or swine upon their fields; but go over a stile at one
place;
“Nor admit among them the murderers, Calawane, Wuttowhan, and
Pacquallant;
“Nor hunt, nor kill cattle, sheep, or swine, with their dogs.”
There is in these conditions an attention to the sobriety and morality
of the Indians, which has been very seldom regarded in compacts with
this injured race. The consequence was, a perpetual peace between them
and the Indians of their immediate neighbourhood. On the breaking out of
Philip’s war, however, they became liable to incursions from other
tribes, and especially from the Canadians, French, and Indians. They
fortified their “meeting-house;” and in every cluster of houses, one was
fortified and pierced with holes for the discharge of muskets. The whole
town was then enclosed with a palisado set up in a trench, and a guard
of fifty persons perpetually kept.
It is scarcely possible to convey, to a mind that has not reflected on
the subject, a fair idea of the difficulties, hazards, and horrors, that
beset the first adventurers for religious liberty in New England. Beside
all the usual evils of pioneering—the separation from friends, the
hardships, the privations, the loss of all communication with the
civilized world, these settlers had to encounter the most diabolical
warfare recorded in history.
“The first announcement of an Indian war,” says a diffuse writer on this
subject, “is its terrible commencement. In the hour of security and
sleep, when your deadly enemies are supposed to be friends, quietly
fishing and hunting—when they are believed to be far off, and
thoughtless of you and yours, your sleep is suddenly broken by the
war-whoop, your house and village set on fire, your family and friends
butchered, and yourself escape only to be carried into captivity, and
wrung with every species of torture. If you go out to the fields, you
may be shot down by an unseen enemy in the woods, or return in the
evening and find your house consumed to ashes, and your family carried
into captivity.”
During the last part of what is called Philip’s war, to the Indians’
treachery, cruelty, and cunning, was added the instigation, the
sustenance, and the wealth of the civilized French. A price was paid for
English scalps; European officers planned and assisted to execute
schemes of devastation and slaughter; and, in short, nothing was wanting
to develop, in its fullest ferocity, the Indian’s love of blood.
It is curious to reflect how wide and immortal would have been the fame
of the king of the Wampanoags, had he succeeded, (as he came very near
doing,) in exterminating the Whites, and restoring the land of his
forefathers to his subjects and children. The experiment of settlement
would scarcely have been soon repeated; and, perhaps, to this day, the
Indian, confident in his tried strength, would have possessed and
defended the lands from which he has so utterly disappeared; while the
name of Philip would justly have been associated with those of Gustavus
Vasa, and Alfred of England. The difference between him and these great
lights of history, is, that he failed.
[Illustration]
CHAPEL OF “OUR LADY OF COLD SPRING.”
* * * * *
The Hudson bends out from Crow-Nest into a small bay; and, in the lap of
the crescent thus formed, lies snug and sheltered, the little village of
Cold Spring. It is not much of a place for its buildings, history, or
business; but it has its squire and post-master, its politics and
scandal, and a long disappointed ambition to become a regular
landing-place for the steamers. Then there are cabals between the rival
ferrymen, on which the inhabitants divide; the vote for the president,
on which they agree (for Van Buren); and the usual religious sects, with
the usual schisms. The Presbyterians and Methodists, as usual, worship
in very ugly churches; and the Catholics, as usual, in a very
picturesque and beautiful one. (_Vide_ the Drawing.)
It is a pity (picturesquely speaking) that the boatmen on the river are
not Catholics; it would be so pretty to see them shorten sail off Our
Lady of Cold Spring, and uncover for an Ave-Maria. This little chapel,
so exquisitely situated on the bluff overlooking the river, reminds me
of a hermit’s oratory and cross which is perched similarly in the
shelter of a cliff on the desolate coast of Sparta. I was on board a
frigate, gliding slowly up the Ægean, and clinging to the shore for a
land-wind, when I descried the white cross at a distance of about half a
mile, strongly relieved against the dark rock in its rear. As we
approached, the small crypt and altar became visible; and, at the moment
the ship passed, a tall monk, with a snow-white beard, stepped forth
like an apparition upon the cliffs, and spread out his arms to bless us.
In the midst of the intense solitude of the Ægean, with not a human
dwelling to be seen on the whole coast from Moron to Napoli, the effect
of this silent benediction was almost supernatural. He remained for five
minutes in this attitude, his long cowl motionless in the still air, and
his head slowly turning to the ship as she drew fast round the little
promontory on her course. I would suggest to Our Lady of Cold Spring,
that a niche under the portico of her pretty chapel, with a cross to be
seen from the river by day, and a lamp by night, would make at least a
catholic impression on the passer by, though we are not all children of
St. Peter.
Half way between the mountain and our Lady’s shrine, stands, on a superb
natural platform, the romantic estate of Undercliff, the seat of Colonel
Morris. Just above it rises the abrupt and heavily wooded mountain, from
which it derives its name; a thick grove hides it from the village at
its foot; and, from the portico of the mansion, extend views in three
directions unparalleled for varied and surprising beauty. A road,
running between high-water mark and the park gate, skirts the river in
eccentric windings for five or six miles; the brows of the hills
descending to the Hudson in the west and north, are nobly wooded and
threaded with circuitous paths, and all around lies the most romantic
scenery of the most romantic river in the world.
The only fault of the views from West Point, is, that West Point itself
is lost as a feature in the landscape. The traveller feels the same
drawback which troubled the waiting-maid when taken to drive by the
footman in her mistress’s chariot—“How I wish I could stand by the road
side and see myself go by!” From Undercliff, which is directly opposite,
and about at the same elevation, the superb terrace of the Military
School is seen to the greatest advantage. The white barracks of
Camptown, the long range of edifices which skirt the esplanade, the
ruins half way up the mountain of old Fort Putnam, and the waving line
of wood and valley extending to Mr. Cozzen’s estate of “Stoney
Lonesome,” form a noble feature in the view from Undercliff.
I had forgotten that Cold Spring “plucks a glory on its head” from being
honoured with the frequent visits of Washington Irving, Halleck, and
other lesser stars in the literary firmament; when these first lights
above the horizon shall have set, (Hesperus-like—first and brightest!)
there will linger about this little village—by that time, perhaps,
arrived at the dignity of a landing-place—many a tale of the days when
Geoffrey Crayon talked in his gentle way with the ferryman who brought
him to Cold Spring; or the now plethoric post-master, who, in his
character of librarian to the village, enjoyed the friendship of Irving
and Halleck, and received from their own hands the “authors’ copies,”
since curiously preserved in the execrable print and binding then
prevalent in America. Perhaps even old Lipsey the ferryman, and his
rival Andrews, will come in for their slice of immortality, little as
they dream now, pulling close in for the counter-current under our
Lady’s skirts, of working at that slow oar for posthumous reputation.
[Illustration]
VIEW FROM THE MOUNTAIN HOUSE, CATSKILL.
* * * * *
In the following masterly description, by Miss Martineau, is said all,
and the best that can be said, of the glorious view from the
Mountain-House at Catskill.
“After tea, I went out upon the platform in front of the house, having
been warned not to go too near the edge, so as to fall an unmeasured
depth into the forest below. I sat upon the edge as a security against
stepping over unawares. The stars were bright overhead, and had
conquered half the sky, giving promise of what we ardently desired, a
fine morrow. Over the other half, the mass of thunder-clouds was, I
supposed, heaped together; for I could at first discern nothing of the
champaign which I knew must be stretched below. Suddenly, and from that
moment incessantly, gushes of red lightning poured out from the cloudy
canopy, revealing, not merely the horizon, but the course of the river,
in all its windings through the valley. This thread of river, thus
illuminated, looked like a flash of lightning caught by some strong hand
and laid along in the valley.
“All the principal features of the landscape might, no doubt, have been
discerned by this sulphureous light; but my whole attention was absorbed
by the river, which seemed to come out of the darkness, like an
apparition, at the summons of my impatient will. It could be borne only
for a short time—this dazzling, bewildering alternation of glare and
blackness, of vast reality and nothingness. I was soon glad to draw back
from the precipice, and seek the candle-light within.