Mi^ » ^f Th&i?' ^'^ ?>i:f^ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA THE COLLECTION OF NORTH ( AROLINIANA ENDOWED BY JOHN SPRUNT HILL CLASS OF 1889 Jhif^cGj*i:-vi.;&-^2f^d^ UNIVERSITY OF N C AT CHAPEL HILL 00032195446 This book must be taken from Library building. THE HOME BOOK OF THE PICTURESQUE. 51 ® ^ K. ^^ 3 y ;^ 9\C'^ ^J'^^^S^ U . H « W r «1> IK K , THE HOME BOOK PICTURESQUE AMERICAN SCENERY, ART, AND LITERATURE , jii.i, OOMPEISING /a series of essays by WASHINGTON IRVING, W. C. BRYANT, FEXIMORE COOPER, ) ( MISS COOPER, KT. P. WILLIS, BAYARD TAYLOR, H. T. TUCKERILAN, / V E. L. MAGOON, DK. BETHUNE, A. B. STREET, MISS FIELD, ETC. / WITH THIRTEEN ENGEAVINGS ON STEEL, FROM PICTURES BY EJIISEiNT ARTISTS, ENGKAVED EXPRESSLY FOK THIS WOKK. NEW-YOEK: G. P. PUTNAM, 15 5 BROADWAY. MDCCCLTT. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by G. P. PUTNAM, In tlie Clerk's Office of tlie Distiiot Court for tlie Southern District of New-York. .lOMX F. Ti:nw, riilNTKI!, 40 Ann. street. A. B. DURAND, PRESIDENT OF THE NATIONAL ACADEMY OF THE FINE ARTS, THIS WORK, INTENDED AS AN INITIATORY SUGGESTION FOR POPULARIZING SOME OF THE CHARACTERISTICS OF 3mfnniii Xnnlisrnjre m\ ^mmm 5lrt, IS, BY PERMISSION, EESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, BY THE PIJBLLSHER. rUJ5LlSIlER'S NOTICE That American artists have ample scope for the development of genius, in the department of landscajje painting, is a truism too self- evident to need any argumentative dissertations. A very laudable degree of success in the cultivation of this genius, is also e\ddent in many of our private drawing-rooms, as well as public exhibitions. Believing that ample material thus exists for illustrating the picturesque beauties of American landscape, the publisher has ven- tui'ed to undertake this volume as an experiment, to ascertain how far the taste of our people may warrant the production of home- manufactured presentation-books, and how far we can successfully compete with those fi-om abroad. In the higher range of orna- mental books of this class, such as are sought for by our liljei-al, gift-giving people, we have heretofore depended ahnost exclusively upon our importations from Em'ope. It is not to he pretended that this volume, even in its depart- ment, has reached the highest degree of excellence. The engravings are perhaps of too moderate size to do anything like justice to the original pictm^es, and they are doubtless still capable of improve- 8 PUBLISHERS NOTICE. iiient, although it will )>e conceded that the engravers have done their part with taste and skill. AVhether the volume shows any jn'ogress, however, in American book-making, must be left to the public decision. K that tribunal affords the needful encouragement, this may be followed by futm-e volumes of similar import, but more worthy of the artists and of the country. The publisher begs leave to return his acknowledgments to those Avho have so kindly aided him in making this experiment — particu- larly to Mr. Durand, the distinguished president of the Academy, and to Messrs. Huntington, Church, Kensett, Weir, Talbot, Cropsey, and Richards, all of whom have won so much distinction as land- scape painters. To the gentlemen who have kindly loaned pictures for engraving, the publisher is under special obligation, particularly to Cyrus W. Field, Esq., for Mi". Church's charming pictm-e of West Rock ; to General J. A. Dix, for that of Rondout, Ijy Huntington ; to Mrs. Cole, for the picture of Schroon Lake, by her late husband ; to Mr. C. H. Rogers for Mr. Talbot's "Juniata," and to Mr. J. W. Whitefield for the same artist's "Cascade Bridge." It is superfluous to refer to the eminent writers who have zealously contributed to the substantial value of the volume by their able essays. The reader can appreciate them without note or comment. The publisher would merely allude to the self-evident fact, that this volume does not claim to rejjresent the American landscape painters in any thing like proper proportion. It was only practi- cable to give in this such specimens as were accessible, of only a small pi'oportion of those artists who would worthily adorn such a book. If wc arc permitted to proceed with another volume, a dozen or two more names will at once occur to the reader as quite essen- tial for such a j^urpose. G. P. P. CONTENTS. DEDICATION, PUBLISHER'S KOTICE, SCENERY AND MIND, ..... VIEW NEAR RONDOUT, AMERICAN AND EUROPEAN SCENERY COMPARED, THE CATSKILL MOUNTAINS, .... A DISSOLVING VIEW, THE SCENERY OF PENNSYLVANIA, THE HIGHLAND TERRACE, ABOVE WEST POINT, WA-WA-YAN-DAH LAKE, NEW JERSEY, OVER THE MOUNTxilNS, OR THE WESTERN PIONEER, WEST ROCK, NEW HAVEN, .... THE ERIE RAILROAD, ..... THE CHURCH OF THE HOLY INNOCENTS, WEST POINT, THE VALLEY OF THE HOUSATONIC, THE ADIRONDACK MOUNTAINS, SCHROON LAKE, ^. . . ART IN THE UNITED STATES, E. L. Magoon 1 . 49 J. FENnMOKE Cooper 51 WASniNOTON Ikvino 71 Miss Cooper 79 Batard Taylor 65 N. P. Willis 105 113 n. T. Tuokerman 115 Mart E. Field 137 Bayard Taylor 143 151 Wm. C. Bryant 155 Alfred B. Street ICl lfi5 G. W. Bethtine, D. D. lf.7 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAINTER. THE BAY OF NEW-YORK, . . . . H. Beckwitii CASCADE BKIDGE, ERIE RAILROAI>, . . J. Talbot THE RONDOUT, D. IIuntlxgton CATSKILL SCENERY, J. F. Kensett CATSKILL, IN THE CLOVE, . . . . A. B. Dubasd THE JTJNIATTA, PENN. .... J. Talbot WA-WA-YAN-DAH LAKE J. F. Cropsey COWETA CREEK, NORTH CAROLINA, . T. A. Riciluids WEST ROCK, NEW IIA\T5N, . . . . F. E. Ciiurch THE CHURCH OF THE HOLY INNOCENTS, WEST POINT, R. W. Weie THE HOUSATONIC VALLEY, . . . R. Gignoux ADIRONDACK SCENTIRY A. B. Dlrand SCHROON LAKE T. Cole engraver. page. H. Beckwitii Frimtispiece. J. llALl-lN TiOe. S. V. Hunt 49 II. Beckwitii 71 H. Beckwitii "iS H. Beck^vitii 95 S. V. Hunt 113 S. V. Hunt 115 S. V. Hunt 137 S. V. Hunt 151 J. Halpin 155 J. KlUK 161 H. Beckwitii 165 SCENERY AND MIND. BY E. L. MAGOON, A. M. " O my Native Land 1 How shouldst thou prove aught else but dear and holy To me, who from thy lakes and mountain hills, Thy clouds, thy quiet dales, thy rocks and seas, Have drunk in all my intellectual life, All sweet sensations, all ennobling thoughts, All adoration of the God in nature, All lovely and all honorable things. Whatever makes this mortal spirit feel The joy and greatness of its future being 3 There lives nor form nor feeling in my soul Unborrowed from my country." COLEEIDGE. God made tlie human soul illustrious, aud designed it for exalted pursuits and a glorious destiny. To expand our finite faculties, and afford tliem a culture both profound and elevating, Nature is spread around us, with all its stupendous proportions, and Revelation speaks to us of an eternal augmentation of knowledge hereafter, for weal or woe. 1 J S C E X E K Y A N D JI I N D . Above, Ijc'ueatli, aud on every side, open the avenues of iniinite pro- gression, tbrougli wliicli we are to advance without pause, and expand without limit. Here, in tliis dim arena of earth, an immortal essence thi'obs at our heart in harmony with the infinite and eternal. The day-star of thought arises on the soul, and, with our first rational exercise, begins an existence which may experience many ■\dcissitudes, may pass through many transitions, but can never terminate. The soul, vivified with power to think, t\t.11 outlive the universe which feeds its thought, and will be still practising its juvenile excursions at the mere outset of its opening career, while suns and systems, shorn of theii' glories, shall sink, in shattered ruins, to the caverns of eternal obli\don. The two great capacities, correspondent to the two great natural elements alluded to aljove, — the power of perceiAong the beautiful and feeling the sublime, — are at once the products and proofe of inherent immortality. They indicate endowments which it is bliss to improve, and a destiny which it will be fearfid indeed to neglect. All sentient beings may have an eye that can see, and an ear that can hear ; but to be gifted with a heart that can feel, constitutes the chief characteristic of a living soul. Animals are created perfect, while mankind are made perfectible by \drtue of loftier capacities. Instinct is compelled to pause over what it dimly perceives, but niiud perpetually quickens its vision, as well as its speed, through the mag- nificent unfoldings of its imbounded progress. The senses educate the capabilities. Our lower nature is first susceptible to impression ; and from this source, at a very early j)eri()d, infiuences arise which, when once stereoty}3etl upon the soul, are ineftaceable forever. What is the destiny of that little stranger, just emerged from mysterious night iato life active and eternal ? What is to be the history of that ghm- mering sjiark, struck from nothiugness by the all-croatiug rock, and filled with a fulness of beina: that will shine when the stars are SCENERY AND JIIND. 3 extinct ? Soon its faculties will unfold to external influences. As yet its germs of consciousness lie smothered under the passive and mortal powers ; Ijut as these are made the avenues of moral health or disease in early culture, that tremendous existence which lies before the unconscious liabe will prove a blessing or a curse. In relation to every young denizen of earth, it is an important reflection, that having once felt, it retains that feeling ; the emotion of jJea^ure it has exjje- rienced, thenceforth belongs to itself, and will recur with increased energy ; that the paiu it has once known belongs to itself, and may go on deepening its pimgency forever. Glory or iufamy is but a difi'ei'ent direction of the same capacities. Soon from that youtliful mind will come gleamings of thought and ebullitions of passion, and those same eftervescing endowments may form a Catiluie or a Cicero. The Xeros and Herods, Newtons and Pauls, the scourges of earth, and its greatest benefactors, were once helpless infants. To our mind, this book on American Scenery has an import of the highest order. The diversified landscapes of our country exert no shght influence m creating our character as individuals, and in confirm- ing our destiny as a nation. Oceans, mountains, rivers, cataracts, wild woods, fragrant praii'ies, and melodious winds, are elements and exem- plifications of that general harmony which subsists throughout the universe, and which is most jwtent over the most valuable minds. Every material oliject was designed for the use and reward of genius, to be tm-ned into an intelligible hieroglyphic, and the memento of purest love. How strong this early influence and affection may become, it is difficult to say. Hills, valleys, brooks, trees — om- first and fondest friends bey(md the domestic hearth — are never forgotten. Memory recalls the sunny days of childhood and youth ; and, like the green spot in the desert, in M-hich the weary traveller lingers with delight, his tods and piivations half forgotten, we love to ramble again amidst 4 SCENERY AND MIND. tlie scenes of earliest emotion and purest tliouglit, rejoicing still that, wherever exiled, " Trees, and flowere, and brooks, AYhich do remember me of wliere I dwelt. Ere my young mind was sacrificed to books, Come as of yore upon me, and can melt My heart witli recognition of tlieir looks." We proceed to show that, iu the physical universe, what is most abundant, is most ennobling ; what is most exalted, is most influential on the Lest minds ; and that, for these reasons, national intellect receives a prevailing tone from the pecidiar scenery that most abounds. First, in the kingdoms of matter around us, what is most aljundant in amount, is most enuoljliug in use. The mighty magician, Nature, produces the greatest variety of striking eifects -^-ith the fewest means. There are only a sun, soil, rocks, trees, flowers, water, and an obser-sdng soul. Every thing in use depends upon this last, whether to the con- templator " love lends a precious seeing to the eye." Deep in the concave of heaven is the luminary revealing all ; and deep in the soul of the illumined is a chord tenderly vibrating to the charms of all. The voices of every order of moving things, the silvery tones of flow- ing streams, the trembhng tongues of leaves, the inarticulate melody of flowers, the \dbrations of mighty hUls, and the dread music of the spheres, all sublunary blending with all celestial notes, are not for a moment lost to the heart that listens. The harp of Memuon is not falndous, properly interpreted. The devout lover of nature, seated on the mountain, or l)y the ocean, bathed in the golden sheen of 02:)ening day, will have his soul often stirred T)y melody divine as ever resound- ed from the mysterious haiiuonicon by tlie waters of the Nile. SCENERY AND MIND. Every rational iuliabitant of earth is a focal point in tlie universe, a profoundly deep centre around whicli every thing Leautiful and sublime is arranged, and towards which, through the exercise of admi- ration, every refining mfluence is drawn. Wonderful, indeed, is the radiant thread that runs through every realm of outward creation, and enhuks all their diversified influences ^v4th the innermost fibres of the soul. This is the vital nerve by vii-tue of which the mdividual is related to the universe, and the universe is equally related to the mdi- vidual. Through this, all physical powers combine to relieve spii-itual wants. Earth contributes her fulness of wealth and majesty; aii* ministers in all the Protean aspects of beauty and subhmity ; fire, permeating every thing graceful and fair, gleams before the scrutinizing eye with a light more vivid than the lightning's blaze; and water is not only " queen of a thousand rills that fall in silver from the dewy stone," diffusing a " dulcet and harmonious breath " from the most sylvan haunts of man to hLs most crowded home, but from continent to contment "pours the deep, eternal bass m natm-e's anthem, makmg music such as charms the ear of God." In this abundance there is an infinite variety, adapted to every grade of intellect, and every condition in life. The book of nature, which is the art of God, as Revelation is the word of his divmity, unfolds its innumerable leaves, all Uluminated with glorious imagery, to the vision of his creature, man, and is designed to elevate or soothe him by such influences as emanate from foaming cataracts, glassy lakes, and floating mists. For this beneficent purpose, fields bloom, forests wave, mountains soar, caverns open then- jewelled mines, constellations sparkle, clouds spread then- variegated di'apery, the sun radiates from horizon to zenith, and billows roll from pole to pole. In spring, aU is vivacious with an overflowing ne^\Tiess of hfe ; in summer, gorgeous is the woiid to every eye ; autumn mellows at once the landscape vnth. 6 SCENERYANDJIIND. its bar\ests, and tlie lieai-ts tLat love every form of matured and pro- liiic Mortli ; even winter, deserted as may be lier temple of the thouglitless and vain, suggests, tlirougli lioar-frost and withered leaves, lessons of greatest value to votaries wLo evermore aspire to be truly wise. Sir Josliua EejTiolds lias said that " Nature denies her instructions to none who desire to become her jDupils;" but a great deal de2")euds upon the motives with which we enter her school. It ^dll be to a low pui'])ose, surely, if our investigations are conducted in a predominantly utilitai'ian spirit, recognizing in the laws according to which the Di\dnity works merely the handmaids to sensual indulgence, rather than the instruments of the noblest use. It is thus that nature is made to present herself to gross minds, not as a cpiet and awful tem- ple, but as a plenteous kitchen, or voluptuous banqueting-hall. By this we do not mean that the sentiments which elevate are ever unnar tural. Nature is most truly herself when she stands revealed to her votary in the most refined and suggestive form. The Apollo Belvidere is indescribably more natural than any rustic of Teniers, or any alle- gorical figure of Rubens. The master-scenes of nature, however, like the masterpieces of transcendent art, require for the inexperienced, yet earnest admirer, an interpreter ; to the lukewarm and careless they are ever partially, if not com})letely, incomjirehensilde. Like certain delicate plants, then- essential beauties shrink under rough handling, and become dimness to the profanity of a casual glance; they imveil themselves most fully to the enraptured, and ])Our the efiulgence of their splendid mysteiies hito the fixed eye of him only who gazes on the charms he has stutliously sought, and adores foi" thvir own dear sake. Tlius em])loye(l, the most copious productions of (Jod exert the most eiiiinliling iiiHucncc Tlicy (luirkcn thought and inspire Iniinility, thus verifying the exjierience of the poet : S C E N E R Y A N D M I N 1) . 7 " I moved on In low and lantjuid mood : tor I had t'ouiid That outward forms, tlie loftiest, still receive Their finer influence fi'om the Lite -within." Ill viewing magnificent scenes, tlie soul, ex]5anded and suljlimed, is imbued with a spirit of divinity, and appears, as it w^ere, associated with the Deity himself. For, as the shepherd feels himself ennobled, ■while communing with his sovereign, the beholder, in a far nobler degree, feels himself advanced to a higher scale in the creation, in being permitted to see and admire the grandest of nature's w^orks. All vigorous souls prize most highly that healthy and expansive exer- cise of mind which is attained chiefly by traversing rugged paths and scaling celestial heights, in order to breathe pure and bracing air. To the query whether beneficial effects actually attend such excursions, let Sydney Smith reply : " I, for one, strongly believe iu the aflirma- tive of the question, — that Nature speaks to the miud of man imme- diately in beautiful and sul^lime language ; that she astonishes him with magnitude, appals him with darkness, cheers him with splendor, soothes him M'ith harmony, captivates him with emotion, enchants him with fame ; she never intended man should Avalk among her flowers, and her fields, and her streams, unmoved ; nor did she rear the strength of the hills in vain, or mean that we should look with a stupid heart on the wild glory of the torrent, bursting from the dark- ness of the forest, and dashing over the cruml)ling rock. I would as soon deny hardness, or softness, or figm'e, to be quahties of matter, as I would deny beauty or sublimity to belong to its qualities." Mind is itself the strongest agency over mind ; and next to this, in dignity and worth, is the jjotency of such inanimate productions as are pleasing iu their aspect, or awe-inspiring in theii' form. This is SCENERY AND JIIND. iiu inilueuce A\Licli effectively appeals to the sjjirits of our I'ace iu every condition of life. Wlierever the faintest ray of intelligence has da^^Tied, thither does it come, and there with ever increasiug dominion dwell. The savage is not too rude, nor the child too infantile, to be either refined or fortified by its lessons. Nature is an element which cannot be excluded, and which ought to lie so dii-ected as to produce the most agreeable and beneficent results. True, venerable mountains and verdant plains, with all their terrors and all their glories, are but pictures to the blind and music to the deaf, when a perceiving eye and appreciating soul are wanting. But with these endowments in exer- cise, however dim, dwellers in the midst of bold sceneiy are harder workers, greater readers, and better thinkers, than persons of equal rank elsewhere. Thi-ough the serene medium of their lofty elevation, they are less impressed by the pettiness of man and his affairs, than by the graceful magnitude of what the Almighty has spread through infinite fields around. Li^dng with supreme delight far above a Lilh- putian standard, the mind swells into something of the colossal gran- deur it admires. A majestic landscape, often scanned and truly loved, imparts much of its greatness to the mind and heart of the spectator ; so that while the species may dwindle in relative worth, the individual is ennobled by the expansion he has received. Even a transient visit to localities strongly characterized hj what is intrinsically elegant or grand, leaves the noblest impression on susceptible souls. Charles Lamb relates, with his accustomed happy style, that on returning to hLs desk at the India House, after a brief sojourn amidst the Hills and Lakes of Westmoreland, he thought much less highly of himself than while invested with the mingled beauty and majesty of magnificent mountain scenery. Well might his lo\-ing school-fellow and great bi'otlier in devotion to Nature's charms, Coleridge, say, in addressing his little child : SCENERY AND MIND. V " I was rcar'd III the a^i'eat city, pent 'iniJ cloistei-s dim, And saw naught lovely but the sky aud stai-s. But thou, my babe, shalt wander like a breeze By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds. Which image in theii- bulk both lakes and shores And mountain crags : so shalt thou see and hear The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible Of that eternal language, wliicli thy God Utters, who from eternity doth teach Hunself in all, and all things in himself : Great universal teacher ! He shall moidd Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask." Thus far oitr first point, namely, that, in the outward creation, whatever is most abimdant is most enuoljhug in its influence on om- inner faculties. In the second place, we proceed to show, that the noblest aspects and energies of nature have the finest aud fii-mest con- trol over the best minds. All eminent geniuses are close observers of rural objects, aud enthusiastic admirers of imposing scenery. There can be no approxi- mation towards universal development, save as one lays the entu'e universe under contribution to his personal cultivation. He must absorb into his expanded soul resources fi'om every kingdom com- petent to render him a sovereign indeed over the realms of emo- tion aud thought. He that would fortify a giant arm to sever an isthmus or tunnel mountains, as a pathway for the nations, or wield a giant mind that can quicken and mould the sentiments of other men gigantic like himself, must habitually feed on that aliment which is won in stray gifts l)y whosoever will find, and which, when attained, constitutes " a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets where no crude surfeit 10 S C E X E E Y A X D MIND. reigns." The pul)lic man whose spliere is most comprelieiisive, and "whose exhausting toils are most distracting, Avill probaljly l)e indeT)ted to youtliful and sereuer avocations in huniljler scenes for his sweetest solace and most endui'mg strength. The exjjeiience and sagacity of a gi-eat philosopher justify this assertion : " I speak, sii", of those who, though bred up vmder our unfavorable system of education, have yet held, at times, some intercom-se with Nature, and with those great minds whose works have been moulded by the spiiit of Nature : who, therefore, when they pass from the seclusion and constraint of early study, bring with them, into the new scene of the world, much of the pure sensibility which is the spring of all that is greatly good in thought and action." All great passions are fed, and all great systems are projected in solitude. Wide and dense masses of mankind form the ap2:)roiiriate field whereon superior talents are to be exercised ; but, to the aspir- ing, the distraction and attrition of large cities are rather e\'iLs to be shunned, since they vitiate if not destroy that purity and calm which are essential to the best growth of mind. The predestined hero in moral warfare will avoid the broad and boisterous way, if he l)e -nise ; and, like the Pythagoreans of old, he will betake himself to some sequestered spot, there alone to mature the vigor of his thoughts. If he would elicit a train of sentiments the profoundest and best, let him wander through the shady walks and silent groves of the country, where all things tend to arm and elevate the soul. The song of bu-ds and hum of bees will not profitless fall on his ear. Fields enamelled with verdure, and trees clothed in garments almost di\'ine, the stillness of nature in her secret glens, and the awful import of her more vocal majesty, must recall the universal Creator in modes the most palpable to a meditative inipil in this university for all designed, and at the same time will most imlmc liini with tlic immense repose witli which SCENERY AKD iM I N D . 11 creation is croMTied. Forms of glory lioveriug over forest and field, on tlie river's bank, the lake's brini, ocean's strand, or around moun- tain-peaks, create glorious forms in admii-ing souls. They confer an inspii-ation which kindles afresh over each new object worthy of esteem, and forever keep burning on the altar of the heart a flame which infinitude perpetually draws near Ixith to purify and feed. It is om- bliss to cherish those early recollections, without which all others are nuU and void, and which should be wedded to memory forever. •' You of all names the sweetest and the best ; You Muses, Books, and Liberty, and Rest ; You Gardens, Fields, and Woods." It is no valid objection to our argument to remind us that some " misuse the bounteous Pan, and think the gods amiss." That is to quote the perversion of a privilege, and not its legitimate use. Petrarch, for instance, only aggravated the fires that consumed him, when he buried himself in the lonely recesses of Vaucluse. But had he gone there to study "the quaint mossiness of aged roots" by day, and at night gazed with acutest sympathy upon " the star of Jove, so beautiful and large," — instead of tamely succiunbing before " the patient brilliance of the moon ; " had he been ambitious rather to " hve in the rainbow and play in the plighted cloutls," he might, on the bleakest summit, and with a richer facility than in the pampered palace, have created " Eschylean shapes of the subhme," and been imbued with energies nobler far than ever graced the marble porch whei'e ^visdom was wont to teach with Socrates and Tully. It ha.s l)een among deserts, on islands, in caverns, or when hidden by other di-apery of seclusion the most opaque, that philosophers, statesmen, and heroes, have obtained 12 SCENERY AND MIND. tliat faith and t'ervor h\ wLicli tliey secured triunijOumt success in the end, even thougli martyrdom was their road. The best education consists ui the most thorough training of natu- ral energy. In all moral architecture, as in material, the elegant should rest on the substantial, and clearly indicate the firmness it adorns. Large portions of a temj^le admit of being highly polished, but he would not be a very wise builder who should set about his structm'e with nothing but polishings. They who have " yellowed themselves among rolls and records" are not generally the persons who exert the most salutary influence, and make the most indelible impress on mankind. On the contrary, hajipiest and mightiest are they wbo are boi'u and reared where free course is allowed to the influences with whick creative power kas benignantly surrounded us. " Happy they wko are located in tke true infant-sckool of God and Nature ; on wkom tkis grand moving panorama skeds all its ckanging ligkts, and bestows all its successive scenes ; wko watck tke revohdng stars, and tke jirogression of brigkt constellations, in no bomided korizon ; for wkom tkere ai'e tke infinite efl:ects, daily and nigktly, of sunligkt and moonligkt, over kill and plain, — better stiU if tke vast ocean add its skifting colors and tke accompaniment of its continuous and resounduig antkem ; to wkom a kundred birds and plants, in rapid succession, teU of advancing spring ; wkose montks tke flowers calendar ; wkose autumn is infallibly marked by tke ripened grain and tke skeaves of joyous karvest ; wko make an era in tke few years of tkeu' ckronology by some more memoralJe storm or severer frost ; and wko ckange tkeii" sports and occupations witk ckanging natm-e, receiving tkrougk every inlet tke influences of God's spirit, and rejoicing in all. Not tkat ckildren can feel tke beauty or tke gran- deur, still less (live into tke wisdom of tkis miglity sckeuie of tkings, but i/te i-t/i/iiilN-s is on them, the novelty is adapted to and excites SCENEKYAND MIND. 13 them ; Niitiii'e has her way A^ithin them as well lus parents and teacli- ers ; and the senses do such duty as in the crowded city school-room they never yet performed nor ever can. And thus they go on from infancy to youth, groTving in the best knowledge of humanity ; a knowledge of the world in which God has placed them ; and thereby becoming fit to grapple with the diificulties and triumph in the moral conflicts that wiU present themselves in maturer life, as they come into the world that man has fashioned." The superiority of nature over art, as a source of pleasure and profit, is worthy of special note. When we enter magnificent monu- ments of human skill, we are at first struck with the costly decorations of wood, pigments, marble, and gold. But after repeated views, we feel no longer charmed, and the mental pleasure received at the first glance is continually decreased. Whereas, in contemplating the works of nature, from the minutest specimen to the most majestic, and most powerfully when the sense of perception is armed with greatest clear- ness and force, the devotee feels that the luxury of observation is con- stantly enhanced. The prospect of the country never satiates us ; the landscape, 'ft'ith all its changes, is ever new, and every day invests it with some fresh aspect to delight and invigorate the mind. Love of natural olgects, and especially a preference for whatever makes scenery of the wilder or more romantic kind, is a prevaihng element hi all character of the most marked and practical use. There is down upon the breast of eagles ; and the strongest men have usually the gentlest natures, because they habitually live ui intimate and affectionate alli- ance with the mildest as well as mightiest influence. As an elej^haut crashes through jungles and over crags, whetting his tusks, and as the imperial bird of prey seeks some storm-worn summit to sharpen his talons, so every one, quick to feel and invincible to subdue, like Achilles, will court retirement ui great nature's quiet nooks, where he 14 SCENERY AND MIND. may recrait his meutal strength and stiiug his Low. Ai-chimedes, a man of stupendous genius, was accustomed to say, that, next to the solution of a problem, was the pleasure of an evening walk in the suburbs of Syi*acuse. Descartes, having settled the place of a planet in the morning, would amuse himself in the evening by w^eeding and watering a bed of flowers. Gray, one of the most intellectual and fastidious of men, says, " Happy they who can create a rose-tree, or erect a honey-suckle ; who can watch the brood of a hen, or a fleet of theii" own ducklings as they sail upon the water." The love of nature is, indeed, mstiuctive in all superior minds. Philosoi^hers hving in the time of Philostratus were accustomed to retire to the shades of Mount Athos, where " Metlitation might think down hoiirs to moments." Catullus, Martial, and Statins were ardent admii'ers of rural life ; especially so were Atticus, Tacitus, and Epictetus. Cicero, who valued himself more upon his taste for the cultivation of philosophy, than upon his talents for oratory, had no less than eighteen diftereut coun- try residences in various parts of his beautiful native land. He speaks of them m terms of fondest attachment ; and they were all situated in such delightful points of view, as to deserve being called " the eyes of Italy." The i-etreat of Tusculum was his favorite residence. It was the most elegant mansion of that elegant age ; and the beauty of the landscape around it, adding a higher worth to the site than all the charms Atticus could purchase for its master at Athens, to the highest degree refined the taste of its accomplished possessor. "When, fatigued with business, and happy in being allowed the indulgence of sequestered recreation, the great master of the Fornin, "from whose hps sweet elocpience distilled, as honey from the Ijee," could mingle in the unrestrained com2")anionship of such friends as Scipio and Atticus and Laelins, at Caieta and Lauvcntuni, tlicy together strove to grow boys again in tlicii' aiiiuscuK'nts, and (K-rived no igimlile ph'asure from SCENERY AND MIND. 15 gatliering sliells upon tlie sea-shore. Simplicity and dignity always coalesce witli tlie utmost gentleness and good-nature, in the pei'sons and amusements of the truly great. They are equal to the society of the most refined and emdite, in all the delicate sobriety of exalted life ; and, with equal spontaneity of native greatness and acquired grace, can run, shout, and leap, Avith juvenile thoughts and limbs. It is not in the lea.st surprising to find Cicero so often urging us to study the natural beauties of the country in which we live. He asserts it to be the most auspicious pleasure of youth, and the most soothing joy of serene old age. Livy and Sallust were also A-iAadly conscious of such impressions, and of the worth they confer. Phny the younger declared him self never to have been happier than when he was indulging him- self at his country seats, where in healthful leism-e he wrote his works, and celeljrated the views which his \Tllas aftbrded. " K life were not too short," says Sir William Jones, " for the complete discharge of all om' respective duties, public and private, and for the acquisition of necessary knowledge in any degree of perfection, with how much pleasure and improvement might a great part of it be spent, in admir- ing the beauties of this wonderful orb ! " The graces willingly lend their zone to embellish and fortify the passions of a noble breast. Assimilating to himself the richest coutriljutions from all som'ces of the beautiful, the true, and the sublime, the severest student and most usefid citizen secures to himself the delightful companionship of that potent and infallible guide described by Campbell : " Taste, like the silent dial's power, Which, when supernal light is given, Can measure inspiration's hour, And tell its height in heaven ! " We have now considered tw^o positions, assumed at the outset : 16 SCKNERTAND MIND. fii'st, what is most abuudaut in nature is most enuoLliug in its effects ; and, secondly, that the best minds are most influenced by natui-al excellence. It remains to indicate, thirdly, how character, as stamped on literature, has ever been toned by tlie predominant characteristics of native scenery. In portraying the influence ^\'hioh the inanimate creation exerts upon mind and letters every where, we employ 'wliat has been univer- sally felt and acknowledged. The wise man in his lonely turret, high among the palaces of Babylon, and the unsojihisticated shepherd as he watched his flocks at midnight on the plains of Chaldea, recognized in the aspects and movements of the planetary world an intimate relation to the mysterious Adcissitudes of hmnan life, and the otherwise unre- vealed determinations of human destiny. In the constitution of man- kind, the religious instinct and literary taste are intimately allied, and seem, indeed, to a great extent, the same. " The untutored negro, when he prostrates himself on the reedy Ijank of his native stream, and adores the Deity of the stream in the shape of the crocodile, or bows before the poison tree, in reverence to the God of poisons, obeys this native impulse of humanity, no less than the disciple of Zoroaster who climbs the highest mountain tops, unsoiled by the profane foot- steps of trade or of cm-iosity, where the air is ever pure, and the sun greets the earth witli its earhest light, to pay his vt)ws and offer his incense to the visible symbols of Divinity, to his mind themselves divinities ; or the outcast Guebre, who with forbidden and untold of rites, worships an ever burning flame — to him the elemental principle of natui'e." The chai'aeter of the early jiatriarc-lis was m> doubt chiefly moidded by the peculiarity of their habitation and pursuits. Their manner of life upon the great oceans of wilderness and jxusture, gave breadth and ehusticity to their intellects. The free mountain winds liad leave to lilow against tlieiii, their eyes drank the rivers with SCENERY AND MIND. lY deliglit, aud tlie vault of lieaveu uuder Avlilcli tliey d\^'t'lt, witli all its miglity stars, elevated their feelings no less than it exjsanded their minds. The Hebrew prophets of a later day lived equally in the eye of natui'e. Says GilfiUan : " We always figure them -wdth cheeks em- browned by the noons of the Ea.st. The sun had looked on them, but it was lovingly — the moon had ' smitten ' them, but it was with poetry, not madness — they had drimk in fire, the fire of Eastern day, from a hundred sources — from the lukewarm brooks of their land, from the rich colors of their vegetation, from their mornings of unclouded brightness, from theii* afternoons of thunder, from the large stars of their evenings and nights. The heat of their climate was strong enough to enkindle but not to enervate their frames, inured as they were to toil, fatigue, fastmg, and frequent travel. They dwelt in a land of hills and valleys, of brooks and streams, of spots of exube- rant vegetation, of ii"on-ribbed rocks and mountains — a land, on one side, dipping down in the Mediterranean Sea, on another, floating up into Lebanon, and on the others, edged by deserts, teeming at once with dreadful scenery and secrets — through which had passed of old time the march of the Almighty, and where his anger had left for its memorials, here, the sandy sepulchre of those thousands whose car- casses fell in the wilderness, and there, a whole Dead Sea of vengeance, lowering amid a desolation fit to be the very gateway to hell: — standing between their song and subject-matter, and such a fiery chme, and such stern scenery, the Hebrew l)ards were enabled to indite a laru/uage more deeply dyed in the colors of the sun, more intensely metaphorical, more faithfully transcriptive of nature, a simpler, and yet larger utterance, than ever before or since rushed out from the heart and tongue of man." But no where do the instincts of man, in their alliance mth his 3 18 SCENERY AND MIND. noUest productions, appear more strongly marked hy the influence of surrounding scenery, than in tlie early training and national literatiire of " pagan Greece." That wondeiful people seem fully to have under- stood that man -was made to grow up harmoniously, vnih simidtaneous expansion of trunk, Lranch, and foliage, as grows a tree ; the sap of immortal energy must circidate -n-ithout hindi-ance in every fibre, maturing fruits perennial and divine. Two laws manifestly govern the constitution of our being, a due regard to which is mdispensable to our highest welfare. In the first place, in proportion as the physical natm"e of man is developed by suitable discipline, winning the greatest vigor of limb, and the greatest acuteness of sense, he will derive important aids to the intellect and moral powers from the perfections of his outward frame. IVIoreover, by a delightful reaction, the mind, in j^roportion as it is invigorated and l)eautified, gives strength and elegauce to the l)ody, and enlarges the sphere of action and enjoyment. These laws have been observed by the best educators of the world. At Athens, the g}Txmasia became temples of the Graces. In these appropriate fields of moral traming, the refined Greek could gratiiy his fondness for the beautiful, sur- rounded on every hand by the combined charms of nature and art. Every festival of childhood was rendered enchanting with fiowers and music ; the barge, as it was pushed in bojdsh sport on the lake, was crowned with garlands ; the oars were moved to the sound of " sweet recorders," and the patriotic mother at home sang an inspiiing lullaby, as she rocked her infant to sleep in the broad shield of its robust tather. There were wrestliags for all classes in the i)ala?stra, as well as races and heroic contests for the foremost ranks ; there were gay revels on the mountain-sides, and moonhght dances in the groves. The popular games described in the twenty-fourth book of the Iliad, and the eighth of the Odyssey, all I'elate to important oliMiuMits in SCENERY AKD MIND. 19 uatioiial education. Those ancient festivals bad the finest infiucuce uj^on the inhaljitants of the metropolis, and upon those who (hvelt the most remote. Every pilgrim through such lands, to such shrines, became Briareus-hauded and Argus-eyed. The beautiful scenes, full of patriotic and refined associations, which every where arrested his attention, gave hun the travellei-'s " thirsty eye," filled his mind with thrilling reminiscences, and caused him to return to his home glowing with brilliant descriptions and burdened with exalted thoughts. It was thus that the youthful Greek mingled with his studies pedestrian exercise and acute observation, formed his body to fatigue, while he stored hLs mind with the choicest ideas, and became equally skilled in handling a sword, subduing a horse, or building a temple. Such was the education found in the Lyceum where Aristotle lectured, and in " Tlie olive-grove of Academe, Plato's retii'ement, where tlie attic bii'd Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long : There flowery hiU Hymettus, with the sound Of bees' industiious miumur, oft invites To studious musing." No Grecian city was without its public squares, airy colonnades, spacious halls, and shady groves ; herein the people lived, transacted their business, passed their leisure, and improved their minds. The serene heaven which that land enjoys, was the best-loved roof of its population ; the grateful breeze, resounding sea, and brilliant sun, were theii' perpetual recreation and dehght. The country was looked upon as affording the only happy home. Large towns were regarded as huge prisons, but these were made as rural as possible. Whatever splendors might gleam from the capitol, Pan and his rustic train were 20 SCENEKY AND MIND. most fascinating to tlie pojjular intellect and lieart. Familiar as the sensibilities and imagination of the people were with the outward world, and connecting the changing seasons and fruits of earth wiih. some occult power that regulated and produced them, theii- enthusiasm created and sustauied presiding deities, propitious in the calm, and adverse in the storm. Every gushing fountain was the dwelling of a nym^jh ; dryads shared with man the shelter and repose of groves ; on each hill an oread presided benignantly over the shepherds and their flocks ; while a goddess, more fruitful than " the silver-shafted queen, for ever chaste," glided before the reapers, and shook the golden har- vest from her lap on every plain. Speakers and writers the most popular, were so because they shared most, and expressed most clearly, the popular feeling. Of all literatures, the Grecian is most clearly marked with a thoroughly out-of-door character. Fresh morning air breathes through and glows about its twin fii'st-births of Poetry and Philosophy, hke the clear sky which still hangs above the two lofty peaks of Parnassus. One of the most dehghtful treatises that antiquity has transmitted to us, is the (Economics of Xenophon, in which the pm-suits and pleasures of husbandry are described in that beautiful manner which l)est befits the subject. And Pindar, as if ejqjressmg the universal cou\'iction, as well as the most cherished affection of his race, has said, that " he deserves to be called the most excellent, who knows much of nature." Respecting the harmony of the jihysical temperature, landscapes, and literature of Greece, an intelligent traveller has recently testified as follows : " The beauty of the scenery, so far as my experience extends, was unsurpassed by any in the world. For no where ai-e land and water mixed together in such just proportions ; islands and bays break the monotony of the one, and relieve and rejieat the beau- ties of the otlier ; and no where do soft valleys fade more inseiisil>ly SCENERY AND All ND. 21 iiito sublime mouutaius : aud Avlieu cue of these was crowned by forests, aud tlie otlier riclily cultivated aud studded witli gardeus and habitations, it must have surpassed all other lands, aud almost does so now." It is evident that, if the climate was not so luxmious as that of Egyi^t, it was far more exhilaratuig, and instead of tending to ener- vate, was sufficiently severe always to in^^,gorate, Avhile it was at the same time so genial as to invest the general aspect of nature with the loveliest charm, and to awaken all the more delicate emotions of the human heart. We know from her admiring writers, that in that land of the cicada and the nightingale, each sound was melody, and all the hues of earth and heaven were harmonious, Hke the leaves of " Spiing's sweetest book, the rose." Fine thought was spontaneous and yet per- fect, as the song of nature's own melodists, " singmg of summer m full- throated ease ; " and the softest combinations of articulate exjiression were but echoes of the notes which joyous zephyi-s ehcited along the clifis of Parnes, or wafted from the gi'oves of Colonus. The deification of enthusiasm, embodied in the worship of Dionysos, cannot, under such cii-cumstances, excite sui-prise. Among a people so full of mspi- ration, adoration under some form was a grateful vent, and a primary necessity. The agrarian rehgion of the Pelasgic herdsmen to the last occupied the Athenian acropolis, whUe the later aud more dehcate system of Ionian mythology spread its temples over the subjacent plains. This latter is known to modern tunes iu the literatm-e of clas- sical paganism. The pleasing ritual which the beech-woods of Thrace contributed to that system, in the worship of ApoUo and the Muses, was a romantic element which foimd easy access to the Greek mind, and was welcome there. Oracular places testified that earth was the vehicle of revelations to man, whether it were by her own vaporous breath, whispeiing ia the oak branches, the flight and voices of her creatures, or the sportive cycles into which inscribed leaves were 22 SCENERY AND MIND. sti-owii l)y the -wiiul. Ileuce arose the pautlieism of antiquity, -whicli worsliiped eartli herself as the supreme divinity ; a self-originated storehouse of all power and knowledge, in whose awful centre, over which Delphi stood, all beneficent and malignant virtues were permit- ted to contend and awe the world "wdth the subhme mystery of their strife. The Greek mythology exhibits much more appreciation of, and minuter inquisition into natural phenomena than the literature of the Romans. To the mind of the latter nation every thing was more objective ; and yet the master-sj^irits among them were far from being indifferent to the beauties and sublimities of the material world. The fact of Catidlus having a \Tlla so far from Rome as the peninsula of Sermione, where he could look at rugged Alps, is but one of many instances we have of Romans in love with natural l)eauty. The best minds there, as elsewhere, knew that the true method of viemug aU created things, is to unite poetry to science, and to enlist both in the pursuit of trutli, in order that both may 2)urify the heart and aggran- dize the mind. Said Cicero, " There is nothing so delightful in litera- ture as that branch which enaliles us to discern the immensity of nature ; and which, teaching us magnanimity, rescues the soul from obscurity." Tlie practice of this great man comported with his theory, and substantiated it. He tells us in his letters, that when most crushed with j)rofessional cares, he would retire for weeks together from public life, and recreate himself in his quiet Cuman ^nlla, w^here he enjoyed fresh breezes from the Tuscan ocean, that rolled lieneath his windows, and where, thus invigorated, he wrote his fimious sis books upon Government. Such thinkers ever derive their finest inspii-ation and firmest strength from great nature, whose every kingdom they pant to ex])lore ; tlicii' inipciial career is "known to every star and every wind tliat Mows," giving the assurance that Mliat they say and do will SCENERY AND MIND. 23 survive in perpetually augmented power, " wlien tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent." In all their purposes and pursuits, tliey aspire only to a place "Amid til' august and never-dying light Of constellated spirits, who have gained A name in heaven, by power of heavenly deeds." No wiiter, among the Romans, lias sho-mi a greater relish for natural l)eauty, than Horace. He might well rank himself among the " lovers of the country ; " not only as his works abound in its praises, but because he could prefer his Sabiue retreat to a distinguished posi- tion at the court of Augustus. The odes of this accm-ate observer of men and things aliound with exquisite pictures of I'ural pursuits, con- nected with the diversified incidents and manners of life. If he cele- brates the powers of whie, the pleasm-e of sitting under the umbrageous fohage and luscious clusters is not forgotten. If the charms of his mistress be the theme of his song, the rose is not more beautiful, nor has the violet a perfimie more sweet. When war is portrayed, he for- gets not to contrast its paias and its bloody horrors with the tranquil and innocent pleasures of a smiling landscape, enlivened with the hum of rural sport, and prohfic cultivation. The woods and fields he loved were enjoyed as often as possible ; and when confined to hLs couch at Eome, he still delights in the remembrance of vernal and vintage inci- dents, when vigorous husbandmen urge their team, and happy peasants shout the harvest-home. " Ah ! " exclaims he, " how dehghted I am, when wandering among steep rocks and the sombre wUderness ; since the shades of forests and the murmuring of waters inspire my fancy, and will render me renowned. Sing, oh ! ye virgins, the beauties of Thessalian Tempe, and the wandering isle of Delos : — celebrate, oh ! 24 SCENERY AND MIND. ye yoiitlLS, the cliarms of tliat goddess, who dehghts in flowing rivers and the shades of trees ; who lives on the mountain of Algidus, among the impenetrable woods of Erjinanthus, and on the green and fertile Cragus." Virgil alludes less fi-equently to the climate and scenery of Italy, biit he was thoroughly imbued with the mild splendor which adorns that beautiful clhue. Though he seems always wishing for the cool valleys of Hsemus, and is most acutely appreciative of the more clas- sical regions of Greece, he was by no means indifferent to the diversi- fied charms of his native land. This we know fi'om his history, can perceive it in his writiugs, and have felt it most when standing amid the glories that mantle his chosen grave. The Romans, not less than the Greeks, in feeling their way through mythologic gloom, were conscious of a pi'eternatural awe which gleamed upon them from cavernous waters and darkened from shaggy hills. " Where is a lofty and deeply-shaded grove," writes Seneca, " filled with venerable trees, whose mterlaciug boughs shut out the face of heaven, the grandeur of the wood, the silence of the place, the shade so dense and uniform, infuse into the breast the notion of a divinity." Hence the quickened imagination of the ancients, striving to supply a void which nature had created but could not fill, peoj^led each grove, fountain, or grotto, mth a captivating ti'ain of sylvan deities. Intercourse with these, in the scenes which they sanctified, was deemed more ausj)icious to health and morals, than the arid and vitiating influence of crowded towms. Plutarch, for instance, after assei'ting that the troubled hfe of cities is injurious to the study of philosophy, and that solitude is the school of wisdom, proceeds to show, that the pure air of the country, and the absence of all tlisturb- ance from within, conduce most to the instruction and ])urificatiou of the soul. " On this account, also," he adds, " the temi)los of the SCENERY AND MINI). 25 gods, as mauy as were constructed iii aucieut times, M-ere ahvajs in solitary places, especially tlie temples of the Muses and of Pan, and of the Nymphs of Apollo, and of as many as were guides of harmony; judging, I suppose, that cities were necessarily fearful and polluted places for the education of youth." In contemplating the relative influence of scenery on mind, we shall prolialdy conclude that mountains exert the greatest and most salutary power. The intellect of a j^eople, in its primitive unfoldings amid elemental grandeurs, lies as it were in Nature's arms, feeds at her breast, looks up into her face, smiles at her smiles, shuddei-s at her frowns, is adorned with her gracefulness, and fortified with her streng-th. Beauty and sublimity are thus interfused and commingled with the whole substance of the nrind, as the glow of perfect health mixes itself ^^dth the whole substance of the body, unthought of, it may be, until the ^\'orld is reminded of its potent fascination in deeds the mio-htiest and most beneficent. The mind and works of indi^^Lduals tend strongly to assimilate with the nature of their parent soil. Dr. Clarke thought that the lofty genius of Alexander Avas nourished by the majestic presence of mount Olympus, under the shadow of which he may be said to have been born and bred. Grand natural scenery tends permanently to affect the character of those cradled in its laosom, is the nursery of patriotism the most firm and eloquence the most thrillmg. Elastic as the air they breathe, free and joyous as the torrents that dash through their rural possessions, strong as the granite highlands from which they wring a hardy livelihood, the enterprising children of the hills, noble and high-minded by original endowment, are like the glorious regions of rugged adventure they love to occupy. This is an universal rule. The Foulahs dwelHng on the high Alps of Africa, are as superior to the trilies li\nng beneath, a.s the inhabitants of Cashmere are al)0ve the Hindoos, or as the Tyrolese are nobler 4 26 SCEXERT AND M INn. than the Aral) race. The physical aspect and moral traits of nations are in a great measure influenced hj their local position, circumstances of climate, popular traditions, and the scenery in the midst of wliich they arise. The transition firom the monotonous plains of Lombardy to the hold precipices of Switzerland is, in outward nature, exactly like that, in inward character, from the crouching and squahd appear- ance of the l)rutalized peasant, to the indej^endent air and indomitable energy of the free-born and intelligent mountaineer. The athletic form and fearless eye of the latter bespeaks the freedom he has won to enjoy and perpetuate, the invigorating elements he buftets in hardy toil, and the daring aspirations he is fearless and fervid to indulge. Liberty has ever preferred to dwell in high places, and thence comes she down through fields and towns, revealing the glory of her counte- nance, and diifusing her inspiration through undaunted breasts. " Of old sat Freedom on tJie heights, The thunders breaking at her feet : Above her shook the stariy lights : She heard the torrents meet. Within her palace she did rejoice, Selt-gathered in her prophet-mind ; But fragments of her mighty voice Came rolling on the wind." There is in the elements of tmr liuinanity a perpetual symjiathy with the accomj)animents of its first development. Nearl}' all the heroism, moral excellence, and ennobhng literature of the world, has been produced by those who, in infancy and youth, were fostered by the influence of exalted regions, where rocks and wilderness are piled ill bold and iuiuiitable shapes of savage grandeur, tinged Avith the hues SCENERY AND MIND. 27 of untold ceuturies, aud over wliieli awe-iiispirhig storms often sweep with thunders in their train. This is the influence which more tlian half created the Shakspeares, Miltons, Wordsworths, Scotts, Coleridges, Irvings, Coopers, Bryants, and Websters of the world ; aud without much personal acquaintance with such scenes, it is impossible for a reader to comprehend their highest individuality of character so as fully to relish the best c_[ualities of their works. Nearest allied to mountains in their natural effects, is the influence of oceans on national mind. The infinite is most palpably impressed upon the lioundless deep ; and wherever thought is accustomed mth unimpeded wing to soar from plains, or traverse opening vistas through towering hills, that it may hover over the azure waste of waters becalmed, or outspeed their foam-crested billows in wildest storms, there will literature present the brightest hneameuts and possess the richest worth. The Greek was a hardy mountaineer, with the most dehcate faculties of body and soul, but he was not imprisoned by his mountains. Whenever he scaled a height, old Ocean, gleaming with eternal youth, wooed him to her embrace, m order to bear hun to some hapjDy island of her far-off domain. On every hand constantly appeared the two greatest stimulants on earth to emotion and thought. The voice of the Mountains, and the voice of the Sea, " each a mighty voice," were ever rousing and guiding him ; each counteractmg the ultra influence of its opposite. The sea exj^anded the range and scope of his thoughts, which the mountain-valleys might have hurtfuUy restrained. For want of this salutary blending of excitement and control, it is, perhaps, mainly owing that neither Tyre nor Carthage, notwithstanding their power aud wealth, occupies any notable place in the intellectual history of mankind. But to the Greeks, the waste of waters wa.s an inexhaustible mme of mental wealth. They were an amphibious race, lords of laud and sea. On shore aud afloat they 28 SCENEKY AND MIND. were eager listeners to the two great heralds, "Liljerty's chosen music," calling them to freedom ; and nobly did they answer to the call, when the sound of the mighty Pan was ringing on their soul, at ]\Iarathon and Thermopyhe, at Salamis and Platea. Thii'lwall, and Frederic Schlegel, have Loth called attention to the fact, that the literature of the West is differenced from the litera- ture of the East, l)y the same character which distinguishes Europe from its neighboring continents, — the great range of its coasts, com- pared with the extent of its surface. And Goethe suggests that " per- haps it is the sight of the sea from youth upward, that gives English and Spanish poets such an advantage over those of inland countries." Herein the great German undoubtedly spoke from his own feelings ; for he never saw the sea till he went to Italy in his thirty-eighth year ; and " many-sided " as he was, he doubtless A\'ould have been a much greater and more comprehensive master had he dwelt nearer the ocean strand. Francis Horn, in his survey of German Hterature, alludes to this point. " Whatever is indefinite, or seems so, is out of keeping with Goethe's whole frame of mind : every thing with him is terra firma or an island : there is nothing of the infinitude of the sea. This conviction forced itself upon me, when for the fii-st time, at the north- ernmost extremity of Germany, I felt the sweet thrilling produced by the highest sublimity of Nature. Here Shakspeare alone comes for- ward, whom one finds every Avhere, on mouutauis and in valleys, in forests, by the side of rivers and of brooks. Thus far Goethe may accompany him : but in sight of the sea, Shakspeare is by himself" Solger, also dwelling far in the inteiior, lamented the necessary remoteness of a power, habitual converse with which, a chance \dew had assured him, would produce the noblest efltects. He is si^eaking of his first sight of the sea: — "TTei'e, fV.i- the first time, I felt the impression of tl:c illiniitaMc, as produced hy an object of sense, in its full majesty. " SCENERY AND MIND. 29 Alfieri jiccustoinecl liimsflf to lonely walks on the wild sca-sliore near Marseilles, and those loeal influences gave a jjerpetual tone and energy to his mind. Every evening, after plunging in Neptune's domain, he would retreat to a recess where the land jutted out, and there would he sit, leaning against a high rock which concealed from his sight the land behind him, Avhile before and around he beheld nothing but the sea and the heavens. " Blue roll'd the waters, blue tlie sky Spread like an ocean bung on liigb." The sun, sinking into the waves, was lighting up and embelhshing these two immensities ; and there he passed many an hour in auspicious rumination and mental joy. Happy are they who love the scent of wild flowers in soHtary woods, and with equal gladness listen to the melody of waters as they die along the smooth beach, or crash in thunders against the craggy coast. Thiice happy are the ardent wor- shipers at some mountain-shrine, whence they may contemplate a scene hke this under " the ojieniug eye-lids of the morn," or when the bold outlines of great Nature's temple are thrown into fine relief against a sky crimsoned with sunset hues. The rising of day at sea, and descending day on the hills, are the most sublime and suggestive scenes man can xiew. The sun marries eaith and ocean in harmony full of heavenly awe. This is felt at evening, when there is no filmy haze to break the softness of the west, where golden rays sj^read gently thi'ough the highest ether, and all is blended over the vast and glowing concave ; or when in lurid splendor he ghdes from peak to peak, his rays flashed and reflected from cloud to cloud, as he sinks fi'om hill to hill, presaging coming storms. Not less fascinating is the magic of light on Ijlue unrufiled waters sleeping unilisturljed at early 30 SCENERY AND 31 1 N D . dawu, or gently curliug tlieir rij^pliug sm-tace to catch the dancing sunbeams and reflect their mimic glories. To one standing on earth, the god of day appears with weary pace to seek repose ; but at sea, he rises all fresh and glowing from his briny couch, not in softened beauty, but full of dazzling splendor, Ijursting at once across the threshold of the deep, with the fiiTQ and conscious step of immortal youth. Then, earth, aii-, and sky, are all in imison, and their calm suljlime repose is rapture to the grandest souls. With Beattie's ]\Im- strel, they are ready to exclaim, " Ob, bow canst tbou reiiouuce tbo boundless store Of cbai-ms whicb Natui'e to ber votary yields ! Tbe warbling woodland, tbe resounding sbore, Tbe pomp of groves, and garniture of fields ; Ail tbat tbe genial ray of moming gilds, Aiid all tbat echoes to tbe song of even, AU that tbe mountam's sbelteiing bosom shields, And all tbe dread magnificence of heaven. Oh, how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven ! " Lakes, also, have a marked influence on mind. Switzerland hits ever been a favorite resort for those who are rich in native endowment, and whose best wealth is elicited by contact with natui'al greatness. The most timiultuous spirits have greatest need of repose, and with keenest relish enjoy the placid and quiet feelings which belong pecu- liarly to a lake — " as a body of still water under the influence of no current ; reflecting therefore the cloutls, the hght, and all the imagery of the sky and surrounding hUls ; exi)ressing also and making visible the changes of the atmosphere, and motions of the lightest breeze, and subject to agitation only from the winds — ■ S C E N E R Y A N D MIND. 31 " The visible scene Would enter unawares into his mind With all its solemn iniajforv, its rocks, Its woods, and that imcortain heaven received Into the bosom of the staidy lake ! " One cannot easily walk unmoved where water, fresli from infum- tain-springs, " dotli make sweet music witli tli' enamell'd stones," and verdant islands float far out on a surface resembling molten silver, thus aftbrding the most enchauting objects to the excursive view. Around this central mirror, prone to the dazzling sun, let shrubbery and trees wave to the touch of zej)liyrs, terraces display their tangled beauties, fields and gardens, studded with elegant villas, swell towards bleak hills, surmounted by peerless and brilliant Aljjs, all magnificently repeated in the limpid wave below, and you have the bright summer scene which glows from the bosom of Leman in the foreground of Mont Blanc, and renders supremely beautiful the sacred solitude so delightful at Lucerne. AVatt l)otanized on the fragrant l>anks of Loch Lomond, and fortified his severer studies by the rugged majesty of the Grampians. Haller, Zimmermann, and Lavater, sunk many a sorrow in the lake around Zurich, and Gibbon wrought out his mighty task under the lofty inspiration enjoyed at Lausanne. The product and proof of this jiotency are signalized iu the memorable passage, where he describes the close of his vast undertaking : " I have presumed to mark the moment of conception, (amid the ruins of Rome) ; I shall now commemorate the hour of my final deliverance. It ^^'as on the day, or rather night, of the 27th June, 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve, that I wrote the last lines of the last i^age, in a summer-house in my garden. After laying down my pen, I took several turns in a covered walk of acacias, which commands a prospect 32 S C K N E R Y A N D MIND. of tlie country, the lake, and the mountains. The air was temperate, the sky Tvas serene, the silver orb of the moon was reflected uj^ou the waters, and all Nature was silent. I Mill not dissemUe the first emo- tions of joy on the recovery of my freedom, and ])erhaps the establish- ment of my fame." Fountains, brooks, and livei-s, im^iart some of the fairest aspects to the landscape, and stamp many A^aluable impressions on the mind. If the sea most abounds in that salt which seasons substantial and endur- ing thought, those streams, however small, which connect the remotest island thei'ewith, are not entirely devoid of like power. It would seem that a sagacious love of nature was the true Egeria who taught wisdom to Numa in the grotto. "V\Taen he worshiped the njTnph at the fountain, and Narcissus fell in love with his own reflection in the water, they appear to have made that element necessary in the loves of all minds tenderly or profoundly moved. Petrarch sung of it at the source of the Sorgue, Vaucluse, and by the rushing Rhone at A-vngnon. Rousseau celebrated its inspiring influence in the I'ural haunts he most loved ; and Byron prolonged the strain over almost eveiy renowned sea, lake, liver, and fountain of the world. " ^AHiere a spring rises or a liver flows," said Seneca, " there should we build altars and ofl'er sacrifices," — an impulse which has been felt by the best hearts of every age. A thousand charms gather around one of those little currents of " loosened silver " that sing along the mossy channel, or leap down craggy heights, over Avhicli trees throw their protecting arms and iml)ilje grateful spi'ay. I low invigorating, with angle and Ijook, or all alone with one's own thoughts, to trace the wild Init glad- some oftsprmg of the liills, now contracted by gloomy firs and half lost in dark ravines, — now sparkling from the deepest shadow, ])roken into dimples and bounding to the sun, — anon sweeping wild flowt-rs to its bosom, anil with aiigniented wave washing the gnarled and spread- SCENERY AND MIND. 33 iug roots whicli jut out liere aud there from impeuding banks, witli fringes of di-ipping weeds, — aud finally losiug its tributary beauty in a mightier stream. " Laugli of the Mountain," is the title given to a brook by a Spanish poet ; and Bryant is not less ha})py in character- izing this fail- feature of the world. " The rivubt Sends fortli glad sounds, and tripinng o'er its bed Of pebbly sands, or leaping down tbe rocks, Seems, -with continuous laugbter, to rejoice In its own being." The chief rivers of every clime have ever furnished the favorite themes- of leading minds. Daiius was so charmed with the river Tearus, that he commemorated his attachment by erecting a votive column on its brink. Where rolled Ilyssus, was the best school of Athens ; and on the shores of Arno and Cam, Milton acquired his best training and enjoyed the happiest life ; as did Thompson, thi-dled with the murmurs of the Jed. The philosoj^hers of Shiraz comjiosed their most celebrated works near the shores of the Rochnabad ; while by the sacred Ganges, near Benares, erudite teachers instruct their pupils, after the manner of Plato, walking in theu* gardens. Aufidus, the Tiber, aud the Po, had their respective admirers in Horace, VirgU, and Ovid, and the reader need not be told that all tongues unite to celebrate the Rhine. Calimachus has immortahzed the beautiful waters of the Inachus, while the Miucio aud the Tagus boast their Boccacio and Camoens; and the lovers of English letters know full well that the Severn, Trent, Avon, Derwent, Dee, and Thames, have been distinguished by the praises of the mightiest pens. Modern literature, the production of northern regions, is imbued with a wild and romantic element strongly distinguished fi'om the 5 34 SCENEKYAND JIIND. severe simplicity of tlie classic soutli. This contivost has its counter- part, and much of its producing cause, in tlie characteristic scenery of its origin. In old Greece, the lovely climate had just A-icissitudes enougli to impress a happy variety on the experience and coinage of mind ; while their free institutions, and the deep wisdom of their phi- losophers, conduced towards the production of those imperishable monuments of grandeur and beauty before which the genius of humanity still reverently bends. But England, and the kindi-ed regions of Germany, have in theii- less favored climates a depth of gloom which is known to characterize the northern spirit, in which external nature is admirably harmonious with the intellectual struc- ture, by its influence thereupon eliciting the noblest eiforts. The literature of a country is truly national, just so far as it beare upon it the stamp of national character. Among the external causes which tend to create this exalted type of individuality, natural scenery and climate are undoubtedly the most ob^dous. The features of their native landscape give form and color to the thoughts and words of all creative minds. For instance, through the living speech, and over the speaking page of the Anglo-Saxon, and Anglo-American race, one can easily recognize the daily vicissitudes and fluctuating seasons, — those tints and hues of vernal beauty, summer promise, autumnal wealth, and wdntry desolation, — those dimly shrouding mists whit'li alternate with biilliant light, — and which render objects more lovely and harmonious to those who realize the iuAasible and perceive the spiritual, who unite all worlds in the comprehensive grasp of their imagination, and thus substantiate in effectiA-e use that which to otliers is only shadowy and remote. As is the scenery, so are national letters and works of art. We children of mists, clouds, woods, darkening tempests, and weeping rain, produce and prefer the beauty of mystery and indetiuiteness, in SCENERY AND MIND. 35 otlier words, romantic beauty. If we would cultivate a keeu pleasui'e iu definite beauty, as it is seen in Homeric literature, and as it stood mightily exemplified in the severely gorgeous splendor of tlie Acropo- lis, we must transport om- mind at least, if not our person, to otlier climes. There we may best emulate the consummate excellence which results from the coalescence of alacrity with depth, and which was most happily impressed upon the language Plato spoke, and in the symmetry which still survives in the fragmentary Propylsea and Olpnjjeiou. But if we would behold at once combined the definite beauty, shapely vastness, instantaneously recognised unity, and cheer- ful grandeur, most characteristic of the scenery, Uterature, and art of an immortal land, let us for a moment glance at the magnificent pano- rama, as seen from the lofty terrace through the golden-hued colon- nades of the Pai'thenon. Linger here a while till the eye becomes accustomed to the scene, and imagination is able to refit the mutilated forms, and you will easily understand the spirit of the old religion, and its consecrated works. " Tliere is no mixtm'e of light and shade, no half-conceahng, half-revealing, as in the symboHcal cathedi-als of the Christian faith. There are no rays of divine darkness running alongside of the rays of light, and sinking into the ground beneath the altar of the East. All is open to the unbounded blue ether above and the vertical rays of a noonday sun, and the trembling visitations of the unimpeded moonbeams, a very house of light, imstained by painted glass, imdarkened by vaulted roofs, unintercepted by columns and arcades, and with the iastantaneous perception of unity mimarred by the cruciform shape." Who can ever forget the electrical effect produced when first beholding the blue sky between the columns of a classic ruin ? The shape, the tallness, which makes the space seem narrow, the straight hard line Avhich renders the perfect contour so definite, all startle the eye with its firm and stable symmetry, even 36 SCENEKTAND MIND. after one has been long accustomed to tlie reverently swerving lines of a cathedral, and to the hold and trustful curve of the Gothic arch, throwing itself from pillar to pillar, with its segmental circle, like the unfolding of Christian truth here below, whose perfect whole is in heaven. The mental creations of central Europe, and the still more roman- tic regions of the noi'th, are equally characterized by an indefiniteness exactly comporting with the asj^ects and temperature of the material kingdoms ai'ound. The human soul, thirsting after unmensity, immu- tabihty, and imbounded duration, needs some tangible object from which to take its flight, — some point whence to soar from the present into the futm-e, from the hmited to the iafinite, — and is hkely to be most vigorous in its capacity and productions where such fecUities most abound. Mere space, contemplated under the dome of heaven, prostrates, rather than sustaias, the mind ; but Alpine heights, seen at a glance where earth and sky mingle, constitute the quickening and fortifying regions where mundane understanding and celestial imagi- nation most happily blend in the suggestion of thoughts such as com- mon language never expressed. Deep caverns, contracted lakes, pro- jecting crags, impending avalanches, and ghttering pinnacles, which rise in serene majesty till they are lost in mist and cloud, rolling over their summits like the waves of ocean, realize pi'os])ects which seem to conduct the coutemplator from this to another world. The magnifi- cence thus poured on the mind natm-ally imbues its faculties, and will be reproduced in hving speech, or for ever glow from a graphic pen. The sohtude seems holy where every grand feature constitutes a hymn, and a sublime melancholy impresses itself ujion the thoughtful soul. Northern legends and a])])ariti(^ns jiai'take nuich more of the spiiitual and infinite than did the s^lvan deities and senii-linnian S C E N E It Y A N D MIND. 37 mythology of tlie classic South ; and modern romance, with its pre- vailing gloom and indefinite character, is much more appalling than the sunny and social personifications which antiquity produced. The natm-al phenomena which abound in a wild, uncultivated country, powerfully conspire to create the illusions of fancy which so much modify reason's severest works. The preternatural appearances com- monly said to occur in the German mountains and Scottish highlands, whose lofty summits and unreclaimed valleys are shrouded with tem- pestuous clouds, may be exjalained on the same philosophical princi^^le, whence the most potent local inspiration is derived. That which is strongly felt, is not only easily seen, but as easily believed ; and an appetite for the marvellous, constantly excited, is made keen to detect and multiply visions and prognostics, until each heath or glen has its unearthly visitants, each family its omen, each hut its boding spectre, and superstition, systematized into a science, is expounded by wizards and gifted seers. The character of a primitive mythology, mingling more or less with the best literature of a nation, is always intimately connected with that of the scenery and climate in which it arose. Thus the graceful Nymj)hs and Naiads of Greece ; the Peris of Persia, gay as the colors of the rainbow, and odorous as flowers ; the Fairies of England, who in aiiy circles " dance theii- ringlets to the whistling wind," have forms and functions delicate and beautiful, like the coun- tries in which they dwell ; while " the Elves, Bogles, Brownies, and Kelpies, which seem to have legitimately descended, in ancient High- land verse, from the ScandinaA-ian Dvergar, Nisser, tfec, are of a stunted and malignant aspect, and are celebrated for nothing better than maiming cattle, bewildering the benighted traveller, and conjuring out the souls of newborn infants." It is an occasion for special gratitude to God that there are yet wild spots and wildernesses left, unstained fountains and virgin hills, 38 SCENERYAND MIND. wliere avarice has little dominion, and whence thought may take the widest range. These exercise analogous power over the popular miud, furnish the purest stimulus to noble exertion, and have ever developed the strongest patriotism, inteusest energy", and most valuable letters of the world. So far as we can derive capacities from inanimate things, and be impelled T)y the activities which depend on place, mountains, moors, forests and i-ocky shores, are the locahties most favorable for vigorous and prolific life. The language we speak, and the glorious hteratm-e it has preserved, are the accumulated products and historical proof of this. When the Saxons were called in as friends and alhes by the Romanized Britons, they assembled in great numbers with their king Hengist, during the fifth and sixth centuries of the Chiistiau era, and Englaud continued to be peopled by them. But instead of fi'iends they soon became masters, and the ancient inhabitants, the Britons, disappeared; after which, the Saxon tongue, laws, government, and manners soon overspread the laud ; so that it may literally be said, " the British constitution came out of the woods of Germany." The real and ideal are most closely allied in the grandest creations of nature and the finest conceptions of miuel. Although hoary clifis and soaring heights are among the most palpable facts of earth, it is on them that we always seem to be most in the domain of fancj". It is impossible to overstate oui- indebtedness to those gigantic distm'ban- ces of the solid globe, by which mountains, with all theu- accompani- ments of wild and rugged features, were upheaved, and substituted, in bold and i)ictures(pie beauty, for dead level plains. Without this contrast of expressive objects, earth would liave told out little of those sublime truths, of which now every hill is a prophet, every stone a book. The ancients frequently erected temples and statues to the genius of the place; and these were often in retired localities, like lero, the saci-ed city of yEscula|iins, (>ceu]iying a inountain-hollnw, the S C E N E K Y A N D MIND. 39 most secluded in Greece. According to Pliuy, his countrpiieu, too, felt that Minerva, as well as Diana, inhabits the forests. Among the woods of Etruria, the great lawgiver and ruler to whom Home was under greater obligations than to Romulus, sought refuge from the cares that attended the government of a tm'bulent but growing nation, and was the first pagan sovereign ever inspii'ed to erect a fane to Peace and Faith. Akenside finely alludes to the sacred awe, with which the wilderness and hidden dells, stretching along the acclivities of a high mountain, are contemplated by persons of refined imagination : " Mark the sable -n-oods, That shade sublime yon mountiiin's nodding brow. With what religious awe the solemn scene Commands yoiu' steps ! as if the reverend form Of Minos, or of Numa, should foreake Th' Elysian seats ; and down the embowering glade Move to yom- pausing eye." "WHien we meditate in plains, the globe appears youthful and imbecile ; among crags and mountains, it exhibits energy and the gravity of age. AIL primitive aspects indicate a deep solemnity, and generate invincible power. We feel the spirit of the universe upon us, and are not surprised that when the shepherd in Vii-gil sought Love, he found him a native of the rocks. Traces of the di\anity most abound in localities apart from throng-s of mankind, where one can best establish the equilibrium of the soul by that of solitude, feel- ing a life on the surface of things and eternity in their depths. Natm"e sheds much of a supernatural influence around the superior souls, con- stituted in harmony -^Hth herself Physical elements become plastic in the hands of such, and receive an impression not less brilliant than 40 S C E N E R Y A N D MIND. euduriiig. Tlieir miud is made to act as a prism, under wliose influence the simplest elements assume tLe most exquisite combination of hues ; and thus inanimate kingdoms and artificial lessons are converted into golden visions of thought and feeling. Form, color, light and shade are attendant handmaids, ever ready to impart a graceful and peren- nial utterance to the sublimest conceptions, and adorn rugged strength with charms more real and captivating than that of words. This is as often verified in art as in literature. Hogarth began life a silver-engraver. Chantry a wood-carver, and Raeburn a goldsmith ; but ruled by the love fed in early intercourse with nature, theii' com'se was changed, and each was matm-ed in his pecuhar department of excellence. Eomney, when but a child, studied coloring before the rainbow, the purple perspective and gleaming lake ; he took his fii'st lessons in composition through wild woods, fruitful valleys, and over the loftiest mountains within reach. Mortimer with strongest impulse studied the sea, chafed and foaming, fit " to swallow navigation uj")," with ships driven before tempests, or strown in ruin. These, passion- ately seen and felt, gave him a skilful artistic hand. Richard Cosway was first kindled with a love for j^ainting by a chance glance at two ])icturesque works from Rubens, at Tiverton ; and a beautiful piece of Avood is still shown in Suffolk, where the ancient trees, winding glades, and sunny nooks, inspired Gainsborough with the love of art. Thence he emerged the first landscape painter of his age. A few prints, illus- trative of INIichael Angelo's genius, found in his fether's library, and conned beneath gnarled oaks, made the enthusiastic FusiH a master in his way ; and a perusal of " The Jesuit's Perspective," when only eight years old, led an observant youth into the open fields, and ])re])ared the way for Sir Joshua Reynolds to become the highest model and most elegant teacher of British art. It is well known that Salvator Rosa once resided with a band of robl)ers, and that tlie iiii})ressions SOEKERYAND MIND. 41 received from tlie rocks, caves, dens, and momitains tljey iuhaliited, gave a decided tone and direction to his taste. His original bent M-as tlius so strongly developed, that he loved rather to stand on the ruins of nature, than to admire her soft and beautifid condjinations ; hence his imagination became daring and impetuous, his pencil rugged and sublime, from prolific sources armed to throw a savage grandeur over all his -works. Claude Lorraiu, on the contrary, spent his hapj^iest days in sunny scenes, where the earth was enamelled with flowers, and heaven's mild radiance beamed perpetually on his brow. He early learned to mix a pallet of colors from every realm of beauty, and all his pictures teem with loveliness and peace. In a fine picture, as in a favorite l)ook, it is easy to identify what we behold with the life of the author ; and probably we shall trace his first impressions in the peculiarity of his style, as well as in the general tenor of his thoughts. Milton found his most genial inspira- tion amidst the embowered lawns of Valloml)rosa ; Gray was pei'ma- nently benefited by the solitude of the Chartreuse ; and Johnson never rose higher in refined sentiment, than on the sea-beaten rock of lona. To the great bard of Paradise Lost, natm'e ever imparted a clear and steady light, shining brightly through the storms of tumul- tuous life, and kindling up, when aU else was dark, a lustre worthy of Eden in its first bloom. Shakspeare possessed the most intense fond- ness for natural beauty, and displayed it in all his works. " Images of rural scenes are for ever floating on his mind, and there Ls scarce an object, from the lofty mountain to the sequestered valley, from the dark tempest to the gray dawn and placid moonlight, from di-eary winter to warm and fragrant spring, that he has not depicted ; gentle aii's, and mm-muring rUls, and sequestered groves, are features as prominent in his dramas, as the beings that haunt them ; the vo\\-s of love become indeed silver soft as they are whis]iered bv night 42 SCENERY AND MIND. among pomegranate groves ; life is more sweet among trees, and stones, and running brooks, afar fi-om public haunts ; the gentle boy sleeps more fitly among embowering woods, watched by fairy forms, and sung to rest by the du-ge of affection." Like Milton, Shakspeare seems to have dwelt with sincerest pleasure on the peaceful images of rural hfe, and no one familiar Avith his history and thoughts can be surprised that, as soon as he was enabled to escape from the artificial- ness of metropolitan hfe, he hastened to spend the evening of his existence among the fpiiet hills and vales where in careless youth he had wandered, gathering mnumerable germs of the richest and most magnificent thoughts. Sir Walter Scott's great art lay in exact de- scriptions of nature and of character, a facility attained by the con- stant ])ursuit of some piece of striking scenery, or in Avatching the spontaneous exhibition of unsophisticated character. Fancy was re- sorted to only for filling wp the interstices, or supjjlyiug vacancies in the originals Avhich nature furnished. In youth, he read IIool's Tasso and Percy's Eehques of ancient poetry, beneath a huge platauus tree, within the ruins of an old arbor near Kelso, the most beautiful and romantic \Tllage in Scotland. In fidl view lay the Tweed and the TeAdot, both famous rivers, the ancient castles of Roxburgh and a ruined abbey, with the modern mansion of Fleurs, a landscape so situated as to coml)ine the ideas of ancient baronial splendor with those of modern taste. These were \4AHdly associated with the grand features of the scene around the young ol)server ; and the histoiical iucidents, or traditional legends connected Avith them, gave to his im- passioned soul an intense reverence for ancient ruins and chivalrous entei'piise. Thenceforth his faculties were all awake, and Htted tor tlicir work ; giving to every field its battle, and to every rivulet its song. A true man's productions everywhere are the ty])es ot Ins mind, and ti\ral tlic st-enes and circumstances of his earlv trannng. SCENERY AND MIND. 43 Edimiiid Burke grew up encompassed by tlie gorgeous scenery around the castle of Kileobuau ; and his great living successor in Parliament, Shell,* gathei'ed the best energies of his eloquence near the fine woods of Faithley, and the noble seat of the Bolton family, when the sullen roar of the ocean used to come over the hills to greet his youth, under the shadow of Dimbrody Abbey in ruins, whei'e the Nore and the Barrow met in a deep and splendid conflux with his native Suir. The minds of these great men were the ti'anscripts of the first scenes they loved ; and it is most pertinent to this theme to remind the reader that one, perhaps greater than they, the master statesman and orator of his age, was cradled in the rugged bosom of Alpine New Hamp- shire, where all is cool, colossal, sublime. On a flowery morning of spring, or in the stillness of a clear au- tumnal night, — ^in summer fruitfulness or wintry desolation, — we feel, if we do not hear, the rusliing of that stream of life, which from Orion flows down to the very heart of earth. Hence the declaration of Bui'us, — " There is scarcely any earthly object gives me more — I do not know how I should call it 'pleasure — but something which exalts me — something which enraptures me — than to walk in the sheltered side of the wood, or high plantation, in a cloudy winter-day, and hear the stormy wind howling among the trees, and roaring over the plain. It is my best season for devotion." Campbell, too, coiuled the heath-clad wilderness — " bleak — lifeless — and broken into numberless glens — strewn with rocks — and scantily clothed with copse-wood ; from the dusky covert of which he could observe the wUd deer darting forth at intervals and again vanishing in a deejier and more distant shade. Bold rocks, fringed with wild flowers, rising in huge and often grotesque masses through the purple heath ; streams and toi'i'ents * Wiile these sheets .oi'e passuig tbi-ougli the press, news is received of the death of this eminent iiiau. 44 S C E N E R Y A N B MIND. \\iii(liiiL;' pciicctull}- througli tlie deep grassy glens, or dasliiug, in clouds of spray, over some rugged precipice ; the slirill })ipe of the curlew — the blithe carol of the lark over head — the bleating of the goats from the stee]i pastoral acclivities — the scream of the eagle from his eyiie in the rocks f — these were the sights and sounds which enlivened his rambles and supplied his -woi-tli. The youth of Byron ^-as spent mainly on the sea-shore, the heaths, and the hills, of the Doric north ; and when more secluded in Newstead Abbey, the recollections of childhood moulded his first song. " Wlieii I roved, a 3'oung liighlalider, o'er tlie dark heath, And dimL'd thy steep summit, O Morven ! of snow ; To gaze on the torrent that tliuuder'd beucatli, Or the mist of the tempest that gathcrVl below." (iladsoiiie wanderings in the sunshine among the hills, enlivened by melodious waters and the song of birds, the changeful aspects of fields and woods, gleamings of the far-ofi:' sea, and mountains piercing through clouds a pathway to the skies, — this is the pai'ailise of all minds iiobl}' endowed, and not yet entirely debased. It is when thus environed and exercised that lofty impulses are kindled in genial blood. Thus was felt and expressed the grandeur, beauty, pathos, dazzling light and freezing gloom which mingled in the memories of Childe 1 Ian lid. lie had profoundly experienced the truth that, " To sit on rocks, to miisc o'or flood and fi'll, 'I'd slowly trae<> the forest's shady scene, WliiTc things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath nc'i'r or rar.-ly been; To climb the trackless nmuiitain all unseen. With the wild flock that ne\er needs a fold; Alone o'er stee]is and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold Coiiveisc with Nature's charm-;, and view her stores unroH'd." SCENERY AND MIND. 45 We liave purposely avoided copious reference to American scenery, artists and authors, as corroborative of tlie positions assumed in the foregoing disquisition. "We know something of the pictorial illustrations so admirably executed for this work, and would gladly allude to the diversified aspects characteristic of art, literature, and scenery in our land. But that department has been assigned to other and abler pens. Our specific task will conclude with a remark or two on the relation which nature sustains to religion, as au auxiliary in the highest cultm-e of mmd. What scene is more simple, or more subhme, than the vast solitude of untainted nature, cast in a fresh yet giant mould, a silent and mighty temple of the great God, wherein the pure spirit of love reigns and smiles over all ? Pilgrimages were made to the oalcs of Mamre, near Hebron, from the time of Abraham to that of Constautine ; and the nations sm-rounding the divinely favored tribes conspired to attach the idea of veneration to rivers and fountains, and were accustomed not only to dedicate trees and groves to their deities, but ever to sacrifice on high mountains : customs which were practised by the Jews them- selves, pre\'ious to the building of Solomon's temple. The beginning of wisdom was among the wilds of Asia, and it was there that the God of nature implanted grand ideas in the minds of shepherds meditating on those antique plains and heights, teaching them to wonder and adore. As the loftiest mountains are sm-mounted with unsullied snow, so the purest sentiments crowned their exalted souls, and for ever ren- dered them the chief source of fertilizing streams to all lands, through every region of thought. A little child standing under the heaven bright with stars, once asked its mother, — ^" Dear mother, are those yonder the open places, which the glory of God shines through ? " Those were the old heavens which infancy admu'ed, and they yet proclaim the glory of theu- 46 SCENERY AND MIND. Maker to tlie most matured. The lilUs, the vales, and the ocean, have never grown old, but still have wonders as imiumeraLle as they are lastmg. Not a realm of nature is unfolded to our gaze that does not teem with beauties and sublimities bearing an antiquity more ancient than the pvramids. The evening breeze is yet redolent of the balm shfd over Canaan, when Isaac went forth to meditate. Ziou's hill has survived its temple, and lifts its sacred brow to the same sun that shone U2:)0u Thermopylae, and is swept liy the same wind which laid the armaments of Xerxes low. The rainbow we to-day admire, is the same that was bent near the portal of the Ark ; and the mighty rivers of America bear with their billows a murmur kindred to the Nile, as it moved the bulrushes of Egypt in which the child Moses nestled, watched over Ijy the sisterly' love of jNIiriam. To holy men of the earlier times, the exterior and interior life were brought into perfect harmony, so as to produce that expansion of heart which is the real cause that makes rural existence so dehghtfid to men of good will : for so sweet is it to them, that " they whose vei-se of yore the golden age recorded, and its bliss on the Parnassian moun- tain," seem to have foreseen it in Arcadian di'eams. They loved clear waters, aspiring hills, with all the countless forms and tones which each returning spring rejiroduced more fair than ever to theu' growing appreciation. Nature prompted pui'ifyiug tears in theii" eyes, that they might trace the goodness of their God in these his lower works, wondering not that tlie Samai'itan woman should have recognized and confessed the jNIessiah at the fountain, whom Jewish sages knew not in the temple. The fields and level shores were by them connected with religious mysteries ; for, Jesus standing T)y the lake of Genesareth wlicu tlic iinillitu(h' })ressed upon him, the two boats afloat and the occuj)ation of the fishermen, together with the walk through the corn with the disciples on the Sabbatli, wei'e designed to make such an SCENERY AND MIND. 4*7 impression, that one should never enjoy the beauties of nature, or the recreations of a country life, without being reminded of the blessed Redeemer. But mountains are esjDecially associated with religion thi'ough the remembrance of that mount whose name has given a universal fame to the jiale verdure of the olive, from that of Tabor, and Sinai, and Ephraim, which fed the holy Samuel. We read in the Iliad that Hector sacrificed on the top of Ida; and the summits of mountains were ever selected, not only Ijy the Greeks, but by nations taught direct from heaven, as the most appropriate situations whereon their altars should stand. It was on mountains that the only true God manifested himself to the Hebrews of old, and it was on them that the tremendous mysteiies of redemption were accomplished. Connected with these grand objects, and in no small measure by them insjiired, was the mighty energy which sent the apostle Paul to Mars Hill, preaching Jesus and the resurrection ; and long afterwards, in a feebler degree, impelled Edward Ir\-ing to roll " the rich thunders of his awful voice," where mute thousands stood enraptured amid the glories of the Frith of Forth. Persons accustomed to ex]:)loi'e the ruins of religious houses in Eng- land, and the scenery peculiar to each, ^vill often be struck with the fact that the several orders consulted their highest happiness, as well as greatest good, in fixing the site of their respective foundations. Evidently, mere convenience, or I'etu-ement, was not their chief aim ; they felt that spiritual culture would be most auspicious, where natural charms most abound. They believed that in the shrines which Jeho- vah had adorned with the clearest impress of his own attributes, and in Mhich he had bidden nature coutriljute her richest gifts, — the glittering gems of her mineral stores, the faii-est folds of her tinted di-apery, the delicate tracery of her interlacuig boughs, the incense of her breathing flowers, the music of her gentlest zephyrs, her sighing 48 SCENERY AND MINI). foliage, cliautiug liirds, and gliding waters, — they also eonld most suitably offer adoration. Quiet nooks, sliut in by the curving river, as Kirkstall ; i-ock\- banks, encompassed Avlth verdant foliage, as Foun- tains ; umbrageous and sequestered sea-coasts, as Netley ; green plots of smooth sward, traversed by some wUd, romantic stream, as Tiutern ; cool and solitary valleys, as Furness ; lovely shores, where the swift brook sjiarkles and bounds to the deep, as Beaulieu ;■ — such were the homes the early Christians loved. And they had their reward. Their persons, their names, and the distinguishing features of theu- creeds, trae and false, have mainly passed away, but the scenes of their earthly devotions are treasured by all the good. Still we visit their ruins, to mourn over their departed glories ; " and still they live in fame, though not in life." We may not adopt the theology of those devout build- ers, 1)ut it would be well for us to emulate their taste, knowing that wliile all subliuiaiy things are transient, "a thing of beauty is a joy for ever ! " The enthusiastic painter, Gainsborough, exclaimed (Jii his death- Ijed, — " "VYe are all going to heaven, and Vand}ke will be of the party." May the reader be imbued with something more di\Tiie than mei-e taste, that he may survive anguish or ecstasy in the energies of faith ; and, soaring amid the infinite glories of the universe, at each remove imbil)ing majestic charms of every hue and form, may he for ever realize the high significancy of our tlieme,— Scenery and Mind. \y A^ZjZ^. (/t^/t. ^^<^ VIEW NEAR RONDOUT. (HUNTINGTON.) TiiE \dllage of Rondout, founded in 1808, by tlie Delaware and Hudson Canal Company, is situated near the Walkill Creek on the Hudson, about ninety miles above the city of New- York, and two miles distant from Eddyville, where that Canal terminates. In the effective and mellow little pictm-e from which om- engrav- ing is taken, Mr. Huntington has pleasiagly represented a secluded aad romantic nook on the creek, near its entrance to the Hudson. In the background is a glimpse of the Catskill mountains. The picture is one of a paii" belonging to Gen. John A. Dix, and is one of the happiest efforts of the aitLst in this department, especially in its coloring. AMERICAN AND EUROPEAN SCENERY COMPARED. BY J. FENIMORE COOPER. EvEBT intellectual being has a longing to see distant lauds. We desire to ascertain, hj actual observation, tlie peculiarities of nations, the dififerences wMcli exist between the stranger and ourselves, and as it might be all that lies beyond our daily experience. This feeling seems implanted in our nature, and few who possess the means of doing so fail to gratify it. Every day increases the amount of the intercourse between the people of different countries, and the happiest results may be anticipated from this fusion of nations and the hu- manizing influences which are its consequences. Those, however, who are forbidden by circumstances to extend their personal observations beyond the hmits of their own homes, must be content to derive their information on such subjects from the pen, the pencil, and the graver. We understand it to be the design of this work to aid in impart- ing a poi-tion of the intelligence, necessary to appease these cra\Tngs of our nature, and to equahze, as it might be, the knowledge of men and things. Our own task is very simple. It will be confined to 52 AMERICAN AND EUROPEAN SCENERY. allowing some of tlie leatliug peculiarities of tlie scenery of various nations, and to direct the attention of tlie reader to the minor cii'cmn- stauces Avhich give character to the landscape, Init wliich are seldom alluded to by the writers of graver works. The great distinction between American and European scenery, as a whole, is to be found in the greater want of finish in the former than in the latter, and to the greater supei-fluity of works of art in the old world than in the new. Natm-e has certainly made some dif- ferences, though there are large portions of continental Em-ope that, without their artificial accessories, might well pass for districts in our own region ; and ^\hich forcibly remind the traveller of his native home. As a whole, it must be admitted that Europe otters to the senses sublimer \aews and certainly grander, than are to be found within our own borders, unless we resort to the Rocky Mountains, and the ranges in California and New Mexico. In musing on these subjects, the mind of the imtravelled American naturally turns first towards England. He has pictured to himself landscapes and scenery on which are impressed the teeming history of the past. We shall endeavor to point out the leading distinc- tions between the scenery of England and that of America, therefore, iis the course that will i)robably be most acceptable to the reader. The pi'evalent characteristic of the English landscape is its air of snugness and comfort. In these respects it difl:ei's cntii'ely from its neighbor, France. The English, no doubt, have a great deal of poverty and squalid misery among them. But it is kept surpris- ingly out of the ordinary A-iew. Most of it, indeed, is to be found in the towns, and even in them it is concealed in out of tlie ^\:\y places and streets seldom entered by the stranger. Tliere are places in America, more especially in tlie vicinities of the lartfc towns, tliat have a strong reseiuhlaiiee to the more crowded AMERICAN AND EUROPEAN SCENERY. 53i portions of Eugland, though the hedge is usually wanting and the stone wall is more in favor among ourselves than it appears ever to have been among our ancestors. The great abundance of wood, in this country, too, gives us the rail and the board for our fences, olyects which the lovers of the picturesque would gladly see supplanted by the l)rier and the thorn. All that part of Staten Island, which lies nearest to the quarantine ground, has a marked resemblance to what we should term suburban English landscape. The neighborhoods of most of the old towns ia the northern States, have more or less of the same character ; it Ijeing natural that the descendants of Englishmen should have preserved as many of the usages of their forefathers as was practicable. We know of no portion of this country that bears any marked resemblance to the prevalent charactei-istics of an ordi- nary French landscape. In France there are two great distinctive features that seem to divide the materials of the views between them. One is that of a bald nakedness of fomial grandes routes^ systematically lined with trees, a total absence of farm-houses, fences, hedges, and walls, little or no forest, except in particular places, scarcely any pieces of detached woods, and a husbandry that is remarkable for its stiffiiess and formality. The fields of a French acclivity, when the grain is rijie, or ripening, have a strong resemblance to an ordinary Manchester pattern-card, in which the different cloths, varying in color, are placed under the eye at one glance. Tlie effect of this is not j^leasiug. The lines being straight and the fields exhibiting none of the freedom of natm-e. Stifliiess and formality, indeed, imj^au- the beauty of niue- tenths of the French landscapes ; though as a whole the country is considered fine, and is certainly very productive. The other distinc- tive feature to which we aUude is of a directly contrary character, being remarkable for the aflliience of its objects. It often occurs in that country that the traveller finds himself on a height that com- 54 AMERICAN AND EUROPEAN SCENERY. mauds a view of great extent, wMcli is literally covered -vvitli hourgs or .small towns and villages. This occurs particularly in Normandy, in the vicinity of Paris, and jus one approaches the Loire. In such places it Ls no miusnal thing for the eye to embrace, as it might be in a single view, some forty or fifty cold, grave-looking, chiselled lourgs and villages, almost invarialily erected in stone. The eft'ect is not un- pleasant, for the sulxlued color of the buildings has a tendency to soften the landscape and to render the Avhole solemn and imposing. We can recall many of these scenes that have left indehl)le impres- sions on the mind, and which, if not positively beautiful in a rural sense, are very remarkable. That from the heights of Montmorenci, near Paris, is one of them ; and there is another, from the hill of St. Catharine, near Eouen, that is quite as exti*aordinaiy. The greater natural freedom that exists in an ordinary American landscape, and the abundance of detached fragments of wood, often render the ^aews of this country strikingly beautiful when they are of sufficient extent to conceal the want of finish in the details, which require time and long-continued labor to accomplish. In this par- ticvdar we conceive that the older portions of the United States ofter to the eye a general outline of \dew that may well claim to be even of a higher cast, than most of the sceneiy of the old world. There is one great charm, however, that it must be confessed is nearly wanting among us. A^^c allude to the coast. Our own is, A\'ith scarcely an exce])tion, low, monotonous and tame. It wants Aljiine rocks, bold promontories, visilde heights inland, and all those other glorious accessories of the sort that render the coast of the Mediter- ranean the wonder of the world. It Ls usual for the American to dilate on the size of his bays and rivers, but ol)jects like these require corresponding elevation in the land. Admiralile as is the bay of New-York for tlic imrjwses of commerce, it holds but a very subor- AMERICAN AND EUROPEAN SCENERY. bb dinate place as a landscape among tlie other havens of the worhl. The comparison with Na])les that has so often been made, is singularly unjust, there not being two bays of any extent to be found, that are really less alike than these. It was never our good fortune to see Constantinople or Rio de Janeii'o, the two noblest and most remarka- ble scenes of this kind, as we have understood, known to the traveller. But we much question if either will endure the test of rigid and severe examination better than the celebrated Gulf of Napoli. The color of the water, alone, is a peculiar beauty of all the Mediterranean bays : it is the blue of the deep sea, carried home to the very rocks of the coast. In this respect, the shores of America, also, have less claim to beauty than those of Europe, generally. The waters are green, the certain sign of their' l:>eiug shallow. Similar tints prevail in the narrow seas between Holland and England. The name of Holland recalls a land, however, that is even lower than any portion of our own with which we are acquainted. There are large districts in Holland that are actually below the level of the high tides of the sea. This country is a proof how much time, civilization, and jDersevering industry, may add even to the interest of a landscape. While the tameness of the American coast has so little to relieve it or to give it character, in Holland it becomes the source of wonder and admiration. The sight of vast meadows, villages, farm-houses, churches, and other works of art, actually lying below the level of the adjacent canals, and the neighboring seas, wakes in the mind a species of reverence for human industry. This feeling becomes blended with the views, and it is scarcely possible to gaze upon a Dutch landscape without seeing, at the same time, ample pages from the history of the country and the character of its people. On this side of the ocean, there are no such peculiarities. Time, numbers, and labor are yet wanting to supply the defects of nature, and we must be content, for a while. r)6 AMEKICAN AND EUROPEAN SCENERY. ■witli tlie less teeming pictures drawn in our youtli and comparative simjilicity. On tlie American coast tlie prevailing character is less marked at the northward and eastward than at the southward. At some future day, the Everglades of Florida may have a certain resemblance to Holland. They are the lowest land, we beheve, in any part of this country. Taking into the account the climate and its productions, the adja- cent mountains, the most picturesque outlines of the lakes, and the works of art which embellish the whole, we think that most lovei-s of natural scenery would prefer that around the lakes of Como and Mag- giore to that of any other place familiarly knoTVTi to the traveller. Como is ordinarily conceived to carry off the palm in Em-ope, and it is not probable that the great mountains of the East or any part of the Andes, can assemble as many objects of grandeur, sweetness, mag- nificence and art, as are to be found in this region. Of course, our own country has nothing of the sort to comjjare with it. The Rocky Moimtains, and the other great ranges in the recent accession of terri- tory, must possess many no})le \'iews, especially as one proceeds south ; but the accessories are necessarily wanting, for a union of art and nature can alone render scenery perfect. In the way of the wild, the terrific, and the grand, nature is sufii- cient of herself ; but Niagara is scarcely more imposing than she is now rendered lovely by the works of man. It is true that this cele- brated cataract has a maiked sweetness of expression, if we may use such a term, that singulai'ly softens its magnificence, and now that men are becoming more famihar with its mysteries, and penetrating into its very mists, by means of a small steamboat, — the admirer of nature discovers a character dittei'cnt from that Avhieh first strikes the senses. We regard it as hypercritical to speak of the want of Alpine scenery AMERICAN AKD EUROPEAN SCENERY. 57 ai'ound Niagara, On what scale must the mountains be moulded to bear a just compai'ison, in this view of tlie matter, -^^-ith the grandeur of the cataract ! The Al^is, the Andes, and the Himmalaya, would scarcely suffice to furnish materials necessary to produce the contrast, on any measurement now known to the world. In fact the accessories, except as they are Ijlended with the Falls themselves, as in the T^'on- deiful o-oro-e throuofh which the river rushes in an almost fathomless torrent, as if frightened at its own terrific leap ; the "Whirlpool, and all that properly belongs to the stream, from the commencement of the Rapids, or, to be more exact, from the placid, lake-like scenery above these Eapids, down to the point where the waters of this mighty strait are poured into the bosom of the Ontario, strike us as being in singular liarmon}- with the views of the Cataract itself. The Amei'icans may well boast of their water-falls, and of theii" lakes, notwithstanding the admitted suj^eriority of upper Italy and Switzerland in coimection with the highest classes of the latter. They form objects of interest over a vast surface of teriitory, and greatly relieve the monotony of the inland views. We do not now allude to the five great lakes, which resemble seas and ofter very much the same assemblage of objects to the eye ; but to those of greatly inferior extent, that are sparkling over so much of the surface of the northern States. The east, and New-York in particular, abound in them, though farther west the lover of the picturesque must be content to receive the prairie in their stead. It would be a great mistake, however, to attemjjt to comjiare any of these lakes with the finest of the old woi'ld ; though many of them are very lovely and all contribute to embellish the scenery. Lake George itseK could not occupy more than a fourth or fifth position in a justly graduated scale of the lakes of Christendom ; though certainly very charming to the eye, and of singular variety in its aspects. In one particular, indeed, this lake has scarcely an equal. S 58 AMERICAN AND ELTROPEAN S C E N E K Y. We allude to its islands, wliicli are said to equal the number of tlie days in the year. Points, promontories, and headlands are scarcely ever substitutes for islands, wliicb add inexpressibly to the effect of all water-'sdews. It has been a question among the admirers of natm'al sceueiy, whether the presence or absence of detached farm-houses, of trees, of hedges, walls and fences, most contribute to the effect of any inland \aew. As these are the great points of distinction between the conti- nent of Euro]3e and our own country, we shall pause a moment to examine the subject a little more in detail. When the towns and villages are sufficiently numerous to catch the attention of tlie eye, and there are occasional fragments of forest in sight, one does not so much miss the absence of that appearance of comfort and animated beauty that the other style of embellishment so eminently possesses. A great deal, however, depends, as respects these particulars, on the nature of the architecture and the color of the buildings and fences. It is only in very particular places and under very dull lights, that the contrast between white and green is agreeaUe. A fence that looks as if it were covered Avith clotlies hung out to dry, does very little towai'ds aiding the picturesque. And he who endeavors to improve his taste in these particulars, will not fail to discover in time that a range of country which gives uj) its oljjects, chiselled and distinct, but sober, and somctiiues sonil)re, will eventually take stronger liold of his fancy than one that is glittering with the fruits of the paint and white- wash brushes. AVe are never dissatisfied Avith the natural tints of stone, for the mind i-cadily submits to the ordering of nature; and though one color may be preferred to another, each and all are accept- a>)le in their proper places. Tlius, a marble structure is expected to be white, and as sucli, if the l)uilding be of suitable dimensions and projioi'tlons, escapes our I'liticisins, on account of its richness and uses. AMERICAN AND EUROPEAN SCENERY. 59 Tlie same may 1)e said of other Imes, wlien not artificial ; l)ut we tMnk that most admirei's of nature, as they come to cultivate tlieir tastes, settle down into a preference for tlie gray and subdued over all tlie brighter tints that art can produce. In this particular, then, we give the preference to the effects of European scenery, over that of this country, where wood is so much used for the purposes of building, and where the fiishion has long been to color it with white. A better taste, however, or what we esteem as such, is beginning to prevail, and houses in towns and villages are now not unfrequently even painted in subdued colors. We regard the effect as an improvement, though to our taste no hue, in its artificial objects, so embellishes a landscape as the solemn color of the more sober, and less meretricious looking stones. "We believe that a structure of white, with green blinds, is almost peculiar to this country. In the most pro25itious situations, and under the happiest cii'cumstauces, the colors are unquestional)ly unsuited to architectm-e, which, like statuaiy, should have Irat one tint. If, however, it be deemed essential to the flaunting tastes of the mistress of some mansion, to cause the hues of the edifice in which she resides to be as gay as her toilette, we earnestly jjrotest against the bright green that is occasionally introduced for such purposes. There is a graver tint, of the same color, that entirely changes the expression of a dwelling. Place two of these houses in close proximity, and scarcely an intellec- tual being would pass them, without sapng that the owner of the one was much superior to the owner of the other in all that marks the civilized man. Put a third structure in the immediate vicinity of these two, that should have but one color on its surface, including its blinds, and we think that nine persons in ten, except the very vulgar and uniustructed, would at once jump to the conclusion that the owner of tliis habitation was in tastes and refinement superior to both his 60 A M E K I C A N A X D E U E O T E A N S C E N E U V. neiglibors. A great improvement, however, in rural as well as in town architecture, is now in the course of introduction throughout all the northern States. More attention is paid to the picturesque than was formerly the case, and the effects are becoming as numerous as they are pleasmg. We should particularize New Haven, as one of those towns that has been thus embellished of late years, and there are other places, of neai'ly equal size, that might be mentioned as ha\ang the same claims to an improved taste. But to return to the great distinctive features between an ordinary American landscape and a similar scene in Europe. Of the artificial accessories it is scarcely necessary to say any more. One does not ex]iect to meet with a ruined castle or abbey, or even fortress, in America ; nor, on the other hand, does the traveller look for the forests of America, or that abun- dance of wood, which gives to nearly every farm a sufficiency for all the common wants of life, on the plains and heights of the old A^'orld. Wood there certainly is, and possibly enough to meet the ordinary wants of the different countries, but it is generally in the hands of the governments or the great proprietors, and takes the aspect of forests of greater or less size, that are well cared for, cleared and trimmed like the grounds of a park. Germany has, we think, in some respects a strong reseml>lance to the \'iews of America. It is not so much wanting in detached copses and smaller plantations of trees as the countries farther south and east of it, while it has less of the naked aspect in general that is so I'emark- able in France. Detached buildings occur more frequently in Germany than in France especially, and we might add also in S])ain. The reader will rememl)er that it is a })i'eval('nt usage throughout Europe, Avith the exception of the British Islands, Holland, and here and there a province in other countries, for the rural jjopulation to dwell in villages. This practice gives to the German landscajx', iu particular, a AMERICAN AND EIJEOPEAN SCENERY. Gl species of reseiublaiioe to what is ordinarily termed park scenery, tlioiigli it is necessarily wanting in inucli of that expression whicli characterizes the embellishments that properly belong to the latter. With us this resemblance is often even stronger, in consequence of the careless graces of nature and the great affluence of detached woods ; the distinguishing features existing in the farm-house, fences and out- buildings. Of a cloudy day, a distant view in America often bears this likeness to the park, in a very marked degree, for then the graces of the scene are visible to the eye, while the defects of the details are too remote to be detected. The mountain scenery of the United States, though wanting in grandeur, and in that wild sublimity which ordinarily belongs to a granite formation, is not without attractions that are singularly its own. The great abundance of forest, the arable qualities of the soil, and the peculiar blending of what may be termed the agricultural and the savage, unite to produce landscapes of extraordinary beauty and grace. Vast regions of country possessing this character are to be found in almost all the old States, for after quitting the coast for a greater or less distance, varying from one to two hundred miles, the ranges of the Alleghanies interpose between the monotonous districts of the Atlantic shores and the great plains of the west. We are of opinion that as civilization advances, and the husbandman has l^rought his lands to the highest state of cultivation, there will be a line of mountain scenery extending from Maine to Georgia, in a north and south direction, and possessing a general width of from one to two hundred miles, from east to west, that will scarcely have a parallel in any other quarter of the world, in those sylvan upland landscapes, which, while they are wanting in the sublimity of the Alpine regions, share so largely in the striking and effective. It is usual for the American to boast of his rivers, not only for G2 AMEKICAN AND EUROPEAN SCENERY. their size and usefulness, Lut for tlieii* beauties. A thousand streams, that in ohler regions would have been rendered memorable, ages since, l)y the poet, the painter, ai't in every form, and the events of a teeming history, flow within the Hmits of the United States still unsung, and nearly unknown. As yet, something is ordinarily wanting, in the way of finish, along the banks of these inferior water-courses. But occasion- ally, in places where art has, as it might Tie, accidentally assisted nature, they come into the landscape with the most pleasing influence on its charms. In this respect, the peculiarity of the country is rather in a want of uniformity than in any want of material. To us, it would seem that all the northern States of America, at least, are far better watered than common, and that consequently they possess more of this species of beauty. As for the great streams, the largest, perhaps, have the least claims to high character in this I'espect in both the old and the new world. The Rhine is an exception, however, for it would be dithcult to find another river of equal length and with the same flow of water, that possesses the same diversity of character or one so peculiar. At its source it descends from the high glaciers of the Alps a number of brawling brooks, which forcing their way through the upper valleys, unite below in a straggling, rapid, l;)ut shallow stream, that finds its way into the lake of Constance, out of which it issues a compact, rajiid river, imposing Ijy its volume of water, I'ather tlian l>y its breadth, or any other advantage. Its cataracts, so celebra- ted in the old world, can scarcely claim to l)e the equal of the Cohoes, or many others of the secondary falls of this country, though the Rhine has always an abundance of water, whicli the Mohawk has not. On ([uitting Switzci'land, this remarkable stream assumes many aspects, and decorates, lieyond a doubt, as much landscape scenery as falls to tlie share of any other stream in the known world. "We do not think it, li<)\\i'\( r, in its best parts, e(pial to the Hudson in its wliole length. AMERICAN AND ETIKOPEAN SCENERY. G3 tliougli the cliaracters of tliese two rivers are so very difi'ereut as scarcely to admit of a fair comparison. PerhajDS tlie most remarkalole feature of tlie Eliiue is its termination, for after embelllsliiug and serving tlie purposes of sucli an extent of country in the very heart of Eui'ope, it disappears, as it might be, in a uumlier of straggling, unin- teresting, turbid waters, among the marshes of Holland. This is a veiy difl'erent exit from that which characterizes the majestic flow of the Hudson to the Atlantic. England has no great livers to boast of, though she has a few of singular claims to notice, on account of the great flow of the tides and the vast amount of commerce that they bear on their bosom. Tlie Thames, so renowned in history, is as uninterestuig as possible, until it passes above the Ijridges of London, where it becomes an ordinarily pretty sylvan stream. The Seine, another river, familiar in name, at least, to every reader, has much higher claims than its neighbor of the British Islands, in the way of natm-al beauty. This stream, from Eouen to the Channel, is not without some very fine scenery, as well as possessing a very vari- ant and interesting charactei', mth both natural and artificial accesso- ries, to say nothing of the historical, that di'aw largely on the atten- tion. Italy has many rivers that are celebrated in song or story, but not one, we think, that should rank high, on the ground of landscape beauty. Most of her streams are so dependent on the melting of the snows in the Apemiiues and Alps, as to Ije either brawling torrents, or meagre, straggling pools. The Amo, the Po, the Adige, the Tiber, and all the other livers of that peninsula, are ol^noxious to these objections. Even the Tiber, which is navigable as high as Rome, for vessels of a light draft, is either a tranquil thread, or one of those noisy, turbid streams that overfow theii- banks, and often appear at a loss to know in which direction to pour their waters. 04 AMERICAN AND EUROPEAN SCENERY. Tlie day is not distant, wlieu America must possess a vast extent of territory of a character directly the reverse of that we have described in our mountain scenery, but which, nevertheh^ss, will not l>e without a certain magnificence from its extent, productions, and fertility. We allude to the great plains of the "West ; those which lie between the bases of the AUeghanies and the semi-sterile steppes that are known in this part of the world as the great ])rairies. Lombardy, teeming as she is with population, \dnes, and all the productions of a fertile soil, in the possession of millions, sinks into insignificance before the vast })lains that are destined to be her rivals in this quarter of the woi'ld. Perliaps New- York, ah)ne, could furnish nearly as niucli of this charac- ter of country as is to l)e found in Upper Italy ; for, stretching from the shores of Ontario towards the southern ranges of uplands, and as far east as Utica, is spread to the eye a vast extent of the most fertile plain, slightly relieved in places with a rolling surface of very respecta- ble claims to natural beauty. We question if greater fertility is to be found in any part of the world, than is met with in the region last mentioned, though drainage and the other woi'ks of an advanced state of husbandly are still much wanting to bring foi'th both its fertility and its beauties. New- York, indeed, in the way of scenery, has very high claims to variety, gi-acefulness, and even grandeur, among the mountains of the counties bordering on Champlain. By grandeur, however, let there be no mistake, by receiving the term in any other than a linrited sense. Any well delineated view of a high-class Swiss scene, must at once convince even the most ju'ovincial mind among us that nothing vi' tlie sort is to Ije found in America, east of the llocky Mountains. Never- theless, the Adirondack has claims to a Avild grandeur, which, if it do not ajipi'oach magnificence, is of a cliaracter to impi-ess a region witli tlic sell lit' a \crv noble nature. The lovers of the i)ietiiresi|ue AMERICAN AND EUROPEAN SCENERY. 05 sustain a great loss by means of the numerous lines of railroads that have recently come into existence. This is true of both Europe and America. In the course of time, it will be found that every where a country presents its best face towards its thoroughfares. Every thing that depends on art, naturally takes this aspect, for men are as likely to put on their best appearance along a wayside in the country as on the streets of a town. All that has been done, therefore, in past ages, in these particulars, is being deranged and in some instances deformed by the necessity of preserving levels, and avoiding the more valuable portions of a country, in order to diminish expense. Thus villages and towns are no longer entered l)y their finest passages, producing the best effects ; but the traveller is apt to find his view limited by ranges of sheds, out-houses, and other deformities of that nature. Here and there, some work of art, compelled by necessity, furnishes a relief to this deformity. But on the whole, the recent system of railroads has as yet done very little towards adding much to the picturesque for the benefit of the traveller. Here and there is to be found an excep- tion, however, to this rule ; portions of the Erie railroad, and the whole of the Hudson River, as well as that along the Rhine, necessa- I'ily possessing the advantage of sharing in the sublimity and grace through which they pass. Time will, of course, remedy the defects of the whole arrangement ; and a new front will be presented, as it may be, to the traveller thi'oughout the civihzed world. Whether human ingenuity will yet succeed in inventing substitutes for the smoke and other unpleasant appHances of a railroad train, remains to be seen ; but we think few will be disposed to differ from us, when we say that in our view of the matter this great improvement of modern inter- course has done very httle towards the embellishment of a country in the way of landscapes. The graceful winding curvatures of the old highways, the acclivities and declivities, the copses, meadows and 9 66 AMERICAN AND EUItOrEAN SCENERY. woods, the lialf-liidden church, nestling among the leaves of its elms and pines, the neat and secluded hamlet, the farm-house, with all its comforts and sober arrangements, so disposed as to greet the eye of the passenger, will long he hopelessly looked for by him who flies through these scenes, which, like a picture placed in a false light, no longer reflects the genius and skill of the ai-tist. The old world enjoys an advantage as i-egards the picturef<(pie and pleasing, in connection with its towns, that is wholly unknown, unless it may be in the way of exception, among ourselves. The necessity, in the middle ages, of building for defence, and the want of artillery before the invention of gunpowder, contributed to the construction of military woi-ks for the protection of the towns of Europe, that still remain, owing to their durable materials, often producing some of the finest effects that the imagination could invent to embellish a picture. Nothing of the sort, of course, is to be met with here, for we have no castles, have never felt the necessity of fortified towns, and had no existence at the period when works of this nature came within the ordinary appliances of society. On the contrary, the utilitarian spu-it of the day labors to erase every inequality from the surface of the American town, substituting convenience for appearance. It is proba- ble there is no one who, in the end, would not give a preference to these new improvements for a permanent residence ; but it is not to be denied that so far as the landscape is concerned, the customs of the middle ages constructed much the most picturesque and striking col- lections of human habitations. Indeed, it is scai'cely possible for the mind to conceive of objects of this nature, that are thrown together with liner cH'ccts, tlian are to be met with among the mountainous regions, in particular, of Europe. We illustrate one or two that are to be met with in the Apennines, and the Alps, and even in (Jer- many, as proofs of what Ave say. The eye, of itself. Mill tcjich tlie A M V. i; I C A N AND E U R O P E A N SCENERY. 6*7 reader, that Riclimoud aud Boston, and Washington and Baltimore, and half-a-dozen other American towns that do possess more or less of an unequal surface, must yield the palm to those gloriously beautifid objects of the old world. When it is remembered, too, how much time has multiplied these last, it can be seen that there are large dis- tricts in the mountain regions of the other hemisphere, that enjoy this superiority over us, if superiority it can be called, to possess the picturesque, at the expense of the convenient. The imagination can scarcely equal the pictures of this nature that often meet the eye in the southern countries of Europe. Villages, with the chiselled outlines of castles, gray, sombre, but distinct, are often seen, perched on the summits of rocky heights, or adhering, as it might be, to their sides, ia situations that are frequently even appalling, and which invariably lend a character of peculiar beauty to the view. There are parts of Europe in which the traveller encountei'S these ol)jects in great num- bers, and if an American, they never fail to attract his attention, as the wigwam and the bark canoe, and the prairie with lines of l^isons, would catch the eye of a wayfarer from the old world. To these humbler mountain pictures, must be added many a castle and strong- hold of royal, or semi-royal origin, that are met with on the summits of abrupt and rocky eminences farther north. Germany has many of these strong-holds, which ai'C kejit up to the present day and which are found to be useful as places of security, as they are certainly pecu- liar and interesting ia the landscape. It has often been said by scientific writers, that this country affords many signs of an origin more recent than the surface of Europe. The proofs cited are the greater depths of the ravines, wrought by the action of the waters following the courses of the torrents, and the greater and general aspect of antiquity that is impressed on natural ob- jects in the other hemisphere. This theory, however, has met witli a 68 AMERICAN AND KUIIOPEAN SCENERY. distiiiguislied opponent in our own time. Witliout entering at all into tlie merits of tULs controversy, we shall admit that to the ordinary eye America generally is impressed with an air of freshness, youthfulness, and in many instances, to use a coarse but expressive term, rawness, that are seldom, if ever, met with in Europe. It might perhaps be easy to account for this by the labors of man, alone, though we think that natural objects contribute their full share towards deepening the picture. We know of no mountain summits on this side of the Atlan- tic that wear the hoary hues of hundreds that are seen on the other side of the water ; and nearly everywhere in this country that the eye rests on a niountain-to]), it encounters a rounded outline of no very decided tints, unless, indeed, it may actually encounter verdure. To our eye, this character of youthfulness is very strongly perceptilde throughout those portions of the republic with which we are per- sonally acquainted, and we say this witht)ut I'cference to the recent settlements, which necessarily partake qf this character, but to the oldest and most finished of our own landscapes. The banks of the Hudson, for instance, have not the impress of time as strongly marked on their heights and headlands, and bays, and even mountains, as tlie banks of the Rhine ; and we have often even fancied that this distinguishing feature between the old and new worlds is to be traced on nearly every object of nature or art. Doubtless the latter has l)een the principal agent in pi-uducing these effects ; but it is unde- nial)le that they form a leading point of distinction in the general charactei- of the scenery of the two continents. As for England, it has a shorn and shaven aspect that reminds one of the husbandman in his Sunday's attires ; for \\e ha^'e seen that island in February, when, owing to tlie great quantity of its grain and the prevalent humidity of the atiii()s])hcre, it really appeared to us to possess more verdure than it dill ill the subsequent July and August. AiMEKICAN AND EUKOl'EAN SCENERY. (j'J Tliere is one feature in European scenery, generally, more pi-eva- lent, however, in Catholic than in other countries, to which we must allude before we close. The bourg, or town, with its gray castellated outhnes, and possilily with walls of the middle ages, is, almost invaria- bly, clustered around the high, pointed roofs and solemn towers of the church. AVitli us, how different is the effect ! Half a dozen ill-shaped, and yet pretending cupolas, and other ambitious objects, half the time in painted wood, just peer above the viEage, while the most aspiring roof is almost invariably that of the tavern. It may be easy enough to account for this difference, and to offer a sufficient apology for its existence. But to the observant lover of the picturesque the effect is not only unpleasant but often repulsive. No one of ordinary liberality would wish to interfere with freedom of conscience, in order to obtain ftne landscapes ; but this ls one of the hundred instances in which the thoughtful man finds reason to regret that the church, as it exists among us, is not really more Cathohc. To conclude, we concede to Europe much the noblest scenery, in its Alps, Pyi'enees, and Apennines ; in its objects of art, as a matter of course ; in all those effects which depend on time and association, in its monuments, and in this impress of the past which may be said to be reflected in its countenance ; while we claim for America the freshness of a most promising youth, and a species of natural radiance that carries the mind with reverence to the source of all that is e;lorious around us. y. ,/ ,>/<;.. ^^ THE CATSKILL MOUNTAINS. BY WASHINGTON IRVING. The Catskill, Katskill, or Cat Eiver Mouutaius derived tlieir name, in the time of the Dutch domination, from the Catamounts by which they were infested ; and which, with the bear, the wolf, and the deer, are still to be found in some of their most difficult recesses. The interior of these mountains is in the highest degree wild and romantic ; here are rocky precipices mantled with primeval forests ; deep gorges walled in by beetling cliffs, with torrents tumbling as it were from the sky ; and savage glens rarely trodden excepting by the hunter. With all this internal rudeness, the aspect of these mountains toward the Hudson at times is eminently bland and beautiful, sloping down into a country softened by cultivation, and bearing much of the rich character of Italian scenery about the sku-ts of the Apennines. The Catskills form an advanced post, or lateral sjiur of the great Alleganian or Appalachian system of mountains which sweeps through the inteiior of our continent, from Southwest to Northeast, from Alabama to the extremity of Maine, for nearly fourteen hundi-ed miles, belting the whole of our original confederacy, and rivalling our 72 THE CATSKILL MOUNTAINS. great s}'stem of lakes in extent and grandeur. Its vast ramifications comprise a ninnl)er of parallel chains and lateral groups ; such as the Cumberland Mountains, the Blue Eidge, the Alleganies, the Dela- ware and Lehigh, the Highlands of the Hudson, the Green Mountains of Vermont, and the White Mountains of 'New Hampshire. In many of these vast ranges or sierras, nature still reigns in indomitable wild- uess: theii- rocky ridges, their rugged clefts and defiles, teem with magnificent vegetation. Here are locked up mighty forests that have never been invaded by the axe ; deep umbrageous valleys where the virgin soil has never been outraged l)y the plough ; bright streams flowing in untiisked idleness, unburtheued by commerce, unchecked by the mill-dam. This mountain zone is in fact the great poetical region of our country ; resisting, hke the tribes which once inhabited it, the taming hand of cultivation ; and maintaining a hallowed ground for fancy and the muses. It is a magnificent and all-pervading feature, that might liave given our country a name, and a poetical one, had not the all-controlling jiowers of common-place determined otherwise. Tlie Catskill Mountains, as I have observed, maintain all the inter- nal A\ildness of the laliyrinth of mountains with which they are con- nected. Their detaclu'd position, overlooking a wide lowland region, \\ itli tlic majestic Hudson rolhng through it, has given them a distinct character, and rendered them at all times a rallying point for romance and fable. Much of the fanciful associations with which they have l)een clothed may be owing to theii" being peculiarly sidgect to those ])eautiful atmospherical eft'ects which constitute one of the great charms of Hudson liiver scenery. To me they have ever been the fairy region of the Hudson. I speak, however, from early impres- sions ; made in the happy days of boyhood; wlu'n all the world liad a tinge of fairy land. I shall never forget my first view of these mountains. It was in the coui-se of a voyage up the Hudson in the THE CATSKILL MOUNTAINS. 73 good old times before steamboats aud railroads liad driven all poetry aud romance out of travel. A voyage up tlie Hudson in tbose days, was equal to a voyage to Europe at present, and cost almost as mucli time : but we enjoyed tLe river then ; we relished it as we did our wine, sip by sip, not, as at present, gulping all down at a draught without tasting it. My whole voyage up the Hudson was full of wonder and romance. I was a lively boy, somewhat imaginative^ of easy faith, and prone to relish every thing which partook of the marvellous. Among the passengers on board of the sloop was a veteran Indian trader, on his way to the lakes to traffic with the natives. He had discovered my l^ropensity, and amused himself throughout the voyage by telling me Indian legends and grotesque stories about every noted place on the river, such as Spuyten Devil Creek, the Tappan Sea, the Devil's Dans- Kammer, and other hobgoblin places. The Catskill Mountains espe- cially called forth a host of lanciful traditions. We were all day slowly tiding along in sight of them, so that he had full time to weave his whimsical narratives. In these mountains he told me, accordine: to Indian belief, was kept the great treasury of storm and sunshine, for the region of the Hudson. An old squaw spirit had charge of it, who dwelt on the highest peak of the mountain. Here she kept Day and Night shut up in her wigwam, letting out only one of them at a time. She made new moons every month, and hung them up in the sky, cutting up the old ones into stars. The great Manitou, or master sjiirit, employ- ed her to manufactui-e clouds ; sometimes she wove them out of cob- webs, gossamers, and morning dew, and sent them off flake after flake, to float in the air aud give light summei' showers — sometimes she would Ijrew up black thunder-storms, and send down drenching rains ; to swell the streams and sweep every thing away. He had many stories, also, about mischievous spirits who infested the mountains in the shape of animals, and played all kinds of pranks ui^on Indian 10 74 THE CATSKILL MOUNTAINS. Iiuntcrs, decoying tliem into quagmifes and morasses, or to tlie liriuks of torrents and ]»recipices." All these were doled out to me as I lay on tlie deck througliout a long summer's day, gazing upon tliese moun- tains, the ever-changing shapes and lines dt' ^\hich appeared to realize tlie mati'it-al intlufiu-cs in question — sometimes they seemed to ajv })roacli ; at others to recede; during the heat of the day they almost melted into a snltiy haze ; as the day declined they deepened in tone ; tlicir summits were 1)righteued by the last rays of the sun, and later in tlie evening their whole outline was printed in deep purple against an amber sky. As I beheld them thus shifting continually before my eye, and listened to the marvellous legends of the trader, a host of fanciful notions concerning them was conjured into my brain, which have haunted it ever since. As to the Indian superstitions concerning the treasury of storms and sunshine, and the iloud-weaving spirits, they may have been sug- gested by the atmos] (helical phenomena of these mountains, the clouds which gather round their summits and the thousand aerial eftects which indicate the changes of weather over a great extent of country. Tliey are epitomes of our variable climate, and are stamped with all its \acissitudes. And here let me say a word intavor of those ^-icissitudes whicli are too often made the subject of exclusive repining. If they annoy us occasionally 1iy changes fi'om hot to cold, from wet to dry, they give us one nf the most beautiful criiiiatcs in the world. They give us the luilliant sunshine of the south of Europe with the fresh verdure of the north. They float our summer sky with clouds of gor- geous tints or fleecy whiteness, and send down cooling showers to refresh the panting earth and keep it green. Our seasons are all poetical ; the * Some of those Indian superetitions about the Catskill Mountains have already been spoken of in u )iosL<cri|it to lliii Van Winkle, in the revised edition of the Sketch ]iook. THE CAT.SKILL MOUNTAINS. ^5 plienoinena of our lieavens are full of sublimity and beauty. Winter Avitli iLs lias none of its proverlnal gloom. It may have its howling winds, and thrilling frosts, and whirling snow-storms ; but it has also its long inter- vals of cloudless sunshine, when the snow-clad earth gives redoubled brightness to the da}' ; when at night the stai's beam with intensest lusti'e, or the moon Hoods the whole landscape with her most hmj)id radiance — and then the joyous outbreak of our spring, bursting at once into leaf and blossom, redundant with vegetation, and vociferous with life ! — ■ and the splendors of our summer ; its morning voluptuousness and evening glory ; its airy palaces of sun-gilt clouds piled up in a deeji azure sky ; and its gusts of tempest of almost tropical grandeur, when the forked hghtning and the bellowing thunder volley from the battlements of heaven and shake the sultry atmosphere — and the sublime melancholy of our autumn, magnificent in its decay, withering doAvn the j^omp and pride of a woodland country, yet reflecting back from its yellow forests the golden serenity of the sky — surely we may say that in our climate " the heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth forth his handy work : day unto day uttereth speech ; and night unto night showeth knowledge." A word more concerning the Catskills. It is not the Indians only to whom they have been a kind of wonderdand. In the early times of the Dutch dynasty we find them themes of golden speculation among even the sages of New Amsterdam. Durmg the administi'ation of Wilhelmus Kieft there was a meeting between the Director of the New Netherlands and the chiefs of the Mohawk nation to conclude a treaty of peace. On this occasion the Director was accompanied by Mynheer Adi'iaen Van der Donk, Doctor of Laws, and subsecpiently historian of the colony. The Indian chiefs, as usual, painted and deco- rated themselves on the ceremony. One of them in so doing made use of a pigment, the weight and shining appearance of which attracted 76 THE CATSKILL MOUNTAINS. the notice of Kiot't and Lis learned coini)anion, -wlio snspected it to 1)6 ore. They procured a lump of it, and took it tack with them to New Amsterdam. Here it was submitted to the inspection of lohannes De la Montagne, an eminent Huguenot doctor of medicine, one of the counsel- lors of the New Netherlands. The su[)posed ore was foi'thwith jnit in a crucible and assayed, and to the great exultation of the jimto yielded two j)ieces of gold, worth about three guilders. This golden discovery was kept a pi'ofound secret. As soon as the treat)- of peace was adjusted with the Mohawks, William Kieft sent a trusty officer and a iMH-tj of men under guidance of an Indian, who undertook to conduct them to the place whence the ore had been found. We have no account of this golddiunting expedition, nor of its whereabouts, excepting that it was somewhere on the Catskill Mountains. The exploring party brought back a bucketful of ore. Like the former specimen it was suljnritted to the crucible of De la Montagne, and was equally produc- tive of gold. All this we have on the authority of Doctor Van der Donk, who was an eye-witness of the process and its result, and re- cords the whole in his Description of the New Netherlands. William Kieft now dispatched a confidential agent, one Arent Cor- sen, to convey a sackfid of the precious ore to Holland. Corsen em- barked at New Haven in a British vessel bound to England, whence lie was to cross to Kotterdam. The ship set sail about Christmas, but never reached her port. All on board perished. In IGil, when the redoubtable Petrus Stuyvesant took command of the New Netherlands, William Kieft embarked, on his return to Holland, provided with further specimens of the Catskill Moimtain ore; from which lie doubtless indulged golden anticipations. A similar' fate attended liiiii witli that wliich had befallen his agent. The shij) in which he had endjurketl was cast away, autl he and his treasure were swallowed in the waves. II.iv cloM's the -..Idcu Ic-viid ofthc Cal.-kills ; luil aiiut licr ..iic ..f THE CATS KILL MOUNTAINS. 77 similar import succeeds. In 1649, about two years after tlie sliip- wreck of AVillielmus Kieft, there was again rumor of precious metals in these mountains. Mpiheer Brant Arent Van Sleclitenhorst, agent of the Patroon of Reusselaerswyck, had purchased in Ijehalf of the Patroon a tract of the Catskill lands, and leased it out in farms. A Dutch lass in the household of one of the farmers found one day a glittermg substance, which, on being examined, was pi'onounced silver ore. Brant Van Slechtenhorst forthwith sent his son from Rensselaere- wyck to explore the mountains in quest of the supposed mines. The young man put up in the farmer's house, which had recently been erected on the margin of a mountain stream. Scarcely was he housed when a furious storm burst foi-th on the mountains. The thunders rolled, the lightnings flashed, the rain came down in cataracts ; the stream was suddenly swollen to a furious torrent thirty feet deep ; the farm-house and all its contents were swept away, and it was only l)y dint of excellent swimming that young Slechtenhorst saved his own life and the lives of his horses. Shortly after this a feud broke out between Peter Stuyvesant and the Patroon of Rensselaerswyck on account of the right and title to the Catskill Mountains, in the course of which the elder Slechtenhorst was taken captive by the Potentate of the New Nethei'lands and thrown in prison at New Am- sterdam. We have met with no record of any further attempt to get at the treasures of the Catskills ; adventurers may have been discoui'aged by the ill luck which appeared to attend all who meddled with them, as if they were under the guardian keej) of the same spirits or goblins who once haunted the mountains and ruled over the weather. That gold and silver ore was actually procm-ed from these moun- tains m days of yore, we have historical e^■idence to prove, and the re- corded word of Adriaen Van der Donk, a man of weight, who was an 78 THE CAT8KILL MOUNTAINS. eye-witness. If gold and silver were once to l>e found there, they must be there at i)resent. It remains to be seen, in these gold-hunting days, whether tlie quest will be renewed, and some daring adventui-er, fired witli a true Calif >iniaii s]>irit, will penetrate the mysteries of these niouiitaius and oiien a i^'ohlcn reo'ion on the borders of the Hudson. A DISSOLVING VIEW. BY MISS COOPER. Autumn is the seasou for day-dreams. Wherever, at least, an American landscape shows its wooded heights dyed with the glory of Octoher, its lawns and meadows decked with colored groves, its broad and limpid waters reflecting the same bright hues, there the l)rilliant novelty of the scene, that strange beauty to which the eye never becomes wholly accustomed, would seem to arouse the fancy to unusual activity. Images, quaint and strange, rise unbidden and fill the mind, until we pause at length to make sure that, amid the novel aspect of the country, its inhabitants are still the same ; we look again to cou\'ince ourselves that the pillared cottages, the wooden churches, the brick trading-houses, the long and many- windowed taverns, are still what they were a month earlier. The softening haze of the Indian summer, so common at the same season, adds to the illusory character of the view. The mountains have grown higher ; their massive forms have acquired a new dignity from the airy veil which enfolds them, just as the di'apery of ancient marbles serves to give additional grace to the movement of a limb, or to 80 A DISSOLVING VIEW. mark more iiolilv the proportions oftlic form over wliic-li it is thrown. The fliffereut ridges, the lesser knolls, rise before us with new impor- tance ; the distances of the perepective are magnified ; and yet, at the same time, the comparative relations which the dififerent objects bear to each other, are revealed with a beautiful accuracy wanting in a clearer atmosphere, where the unaided eye is more apt to err. There is always somethuig of uncertainty, of caprice if you will, connected with our American autuuui, Avhich fixes the attention auew, every succeeding year, and adds to the fanciful character of the season. The beauty of spring is of a more assured nature ; the same tints rise year after year in her verdm-e, and in her blossoms, but autumn is what our friends in France call " mie heaute journaliere^'' variable, chanii'eable, not alike twice in succession, gay and brilliant yesterday, more languid and pale to-day. The hill-sides, the difterent groves, the single trees, vai'y from year to year under the combined influences of clouds and sunshine, the soft haze, or the clear frost ; the maple or oak, which last October was gorgeous crimson, may choose this season to wear the golek'u tint of the chestnut, or the pale yellow of duller trees ; the ash, which was straw-color, may become dark purple. One never knows ])efoi'ehand exactly what to expect ; there is always some varia- tion, occasionally a strange contrast. It is like awaiting the sunset of a brilliant day; we feel confident that the evening sky will be beauti- ful, but what gorgeous clouds or what pearly tints may appear to delight the eye, no one can foretell. It was a soft hazy morning, early in October. The distant hUls, with their rounded, dome-like heights, lising in every direction, had a.ssumed on the surface of their crowning woods a rich tint of l)ronze, as though the sw<'lling suunnits, gleaming in the suidiglit, were wrougiit in fivftcd ornaments of that metal. Here and there a scarlet maple stood in full colored beauty, amid surroumliug groves of green. A DISSOLVING VIEW. 81 A group of young oaks close at liand liad also felt tlie influence of tlie frosty autumnal dews'; their foliage, generally, was a lively green, worthy of June, wholly unlike decay, and yet each tree was touched here and there with vivid snatches of the brightest red ; the smaller twigs close to the trunk forming hrilliant crimson tufts, like knots of ribbon. One might have fancied them a baud of young knights, wear- ing their ladies' colors over their hearts. A pretty flowering dogwood close at hand, with delicate shaft and airy branches, flushed with its own pecuhar tint of richest lake, was perchance the lady of the grove, the beauty whose colors were fluttering on the breasts of the knightly oaks on either side. The tiny seedling maples, with their delicate leaflets, were also in color, in choice shades of scarlet, crimson, and jjink, like a new race of flowers blooming about the roots of the autumnal forest. We were sitting upon the trunk of a fallen pine, near a projecting cliff which overlooked the country for some fifteen miles or more ; the lake, the rural town, and the farms in the valley beyond, lying at our feet like a beautiful map. A noisy flock of blue jays were chattering among the oaks whose branches overshadowed our seat, and a busy squirrel was dropping his winter store of chestnuts from another tree close at hand. A gentle breeze from the south came rustling through the colored woods, and already there was an autumnal sound in their murmurs. There is a difierence in the music of the woods as the seasons change. In winter, when the waving limbs are bare, there is more of unity in the deej^ wail of the winds as they sweep through the forests ; in summer the rustling foliage gives some higher and more cheerful notes to the geuei'al harmony ; and there is also a change of key from the softer murmurs of the fresh foHage of early summer, to the sharp tones of the dry and withering leaves in October. There is something of a social spirit in the brilliancy of our Ame- 11 82 A DISSOLVING VIEW. rican tiutuiiui. All tlie glory of tlie colored forest would r<eeiu dis- played for liumau eyes to enjoy ; tliere Ls, iu its earlier stages, an aii- of festive gayety wliicli accords well with tlie clieerful lal)ors of the sea- son, and tliere is a ricliness in tlie spectacle worthy of the harvest- home of a fruitful laud. I should not care to pass the season in the wilderness which still covers large portions of the country ; either winter or summer should be the time for roaming in those boundless woods ; but with Octoljer let us return to a peopled region. A broad extent of forest is no doubt necessary to the magnificent spectacle, but there should also be broken woods, scattered groves, and isolated trees ; and it strikes me that the quiet fields of man, and his cheerful dwellings, should also have a place in the gay picture. Yes ; we felt convinced that an autumn view t)f the valley at our feet must he finer ill its present A'aried aspect, than in past ages when wholly covered with wood. The hand of man generally improves a landscape. The earth has been given to him, and his presence in Eden is natural ; he gives life and spirit to the garden. It is only when he endeavors to rise above his true part of laborer and husbandman, when he assumes the cha- racter of creator, and piles you up hills, pumps you up a I'iver, scatters stones, or sprinkles cascades, that he is apt to fail. Generally the grassy meadow in the valley, the winding road climbing the hill-side, the cheerful village on the Ijank of the stream, give a higher addi- tional interest to the view ; or where there is something amiss iu the sceue, it is when there is some evident want of judgment, or good sense, or perhaps some proof of selfish avaiice, or wastefulness, as when a country is stripped of its wood to fiU the pockets or feed the fires of one generation. It is true thei'c are scenes on so vast a scale, scenes so striking in themselves, that whatever there may be of man in view is at fii-st A DISSOLVING VIEW. 83 wholly ovei'looked ; we note the valley, but not his \dllages ; we sec tlie winding stream, but not the fisher's skill'; even in these instances, however, after the first vivid impressions produced T)y the grandeur of the spectacle, we j^lease ourselves by dwelling on the lesser features aA^'hile ; and after wondering on the Eighi-Kulm at the sublime array of hoary Alps bounding the tlistant horizon, we pause to note the smoke curling from the hamlet in the nearest valley, we mark the chalets dotting the mountain-side, or the white sail of the boat making its way across the lake. Even in those sublime scenes, where no trace of man meets the eye, in the cheerless monotony of the stei:)pes of central Asia, in the arid deserts of Africa, among the uninhabited Andes, or in the bound- less forests of America, it is the absence of human life which is so highly impressive ; and if other portions of the earth were not peopled with intellectual beings, mapped out by them and marked with their works, the contrast of those strange solitudes could not be felt by the heart of the wanderer. All the other innumerable tribes of animated Ijcings inhabiting this world, may crowd a country, and scarcely make an impression on its foce which the winds and rains of a few seasons will not wholly obhterate; but man, in his most savage condition, shall raise some fortification, or heap over the bones of his heroes some vast misshapen pile, which outlasts perhaps the existence of a whole race. The south- eastern portion of Europe is a vast level region, resembling in many particulars the steppes of central Asia, or the great praii-ies of om- own country ; until recently it lay a broad unpeoi^led waste, no part of which had been brought under cultivation; but in the midst of these grassy solitudes rise rude ancient tumuli, or barrows, whose origin goes back to periods anterior to history; nomadic shepherd tribes passed and repassed the ground for ages, but knew nothino- of 84 A D I S S L V I N G V I E W. their story. Similar tumuli are numerous iu westeni Asia al^o, aiul, like the mounds of our own continent, they doubtless belong to a rude and ancient race. These old works of earth, whose great piles refuse to reveal the names of those who reared them, never fail to excite a pecuhar interest ; there is a spirit of mystery hovering over them beyond what is connected with monuments of any later period, even the proudest labors in stone ; so like the works of nature in this re- spect, they seem to possess for us something of the same profound secrecy. These lasting and remarkable tumuh, or mounds, although they produce no very striking effect on the aspect of a country, yet have an important place in the long array of works which give a pe- culiar character to the lauds which man has once held as his o^ti. The monuments of a succeeding age, raised by a more skilful peo- })lc, are much more pi'ominent. Indeed it would seem as if man had no sooner mastered the aii of architecture, than he aimed at rivalling the dignity and durability of the woi-ks of natui-e which served as his models ; he i-esolved that his walls of vast stones should stand iu place as long as the rocks from which they were hewn ; that his col- umns and his arches should live with the trees and branches from which they were copied ; he determined to scale the heavens with his proud towers of Babel. The durability of their architecture still re- mains to the present day one of the most remarkable characteristics of those ancient ages. Such is the wonder excited in the minds of the most skilful architects of the present day at the sight of the im- mense masses of stone transported and uplifted, apparently at will, by those ancient nations, that some have sujjposed tliem to have possessed mechanical powei's of their own, lost to succeeding ages, and not yet regained by ourselves. Certainly it would appear a well-assured fact, tliat the oldest works of the first great architects have been the most endui'ing and the most imposing of all that human art has raised. A i) 1 S S U L V I N (i \- 1 E \V. 85 How uumy centuries were required to ruin Baliylon ! AVitli the pro- phetic curse of desolation hovering over her towers for ages, the vio- lence of a dozen generations was aroused against her, nation after nation was Ijrought to the work, ere that curse was fulfilled, and all her pride laid m the dust ; and still to-day her shapeless ruins break the surface of the level desert which surrounds them. Look at the ancient temples of India ; look at Eg}'pt with her wonderfid works ; all the proudest edifices of modern times may yet fall to the ground, ere those Pyramids are ruined ; they may see the last future acts of the earth's story, as they have stood mute witnesses of a thousand past histories. What were that level country of Egyjit, that muddy Nile, without the Pyramids and the surrounding coeval monuments ! Look, even later, at the works of Grecian and Roman art. Al- though Greece and Rome were the chosen prey of liarbarous nations for ages, yet not all the fury of milhons of savages could utterly de- stroy the monuments they raised. Study the ruined temples, and theatres, and tombs, the aqueducts, the bridges of those ancient na- tions. What architectural laliors have we which for excellence and beauty will compare with them ? For thousands of years they have stood, noble, distinctive features of the lands to which they belong. The little temple of the Sybil seems, to modern eyes, as much an in- tegral part of the surrounding hills, and the valley of Tivoli, as the evergreen oaks and olive trees, ay, as the stream which flings itself over the rocks at its feet. What were the Campagna, without its broken aqueducts, its ancient tombs ? What were Rome itself without its ruins ? The architectural remains of those old works still give to the seven hills, and the broad plain about them, a positive beauty, which their modern works, imposing as they are, cannot equal. It is well for us that those races of old undertook such nol)le labors. May we not l)elieve that there was something Providential in 8G A DISSOLVING V I K \V. tlie feeling wliicli led tliem to erect suoli lasting monuments ? They built for us. Such works as the Pyi-amids, and their cotemporary temples, such Avorks as those of Babel, Psestum, the Coliseum, the Par- thenon, belong to the race; their influence is not confined to the soil on which they stand. As the sun of Time descends to complete its course, their shadows are thrown over the whole earth. In the middle ages, after Europe had become Christian, all the edifices of sufficient importance to give character to a country were divided in two great classes; they were the Gothic churches and abbeys of religion, or the fortified castles of war. It is rather singular that the age of the greatest extent of religious houses should also have been peculiarly an age of warfare ; but no doubt the very prevalence of this warhke spirit was a cause of the increase of monarchism. K the dozen hills about a valley were each crowned with a castle, and it' lialt' a dozen feuds between their dift'erent lords laid waste the sur- rounding country, it became a sort of necessity for a Chi'istian society that one house of peace, at least, should lie in the meadows of the valley, in view from the towers. The very violence of the age, imited to the superstitions nature of religion at the time, was thus no doubt a cause of the great size and riches of the churches. Louis XI. of France, as a general rule, committed some act of cruelty or treachery every morning, and then sought to buy a pardou in the evening by some j)ccuniary favor to church or abbey; and there were in those days many knights and barons bold wliose consciences were appeased by the same course of proceeding. Tlie durability of the works of the middle ages — although they liad lost so much of ancient civilization — is still very remarkable. Some of the cathedrals, the castles, and the bridges of those days are likely, with a few exceptions here and thei-e, to outlast modern works of the same natm-e ; certainly they may outla.st those now standing in A DISSOLVING VIEW. 87 this country. There are bridges of that period iu the wihlest parts of Europe, so bold in their position, spanning gorges so deep, springing from precipices so abrupt, that the people of later days gave them a magical origin, calling them " Devils' Bridges." There are feudal castles "with walls so massive, that the idea of razing them was abandoned after the orders to do so had been given. Their vast cathedrals, whose noble spires still rise so grandly above the roofs of the towns to wliich they belong, were ages in building ; some of these, nay, one may say many of them, required such vast sums of money, and such a long period of time to carry out the great designs of their architects, that tliey have remained unfinished to the 2:)resent hour. They not only built for the futui-e, iu those days, but they expected posterity to work with them ; and as one generation lay down in theii" graves, they called another generation to the pious labor. It is not exactly as a stranger that an American looks at these re- mains of feudal days, that he stands liefore the half-ruined walls of their castles ; in one sense we also have an interest in them. Who knows but ancestors of our own may have been among the squires who crossed that drawbridge, or among the masons who l)uilt the walls, or with the peasants who clustered under the protection of the banners of yonder ruined hold? At any rate there is no one breathing in Christendom whose present fate, j^erhaps laoth for good and for evil, has not been in some measure influenced by those days of chivali'y and superstitious truth, in their bearing upon civilized society at large. We Americans are as much the children of those European ages, as the pre- sent population of France or England. The vast extent of the regions over which these ancient monuments are scattered, the different series of them on the same soil — Druidical, Roman, Gothic, renaissance and modern — give one a clearer idea than figures can, of the inuumeraljle throngs of human beings which have DISSOLVING V I E ■«•. preceded tlie present tenants of tlie ground, and so fully stamped the impression of man on the fiice of the old world. The plains, the hills, the valleys, the cliffs, the bare and massive mountains, the islands, the very caves of those regions, all Ijcar ancient human marks. The plains are crowned by remains of Roman roads ; the valleys and the islands have been the seat of old monasteries, or perhaps still older villas ; the hills, the clifts, the mountains, are crowned with the ruined towers of feudal days ; the wild gorges and the caves have been the haunts of Imnded robbers and outlaws, or of solitary hermits. The caves of the old world, more especially those of the eastern and southern countries, of Syria, Arabia, Egypt, Greece, Italy, have liad a strange story of their own. Many of them have Ijeen strong- holds, which have stood siege after siege, as for instance those of Pales- tine and Egypt. Others have been the dens of robbers, or pii-ates. ]\Iany, cut in the face of high and apparently inaccessible cliffs, have been u>ed as tombs, and are more or less carved and sculptured within and witliout; such are frequently seen in Syria and other parts of Asia. In southern Italy there are many caves in the face of the elifls of the Apennines, whose openings are plainly seen from the highways in the valleys below; those were at one time, when Italy was overrun by bar1)arous heathen nations, the refuge of Christian hermits. Proliably the natural caves of those Eastern lands were the first dwellings of tlicir cai'liest pojiulation. Thus it is that there is not in those old countries a single natural featui'e of the earth upon which man has not set his seal, from the c^ave of Machpelah to the summit of the Alj^ine mountain, where the pale gray lines of the distant cross are faintly draw u against the sky. lliiw (lifVci-ciit from all this is the aspect of our own country ! It is tnii' fliat our tUthci-s, with amazing ra]iidity, have changed a forest wilderness into a civilized and populous land. But the fresh civiliza- A DISSOLVING VIEW. 89 tion of America is wholly dift'erent in aspect from that of the old world ; there is no Ijlendiug of the old and the new in this country ; there is nothing ohl among us. If we were endowed with ruins we should not preserve them ; they would l)e pulled down to make way for some novelty. A striking instance of this tendency will be found in the fact that the last Dutch house in New- York has disappeared. For a longtime a number of those historical way-marks existed in the older parts of the town, Ijut now, we understand that the last high gable, the last Dutch walls, have disappeared from New Amsterdam. We might have supposed that occupying so little space as they did, standing in streets Avith Dutch names, owned perhaps by men of Dutch descent, one, at least, of these relics of our own olden time might have been preserved. But no ; we are the reverse of conservators in this coun- try ; it M'as idle j^erhaps to expect that a single monument of the origin of the town w< )nld be left in place. We are the borderers of civilization in America, but borderers of the nineteenth century, when all distances are lessened, whether moral or physical. And then, as borderers, we also often act as pioneers ; the peculiar tendencies of the age are seen more clearly among us than in Europe. The civilization of the present is far more subtle in its cha- racter than that of the jiast, and its works are naturally like itself, highly influential, and important, Imt less dignified, and imposing in aspect. It woidd be comparatively an easy work to remove from the earth all traces of many of the peculiar merits of modern ci\dlization, just as the grand Palace of Glass, now standing in London, that brilliant and characteristic work of the day, might in a few hours be utterly razed. Look at our light suspension bridges, marvellous as they are, how soon they could be destroyed; look at our railways, at our ships and manufactories moved l)y steam ; look at the marvel- lous electric telegrajjh, at the wonders Daguerre hcos showed us — 12 on A DISSOLVING VIEW. look ill fact, at any of tlie peculiar and most reiiiarkaT)le of the -n'orks of tlie ao'c, ami see liow speedily all traces of tliem could he removed. It will Ije said tliat tlie most im]>ortaut of all arts, tliat of printing, must suffice in itself to preserve all otlier discoveries : assuredly ; but remove the art of ])rinting, Lring fresh hordes of barbarians to sweep over the civilized world, let them busy themselves with the task of destruction, and say then what traces of our works would remain on the face of the earth as nioiiumeiits of our period. Perchance, as regards America, the chief proofs that eastern civilization had once passed, over this country would then be found in the mingled, vegetation, the trees, the ])lants, ay, the very weeds of the old world. We are told by IMonsleur Agassiz that, as the surface of the planet noAv exists. North America is, in reality, the oldest jjart of the earth. He tells us that in many particulars our vegetation, and our animal life, belong to an older period than those of the eastern hemisphere ; he tells us of fossil hickories, and fossil gar-pikes in Europe, while hickories and gar-pikes are now confined to our own part of the world. But without doubting this theory, still there are many peculiarities which give to this country an air of youth beyond what is observed in the East. There are many parts of Europe, of Asia, of Africa, which have an old, worn-out, exhausted appearance ; sterile moun- tains, unwooded moors, barren deserts and plains. In North Amei;jca, on the contrary, there is little territory which can l)e called really sterile. As a general rule, the extent and richness of its forests and its wealth of waters give it naturally a cheerful aspect, while the more rounded forms of the hills and mountains, and their covering of vegetation, leave an impression of youth on the mind, comjjared with the abrupt, rocky jieaks, the smaller streams, and the ()])eii unwooded plains of eastern regions. The C(»nij»aratively slight and fugitive', character of American ai'clii- A DISSOLVING VIEW. 91 tecture, no tloubt, gives additioual force to tbis impressioii. Seltloui iudeed are our edifices imposing. The chief merit of our masonry and carpentry, esi)ecially when taken in the mass, where tlie details are not critically examined, is a pleasing character of cheerfulness. It is not the airy elegance of French or Italian art ; it is not the gayety of the Moorish or Arabesque ; it is yet too unformed, too undecided to claim a character of its own, but the general air of comfort and thrift which shows itself in most of our dwellings, whether on a large or a small scale, gives satisfaction in its way. Such were the thoughts which came to us as we sat on the fallen pine, among the October woods, overlooking the country. Before bending our steps homeward we amused ourselves with a sort of game of architectural consequences, the I'esult of the preceding fancies. I had gathered a sprig of wych-hazel, and, waving it over the valley, de- termined to make a trial of its well-established magical powers. No sooner had the forked branch, garnished with its ragged yellow flow- ers, been waved to and fro, than strange work began ! The wooden bridge at the entrance of the village fell into the stream and disap- peared ; the court-house vanished ; the seven taverns were gone ; the dozen stores had felt the spell ; the churches were not spared ; the hundred dwelling-houses shared the same fate, and vanished like the ■ smoke from then- own chimneys. Merely razing a village was not, however, our ambition ; so we again had recourse to the leafless twig of wych-hazel. Scarcely had it passed once more over the valley, when we saw a forest start from the earth, the trees in full matm-ity, of the same variety of species, and in the same stage of autumnal coloring with the woods about us. But even this reappearance of a forest on the site of the vanished village did not satisfy the whim of the moment. The branch of wych-hazel was again rapidly waved to- wards the four quarters of the heavens, and so great was the agitation 02 A DISSOLVIiSrG VIEW. of tlie movement, tliat u uumber of its yellow ragged petals were bro- ken otf, and scattered by the wind over the country. Perhaps the blossoms increased the power of the spell, for in another moment we beheld a spectacle which wholly engrossed our attention. "We had been indulgiug in the wish to have a view of the valley in the condi- tion it would have assumed, had it lain in the track of European ci\TJ- ization during past ages ; how, in such a case, would it have been fash- ioned by the hand of man? To our amazement the wish was now granted. But it recpiired a second close scrutiny to convince us that this was indeed the site of the village which had disappeared a mo- ment earlier, every thing was so strangely altered. We soon con- vinced ourselves, however, that all the natural features of the laud- scape remained precisely as we had always known them ; not a curve in the outline of the lake was changed, not a knoll was misplaced. The vegetation was such as we had long been foniiliar with, and the coloring of the autumnal woods precisely Avhat it had l>een an hour earlier. But here all resemblance ceased. Many of the hills had been wholly shorn of wood. The position of the diHerent farms and that of the Ijuildiugs was entirely changed. Looking down upon the little town we saw it had dwindled to a mere hamlet ; low, pictui'esipie, thatched cottages were iri-egularly grouped along a wide grassy street, and about a broad green which formed the centre of the village; in this open grassy gi'een stood a large stone cross, beautifully designed and elaborately carved, doubtless a monument of some past historical event. One small inn, the only tavern, faced the green and the cross, and a large sign swung heavily before the door. The church, the largest building in the handet, was evidently very old, and covered a good deal of ground — its walls were low, of hewn stone — one large and rich window occujDied the eastern end, and a graceful spire rose in the opposite direction. Two or three small, quiet-lookuig shops rej^re- A D I S S O L V r N ( ; \ 1 K w. 93 seuted tlie trade of tlie place. The bridge was of massive stone, nar- row, and higlily arched, while the I'uins of a tower stood close at hand. The fields were parted by hedges, ^\hicli lined the narrow roads on either side. Several country houses were seen in the neigh- borhood, in various grades of importance. There was a pretty thatched cottage, with one large bay window for front, and surrounded by a gay flower-garden. Then just without the village was a place of some size, evidently an old country house, dating perhaps some six or eight gen- erations back, with its brick walls, quaint chimneys, angles, cornices, and additions ; this place could boast its park, and deer were grazing on the lawn. Yonder iu the distance, upon the western shore of the lake, stood a castle of gray stone, its half dozen towers rising a hun- dred feet from the hdl-side ; there were beautiful lawns and broad masses of wood in this extensive domain ; the building itself was in good condition, and ai^jiarently inhabited. On a pretty point, pro- jecting into the lake about a league from the village, stood a half- ruined convent, now reduced to a mere farm-house. Something whis- pered to us that a Roman road had once passed in that direction, that a vdla had formerly stood on the same spot as the Priory, and that ancient coins were occasionally dug up there. The modern highways running through the valley were the most perfect that can be con- ceived. No less than nine difterent handets were in sight from our position on the clift' ; two, in addition to the village at our feet, were seated on the lake-shoi'e ; three more were seen clinging to the hill- sides, grouped about sites where feudal castles had stood in former times ; another appeared on the bank of the river, at a point long used as a ford, and two more occupied different positions in the valley. Pretty gray spires, or low church towers, were seen rising above most of these hamlets. On the farthest hill to the northward, and from its highest point, the I'uins of an ancient watchtower rose above the wood. ()4 A DISSOLAING VIEW. I could cany my observations no furtlier. The yellow flowers of the A^Tcli-hazel in my hand had attracted a roving bee, bent appa- rently on improving these last warm days, and harvesting the last drops of honey ; the little creature had crept close to a finger, and a sharp stino- soon recalled my wandering attention, and caused me to drop the branch and the bee together. The magic wych-hazel thro'svn aside, the spell was over ; the country had resumed its every-day aspect. '' ' l/t (••'^' ''■"^ THE SCENERY OE PENNSYLVANIA, BY BAYARD TAYLOR. TiiEEE is, perhaps, no State iu tlie Uniou wliicli presents a greater variety of landscape than Pennsylvania. Tills variety does not consist only in the outward configuration of her suiiace — . in the change from mountain to plain, from sterile grandeur to the rich monotony of a level alluvial region — but also in climate, atmosphere, and all those finer influences which are as the soul to the material forms of Nature. All laudscajies, whatever may be their features, have a distinct indi- viduahty, and express a sentiment of their own. As in Man, there is no reproduction of the same form or the same peculiar S2>irit, though in belts and broad ranges of scenery — often in entire countries — Nature bears some general distinguishing stainji wlierel)y the smallest of her pictures may be recognized. It would be difiicult to present any single landscape as being esjie- cially Pennsylvaniau. Occupying a central position among the States, Pennsylvania touches both belts of the temperate zone, embracing within her boundaries varieties of climate ranging between those of Canada and Virginia. From the Atlantic tide-water, she crosses the 96 THE SCENEKY OF PENNSYLVANIA. broad mountaiu cliaiu ^vllioll scjiarates its atHucuts from tliose whose union forms the Boantiful River of the West, and from her Lake Erie border looks over to the cohl shores of Canada. AVhile she is washed by ■vratei's that have been thaM^ed from ice-bound Winnipeg, for away towai-ds the Arctic reahu, the streams of lialf her territory find their wi\j to the zone of the orange and the jialm, before they I'each the sea. In regard to the general characteristics of her scenery, the State may be diN^ded into three districts : the warm agricultural region, lying in the south-eastern part, between the Susquehamia and the Delaware ; the mountain region, embracing all the ranges of the great Appalachian chain, many of which terminate before they reach the New-York frontier; and the cool, rolling ujiland ])lateau of the north- west, with its lakes, forests, and alnindant streams. Each of these I'egions has a separate character, and while no considerable part of the State is absolutely barren or monotonous, the toui'ist who tra- verses its whole extent is enchanted with the continual change and picturesc^ue variety of scenery through which he passes. The only localities which have acquired much celebrity beyond the borders of the State, are the Valley of the Juniata River, (a chai'ining glim])se of which is given in the engraving accompanying this sketch,) and the Yale of Wyoming, renowned through Brandt's IMassacre and Campbell's jDoem ; though the description of its bold and beautiful landscapes, as given by the transatlantic bard, is more befit- ting one of the I'ough /x/ /■/■(/ iicas of Mexico. The stranger who visits it witli tliat description in his memory, will see no scarlet flamingoes cir- cling tlirough the air, ikh' thorny aloes hanging from the crevices of the rocks, neitlier can he iinininir the melodious cadences of Outalissl's dcath-siMii;' "on hillocks by the palm-tree overgrown." But the moun- tain rampart of AVvoniing is ])lunied witli the northern fir, and the sweet valley, with tin; Susquehanna in its lap and Its foliage of oak, THE SCENE KY OP PENNSYLVANIA. 97 cliesuut, aud sycamore, could scarcely take au additional grace from the aloe or the palm. Yet, because tliose warm and opulent cham- paigns and those hills veined with iron and set on solid foundations of coal, which are the pride of Pennsylvania, are unsung and undescribed, (what part of our country has yet been justly described ?) it should not be presumed that the State cannot show many a valley as fair as the mountain-girdled repose of Wyoming, and many a gorge as freshly and wildly beautiful as those through which leap the sparkling waters of the Juniata. Most beautiful to our eyes, perhaps because most familiar — more enticing even than the fastnesses of the Alleghanies — is that delightful region lying between them and the Delaware. The mountains, in their- passage through the State, deflect gradually from their northern course and curve in the arc of a grand circle towards its eastern and north-eastern boundary. The first ridge rises about forty miles west of the Susquehanna, where the river crosses Mason and Dixon's line. Thence, running northward, it gives place to the Blue Eidge, which has come, mth scarcely a break, from its starting-point in the central group of the North Carolina mountain region. Crossing the Susque- hanna near Harrisburg, the Blue Ridge bends away to the north-east, suffering the Schuylkill and Lehigh to slip through its deep gorges, and finally forms the stupendous Water-Gap of the Delaware. Pro- tected from the chill lake-winds by this grand natural barrier and the still higher ridges behind it, and open to the equalizing influence of the near Atlantic, this is the richest and most beautiful agricultural district of any of the searboard States. Its climate Ls singularly genial and temperate, and the vegetation which covers its softly undulating hills has something of the rich tints and prodigal luxuriance of the South. The author of Evangeline sings of this region : " There the air is all balm and the peach is the emblem of l)eauty." 13 98 THE SCENERY OF PENNSYLVANIA. The face of the country is diversified with au endless succession of round, open hills, sometunes rising steep and bold from the banks of the rills and rivulets that course through it, sometimes receding so as to form gentle valleys, or spreading into broad upland tracts, rich with forests and pastm-e fields. Except the Great Valley of Chester, which extends from the SchuylkUl to the Conestoga, a distance of forty miles, there are no long reaches of level land, whUe there is scarcely a hill will eh may not be cultivated to its summit. The highest swells south of the Blue Ridge do not rise more than five hundred feet above the sea-level. Near the mountains the winters are more cold and sharp, but in the southern part but little snow falls, and the autumn freciueutly stretches its mild reign into December. The great variety and beauty of the native forest-trees gives this region, in sum- mer, an almost tropical wealth of vegetation. The pine, the fir, the cedar, the hemlock-spruce and the beech come down from the North and clothe the 1)auks of the streams ; the oak, the walnut, the superb tulip-tree, the chesuut, sycamore and linden add then- warmer and more luxuriant fohage, and in some sheltered spots the magnolia pours from its snowy goblets a delicions perfume on the au'S of early summer. The laurel, towards the end of May, covera whole lull-sides with its crimped pink blossoms, and the crimson rhododendron, scarcely less iiiagnificent than the Cape Azalea, is frequently seen hanging over the flitrs t)f the Schuylkill. At the commencement of June, when the leaves are fully ex- panded and retain their first fresh and beautiful green, the warmth, In-ightness and richness of the landscapes of this region are the very embodiment of the S2)irit of Suumier. The forests are piled masses of gorgeous foliage, now stretching hke a rampart over the hills, now following some winding water-coui"se, and now broken into groves and clumps, dotting the undulations of the grain and grass fields. And THE SCENERY OF PENNSYLVANIA. 99 tliose fields ! some rolling witli the purple waves of the ripe, juicy clover ; some silver-gray witL. rye, or just tinged witli yellow where the wheat has leaned to the sun ; or glittering with the lance-like leaves of the Indian corn : — surely there can be no more imposing exhibition of agricultural wealth, even in older and more productive lands. In the trim, careful beauty of England and the broad garden of the Rhine plain, one sees nothing of this prodigality of bloom and foliage — this luxury of Nature. Here is found almost every variety of scenery which may be had without mountain or praii'ie. The region is watered by several large streams and their tril)utaries. In addition to the Schuylkill and Lehigh, which take their rise on the southern slope of the mountains behind Wyoming, there is the Brandywine, made classic by its revolu- tionary memoiies and deserving of equal renown for the pastoi'al beauty of its course ; the Octorara, a wild and picturesque stream, overhung with bold hills and frequently broken by rocky barriers ; the Conestoga, watering the agricultural paradise of Lancaster county, and the Swatara, on whose banks the Suabiau emigrants might forget their memories of the secluded Fils. Nor are there wanting fitting as- sociations to give the country a deeper interest than its external beauty ; for nature never speaks to us with a perfect voice till she has received a soul from her connection with Man. The aunaLs of the Re- volution are now old enough to nurture a legend ; and what finer personages than Washington, Lafayette and Anthony Wayne on one side, and Howe and Knyphausen on the other ? Still further back we have WiUiam Penn, and that wife of his, who sat at the feet of Milton. And this was also the Vinland of Scandinavian Printz, when he brought his vessel, the Key of Calmar, to unlock the j^ortal of a new Swedish Empire in the West. But the natural affection of a son of this reo-ion and an heir of 100 THE SCENEKY OF PENNSYLVANIA. these memories, has led me away from the mountains, where we shall find a Avholly different sentiment expressed in the scenery. Never risino- to such a height as to give the impressions of power and sub- limity which we receive from grander ranges, the Alleghanies still possess a fresh and picturesque beauty of theii- own. They are never monotonous, even where, as in the southern part of the State, they are drawn into long parallel ridges of level outline, inclosing broad valleys between their bases. The uni)ruued wildness of the forests with which they are clothed compensates the eye for the absence of cht}^ and scar, and spiry pinnacle of naked rock ; while the waters of the Susquehaima and its tributatries, most of which break through them abruptly, at right angles to their course, give a constant variety to their landscapes. The height of the principal chains varies from two to three thousand feet above the sea. In the northern part the mountains are steep and aljrnpt, Avith sharp crests, and occasionally a notched and jagged outline. Sharp INIountain, near Pottsville, has along its summit a thin vei'tical stratum of rock, like a comb or crest, so narrow that one may bestride it in many places. On the other side of the coal-fields, however, and fronting this ridge, rises Broad Moun- tain, whose summit is a nearly level plain. Tlie principal ranges in the south have this latter conformation, and their summits are here and there inhabited and cultivated, though, at such a height al)ove the sea, the crops are necessarily scanty. The old stage route from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh — still travelled by drovei-s and their herds of Western stock for the mai'kets of the East — is one of the most picturesque highways in the United States. Its course for a hiuidri'd miles is over these mountains, crossing valleys from ten to twenty miles in width, and climbing the ridges by straight and slowly ascending lines to the pure atmosphere of the summit plain and the splendid landscape which it commands. Leaving the bewil- THE SCENEKY O i' PENNSYLVANIA. 101 deriiig view behind liim, the traveller is soou whirled on to the oppo- site brink, where he looks down on another hazy realm of streams and forests, villages and embowered homesteads, bounded by another blue and far-stretehing rampart, where a white thread, that seems to have been dropped slautly along the side, marks the further course of his journey. But he is allowed no time to revel in the suggestions of that airy vision ; the horses' feet have touched the descending grade ; they break into a headlong gallop and hurl him downwards into the forest. Down, down, like wild steeds let loose on a prairie ; for the stage rolls by its own weight, and there can be no pause in the mad career. The pine spreads out its arms to catch him, l)ut he shoots past, careless of the dew it dashes in his face. The mountain drops into a clift' and a gulf yawns on one side ; the dust of his 2:)assage rolls over the brink, but he does not stay. And so, for miles down that interminable slope, till the horses are reined up, panting and smoking, on the level of the valley. The upjier region of the Alleghanies, if it has no such imposing sweeps of landscape and cannot aiford such exciting passages of travel, is more broken and rugged. The regularity of the chain ceases ; the mountains are more involved and irregular, and many of the rivere are real labyrinths of scenery, perpetually unfolding in some new and unexpected combination. From the dome of the State House at Ilar- risburg the entrance to the Highlands of the Susquehanna — the gap where the river forces its way through the Blue Bidge, is seen in the distance. Thence, to all the sources of the river and those of all its tributaries, it never loses sight of the Alleghanies. They step across it as a barrier and break it into rapids ; they run by its side and try to shadow it into insignificance ; they stretch away and look at it from the horizon ; — l:)ut it is a child of theirs, and is never so wild and free and beautiful as when in their company. It is not to be compared 102 TBE SCENEIiy OF PENNSYLVANIA. witli any foreign river. It is infinitely more grand and inspiring tlian tlae Moselle or the Meuse ; it is Ijrigliter and freslier than tlie Khone, and tlie character of its scenery is totally different. Although the canal-l)oat lias invaded its i)nmitive silence, it is a picturesque iimova- tion, and the mountains could not call to each other in a more fitting voice than is given them by the boatman's bugle, pealing through the moniiug mists. In the heart of tlie Susquehanna's realm, there are many spots, the record of whose beauty has not yet been wafted over the tops of the mountains that inclose them. Everybody knows the name of Wyo- ming, but few — outside of Pennsylvania, at least — have heard of the Half-Moon Valley in Centre county, or the mountain wildernesses of Clinton and Clearfield ; and though the Juniata, so far as its course has been made the State's highway, is a beaten track, yet its upper waters flow through many a scene of sequestered loveliness. The pre- vailing characteristic of the river is its picturesque beauty, of which the scene chosen by Mr. Talbot in the accompanying engraving is an admirable exemplar. Here is nothing grand or awe-inspiiing. Tlie outlines of the mountain in the background, though clearly di-awu in the serene air, are soft, graceful and suggestive only of repose ; the nearer crags, though bluff and rude, are mantled with foliage, and the quiet curve of the transparent water, touched with the gleam of a pigmy sail in the distance, whispers of other nooks and more beautiful retreats, far away in the silent solitudes of the hills. The freshness of these scenes has not yet departed ; the dew of the virgin Continent is still moist ujion them. The antlered deer track the mazes of their forests and the black bear makes his winter couch in their dcejiest and lonehest nooks. Leaving this enchanting region and crossing the wild and half- settled tract, which extends through tlie counties of Cleai"fiekl, Elk THE SCENERY OF PENNSYLVANIA. 103 aucl Forest — a cold, central table-land, twelve or fifteen liundrcd feet above the sea — we reach the Northern agricultural district of the State. In its elevation, its frequent lakes, its itinunierable streams, and the general character of its soil, this country resembles the Lake district of Central New- York. The vegetation is no longer so w^arm and luxuriant as on the Delaware ; the oak, hemlock and pine supplant the tulip-tree and the linden, and the maize no longer thrusts up such tall spears and shakes such lusty tassels in the breeze. But the region, nevertheless, has a bold, fresh, vigorous beauty of its own. It is inured to cold winds and keen winters, and if its landscapes ever look bleak, it is that bracing bleakness which exhilarates and strengthens. Here our tour is at an end ; we pass the large, clear lakes, most beautiful under a cloudless autumnal sky ; we pass the farms, the trim villages, the pine-crested hills ; and, after lea\Tng the AUeghanies, three days on one of the strong-limbed horses of the country brings us within sight of the silver horizon-line and hearing of the silver surf of Lake Erie. THE HIGHLAND TERRACE ABOVE WEST POINT. BY N. PAKKER WILLIS. INTRODUCTION. TiiERE are three compulsory and unnatural residents in cities^ whom tlie impi'ovenieuts of tlie age are about to set at liberty. But for the inconveuiences of distance, Taste, Study, and Luxury, would have NEVER LiA'ED WILLINGLY IN STREETS. Silently aud inscusibly, how- ever, different parts of the country have become as accessible as diffe- rent parts of the town. It would be safe, perhaps, to say that eveiy thing that is within an hour's reach, is sufficiently at hand ; and Eng- lish rail-trains now travel regularly sixty miles an hour. Fifty miles from New- York will soon be near enough to its amusements, society and conveniences — at least, for the greater portion of the year ; and, on the day when this fact shall be recognized, New-Yorkers will be ready for a startling and most revolutionizing change, viz : — • liome-s in the country and lodgings in town^ instead of Ibomes in town and lodg- ings in the country. Industry, necessity, or vice, could alone prefer a house in a " block," among disturbances and gutters, to a home unen- croached upon, amid fresh air and gardens. Taste, Study, and Luxmy, we repeat, are about removing to the country. 14 106 THE HIGHLAND TERRACE. It will be observed that we anticipate a general preference, only for such rural life as leaves the j^l^ci^'Ufes and advantages of a city within reach. To be too far in the country, is, for many reasons, a dangerous as Avell as unpleasant removal from liberalizing and general- izing influences. Its effect on the mind is, perhaps, ultimately, the more important consideration — for it must be a very self-sufiicing and unassimilating character that does not narrow and grow egotistic with limited associations and intercourse — but its effect on the sensitive- ness as to mental liberty and social position, is sooner to be consider- ed ; for, there is no tyranny like that which is occasionally found in a small Aollage, and no slaveiy like the eftbrts sometimes necessary to preserve the good will of small neighborhoods. Country life, even with its best natural charms and advantages, is a doubtful experiment of happiness, unless your main dependence for reciprocity, society and amusements, is beyond the reach of local jealousies and caprices. The great charm of a city is the freedom between neighbors as to any obligation of acquaintance, and the power to pick friends and make visits without fear of oftending those not picked nor visited. "With the city not farther off than an hour or two hours of locomotion, this privilege can be reasonably and harmlessly asserted in the country ; and, with theatres, concerts, galleries of art, churches and promenades also within reach, the advantages of both town and country life are combined, while the defects of both are modified or avoided. It is with reference to a neio era of outer life., therefore — • science having so far reduced distance that toe may mix town and country life in sucJi proportion as pleases us — that we propose to describe a locality where residence, with this view, wovdd be most desirable for New- Yorkers. THE HIGHLAND TEKRACE. ID'S DESCRIPTION. "West Point is Nature's Nortliern Gate to New- York City. As soon as our rail-trains shall equal those of England, and travel fifty or sixty miles an hour, the Hudson, as far as West Point, will he but a fifty-mile extension of Broadway. The river-banks will have become a suburban avenue — a long street of villas, whose busiest resident vnU be content that the City Hall is within an hour of his door. From this metropolitan avenue into the agricultural and rural region, the outlet will be at the city's Northern Gate, of West Point — a gate whose threshold divides Sea-board from In-land, and whose mountain pillars were heaved up with the changeless masonry of Creation. The passage througli the INIountam-Gate of West Point is a three- mile Labyrinth, whose clue-thread is the channel of the river — a complex wilderness, of romantic picturesqueness and beauty, which will yet be the teeming Switzerland of our country's Poetry and Pen- cil — ■ and, at the upper and northern outlet of this lal^yrinthiue portal of the city, there is a formation of hills which has an expression of most apt significance. Jt looks lihe a gesture of welcome from Nature^ and an invitation to look around you! From the shoulder-hke bluff upon the river, an outspreading range of Highlands extends back, like the curve of a waving arm — the single mountain of Siiawangunk, (connected with the range by a vaUey hke the bend of a graceful wrht)^ forming tJie hand at tlie extremity . It is of the area within the curve of this Ijeuded arm — a Highland Terrace of ten or twelve miles square, on the West Bank of the river — ■ that we propose to de- fine the capabilities, and probable destiny. The Highland Terrace we speak of — ten miles squai-e, and lying within the curve of this outstretched arm of mountains — has an ave- rage level of about one hundi'ed and twenty feet above the river. It 108 THE HIGHLAND TERKACE. was early settled ; aud, the rawness of first clearings lia\nug long ago disappeared, the well-distributed second rvoods are full grown, aud stand, undisfigured by stumjDS, in park-like roundness and maturity. The entire area of the Terrace contains sevei'al villages, aud is divided up into cultivated farm?, the walls and fences in good condition, the roads lined with trees, the orchard-* fall, the houses aud barns suffi- ciently hidden with foliage to be picturesque — the whole neighbor- hood, in fact, within any driving distance, quite rid of the angularity and well-known ungracefulness of a newly-settled country. Though the Terrace is a ten-mile plain, however, its roads are re- markably varied and beautiful, from the curious muUiplicity of deep glens. These are formed by the many streams which descend from the half-bowl of mountains enclosing the plain, and — -their descent being rapid and sudden, aud the river into which they empty being one or two hundred feet below the level of the country around — they have gradually worn beds much deeper than ordinary streams, and are, from this and the charactei' of the soil, unusually picturescpie. At every mile or so, in driving which way you will, you come to a sudden descent into a richly wooded vale — a 1 jright, winding brook at bot- tom, and romantic recesses constantly tempting to loiter. In a long summer, and with perpetual diiving over these ten-mile interlacings of wooded roads aud glens, the writer daily found new scenery, and heard of beautiful spots, within reach aud still unseen. From every little rise of the road, it must l)e remembered, the broad bosom of the Hudson is visible, with foreground variously combined and broken; and tlie lofty mountains, (encircling just about as nmch scenery as the eye can compass for enjoyment), form an ascending hach/round and a near lioriwn which ai'e hardly surpassed in the world for boldness and licauty. To wliat degree sunsets and sunrises, clouds, moonlight, and storms, are aggramlizcil and cinbcllislicil l)y tliis peculiar foi-iiia- THE HIGHLAND TERRACE. 109 tiou of couutiy, any student aud lover of nature will at once under- stand. Life may be, outwardly, as much, more beautiful, amid sucli scenery, as action amid the scenery of a stage is more dramatic than in an unfurnislied room. LOCAL ADVANTAGES. The acees.'^Mities from Highland Terrace are very desirable. West Point is perhaps a couple of miles below, by the river bank ; and, thougli mountain-bluffs and precipices now cut off the following of this line by land, a road has been surveyed and commenced along tlie base of Cro'nest, which, when completed, will be one of the most picturesque drives in the world. A part of it is to be blown out from the face of the rock ; and, as the lofty eminences will almost com- pletely overhang it, nearly the whole road will be in shade in the afternoon. To pass along this romantic way for an excursion to the superb military grounds of West Point, and to have tke parades and music within an easy drive, will be certainly an unusual luxury for a country neighl>orhood. The communication is already open for vehicles, by means of a steam ferry, which runs l^etween Cornwall Landing (at the foot of the Terrace), and Cold Sprmg and the Mili- tary Wharf — bringing these three beautiful spots within a few minutes' reach of each other — Morris the song-writer's triple-view site of " Undercliff," by the way, overlooking the central of tkese Highland-Ferry Landings. It may be a greater or less attraction to the locality of the Ter- race, but it is no disadvantage, at least, that three of the best fre- quented summer resorts are within an afternoon drive of any part of it — the West Poi^^t Hotel, Cozzens's, whick is a mile below, and PowELTON House, which is five or six miles above the Point, at New- 110 THE II I G 11 L A N D T E R E A C E . burgh. For accessibility to these fashionable haunts of strangers and travellers, and the gayeties and hospitalities for which they give oppor- tunity — for enjoyment of military shows and music — for all manner of pleasure excursions by land and water, to glens and mountain-tops, fishing, hunting, and studying of the picturesque — Highland Terrace will prol )ably be a centre of attraction quite unequalled. The river-side length of the Terrace is about five mUes — Corn- wall at one end and Newburgii at the other. At both these places there are landings for the steamers, and from both these are steam-ferries to the opposite side of the river, bringing the fine neigh- borhoods of FisiiSKiLL and Cold Spring within easy reach. 'Nnw- BURGH is the metropolis of the Terrace — with its city-like markets, hotels, stores, trades and mechanic arts — an epitome of New- York convenience within the distance of an errand. Downing, one of our most eminent horticulturists, resides here, and Powell, one of the most enterprising of our men of wealth ; and, along one of the high ac- clivities of the Terrace, are the beautifid country seats of Durand, our first landscape painter ; Miller, who has presented the neighborhood with a costly and beautiful church of stone, Verplanck, Sands, and many others whose taste in grounds and improvements adds beauty to the river diive. To the class of seekers for sites of rural residence, for whom we are di'awing this picture, the fact that the Terrace is heyond svLurhan dis- tance from New- Yorh, will be one of its chief recommendations. What may be understood as " Cockney aimoyances" will not reach it. But it will still be sufliciently and variously accessible from the city. On its own side of the river there is a rail-route from Newburgh to Jersey City, whose first station is in the centre of the Terrace, at "Vail'sGate," and by which New-York \\\\\ eventually bt' l>rought within two hours or less. By the two fei'ries to the o])poslte side of THE IIIOIILAND TEIIRACE. Ill tlie river, tlie stations of the Hudson Railroad are also accessiljle, bringing tlie city witliin equal time on another route. The many boats upon the river, touching at the two landings at all hours of day and night, enable you to vary the journey to and fro, with sleeping, reading, or tranquil enjoyment of the scenery. Friends may come to you with positive luxury of locomotion, and without fatigue ; and the monotony of access to a place of residence by any one conveyance — an evil very commonly complained of — is delightfully removed. There is a very important advantage of the Highland Terrace, which we have not yet named. It is the spot on the Hudson where the txoo greatest thoroughfares of the North are to cross each other. The intended route from Boston to Lake Erie, here intersects the rail-and- river routes between New- York and Albany. Coming hj Plainfield and Hartford to Fishkill, it here takes ferry to Newburgh, and tra- verees the Terrace by the connecting link already completed to the Erie Railroad — thus bringing Boston within six or eight hours of this portion of the river. Western and Eastern travel will then be direct from this spot, like Southern and Northern ; and Albany and New- York, Boston and Buffiilo, will be four points, all within reach of an easy excursion. To many, the most essential charm of Highland Terrace, however, (as a rural residence in connection with life in New- York), wiU be the fact that it is the nearest accessihle point of complete inland climate. Medical science tells us that nothing is more salutary than change from the seaboard to the interior, or from the interior to the seaboard ; and, between these two chmates, the ridge of mountains at West Point is the first effectual separation. The raw east winds of the coast, so unfavorable to some con- stitutions, are stopped by this wall of cloud-touching peaks, and, with the rapid facilities of commimication between salt and fresh aii", 1 1 L* THE HIGHLAND TERRACE. the balance can be adjusted witliout trouble or inconvenience, and as mucli taken of either as is found liealtbful or pleasant. The trial of climate which the writer has made, for a long summer, in the neigh- borhood of these mountainous hiding-places of electricity, the improve- ment of health in his own family, and the testimony of many friends who have made the same experiment, warrant him in commending it as a peculiarly salutary and invigoi'atiug air. We take pains to specify, once more, that it is to a certain class, in view of a certain new phase of the philosophy of life, that these re- marks are addressed. For those who must be in the city late and early on any and every day, the distance will he inconvenient, unless with unforeseen advances in the rate of locomotion. For those who require the night and day dissipations of New- York, and who have no resources of their own, a nearer residence might also be more desii'able. For mere seekers of seclusion and economy, it is too near the city, and the neighborhood would be too luxurious. But, for those who have their time in some degree at their own disposal — who have competent means or luxurious iudependence — who have rural tastes and metropolitan refinements rationally blended- — who have families which they wish to surround with the healthful and ele- gant belongings of a home, while, at the same time, they wish to keep pace with the world, and enjoy what is properly and only enjoyable in the stir of cities — for this class • — the class, as we said before, made up of Leisure, Refinement and Luxury — modern and recent changes are preparing a new theory of what is enjoyable in life. It is a mix- ture of city and country, with the home i)i the country. And the spot with the most advantages for the first American trial < if this new com- liination, is, we venture confidently to record, the HIGHLAND Tl'^REACE ENCIRCLED IN IHE EXTENDED ARM OF THE JIOLNTAINS ABOVE West Point. WA-WA-YAN-DAII LAKE, NEW JEUSEY. (CRO PSE Y.) AVa-wa-yan-daii Lake is situated ou the Wa-wa-yan-dali Mountains, in the township of Vernon, Sussex county. New Jersey, aLout three and a half miles fi'om the boundary between New York and New Jersey, and about two miles from the line between Sussex and Passaic coun- ties. The word " Wa-wa-yau-dah," in the Indian language, means " Winding Stream," so that both the lake and the mountain deriv^e theii' name from this ■ — the Lake and Mountain of the Winding Stream. The outlet of the lake after winding in various du'ectious empties in the Wall-kill. The lake is called by the settlers on the mountain, the " Double Pond," from the fact that an island nearly separates it into two ponds ; the water is of great depth, fed by cold spiings, and produces very fine trout. An old man, named Jeremiah Edes, who formerly lived near the lake, tells of an old German, who came there with a tradition handed down to him from his grandfather, that a vein of precious ore existed near a lake, which answered to the description of this one ; which ore he was to seek for between four trees, near the l)ank ; that he, Edes, 15 114 WA-WA-YAN-DAU LAKE. assisted tlie German in liis search, wliicli after several montlis resulted in the discovery of some shining metal, of which the German took several lumps back to Germany, after carefully hiding the spot, and binding Edes, by a solemn oath, not to reveal the place. The lake is about one mile in extent, either way — it is about fif- teen miles from the Chester Depot of the New York and Erie Rail- road, and is usually visited from this place or from Greenwood Lake. To the above description, kindly furnished by a friend, we add an extract from a letter from Mr. Cropsey, the artist whose picture we have copied : — " The country ls mountainous and covered mostly by forests ; but the Httle ridges and valleys that he between the mountains are culti- vated ; farmhouses dot them here and there, amid apple orchards and luxuriant meadows — brooks wind through the meadows or ' linger with many a fall' down the wooded hill-side, snstaining here and there a mill, and then loosing themselves in some swamp, or spreading out in some placid httle lake or pond. All the country, as I passed along, was highly picturesque, possessing to a great extent the wild beauty of the Catskill and White INIountain country, combined Avitli the tame and cultivated Orange coimty, next which it hes. "Near the lake, and suppHed by its water, is an iron work with a pretty clearing in the woods around — with numerous neat little cottages for the workmen — a store — the manager's house, and all that kind of incident that indicates a new-made but flourishing place. Upon the high ground near by, and near where my view was taken, can be seen beyond the Sha-wau-gunk Mountains the Catskills, and from another position not far distant is distinctly seen Mount Adam and Mount Eve." "*V>^ OVER THE MOUNTAINS, OE THE WESTERN PIONEER. BY HENKY T. TUCKEEMAN. The peculiar beauty of American mountains is rather incidental tluiu intrinsic ; we seldom gaze upon one witli the delight awakened Ly an individual charm, but usually on account of its grand effect as part of a vast landscape. Our scenery is on so large a scale as to yield sub- lime i-ather than distinct impressions ; the artist feels that it is requi- site to select and combine the materials afforded by nature, in order to produce an effective picture ; and although our country is unsurpassed in bold and lovely scenes, no ordinary patience and skill are needed to choose adequate subjects for the pencil. The outline of the moun- tains is almost invariably rounded ; the peaks of Alpine summits and the graceful linear curves of the Apennines render them far more pic- turesque. As we stand on the top of Mount Washington, or the Cat- skills, the very immensity of tlie prospect renders it too vague for the hmner ; it inspires the imagmation more fi-equently than it satisfies the eye. Indeed, general effect is the characteristic of American sce- nery ; the levels are diffused into apparently boundless praiiies, and the elevations spread in grand but monotonous undulations ; only here IIG OVER THE MOUNTAINS. and tliere a nook or a ridge, a spur, a defile or a cliff, forms the nucleus for an impressive sketcli, or presents a cluster of attractive features limited enough in extent to be aptly transferred to canvas. " High mountains are a feeling ;" but here it is liable to be expansive rather < than intense. The Alleghanies stretch iUimitably, and, as it were, beckon forward tlic enthusiastic wanderer, while the Al])ii visibly soar and lure him upward ; amid the latter he has but to look through the circle of his hand to behold a picture, while the former awaken a sense of the undefined and limitless, and thus break up continually the per- ception of details. It is remarkable, hoAvever, that aljout the centre of the range, where it intersects the western part of North Carolina, the summits are peaked like the Alps, and are disposed waywardly like the Apennines. Here, too, the French Broad river, as it winds along the turnpike for the distance of forty miles, although not ua\-i- gable, is highly picturesque on account of its numerous rapids and the blufts that line its course ; and, while the autumnal frost produces no ■//"^''^ cUyt^ such gorgeous tints in the foliage around as make the western """oods. '^/^ ^imLjl^ radiant with crimson and gold, the profusion and variety of the ever-Oiv a^/'JU^-- greens, render the winter landscape far more atti'active. A similar discrepancy attaches to the moral association of moun- tains at home and abroad. We follow the track of invading hosts as we cross the Alps, and are thus haunted by memorable events in the history of civilization amid the most desolate heights of nature ; every fastness of the Apennines lias its legend of Scythian, Gaul, or Roman, and each base its Etrurian sepulchre. The chief moral interest belong- ing to the Alleghanies is that deiived from the fact that they consti- tute the natural boundary of the old and new settlements of the conti- nent. The memory of the Indian, the hunter, and especially tlie pio- neer, consecrate their names; and as we c()ntemj)late a view taken at llic |iicturesque locality l)efore alluded to, and illusti'atcd by the an- OVER THE MOUNTAINS. 117 nexed landscape, Ave naturally revert to tlie brave and original nian--*^-'''^'^-^ who tlience went " over the mountains," to clear a pathway, Luild a lodge, and found a State in the wilderness. There hung, for many months, on the walls of the Art-Union gal- lery in New- York, a picture by Ranney, so thoroughly national in its subject and true to nature in its execution, that it was refreshing to contemplate it, after being wearied with far more ambitious yet less successful attempts. It rej)resented a flat ledge of rock, the summit of a high cliif that projected over a rich, umbrageous country, upon which a band of hunters leaning on their rifles, were gazing with looks of delighted surprise. The foremost, a compact and agile, though not very commanding figure, is pointing out the landscape to his comrades, with an air of exultant yet calm satisfaction ; the wind lifts his thick hail- from a brow full of energy and percei^tlon; his loose hunting shirt, his easy attitude, the fresh brown tint of his cheek, and an in- ^yvy,/ genuous, cheerful, determined yet benign expression of countenance, jy):yj,.yy^^^yf(i;jlj proclaim the hunter and pioneer, the Columbus of the woods, the /^f^yuL^ 0,^14^ forest philosopher^ and brave champion. The jjicture represents 1 Daniel Boone discovering to his companions the fertile levels of Ken- tucky. This remarkable man, although he does not appear to have originated any great plans or borne the responsibility of an appointed leader in the warlike expeditious in which he was engaged, possessed one of those rarely balanced natures, and that unpretending efficiency of chai'acter which, though seldom invested with historical promi- nence, abound in personal interest. Without political knowledge, he sustained an infant settlement ; destitute of a military education, he proved one of the most formidable antagonists the Indians ever en- countered ; with no pretensions to a knowledge of ciAal engineering, he laid out the first road through the wilderness of Kentucky ; unfa- miliar Avith books, he reflected deeply and attained to philosophical 118 OVEK THE MOUNTAINS. convictions tliat yielded Mm equanimity of mind ; devoid of poetical expression, lie had an extraordinary feeling for natural beauty, and described Ms sensations and emotions, amid tlie wild seclusion of tlie forest, as prolific of deliglit ; witli manners entirely simple and unob- trusive, there was not the least rudeness in his demeanor ; and relent- less in fight, his disj)Osition was thoroughly humane ; his rifle and his cabin, with the freedom of the woods, satisfied his wants ; the sense of iusecm-ity in which no small portion of his life was passed, only rendered him circumspect ; and his trials induced a serene patience and fortitude ; while his love of adventm-e was a ceaseless inspiration. Such a man forms an admirable progenitor in that niu'sery of character — the AVest ; and a fine contrast to the development elsewhere induced by the spii-it of trade and political ambition ; like the rudely sculp- tm-ed calumets picked up on the plantations of Kentucky — memorials of a primitive race, whose mounds and copper utensils yet attest a people antecedent to the Indians that fled before the advancing settle- ments of Boone — his character indicates for the descendants of the hunters and pioneers, a bi'ave, independent and noble ancestry. Thus, as related to the diverse forms of national character in the various sections of the country, as well as on account of its intrinsic attractiveness, the western pioneer is an object of peculiar interest; and the career of Boone is alike distinguished for its association with romantic adventure and historical fact. A consecutive narrative however would yield but an ineffective jjicture of his life as it exists iii the light of symjjathetic reflection. The pioneer, like the mariner, alternates l)etween long uneventful periods and moments fraught with excitement ; the forest, like the ocean, is mo- notonous as well as grand ; and its tranquil beauty, for weeks together, may not be sublimated by terror; yet in l)oth spheres there is an undercurrent of suggestive life, and when the spirit of ooniliit and OVER THE MOUNTAINS. 119 vio-Uauce sleeps, tliat of contemplation is often alive. Perhaps it is this very succession of " moving accidents" and lonely quiet, of solemn repose and intense activity, that constitutes the fascination which the sea and the wilderness possess for imaginative minds. They appeal at once to poetical and heroic instincts; and these are more fre- quently combined in the same individual, than we usually suppose. Before attempting to realize the characteristics of Boone in their unity, we must note the salient points in his experience ; and this is best done by reviving a few scenes which ty]3ify the whole drama. It is midnight in the forest ; and, through the interstices of its thickly woven branches, pale moonbeams glimmer on the emerald sward. The only sounds that lireak upon the brooding silence, are an occasional gust of wind amid the branches of the loftier trees, the hoot- ing of an owl, and, sometimes, the wild cry of a beast disappointed of his prey, or scared by the dusky figure of a savage on guard at a watch-fire. Besides its glowing embers, and leaning against the huge trunk of a gigantic hemlock, sit two gii'ls whose complexion and habili- ments indicate then- Anglo-Saxon origin; theii- hands are clasped together, and one appears to sleep as her head rests upon her com- panion's shoulders. They are very pale, and an expression of anxiety is evident in the very firmness of their resigned looks. A slight rustle in the thick undergrowth near their camp, causes the Indian sentinel to rise quickly to his feet and peer in the dii-ection of the sound ; a moment after he leaps up, with a piercing shout, and falls bleeding upon the ground, whUe the crack of a rifle echoes through the wood ; in an iastant twenty Indians spring from around the fii-e, raise the war-whoop, and brandish their tomahawks ; but three or fom- in- stantly drop before the deadly aim of the invaders, several run howl- ing with pain into the depths of the forest, and the remainder set oft' on an opposite ti'ail. Then calmly, but with an earnest joy, revealed l-_'() OVER THE MOUNTAINS. by tlie dying flames upon his features, a robust, compactly knit figure, moves mtli a few liasty strides towards tlie females, gazes eagerly into their faces, lifts one in his arms and presses her momently to his breast, gives a hasty order, and his seven companions with the three in theii" midst, rapidly i-etrace their way over the tangled brushwood and amid the pillared trunks, until they come out, at dawn, upon a clearing, studded M'ith enormous roots, among which waves the tasselled maize, beside a spacious log-dwelling surrounded by a pallisade ; an eager, tearful group rush out to meet them ; and the weary and hungry band are soon discussing their midnight adventure over a substantial break- fast of game. Thus Boone rescued his daughter and her friend when ^^oaMi^*-^^"-^ they were taken captive by the Indians, Avithin sight of his primitive dwelling ; — an incident which illustrates more than pages of descrip- tion, how closely pioneer presses upon savage life, and with what peril civihzation encroaches upon the domain of nature. It is the dawn of a spring day in the wilderness ; as steals the gray pearly light over the densely waving tree-tops, an eagle majestically rises from a withered bough, and floats through the silent air, becom- ing a mere speck on the sky ere he disappears over the distant moun- tains ; dew-drops are condensed on the green threads of the pine and the swollen buds of the hickory ; pale bulbs and sj)ears of herbage shoot fi'om the black loam, amid the decayed leaves ; in the inmost re- cesses ftf the wood, the rabbit's tread is audible, and the chu'p of the squirrel ; as the sunshine expands, a thousand notes of birds at Avork on their nests, invade the solitude ; the bear fearlessly laps the running stream, and the elk turns his graceful head from the pendant lu-anch he is nibbling, at an unusual sound from the adjacent cane-brake ; it is a lonely man rising from his night slumber ; Avith his blanket on his arm and his rifle grasped in one hand, he approaches the brook and batlies his head and neck; th(>n li'lancing aniuml, turns aside the in- OVER TnE MOUNTAINS. 121 terw'ovcu tliickets uear by, ;uk1 elimhs a stony mound sliadowed by a fine clump of oaks, where stands an liumble but substantial cabin ; lie lio-hts a fire upon tlie flat stone before the entrance, kneads a cake of mai^e, while his venison steak is broiling, and carefully examines the priming of his rifle ; the meal dispatched with a hearty rehsh, he closes the door of his lodge, and saunters through the wilderness ; his eye roves from the wild flower at his feet, to the cliff that looms afar off; he pauses in admiration before some venerable sylvan monarch, watches the bounding stag his intrusion has disturbed, or cuts a little spray from the sassafras with the knife in his gu-dle ; as the sun rises higher, he penetrates deeper into the vast and beautiful forest ; each form of vegetable life, from the enormous fungi to the dehcate vine- wreath, the varied structure of the trees, the cries and motions of the wild animals and birds, excite in his mind a delightful sense of infinite power and beauty ; he feels, as he walks, in every nerve and vein the " glorious privilege of being independent ;" reveries that bathe his soul in a tranquil yet lofty pleasui-e, succeed each other; and the sight of some lovely \Tista induces him to lie down upon a heap of dead leaves and lose himself in contemplation. Weariness and hunger, or the deepening gloom of approaching night, at length warn him to retrace his steps ; on the way, he shoots a wild turkey for his supj)er, sits over the watch-fire, beneath the solemn firmament of stars, and recalls the absent and loved through the first watches of the night. jMonths have elapsed since he has thus lived alone in the wilderness, his brother having left him to seek ammunition and pro- vision at distant settlements. Despondency, for awhile, rendered his loneliness oppressive, but such is his love of nature and freedom, his zest for life ui the woods and a natural self-reliance, that gra- dually he attains a degree of happiness which De Foe's hero might ^-k-^^**- have envied. Nature is a benign mother, and whispers consoling () V E K THE .MOUNTAINS secrets to attentive ears, and mysteriously cheers the heart of her pure votaries who truthfully cast themselves on her bosom. Not thus serenely however glides away the forest life of our pioneer. He is jealously watched by the Indians, upon whose hunting-grounds he is encroaching ; they steal iipon his retreat and make him captive, and in this situation a new y^hase of his character exhibits itself. The soul that has been in long and intimate communion with natural grandeur and beauty, and learned the scope and quality of its own resources, gains self-possession and foresight. The prophets of old did not resort to the desert in A'ain ; and the 1 )ravery and candor of hunters and sea- men is ])artly the result of the isolation and hardihood of their lives. Boone excelled as a sportsman ; he won the respect of his savage captors by his skill and foi'titude ; and more than once, without vio- lence, emancipated himself, revealed their bloody schemes to his coun- trymen, and met them on the battle-field, witli a coolness and celerity that awoke their intense astonishment. Again and again, he saw his companions fall before their tomahawks and rifles ; his daughter, as Ave have seen, was stolen from his \'ery door, though fortunately rescued ; his son fell before his eyes in a conflict with the Indians who opposed their emigration to Kentucky ; his brother and his dearest friends were victims either to their strategy or ^^olence ; his own immunity is to l)e accounted for by the influence he had ac- quired over his foes, which induced them often to spare his life — an in- fluence derived from the extraoi'dinary tact, patience, and facility of action, which his experience and character united to foster. Two other scenes of his career are ree[uisite to the ])icture. On the banks of the Missouri river, less than forty years ago, there stood ^Vf^ '*^f' ' a lew small rude cabins in the shape of a liollow square ; m one of i these, tlic now venerable figure of the gallant liuntcr is listlessly stretclicd uipon a couch; a slice of Inick twistcil on the laiinnd of liis OVER THE MOUNTAINS. 123 rifle, is roasting by the fire, Avithiu reacli of his hand ; he is still alone, l)iit the surrounding cabins are occupied by his thriving descendants. The vital energies of the pioneer are gradually ebbing away, though his thick white locks, well-knit frame, and the light of his keen eye, evidence the genuineness and prolonged tenure of his life. Over- matched by the conditions of the land law in Kentucky, and annoyed by the march of civilization in the regions he had known in their primitive beauty, he had wandered here, far from the state he founded and the haunts of his manhood, to die with the same adventurous and independent spirit in which he had lived. He occupied some of the irksome hours of confinement incident to age, in polishing his own cherrywood coffin ; and it is said he was found dead in the woods at last, a few rods from his dwelling. On an autumn day, six years since, a hearse might have been seen winding up the main street of Frankfort, Kentucky, drawn by white horses, and garlanded with evergreens. The pall-bearers comprised some of the most distinguished men of the state. It was the second funeral of Daniel Boone. By an act of the legislature, his remains were removed from the banks of the Missouri to the public cemetery of the capitol of Kentucky, and there deposited with every cei-emonial of resj^ect and love. This oblation was in the highest degree just and appropriate, for the name of Boone is identified with the state he originally explored, and his character associates itself readily with that of her j^eople and scenery. No part of the country is more individual in these respects than Kentucky. As the word imports, it was at once the hunting and battle-ground of savage tribes for centuries ; and not until the midtile of the eighteenth century, was it well-known to Anglo-Saxon explorers. The elk and buftalo held undisputed possession with the Indian ; its dark forests served as a contested boundary between the Cherokees, 124 OVi;i; THE MOUNTAINS. Creeks aud Catawbaij of tlie Soutli, aud the Shawnees, Delawares aud "Wyandots of the North ; and to these mimical tribes it was indeed " a dark and bloody groimd." Unauthenticated exjjeditious thither we hear of before that of Boone, but with his first visit the history of the region becomes clear and progressive, remarkable for its rapid and steady progress and singular foilunes. The same year that Independ- ence was declai-ed, Virginia made a county of the embryo state, aud forts scattered at intervals over the face of the country, alone yielded refiige to the colonists from their barbarian invaders. In 1778, Du Quesne, with his Canadian and Indian army, met with a ^'igorous re- pulse at Boonesborough ; in 1778, occurred Roger Clark's brilliant ex- pedition against the English forts of Vincennes and Kaskaskias ; and the next year, a single blockhouse — the forlorn hope of advancing civilization — was erected l)y Koljert Patterson where Lexington now stands; soon after took place the unfortunate expedition of Col. Bow- man against the Indians of Chilicothe ; aud the Virginian legislatm'e passed the celebrated land law. This enactment neglected to pl•o^^de for a general survey at the exj^ense of the government ; each holder of a warrant located therefoi'e at pleasure, aud nuide his own sui'vey ; yet a si^ecial entry was required by the law in order clearly to de- signate boundaries ; the vagueness of many entries rendered the titles null ; those of Boone and men similarly unacquaiuted with legal writing, were, of course, destitute of any accuracy of description ; and hence interminable perplexity, disputes and forfeitures. The imme- diate consequences of the law, however, was to induce a flood of emigration ; and the fever of land speculation i-ose and spread to an unexampled height ; to obtain patents for rich lands became the ruling passion ; and simultaneous Indian hostilities prevailed — so that Ken- tucky was transformed, all at once, from an agricultural and huntiug region thiuly peopled, to an arena where raj)acity ami war swayed a OVEli THE MUtJNTAlNS. 125 vast multitude. Tlie conflicts, law-suits, border adventures, and per- sonal feuds growing out of this condition of affairs, would yield memo- rable themes, without number, for the annalist. To this e25och suc- ceeded " a labyiinth of conventions." The position of Kentucky was anomalous ; the appendage of a state unable to protect her frontier from savage invasion ; her future prosperity in a great measure de- pendent upon the glorious river that bounded her domain, and the United States government alre^ady proposing to yield the right of its navigation to a foreign powei^^^ se];)arated by the Alleghany mountains from the populous and cultivated East; and the tenure by which estates were held within its limits quite unsettled, it is scarcely to be wondered at, that reckless political adventurers began to look upon Kentucky as a promising sphere for their intrigues. Without advert- ing to any particular instances, or renewing the inquiry iuto the mo- tives of prominent actors in those scenes, it is interesting to perceive how entirely the intelligence and honor of the people triumphed over selfish ambition and cunning artifice. Foreign governments and domestic traitors failed in theii- schemes to alienate the isolated state from the growing confederacy ; repulsed as she was again and again in her attempts to secure constitutional freedom, she might have said to the parent government, with the repudiated " lady wedded to the Moor " — " Unkindness may do much, And youi- uukindness may achieve my Ul'e, But never taint my love." Kentucky was admitted into the Union on the fourth of Febru- ary, 1791. From this outline of her history, we can readily perceive how rich and varied was the material whence has sprung the Western charac- ter ; its highest phase is doubtless to be found in Kentucky ; and, in 126 OVER THE MOUNTAINS. our view, best illustrates Ameiicau iu distiuctiou from European civilization. In the Xortli this is essentially modified by the cosmopo- lite influence of the seaboard, and in the South, by a climate which assimilates her peoi;)le with those of the same latitudes elsewhere ; but iu the AVest, and especially in Kentucky, we find the foundation of social existence laid Tty the hunters — whose love of the woods, equality of condition, habits of sport and agriculture, and distance from con- ventionalities, combine to nourish independence, strength of mind, candor, and a fresh and genial spirit. The ease and freedom of social intercourse, the al;)eyance of the passion for gain, and the scope given to the play of character, accordingly developed a race of noble apti- tudes ; and we can scarcely imagine a more appropriate figure in the foreground of the picture than Daniel Boone, who embodies the honesty, intelligence, and chi^■alric spirit of the state. With a popu- lation descended from the extreme sections of the land, fi-om emi- grants of New-England as well as Virginia and North Carolina, and whose immediate progenitors were chiefly agiicultural gentlemen, a generous and spirited character might have been prophesied of the natives of Kentucky ; and it is in the highest degree natural for a j^eo- ple thus descended and with such habits, to cling with entire loyalty to their parent government, and to yield, as they did, ardent though injudicious sym])athy to France in the hour of her revolutionary crisis. Impulsive and honorable, her legitimate children belong to the aris- tocracy of nature ; without the general intellectual I'efinement of the Atlantic states, they possess a far higher physical de\'elopment and richer social instincts ; familiar with the excessive development of the religious and political sentiments, in all varieties and degrees, their views are more lu'oad though less discriminate than those entei-tained ill older coinniuiiities. The Catholic from .Maivland, the Turitan from Connecticut, and tiit! C^liuiclniiaii of Carolina, amicably flourish to- li'ctlicr; and the conscrvatiN <■ and fanatic arc alike undisturbed ; the OVEll THE MOUKTAINS. 127 convent and the caraji-meetiug Ijeing, often within sight of each other, equally respected. Nature, too, has been as liberal as the social elements in endowing Kentucky with interestmg associations. That mysterious fifteen miles J'^jt>y,<, f^n^ of subterranean wonders known as the Mammoth Cave, — its wonderful tc^y^'-^ /«^ architecture, fossil remains, nitrous atmosphere, echoes, fish with only the rudiment of an optic nerve, — its chasms and cataracts- — -is one of the most remarkable objects in the world. The boundaries of the state are unequalled hi beauty ; on the east the Laurel Eidge or Cum- berland Mountain, and on the west the Father of Waters. In native trees she is peculiarly rich- — ^the glorious magnolia, the prolific sugar- tree, the laurel and the buckeye, the hickory and honey locust, the mulberry, ash, antl floAviug catalpa, attest in every village and road- side, the sylvan aptitudes of the soil ; while the thick buftalo grass and finest crown-imperial in the world, clothe it with a lovely garni- ture. The blue limestone formation predominates, and its grotesque clift's and caverns render much of the geological scenery pecuhar and interesting. The lover of the picturesque and characteristic, must often regi'et that artistic and literary genius has not adequately preserved the origi- nal local and social features of our own primitive communities. Facility of intercourse and the assimilating influence of trade are rapidly bring- ing the traits and tendencies of all parts of the country to a common level ; yet in the natives of each section in whom strong idiosyncrasies have kept intact the original bias of character, we find the most striking and suggestive diversity. According to the glimpses aftbrded us by tradition, letters, and a few meagre biographical data, the eai'ly settlers of Kentucky united to the simplicity and honesty of the New- York colonists, a high degree of chivalric feeling ; there was an heroic vein induced l;)y familiarity with danger, the necessity of mutual protection and the healthful excitement of the chase. The absence of any marked 128 OVER THE MOUNTAINS. distiuctiou of Ijirth or fortune, aud the liigli estimate placed upou society by those who dwell on widely separated plantations, caused a remarkably cordial, hospitable and warm intercourse to prevail, almost unknown at the North and East. Family honor was cherished with pecuhar zeal ; and the women accustomed to equestrian exercises aud brought up in the freedom and isolation of nature — their sex always re- spected and their charms thoroughly appreciated — acquu-ed a spirited and cheerful development quite in contrast to the subdued, uniform tone of those educated in the commercial towns ; their mode of life natu- rally generated self-reliance and evoked a spirit of independence. Most articles in use were of domestic manufacture ; slavery was more patriarchal in its character than in the other states ; the j^ractice of duelling, with its inevitable miseries, had also the effect to give a cer- tain tone to social life rarely witnessed in agricultural districts ; and the Kentucky gentleman was thus early initiated into the manly qualities of a Nimrod and the engaging and relialjle one of a man of honoi" and gallantry — in its best sense. It is to circumstances like these that we attriljute the cliivalric spirit of the state. She was a somewhat wild member of the confederacy — a kind of spoiled younger chUd, with the faults and the virtues incident to her age and fortunes ; nerved by long vigils at the outposts of civilization, — the wild cat in- vading her first school-houses aud the Indians her scattered cornfields, — and receiving httle parental recognition from the central govern- ment, — with a ])rimitivc loyalty of heart, she repudiated the intrigues of Genet and Burr, aud liaptized her counties for such national patriots as Fultou and (iullatin. Passing through a fiery ordeal of Indian Avarfare, the fever of land speculation, great political A"icissitude, unusual legal perplexities, imperfect legislation, and subsequently entire financial derangement, — she has yet maintained a j)rogressive anil Iii(li\i(lual attitude; and seems to us, in her most legitimate sporimcns n\' cliaiaclcr, more satisfactorily to represent the national OVER THE MOUNTAINS. 129 type, thau auy other state. Her culture lias not been as refined, nor her social sjDirit as versatile and elegant as in older communities, but a raciness, hardihood and genial freshness of nature have, for those very reasons, more completely survived ; as a region whence to transplant or graft, if we may apply horticultural terms to humanity, Kentucky is a rich garden. Nor have these distinctions ceased to be. Her greatest statesman, in the nobleness of his character and the extraor- dinary personal regard he inspires, admii'ably illusti'ates the community of which Boone was the characteristic pioneer ; and the volunteers of Kentucky, in the Indian wars, under Harrison, and more recently in Mexico, have continued to vindicate theii" bii'tkright of valor ; while one of her most accomplished daughters sends tliis year a magnificent bed-quilt, wrought by her own hands, to the World's Fair. A Penusylvanian l^y l)irth, Boone early emigrated to North Caro- lina. He appears to have first ^isited Kentucky in 1769. The bounty lauds awarded to the Virginia troops induced surveying expe- ditions to the Ohio river ; and when Col. Henderson, in 1775, pm-- chased from the Cherokees, the country south, of the Kentucky river, the knowledge which two yeai's exj^loration had given Boone of the region, and his already established reputation for firmness and adven- tm'e, caused him to l)e employed to survey the country, the fertility and picturesque charms of which, had now become celebrated. Accord- ingly, the pioneer having satisfactorily laid out a road through the wilderness, not without many fierce encounters with the Aborigines, chose a spot to erect his log-house, which afterwards became the nucleus of a colony, and the germ of a prosperous State, on the site of the present town of Boonsborough. While transporting his family thither, they were surprised l)y the Indians, and, after severe loss, so far discouraged in theii- ei]ter])rise as to return to the nearest settle- ments ; and on tlie first sun)mer of their residence in Kentucky oc- 17 130 OVER THE MOUNTAINS. curred the bold abduction of the two young gii'ls, to which we have previously referred. In 1778, while engaged in making salt with thirty men, at the lower Blue Licks, Boone was captured, and while his companions were taken to Detroit on terms of capitulation, he was retained as a prisoner, though kindly treated and allowed to hunt. At Chillicothe he witnessed the extensive preparations of the Indians to join a Canadian expedition against the infant settlement ; and effecting his escape, succeeded in reaching home in time to warn the garrison and prepare for its defence. For nine days he was besieged by an army of five hundred Indians and whites, when the enemy abandoned their project in des^iair. In 1782 he was engaged in the memorable and disastrous battle of Blue Licks, and accompanied Gen. Clarke on his expedition to avenge it. In the succeeding year, peace with Eng- land being declared, the pioneer saw the liberty and civilization of the country he had known as a wilderness, only inhabited by wild beasts and savages, guaranteed and established. In 1779, having laid out the chief of his little propei'ty in land warrants, — on his way from Kentucky to Richmond, he was robbed of twenty thousand dollars ; wiser claimants, versed in the legal conditions, deprived him of his lands ; disappointed and im^iatient, he left the glorious domain he had originally exploi-ed and nobly defended, and became a voluntary sub- ject of the King of Spahi, by making a new forest home on the banks of the Missouri. An excursion he undertook, in 1816, to Fort Osage, a hundred miles from his lodge, evidences the unimpaired vigor of his declining years. So indifferent to gain was Boone tliat he neglected to secure a fine estate rather than incur the trouble of a visit to New Orleans. An autograph letter, still extant, proves that he was not Uhterate ; and Governor Dunmore of Virginia, had such entire confidence in his vigi- lance and integrity that he emjjloycd liim to conduct sui'veyoi's ciglit OVER THE MOUNTAINS. 131 huudred miles tlirougli the forest to the falls of the Ohio, gave him command of three frontier stations and sent him to negotiate treaties with the Cherokees. It was a fond boast with him that the first white women that ever stood on the banks of the Kentucky river, were his wife and daughter, and that his axe cleft the first tree whose timbers laid the foimdation of a permanent settlement in the State ; he had the genuine ambition of a pioneer and the native taste for life in the woods embodied in the foresters of Scott and the Leatherstocking of Cooper. He possessed that restless impulse — the instinct of adventure — the poetry of action. It has been justly said that "he was seldom taken by surprise, never shrunk from danger, nor cowered beneath ex- jjosure and fatigue." So accurate were his woodland observations and memory, that he recognised an ash tree which he had notched twenty years before, to identify a locahty ; and proved the accuracy of his de- signation by stripping ofi^ the new bark and exjiosing the marks of his axe beneath. His aim was so certain, that during life, he could with ease bark a squirrel, that is, bring down the animal, when on the top of the loftiest tree, by knocking oft' the bark immediately beneath, kill- ing him by the concussion. The union of beauty and terror in the life of a pioneer, of so much natural courage and thoughtfulness as Boone, is one of its most significant features. We have followed his musing steps through the wide, umbrageous solitudes he loved, and marked the contentment he experienced in a log-hut and by a camp fire ; but over this attractive picture there ever impended the shadow of peril • — in the foi-m of a stealthy and cruel foe, the wolf, disease, and exjwsure to the elements. Enraged at the invasion of theii- ancient hunting-groimds, the Indians hovered near ; while asleep in the jungle, following the plough, or at his frugal meal, the pioneer was hable to be shot down by an unseen rifle, and surrounded Ity an lo^ (IVEK THE MOUNTAINS. ambiLsli ; from the ti-auc[uil pui'suits of agriculture, at an}' moment, he might Ibe summoned to the battle-field, to rescue a neighbor's projierty or defend a solitary outpost. The senses become acute, the mind vigi- lant, and the tone of feeling chivalric under such discipline. That life has a peculiar dignity, even in the midst of privation and however de- void of refined culture, which is entirely self-dependent both for sus- taiument and protection. It has, too, a singular freshness and anima- tion the more genial from being naturally inspired. Compare the spasmodic eftbrts at hilarity, the forced speech and hackneyed expres- sion of the fashionable drawing-room, with the candid mirth and gal- lant spirit born of the woodland and the chase ; — the powerful sinews and well-braced nerves of the pioneer with the langiiid pulse of the metropolitan exquisite ; — and it seems as if the fountain of youth still buljl )led up in some deep recess of the forest. Philosophy, too, as well as health, is attainal^le in the woods, as Shakespeare has illustrated in " As You Like It ;" and Boone by his example and habitual senti- ments. He said to his brother, when they had lived for months in the yet unex])lored wilds of Kentucky, " You see hoAV little human nature requii-es. It is in our own hearts rather than in the things around us, that we are to seek felicity. A man may be happy in any state. It only asks a perfect resignation to the will of Providence." It is re- markal)le that the two American characters which chiefly interested Byron, were Patrick Henry and Daniel Boone — the one for his gift of oratory, and the other for his philosophical content — both so directly springing from the resources of nature. There is an afiinity between man and nature which conventional habits keep in abeyance but do not extinguish. It is manifested in the prevalent taste for scenery, and the favor so readily bestowed upon its graphic delineation in art or literature ; but in addition to the poetic love of nature, as addi'essed to the sense of beauty, or tliat ardent OVEK THE MOUNTAINS. 133 curiosity to explore its laws aud plieuomeua wliich fluds expression in natural science, there is an instinct that leads to a keen relish of nature in her primeval state, and a facility in embracing the life she ofters in her wild and solitary haunts ; a feeling that seems to have survived the influences of civilization and developes, when encouraged, by the inevitable law of animal mstinct. It is not uncommon to meet with this passion for nature among those whose lives have been devoted to objects apparently alien to its existence ; sportsmen, pedestrians, and citizens of rural propensities, indicate its modified action, while it is more emphatically exhibited by the volunteers who join caravans to the Rocky Mountains, the deserts of the East and the forests of Central and South America, with no ostensible purpose but the gratification arising from intimate contact with nature in her luxu- riant or barren soHtudes. To one having but an inkling of this sympathy, with a nervous organization and an observant mind, there is, indeed, no restorative of the frame or sweet diversion to the mind like a day in the woods. The eft'ect of roaming a treeless plain or riding over a cultivated region is entirely different. There is a certain tranquillity and balm in the forest that heals and calms the fevered spuit and quickens the languid pulses of the weary and disheartened with the breath of hope. Its influence on the animal spirits is remarkable ; and the senses, released from the din and monotonous limits of streets and houses, luxuriate in the breadth of \Tsion and the rich variety of form, hue and odor which only scenes like these afford. As you walk in the shadow of lofty trees, the repose and awe of hearts that breathe from a sacred temple, graduaEy lulls the tide of care and exalts despondency into worship. As your eye tracks the flickering light glancing upon the herbage, it brightens to recognize the wild-flowers that are associated with the innocent enjoyments of childhood ; to note the dehcate blossom of the 134 OVER THE MOUNTAINS. ■wdld Lyacintli, see the purple asters wave in tlie breeze, aud the scarlet berries of the wiuter-green glow among the dead leaves, or mark the cii'cling flight of the startled crow and the sudden leap of the squirrel. You pause unconsciously to feel the springy velvet of the moss-clump, pluck up the bulb of the broad-leaved sanguinaria, or examine the star- like flower of the liverwort, and then lifting your gaze to the canopy beneath which you lovingly stroll, greet as old and endeared acquaint- ances the noble trees in their- autumn splendor, — the crimson dogwood, yellow hickory or scarlet maple, whose brilliant hues mingle and glow in the sunshine hke the stained windows of an old gothic cathedral ; and you feel that it is as true to fact as to poetry that " the groves were God's first temples." Every fern at your feet is as daintily carved as the frieze of a Gre'cian column ; every vista down which you look, wears more than Egyptian solemnity ; the withered leaves rustle like the sighs of penitents, and the lofty tree-tops send forth a voice like that of prayer. Fresh vines encumber aged trunks, solitary leaves quiver slowly to the earth, a twilight hue chastens the brightness of noon, and, all around, is the charm of a mysterious quietude and seclusion that induces a dreamy and reverential mood ; while health seems wafted from the balsamic pine and the elastic turf, aud over all broods the serene blue firmament. If such refreshment and inspii-ation are obtainable from a casual and temporary visit to the woods, we may imagine the effect of a length- ened sojourn in the primeval forest, upon a nature alive to its beauty, wildness and solitude ; aud when we add to these, the zest of adventure, the pride of discovery and that feeling of sublimity ^vliich arises from a consciousness of danger always impending, it is easy to I'calize in the experience of a pioneer at once the most romantic and pi-actical ele- ments of life. In our own history, rich as it is in this species of adventure, no individual is so attractive and proniiiiont as Daniel OVER THE MOUNTAINS. 135 Boone. The singular uuion iu his character of beuevoleuce and hardi- hood, bold activity and a meditative disposition, the hazardous enter- prises and narrow escapes recorded of him, and the resolute tact he displayed in all emergencies, are materials quite adequate to a thrilling narrative ; hut when we add to the external phases of interest, that absolute passion for forest life which distinguished him, and the identity of his name with the early fortunes of the West, he seems to combine the essential features of a genuine historical and thoroughly individual character. WEST ROCK, NEW HAVEN. BY MARY E. FIELD. Conspicuous among the lovely places of New England is the elm- shaded city of New Haven. It is a city by vii-tue of its population and municipal regulations ; but its rui-al appearance, — neat, unpre- tending homes, with theii* pleasant court-yards and tasteful gardens, open squares and streets overarched with trees, make one hesitate to give it a name associated with glare, and dust, and noise. The waters of Long Island Sound flow softly to its feet, and in the haven thus formed the mariuer finds shelter from outside storms. The town is situated on a plain which opens northward into a beautiful valley, whose guarding hill-sides terminate in two rocky heights. When seen from the harbor below, these eminences seem near the city, and look like the sides of some huge portal thrown open in welcome to the traveller. They are known as East and West Rock. It is one of these prominent and most picturesque objects, which the artist has chosen for his beautiful picture. How truthful are its outlines when comj)ared with the scene iu memory, daguerreotyped there in those 18 138 WEST ROCK. summer days when the student goes to tlie woods with his books, — • when the angler hes idle by the brook, — and the j)oet dreams to a tuneful measure as he gazes on the outline of hills, or watches the clouds which rest over them. There is the bold, red rock, a columned wall, — seamed and scarred, and piled up half its height with fragments of stone. There gleams a village spire above the trees ; there are the river and meadow shadowed by summer clouds, and there the hay- makers gather their fragrant harvest. But West Eock has another interest. The artist here gives us not only a beautiful and well-known scene, but illustrates a passage in colonial history. That rugged pile recalls a story of trial and forti- tude, courage and magnanimity, the noblest friendship, and a fear- less adherence to political principles from rehgious motives. Thei-e were troubled days in England. The king had been false to his people, and had been adjudged the death of a traitor. Then folloM-ed the brief rule of Cromwell, his death, and the restoration of the monarchy. The enthronement of Charles II. was the signal of flight to those who acted as judges on the trial of his father. Two of these men, Edward Whalley and "William Goffe, arrived at Boston the 21th. of July, 1660, in the very ship which brought the first tidings of the Bestoration. Thej;- were particularly obnoxious to the new govei-nment from theii- relationship to Cromwell, theu' political influence in the late Commonwealth, the rank they had held in the armies of the Parliament, and the possession of eminent talents whose exercise might again endanger the monarchy. For a time they were safe in Massachusetts, and it was hoped they might be forgotten in the mother country and suffered to live in peace in these remote regions. But when, some months later, an act of indemnity arrived, and these men were specially excluded iVom tlic general ])ardoii, it became evident that royal vengeance would not WEST liOCK. 139 overlook them. Still no attempt was made to arrest tlaem until February, 1661, wlieu a warrant to that effect arrived from England. Anticipating this, they had left for Connecticut a few days before, and the friendly officers of justice in Massachusetts were careful to look for them in another direction. Ali-eady had the good Davenport, minister of the New Haven colony, prepared his people to receive them, teaching them to " Be not forgetful to entertain strangers ;" to " Remember those in bonds as bound with them," and citing for their direction such passages as " Make thy shadow as the night ia the midst of the noonday ; hide the outcasts ; bewray not him that wandereth. Let mine outcasts dwell with thee, Moab ; be thou a covert to them from the face of the spoiler." Thus taught, and the peoj^le of that colony were atten- tive to such instructions, they were ready to give the fugitives efficient protection. Royalist officers pm-sued them, but the "noonday was night" around them. They had been seen at the house of Mr. Daven- port and elsewhere in town, but search was always made for them in the wrong place. At last, when no house could longer give them protection and then- friends were endangered by theii- presence. West Rock furnished them a refuge. On its summit there are large masses of stone irregularly thi'own together, so that the apertures between furnish a recess or small cave, in which the wanderers hid themselves. Trees and bushes grew thick around, concealing the entrance. They were not forgotten in this retreat. Every day, and often both morning and evening, a messenger ascended the height to carry them food, and they were informed of all that passed below. There they were com- paratively safe; luit it was told them that their tried friend, ]\Ii-. Davenport, Vas exposed to danger on their account, and though the certainty of a painftil, humiliating death was before them, they de- 140 WEST K O C K . sceuded to tlie town with tlie intention of surrendering them- selves to the royal officers. They prefei'red any suffering to the tran- sient peril of theii" fiiend. This danger was less alarming than they supposed, and they were persuaded to return to their cave. A^Tiat weaiy days and nights passed over them in that solitude ! Those restless souls, nurtured to battle and the strife of political par- ties, so lately j)rominent in the terrible struggle at home, were here condemned to inaction, to the slow wearing out of life in loneliness and dread. They could look off upon the waters, but seldom came a vessel up that bay ; and when at rare intervals a white sail gleamed there, it only seemed to mock their impatience to know the tidings it brought, — too often saddest news for them. They could watch every approach to the mountain, and friends occasionally visited them there. Stories were long told of mysterious appearances on that height, — forms as of human beiugs seen in mist, hovering over the edge of the precipice ; tales which have since resolved themselves into the morning or evening stroll on which the lonely outcasts ventiu'ed. The messenger who generally carried them food, was ignorant for whom it was intended. There was a strange mystery in his errand, and he executed it with fear, thinking of appa- ritions the villagers had seen there. The emptied cloth or basket was always in its place, but no human being was visible. But the Cave on "West llock had its own dangers. A security fi'om pursuing men, there was no safety from the tenants of the forest. Wild beasts were around the fugitives. Roused at night by their howling or cries, and waked to see their glaring eyeballs fixed upon them, they were forced to desert their mountain refuge, and again found a shelter among men. Years passed on. Search for them was rehnquished at intervals only to be renewed with greater zeal ; but concealed in an inland \i\- WEST llOCK. 141 lage of Massachusetts * not all tlie officers of the crown could trace them out. There they died, but their place of burial was kept secret, lest their ashes should be dishonored. Later developments seem to prove their removal to New Haven, and the stranger standing on West Rock is shown the church in whose shadow they are believed to lie bm-ied. The panther no longer screams up that rocky height, and the woods are cut away, but the " Judge's Cave" remains. High on its front some hand has recorded the political creed of the men who there suffered exile and persecution : " Opposition to tyrants is obe- dience to God." There may it remam, the epitaph of the " Regicides" as the Rock is their memorial ! * Hadley. THE ERIE RAILROAD (See Title-page.) !Y BAYARD TAYLOR. With the rapid progress and wider development of the great loco- motive triumplis of the age, steam travel and steam navigation, the vulgar lament over their introduction is beginning to disappear. Sen- timental tourists who once complained that every nook where the poetry of the Past still lives — every hermitage of old and sacred associations — would soon be invaded by these merciless embodiments of the Present and the Practical, are now quite content to take their aid, wherever it may be had, Ijetween Ceylon and the North Cape. The shriek of the steam whistle is hardly as musical as the song of the sirens, and a cushioned car is not so romantic as a gondola, yet they pass Calypso's isle with the sound of one ringing in their ears, and ride into Venice over the bridged Lagunes in the other. The fact is, it was only the innovation which alarmed. Once adoj^ted, its mu-acles of speed, comfort, and safety, soon silenced the repiuings of those who depend on outward circumstances and scenes to give those blossoms of thought and sensation, which, without these, their minds are too barren to pi-oduce. "We now more frequently hear of the 144 THE ERIE RAILROAD. power and poetic mystery of the steam-engine. We are called upon to watcli those enormous iron arms and listen to the thick thi'obbings of that unconscious heart, exerting the strength of the Titans and the Analdm to beat down the opposing waves and bear us forward in the teeth of the terrible winds. We have been told, till the likeness has grown commonj^lace, of the horse that, snorting fii-e and smoke from his nostrils, and his neck " clothed with thunder," skims over the plain and pierces the mountain's heart, outrunning the swift clouds and leaving the storm in his rear. We shall learn, ere long, that no great gift of science ever diminishes our stores of purer and more spiritual enjoyment, but rather adds to their abimdauce and gives them a richer zest. Let the changes that must come, come : and be sure they will bring us more than they take away. No similar work in the world could contribute more to make the Eailroad popular with the class referred to, than the New- York and Erie Raili-oad. This is by far the most striking enterprise of the kind which has yet been completed. Exceeding in length any single road in the world, the nature of the country through which it passes, the difficulties to be overcome in its construction, and the intiinsic charac- ter of the work itself, invest it with an interest and grandeur which few mechanical enterprises of ancient or modern times possess. Its course represents, on a small scale, the crossing of a continent. It belts four dividing lidges of mountains, separating five difterent sys- tems of rivers and streams. From the level of tide-water at New- Yoi-k, it lises to a height of 1,3GG feet on crossing the main ridge of the AUeghanies, and yet throughout its whole extent of four hundred and fifty miles, there is neither an inclined plane nor a tunnel. The first direct line of communication between the Atlantic and the great Lakes of the North, it h.-us brought them ■\\itliiu the compass of a suiiiiiicr's day. The traveller who sees daybreak gliiiiiiicr over the THE Ell IE RAILROAD. 145 waters of New- York Bay, may watcli the last tints of the sunset sink beliind tlie horizon of Lake Erie. The history of the Erie Railroad, is like that of all great under- takings. It began with a ftiilure ; it ended with a triumph. The first chai'ter for its construction was granted in 1832, fixing the stock at ten millions of dollars, but for several years little was done except to survey the route. It was originally proposed to construct the road on pUes instead of solid embankments, and the ruins of many miles of such skeleton-work still stretch along the valley of the Canisteo. The difiiculties which beset the enterprise during the first decade of its existence, were innumerable, and would have discouraged less coura- geous and less enthusiastic men than its projectors. The natural obstacles to be overcome required an enormous outlay ; the consent of Pennsylvania was to be obtained to the building of those parts of the road which lay within her borders ; owners of capital hesitated to invest it in an uncertain scheme ; and to crown all, came the commer- cial revulsions of 183Y, which for a time prostrated it wholly. After the country had recovered from this shock, another effort was made. The State came to its relief, and after a season of toil and anxiety the work was recommenced and kept alive till the prospect of success brought all the wealth to its aid which had hitherto been held back. Ten years more, and the President of the United States and his Cabi- net, with the highest dignitaries of the City and State, were whii'led from station to station, from the Ocean to the Lakes, amid the thunder of cannon, the peal of bells, and the shouts of an inauguration grander even in its outward aspects than the triumphal processions of old Rome. The cost of this stupendous work was more than twenty millions of dollars. What distinguishes the Erie Road above aU other railroads is its apparent disregard of natural difficulties. It disdains to l)orrow an 10 146 THE ERIE RAILROAD. underground passage tlu-ougli the heart of an opposing mountain, but climbs the steeps, looks over the tops of the pines, and occasionally touches the skii-t of a stray cloud. It descends with equal facility, with a slope in some places startlingly perceptible, throws its bridges across rivers, its viaducts over valleys, and somethnes runs along the biiak of a giddy precipice, with a fearless secm-ity which very much heightens the satisfaction of the traveller. Let us put the airy car of om' memory on its track, and we shall run over the whole Hne before one of its locomotives could pant out fifty of its asthmatic breathings. From Piermont, on the Hudson, the road stretches out an arm, a mile in length, into the Tappan Bay, and receives us from the boat. Behind the village there is a notch in the arc of hUls embracing the bay, and through it we pass into the old fields of Kockland, with theii" old walk and old, red, Dutch farmhouses. A few miles — and the long, sweeping outline of Ramapo Mountain rises before us ; the beau- tiful Ramapo Valley lies below, and the little village, with its foun- dries and forges, nearly two centmies old, stands in the mouth of the only pass whereby the mountain is pierced m all its extent — the Clove of Ramapo. Through this pass, of eight mUes in length, winds a rivulet, now spreading into a tiny mountain lake, now fretting over the rocks, and leaping hither and thither in a chain of liidced cascades. The road follows the rivulet into the grazing farms of Goshen — rich, upland meadoAvs, dotted with trees and breathing of the cream and milk and butter that load a daily train to the meti'opolis. This region is passed and again the mountains appear, the Catskills blue in the north, but the rugged Shawangunk lying across our path. Up, up we go, fifty feet to the mile, and are soon high on the side, looking over its forests into the deep basin of the NeAosing, which pours its waters into the Delaware. Port Jervis, a station on the line, seems at our feet ; it is five hundred feet below us, but sliding down ten miks in almost sf) many minutes, we are there. THE E li I E RAILROAD. U1 The road now crosses the Delaware into Peuusylvauia, aud for a distance of seventy or eighty miles follows the bank of the river throuo-h wild and rngged scenery. For several miles the track has been laid, with immense labor and cost, on the top of a precipice nearly one hmidi-ed feet in height and falling sheer to the river. Much of the country is the primitive wilderness, which has never yet been reclaimed. Finally, at Deposit, not far from the source of the Dela- ware, the road turns westward and crosses the Alleghanies to the val- ley of the Susquehanna. Between the two rivers there is also a com- plete wilderness, uninhabited except by the workmen belonging to the road. Notwithstanding a summit cut of 200 feet deep, which cost $200,000, the ascending and descending grades are very heavy, and some of the most remarkable portions of the work are to be found at this point. After striking the Susquehanna, our journey lies for nearly one hundred and fifty mUes in the rich and picturesque valleys of that river and its tributaries, the Tioga and the Canisteo, passing through the flourishing towns of Binghamtou, Owego, Elmira, and Corning. Overlooking the superb meadows and rolling grain-fields, the Allegha- nies or spurs of them are always in sight, and on either side we have a rapidly unrolling panorama of such rural beauty as would have be- wildered old Cuyp and Eysdael. Another dividing ridge, less steep and rugged than the previous, and we descend through virgin forests, some of which are swept away by fire to make room for the settler, to the Alleghany River. Hence, to Lake Erie, our course is mainly through a wUd aud uncultivated region, or seeming so, after the boun- tiful valleys we have left. We cross the Indian Reservation ; catch a glimpse of some aboriginal idlers in wampum and moccason ; again climb a range of hilLs, several hundred feet in height, from whose sides we overlook valleys and levels of wild woodland, and at last reach a curve, where, beyond the far sweep of the dark forest, we see the 148 TUE EUIK IIAILROAD. edge of the aky crossed by a liiie of ileepei' lilue and kuow that we behold Lake Erie. Is uot all this euuiigh for a suiuiners day? The bold design of this road involved the necessity of a number of gi'and and costly works. The track itself, in the Pass of Ramapo, and along the Upper Delawai'e, frequently cost upwards of $100,000 per mile. The Starucca Viaduct, an immense structure of hewn stone, crossing the valley at Lansingburg, is the finest work of the kind in this country. It is 1,200 feet long, consisting of 18 arches 114 feet in height, and was erected at a cost of $300,000. Next to this, in point of importance, and more remarkable in its chai-acter, is the bridge over Cascade Eaviue, which is crossed in the descent fi'om the summit ridge of the Alleghanies to the Susquehanna. The mountain is here interrupted by a deep gorge or chasm, through the bottom of which a small stream tumbles in its foamy course. Across this gulf, 184 feet in depth, a single arch of 280 feet span has been tkroAvn, its abut- ments resting on the solid crags. This daring arch, which, to the spectator below, seems hung in mid-air, was eighteen months in build- ing, and cost $70,000. A little to the north the gorge opens into the Valley of the Susquehanna, disclosing through its rugged jaws the most beautiful landscape seen on the road. It was the good fortune of the writer to be one of the guests in the first train which passed over the Cascade Eaviue Bridge. At the close of December, 1848, the line was opened from Port Jervis to Binghamton, a distance of one hundred and twenty-five miles. The incidents of that first journey by steam through the wilderness, in the depth of winter, will not soon be forgotten by those who took part in it. The Shawangunk Mountains were topped with snow as we passed them, and on taking the new track, beyond Port Jervis, the flakes began to fall thick and fast. The Delaware ran at the foot of the wild bluils choked with masses of ice, and each of its many windings TUE EUIE RAILROAD. 149 dbsclosed a more drear and wintry prospect. The liemlocks bent under tlieii- white load ; the river ran cold and dark ; the frozen cas- cades hung from the rocks, like masses of transparent spar. For many a mile there was no sign of liuman habitation — notliiug but the grand and desolate solitude of the mountains. And yet — wonder beyond tlie tales of Sclielierazade ! — our superb train carried a lieart of luxury into that savage realm. We sped along, swiftly as tlie bii'd flies, in a warm and richly furnisked chamber, lounging on soft seats, half arm-chaii- and half couch, apparently as disconnected fi'om the landscape as a loose leaf blown over it by the winds. In that plea- sant climate of our own we keard tke keen aii- wkistle witkout, and tke ligkt patter of tke snow against tke windows, witk a sense of com- fort rendered doubly paljjable by tke contrast. At tke little villages on tke route, triumpkal arckes of fir and kemlock bougks were built for us, upon wkick autlered bucks, brougkt m by tke kunters, stood straigkt and stiff. Every town wkick could boast a cannon, gave a kearty salute, and as tke early nightfall came on, bonfires were ligkted on tke kills. It was after dark wken we left Deposit, and tke snow was a foot deep on tke track, but witk two locomotives plowing tkrougk tke di'ifts, we toiled slowly to tke sum- mit. After we kad passed tke deep cut and kad entered on tke de- scending grade, it was found tkat in consequence of tke snow ka\dng melted around tke rails and afterwards frozen again, tke breaks at- tacked to tke cars would not act. Tke wkeels slipped over tke icy sm-face, and in spite of tke amount of snow tkat kad fallen, we skot down tke mountain at tke rate of forty miles an kour. Tke ligkt of our lamps skowed us tke wkite banks on eitker kand; tke gkostly trees above and tke storm tkat drove over all: beyond tkis, all was darkness. Some anxiety was felt as we aj)proacked tke Bridge over Cascade Ravine ; tke time was not auspicious for tkis first test of its 150 THE ERIE KAILROAD. solidity. Every eye peered into the gloom, watcliing for the ci'itical spot, as we dashed onwards. At last, in the twinkling of an eye, the mountain-sides above and below us dro})pcd out of sight, and left us looking out on the void air. The lamps enabled us to see for an in- stant, through the falliug snow-flakes, the sharp tops of pines fai- below. For a second or two we hung above them, suspended over the terrible gulf, and then every one drew a deej) breath as we touched the sohd rock which forms the abutment of the arch. But om- com'se was not checked tiU we reached the Suscjuehanna Valley, where we sped on past bonfii'es blazing redly over the snow, till the boom of minute-guns and the screams of our strong-lunged locomotives startled the inhabitants of Binghamton at midnight. On our return, the following day, we reached the Cascade Ravine in the afternoon, and a halt was made to enable us to view the bridge from below. Scrambling through the snow, down the slippery de- clivities, we at last reached the bottom of the gorge and looked up at the wonderful arch, which spanned it as lightly as a rainbow. Firm- set on its base of eternal granite, it gave not the slightest quiver when oui" train j)assed over. Although made of perishable materials, it Avill last as long as they hold together, for its mountain abutments cannot be shaken. Seen from below, the impression it makes upon the eye is most complete and satisfactory, combining the extreme of hghtness and grace witli strength and inflexible solidity. A few yards fm-ther up the mountain, the cloven chasm, over which the gnarled pines hang theu' sombre boughs, widens to a rocky basin, into which falls a cas- cade seventy feet in height, Avheuce the ravine takes its name. The accompanying engra^^ng, from the ^^ew taken by JNIr. Tall)ot, though it may appear exaggerated to one wlio has never beheld the reality, conveys no more than a just idea of the bold and striking character of this work. THE CHUECII OP THE HOLY INNOCENTS, WEST POINT. The Clmrcli of the Holy luuoceuts is situated on tlie west Lank of tlie Hudson, in tlie very lieai't of tlie Highlands, and about a mile south of the Military Academy at West Point. It was built in the years '46 and '47, and consecrated in July of the latter year by the Rt. Rev. Bishop Delancey. Rumor has so highly colored the history of its origin, as to enlist in its behalf a degree of interest which may not be materially lessened by a simple statement of the truth. MTiile two or three persons at West Point were contemplating a place for the erection of a Church, somewhere near the spot on which the one in question now stands, for the benefit of the neighboring population, and as a centre of missionary operations in the surround- ing country, embracing a large section of the Highlands, one of their number — Prof. R. W. Weir — moved by an afilictive dispensation of God's providence, in the death of a child, made an ofiering, of that child's portion, to God, as the beginning of a fund for the buildiug of a Church to be called " The Church of the Holy Innocents^ He sub- sequently added to this sum other offerings of his own, and of a few 152 CHURCH OF the holy innocents. otlier pei-sous at West Point and elsewhere, wlio felt an interest in the undertaking. The simple, Lut chaste and beautiful sanctuary, erected to " the honor and glory of God," is the fruit of these oiferings. The plan of the Church, both in its outline and details, was fur- nished by Mr. Weir, who also superintended its erection. The stone of which it Ls built was taken from the land on which the Church stands, and which was the gift of Mr. W. B. Cozzens. The Church is somewhat in the early English style of architec- ture ; cruciform in plan, the nave being about GO feet by 28 (on the outside), and each of the transepts lOi feet by 19. There is an admi- rably well proportioned Tower at the north-east corner, 48 feet in height, and Hi feet square at the base. One of the most beautiful external features of the sacred edifice, is the low south porcli^ which is its principal entrance. Over the door of this porch there is a tablet with the simple inscription, " To the honor and glory of God." Sm-- mounting the east end of the nave, and also the porch, are two flori- ated crosses. In the position of the Church the ride of orientation has been observed, the chancel pointing towards the east, and the altar being in the eastern end. On entering the porch the eye is at once arrested by a text of Holy Scripture written over the inner door : " O ! come let us wor- ship and fall down and kneel before the Lord our Maker." On enter- ing the Church itself, the eye is again met every where with texts of Holy Scripture. Over every door, on every window, over the altar, over the font, on the walls, and in each of the windows, texts chosen with peculiar aptness convey their sacred teachings to the devout wor- sliipper:^ — e. g.^ over the altar are the words, "As often as ye eat this bread and diink this cup, ye show the Lord's dcatli until lie conic ;" over the font, "Exce])t a man be born of water and tlic S|)irit. lie CHURCH OF THE HOLY INNOCENTS. 158 cannot enter tlie kingdom of God ;" over the door by wliich the Priest enters the Church to engage in his holy functions, " As my Father hath sent me, even so send I you ;" over the windows the texts are all words of Thai-se. In the south transept, at the entrance of the Church, stands the Bai^tismal Font, one of the most beautiful in this country, octagon shaped, with sacred symbols carved on the sides. It is of the granite of the Highlands, 3i feet m height, and the bowl 74 feet in circumfer- ence. The windows, deeply splayed on the inside, are of stained glass ; in the centre of each is a plain white cross, on the tran verse beam of which is a passage of Holy Scripture chosen from the divine sayings of our Lord. The seats are plain, open benches, and free to all worshippers. The wamscoting and walls are of a grave and sober color. The chancel occupies at present the head of the cross, bat this, it is hoped, wiU be only a temporary arrangement. The whole interior^ marked by unity of design, by perfect sira- phcity, and by a quiet solemnity, cannot fail to shed its hallowing, subduing influence over the soul of every worshipper who enters there, in sincerity and truth, to worship Almighty God ; while the exterior of the sacred temple, with its gray, unhewn walls, its very irregular out- line, its simple rural aspect, harmonizes most strikingly with the rough, wild mountain scenery in the midst of which it seems to have sprung up, itself a work of nature. And its tower, pointing heavenward, its cruciform outline, its cross-crowned peak, tell unmistakably its holy cha- racter, and serve to remmd all who enter or behold it, lx)th of tlie end and of the faith to which God is calling them.* * For the preceding notice we are indebted to the Rev. W. B. Gibson, the Rector of the Church. 20 1^ THE VALLEY OF THE HOUSATONIC !Y WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. The landscape of Gignoux, engraved for tliis volume, representing a ■winter scene, belongs to a class of subjects wliicli lie always treats well. With him winter is always a season of splendor. The crisp snow lies glittering where it was dropped from the clouds or cast by the wind, an intense sunshine fills the transj^areut sky, and is reflected from the white clouds, and penetrates the pellucid ice. The figures he introduces are shown in movements which have all the vivacity be- longing to the season. Gignoux is a native of France, who for many years has made this country his home, and learned to love its scenery with all the aflection of one who passed his childhood here. He is never tired of wander- ing by our -^vild streams, of studying our boundless woods, with theii' vast variety of foliage, of climbing our rocky mountains and looking down into the pleasant valleys that stretch away in our clear and glowing atmosphere. To him Nature makes no reserve of her hidden beauties, and his portfolio, filled with studies of places the image ot 1 56 THE VALLEY OF THE Jit) U S A T O N I C . whioh Avas never before tlirowu upon canvtis, is one of the richest ever possessed by landscape painter. In this view lie shows us the Valley of the Housatonic at New Milford, where the river, in its passage to the sea, takes its leave of the more beautiful parts of the country through which its flows. The time is early winter, as is shown by the tufts of sere foHage yet cling- ing to the trees and shrubs. Skaters are pursuing their sj)ort in the foreground, a sleigh is passing swiftly over a rude wooden bridge which crosses one of the tributaries of the Housatonic, and beyond, in the distance, rises the line of cold Ijlue hills which bound the valley. The snow has fallen through the naked trees to the earth, leaAdng the sides and summits of the hills dark with their branches. Below New Milford, the valley of the Housatonic, if it may still be called a valley, wears a tamer aspect. Let me, in a few words, trace the river in its progress to the ocean. The Housatonic has its birth among the highlands of Berkshire in the State of Massachusetts. Here it sports and sings away its infancy in the woods, leaping in its frolics from one rock to another. Of the brooks that form its current some luiger in the rich meadows of Lauesborough, where the lime- stone SOU nourishes a thick growth of gi'ass and gives a peeidiar dense- ness to the foliage of the trees. If I may trust to my I'ecoUection I have never observed the same freshness and brightness of verdure in the fields of any part of our country as in that neighborhood. As the stream increases in volume and strength, its season of play is over, and entering the In-oad and beautiful vale of Pittsfield, in what I may call the period of its youth, it is set to toil for man, and drives the machinery of cotton and woollen mills. Escaped from this servitude it murmurs awhile in the narrow and woody valleys of Lenox, where it is oidy of late that the kmgfisher has been startled by the t^lirill whistle of the railway engine, but it is soon (^mjiloyed in other tasks — THE VALLEY OP THE HO US ATONIC. 157 to lift ;iu(l let fall the j^oudei-ous hammers of forges and make acres of paper for the daily press. In Stockbridge it begins to put on the majesty of manhood and winds backwards and forwards among the grassy natural terraces and maple woods, as if unwilling to leave so fair a region. In Great Barrington it flows slowly through meadows hemmed in by the picturesque summits of craggy mountain ridges. In Sheffield it has formed, by mining the ground for centuries, a vast plain of six miles in width, reaching to the base of the Taconic, the highest mountain along its course, dark, grand, and sending scores of clear rivulets down his steep sides to swell the current of his own fau- river. In Canaan the Housatonic casts its entire volume of amber-colored waters down a precipice of sixty feet in height, an overhanging shelf, as is the case with most of the waterfalls in this country, the layers of rock below having crumbled away, while the uppermost remains firm. It then pursues its way through a sort of glen, bounded east and west by ridges rich with massive woods, and fields running up their sides into the forest, till it reaches New IVIilford, the scene of Gignoux's picture. In all the places I have enumerated it turns huge wheels and labors in the mills, but a few miles below New Milford it lays itself sluggishly down between level banks and creeps to its final resting place in the ocean. From Derby downward to the Sound it is navi- gable, passively bearing out and bringing in a vessel now and then — like an aged man, retii^ed from the active employments of life, and good-naturedly carrying his grandchildren in his arms. The tributaries of the Housatonic are no less beautiful than the river itself. The lake in Stockbridge, a wonder of beauty, which the birth and residence of Miss Sedgwick in its neighborhood have made classical — I mention the name of the lady without reserve as I would that of any other person held in universal honor, — gives the tribute of its waters to the Housatonic. In Great Barrington, Green River 158 THE VALLEY OE TilE II U U S A T U N I (J . comes iu Iroiu tlie west tlirougli cliarmiiig pastoral solitudes, with a current almost of a grass-green tint. The sister lakes in Salisbury, issue in a brook wliicli falls into this river. I am not certain wketlier the stream of Baskpisli, so mucli visited of late, wliicli throws itself down the steep sides of Taconic in a series of falls, flows into the riousatonic or not, but the cascade by universal consent is reckoned among the beautiful and picturescpe things of tlie valley. Some of the most remarkable atmosjjlieric appearances observed in this valley do not present themselves to the casual visitor, though he be an artist. I rememljer one of these altogether too glorious to be copied by the pencil. A thnnder-shower had arisen after a hot summer day. As the thunderbolts were dropping into the tops of the hills around, and the rain falhng in torrents, the sun, then about to set, illuminated the whole mass of clouds and i-ain, with an orange- colored light, which gradually passed into a deep crimson. The inner rooms of the houses were filled with the same ruddy lustre, which ght- tered reflected from the pools and streams in the road, and from the wet roofs of the houses, the grass, and the leaves of the trees. Above, the spectacle was still more extraordinary. The hghtniugs were lim- ning to and fro, appearing like ri\Tilets of molten gold, suddenly j)oured through the crimson clouds and as suddenly absorbed into them. The crimson glow slowly changed into a purple as the clouds were retiring, and the last flashes of the lightning and the last tinges of the clouds were blended with the cool blue light of the full moon shining from a sky of perfect transparency. At another time when at Sheflield, I was a spectator of a thunder- shower no less remarkable. After a day of extreme sultriness, the clouds began to rise behind Taconic and over its summit, with the muttcrings of distant thunder. Up they were heaved, higher and higliei-, (hirkcr and darker, heavier and hcaviei', till they became of a THE VALLEY OF THE 11 O U S A T O N I C . 150 deep indigo tiut, and seemed as if the steeps of a for loftier mountain, one of tlie Alps or the Andes, had been heaped upon Taconic. Sud- denly the huge mass began to roll downwards with louder crashes of thunder, towards the sides of the mountain, as if it had broken over a barrier, carrying with it the strange indigo hue and an intense dark- ness, and sending before it winds which scoured the plain and raised clouds of dust, and filled the sky with leaves rent from the trees. I have never seen any aspect of the clouds so grand and awful as the apjiroaches of that thunder-shower. It was some time about the begiuning of the last century that the Dutch emigrants from the State of New- York, and the settlers from Connecticut and the eastern part of Massachusetts came at the same time uito the valley of the Hoasatoiiic. The descendants of the Hollanders chose Great Barrington and its neighborhood for their abode, where they had large farms on the rich lauds borderiug this river, and ke^^t large herds of cattle and horses. Their posterity, some- what intermingled with the English race, remaiu there yet, and I recollect that twenty-five years since they gave e\T:dence in their per- sons — for they were large-limbed men, almost colossal in size — of the eft'ect of a mixture of nations ujjon the human stature. In some of the households Dutch was still the language of the fireside, and those who were adopted into them, learned it as a matter of course, though they were often laughed at for the imperfect manner in which they spoke it. I recollect one of these tall Dutchmen boasting of the progress made in the tongue by a little boy who had come to live iu his family. I met the same man a few years since, and was inform- ed by him that he had lost his wife long ago and had nearly forgotten his Dutch. I infer that it is no longer a living language in Berkshire. But I have often reflected upon what would have been the conse- quence if the power of England had met the fate which befell the IGO THE VALLEY OF TUE HOUSATOKIC. power of Ilollaud, aud if tliat republic had iloiirislied, wliile England fell into decay. The Dutch emigration would, of course, have filled the valley of the Housatonic. Bilderdijk would have been at this moment the favorite poet of the people on that river ; the romances of Loosjes would have taken the place of those of "Walter Scott ; the more devout would have read the sermons of Van der Palm, aud the lovers of mirth would have laughed at the jokes of Weiland. So far as concerns the fine arts, the dwellings would have been more pic- turesque, comfortable Dutch houses with low roofs and spacious stoops, embowered in trees, instead of the gi'im, naked, and tasteless habitations of the Yankees. The painters who sought their subjects among the inhabitants of the valley would have painted interiors after the man- ner of Teniers, or elaborate and highly finished landscapes, in which fidelity to nature was more regarded than the selection of objects, after the manner of Cuyp. THE ADIRONDACK MOUNTAINS BY ALFRED B. STREET. Upox a ))eautil'ul July eveuiug, the writer was passing up Lake Cliauiplaiu in oue of tlie fine steamboats that ply upon its lovely waters. Happening to raise his eyes from the plaia of glass which stretched before him, his attention was arrested by a mountain mass tracing an irregular Hne against the golden background of the West. Just over the highest peak was the descending sun, and the whole mass was invested with an azure hue soft as a remembered sorrow, and sweet as a hope of the future. It seemed as if seraphic music might breathe from that dreamy mist, as if on those summits rested the quietude of heaven. It was the mass of the Adirondacks. These splendid mountains form a group, the loftiest of a range which extends, in the Northern section of New-Yoi'k, from Little Falls on the Mohawk to Tremljleau Point on Lake Champlaia. The group heaves up into and above the clouds its cone-like peaks and jagged ridges, which seem, from some commanding view, as if a stormy ocean had become suddenly fixed in its wildest tossings. The range in which occurs this group runs in a northeasterly dii-ectiou, forming 21 162 THE ADIIIONDACK MOUNTAINS. the easterly and most elevated portion of what is deuominated the Plateau of Northern New- York — which Plateau is bounded l)y the waters of the St. Lawrence and Ontario, the Black and Mohawk rivers and Lake Champlain. The group is composed of several summits, the loftiest of which are Mounts Marcy, Mclntyre, McMar- tin and Santanoni, the two latter rising 5000 feet above the tide, and the two former over that elevation. The highest is Mount Marcy (the Indian name being Ta-ha-wus — "He splits the Sky"), the loftiest eminence in our State, raising itself to a mile in height. From its summit of gray rock is a forest prospect, three hundred miles in circumference. The forked lightning darts from clouds far, far below this peak, and the fir which on the sides of the mountain rises to a stately shape, diminishes to a creeping shrub, and at last vanishes from the face of the stern cold summit. Near it springs the most northern source of the Hudson, whilst the whole group, forming the highest portion of the northern watershed, pours its streams, which become majestic rivers, in all directions. Manifold lakes lie along the bases of these wild mountains, whose crystal bosoms are only disturbed by the canoe of the Indian hunter, or casual sportsman, the leap of the monster trout, the dip of the screaming diver, or the motions of the swimming deer. Such are lakes Golden, Avalanche, Sanford, and Henderson. A dense forest mantles the slopes and valleys of the region, within which live the splendid moose, the lurking panther, the dark heavy bear, and quick timid deer. In a few shaded streams still linger the heaver, the loneliest of the forest habitants, known only to the most indefatigable traj)pe]-. The Adirondack Pass in this group is wild and savage as the imagination can conceive. Situated between Mount Mclntyre and Wallface, a perpendiculiu- pi'ccipice of a thousand feet rears itself on THE ADIRONDACK MOUNTAINS. 163 one side, upon the summit of wliicli lofty firs apj^ear, like a frino'e, a few inches in height, whilst the gorge itself is piled with rocks upon which grow trees of fifty feet. It is a sublime cathedral of nature, whose stillness awes the soul, and whose voice, supplied by the storm, hft a tremendous anthem to the God whose wonderful power was employed in its creation. Such is the Adirondack region, smTOunded by the smiling civiliza- tion of om- Empu-e State, but remaining still as countless centuries have seen it, probably since the waters of the Deluge. SCAROON OR SCHROON LAKE. (cole.) The engraving represents one of the wildest and most beautiful Lakes in the State of New York, and probably in the United States. It is situated partly in the counties of Warren and Essex, is nine miles long and aljout one mile wide. The view is taken from an island in the north end of the Lake, at the time when " Twilight's sliade comes stealing on, O'er mountain, wood, and stream, Wrapping the dim, far-stretching Lake In a hush'd and lioly dream." It is peculiarly American in its character, being both wild and pictm-esque, and one which the artist delighted to portray. Schroon, PJiaraos or Bluebeard Mountain, which is the most pro- minent peak in the picture, is about four mUes from the Lake, and attains an altitude of 3,200 feet. The more distant are the peaks of the Eastern range of the Adirondacks. That at the right of the en- graving is the Saddleljack Mountain. The shores of the Lake are covered Avitli the dense foliage as seen in the engraving. 166 SCAEOON OR SCHROON LAKE. The red cedar in tlie foregrouud is oue of tlie nol)le trees which abound on the borders of the Mountain Lakes in this section of our country, interspersed with the maple, hemlock, and pine. Around the extreme pomt, jutting into the Lake and seen through the trees, flows the uol)le Hudson, which at this point is but a very small stream, and which connects Schroon with Paradox Lake. The island from which the scene was taken, is owned and is now the residence of Andrew Ireland, Esq., formerly of this city, from the north end of which a magnificent view of the whole eastern range of the Adu'ondacks may be had. The name of the lamented Cole is identified with American Scenery, and while he continued to paint the scenery of America, he was unapproached. He it was that first gave the Amei'icau landscape character, and whose genius delighted in poi'- traying the wild and romantic beauty of her forests, lakes, and water- falls, and who so truthfully presented to the admiring eye the gran- deur of her sunsets, tornadoes, and autumn's gorgeous livery. He it was who first taught us tliat we need not leave our own wild and beautiful scenery for sul)jects snitaT)le for pictorial embellishment. The scene here given is but one of America's magnificent Lakes, and it is to be regretted that we have not more views of the Lakes of Essex from the pencil of this favorite artist. The accompanymg en- graving is made from the original in the possession of Mrs. Cole, who has many of the remaining productions of this distinguished painter. ART IN THE UNITED STATES. BY GEO. W. BETHUNE, D. D. * The comprelieusive title at the head of this page is not a promise of a formal essay, but has heen taken as a convenient because sufficiently expansible heading, to cover some desultory remarks suggested by the rapid growth among us, during the last few years, of talent and taste for Art. The American has frequent occasion to say, in answer to hasty strictures of foreigners, particularly those from Great Britain, that they " do not understand us ;" and the reply, irrepressible from its truth, has been much ridiculed by our transatlantic cousins, as if it were easy to draw conclusions from superficial facts. The reverse is, however, the case, both from the difficulty of knowing all the facts, and the necessity of having a right point of view. As, because of the variety, which gives indi^aduahty of character, no one man can thoroughly understand another, but each has received a distinctness from his pecuhar temperament, mental structure, early circumstances, and all those influences which make up his education, so we may well doubt the ability of an observer, however candid and intelhgent, to 168 AKT IN THE UNITED STATES. luiderstaiul the people of auother uatiou. Forms of governnieiit, climate, pursuits of life as affected by soil or position, descent whether pure or mixed, seclusion from other portions of mankind or inter- course with them, historical associations, hereditary habits and preju- dices, language, literature, religion, with many other less sorutable )jut imjDortaut coalescing causes, render each nation an enigma to all others. Civilization is a mystery to the savage, and the savage no less a mystery to his civilized brother. A Laplander and an Arab, if thrown together, would scarcely agree in aught but the appetites, pas- sions, and faculties common to man. An adult Turk could never be turned into an Anglo-Saxon, nor an Anglo-Saxon into a Turk ; they might exchange countries and garments, but, while life lasted, the one would delight to steal away from the bustle around him that he might enjoy in cross-legged repose his revery of trustful fatalism, and the other would shuffle forth in his slippers eager after the latest news. It is hardly more possiljle for an Englishman to comprehend a Frenchman, or a Frenchman an Englishman, though they have been within a few hours of each other since time immemorial. Solid John Bull looks upon the grimaces of his mercurial neighljor, as upon the tricks of a mountebank's monkey, while he of the Grande Nation^ shrugging his elastic shoulders, returns the contempt by muttering, " BC^e .'" How utterly strange to us in this country is the readiness with which the revolutionary masses of the old world, after months of fire and carnage and bluster, subside before the Ttayonets of an auto- crat ! Aud how far beyond the concejition of European statesman- ship is the simple law by which the very multiplicity of our well- guarded state sovereignties best secures our national union ! Tliere arc strong retisons why our American charaetcristics are slowly understood by others; biassed through our reading of histori- cal pi'ecedents, we are apt to judge incorrectly of ourselves ; nor can ART IN THE UNITED STATES. 109 any question touching our manners or tendencies, be properly dis- cussed without going over and carefully considering the circumstances in which they have been developed. Our origin, situation, constitu- ents, and manner of growth, are so unexampled as almost to exclude analogy. Compared with all others, ancient or modern, our nation is an anomaly. Coming into being when the mind of Europe, especially of Great Britain, had reached a high degree of cultivated strength, the American people sprung less from the loins than from the brain of her great parent, not, indeed, full-grown, but with a precocious vigor far beyond childhood. The early colonists of British race were, for the most part, of that stern, indomitable faith, which, loyal to a divine sovereign, unhesitatingly challenged human usurpations. Those from Holland, then just emancipated, after a long struggle with bigot Spain, and the Huguenot exiles, preferring expatriation to apostacy, were of the same liberty-loving, yet severe creed. Religious sympa- thy prepared them for political co-ojjeratiou ; and they, acting really long before they acted formally together, gave, as the predominating element, a unity of purpose to the scattered settlements, Avhich could not othen\dse have been expected from their heterogeneous origin. Educated by difficulties in the old world, they were ready to meet, with intelligent, hopeful courage, the difficulties of the new. They were also of equal rank, and, for the most part, equal fortunes. Hereditary nobility and privileged classes were not recognized among them. Such pretensions, where personal labor was required of all, would have been ridiculous. Oppressed, at times, by the imperial ex- actions of the mother country, and the insolence of its proconsular representatives, they yet could not be debarred the filial prerogative of using the English tongue and the unequalled stores of wisdom, po- litical, literary, and religious, already provided by English pens. The land in which they sought a new home, seemed to have been 99 ITO ART IN THE UNITED STATES. reserved by a jiredetermining Providence for tliem. Other great states, established by conquest or colonization, have been founded among pre-resident tribes, who, miagling with the new-comers, have exerted an influence, sometimes not small, upon the character of the future nation. Unless we utterly discredit their traditionary annals, we find Pelasgic names interspersed among the Cecropida^ of Athens ; and trace the growth of Rome in her successive engorgements of neighboring peoj^le. The excellence of the present British character is fairly attriljutalde to the fusion of several bloods in one. But the aborigines of this country, too few and too savage to cidtivate the wilderness, resisted feel)ly the disciphned invaders, while theii- color, liut still more their siugxdar spirit, forbade amalgamation. Our fathers had the whole country to themselves, and found here neither arts, nor customs, nor alliances. Separated by a wide ocean from the inveterate prejudices and hereditary proscriptions which retard older nations, they had opportunity for ex|)eriment ; while, at the same time, their commercial enterprise, the main secret of Anglo-Saxon superiority, brought them the stimulants of example and emulation. Their insti- tutions were not indigenous, l)ut havdng been first selected from what they considered the best stocks of Europe, then modified and adapted to theii' exigencies and views by various intergraftings, they grew rapidly and fruitfully in the virgin soil. Thus the principles of our government were educed, not from the hypotheses of Utopian philoso- phers, or slavish imitations, or a fortuitous concourse of elements, oi- even from the mere pressure of circumstances, but from a sturdy com- mon sense, regulated by scriptm-al faith, inij^roved by study, warned by the failures and encouraged by the successes of all antecedent time, animnted l)y an insatiable thirst fi)r lil)erty, compelled l>y tlie vital necessity of union, and supported by physical strength earned in felling forests and subduing wild farms. In a happy hour the govern- ART IN THE UNITED STATES. 171 ment was independently establislied. Since then, on that broad, and, as every true heart hopes, indestructible basis, our nation has been built up from prohfic natural increase and emigration to us out of op- pressed and over-peopled countries. Our territories have been wide- ly, yet safely enlarged, until now a broad region between the sea, on whose shores the early settlers landed, and the Pacilic, over which the eager eye of our enterprise looks out for fresh aggrandisements, is mhabited by a brotherhood governed hj the one law of theii- own consent. Under the pressure of such cares, and struggles, and urgent anxie- ties, there could be neither time nor desire for the cultivation of those elegant pursuits which are the luxury of leisure, the decoration of wealth, and the charm of refinement. The Puritans and the Presby- terians, together the most influential, were not favorable to the Fine Arts ; and the Quakers abjured them. Men living in log cabins and busied all the day in field, workshop, or warehouse, and hable to attack by savage enemies at any moment, were mdisposed to seek after or encourage what was not immediately useful. Their hard- earned and precarious gains would not justify the indulgence. There were few, or rather no specimens of artistic skill among them to awaken taste or imitation. It is, therefore, httle to be wondered at, if they did not show an appreciation of Ai-t proportionate to their ad- vance in other moral respects ; or that they waited until they had secured a substantial prosperity, before they ventured to gratify themselves with the beautiful. The brilhant examples of West and Copley, with some others of inferior note, showed the presence of genius, but those artists found abroad the encouragement and instruc- tion not attainable at home, thus depriving theii- country of all share in theii- fame except the credit of having given them bii-th. As a sense of security and increasing riches began to be felt, about 172 ART IN THE UNITED STATES. tlie l)egimuiig of the century, we discover tokens of ;i more generous spirit. Distinguislied men returned from honorable missions with an appetite for Art, excited by what they had seen in the capitals of Europe. The enthusiasm and example of Peale, Stuart, Trumbull, and others native-born and foreigners, could not be without etfect. Aspirants to the honors of the pencil and burin became numerous enough to form associations for their mutual benefit; and, at least among the better few, a disposition to encourage their efforts was ap- parent. Two valuable collections of casts fi'om the antique were ob- tained ; one for the New- York Academy of Fine Arts, through Chan- cellor Luv'iNGSTON ; the other for the Pennsylvania Academy at Phi- ladelphia, through the zeal of Judge Hopkinson ; some good pictures were imported, and some good, with many inferior, produced at home ; the Academies and Artists' Associations attempted exhibitions, private entei'prise oj^ened others, and, doubtless, though not eminently suc- cessful, they all contributed to impi'ove the taste of the public. In- creasing wealth, means of communication with the old world, and the travel of many Americans abroad, rapidly extended a spii-it favorable to Art in every form, which was yet more stimulated by the rise among us, almost simultaneously, of men whose genius in several de- partments of jiainting and of sculptui'e, startled and delighted us with a galaxy of talent deserving eminence among cotemporaneous com- petitors in any j^art of the world. Some of them are still living, others have died too soon ; but their brilliant names need not l)e writ- ten here, for they are inscribed high in the records of theii* country's fame and on the hearts of us all. Since then, especially since the establishment of the National Academy of Design, (of which our most h()noral)ly distinguished but ill-rerpiited fellow-citizen, S. P. B. Morse, was the first President,) in 182G, and more esjiecially within tlie last ART IN THE UNITED STATES. 173 ten years, large advances have been made, and Ai't has fairly liegun to floui'isli among us, giving rich earnest of yet higlier attainments. There has been and Avill be dispute as to the comparative efficiency of the various means which have been adopted for the encouragement of Art in the United States. Institutions and individuals contend for the honor, and some deserve more of it than others ; but our office is not to settle such quarrels. There should, however, be no recrimina- tions between Artists and the friends (patrons is an ungenerous word) of Ai-t. Each class is necessarj^ to the other. It is a false (and, hap- pily, now nearly obsolete) policy, to force through the fundamental laws of supply and demand. Men will not consent to be scolded or ridiculed out of theu- money ; and if they prefer bull-feasts, or gaudy furniture, or miserly accumulation to pictures or statuary, their money is their own, nor have we a right to take it out of their hands. We may be pained to think that any are disappointed, when we could re- joice in the success of all the deserving ; yet it must not be forgotten, that in the compensating distributions of Providence, genius, so libe- rally endowed with its own exquisite pleasures, can rarely expect the profits of trade. It is the duty of the artist to instruct us by his own beautiful and elevating works ; and, when we have been so educated in the high moral uses and noble gratifications to be derived from Art, we should be indeed ungrateful if the due of the master be withheld. The distribution of good specimens through the community, however accomplished, is the only sure method of spreading a desire for more, and the harvest will repay the seed manifold. In the language of Holy Writ, there must be " a patient continuance in well-doing" by those who " look for glory and honor ;" but " in due season they shall reap if they fiiint not." Nor have the profits of our artists been alto- gether contemptible ; for, while we regret that, owing j^rincipally to the smallness of American fortmies, some of the best have not brought 174 ART IN THE liNITKD STATES. their value, it is also certain that works of art geiiei'ally meet with fair pi'ices ; and thei'e is no conntr}- where so large a proportion of its artists are living comfortably on their earnings, or where the gains ot talent in Art compares so favorably with those of equal talent in other pursuits of life, as this. We may rebuke and even lash the stupid indif- fei'ence of those able, yet unwilling, to encourage liberally the eflfoi-ts of genius ; but it degrades Art to set it whining after patronage, or to confound it with every self-inflated aspirant to the name of artist who has set up an easel, trims his beard a la Van Dyke, and in the very outset imagines himself a compeer of Raffaele. Happily, the very great majority of our recognized artists are gentlemen in the true sense of the word, shunning the bad taste of eccentricity, and despising charlatanry ; while they depend for success on their own generous de- votion to their elevated calhng, and patient enthusiasm in the cultiva- tion of the gifts with which the good God has endowed them. They will not lose their reward. The main features of human nature must be radically the same, however various the modifications of which they are capable ; and, though there have been peculiar reasons for the delay of Art among us, yet its history in this country has not been altogether singular. The rise and progress of Art are justly attriljutable to concurrent and successive natural causes working out, through the agency of man under the economy of a wise providence, the beneficent designs of God. Wealth and jiolitical stability have always preceded Art ; but where those have been gained, its progress has been proportionate, because it meets with that innate fondness for beauty and imitation of His divine works which is a universal attiibute of the creatui-e made after the image of his Creator. Taste and genius exist among every people, and, where depressing circumstances give place to more favor- able, they will appear and compel regard, whatever be the ]')articular ART IN THE UNITED STATES. 1Y5 machinery by wHcli tlie end is gained. Even where influences seem most adverse, this tendency shows itself, though by feeble efforts ; and the growth of art may be obscurely traced long before it bursts into sudden splendor. In what degree Greece derived her Art from the early Eastern empires it is not easy to guess. Religion, especially under idolatrous forms, would naturally suggest first the structure of imposing temjiles and representative images. Djedalus, if he be not a mythical fiction, is the earliest name in the annals of Grecian art, and he was a sculptor, most probably of wood ; but, though we read of a few others scattered along the interval, seven or eight centuries must have elapsed between his date and that of Phidias. Some de- scriptions m Homer indicate the existence of designing skill, of which there remained no adequate specimens as indubitable proof. The con- venient quarries of snowy Parian and sparkling Pentelican greatly encouraged the use of marble in building and statuary. Still it is certain that, until after the Persian war, art in Athens and all Greece was in its swaddling clothes ; but, through the magnificent foster-care of the elegant demagogue Pericles, in less than forty years Archi- tecture reached perfection. Sculpture had achieved by the hand of Phidias her most sublime triumphs, and Paintmg, in the frescoes of the Propyloea, had exhibited strong promise soon to be fully devel- oped. We are astonished and instructed by the crowd of men emi- nent in these several departments, who flourished in the course of the half century of which Phidias was the Angelo: Ictinus, Calli- CBATES, and Innesicles, architects ; Polycletus, Mtron, Alcasienes, Atsladas (the younger), Nestocles, Athenodorus (the elder), and Calamis, sculptors ; Pan^nus, Poltgnotus, Apollodorus, Parrhasius, Zeitxis, and Tlmanthes, painters. Thirty years after. Sculpture, wliich could not advance in grandeur beyond the Phidian Jupitei-, A\iis cai'- ried to its highest point of spiritual grace by Praxiteles; and I'aiiit- 176 AllT IN THE UNITED STATES. ing, in less tliau seventy, attained its aucient acme uucler Apelles and Protogenes. From this time Art, though Lirgely practised aud ilhis- trated occasionally by works of great merit, began to decline. The re\dval of Art in Europe is remarkable for similar facts. The first impulse came, through ecclesiastical associations, from the East, and the monuments of classical genius were overlooked. BusciiErro, (or BuscHETTUs) a Greek, built in the eleventh century the Cathedi-al of Pisa ; but it was not until the middle of the thirteenth, that we find the Sculptors Giovanni aud Nicolo Pisani spreading their really beautiful works through Italy. Donatello and Ghibeeti, about the close of the fourteenth, left behind them achievements which have received admiration from all subsequent ages. Cimabue, in the latter half of the thirteenth century, began the emancipation of Painting from depraved Byzantine taste ; and his superior scholar Giotto pur- sued the good work Avith admirable courage. Brunelleschi (the architect) introduced clearer notions of persj^ective ; and jNIasaccio, making nature his guide, and discarding still more the restrictions which had hindei'ed freedom and breadth, excelled in the spii'it of his attitudes and the harmony of his colors. Thus, by slow and arduous steps, did Art ascend from its living tomb during more than two cen- turies until Peeugino; but immediately after it shone forth with a lustre which has never since been equalled and can never be surpassed. About this time, under the admirable politics of Lorenzo the Mag- nificent, the balance of power in Italy, which had been so long dis- turbed by cruel and confused wars, became settled ; and the conse- quence was a general prosperity. Lorenzo employed large wealth during the long peace in the encom-agement of learning aud art. lie collected many antique statues and the best pictures then to be found, within a ])alace, which he opened as an academy. The power of his li])ei'al exam])le, coextensive with that of liis statesmanship, was felt AKT IN THE UNITED STATES. 1^7 at Milan, then under tlie Sforzas ; at Venice, then in its palmy day ; at Rome, then richest and proudest, and even at unhappy Naples. This affluent calm ushered in the great period of Italian Art, which began with Da Vinci and closed with Rafaelle. Within less than fifty years, between 14'70 and 1520, flourished Da Vinci, Angelo, Raf- aelle, Titian, Coereggio, Del Sarto, and Giorgione ; and, a few years later, Giulio Romano, Tintoretto, Parmeggiano, and Pol. Caeavag- Gio. From this time, Italy being again con\Tilsed, with the brilliant ex- ception of Baroccto, Art continued to decline, until in another long peace, during the latter half of the sixteenth century, we discover a second constellation only inferior to the first ; Paolo Veronese, the Caracci, Guido, Dojienichino, and Michael Angelo Caeavaggio. The only names of later date worthy to be given with those above, are Salvator Rosa and Carlo Dolce, who were cotemporaneous about the middle of the seventeenth century. France hardly aftbrds us an example in point. Her Art was im- mediately derived from Italy, and her best artists flourished there. We may observe, however, that the prosperous administration of Sully seems fii'st to have given the energy which produced her best masters, and that in the forty years between 1582 and 1622, were born Vixet, the Poussins, Claude Lorraine, Blanchard. the Mk;- NARDS, De Brun, Sarapin, aiid PUGET. Antwerp, until the destruction of its harbor, the chief seat of commerce in the Low Countries, had attained the culminating point of its fortunes after the middle of the sixteenth century, and its citizens were proud of their wealth. As a consequence. Art, which, in Flanders, had been struggling upward from Van Eyck (who flom'ished about the beginning of the fifteenth century), Breug- hel, and Van Ort (born 155'?), was elevated to a glorious height by the simultaneous excellences of Rubens, Van Dyke, Sny- 23 178 ai:t in the united states. DEES, Teniers, and Jordaexs, all of wliom were born Ijetween 1576 and 1600. The United Provinces, before 1610, had shown themselves strong enough to maintain their freedom from the yoke of Spain, and estab- lished their admirable government. A similar triumph of Art fol- lowed ; and, accordingly, a multitude of artists appeared in Holland. HoNTHOEST (Gherardo delle NoiTi), CuYP, Eejibrandt, Gerard Douw, Both, the elder Van der Welde, Van Ostade, Wouverjians, Paul Potter, Backhutsen, Jan Steex, Ruysdael, Van der ^^^elde the son, were all born between 1592 and 1636. William of Orange ascended the throne of Great Britain in 1689. The ecclesiastical buildings of that island contain eiddences of Art at an early period, and further down we read of Hilliard, Oliver, Jajieson, Cooper, Wtatt, Grinling Gibbons, and others ; but they are obscure, and seldom spoken of compared to those of the foreigners, Holbein, Van Dyke, Lely, Kneller, and the two Van der Veldes, who were liberally rewarded by royal and uoljle patrons. The establishment of civil and religious liberty, after the expulsion of the Stuarts, was followed by a general and increasing prosperity. During the reign of George P. and H. the power and wealth of Britain made large progress ; and at the accession of George HI. she had reached her pre-eminence in Europe. We are not, thei'efore, disappointed when we look for a coirespondently flourishing condition of Art. Hogarth, born in 1698, was at the height of his fame in 1735, and continued to flourish until his death in 1762. Within the time of Hogarth, and in the half century between 1713 and 176-4, were born Stuart, Wilson, Reynolds, Gainsborough, Barrett, Romney, Run- ciMAN, Nollekens, Banks, Bacon, Cosway, Barry, Wyait, North- cote, Flaxman, Blake, Opie, and Morland. West and Copley also were born in America, 1737-8, the former settling in England, 1763; ART IN THE UNITED STATES. 179 the latter, 1775. This list, it -nail be perceived, comprises men emi- nent in every department. Under the lil)eral encouragement of Geokge III. the Royal Academy was established in 1766, of which the first president was Reynolds, and the second our countryman West. Of Art in Great Britain sul«eqnently, there is no need that we should speak. These memoranda show that we have great reason for encourage- ment with regard to the progress of Art in this country. It has begun to flourish as early in the history of our nation as circumstances, ac- cording to all precedent, would allow. Nor should we think that its farther development must necessarily be slow. It is the characteristic of Art, when fairly awakened, to make progress by large strides ; and we may well feel the shame of disappointment if this should not be the case ia the United States. We are as a people successftd in all the pursuits of industry, and as a nation secure in the justness and stabihty of our government. The day has therefore come, when, with no neglect of matters \dtal to our general safety, we should culti- vate liberally those refined tastes which will add grace to our strength, and vindicate our national character from the imputation of an undue lust of gain. The new rich are ordinarily fond of display in costly appliances of luxurious life. They delight in a vulgar ostentation of mere expense before the eyes of the less fortunate, or in rivaUmg the tinsel splendor of each other. Intoxicated with sudden wealth, they are eager to lavish it, yet know not how to do so elegantly or credita- bly. This childish folly is rife among us. Many (comparatively) large fortunes are now in the hands of successful adventurers, Avho lack the education which teackes the better value of money. Hence we see on every hand a straining after efifect disproportionate to the scale of things. Houses, not beyond the size of comfortable mansions, receive an architectural decoration suitable only to large palaces ; and 180 ART IN THE UNITED STATES. the two or three narrow rooms on the prinoii^al floor are so crowded with glaring furniture as to drive the family, when not ou exhibition, down into the obscure Ijut more home-like basement. Festivals are given with an extravagant ambition, which can only be cariied out by the aid of hired services and supernumerary servants. Eobes, fit only for the evening drawing-room, sweep the dust of the pavement. Men, after having drudged all the day in office or counting-house, spend the night in aping the fashions of idle aristocrats, to begin again their necessary toil unrestored by sleep, while their wives and families live only to scatter what they have gathered with anxious industry. It is not surprising that pictures, or other works of Art, should be rare in their houses. They have no leisure even to read, much less to culti- vate taste ; their talk is of money, and they flatter then* pride of purse Tjy contemning all who, absorbed in liberal pursuits, have filled their heads rather than their pockets. The evil will not long be so ram- pant. It must grow less as the possession of riches ceases to he a novelty; and, especially, when the next generation, educated from infancy, perhaps enlightened by foreign travel in countries where let- ters and art are regarded as glory, comes upon the stage, a better sen- timent will prevail, and money be devoted to more honorable ends. Even now we are not without pleasing exceptions to the general lault. There are those, who, uncorru2:)ted by the habits and successes of busi- ness, delight to relieve its fatigues, not by animal indulgences, but spiritual enjoyments; with whom the scholar, the man of science, and the artist, are honored guests ; from whose apartments l)ooks are not excluded as unfashionable lumber, and on whose walls a picture is not thought to be a deformity. These are the men who have encouraged the artist's zeal, and to whom, next to the artist and scarcely less, we owe a large inijji'ovcmeiit of tlie publif feeling for Art and its already gratifying acliievciiiciits. 'I'lic Art of clas.sicMl .•iiiti(|iiitv arose in a ART IN THE UNITED STATES. 181 democracy; to the mereliaut Medici it owed its revival in modern times ; in the commercial states of the Netherlands appeared the only original school out of Italy ; and why should not Art flourish in our rei^uljlic, where the lounging idler is a nuisance, and skilful occupation a title to respect ? In the history of Art we are glad to see refuted a common preju- dice that it demands peculiar conditions of climate, atmosphere, and natural scenery ; or that it is the endowment of any particular people ; or that it flourishes better under superstition than truth. It first ap- peared in the far, sultry East, where at this late day are now exhumed its stupendous remains. It shone forth under the clear skies of Greece long centuries after its oblivion in Asia. When Art was splendid in Athens and Rhodes, and Cos and Corinth, it had no native growth in Italy. The pictures and the statues with which Rome was crowded, were the work of Grecian hands. Pliny has barely rescued from for- getfulness the names of two or three countrymen of his, who imitated the Grecian school, but they scarcely deserved the record. Again, when Art had been irreparably lost to Greece for well nigh a thousand years, Italy became the theatre of its highest glory, and claimed the prerogative of teaching the world. Even there was there a distinc- tion. If study of antique forms in the clear, dry atmosphere of Rome, gave to her school its unequalled perception of form, the moistened air of Venice enabled her artists to study the coloring of nature,* * About the year 1824 tlie writer had the pleasure of a convei-sation with Gilbert Stuart, and asked him why it was that the Venetian school so fai- excelled the Roman in coloiing. He made no reply, but for a few moments carelessly bmmshed with his handker- chief a plain gold ring on his finger — when turning it to the sunlight he sharjJy said : " Can you see color in that ling, sir ?" " Veiy indistinctly." He then breathed upon it, and show- ing it again, asked : "Do you see color now, sh?" A hajjpy illustration, characteristic of flic eminent artist. 182 ART IN THE UNITED STATES. wliile those of Lomltai-dy, holdiug a middle place, united grace and beauty. Almost alone in ^i^am we see tlie star-like lustre of tlie ex- quisite MuRiLLO. Then, leaping, as it were, over the space between, Art found another home among the fogs and marshes of the Low Coimtries, where she exhibited herself in new and striking combma- tious. Thence the transition to our ancestral Britain was easy ; and now, go where we will in the civihzed world, we find the living artist. Germany, notwithstanding the early inspiration of Albert Durek, is onlj^ of late succeeding in the establishment of a school of her own. Rauch of Berlin, and Schwanthaler of Munich, have won most enviable fame in the grandest styles of sculpture ; nor should it be forgotten, that the greatest sculptor of the age, the greatest since Angelo, the Scandiua\'iau Thorwaldsen, emerged from the Ultima 77t ide of the ancients. In our land we have every variety of climate and atmosj^here, with a commingling of all the cultivated races ; genius for each department of skill has appeared among us. Is it then presumption to hope that, as empire marches westward. Art may here attain the lustre reserved for her destined acquisition of universal sway ? Too much stress has been laid upon the encouragement of Art by the classical mythology of the ancient world, and the legendary tra- ditions, that cling like parasitic masses about a better creed. These may be favorable, but are not necessary to Art. The ideal of power, beauty, heroic endurance, or moral emotion, is the creature of the artist's soul. He embodies it in form, and but calls that form by a popular name. The anthropinal character of their gods enabled the ancients to apjiroach more nearly their idea of divinity ; but no genius has adequately translated into human shape the God of our faith, "whom no man hath seen or can see." Ov'er])owered as we are by other conceptions of Angelo, we are disajipointed, if not pained, l)y ART IN THE UNITED STATES. 183 his figures of tlie Almiglity ; aud our liope is unsatisfied wlieu we look upon the canvas of Carlo Dolce, or even Rafaelle, for tlie Divinity whom we adore in the Man Christ Jesus. The Jupiter of the Elian Olympia appears again, though with more noble attributes, in the Jehovah of the Cistine ; aud the precipitation of the wicked in the tremendous Last Judgment might, with a proper change of the acces- sories, present to the mind of a pagan Greek an overthrow of con- spii'ing Titans. An adequate personification of Wisdom could not fail of Ijeiug a reminiscence of Minerva, though without helmet or aegis. Benjajiin West saw the symmetrical strength and graceful energy of a young Mohawk warrior in the Pythian Archer of the Vatican. Were the Satan of Milton wrought in marble, there would be on his thunder-scarred brow the defiant despair of Prometheus bound. Venus, who once in Cyprus struggled with Adonis, has given her cestus to the wife of Potiphar, scorned, nevertheless, like herself; or, converted from her sins, weeps with Magdalen in the desert, who, the painters seem unanimously to think, never regained her modesty with her penitence. In the martyr, we discover constancy under suftering, sweetened by forgi\-ing patience and sublimated by celestial hope. The virtues and the vices, the appetites and the passions of human natm-e, are peculiar to no age. As Art is spiritualized, it becomes independent of mere outer accidents ; the true type, however exoteri- cally given, is ever the same, and the true artist will ever find it in his soul, though to esj^i'ess it, he may use j;)revailiug associations, as the philosopher teaches in the tongue of his disciples. A like strain of remark is apj^licable to drapery, for it is ever a jioor artifice because uuti'uthful (which should be synonymous with unartistic) to clothe an individual of one period in the fashion of another. Washington in a toga is an afl:rout to our common sense ; and he who cannot give us the foremost man of modern times in his own "-arb, should confess a 184 AKT IN THE UNITED STATES. genius uuequal to the jjortraitm-e. An artist is uot obliged to copy all the fautastic caprices of fashion, l)ut his invention is very weak if, like a country tailor, he can work only after obsolete patterns. lie has the I'ight of contrivance in costume, but imagiaation must be ruled by propriety. So many are the beauties of Kafaelle, that we are apt to overlook the drapery of his figures, not its color or apphcatiou to the form, but its naturalness, yet it greatly assists the pure harmony which is the superlative charm of his works ; while Guido, charming as he is, and easy in the disjjosition of the drapery he chooses, has decorated his archangel like a celestial Alcibiades. Our own Hun- tington, who has more of Rafaelle's elevated serenity than any other recent artist, shows, especially in his allegorical pictures, how superior a true artist is to pedantic affectation, when dressing his characters. No artists of modern tunes have had such opportunities for origi- nality, or such untrodden walks opened before them, as ours ; and it should be their honoi'able aim, so far as is consistent ^^■ith the peculiar tendency of their genius, to illustrate the country of their birth. PoLYGNOTUs, after he had depicted on the walls of the Pcecilo the victories of his compatriots, lived by a vote of the Amphictyonic Comi- cil as the guest of all Greece ; and an American, who should success- fully follow his example, would not remain unhonored. Every petty town of Europe has in its public walks statues of those who have been feared or loved. How few are the memorials of our mighty dead ! It is vain to say that they live in our hearts, when we are too niggard to prove by outward sign the sentiment we profess. Sad would it be, if there were preserved no likeness of our country's Father, and we could uot gaze with filial veneration ujton that t-ahn majesty of countenance and form which is the visible presentment of his grave and good soul ! Yet how many who have contrilnited to ART IN THE unitp:d states. 185 our glorious liistoiy, have been permitted to die, tlieir liueaments for- gotten before they have ci'umbled to dust ! Had they beeu as faith- ful servants of a despotism, they would have stood in marble and bronze upon proudly inscribed pedestals. Should freemen be less grateful than tyrants ? It is by such uses that the moral power of Art is best exerted on the popular mind ; and we can well pardon the awkward multitude of legs in Trumbull's picture, when we know that it has carried to every dwelling of our people a perpetuation of the sublime assembly, which declared our national indej)eudence. What inexhaustible studies are afforded l)y the aborigines of Northern America, now passing away with noiseless tread that leaves no trail, which the plough will not soon obliterate ! They had no art, and a more than Cimmerian dai'kness hides their story before the white man came ; its fatal catastrophe cannot long be delayed, yet let them not be as though they had never been ! We owe this duty to them and to the inquirers of future centuries. Their physical peculi- arities, their costume, their habits at rest, in war, or in the chase ; their moral characteristics, and not a few scenes of their contest with civilization, supply to both chisel and pencil subjects at once novel and various for every style of delineation. We are proud of our sculptors, who can achieve no mean distinction in the walk beaten by so many mighty predecessors^of Greenough, now by no means duly appreciated ; of Powers (would that the chain were shivered from the beautiful limbs of his slave ! it is a paltry method of helping out the story, most unworthy of his genius) ; and of Crawford, whose Orpheus is like a dream of classic poetry ; but we must congratulate Brow^n upon his having received an inspii-ation truly American, when he chose the Indian for the model of some recent works. He has entered an untried and vast field, which his severe education in the antique well fits him to explore ; and it is earnestly to be hoped that •24 liS() AllT IN THE UNITED STATES. no withholding of proper sympathy may compel his aljandoument of the best chance for high and permanent distinction he could expect or desire. When we consider the distinctive scenery of our country, the undulating outline of our mountains, the majestic flow of om* rivers, the thundering cataract and the innumerable cascades, the placid lakes embosomed among the hills, and their multitudinous islands, the contrasts of nature in her wildest grace and most rugged grandeur with the tranquil charms of progressive cultivation, and the gorgeous magnificence of our autumnal forests, the paradise of coloi-, we are not surprised that Landscape painting should have many and enthusiastic votaries. Here also there is large scope, and, indeed, a necessity for originality. The fundamental canons of Art must re- main the same, but the painter of American scenery will find himself wanting, however he may study foreign artists, unless he closely and faithfully observe nature as it is disjilayed here. Our skies, our atmos- phei'e, the shapes of our trees and the hiies of their foliage, our very rocks are so peculiar, that to an eye which has never looked upon the reality, a representation of them may seem false, or at least exagger- ated. The accomplished critic, Mrs. Jajiieson, has said, that when she first saw a Claude in England, she thought, " How beautiful !" but when she saw the eftects of that magic pencil in Italy, she exclaimed, " How like !" The same thing might occur witli a true picture of an American landscape. Here are many vai'ious eftects not met with elsewhere, and as delightful as they ai'c peculiar. For these and other obvious reasons, next to the painter of })ortraits who ministers to tlie jiroudest affections of our hearts, the painter of landscapes has met with most general favor ; and a volume like this in the reader's hand, must be a most welcome contribution to the puljlic taste. We have not a few artists in tliis line who deserve mention, and some liiii'h ART IN THE FNITED STATES. 187 praise, if au award of merit was tlie presumptuous purpose of tliis essay ; but no one will forbid a grateful tribute to the memory of liim, who has been to America what Giorgione was to Italy, Rutsdael to Holland, and Gainsborough to England, Thomas Cole, the head of the American school of Landscape painting. The works which he has left behind him are his best eulogy. He revelled amidst the splendors of the frost-touched woods almost to intoxication. As we look upon the scenes he represents we are oftentimes oppressed by the dazzling richness of the hues, while we confess the fidelity of the painter, and thank liim for his tribute to the surpassing beauties, which the hand of nature has scattered so lavishly and on so grand a scale over the mountains and valleys of our native land. Even after such enjoyment, it is most pleasing, if we may turn to a picture of the ever-faithful and ever- judicious DuRAND, who never apj^lies his pencil without impressing ujion the canvas pure and delicious traces of a calm, chastened spirit ; or to the charming summer fields of Doughty, as they swim in silvery brightness before our fortunate eyes. These gentlemen our younger artists have done well to emulate, and some have studied well ; while they show, not by servile imitation, but by following ever their own pecuhar tendencies under the teaching of happy example. Among those, who are now daily presenting us with creditable landscapes, it is perhaps invidious to make particular mention of any ; yet it would be unjust not to name Church and Kenseti', both of whom are rapidly gaining a high degree of acknowledged distinction, which must yield them a most satisfactory return for their well-directed enthusiasm. Early youth is naturally imitative, and, for that reason, timid. Our Art has not passed the period of its youth, nor acquii-ed suf- ficient boldness and self-reliance. With more maturity we may ex- pect more originality. It were strange indeed if, with so many new lessons from Nature, the great teacher, our artists should content themselves with doing oidy what has been done befoi-e. 1!SS AUT IN THE UNITED STATES. The Mstory of American Art will one day be a matter of curious interest. Specimens of some, especially among our earlier ai-tists, are already becoming rare. A ^^ermanent collection of pieces, from each band, would be very instructive, and a bappy monument. It could now be made without great difficulty, and continued easily. Tbe cost would not be very great, and its exhibition might defray, at least, the current expenses. An Historical Gallery of National Art ! The sug- gestion is not undeserving of thought. -7^ '>-# '^^ HI ■^^'