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OF THE UNIVERSITY or ILLINOIS
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111. Hist. Surv.
AMERICAN SCENERl'
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AMERICAN SCENERY,
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tI^'^ADDISON RICHARDS, N. A.
W/TIT TniRTY-TWO ENaRAYIWQS ON STEEL.
Be to Dork :
PUBLISHED BY LEAYITT AND ALLEN,
3 7 9 BROADWAY.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854,
By LEA.VITT AND ALLKN,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for tl,e Southern DUtriot of
New York.
IN 4 Brotkkrs, Printers Rnd Sterentypera, 90 North William strait, N. Y.
ILLUSTRATIONS
1. LAKE GEORGE, . . • •
■2. MOl'NT N'ERNON, . . . •
8. FALLS OF TALLULAU, GA., Xo. 1. .
4. ELKHOKN PYEA.MID, UPPER MISSOUKL
5. THE PARK FOUXTAIN, N. Y„
6. THE XARKOAVS. FROM STATEX ISLAND, .
7. BIKTU PLACE OF AVASHINGTON,
8. NEW YORK, FROM WEEHAWKEN,
9. WASHINGTON CROSSING THE ALLEGHANY,
10. MEDICAL COLLEGE. GA., .
11. FALLS OF TOWALAGA, GA..
12. CASCADE OF TUCCOA,
13. LOVERS LEAP, CHATTAHOOCHEE RIVER,
14. CATARACT OF TALLULAH. No. 2,
15. SCENE IX THE BACKWOODS .
16. COLUMBIA BRIDGE, ON THE SUSQUEHANNA,
17. RIVER SCENE IN THE SOUTH-WEST, IS. LOG HUT ON LAKE CHAUDIERE .
19. TOWER ROCK, ON THE MISSISSIPPI, .
20. ST. REGIS, INDIAN VILLAGE, ST. LAWRENCE,
21. MONTREAL IN THE DISTANCE, ST. LAWRENCE.
22. BISON AND ELK, UPPER MISSOURI,
2.3. CINCINNATL OHIO, ....
24 THE OHIO CAVE-IN ROCK,
2.^ NAVY ISLAND, . . . •
26. NIAGARA FALLS ....
27. BURLINGTON, VERMONT,
2S. LAKE IN THE ADIRONDACKS, N. Y.,
29. EOCK MOUNTAIN. . . . •
*». THE SUSQUEHANNA.
81. RESIDENCE OF JUDGE 1L\LIBURT()N.
.32. THE CONNECTICUT RIVER.
Frontispiece. Before Title.
y
13 . 21
31 . 41
5S . 65
71
. 81
91
. 99
Ki'.t . 119
127 . 137
147 . 157
165 . 173
Ibl . 187
195 . 203
211 . 228
2-35 . 245
257 . 271
295
489328
In tlie following discursive pages the author has taken a brief, but he hopes an intelligent, glimpse at the varying characteristics of the beautiful natural scenery of our country. It has been his endeavour, throughout, so to relieve the gravity of fact with the grace of fiction, as to present at the same time an in- structive topography and an entertaining romance. The better to accomplish this difficult end, he has assem- bled around him a company of accomplished and genial travellers, who discuss the subject familiarly in all its phases, each from his own peculiar stand-point and after his own individuality. It is not necessaiy that the reader be here presented to these gentlemen, since they will shake him by the hand, and tell him what manner of men they are, in the first chapter, — which subserves the usual role of a preface, but is too much an integral and important part of the narrative to be so called.
( 8 )
It is not the least of the author's hopes, that his labour may serve, in a humble measure, in the further development of the already very high appreciation of our wonderful scenery, and in the culture of the poj> ular love of that charming Art — which is, at the same time, its interpreter and its chronicler — the Art of the Landscape Painter, from the more legitimate study of which he has turned aside, in leisure hours, to this ac- cessory toil. And it is as such an accessory to the province of his own profession, rather than as a trespass upon the fields of the sister art of letters, that he thus ventures to exhibit his work.
Ukitebsitt, New York,
July Ut, 1S54.
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Second convooation of picture of the V:
PAOB
f the task before assistance — The d the reality of ic tradition, its eral and hearty I expression of eparture of the he author with
evening, of the nories of foun- ter — History of 't offers for an IE Fountain" —
attractions of Virginia — The spot — General ions upon the
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CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAQK
Re-union in the Author's sanctum — His despondency, in view of the task before him — Sympathy of his friends, and cheering promises of assistance — The theme of his proposed book announced — Tiie romance and the reality of American landscape: its phj-sique and morale, its historic tradition, its poetic legend, its incident, adventure, and suggestion— General and hearty approbation in the assembly of the subject, and varied expression of opinion upon its importance, availability, and interest — Departure of the guests, with a pledge to reassemble at intervals, and aid the author with their respective knowledge and experience 13
CHAPTER II.
Second convocation of the Club— Selection, as the text of the evening, of the picture of the Park Fountain— The Chairman's historic memories of foun- tains and aqueducts — Mr, Vermeille's poetic view of the matter— History of the Croton Aqueduct — ^Tlie pleasing and graphic material it offers for an autobiography — Mr. Flakewhite's romance of "The Smile of the Fountain" — Mr. Brownoker's droll anecdote of the "Man in the Fountain" 21
CHAPTER III.
The party starts southward— Visit to Virginia— Extraordinary attractions of the historical associations of the country— The great men of Virginia— The birth-place of "Washington; Mr. Blueblack's visit to the spot— General absence of commemorative monuments in America; reflections upon the
10 CONTENTS.
PASB
cause and consequence, importance and interest of such memorials, and illustrative anecdote by the Chairman — The extent, varietj', and beauty of the scenery of Virginia ; the springs, and western hills, and rivers — Megilp's disastrous adventures in Weir's Cave, and at the Natural Bridge — Blue- black's tale of " LrPTLE Emma Munnerldj" — Brownoker's brief story of " Tom, Dick, and Harry, or Woman's Constancy" 41
CHAPTER lY.
Still in Virginia — Gossip about the uses and pleasures of social re-unions — Mr. Deepredde's reflections upon the historical incident of the " Crossing of the Alleghany in the expedition of 1753 ;" his account of the adventure in the story of "The Man of Duty" — Flakewhite's dramatic historiette of " Gabriblle de St. Pierre" 65
CHAPTER Y.
The travellers proceed to the Carolinas and Georgia — Conversation upon the prospects of art in America, and the influences at work for its development and advancement — Mr. Vermeille's tale of "The Mothers of the Revolution," and Mr. Deepredde's Mesmeric Visit to " Margaret House ;" sequels to the stories of " The Man of Duty" and " Gabrielle de St. Pierre"— Glimpses of the scenery of the South-eastern States, from the lowlands to the moun- tains— Halt at the Falls of Toccoa — "The Old Legend of Toccoa" 91
CHAPTER YI.
The Falls of the Tallulah, in Georgia ; offerings of the poets — Nacoochee, and other neighbouring beauties — Ignorance of the mountaineers in the South- east, and difficulties of travel — Megilp's wicked tricks upon the natives — ^Mr. Brownoker's exploits as a Frenchman — Flake white's story of " Kitty, the Woodsian's Daughter" 109
CHAPTER YII.
The South-west — Romantic adventures and sufferings of the early explorers
De Soto, and his companions — Mr. Asphaltum's account of his visit to the Mississippi — Local oddities of Western character — Tale of "Mistletoe Hall" jgij
COXTEXTS. 11
CHAPTER VIII.
FAOB
Tower Rock, on the Mississippi — Coijtiimatioii and conclusion of the romance of " Mistletoe Hall" 157
CHAPTER IX.
Progress of the Club to the Great West— Megilp's recolleetions of the Missouri River ; his adventures at the " Gates of the Rocky Mountains" — The great Prairies — California and Oregon — Modes of hunting the bison — Megilp's " FmsT AKD Last Buffalo Hc>'t" 181
CHAPTER X.
The West — ^The Ohio River and Diamond Island — Cave in the rock — ^Mammoth Cave — The rivers of Kentiicky — Scenery of the States touching the north bank of the Ohio — Peep at Minnesota, Iowa, Michigan, Wisconsin, and the Great Lakes — Megilp's adventure, which proves to be "Nothing after allI" 195
CHAPTER XI.
Return of the traveller? to the North, and visit to Lake George — Extent and beauty of the lake — Scenery of New York and New England — Pre-eminence of Horicon — Its characteristics in relation to foreign lake-views — The moun- tain shores and islands of Horicon — Social pleasures of the region — Historic memories— Mr. Asphaltum's story of "The Scout of Hoeicox, or Rogers's Slide" — Mr. Brownoker's tale of "Diamond Isle, or The Stray Glove" 211
CHAPTER XII.
Visit to the Adirondacks and the famous Saranac Lake region— Its celebrity for picturesque beauty, and for its capacity as a hunting and fishing ground
^Boating on the mountain-lakes— A bear-adventure — Blueblack's doleful
encounter with a wild-cat, in the great Indian Pass — The hunters, and their manner of life— Anecdotes of a sporting parson— Adventurous passage through the woods, from the Saranacs to the Adirondacks — Mr. Asphal- tum's recollections of " The HERMir of the Ajdiroxdacks" 235
12 CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XIII.
FAOB
The Middle States— The Hudson— The CatskiUs; favourite summer studio of the artists : landscape-painters Cole, Durand, and others — The Erie Railway and the Dela-ware River — Yallev of "Wyoming and scenery of the Susque- hanna—The Juniata, the Schuylkill, and the Lehigh— Scenery of Delaware, Ne-w Jersey, and Maryland — Coal-beds and Canals of Pennsylvania — Tale of "Love's Laboce Wo>-"— The Chairman's narrative of "Me. BEOwys Strategy" 257
CHAPTER XIV.
Our travellers and their wanderings, with a brief excursion into New England — Ease and profit of travel there — Partition of the route ; Mr. Megilp retracing his rambles in Maine ; Mr. VermeiUe exploring the white hills and lakes of New Hampshire; and Mr. Flakewhile strolling lovingly amidst the rich valley-lands of the Housatonic and the Connecticut — Antiquity of New England; its stores of Indian and revolutionary reminiscence — Blueblack on the peaks of Mansfield and the Camel's Hump, and in the valleys of Vermont — Brownoker's merry experience of the social characters and habits of New England — His graphic report of the anniversary festival of the society of ""Womax's Rights" — Mr. Megilp's "Slight Mistake" — ^Farewell salutations of the guesta, and the author's valediction 295
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CHAPTER I.
The wit and wisdom of a pleasant circle of gay friends who, while they never exceed, yet always quite fill up, the limits of becoming mirth, had, through a long evening, dashed a flood of laughing sunshine upon the sombre-hued walls of our antique studio. The sparkling coruscations of their mad humour availed, however, but partially to exorcise the heavy shadows which hung like a pall over our usually buoyant spirits. One disquieting thought oppressed us, and, as usual, awakened our entire schedule of ugly remembrances, which to be sure had no earthly relation- ship to the first intrusive visitor, yet came in that hateful gre- garious spirit to which misery is proverbially given. While the hours were flying in the brilliant, yet, as it then seemed to us, bootless pleasure of social gossip, we were thinking of duties deferred, of "time misspent, and fair occasions gone forever by;" and in that wretched state of mental languor, which though it sees, yet is too feeble to confront and conquer difiiculty, we were dreaming of our neglected duties — to you, reader; of the ways and means of fittingly acquitting ourself of the task of preparing these pages; wondering how on earth we could possibly do the deed, and that, too, within the brief time which our publishers
V
14 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
allowed us. We half regretted tliat we had so rashly assumed the labour. We obeyed the behest of Sir Philip Sydney, to look within our own heart and write, but we found, like Sir Charles Coldstream when he gazed disgusted into the crater of Vesuvius, that there "was nothing in it!" We had recently laid aside that charming bouquet of "Passion Flowers" which had just blossomed so sweetly in the literary parterre, and a lingering fragrance came to us, in the remembrance of the lines—
"I never made a poem, dear friend, I never sat me down and said. This cunning brain and patient hand Shall fashion something to be read.
"Men often came to me and prayed I should indite a fitting verse For fast or festival, or in Some stately pageant to rehearse, (As if, than Balaam more endowed, I, of myself, could bless or curse.)"
The bricks, we felt, should be made, but, alas ! where was thu straw ? In brief, we suspected ourself of decided stupidity, and could, in no way, reason us out of the grateful conviction. Our evil mood, though not virulent enough to check the humour of our guests, was yet sufficiently evident to attract notice and to elicit sympathy. A dozen clever and kind doctors were anxiously occupied with our moral pulse. We explained our symptoms, and were soon cheered and flattered into a more quiet and
hopeful state.
"The waters of your fancy," said Mr. Brownoker, "will, by all hydraulic law, soon remount to the desired height; for, pardon the compliment, is not the reservoir lofty enough for all your needs? Some vulgar trash temporarily obstructs the conduit— a buckwheat cake too much at breakfast, perhaps, or
THE MEETING OF THE TRAVELLERS. 15
wine and walnuts too abundant at dinner. Eest assured, my dear boy, that what is poetically called "a mind diseased," Ls, in the vulgate, often nothing more than pork and beans ad nauseam. "We'll soon blow away the blues, and bring you back to concert pitch !"
" Remember Mrs. Chick, and ' make an effort,' " said Mr. Brownoker.
" You have but to meet the enemy and he is yours," added Mr. Megilpv
" Forget not Sir Joshua, ' Nothing is denied to well-directed labour,' " said Deepredde.
" Or Richelieu calling back the spent fire and energy of his early years, 'In the bright lexicon of youth there's no such word as fail.' "
" The sacred text, ' As thy day so shall thy strength be.' " "Caesar, 'Yeni, vidi, vici!'"
Refreshed with this torrent of cheering words, our courage and hope were rapidly springing into life again, and when the last scrap of conclusive and flattering raillery, " Remember your- self, and 'the country is safe!'" came to our ears, the stainless pages before us seemed rapidly to pass from fair manuscript to corrected proof, and from proof to peerless volume. Countless editions followed each other through our brightening view, and for very modesty we closed our eyes upon "the opinions of the press."
" Yaur book shall be finished as speedily as Aladdin's castle ! We will all lend you a hand," cried our guests. " We will have a literary ' bee.' "
" You shall cut out the work and we will ' play tailor to the Muses!'"
" What is your theme ? Not metaphysics — aye ?" " Not sermons ?" " Not politics ?"
16 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
" Not temperance?" chimed in one upon another, the associated face sensibly lengthening the while.
"By no means!" we hastened to explain. "Neither j)hi- losophy, religion, nor morals. Heaven forbid ! We have a more genial topic — the Romance and Reality of American Land- scape— its physique and morale, its historic tradition, its poetic legend, its incident, adventure, and suggestion. What say you to the text?"
" You could not have a happier one, and we, learned in the book of Nature, are the very preachers to discourse thereon. Are not you, yourself, are we not all, painters and poets — life-long worshippers of Nature? Have we not laid our souls upon her sacred altar ? Do we not ken her in all her thousand mystic utterances, and will she not lend us the living inspiration of her smile as we seek to chant her praise? Yerily a noble text, and now for the heads of the sermon !"
"Our publishers," we explained, "are happily possessed of a portfolio of pictures of many of the most charming and famous bits of American scenery — a portfolio which they laudably desire to give to the world — and we are pledged to play master of ceremonies on the occasion, to expatiate upon the panorama as it passes."
" A pleasant task enough, in which, as we have said, we will all assist you. In our periodical conclaves here we will take subject after subject, and each one shall give up that which is most within him of his experience, adventure and imaginings of the several scenes. We could not have more delightful occupation as we sip our sherry and puff our havanas. As old Phocylides says —
"Tis right for good wine-bibbing people Not to let the jug pace round the board like a cripple, But gaily to chat while discussing their tipple."
THE ROUTE AND ITS PLEASURES. 17
"Nothing could be more agreeable," said Mr. Vermcille, "than, while sitting arouud our winter fire, to live our joyous summer rambles over again, to retrace our merry courses from Maine to Texas, from the Atlantic to the Pacific. "\Ye will emerge from the rank everglades of Florida and watch the buffalo as they scour the boundless prairie. Look from the proud summit of Mount Washington over the waters of AYinni- piseogee and Squam, across valley and hill, village and city, to the ocean-bouuded horizon. From the lyric peaks of the Catskills we will scan the windings of the peerless Hudson. On the Adirondack's we will drink iu the beauties of Horicon and Champlain, and the verdant sweeps of the green hills. Our barque shall thread the tortuous path of the Mississippi and the Missouri. We will repose ourselves by prattling cascade, or listen to the sterner voice of Niagara ' pouring its deep eternal bass in Nature's anthem.' 'Lord ! what a tramp we'll have !' "
"We will rekindle our fancies," added Mr. Flakewhite, " with the wild legends which the red man has bequeathed to the scenes of his lost home, and strengthen our patriotism and virtue with remembrances of the gallant deeds of Trenton, Saratoga, Yorktown, Chamjolain, Bennington, and many other consecrated fields."
" If our scene," said a sculpturing friend, who had just returned to us after a long sojourn in Europe, " were but laid amidst the storied haunts of the Old World, and our characters culled from its peculiar and picturesque populations, we should have more plastic material to work with than we shall find in the rugged quarries of this new land, untutored by the touch of Art, unsoftened by the breath of Time ; and a people too active and practical for poet's uses."
" A mistaken notion of yours, my dear friend," rejoined Mr. Flakewhite. " I grant you that, to the common eye and feel- ing, the story of our battle-fields, the freshness and newness of ■ 2
18 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
our natural scenery, may seem tame, wanting the poetic veil i
of distance ; may be belittled by its contemporary character ; but j
we, I hope, are men of larger vision, possessed of that unpre- »
judiced and prophetic spirit which, like the catholic power of love, ' lends a precious seeing to the eye ;' revealing to us the
immortal essence of actions and things, stripped of all passing, '
degrading accessories. It is only your shallow-pated fellow for whom ' too much freedery breeds despise.'
" It is in the very freshness you condemn, added to the \
grandeur, scope, and vigour of our landscape, and to the same ^ j
qualities in the morale of our people, that our strength lies : ;
qualities pointing to a larger humanit}'-, and to a higher and ,
nobler civilization, than the world has yet been blessed with. i
We, as poets and artists, are favoured in being called upon to i
water this grander spirit rather than to expound the meaner ^
though more dainty aims of the old art and thought. '
"Now, last, though not least, were our land, in poetic and philosophic inspiration, a thousand times behind all other climes, 1
rather than so gloriously before them, is it not our own land, and is not the offering of our love and service a duty, no less than a delight?
"' 0, my native land!
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 honourable things —
Whatever makes this mortal spirit feel
The joy and greatness of its future being.
There lives not form, nor feeling in my soul,
Unborrowed from my country 1' "
THE ROUTE AND ITS PLEASURES. 19
"But, will our subject, think you, interest the popular heart?" asked Mr. Brownoker.
" Nothing more so," responded Mr. Deepredde, " for it touches a gentle and universal chord in the human soul. Since the halcyon days when Adam and Eve rejoiced with exceeding joy beneath the glorious skies of Paradise, Nature has ever shared bountifully in the love and adoration of man. This feeling is an instinct, no less than a refinement, in our souls. The degraded Guebre, and the poor Indian, with untutored mind, worship the elemental principles of Nature, bowing down in mystic rite to the sacred fire, or gazing up, with rapt vision, to the throne of the Great Spirit, the blazing sun; the wretched negro no less, as he bows to the god of poisons, enshrined in the foliage of the poison tree, or prostrates himself before the omnipotence of the waters, in his prayers to the crocodile ; so, too, the followers of Zoroaster, kneeling in the free and unpol- luted air of the grand mountain tops.
" From the lowliest to the loftiest spreads this all-pervading love. 'He,' says Pindar, 'deserves to be called the most excel- lent, who knows most of Nature.' 'Nothing,' Cicero tells us, 'is so delightful in literature, as that branch which enables us to discern the immensity of Nature, and which, teaching us magnanimity, rescues the soul from obscurity.' Horace dis- dained the glitter of Augustus's court, in the quiet of his Sabine home. Then we hear of the
' Olive-grove of Academe, Plato's retirement, where the attic bird Trills her thick warbled notes the summer long.'
"Where and when, indeed, have greatness or goodness astonished and blessed the world, unnurtured by the sacred manna which Nature, in her varied forms, provides ?"
At this point of his discourse, Mr. Deepredde was suddenly
20 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
brought up by a sacrilegious hint that the small hours were coming; and a general movement among our guests ensued.
" A Mercredi .'"' said one of us.
"We will not fail you!" cried another.
"Have your portfolio ready," advised a third.
"With the especial subject of the evening," said a fourth.
"And we will each weave around it o\vc garland of fact and fiction," promised a fifth.
" And our word for it !" sang out the last, as his form vanished in the outer darkness, "enough copy shall be elicited to satisfy the cravings of the most carnivorous ' devil' that ever worried the soul of poor author: and of a quality, too, let us flatter ourselves, to win the patient ear of many a pleased reader."
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CHAPTER II.
On the appointed evening, ovir impromptu committee re-as- sembled. Mr. Deepredde was called to the chair, and the minutes of the previous meeting — that is, dear reader, the fore- going chapter — were read and "ordered to be printed." The portfolio was opened, and we selected from its stores the accompanying charming picture of the famous Park fountain :
"We cannot do better than thus begin at home," observed an original and profound thinker. "Let us avoid the vulgar error of undervaluing those beauties and delights which lie within our daily reach."
"Fountains," solemnly observed the respected chairman, by way of initiating the subject of the night, "have from the remotest periods, and among all people, been objects of especial interest. In varied shape and costliness, they embellished all the chief towns of ancient Greece. Old Pausanius has left us accounts of many of these favourite structures. Among others, he men- tions a most remarkable one at Epidemus, in the sacred grove of Esculapius; and two yet more interesting at IMessena, loved by the populace under the names of Arsinoe and Clepsydra. We read also of beautiful founkiins in the city of Megara, in
22 THE ROMAKCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
AcLaiai ; of the famous Pirene at Corinth, encircled by a marble wall sculptured with various grottoes, from which the waters flowed; and of the Leina, also at Corinth, surrounded by a grand portico, under which were seats for the public ease and comfort in the sultry summer evenings.
"All of us have delighted our fancies, and many of us have blessed our vision, with these rich and classic altars of the water sprite in the art and nature-loving land of Italy. For my own part, though Pope seems to think it but a shabby sort of warming ' to think on the frightful Caucasus,' yet on many a scorching August night, in this salamander town of ours, I have cooled my brow and brain with the remembered sparkles and breezy drippings of the merry waters by St. Peter's, at Frescati, and Termini, and Mount Janiculum ; in the dreamy gardens of the Belvidere, and at the lovely villas of Aldobran- dini and the Borghese.
" I doubt not that we all cherish equally grateful recollec- tions of the fountained beauties of Paris — that city of fountains — a title, let me observe, en passant, which I trust our own goodl}^ city of Gotham will one day successfully dispute ; for surely, to speak after the manner of rude men, ' she has got it in her.' As I was saying, though, we have lingered many a happy hour in the sweet watered groves and wilds of Yer- sailles, lounged delighted at St. Cloud, or strolled with outward and inward satisfaction through the passages of the Tuileries." " Our respected chairman, in his learned remarks," observed Mr. Yermeille, " has touched upon the poetry and sentiment of our theme, though very much more might be said on this head: much more (as frightened eyes glanced from all sides of the table) than I have any thought of now saying. That first and most perfect of women, our great mother. Eve, made her sinless toilet in the mirroring waters. The whispers of the fountain fell in cadence with the love-songs of Jacob and
FOUNTAINS. — THE CROTON. 23
Eebecca. It was by the fountain side that our Saviour dis- coursed to the Samaritan woman. Fountains are associated with countless beautiful incidents and histories in the life of mankind. They have ever been a treasured theme and simile of the poets. The sacred writers forever sing of the fountains. Shakspeare alludes to them continually ; so Milton, Sidney, Shelley, and indeed all who have ever uttered the breathings of truth and beauty."
" Before we fall into too discursive a gossip," said a brother of an inquiring turn of mind, " would it not be well to glance at the genealogy of our theme, by a brief review of the history of its great source, the immortal Croton ?"
A general nod of approbation followed this suggestion, and all eyes turned intuitively to the chair.
" Not to trespass upon your time, gentlemen," commenced Mr. Deepredde, " I will say nothing of the achievements of the Egyptians under Sesostris ; of Semiramis, in Babylonia ; of the Israelites in the days of Solomon and Hezekiah ; or of other stupendous aqueducts of ancient art and enterprise; but come at once to our own — a work which, in magnitude and value, may rank with the trophies of any period. As long ago as 1793, Dr. Joseph Brown proposed to supply our city with water by bringing the river Bronx to Harlem in an open canal, raising it to the required height by steam, and conducting it to the town in a six-inch pipe."
" The doctor was an old fogy !" interrupted a progressive gentleman. " The Bronx and a six-inch pipe ! pooh !"
" True," resumed the chairman, " that was the day of small things ; but still we must not be unmindful of the Doctor : he planted the humble seed from which has grown the sturdy Croton. This seed first shot up under the culturing hand of our honoured fellow-citizen. Colonel De Witt Clinton, in the year 1832. In 1835 the bud was fully formed, and on the Fourth
24 THE ROMAJNTCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
of July, 1842 — many of you remember tlie merry day and its rejoicings, gentlemen — the great work was completed ; and, witli music and merriment, the Croton Lake, forty long miles away, was escorted over hill and valley to the firesides of our people, and endowed forever with the freedom of the city. This intro- duction, gentlemen, cost us some twelve millions of dollars,"
" It has just occurred to me, Mr. Chairman," said Mr. Yer- meille, " that should either of us be in want of a theme for our muse, we might happily find it in an autobiography of the Croton. What an epitome of human happiness and misery its varied story would present ! What changeful experiences it must gather in its passage from the peaceful seclusion of its native hills through the thousand scenes of joy and sorrow, of virtue and vice, which it sees within the voiceless walls of this mad capital, to its final home in the great ocean of waters. Here, with gentle sympath}^ and sweet hope, it kisses tlie sinless brow of the babe at the holy font, and there sighingly seeks to cool the fevered tongue of the dying sinner. Now it gives hearty greeting to the thirsty labourer, sings gaily in his humble kettle, boils his frugal dinner with a will, and anon, it shrinks from the hated association with the poisoned cup of the drunkard! Oh! a merry elf — a sorrowing slave— is the Croton!"
" You remember, gentlemen, no doubt," said Mr. Flakewhite, " that graphic Croton story of Hoffman's, called the ' Man in the Reservoir,' in which he so thrillingly and philosophically analyzes the varying emotions of his hero, plunged beyond help in the deep waters, and hour after hour, in the silent night, vainly seeking a means of ascent in the steep mural banks !"
"A capital and most effective picture! Apropos, are there no legends or tales associated with the history of our fountain, or has its life been too brief to gather them ?"
" Enough, and winsome ones too, without doubt, if it could but speak for itself."
THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 25
" Poor thing ! Will not some imaginative brother speak for it? Brownoker, suppose you concoct us a "
" Punch ?"
" No, a romance. It is quite in your line."
"Not for the present occasion. The story of our fountain should be one of dainty sentiment. Flakewhite is your man."
" Well, gentlemen," said Mr. Plakewhite at length, and after much persistence on the part of his friends, "as my turn must come at some time, I submit. I do not vouch for the literal truth of what I am about to say to you. I tell the tale simply as it comes to my fancy. Listen then to the romance of
C|e ^milc of tljc .f ountaiit.
" Not many years ago, a young lad came from the seclusion of the country to this bustling city, in confident quest of fame and fortune. This was no strange occurrence. Hundreds are thus daily coming, and disappointment, only, is but too often the sad reward of their bright and credulous hopes. Our hero was not of these unfortunates. He was doomed to struggle no less than they; but not, like them, to sink in the trial. He came unknown, unfriended, and with empty purse. He felt the cold charities of the rude world, and ate the bread of bitterness. He swallowed to the dregs the cup of hope deferred and toil too long unrewarded. His ambition was to be a painter ; and though his sensitive and haughty spirit illy brooked the slavish labour, yet want and necessity compelled him to perform the humblest services — the lowest drudgery — of his art.
" He was a youth of strong heart and brave will. He was possessed of all that subtile delicacy and spirituality of feeling, that romance and beauty of soul, which instinctively seeks com-
26 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
munion with all that is most gentle and exalted in our nature, and which finds its development in thought and action far above the common interests and pursuits of men ; yet no less was he imbued with that practical and philosophic spirit which, though it be but for the end's sake, rightly estimates the value of the humble means by which the loftiest, no less than the lowliest, success must be won. He was eager to reach the goal, yet patient in the race. His gaze soared to heaven, but he forgot not the earth which sustained his feet.
" Day after day, and, indeed, year upon year, he pursued his silent toil, renewing his hope and strength in communion with the pure and beautiful spirit of Nature as often as his wearying labours permitted him to seek the home of his heart in the sunlight and shade of the country. When, in process of time, the gay prattle of the new Park Fountain one bright sunny morning startled his wondering ears, in the very midst of the dull scenes of his daily life, his heart leaped up with the dancing waters, and their joyous voice spoke to his soul then, as ever after, in glad whispers of sympathy and hope It brought back to his remembrance the smiling eyes of the mother he would never see again ; of the home from which he was an exile. It filled his spirit with indescribable emotions of pleasure, and, from that hour forth, exercised over him a strange and irresistible fascination. It was the bright far-off star of his wonder and love, bending down to his ear in familiar converse. No matter for cold or hunger, for exhaus- tion or despondency, he was ever, in his leisure hours, at early morn, and in the waning night, invincibly drawn by the magic spell of the fountain. The edge of the murmuring basin grew to be his home. Here he would sit through unobserved hours, gazing upwards at; the pearly drops, or down into the darker floods, seeing, in each, fantastical or profound minglings of the light and shade of life. Many a touching history of joy and
THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 27
sorrow, many an earnest lesson of cheer and of chiding, lie read in this mystic page; and though sometimes the sadder, he yet grew ever wiser and stronger by their teachings.
" One quiet summer evening, thus musing in pleased abstrac- tion, his face grew beautiful with the light of pleasure as his eye caught the reflection of a smile, sweeter than often blesses either the waking or sleeping vision of the dreamer. More than once before he had seen this spirit of the waters— for spirit only he seemed to think it, since it never had occurred to him to look up for the original of the sweet face. I know not how long he might now have continued to gaze upon the beauteous image, had not a light, merry laugh at his side recalled him to earth, and revealed to his startled perceptions the living form of the fair being whom he had worshipped only as a dream.
" Frederic Marzan — so was the youth named— bowed slightly, half involuntarily, and half as in apology for the temerity of
his intent gaze.
" ' You are a devoted dreamer, sir,' said the lady. ' I have been looking in vain for the object of your search in the fountain. Pray, may I ask what you see there so charming?'
" ' A vision of beauty, madam,' answered Frederic, his truant speech quickly brought back by her gay and cordial voice and manner, and speaking with his wonted grace and gallantry, though with an earnestness and truth of expression not always the soul of such graces — 'a vision, madam, scarcely less fixed in my memory and fancy, now that I look upon your living face, than when I watched its smile in the fountain.'
" The lady laughed merrily, though evidently not displeased with the bold compliment.
" ' Your courtesy, sir, is as graceful as it is long delayed,' she rejoined, in a voice of frank coquetry which her patrician face and bearing could well afford. 'I have often stood by
28 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
your side here, wondering wliat odd confidences you and the fountain were exchanging — what mad tales you were telling each other; yet never until now have you deigned to honour me with any consciousness of my presence.'
" ' I never, madam, dreamed that the sweet smile that I beheld in the water was more than the image of my own teeming fancy. It ever brought in its train such a retinue of absorbing and happy thoughts and desires, as completely to withdraw my mind from all the actual about me.'
" ' I am sorry then that I have broken the spell and released you from its grateful enchantment. Yet,' she continued, in a more serious tone, not unmingled with a feeling of thoughtful sadness, as she glanced at the threadbare attire and the anxious face of the friendless student, ' I do you a good service in calling you back to earth. It is not well, nor wise, for you to waste your hours in dreams, still idle and profitless, bright and winsome as they may be. Your fortunes seem yet to be made, and to be awaiting none but your own strong and will- ing hands. This enchanted land is not the place for you. Sir Pilgrim. You should be in the busy, acting world. Musing and dreaming are in fitting measure the nurse of achievement ; in excess, they only kill. Gather strength and purpose at the fountain, if you will; but do not, too, spend it there.'
"As the lady spoke, our hero's surprise at the unexpected seriousness of her speech, and at the grave character of her rebuke and counsel, half restrained the feelings of wounded pride which were gathering in his breast. Still, there was no little haughtiness in his voice and manner, as he replied —
" ' You misjudge me, madam. I do not spend strength and purpose here. Frederic Marzan is not of the vile herd who basely sigh for what they dare not seize. As you think, my fortunes are yet to be built, and by my own unaided strength. I ask no mean prize in the world's gift, and I will have my
THE SMILE OF THE FOUXTAIN". 29
asking ! We may meet again, when you will not thus unjustly rebuke me.'
'"I do not doubt it,' said the young girl, looking stead- fastly into our hero's eyes, sparkling with haughty pride and high resolve.
" ' Forgive my grave and gratuitous lecture,' she continued gaily, and kindly extending her hand, as she at length yielded to the impatience of her cavalier to resume their walk.
" ' Thanks, many thanks, for your gentle kindness and for your counsel. It is not gratuitous — not vain. It gives me an incentive to effort which will conquer though all others fail,' said Frederic earnestly, as his burning lips touched her proffered hand.
" ' Gone,' mournfully soliloquized the youth, turning his eyes from the retreating figure he had been watching until lost to his sight. ' Gone forever the Smile of the Fountain ! She will not come back again ; and if she should, what is that to me ? I may not look into the actual face, and draw from it glad imaginings, as I have done from the vanished image;' and his brow darkened as he gloomily reviewed his own life and pros- pects, and thought of the great social gulf which he doubted not stretched between the stranger lady and himself 'But,' he resumed, after a pause, and as a new courage seemed to cheer his soul, 'a truce to all vain sighs and sickly dreams, and let us see if will and work cannot bring back the Smile of the Fountain !'
"From this hour, the whole character of Frederic Marzan was changed, or developed, rather. He was a youth no longer; but a man, with man's graver and deeper views of life, and with man's higher and firmer wish and will. He still often visited the fountain, and looked earnestly into its waters, but the old smile never again greeted his sight. Many forms stood around him, but in none did he discover the one he sought.
30 THE ROMANCE OF AMEEICAI^ LANDSCAPE.
Now and then his heart would beat more quickly, as light figures glided past him, and with inward trepidation he would seek to look beneath the veils which buried unanswering faces. " Despite his stern resolutions, which were for the most time invincible, oppressive memories of faded hopes would spring up, and, swelling into irresistible torrents, would in a moment tear away the strong pillars of the iron bridge which he had,- with so great effort, sprung over the gulf of all sad bygones. Still, in every changeful mood, the fountain was his sure recourse —his hope or his consolation. He felt the subtile, healthy influ- ence of its smile always around him. It seemed to bless his
life.
"From the day of his rencontre with his unknown adviser his horoscope brightened. Pictures which had lingered in the shops were bought, and others found purchasers as fast as his pencil could execute them. His name began to be heard and honoured in the world. He made rapid strides in his profes- sional career. His fortunes brightened day by day; success followed success ; eager patrons surrounded him ; and the fame which once seemed to him at such unattainable distance, now came unsought and almost unwelcomed. His studio was the favourite resort of the beauty and fashion of the town. Many gay belles asked the immortality of his pencil ; many flattering smiles were lavished upon him ; but none whose light outshone the never-forgotten radiance of the Smile of the Fountain.
"He mingled freely and incessantly in the social pleasures to which he was invited, and yet with an insouciance not quite suited to his brilliant prospects and early years.
"'You seem marvellously indifferent, Marzan,' said a fashion- able lounger to him one day, while filling the sitter's chair, ' to the smiles of our fair belles. Do none of the arrows reach your heart, or are you impervious ? But then you have such incomprehensible notions about women. Now there's that odd,
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THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN". 31
haughty, but ruinously handsome and fearfully clever little witch, Edith Manners — I beg pardon of her stateliness — Miss Edith Manners. If you can withstand her charms, I give you up as hopeless. By the way, how is it that you have never painted her portrait? Wh}^, my dear boy, you might paint our peer- less though perverse Edith, and then contentedly die. Why, 'pon my word, you are a Goth not to have done it long ago — the picture, I mean — not the dying.'
" ' I have not the honour of Miss Manners' acquaintance,' said the artist, coldly.
" ' Not the honour of her acquaintance !' resumed the visitor. * Why, really, per hacco ! you astound me ! There is still a hope for you, when you do know her, as you soon shall.
I'll manage the thing for you. Nothing is '
" ' Pray do not trouble yourself on my account.' " * O, my dear friend, no trouble, I assure you : au contraire, a pleasure. Why, she is just the woman to suit you; and I am positive — no compliment — that she will fancy you. Queer creature ! I don't exactly understand her ; she has so many odd ways— does and says so many strange things! Why, would you believe it, at Mrs. Dashaway's, once, I joined a set of writing people, with whom she was talking about the character- istics of great men — Washington saving his country, and all that; and when I said I hoped yet to have the honour of preserving my country, she said it was very possible, as Rome was saved by a goose ! Then everybody laughed, and I really should have thought the impertinent little wretch was quizzing me, if she had not explained that she meant to say that, if a goose could save a capital like Rome, what might not / do ? Shockingly complimentary in her, wasn't it ? Well, well, she does oblio-ing things sometimes, though more often over the left than the right. When she goes to the opera, she sits in a private box, where no one can see her. She says she goes to hear
32 THE ROMAJ^CE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
the music, not to see a puppet sliow ! It must be a great bore. Queer creature! Why she'll turn her back upon any of our set — capital fellows they are, too — at any time, to talk to some old fogy of a D. D., or to some seedy poet, or to some poor devil of a painter— no offence — nothing personal ; you don't belong to that sort, you know ; you're one of us, though I must say you are not very sociable — indeed, I may say (excuse me), a little stiff.'
" ' Shut your mouth, if you please.'
"'Aye?'
" ' I am painting the lips.'
" ' 0, ah, yes ! very good, very ; he, he, capital, 'pon honour ! I must tell that to our fellows — he, he!'
"Soon after this colloquy, or monologue, rather, the artist dismissed his sitter, and his thoughts lingered about the much discussed Edith. To tell the truth, he was not a little piqued that the most famous and spirituelle beauty of the city had never come to his studio, never invited his acquaintance, never even sought to meet him at any of the many reunions among their mutual friends: or even at the soirees given expressly in his honour, and by her own circle.
" 'It is,' said Marzan, to himself, 'un parti pris. She is too proud to follow the popular current, and she evidently avoids me simply because I am courted by all others. Eeally, I am curious to see this fabled Edith Manners.'
"His eye at this moment rested upon a large canvass, which had long occupied such leisure hours as he could snatch from the toils of his manifold engagements. Gazing upon the picture, as he turned its face from the wall, an expression of sadness softened his look, and his thoughts flew far away from Edith Manners.
" ' She must be a paragon, indeed, he mused, ' if she can make me forget my little unknown patroness! Shall I never
THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 33
see her again? Will the fountain never more wear its old sweet smile?'
" The picture upon which he gazed was nothing less than a faithful memory of the scene at the fountain— the interview between Marzan and the young girl, which we have narrated at the beginning of our story. In every respect, it was a glo- rious production. Indeed, it was the artist's chef-d'ceuvre, as the public enthusiastically pronounced it when it soon after enriched the Annual Exhibition of the National Academy.
"'Strange!' whispered the curious public, when it was told that the painter kept the work himself, refusing for it almost fabulous prices.
" Mr. Manners, who in the meanwhile had made the artist's acquaintance, sought by every means to possess hhnself of the picture, without avail.
"'Surely,' said the young misses and the old gossips, 'it must have a history! Marzan is as romantic as he is proud and reserved, and has, no doubt, had more adventures than it pleases him to relate.'
" ' Have you never observed,' said Clara B , ' how much
the lad resembles Marzan himself?'
'"And, surely, I have seen the girl somewhere. Who can
she be? Dear me, how provoking!' rejoined Julia G .
"Marzan's motive in exposing his picture of the Smile of the Fountain is of course apparent enough; but it failed in its intent, giving him no clue whatever to the solution of the riddle of his life. The Exhibition closed, the picture came back, and months yet flew by, while no trace could be found of the stranger-lady.
"Marzan's acquaintance with Mr. Manners was followed by
repeated invitations to his house, which our hero, however, from
some cause, uniformly declined : though at length mere courtesy
forbade the right to deny the urgent and personal solicitations 3
34 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAJST LANDSCAPE.
of the gentleman. ' The party is to be a masque,' said Mr. Manners. 'It is a fancy of my wilful child ; and, to tell the truth, she is particularly desirous of your company. You must not refuse us.'
" The hour for the much talked of entertainment arrived, and Marzan set forth, though reluctantly, to keep his engage- ment. If he felt any interest in the affair at all, it was in the promise it gave him of meeting one of whose graces and gifts he had heard so much. Still, this interest was not so marked as to bring the slightest feeling of vexation, when he learned that Edith was too indisposed to receive her guests.
" The evening wore on, with brilliant success. Frederic found no want of occupation. He was an especial favourite with everybody, young and old — with the gay and thoughtless, for his graces and wit, and with the grave and wise, for his sterling worth and wisdom. Many a fair masque greeted him, and sometimes he would be challenged by a whole bevy of madcaps. He played his part well, yet scarcely with the eclat which his reputation promised. In truth, his interest was con- centrated upon a fair form, simply clad, gliding hither and thither, and winning but passing notice from any.
"'Who is yonder solitary lady?' he vainly asked of all he met.
" After a while, stealing away from the gay groups, he found himself, to his great relief, in a little boudoir at the end of the rich suite of drawing rooms. Much to his surprise, he saw among the decorations of the walls of this fairy bower, several of his own early pictures, which had been pur- chased in his humbler days by an unknown patron. He was gazing at these surprises — a thousand novel thoughts and fancies crowding his perplexed brain — when a hand was laid softly upon his arm, and, turning quickly, he beheld the figure of the humble masque.
THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN". 35
" * Are you a lover of art ?' she asked, pointing to the pictures.
"'As a child loves its mother! Is it not the sunshine and soul of my life ?'
" ' Ah, you are a painter then, sir ! How do you like my friend Edith's gallery ?'
" Frederic shruo-Q-ed his shoulders, with an unaccountable want of complaisance ; but it seemed not rude to the lady, for she laughed gaily.
" ' Upon my word, you are no courtier,' said she. ' Cer- tainly, your ungracious verdict cannot grow out of professional jealousy. Come, be honest, and confess that he gives promise — rare promise.'
" ' Certainly,' returned Marzan, abstractedly.
" ' Which he has nobly honoured,' continued the lady, ' in his famous picture of the Smile of the Fountain, for the works you see before you are from the easel of no humbler artist than Frederic Marzan.'
" * Do you know,' she continued, seeing that her auditor was little disposed to reply, ' why the artist so cherishes that picture of the Fountain ?'
" ' Indeed, fair lady, how should I ?' answered Marzan, con- descending at last to speak. ' Some caprice, perhaps, or '
" ' Or, perhaps, it may be the loving record of some story of his hidden life. You painters and poets, I know, sometimes, shrinking from fuller expression, indulge in the relief of such vague confidences. The artist, I am told, has traced his own features in the face of the hero ; and they say, that his earlier life knew the poverty and struggle expressed in the character. The heroine, too — if, as I doubt not, her portrait bo drawn from nature — still remembers, if she ever felt, the Smile of the Fountain.'
" ' No, no !' interrupted Marzan, sadly, ' if such a memory
BQ THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
ever interested ber heart, it must have been forgotten long ago. "Women are too changeable to love so unselfishly or so con- stantly.' *
" ' Fie ! ungallant masque ! Did I know the artist, and know, too, the secret of his picture to be. such as my romance has fashioned it, I would tell him that that fair face, his memory has recalled, is the index of a soul earnest and devoted as his own. There are women, sir, who can love from pure and truth- ful impulses — love, entirely and forever, from impulses at vari- ance with every lesson of selfishness. But men — are they capable of such noble disinterestedness? Your artist here, alas! has most likely forgotten, long ago, the Smile of the Fountain in the more brilliant smiles of flattery and fame. It lives now in his brain, and not in his heart. He remembers it as a graceful theme for the display of his genius.'
" ' Madam !' gasped Marzan, impetuously, and as if utterly forgetful of all but one thought, 'do not desecrate the most holy memories by such light words. Spare me, I pray you; I am that Frederic Marzan, and I loved the lady of the Fountain.'
" ' And you still love her ?' asked the stranger, in a low,
tremulous voice.
" ' Now and ever ! Would that I could find her ! And yet, it were better that I should not. Now, she is to me a thought of beauty: to meet her again would be only to kill that sweet memory; to meet her, and find in her eye and heart no reflection of my own mad love.'
'"Folly, sir! Seek her, and you will find a reality more beautiful than your abstraction. Believe me, that if she ever
loved you, she '
" ' And why do you speak so confidently ? who are you ?' asked Marzan, seeking to read the features of the lady through her masque. ' I am mad, no doubt ; but your earnest voice
THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 37
—jour merry laugli— I have heard both before! Heard them in my dreams — am I dreaming now ? are you '
" ' An humble girl, not worth your better knowing. My face does not wear your lost smile.'
" ' Still, let me see it ! I must see your face.'
" ' If you so much desire it,' the lady whispered, as she removed her masque.
" ' I knew, I knew it must be so !' he cried, gathering the light form of the now laughing girl in his passionate embrace. 'My long-sought treasure! Mine again, and always— however poor and unfriended — however '
" ' Edith ! my daughter !' exclaimed the astonished Mr. Man- ners, entering the little room at this surprising juncture.
" ' Edith Manners ?' repeated the scarcely less bewildered artist.
" ' Edith Manners !' merrily echoed the beautiful girl, and giving lum the hand which he had dropped —' Edith Manners, the Smile of the Fountain !' "
Mr. Flakcwhit€ here ended his romance, amidst the thanks and congratulations of his audience.
"Esther highfaluted," suggested Mr. Megilp. " Flake white must feel relieved, with such a weight off his mind."
"A little agonizing, I admit," remarked the worthy chair- man; "yet I shall always look upon the old fountain hereafter with a new and loving interest, even though the association be but imaginary."
" And besides," added Mr. Vermeillc, " our book must have thought and fancy of every shade : which it Avill not lack, if we each express ourselves in our stories as Flakewhite has done. It is not likely that any two of us will think or feel in the same vein. Brownoker, for instance, would have painted Ihe fountain in a very different tone."
38 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
" Apropos," said the gentleman just alluded to, " I must tell you — ^yes, I know that it is getting late, but I will detain you only a few minutes (this was addressed to Mr. Deepredde, as lie took out liis watch, with a deprecatory look at the speaker) — a little reminiscence of our theme, not quite so in- tense as Flakewhite's, but equally ti-ue.
" Passing through the Park one quiet moonlight night, (will that do for a beginning ?) I saw a citizen — whether Mr. Frederic Marzan, or not, I cannot say — gazing fixedly into the fountain, with a face and general expression of hopeless desolation which reasonably enough might have brought to mind the figure of Marius in the dumps at ruined Carthage. He had climbed over the railing, and was perched upon the very brink of the great basin, A few bubbles only fell from the jet to disturb the water, leaving the reflections of all the suiTOundings unbroken.
" ' Good gracious !' soliloquized the watcher, curiously peer- ing into the flood, ' who the deuce has — ger-got into the fer- fountain ? I say, you there, ster-stranger, wer-what are you ber-ber — about, in there? That's a de-damp place, my fer-friend ! you'll catch ker-cold, I am afraid. I ker-can't hear wh-what he says, but I see his lips me-move. Wh-what an ugly ker- customer he is ! Wh-what a sh-shocking te-tile ! He must be de-drunk — drunk !
" ' I say there — who's ger-got into the fer-fountain ? Does yer m-mother know you're ou-out? — I m-mean does she know yu-you're in ? You mustn't st-stay down there, old ch-chap ! Here, I'll l-lend you a h-hand. It sha'n't be ser-said that I d-didn't help a f-fellow creatuj'e in der-distress ! Steady, now, st-stranger,' — bending forward, and reaching down his arm to aid his submerged companion, — 'st-steady, or you'll be up-s-set. Why d-don't you talce hold ? Now ! Aye ?— c-can't reach ? you're a der-darned fool !
THE MAN LN" THE FOUNTAIN". 89
" ' Decidedly he's d-drunk !' soliloquized the watcher, as he rested a moment from his office as a member of the Humane Society — 'd-drunk as the d — 1; but — I'll h-help him! Per- perhaps he's a iirst-rate f-fellow — he m-must be — he looks a good d-deal like m-me, when I'm excited. Here, old b-boy, take my h-hand !'
" Here Marius, reaching over a little too far, fell forward, and had I not caught him by the tail of his swiftly vanishing coat, he would soon have found out who had 'g-got into the f- fountain !'
" ' Thank you, my f-friend, you're a — b-brick,' he said, as I sat him on his pins again. ' You're another s-sort, you are, from that infernal s-scoundrel — d-down there in the f-fountain. When I lent the ugly d-dog a hand, to h-help him out, he p-pulled me in ! B-blame me if I ever h-help a f-fellow creature in d-distress again !' "
A general laugh, and a general looking for hats, followed Brownoker's "Smile" of the Fountain.
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CHAPTER III.
" Now, gentlemen," said the respected chairman to the guests gaily chatting around our blazing fire on the memorably cold night of our next reunion, "if you are comfortably thawed, we will take our seats, and, giving rein to the steeds of Mem- ory and Fancy, prance along upon our journey."
"And where, pray, are we to go to-night?" asked Mr. Brownoker, stumbling, as he turned to say it, upon the tender toes of Mr. Blueblack.
"Go to "
"Virginia," we hastily added, by way of improving the unpleasant itineraire which Blueblack was evidently marking out for his awkward neighbour.
" A pleasant destination enough, and sufficiently warm even for this wintry night," returned Brownoker. "Always count me in, where the Old Dominion is concerned ;" and the united lungs of the company merrily helped him through the chorus of " Carry me back to old Virginny— to old Virginia's shore !'' "'Old Virginia's shore!'" musingly echoed Mr. Deepredde, when the impromptu burst of melody had subsided—" a noble theme, regarded in any and every light ; whether we consider
42 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
the adventurous incidents of her early history, the bravery and gallantry of her people, and their signal services to our coun- try in every phase and period of its life ; or whether we explore its rich and varied stores of natural beauties and wonders."
" In the abundance and quality of her poetical and romantic reminiscence and suggestion," said Mr. Vermeille, " Virginia is unquestionably the laureate of our sisterhood of nations. She was born of the most gallant and creative spirit, and in the most daring and chivalrous age which the world has ever known — the memorable and mighty days of Elizabeth — herself, if you will, only the hard, ungiving flint, yet magically striking the light of thought and action from all the dormant genius and power which came within the range of her influence. Our queenly State grew up a worthy daughter of her great parent- age, and in all her history has evinced, as she still perpetu- ates, its noble spirit. Her whole story is replete with musings for the poet, and with philosophy for the historian. What a web of romance may yet be woven from the record of the dangers, trials, and hair-breadth 'scapes of her infant life ; from the first venture of the restless Ealeigh, through all the bold exploits of the gallant Smith, the troublesome diplomacy of the wily Opecacanough, the dangerous jealousy of Powhattan, the plots of the traitorous Bacon, to the thrilling drama of the gentle Indian princess. And again, in older days — in the days of border strife, of bold struggle with the united strategy and cruelty of the French intrudpr and the vengeful red-skin — she gives us chronicles which, while scarcely yielding in dramatic interest to the incidents of earlier periods, rise higher in the force of moral teachings ; while yet again, onward and later, there opens to us the still more thrilling and more lofty story of her mature life, in the proud deeds and grand results of her participation in our eventful Revolution. The be-all
THE TRAVELLERS IN VIRGINIA. 43
and tlie end-all of tliat achievement it is not our place now to ask. Much as the world has seen, and much more as it hopes, of mighty consequence, the stupendous effect is not yet felt, not yet dreamed of, perhaps; but for what has come, and for what will come, to Virginia belongs much of the glory — the glory of striking the first blow, by uniting the colonies in resistance to foreign border encroachment ; while the last blow, thirty long struggling years beyond, fell also from her gauntletted hand, when the conquered Cornwallis laid down his shamed sword on the plains of Yorktown. Yii-ginia then led the sounding shout of freedom and empire which has danced in glad echoes over the AUeghanies, skimmed the vast valleys of the Mississippi and the prairies of the great West, crossed the snow-clad peaks of the Eocky Mountains, and kissed the far- ofi" floods of the Pacific — a shout which now, more than ever, fills the rejoicing air, and which must grow in grandeur and melody until it shall exalt and bless the heart of all the earth."
"It was all a mistake, my dear boy," said Brownoker, grasp- ing the hand of the exhausted Vermeille, " all an inexcusable mistake, that you were not yourself born in the shadow of the Blue Eidge ! You should have lineally descended from that pretty brunette, Pocahontas, and have figured in the family bible of the first of the first families ! Here ! light this pipe of Eappahannoc, and give yet another puff to the fair god- daughter of the virgin queen, and to the blessed memory of Sir Walter, for the inestimable gift of the fragrant weed. Truly you have said that the deeds of the ' Old Dominion' supply volumes of romance and philosophy ;" and tlic grave Brownoker dropped into a brown study, and seemed to l)e rising to the height of the highest argument in each field, fact and fiction, with the dense clouds of smoke which he sent curling above his head.
44 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAK LANDSCAPE,
Vermeille's first impulse, upon this irreverent response to his eloquence, was to extinguish the offender with the " rosy" at his elbow, cas the good knight was " put out" by his fright- ened servant, when all a-fire with the soul of old Virginia. But he thought better of it, and quietly added to his eulogy the suggested puff.
"I forgive your gross raillery," said he, "knowing, as I do, that beneath your seeming earthiness there yet lives the true spirit of poetry."
" Else, my dear Yermeille, should I not, like yourself, and all of us here, spend my life in pursuit of the true and beau- tiful in Nature and life. We are brothers in feeling, believe me, though our thoughts do not patronize the same tailor Forgive my interruption, and let us proceed. Who speaks next ? ' Old Yirginny never tire,' as the poet has it."
" Among the proudest boasts that Virginia may make," said Mr. Flakewhite, picking up the lost thread of the discourse, "is the extraordinary number of great men which she has given to the nation. During half the life-time of the Republic, its highest office has been conferred upon her sons, who have, in turn, nobly reflected back upon the country the honour they have received. Not only has she been mother of many and the greatest of our Presidents, but she has reared leaders for our armies and navies, law-givers for our senates, judges for our tribunals, apostles for our pulpits, poets for our closets, and painters and sculptors for our purest instruction and our highest and most enduring delight. Scanning the map of mid- dle Virginia, the eye is continually arrested by hallowed shrines, the birth-places, the homes, and the graves of those whom the world has most delighted to honour. Here we pause within the classic groves of Monticello, and look abroad upon the scenes amidst which Jefferson so profoundly studied and taught the world. There, in the little village of Hanover, the burning
GREAT MEN OF VIRGINIA. 45
words of Patrick Henry first awakened the glowing fire of liberty in the bosoms of his countrymen ; and here, too, the great Ckiy was nurtured in that lofty spirit of patriotism from which sprung his high and devoted public service. Not far off, we may bend again, reverently, over the ashes of Madison and Munroe, of Lee and "Wirt, and of a host of others whom but to mention would be a fatiguing task.
" Yet there remains unspoken, though not forgetfully, one other name — the first and greatest, not of Virginia only, not of this wide Eepublic alone, but of the world itself; a name which may well and without other laurel glorify the brow of a nation — the immortal name of Washington ! It is among the regrets of my life that, when in Virginia, circumstances denied me the coveted pleasure of visiting the sacred spot which gave birth to the noblest of our race. Some one of our number has, I hope, been more blest than I ; and to him I will now give place."
" It is several years ago," said Mr. Blueblack, after a pause, " that I made a pilgrimage into the pleasant fields of West- moreland, and, upon the sunny banks of the Potomac, mused over the birth-place of Washington. The landscape, in its broad and simple, 3^et picturesque and genial character — in its spirit of solemn, yet happy quiet — induced reflection admirably harmonious with the temper of him whose life and deeds have cast over it an universal and unfading attraction and beauty. I need not say that the hours flew swiftly, as I recalled all the absorbing pages of that great history, of wiiicli the spot was the winning initial letter. Yet, with my pleasure, were mingled some regretful thoughts : meditations upon our want of that feeling of veneration and reverence by which tlie mem- ory of the past is kept green and its examples and teachings preserved. The destruction of the religious and poetic element under the crushing weight of the rubbish of that gross mate-
46 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
rialism which we dignify with the names of practicality and action; — this unlovely phase of our national character was here strikingly evident, in the utter neglect of this the most hallowed spot in our land — a spot which should be adorned by the best efforts of our liberality and our art, and which should be a Mecca to our feet. And yet, of all our millions of people, rarely does a solitary pilgrim seek this holy ground ; and not the poorest votive offering, not the simplest monument, marks the spot to recall to ourselves, or to our children, its beauti- fully suggestive story."
"Do we need such symbols?" asked Mr. Brownoker, "in this rational age, which very properly values and remembers action by its results only ? Feeling as we do, everywhere around us, the influences of great virtues and great genius, what matters it to us from whom or from where we have received them. In the dark and ignorant days of the past, monuments and statues may have been public instructors ; but we learn by better means. Do they not savour of that spirit of superstition ever akin to ignorance and weakness?"
" It is," resumed Mr. Blueblack, " this very practical tendency, with its disdain for forms, which you commend, that makes it of the greater importance to cherish these outward symbols of the inner soul, lest with the one, the other shall cease to be remembered. In the same spirit, you would doubtless pull down the soaring spires which direct our thoughts to heaven, cease the ceremonies of our sacred worship, and trust the preservation of religious and moral principle to the pure con- science of each man alone. But that, alas ! may not be. The world is not good and holy enough to dispense Avith these monitors. Virtuous promptings and reproofs are still of use. If there be weakness confessed, and credulity evinced, in a regard for the forms and draperies of truth, let us still acknowledge that we are not gods, rather than, in losing all
MO]SrUMENTS AND STATUES. 47
sight and tliouglit of virtue and beauty, sho\7 ourselves to be brutes. Besides, it is but just to those whose lives and deeds have blessed us, and to their children forever, that we should acknowledge and reward their services. It is but wise in ourselves to use the incentive to virtuous achievement, which we maj find in the remembrance and hope of the honours thej win."
" ' The lives of great men all remind us M^e can make our lives sublime,'" suggested Professor Scumble. "Let us, in every possible way, venerate the past, lest the present come, in turn, to dishonour."
"Even denying," said Mr. Flakewhite, "the great moral influence and need of such outward expression of our hearts, as we can make in the employment of monuments and kindred objects, they are still of inestimable value as missionaries of the refining and spiritualizing lessons of art : priceless even as ministers to our intellectual delight ; to be dearly cherished if only for the innocent gratification which they bring to the senses."
" Permit me to relate," said Mr. Beepredde, " while I think of it, a little anecdote illustrating the relative respect of our own and other nations for hallowed objects and scenes. The incident occurred while I Avas once passing down the Potomac. Nearing Mount Vernon, the passengers were, as is customary, informed of the fact by the ringing of the bell, and soon most of them were gathered on the side of the boat. While our own people were gazing with idle curiosity or seeming indifference, some by the expression of their faces seeming to say, as they looked upon the home and tomb of the Father of his Country 'Well! what of it?' and others, by their looks, evidently think- ing the whole thing but a shabby sort of affair : some passen- gers in the group — French gentlemen — gravely removed their hats and stood uncovered as the boat glided by : a deserved
48 THE BOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
rebuke, which was keenly felt by every conscious scoffer and careless spectator."
"By the way," added the chairman, turning to us as he finished his story, "is it intentionally, that you have led us to Virginia on this especial night of the memorable twenty-second of February, the anniversary of the chiefest event in her history?"
" Our sermon," we returned, now for the first time producing our picture of the bkth-place of "Washington, "has singularly enough followed its unknown text. Our choice has been made not accidentally, but with reference to the occasion, and with the thought that it would well follow the ceremonies and reflections of the day."
"An admirable chronicle of the spot," said Mr. Blueblack, as, with all the company, he bent over Mr. Chapman's graphic drawing.
"Let us thank Chapman," said Mr. Vermeille, "for his monument to the birth-place of Washington. It is not very pretending, but yet it will, with its still small voice, speak pleasantly and usefully to many hearts."
" In parenthesis," said Brownoker. " Chapman is himself a Yirginian. Pie has given us a worthy token of his home love, in the picture of the baptism of Pocahontas, in the Ro- tunda of the Capitol. I could have wished that he had taken the more dramatic story of the rescue of Smith — an event of national interest, upon which turned the destiny of the State; while the baptism, however pleasing an incident, might or might not have occurred, and either waj' with no particular sequence."
"Apropos, of our picture," said another speaker. "Is it not strange that while Virginia is no less singularly interesting in her physical than in her moral aspect, she has won so little of the attention of our landscapists? Despite the extent and
THE LANDSCAPE OF VIRGINIA. 49
variety of her scenery, from the alluvial plains of the eastern division, through the picturesque hills and dales of the middle region, onward to the noble summits of the Blue Eidge, with their intervening valleys and mountain streams and waterfalls, the white-cotton umbrella of the artist has scarcely ever been seen to temper its sunshine, except in a few instances of par- ticularly notable interest — as the Natural Bridge, and the grand views near Harper's Ferry. The landscape of Virginia is every- where suggestive ; and, even in the least varied regions, con- tinually rises to the beauty of a fine picture. There are the rich valleys of the James and the Eoanoke rivers, said in many of their characteristics to resemble the beautiful scenery of the Loire and the Garonne ; and far off, among the hills, are the rushing and plunging waters of the great Kanawha, and the beetling cliffs of New River. Verily, we painters have too much neglected our duties and privileges in this case."
"Too much 'renounced the boundless store of charms which Nature to her votary yields,' " echoed Professor Scumble.
"The brother seems to forget," said Mr. Brownoker, "that the field which we have to cultivate is of vast extent, and that numerous and gifted as are our landscape painters, they have yet scarcely had opportunity to look about them. In due time the forests and fields of "Virginia, as of all the land, will find fitting record. That the landscape of the Northern States should first win the study of our artists, is natural enough, if but from the more ready access they have to it — the chief portion of them being gathered in this great centralizing city of New York. At present, the scenery of Virginia is better known to the general traveller than to the artist; which per- haps comes from the social attractions of the famous watering places, and the extraordinary number of eccentricities in the landscape; neither of which are greatly sought by the artist, much and properly so, as they may charm the mere pleasure- 4
50 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
seeking tourist. Every body goes to that wonderful place, the Natural, or, as in its massive grandeur and its strange form it appears to the astonished eye, the Unnatural Bridge ; while the most blasd curiosity is always raised in the ghostly halls of the great weird caves — Brownoker will take notice that no pun is intended."
" You seemed," interrupted Mr. Brownoker, " to think the cave weird enough on that unlucky visit we made last summer, when, after much vain effort to get out, we finally laid down to rest and to wait for daylight, — and kept waiting for forty-eight long hours, — waiting, afraid to step, lest we should jump from Scylla to Charybdis — waiting until our anxious friends discovered us, in a rayless nook of the Dragon's rooms, exactly a dozen steps from the entrance and all out-doors! and it is not sur- prising that the terrible Bridge appeared somewhat wn-natural to you, when your self-sacrificing gallantry so fatally led you to climb beyond return, after the flower of a certain fair girl's wish, and you hung like the samphire gatherer at his dreadful trade, the laugh, the jest, and riddle of the world — of merry and provoking eyes below you."
" I once," said Mr. Megilp, " had the folly to venture, alone, amidst the dark and dangerous passages of "Weir's Cave, and I was lost to the world for four mortal days, during all which dreadful time I was vainly seeking a means of egress. My torches were all burnt out, and I went day after day, and night after night, wandering up and down from one ghostly chamber to another: now thumping my aching head against the pillars of ' Solomon's Temple' : now entrapped, apparently past all rescue, in the labyrinth of the 'Lawyer's OflGice': now whirled around distractedly on the spacious floor of the ' Ball Room' : asking a bill of relief in the ' Senate Chamber' : making the air vocal with my cries of distress at the base of ' Paganini's Statue' : and anon freezing to death in ' Jacob's "Well,' with
\
ADVENTURE IN WEIR'S CAVE. 61
no vision of a ladder by which to escape. It was a fearful imprisonment, the very recollection of which, even at this re- mote day, makes my blood run cold. All my garments were torn from my back, and my flesh was horribly lacerated by continual rubs against the sharp angles of the stalactites. I—"
"You must have had a very hard time indeed," interrupted Blueblack, with an incredulous smile. "How did you manage to live?"
"To live?"
"Yes: what did you find to eat through all that extra- ordinary four days?"
"Ah, yes! I lived— lived— on fish!"
"Fish! Where did you get them?"
"Get them? Oh, you know — those odd chaps, the eyeless animals— not equal to fresh shad, but still quite tolerable in an emergency — they taste a good deal like — "
"You must make a mistake," persisted Blueblack. "You could hardly have lived on the eyeless fish, since they are to be found not in Weir's, but in the Great Mammoth Cave of Kentucky. Are you quite sure?"
"Aye, well now, really, perhaps I may be wrong.. But the fact is I lived — on something — let me see — but you know, I was so dreadfully alarmed at my extraordinary situation, that r really did not, do not, know how I lived— but that — "
"You are dreaming, is very probable," said the disbelieving Blueblack. "But come, you have told us a very capital story, and it shall have all the credit it deserves."
The company, assuring Mr. Megilp that they were not to be sold at so low a rate, rallied him merrily upon the painful ex- ploits of his fancy, and the grave current in which the talk of the evening had thus far run, changed to a strain of light humour and gay recollection; a strain which the reader would no doubt be pleased to follow, Avcre we not inexorably corn-
62 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
pelled to omit tlie entire record from our minutes, lest we should lack space and time to report the closing episodes of the night. Among these interesting passages was an imaginary peep into the eventful and dangerous life of the early days of Virginia, afforded us by Mr. Blueblack in his touching tale of
f ittk €m\u gtunntrliit,
" The hearts of the brave colonists were heavy within them. Misfortunes and afflictions had so thickened upon and crushed them, that they were fain, even, to look askance upon their old friend Hope, so often had Hope cruelly betrayed them.
" At the time of which we speak, the numbers of the little settlement — few at best — were gradually growing less, under the triple scourge of famine, pestilence, and the vengeful hatred of their savage neighbours. The good ship which was daily expected to bring relief to the sufferers, came not. In vain, with each succeeding dawn, did they strain their watchful eyes to catch a glimpse of its distant sails, and turn again in despair to the supplicating faces of their dying friends.
" It needed all the strength and courage of the bravest to support and cheer the weak and desponding ; and, happily, brave hearts were not wanting in the hour of trial, though they sometimes came from unexpected quarters. Vapouring strength soon burnt to empty ashes in the fiery furnace of sor- row, and the true heroism blazed forth under its humblest disguises. Among the strong souls which the exigencies of the times developed was that of our heroine, Little Emma Mun- nerlin, or Little Emma, as she had been always called, not so much from her physical diminutiveness, though she was but a wee thing, as from the quiet gentleness and the tender delicacy of her character. People lamented that a plant so
LITTLE EMMA MUNNERLIN. 53
fragile should not grow in a less rude soil ; yet, as the dainty forest-flower lives unscathed on its Alpine rock, while the giant trees fall prostrate, so our little Emma withstood many storms to which sterner natures succumbed.
"Little Emma lived much among her own quiet thoughts and dreams. She seldom had a great deal to say, and her general humour was more pensive than merry ; yet when tongues were silent, and hearts grew heavy around her, smiles sprang into beautiful life upon her loving lips, and soothing and cheering words fell from them, abundant and grateful as jewelled drops of summer showers.
" Little Emma, in her modest humility, never ventured to question the wisdom even of her mates; and yet now, when experienced matrons, and bearded men, and hoary-headed men were brought, the}'' scarce knew how, to learn from her coun- sels, they stood in her simple presence with some such feeling of wondering reverence as that which filled the hearts of the Doctors while listening in the Temple to the preaching of the Holy Child.
" Little Emma was by nature, physically and morally, at most times, extremely timid and sensitive ; all ugly objects, all evil thoughts, all human suffering, brought pain to her delicate soul ; and yet now, no one was found so continually at the couch of the sick and dying, no one so unwearied in her sacri- fices, as she. From morn to night, she was the gentle dove bearing the olive-branch of hope from door to door ; and but lately, she had saved the colony, by boldly venturing among the savage tribe into whose hands they had fallen, to exert the powerful influence which she had strangely won over them, through the stern heart of the young chieftain.
" This singular conquest of poor little Emma's had long been as much a matter of fear as of rejoicing to the people ; for while they congratulated themselves upon the protection
54 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
which it gave them, they shuddered at thought of the danger to which it might expose the gentle child. And now, when the extraordinary beauty and worth of Little Emma's character was daily growing into the knowledge and the love of the people, they watched with terror the strengthening passion of the savage wooer, trembling lest it might at some time over- step the sacred bounds to which the same power which had inspired had thus far restrained it.
"Great as was the general concern on this score, there was one who, far above all others, w^as tortured by apprehension and dread— a worthy youth, who had been more prompt than others to discover the charm of Little Emma's nature, or had rather, perhaps, been drawn unconsciously within the spell of its influence; one whose assumed right to advise and guard her, she had never thought to deny.
" Often and earnestly did this privileged friend remonstrate with her upon the rash confidence with which she ventured among her savage admirers, and more especially did he warn her against the danger of her unsuspecting trust of the enam- oured chief.
" ' It is true,' said he, ' that he possesses a native dignity, chivalry, and refinement of nature unwonted to his people, and strange to all the circumstances and influences under which he has been born and bred — characteristics which his extraordinary esteem for you has wonderfully developed and exalted. Thus far, the truth and depth of his passion— for he loves you with a sincere and pure worship that would do honour to the most Christian soul — has made him the humble and yielding slave to your will; but have a care, my darling, lest he become mad in the tortures of hope delayed, and this same earnest- ness and truth which, thus far, have been your shield, should turn to your destruction. I tremble when I think of the terrible mine under your feet, and which a single spark of
LITTLE EMilA MUNNERLIX. 55
fancied scorn may spring. Believe me, Emma dear, tliat you are playing witli a sleeping lion.'
" These ■warnings, often repeated, were not without their effect upon the mind of Little Emma, especially when, as she sometimes did, she thought she discovered a growdng expres- sion of restless and angry impatience in the dark eyes and the passionate words of her savage wooer ; yet she still con- tinued to meet him freely and frankly when he came, as he often did, to the village — as he had done, indeed, through all his life.
" ' What have I to fear ?' she said to her own heart ; ' and if there is danger, I cannot, to save myself, bring down their fearful vengeance upon all my beloved friends. What is my poor useless life in comparison with the general hap- piness ?'
" At length when, in one of these frequent interviews, Outalissi — so was the chief named — sat by the river-side, at the feet of Gentle-Heart, as in his poetic tongue he called our Little Emma, he told her the story of his love, in a voice so soft yet so earnest, and in words so simple yet so passion- ate, that her tender heart overflowed with intense interest and sympathy, as she sought to calm his wild emotion, and to teach him how impossible it was for the white dove to mate with the lordly eagle.
" Edward Harrison, the youth of whom we have before spoken, and who of late had never lost sight of his betrothed, had been for some time an unobserved spectator of this scene. He now stood forth, with pallid face and angry eyes. Outa- lissi started to his feet as he clutched the weapon at his side, and glared upon the intruder with all the savagery of his race.
" Little Emma sprang to cast her shielding arms about her lover, while she bent a reproachful and imploring look upon
56 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
the cliief. The group stood thus, motionless and voiceless, foi some moments, when the Indian, with a bitter and meaning glance, which made the white youth tremble, and sank like ice into the heart of our heroine, turned slowly away, and was soon lost to sight in the darkening depths of the forest
" ' This can last no longer,' said Edward, when his speech came back to him, ' happen what may.'
" ' No, no !' said the trembling girl, ' we must not madden him, and bring down the anger of his tribe upon our defence- less people, now, when they have so many other afflictions to bear. You must seek him — bring him back, and '
" ' Ha ! is it so ?' said the lad, with a bitter, unnatural laugh, ' You cannot part with him ! He has then stolen away your treacherous heart ! You love this '
" ' This — this from you, Edward !' gasped the poor child, stung to the soul by his cruel words. ' He — ^he might kill rae, but he could not be unkind as you.'
" ' Forgive me — forgive me, Emma ! I did not mean to say that. I was mad, and knew not what I did. But promise me that you will see him no more ; promise me this, or' •
"'Do not look upon me so! I cannot bear it! I — I promise !'
"Days passed on, and Outalissi came back. He met Little Emma in the streets of the village, but she avoided him. He sought her at her OAvn home, but was denied. He sent her messages, but received no answers. A heavy shadow darkened his brow, and chilled the hearts of the affrighted people. Their distress was hourly increasing, and hope and heaven seemed to have deserted them when Little Emma smiled no more.
" As a last stru2;2;le against the famine which surrounded them, the best and bravest of the colonists now set forth on a forlorn quest for food. The vague forebodings with which they undertook their dangerous mission proved to be not unreal ; for
LITTLE EMMA MUNNERLIN. 67
the last drop seemed poured into the cup of the sufferers at home when the intelligence was brought them, not simply that the errand was fruitless, but that their fathers and brothers and lovers were captives in the strong hands of Outalissi.
" A cry of despair now arose from the hearts of all the devoted villagers, which was soon hushed into a strange ex- pectant stillness when the whisper grew that the exasperated chief refused all ransom for his captives but the willing hand of Little Emma.
" ' Save us ! Save my father, save my son, — my brother 1' was the universal and agonized voice, as the poor people gath- ered around the devoted girl, when she appeared calm as a statue, but as lifeless and as cold, in their midst. And then other thoughts and emotions rushing into their hearts, they forbade her to leave them, crying, ' We will all die together.'
" With a look as fixed, and a tongue as speechless, as that with which she came, Little Emma went back to her silent home, where she refused all counsel and all companionship.
*' The day for the payment of the exacted ransom, when, if it were not made, the captives were doomed to death, ap- proached, and an awful stillness reigned through the stricken village. All resistance was vain, and there was left but one hope — a hope of which they dared not speak or think.
" Painfully and terribly different was the scene in the camp of Outalissi. Here a wild revelry rung through the air, as the delighted savages danced and shouted around their expected victims.
" Casting a last eager but disappointed look into the gath- ering gloom, Outalissi turned to give the order for the massacre of his captives, when a shrill cry rose above all the mad con- fusion, and, the next instant, every sound was hushed as a
58 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
young girl sprung into the midst of the grim throng and stood before the chief
" ' Stay — stay your bloody hands,' she cried, ' I am yours — release your captives. Ah! Outalissi, is it thus you woo me?'
" ' It is well, maiden,' he said, and in a few brief words he explained to the captives the terms upon which their lives and safety had been purchased.
" ' You are free, my brothers,' he added, as he took the passive hand of Gentle-Heart in his own.
'' * Never, wretch !' cried Edward Harrison, as, breaking the thongs by which he was still bound, and snatching the hatchet from the hands of his guard, he sprung towards the chief
"'Stop, stop,' shouted Little Emma — 'you will but slay us all ! He keeps his promise in setting you at liberty, and I — I must keep mine! Go home — go, Edward — go, my father — go, my friends, carry joy with you to many breaking hearts! Pray for, but do not mourn for Little Emma!'
" The solemn earnestness of the child's words, and the lofty courage which spoke in her whole air and action, paralyzed the tongues and the hearts of her friends and excited the won- dering admiration of the disappointed savages. It was one of those supreme moments, which bring forth all the purest emo- tions of the human heart; and Outalissi felt its hallowed spell. With his native nobility and generosity of character, he again took the hand of Little Emma and placed it with a sad smile in that of his rival.
" ' Gentle-Heart may go back to her own people,' said he. ' She is too good for Outalissi !'
" I need not speak of the joy of the happy captives, or of the glad greeting which welcomed their triumphant return. Still less need I tell you how Outalissi faithfully protected Gentle-Heart and her people, for natures like his err only for a moment; or of the sunshine which lighted the after life of
TOM, DICK, A^'D HAERY. 59
Little Emma, for sucli souls as hers live always in sunshine — the sunshine of their own pure and beautiful thoughts."
We must omit the record of the congratulations and com- ments which followed Blueblack's deeply affecting narrative, further than to mention a remark with which Mr. Brownoker introduced another and gaj^er story.
"I have a high respect for 'Little Emma,'" said that gen- tleman, " but I must protest against such agonizing histories, when one has no handkerchief in his pocket. I can give you a much more cheerful reminiscence of Virginia, if you would like to hear it, as of course you would— don't shake your heads, for you must submit. My heroine is another kind of youno- person from Blueblack's, but then you know it takes all sorts of people to make a world. 'Tis a little personal adventure — happened on a visit to the Springs. I call it
Com, Dick, iintr Parrjj,
" Dick Bones was about to be married, and I was on the
road to the fu the wedding I mean. The affair was to
come off at the White Sulphur Springs. I looked over the way-bill before stepping into the coach : found only one pas- senger— Brown ; but who the deuce Brown was, didn't know — didn't want to know : plump'd myself down on the back seat — and a bundle, which bundle on inspection proved to be Brown in person and in a passion — said ' How are you ?' to him : don't like to repeat what he said to me in reply. Tried to sleep, but what with the everlasting jolting over the hills — Byron was right in saying, ' High mountains are a feeling' —
60 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
and Brown's distressing dreams of a certain faithless Jemima, couldn't manage it.
" ' She never loved me !' muttered Brown.
" ' Served you right,' said I.
" ' Peace, peace, weary heart !' he continued,
" ' Yes, peace, peace, for heaven's sake,' I answered. But there was no peace till morn, when, just as I w\^s wondering what 'perilous stuff' was weighing upon the heart of my fellow traveller, I caught a glimpse of his sad phiz, and to my amazement recognized my old, long-absent friend, Harry, who, as it turned out, was, like myself, going to 'assist' at the sacrifice of our mutual crony, Dick Bones.
'"Alas, poor Dick!' said I, as the conversation turned upon the fate of our friend. ' This is a world of vicissitudes ; who would have thought it?'
" ' Cut down in the flower of his youth !' said Harry, with a commiserating sigh.
" ' Verily, we know not what an hour or a day may bring forth,' I answered. ' Even you, Harry— you, the high priest of our bachelor faith, are not secure. Some treacherous Jemima — '
" ' Jemima !' cried Harry, with a look of conscious guilt that confirmed my suspicions of his backsliding.
" ' May yet come to break your virtuous rest and disturb your innocent dreams.'
" ' Did I dream last night, Tom, and aloud ?'
" ' Yery loud, about '
" ' Say no more, Tom — I own up ! I have been weak, but it's all over, long ago, and Harry is himself again. But the temptation was great' — so were Brown's sighs, as he continued. *The beauty and graces of my Jemima might have tried the sternest virtue; and when she persuaded me that her dainty heart was all my own, and that she could live only in the light of my dear love, what could I do but '
TOM, DICK, AND HARRY. 61
" ' Think it all gammon, as became the spirit of your bachelor creed.'
" ' As it all proved, indeed, to be ; for when, on my recent return from China, whither I went to win a fortune for the darling girl, I rushed to receive her welcoming embrace, what should I learn but that, while writing everlasting fidelity to me, she had been talking devoted love to another, and at that moment was dying for a third happy man— some richer prize than either myself or my unknown fellow sufferer. She and her innocent victim, whom she is soon to marry, are now I am told, at the Springs, where we may have the pleasure of meeting them.'
'"And this, then, Harry, is your heroic recantation of error!' said I; but I had not the impudence to rally my poor friend very severely, not being myself too strongly armed in honesty ; for the fact is, I, too, had once fancied myself the light and life of a Jemima's soul, only to find myself put out, as I might have expected, by the first brighter luminary which crossed the Jemima orbit. All this I generously confessed to Harry, much to his delight and comfort; and we talked for hours about the vanity of women and the fallacy of love, rejoicing at our own lucky escape from their insidious snares, mourning over the mad credulity of our benighted friend, Dick, and becoming more inexorable bigots in the bachelor faith than ever. Promising ourselves no little amusement in rejoining our fickle goddesses at the Springs — for there, too, I expected to find my Jemima — the day wore on, and our journey came to an end.
"We arrived, fortunately, in season to greet and rally our devoted friend, Dick, before the hour of sacrifice. We did not spare the fellow, I assure you ; indeed, we were the more im- placable in the stinging remembrance of our own short-comings.
" ' That's all very well, boys,' said Dick, with an imper-
62 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
turbable and complacent smile. ' But let me tell you, scoffers as you are, that if tlie time lias not yet come, it may come, when each of you will have
" some plan
To ■win himself a loving wife, And be a married man."
When that hour does come, I only hope that you will find as beautiful and pure a shrine at which to confess your sins as I have. But come, I must present you to my jewel. It will be a pleasant surprise to her, for you must know that Jemima is acquainted with you both.'
" ' Jemima again !' I exclaimed.
" ' Jemima !' echoed Harry.
" ' Jemima know me !' cried both of us.
" ' Come, come along, boys !' interrupted Dick impatiently, dragging us towards a gay circle, and presenting us to its bright particular star.
'*■ ' Jemima, my love, I have the unexpected pleasure to bring you our old friends, Tom and Harry.'
"As the lady turned to greet us, I stood petrified at dis- covering the very Jemima of my own love, and looking round at the sound of a stifled laugh at my elbow, I found Harry Brown choking with glee.
" Harry looked at me, and I looked at Harry, and we both looked at Dick, and Dick looked at Jemima, and Jemima looked at all of us, and a more striking tableau, altogether, it would be very difficult to imagine !
" ' Aye, how ?' said Dick at last, nervously. ' What does all this mean, boys?'
" ' That the lady should have been off with the old love before being on with the new,' said I.
" ' That she should, pursuant to promise, have died long
TOM, DICK, AND HARRY. 63
ago, all for the love of poor Harry Brown,' said my travelling friend.
"But the scene which followed was entirely too dramatic for my poor powers of description ; and I will simply add, that Dick very soon saw through the whole affair, and the bride elect was given to understand that he was not generous enough to content himself with a third place in her heart, and was too unselfish to stand in the way of his old friends !
" The match was broken off, and from that day to this our glorious triumvirate of bachelors has continued intact and in- vincible; so much so that we are known among our acquaint- ances by the soubriquet of the Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego of celibates, having all passed through the burning fiery fur- nace of love unscathed.
" You will, perhaps, suppose that with this triple weight of blighted affection on her memory, Jemima soon died of a bro- ken heart, but I assure you that she is still alive and as ready as ever for a first, fresh, and undying affection."
On motion, meeting adjourned.
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CHAPTER lY.
Having expressed a fear that our friends would grow weary of their self-imposed task, and most heartily wish our book at the — ^printers, we were cheered by a unanimous assurance of a deep and increasing interest in our reunions.
"We need," said Mr. Deepredde, gravely, "in our profes- sion, as in all, and indeed in our whole social economy, more such fraternal association. It is the moral and intellectual sunshine which warms the hidden germ of thought into life, and matures it into the most thorough and successful achieve- ment. It is, in its multiform applications and uses, the lever which, of all others, must pry our poor sunken world out of its quagmire of ignorance and evil, and bring about — 'if it is ever to be brought about — the much talked of perfectibility of our race."
" It strengthens those bonds of mutual esteem and love," added Mr. Flakewhite, " which smooth the rude places in our path, and make us hopeful and daring in the armour of the assured sympathy and appreciation of our confreres. How much more should we painters not do, if there dwelt between us that brotherly love which filled the soul of Gainsborough, when he 5
66 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
joyfully exclaimed to the friends gathered about his dying coucli, ' We are all going to Heaven, and Vandyke will be of the party !' "
" At any rate," said Brownoker, " such reunions as ours, whatever they may be more aesthetically considered, are in- valuable, if but for the pleasure they bring while they last. They cheer the present hour, and if we could be rational enough to content ourselves with this power, always within the reach, of enjoying the present moment, without, like the silly pendulum in the fable, burthening it with the thought of la- bours and trials not yet arrived, the aggregate would be a life-time of gladness. How the mountain of our miseries would sink, would we but cease to throw upoii it the sorrows of the past, which we cannot recall, and the fears of the future, which is beyond our foresight or control."
" "Well, gentlemen," resumed Mr. Deepredde, as he sought to make himself more permanently comfortable in his chair of state, " now that we have satisfied ourselves that it is good for us to be here, let us convince our readers that it is salutary for them also, by continuing the special discourse for which they have so kindly yielded to us their patient buttons. Spread out your map, my dear host, and let us define our position."
" We have one more tramp to make in the Old Dominion, as we follow Washington through the icy floods of the Alle- ghany," we replied, producing Mr. Huntington's picture of that memorable adventure.
The members having duly studied the sketch of the evening, unanimously called upon the chairman for a resume of the cause, course, and consequence of the event which it recorded.
" The incident which our picture commemorates," said Mr. Deepredde, " had a great effect upon the fortunes of our coun- try, and was very significant of that high principle in the character of Washington — his conscientiousness and lofty respect
THE ALLEGHAXY; OR, THE MAN OF DUTY. 67
for duty — from which chiefly sprung the virtues and successes of his life. It may be less tedious, perhaps, if I make my narra- tive in the fashion of a romance."
A general cry of approval followed this suggestion, and the entire table seemed not a little curious to witness the debut of the grave chairman on the treacherous stage of fictiom
" Pray don't drown yourself in pathos," said Brownoker, laughingly.
" Or disappear in the mystic labyrinth of plot and strategy," added Yermeille.
" Or kill us outright," continued Flakewhite, " by being, like Holmes, as 'funny as you can.'"
" Above all be truthful, and do not exceed sober fact," added the conscientious Megilp.
" Gentlemen," said the afflicted novelist elect, " you must expect neither pathos, plot, humour, nor dramatic effect from me. They are not in my line. The truth, however, you shall have — and it seems to me a truth worth treasuring — which we may read in the story of
C|^ ^llcgljaun; or, Clje HVdii of ^\i%
All tongues were hushed, and an unwonted gravity spread over the company, as Mr. Deepredde thus solemnly and omi- nously announced his text. The general breathing, however, was more free when he thus began: —
" A hundred years have gone since the incidents which I am about to narrate transpired : a long, long lapse, gentlemen, in our country's brief life, and full of changes as the interval between childhood and manhood.
"Gazing pensively into the passing floods of the Rappa-
68 THE KOMANCE OF AMEEICAN LANDSCAPE.
hannoc, as if asking of the murmuring Avaters the story of her future life, sat a fair maiden, apparently of some sixteen tender
summers.
" ' Would he leave me thus,' said she, ' if indeed he loved me? Does true love bend to any stronger passion? He talks to me of honour and duty! What is honour, what is duty,
when '
" Here the soliloquist abruptly stopped, as a bounding step broke the quiet of the still night, and brought a stalwart and handsome youth to her side.
" ' Honour and duty, my dear Martha,' said the lad, bending over her with an expression of kind yet grave reproof, 'are, not the rivals but the kindred of love. It would be a joy indeed for me to be always near you, but that may not be. Life has its labours and its sacrifices, in the manly and hon- est discharge of which we may earn a generous relish for its
pleasures.'
" ' And onust you go then, dear George ? What is the necessity for this dangerous and wearisome expedition? Why cannot some other perform the task as well as you?'
" ' Ah ! do not tempt me ! You do not speak with your characteristic generosity. Eemember that the welfare of our countiy demands the labour and services of all her sons, and of her daughters, too,' he added, kissing her fair brow; 'and your only feeling on the subject should be one of pride that our worthy Governor has honoured me with so important a
trust.'
"'I am proud,' said the girl, ' of the high confidence reposed in you, and I am sure that you will prove yourself in all ways deserving of it. Heaven will protect you, and bring you back to me in safety. I have been told many stories, before the present, of your brave obedience to the calls of duty, and such a trait cannot but lead to success and happiness in
THE ALLEGHANY; OR, THE ilAK OF DUTY. 69
life. But not to-morrow, George— you do not go to-morrow ? You will give me one more day?'
To-morrow, Martha, at dawn, we must begin our march. The journey through the wilderness will be long, and it is imjDortant to the colony that we reach the French posts on the Ohio without unnecessary delay, that we may seasonably check their ambitious and aggressive schemes to hem us in on this side of the mountains.'
"'And have we not room enough?'
'"Plenty, at present,' laughed the lad; 'but a hundred years hence, we shall stretch our giant arms far beyond the Ohio— perhaps even to the distant waters of the Pacific. Who can read the destiny of this new and aspiring land ?'
'"Well, well,' sighed the young girl. 'I do not quite understand these things, but I can sympathize with your en- thusiasm and your courage, and I will pray earnestly for your success.'
"Long and lovingly did the youthful pair stroll up and down the noiseless river banks, until the lapse of time com- pelled the lad to guide his betrothed to her home hard by, and to seek that repose he himself so much needed before repairing to Williamsburg, to receive his instructions and com- mence his perilous explorations.
" On the following morning, the 81st of November, 1753, a morning which, happily, was auspicious in its brightness' the good Governor Dinwiddie and the people of Williamsburg gave our adventurer God speed, and he set out with his few companions on his dreary traverse of the great untrodden wil- derness. Those who pass, at the present day, over the route which our young ambassador pursued, will scarcely infor from its condition now, the dangers which then beset it; with no path but the rough guidance of the compass, and with no inhabitants but wild beasts and scarcely less wdd savages.
70 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
" During the first fortnight, the little party traversed alter- nate forest and settlement, passing over the ground where now stand Fredericksburg, Alexandria, and Winchester. At the expiration of this period, they reached the last verge of civi- lization, at the junction of Wills' Creek and the Potomac, now occupied by the busy streets of Cumberland, in Maryland. At this period, the spot was marked by the poor settlement only of the famous hunter, Christopher Gist, Here our travellers proposed to halt for slight repose, and to increase the strength of their party by the enrolment of some Indian guides, and more especially with the good companionship of the stout old Kit himself They had not, thus far, entered upon the more toilsome and hazardous part of their journey ; and yet the eyes, even of the veterans of the expedition, brightened, as they descried the curling smoke of the hunter's cabin, and as the delight of human intercourse beyond the range of their own circle came again within their reach.
" ' "Well, say no more on that point, my boys ; I give in. It's rather hard to leave the old woman and the youngsters, low as they are, just now, with this cussed fever, but since you say the thing is important — and, to tell the truth, I've been a good deal of that way of thinking for some time past — Fm at your service. But it's no child's errand you are going on. Them mountain peaks can't be got over in kid slippers any time, and just now a hard winter is coming on us: the ground is already covered wdth snow, and the rivers and creeks are big enough to show pretty strong fight.'
" ' We do not expect a pleasure trip, good Christopher, and whatever we might do alone, certainly in your company we shall not turn cowards.'
" ' Well said, my lads. These are no times for dainty gen- tlemen, and I'm glad to see you so ready and hearty to serve your country. And, as I was saying just now, you are none
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THE ALLEGHANY; OR, THE UAN OF DUTY. 71
too soon. These cussed Frenchmen will steal a march on us
if we don't keep a bright eje, and a strong hand too, on 'em.
I havn't been at the settlement lately, but I've hcer'd from
some of my red-skins, whom I can trust-and you can't trust
many on 'em-they're mighty slippery ; that that shrewd old
villam, St. Pierre-though I must say for him he's dreadful
civH spoken— is making a powerful wigwam of that old fort,
Le Boeuf ; his people is winding themselves down from Canada
and up from Louisiana; and before we know it, they'll join
hands from north to south, and dance a jig around his majesty's
colonies to a tune it will be terrible onpleasant to hear.'
That is the opinion of the Governor and his Council,' said our minister, ' and, since we are by ourselves, I will tell you that my errand is to check this progress of the French; first, by politely telling your civil friend St. Pierre that his room is more desirable than his company, and next, should he not accept my invitation to return home, to learn the best way of making him do so. To accomplish this, I need your assist- ance, not only to reach the Fort at the earliest moment, but to inform myself of the strength of the enemy in every way, and, above all, to secure the good-will of the Indians.'
'"We'll soon get to the old dog's kennel, and see what bones he's got to live on; but as to the red-skins, as I told you, they can't be trusted ; though of the two, I rather think they like our people the best ; still they're not such fools that they can't see that between both sides they may lose every- thing themselves. An old warrior asked me once, if the French were to hold all the lands west of the Allcghanies, and the English all to the eastward, what then would °be left for him?'
" ' A difficult question to answer, certainly,' said our trav- eller, laughing, 'but we must secure their friendship in the best way we can. Where is Tanacharison now?'
72 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
» ' We shall probably find him near Logstown, which will be the best place to assemble the chiefs. But we must be care- ful : St. Pierre will hear of us long before he sees us. His spies are about thick as copper-heads, and about as troublesome to
meet, too.'
" ' We'll be a match for them,' said our traveller, cheerily, 'and now, good Christopher, you, not less than the rest of us, must lay in some supply of sleep before morning.'
" After thus dismissing his council of travel, our young hero, wakeful in his anxiety and earnestness, stole out of the cabin, and for a long while paced thoughtfully up and down the half-cleared space in front. In the midst of his medita- tions his quick ear caught the sound of a stealthy step, and, turning abruptly, he descried the figure of an approaching
Indian.
'"What does my brother want?' he quietly asked, not, however, without grasping his sword in a not very brotherly
manner.
"^Messiker is a friend to the white chief,' said the red-man; 'he comes from the great wigwam.'
" ' And what news does my brother bring ?'
'"He comes to tell the brave that his white rose is fading.'
" ' Ah ! what new trial is this !' said the traveller, in a fal- tering voice, his thoughts flying back to the weeping girl he had left on the banks of the Eappahannoc. But he seemed to grow reassured, when, after closely questioning the messen- ger, he was led to doubt the truth of his alarming reports.
" ' Perhaps,' ran his thought, ' the fellow is but an emissary of St. Pierre, seeking to defeat or to delay my mission. My poor Martha! Would that I could return to her! But no, that may not be; duty calls me, and I must, at all sacrifice, obey, trusting to heaven to protect her and me ;' and, recover- ing his habitual grave composure, the Man of Duty, conquering
THE ALLEGHANY; OR, THE MAN OF DUTY. 73
this new temptation, dismissed the pretended envoy, and sought new strength in the sure panacea of sleep.
"When our hero mentioned the visit of Messiker to his trusty companion, Gist, as the party pursued their rude way through the forest on the following day, old Christopher saw nothing to fear in his story beyond the intimation which he thought it gave that, even here, their movements were watched by their vigilant foes.
" I need not pause to describe our adventurer's weary days of painful travel, his privations and sufferings in the wild winter forests, and his continual exposure to the cruelty and treachery of the savage red-men, since all these things are matters of written history; no less, the successful assembling of the Indian chieftains, and the conferences which secured their promised friendship.
"Suffice it to say, that, emboldened and sustained by his convictions of duty, our hero gallantly braved and conquered every obstacle and danger until his journey was accomplished, and he found himself the honoured guest of the redoubtable Monsieur le Gardeur de St. Pierre, knight of the Order of St. Louis, and commandant of his French Majesty's forces on the Ohio.
"The kind hospit.ality and the refined social pleasures of Fort Le Boeuf, were as grateful to our travellers as they were unexpected in this remote and wild region. Monsieur de St. Pierre and his family had brought with them into the wilder- ness all the graces of their native land— graces attractive enough in their ordinary influence, but dangerously seductive when ex- erted to aid the accomplishment of a much-desired end.
" But all the pleasures of the commandant's household, his own solicitous regard, and the flattering persuasions of the ladies, were powerless to detain our ambassador an instant from the path which his sense of duty marked out. His mission
74 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
acHevcd, lie turned a deaf ear to all solicitations to protract his stay, and to all the representations of the increased dan- gers of a return through the forests. That these representa- tions were not unfounded in truth, he was persuaded by the unsatisfactory result of liis mission, and the evident desire of the commandant to delay and obstruct his return. This con- viction made him more eager to execute his task.
"Bidding adieu to his host, in all apparent kindness and confidence, he sallied forth again under his banner of duty to brave the peril of the woods and the snares of hidden foes. From both, as from a thousand dangers in after hfe, he was so marvellously shielded, that the superstitious foresters learned to look upon him as under the special protection and love of the Great Spirit.
"It was on this returning voyage that the famous passage of the Alleghany, depicted in our sketch, was achieved. To . facilitate their progress, the party had separated, some taking charge of the horses and baggage, and our hero, with his staunch guide. Kit, com^ageously venturing into the forest alone. . Coming to the waters of the Alleghany at night, their expec- tation of crossing readily on the ice was sadly disappointed on finding the river frozen but a few feet beyond the shores. In the emergency, they set about constructing a raft, on which frail craft they trusted themselves and their fortunes, with the resolution of all the Caesars, to the angry current. But the current, like everything else, was resolved to thwart their pur- pose, and, in the efibrt to stem its strength, they were plunged into the rapid floods. With desperate struggles, they at length reached a rocky island in the middle of the stream, where, in cold and darkness, they patiently awaited the dawn, when they were happily enabled to reach the opposite bank, on the ice which the severe frost of the night had formed.
"In the midst of such trials and perils, our hero accom-
THE ALLEGHANY; OR, THE MAN OF DUTY. 75
plislied his arduous mission across the Alleghanies, and gave the first proof to the world of that unconquerable strength and integrity of character, that self-sacrificing love of right and res- pect for duty, which afterwards, in more lofty displays, so often and so greatly served the happiness and glory of his country, and which has embalmed his name as a blessing in the ever- lasting memory of mankind.
"In conclusion," resumed Mr. Deepredde, "I will, instead of stealing your time with the idle story of our hero's happy return to Williamsburg, and the honours showered upon him
by the government and the people "
"To say nothing," interrupted Mr. Flakewhite, "about the loving greeting from certain tearful eyes, which were promis- ing enough at the beginning of your story, but have been too
much overlooked since "
"All that," continued the chairman, "can be more easily imagined than described— at least by my prosaic tongue— so, as I was saying, when the 'tearful eyes' put me out, I will simply add a word of historic moral, in telling you that this memora- ble expedition, which I have described to you in such light style, united the colonies in that friendly union which soon successfully resisted the border encroachments of the French power, and years afterwards grew into the strength which re- leased them from the oppressive weight of foreign rule. Ban- croft—hand me that volume of Bancroft, my dear Asphaltum —speaking of the border war which immediately followed the Alleghany expedition, tells us that the first gun then fired at the command of Washington kindled the world into a flame. ' It was,' he writes, ' the signal for the first great war of Revolu- tion. There in the Western forest began the battle which was to banish from the soil and neighbourhood of our Eepublic the institutions of the middle age, and to inflict on them fatal wounds throughout the continent of Europe. In repelling
76 THE B03fA^'CE OF AMERICAN LA>"DSCAPE,
France firom the basin of the Ohio, Washington bioke the repose of mankind, and waked a struggle which could admit of a truce only when the ancient bulwarks of Catholic legiti- macT were thrown down.' That's all, gentlemen," added the ciairman, closing his book and his lips at the same time.
"Deepredde might have made his story more interesting," said Mr. Flakewhite, "and at the same time might have added a higher light to the picture of his hero's stoical virtue in with- drawing so doggedly from the social pleasures of Monsieur de Sl Pierre's fanuly, if he had told us something of the bewitch- ing- smiles of the old commandant's daushter, the beautiful Gabrielle.*'
" Grabrielle de St. Pierre," said the astounded chairman. " Upon mv word, I did not know that the commandant had a daughter. I do not recollect ever to have seen her name in Bancroft, or Hildreth. or "
"Perhaps not; but you may read it, by and by, in 'Flake- white,' for I am going to put on record the true and touching history of the belle of Le Boeuf —
(Sabrifllc k St. %\txxL
" TTe will begin, gentlemen, by drinking to the memory of the fair Gabrielle. If she had lived at the present day, when books occupy so much of the time of her sex, she might have been called a strong-minded woman — ^living when she did, she was simply a clear-headed, brave-hearted girl, intensely despising the frivolous life to which the habits and conventions of French society condemned her, and fearlessly asserting and
GABEIELLE DE ST. PIERBK.
I {
maintaining her right to tHnk and act as she herself best pleased.
'• Thus it is not to be wondered at that when her indulgent papa was ordered to breathe the pure and free airs of the Western forest, her filial affection and her love of libertr made her the determined partner of his exile— not to men- tion the strong desire to get away from the annoying devotions of a certain enamoored consin, whom she abominated the more intensely because her friends were determined to force him upon her. However much she might have loved him if left to herself— for he was a very good sort of feUow— she now perfectly detested the very sight of him.
" This change of scene and circumstance happened at the best possible moment for a temperament like Mademoiselle GabrieUe's: at a moment when she was best prepared to profit by all its good influences, and to escape its dangers; not before she had seen and learned enough of the graces and refinements of pol- ished life, to keep her above the rude habits and manners of the uncultured foresters, and just in time to turn the strong imaginative and romantic tendency of her nature from an idle and corroding sentimentalism, into a deep and pure current of healthy poetic feeling. Here, in the solemn ministrations of God's first temples— the grand primeval forests— and amidst the dangers and privations with which she had to contend, she grew up a thoughtful and truthful spirit, with earnest and daring purpose ; while a longer breathing of the poisoned and demoralizing atmosphere of the court of Louis, might have de- graded her into a reckless and unscrupulous woman of fashion and intrigue.
'• The character of our heroine was thus happily developing at the moment our story opens,
"The gathering shades of night were deepening the spirit of quiet which always surrounded the little fortress of Le Bceuf
78 THE ROiTANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
on tlie wild banks of the far-off Ohio, as the eyes of a small party of way-worn and weary wanderers grew bright with hope at the first glimpse of its hospitable walls.
" ' There,' said an old veteran, who appeared to be the guide of the party, ' is the lion's den. You must have a care of his paws, my lads.'
" ' Never fear, good Christopher,' replied the leader of the group, a tall, handsome youth, who seemed but little given himself to fear, ' the watchful Providence which has brought us thus far through, all the dangers of the wilderness will protect us to the end.'
" The faith of the speaker proved, even as the words fell from his lips, to be well grounded. An arrow, aimed at him by a stealthy hand, not before seen in the dusky recesses of the woods, was suddenly and opportunely struck aside, and the momentary apparition of a lurking foe was followed by the strange appearance of a young and beautiful girl. So unex- pectedly did she come, and so quickly disappear, pausing only to bestow a reproving look and word upon the treacherous savage, that our travellers scarcely knew whether to consider her a real visitant, or a pleasing deceit of their fancies.
" ' Another lucky escape, my dear George,' said young Fair- fax. ' Truly, heaven seems to love you, sending down its angels in propria personge for your protection. Who can the dear fajry be ?'
" ' Some member of the Governor's household, I suppose,' said the leader, 'whom he has suffered to grow wild in this untamed land.'
" ' She has, at least, learned to be generous and daring,' continued Fairfax. 'You owe her your life, and if you were not already pledged to the fair Ma '
" ' Nonsense, Harry ! I thank the girl heartily, but I have graver thoughts to occupy my mind than the silly whispers of
GABEIELLE DE.ST. PIERRE. 79
every passing romance. I leave it to you, better fitted for sucli things, to seek amusement and pleasure in following up the adventure.'
" ' Thank you. If the girl has wit and wisdom equal to her bravery and beauty, I shall not, I promise you, be in any great haste to recross the rugged Alleghanies. While you are discussing the subject of your belligerent mission with the com- mandant of Le BcBuf yonder, and persuading him that it will be better for his political health to pull up stakes and remove with his people far away from the Ohio, and the vicinage of our good Governor Din^v-iddie, I may find it agreeable to make war upon the heart of this mountain sprite.'
Suppose, Harry,' answered his friend, laughing, ' suppose you carry her back with us, as a hostage for the fakh of these slippery Frenchmen!'
"With such cheerful chat and jest, the party at length parsed the sentinels and entered the precincts of the lonely fort, where they were cordially greeted by the expectant host, Monsieur le Gardeur de St. Pierre.
" ' I am happy, gentlemen,' said the courteous Frenchman, 'to congratulate you upon the safe termination of your fati- guing and hazardous journey, and to welcome you to my humble quarters, which I trust will long be cheered by the pleasures of your society. I hope you bring me good news from Virginia, Mr. Washington, and pleas'ant messages from your excellent Governor, my old friend, Dinwiddle; your young companion '
'"Mr. Fairfax,' interrupted our ambassador, as he introduced his colleague.
" ' Must forget the privations of the forest as much as pos- sible in such poor pleasures as he may be able to find in our rough home. Ah! my old friend Gist, too. I am glad to shake your hardy honest hand once more ! But pardon me, I
80 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
must present you to the ladies,' lie continued, summoning an attendant.
" ' Tell Madame that our expected guests have arrived, and send Mademoiselle Gabrielle to me, if she has returned to the Fort. My wild daughter, gentlemen, will give you a cordial welcome, for she sees but too little society suited to her station and education. It is surprising that you should not already have made her acquaintance. Few things happen here of which she is not the first informed, and such an unusual event as your approach '
" ' Has not, I dare say, escaped her vigilant notice,' said "Washington, as he interrupted the commandant with an account of the good service done him by the mysterious fairy of the forest.
" ' Ha, ha ! my mad Gabrielle, unquestionably ! You will find her a lawless creature, gentlemen, but still rich in all the softest traits of woman's nature — buried somewhat, perhaps, but not lost under the rough habits of her wild life. It is singular what an influence the united strength and delicatesse of her character have given her over our jealous and intractable Indian neighbours. She is a greater protection to our settlement here than all my garrison, and I could give you no passport through the savage tribes, for leagues around, half so authoritative .as her simple namo. But here she comes.'
" As Gabrielle entered, with an ease and grace not surpassed by what our travellers had already learned of her courage, they hastened to express their thanks for her late good offices, which her hasty retreat had prevented their making at the time.
" ' Indeed, gentlemen,' answered the mischievous girl, ' you owe me no thanks; but you must be more heedful of your path, or your brave Governor in Williamsbm-g may lose some ornaments to his ball-room.'
'"Nay, Mademoiselle,' said Fairfax, half amused, half angry,
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' we are perhaps not as daring and dauntless foresters as your fair ladyship, but we have been reared, believe me, to better ends than simply to figure in a minuet.'
" ' You are happy,' continued the laughing Gabrielle, ' in living in a land and among scenes which develop a stronger and truer manhood than we often find in the worn-out life of our old civilization ; though my honoured father does not agree with me on this point.'
" ' But do you not, Mademoiselle, sometimes grow weary of your isolated life here, and sigh for the gay pleasures of your native Paris, which jout youth and wit and beauty so admirably fit you to enjoy ?'
" ' Nay, nay, my youth and beauty are much better ex- pended here, where they are ever preserved and renewed by healthful occupation and innocent thought. The hills and val- leys and waters repay my wit with much more instructive and agreeable talk than the silly tattle of the drawing-room. The song of the birds is pleasanter to me than the false flatteries of heartless admirers, and the fragrance of the j^ure mountain air more grateful than the perfume of lovers' sighs. Besides, I have still sufficient companionship in the love of my parents and friends; and books and papers teach me all the best thought of the world, and show me its most brilliant spectacles, while I am relieved from the fatigue of walking in the painful pro- cession.'
" More than once, and in various ways, did Gabrielle, as the days passed on, give expression to this haughty spirit of contempt for the wonted pleasures and passions of her sex ; and yet, despite her exalted philosophy, she lingered, with each successive hour, longer and longer in the society of her new friends, seldom, indeed, following her old life in the woods, except when they accompanied her.
" Harrj^ Fairfax seemed to have kept his threat to make 6
82 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
war upon the redoubtable heart of the mountain maid ; for while his companion was indefatigably prosecuting the ends of his mission, he was following the deer with her over hill and dale, or strolling by her side along the quiet margin of the great river. Whatever may have been the themes of their discourse at such moments, Gabrielle was as gay and intractable as ever in the hearing and presence of others.
" So precisely was her manner what it had always been, that none could suspect her heart and fancy to be less free than before. Harry himself, indeed, seemed uncertain whether any change had come over the spirit of her dream; and this uncertainty did not, from some cause or other, increase the gaiety of his humour.
" On the contrary, it gave him a most perceptible uneasi- ness of feeling, which grew every moment as the time for the departure of the expedition drew nigh. The truth is, he had given half his heart to the fair mountaineer at their first inter- view, and the ingenuous frankness of her manner, which made no secret of her delight in his companionship, had soon stolen
the rest.
"But whether she had given him anything more than friendly and sisterly regard in return, was a question he hesi- tated to ask even himself. There was always so much of mad badinage, mischievous satire, laughing irony, and inex- plicable contrariety in her words, that he found it utterly im- possible to read the real nature of her feelings. Whenever his own speech became too plain an index of his heart, she seemed innocently unconscious of its drift, or, with wonderful ingenuity, misinterpreted it, or wickedly turned the talk into some oppo- site and most outrageously irrelevant current. At such, to poor Harry Fairfax, solemn moments, she would, too, often affect a sighing remembrance of the devoted cousin, whose breaking heart she had so rashly left in Paris, launching out with ex-
GABRIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 83
travagant eulogiums of his graces and gifts, which were always precisely the very graces and gifts which of all others she admired in a man ; regretting her cruel conduct towards him, and wishing that opportunity were still left her to repair her errors ; half resolved to leave the woods and return to old scenes and loves in France, and then gaily anticipating her afflicted cousin's threatened visit to America, and, worst of all, kindly proposing to read to Harry some of her old admirer's exquisite letters.
" All this was deplorably heart-rending to our tortured traveller, but his last hour approached, and, nerving himself to the momentous trial, he determined to bring affairs to a crisis and solve all his crushing doubts.
" Unhappily, the solution left him not only a wiser, but a sadder man, as the closing words of a long and earnest dia- logue, in the moonlight which fell upon the ramparts of the lonely fort, on the eve of their separation, may show.
" This dialogue, which on the part of the lady had at first been most wickedly and vexingly bantering, grew, at length, grave and serious when the final moment of adieu arrived.
" ' Have I then so l)itterly deceived myself, and must our parting be forever?' said Fairfax, despairingly.
" ' That must be as heaven wills. I am not insensible to the high compliment you bestow upon me; I do not despise your love ; but, even did I return it, I should still mistrust my own heart. We have been thrown together under such peculiar cir- cumstances— circumstances so admirably suited to bring out all the sentiment and romance of our nature — that it would be rash to trust our present feelings. Did I love you now, I might forget you in other scenes ; as you, doubtless, will think no more of the rude mountain girl when you fall again under the influence of brighter eyes.'
" ' I can never forget you, Gabrielle ; so entirely does the
84 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
whole current of my being set towards you, that no power can turn it aside !'
" ' Well, well, go now, and if we should meet again — ^years hence — and you should still remember me, return me tliis token,' said Gabrielle, taking from her finger a ring rudely sculptured by some untaught genius. It was given to me by a young chief, whose life I saved, and it will be useful to you in your wanderings among the red-men of this region, who all know and obey Gabrielle de St. Pierre.'
" ' And this,' said Fairfax, as he kissed the ring and offered her another in return. 'This gift from my mother — wear it, as a token of ' *
" ' Of your pleasant visit,' added Gabrielle in her old gay manner, as others came at that instant within hearing.
"When our travellers were again in their own home, the altered manner of Harry Fairfax excited no little curi- osity among his young companions to learn more minute particulars of the expedition to Le Boeuf than were given in the official reports. More especially were they interested in the mysterious history of the ugly looking ring wliich he never ceased to wear and to contemplate with most devoted and rapt
vision.
" Washington, when appealed to on the subject, laughingly ascribed the change of his friend's humour to ill health — the results of a violent cold caught in the adventurous passage of the mighty floods of the Alleghany; and the ring, he gravely hinted, concerned certain secret results of their diplomacy which the interests of the colony imperiously required should not for the present be divulged. Even the gentle Martha— so touch- ingly presented to us in Mr. Deepredde's romantic drama of
GABRIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 85
the ' Man of Duty ' — failed to win from the wily diplomat any more explicit confidence.
"Altogether, there was no surprise whatever felt at the extraordinary interest which Fairfax took in the military ex- peditions which the late mission set on foot — expeditions to effect by force of arms that expulsion of the encroaching French from the banks of the Ohio which Washington had failed to accomplish by negotiation.
" At length, in one of these sorties — which particular one, and its exact history, our worthy chairman will tell you — our hero held a command, to which he did high honour by his bravery and forbearance through the hot struggles of a change- ful day.
"Night was coming on apace, and the fortunes of the fight were against the colonists; yet Harry Fairfax still battled man- fully at the head of his gallant troops,
" It might have been the excitement of the hour and the passion of the soldier, or the depth of his patriotism, which nerved his arm and strung his heart ; yet the close observer — had there been such an one — would perhaps have suspected some other impulse to move him, on seeing his daring always exalted whenever his eye rested upon a young officer in the opposite ranks, whose sole business, as he kept aloof from the general conflict, seemed, singularly enough, to be, not to conquer, but to protect, his foe ; for more than once had he, by the exertion of some secret power, stayed the arm and weapon raised against him. Possibly he was mortified at this gratuitous service on the part of the stranger
" By and by the growing darkness put a stop to the con- test, and hid his mysterious protector from our hero's sight. As he was about to retire from the bloody field he turned back for an instant at the sound of a thrilling cry for quarter, and angrily stayed the brutal passions of his men who were
86 THE ROMAJ^CE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
about to finish the unhappy captive. His surprise was great •when, bending over the prostrate soldier, he recognized the person of his unknown protector. But yet greater was his astonishment, and new and deep his emotions, when a nearer glance showed him the ring of love with which he had parted from Gabrielle de St. Pierre.
'"Alasl my fancy told me so!' he said abstractedly. 'So like herself! Yes, it must be he! that — that — too happy cousin! And he has come at last, and, as I feared, stolen away the love of Gabrielle! What right has he to be generous to me? He's my foe — my mortal, deadly foe — let him die !' continued the wretched lover, as he madly grasped his sword.
" ' No, no ! He shall live ! I will not be such a wretch ! He shall live, for her sake;' and he ordered the wounded man to be carefully borne to his tent. No particular care, however, was needed, since scarcely were they arrived at Fairfax's quar- ters before the youth recovered his scattered senses, and proved to be unhurt, beyond the swoon which had followed a slight contusion received in falling from his horse.
"When fully aware of the position of things around him, the captive seemed no longer interested in our hero. His thoughts took another direction, and other objects.
" ' My father — my father ! let me seek him !' he cried.
" ' Of whom do you speak ?' asked Fairfax. ,
" ' Of my poor father. Monsieur de St. Pierre.'
" ' Monsieur de St. Pierre !' echoed our hero. ' St. Pierre — your father?'
" ' Yes — no, not my father — my — let me go ! Ah ! heaven grant that his life be safe !'
" ' Yes, yes,' muttered Fairfax, ' I comprehend it all now : his father — the father of Gabrielle !'
" Without another word, Harry and his prisoner returned to the now deserted field, and, by the faint light of the newly-
GABRIELLE DE ST, PIERRE. 87
risen moon, sought in silence for the body of the old com- mandant. Their pious labour was not long unrewarded. They found the object of their search, still living, but too plainly, alas ! mortally wounded.
" ' O my father !' sobbed the prisoner, as he cast his arms wildly about the neck of the old soldier.
" ' Thank God,' gasped the dying man, ' that you are safe. Gabrielle — my child !'
" ' Gabrielle !' exclaimed the bewildered Fairfax. ' Are you indeed Gabrielle ?' And even in the midst of this solemn scene, he was not too unselfish to look with more pleasure than before upon his mother's ring on the finger of his captive.
"'Who, who is with you, my child? My sight is dim, and I cannot see him ; but his voice — it is familiar to me I Who is he?'
'"It is he, father !'
"'He?'
" ' Yes, he — Harry — Harry Fairfax, father !'
" ' Ha ! Fairfax ! Does he love my poor daughter ?'
" Harry took the hand of Gabrielle, and they knelt together at the old man's feet.
" ' Heaven bless you, my children ! I have forgiven you, Harry, for wishing to take away my home, but never for rob- bing me of my daughter's heart and happiness. You took both with you when you left Le Boeuf. It has been but a sad place ever since. She has always loved you, and to-day has risked her life, in the maddest way, and despite my commands, to protect you.'
" ' And you, too, father.'
" ' Yes, yes ! You have always been, in all your wilfulness and folly, a dutiful and loving daughter, and you will be — a good — and truthful — wife !'
88 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
" When the old soldier slept quietly in bis grave, Fairfax conducted his gentle prisoner to his own home, where he placed her under the affectionate surveillance of the tender Martha, beloved, as Mr. Deepredde has intimated to us, by his dear friend and travelling companion, "Washington. In process of time he accompanied her on a visit to her childhood's home, where they passed a happy month under the roof of that mischief-making cousin several times referred to in my narra- tive, and at this period a joyous father of an interesting family. The gay pleasures of the French capital did not, however, obliterate the loving remembrance of their forest-home in the New World, to which they soon returned, and where they lived in peace and prosperity, as all virtuous heroes and heroines of romance ought to do.
"When the Revolution broke out, years afterwards, Gabri- elle, then a grave matron, offered her sons as a willing sacrifice upon the altars of that Freedom she never ceased to lov^e."
"Have you got entirely through, now?" asked Mr. Yer- meille, as Flakewhite relighted his cigar.
"Of course I have. Is not my heroine happily married and settled with a whole nursery of babies at her heels ! What more can you want?"
"Nothing, only I have a mind, now that Blueblack has given us a peep at the romance of the colonial life of Virginia, and you a very charming imagining of her wars with the French and Indians — I have a mind, I say, to treat the com- pany to a little glimpse of a later period, by telling them something of the history of Gabrielle de St. Pierre, as one of the ' Mothers of the Revolution.' "
So deeply had our guests grown interested in the character and fortunes of the fair lady of Le Boeuf, that a general accla-
im
GABRIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 89
mation of assent followed this proposition ; wlien Mr, Deepredde reminded them that the hour had grown ^o late, that the story could not be pursued longer at that time.
It can be resumed, we added, at our next meeting. To bo sure, our field of study will then be transferred to a point yet further southward; but, as Virginia is a kindred theme, we may tarry there long enough to pay our brief respects to Mademoi- selle Gabrielle.
Satisfied with this compromise of the matter, the company dispersed.
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CHAPTER Y.
" AsPHALTUiT, my dear boy, you must excuse my fear that your undue love of tlie past and the venerable warps your impressions and estimate of tlie new and the present. Your sight is dimmed by the accumulated fogs of the dark old centuries into which you are everlastingly peering. I cannot but think that you look falsely, when you look despondingly, upon the condition and prospects of American art."
"If I see around me," answered Mr. Asphaltum, "nothing but hopeless chaos after contemplating the glories of past tri- umphs, it is only as one's sight may be obscured when turning from the dazzling light of the sun ; but have we not already said enough on this point, considering that it is not quite ger- main to the matter in hand?"
" There you are again strangely in error. What can be more relevant to our theme — the history, the poetry, the man- ners, and the scenery of our country — than the prospects of that art which, of all others, must record, illustrate, and per- petuate them? Still, important as is its relation to the purpose of these reunions, yet, I grant you, it is not the precise subject itself, and I will but remind you before we pass on to the usual
92 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
gossip of travel and fancy, that common as it is to hear the most hopeless lamentations upon the lack of popular taste and popular encouragement of Art, very brief reflection will show us that if due, nay, if an extraordinary degree of appreciation of the Beautiful has not been already developed— though per- chance unperceived at present in the overwhelming brilliancy of our country's progress in other ways — still we may be sure that the germ lies in the heart and in the head of the people, and will shoot up ere long with a rapidity and strength the very contrast of its past inertness. We have not to look to the olden patronage of the religious sentiment, or to the pomp of arbitrary rule and of plethoric wealth, but we trust to a surer and nobler support promised us in the morale of our people and in the nature of our social and political institutions : a blessed economy which scatters knowledge over the land as the tempests spread the dust, inducing a universal intelligence and taste which will give us a whole nation of sincere and lov- ing patrons, in lieu of the often cold and selfish support of the few crowned heads, the limited aristocracy, the collectors, and the public institutions, which alone nurse the arts in other lands. Our governments, perhaps blameably neglectful of Art, so far as direct support goes, are yet unconsciously doing it the best service in the encouragement of popular education. This is the only soil in which it can thrive and maintain its proper dignity. The improving popular taste will elevate Art, and, in reciprocation, will be by Art refined and exalted. AVith these two powers, already so strong, and each continually adding to the other, what of distinction and glory in Art achievement and in Art worship, does not the future promise us! We, the art- ists of America must work as every thing here works — for the people — and, believe me, the intelligence and taste of the peo- ple will reward us. Of what avail had been the patronage of Pericles without the Athenians' innate and cultivated perception
THE MOTHERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 93
of the Beautiful ? How widely different the result under dif- ferent influences: how great the contrast between Athens and Sparta: the latter placed under the same sky as the former, having the same language and religion, the same mythic tradi- tions, but, wanting her intellectual culture, utterly indifferent and neglectful of Art."
As Mr. Deepredde— for it is the worthy chairman, most martyred reader, who has been preaching so long— paused for breath and brandy— and water, we mean— we called the at- tention of our guests to some of tlie trophies of our own professional rambles— mementoes of the beautiful Falls of the Tallulah in Georgia.
"Before we start, however," said Mr. MegHp, "as our host desires, on a pilgrimage to the old Pine State, we must, accord- ing to agreement at our last meeting, hear the continuation of the history of Gabrielle de St. Pierre, in Mr. Yermeille's prom- ised story of
C|e it0t|eo of t(je f ebahitiait,
" The skies were dark above them," said Mr. Vermeille, at once beginning his narrative ; " storms were gathering in every direction, and the gallant hearts of the people of Virginia, like those of their brethren all over the land, were dying within them.
"It was that dark hour which precedes the dawn— the agony going before relief; but the gloom and the pain only were seen and felt, not the hope of light and life.
"In a small shed, the miserable wreck of a once elegant mansion, which had been ruthlessly burned by the cruel min- ions of King George, sat a woman of distinction evidently,
94 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
from her mien and air, despite the marks of sorrow on her face, and of poverty around her. By her side was a young girl whose lovely features suggested the charms which must once have belonged to the elder lady, so many traces of a similar beauty did her countenance yet bear.
"'Ah, Gabrielle !' said the matron, as her young companion looked up, after a long and thoughtful reverie; 'you are, per- haps, all that is now left to me of my many beloved treasures. Do not look so sad, my daughter : misfortunes, it is true, over- whelm us now, but, by and by, God will send the sunshine again. I have been afflicted before, without hope in the world, and yet the bright days have come back. Bless you, my child ! I love to see you smile upon me thus. It recalls so vividly all the active scenes of my own wild, thoughtless girl- hood, when I hunted the deer among the Indians in the forests of the Ohio : when I first met your father — don't look sorrowful again, Gabrielle, he died in a worthy cause — and learned that there were other and dearer objects and hopes in life, than the indulgence of my oWn thoughtless pleasures,'
" ' You have often promised me, mother, to tell me of those days : do so now. The story will cheer you, and help to beguile these dreadful moments of uncertainty and fear.'
" ' Not now, Gabrielle. Let us rather speak of this young Derwent, who seeks your hand and offers you fortune. He is not quite indifferent to you?'
" ' Once, mother, he was not. But he has betrayed his country, and I love him no longer I And yet, mother, if this poverty is so painful to you '
" ' God forbid, my child !'
" ' Or, if it may serve the happiness of my poor brothers '
*' ' No more, my own true Gabrielle ! You speak bravely, as I knew you would. Let us be poor and despised, if heaven sends the trial, while our honour and conscience remain unsul-
THE MOTHERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 95
lied. But hark ! is not that the tramp of horses ? Surely they will not drive us from this poor shelter ; they cannot- take from me -my child 1' and, as the ominous sound of the approach of armed men grew louder, mother and daughter clun- more closely to each other. "^
"As they made no answer to the loud knocking which almost immediately followed, some heavy blows were angrily bestowed upon the frail door, which soon shook it fron^ its hinges.
Pardon this seeming lack of ceremony, madam,' said the leader of the intruders, 'but I am impatient to have the answer of your fair daughter. She will, I presume, be but too glad to exchange this vile hovel for a lordly mansion ; and then like a dutiful child she loves her mother and brothers, I am told !'
" 'At least she loves not you, bold, bad man ! Begone, sir!
how dare you thus insult me ? Begone, I say !'
'"Beware, proud lady, that you do not anger me too much!' " ' I do not fear you, sir ! I fear only God, in whom I
trust for protection !'
Then let Him protect you, for by Himself I swear the girl shall be mine!' and, as he spoke, he rudely seized the arm of the defenceless maid.
" Starting to her feet, as if poisoned by his touch, she darted upon him a look of such haughty indignation, such sublime defiance, that even his boundless impudence was for a moment cowed and appalled.
" ' Stand back, traitor ! I, Gabrielle Fairfax, love a craven like you? I love squalid penury, pain, death— a thousand deaths; but you— you I loathe!'
" ' Ha, ha !' laughed the villain in his bitter mortification, and regaining his wonted audacity. ' That is all very fine, fair lady, but it won't do for me. Here, my men! help nie to
96 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE
take care of this poor girl, who does not know when she is well off!'
" Scorning the prayers of the mother, and deriding the anger of the daughter, they were forcibly dragging away their victim, when a stranger, bursting into the room, dealt the cow- ardly leader a blow which sent him staggering against the wall.
" ' Brother, brother !' cried Gabrielle joyfully, as she flew to the arms of her rescuer.
" ' God be praised that you are safe, my son !' said the widow. ' But you have escaped one danger only to confront a greater. You come in vain, alas ! come only to draw upon us all the remorseless vengeance of yonder daring wretch.'
" ' You speak sensibly at last, madam,' said Derwent, recov- ering from the stunning effects of young Fairfax's unexpected greeting. ' You shall, indeed, pay for this 1 Leave the girl, now, my lads, and bring along that insolent cub : bring him
to the first tree !'
*******
u I There is no hope, my child I no hope but in God ! His will be done! I cannot choose between you. Your brother would never permit the sacrifice 1 You would both die broken- hearted 1'
" ' No, mother, I shall be happy — ^happy in saving his life — happy in your happiness !'
" ' It cannot be ! Think of it no more, Gabrielle I Never again breathe his infamous name !'
" ' But my brother? — ^he must be saved, at any cost !'
*' ^ I will seek General "Washington !' cried the widow, as her eyes brightened with new hope — ' your father's friend and com- panion. For the sake of old loves and old scenes, he will save us in our extremity ;' and, at the instant, she prepared a message, which she soon after found an opportunity of despatch- ing to the neighbouring quarters of the commander-in-chief.
THE MOTHERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 97
" Scarcely, however, was the note sent, when the sufferers were again frightened by the reappearance of the hated mis- creant, Derwent.
" ' The rebels flj !' said he in haste. ' They are losing Yorktown, and with Yorktown they lose all. Your son there is slain, and the other is my prisoner ! You would not be childless, woman ? Give me the girl, and take back your boy ! Quick, quick, your answer ! Let her sign this contract !'
" ' Give me the paper,' said Gabrielle in a steady voice ; and in a moment she had calmly signed away her freedom and her life.
'' ' Now, then, to the church !' he cried triumphantly, half dragging with him the passive girl as he moved away. ' There is no use putting off until to-morrow what may be done to-day, and you may not always be as wise as you are at this moment. Come, come, don't look so much as if you Av^ere going to the guillotine : this, remember, is your own free act !'
" As the group approached the neighbouring church they were surprised at the unusual crowd gathered about the old edifice, and still more so at the boisterous and happy humour which prevailed among them. To the hearts of the widow and her daughter the rejoicing brought new fears, while it seemed to exhilarate their oppressor.
" ' The people are assembled to do honour to our bridal, fair Gabrielle,' said he. ' Meet them, if you please, with a smiling face !'
" But the feelings of all suddenly changed when, as they drew near, the voice of the multitude resolved itself into glad shouts of ' Long live "Washington ! long live the Union !'
"'What does this insolence mean?' said Derwent, half in anger, half in apprehension. ' Surely the rebels dare not thus openly '
'"Kebel and traitor vourself!' cried one voice after another, 7
98 THE ROMAKCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
as he entered among the crowd. ' Know you not that the vic- tory is ours ? — that Cornwallis is taken, and the country is free ?'
" The joy of Gabrielle and her mother now became almost oppressive in its intensity as they were joined by young Fairfax, whom we left in the vengeful power of the recreant Derwent.
" ' You, too, come back to me, my son, safe and free ! Truly, heaven answers my prayers !'
" ' Yes, mother, you may well rejoice ! We are all free again, and forever ! My brother, too, is safe, and will soon be with us. And yet, had that scoundrel there,' he added, as his eyes rested upon the trembling Derwent, ' succeeded in his traitorous schemes, our cause would have been lost ! But how is it that you have come to share the joy of the people, since you seem not until this moment to have heard the news?'
" Gabrielle, pointing from Derwent to the church, said with a smile of hope, ' We were going there, brother, to save your life !'
" ' Where we will still go, sweet Gabrielle ! I have your pledge, and I shall not release you so easily,' added Derwent, making new efforts to push his way through the people.
" ' Not so fast !' interrupted a new comer, who had a few moments before joined the group. ' I have other bands for you, sir, than the pleasant bands ^bf wedlock ! You are my prisoner, Mr. Derwent !'
" At the sound of the familiar voice which here reached her ears, the widow quickly turned and welcomed her eldest son, whom she had mourned as lost in the late struggle.
"Handing his prisoner over to proper surveillance, Captain Fairfax — for the lad had come back with this new honour — returned with his now happy family to the glad walls of the old shed ; which they soon exchanged for a more comfortable abode, when their patrimony, of which Derwent's machinations had deprived them, was restored."
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MARGARET HOUSE. 99
" All's well that ends well !" said Professor Scumble, approv- ingly, as Mr. Vermeille finished his little tale and relighted his cigar.
"But it is not ended," added Mr. Deepredde, "for I have yet to continue the history, in a peep at the present period of Virginia life — these weak, piping, planting times of peace and plenty, as you might perhaps express it. I shall make no apology for my sketch, since it will be as characteristic of the region we are to visit to-night, and of all the old South, as of Virginia."
" Good gracious ! is madam to come to life again ?" inquired the Professor.
"Not a great deal; but if yon will all close your eyes, clairvoyantly, I will transport you to a comfortable mansion in the heart of rich fields — once the impenetrable forests of the Old Dominion. There you will see Copley's picture of the beautiful Gabrielle de St. Pierre, chief among the old family portraits of
l-litrjant Pause.
"It is Christmas night, and though the winter is kindly, a genial fire sparkles on the generous hearth, bright as the smiles of pleasure in the eyes of the numerous party, young and old, gathered around it.
"Everything within the hospitable mansion reiterates the goodly promise of its old-fashioned comfortable exterior, speak- ing with equal eloquence of young hope and placid age.
" A fine remnant of the old regime, is the venerable yet jolly gentleman so contentedly sipping his egg-nog as he talks to a fellow ancient, and watches the mazy movements of the young folk, as they whirl round in the merry dance.
100 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
" ' Yery different times, my old friend,' he says, ' to the trying days of our grandmothers, there on the walls! What ■would Harry Fairfax and his blooming Gabrielle say, could they now revisit the busy banks of the Ohio, and, stepping into a rail-car, in a few hours dash through the fertile fields where once grew the old forests of the Alleghanies? Would not such a glimpse of the present happiness and glory of their country, richly repay the blood and life they so freely lavished in its defence?'
" Now the reverend seigneurs — turning from the past to the present— have got upon other themes, and are earnestly dis- cussing the crying need of a railway to the Pacific and the influence of the United States upon the current of the dawning war in Europe.
" Fine, manly looking fellows, those, leaning over the an- tique sideboard, and so heartily discussing the pleasures of the chase, as they review the adventures and successes of the past happy day.
" ' What would our respected sires say,' asks one of the joyous group, ' could they step from their dusty frames and join us in such free and unmolested sport as we have had to- day? Gabrielle, yonder, would regain her fabled youth and beauty and fall in love again with the gallant Harry! Here's to the memory of both, boys, not in exports of Champaigne, but in sparkling Catawba from the sunny and peaceful -vdne- yards of their own Ohio !'
" Promising lads, those, grouped yonder in the deep recesses of the old oriel window, and glad on their temporary escape from the college — not from far-off Cambridge or Oxford, but from their own classic halls in Charlottesville.
" ' No such field now-a-days, boys,' says one of the most aspiring of the number, ' for gallant deeds, as in the stirring- times of our worthy ancestors there ! I should like to be a
ilAEGARET HOUSE. 101
brave soldier, like old grand-daddy Fairfax, and win the love of a daring girl like Gabrielle !'
"■ ' L' replies a more thoughtful, yet less imaginative youth, * am going to Congress to maintain and exalt the freedom and fame they so nobly bequeathed to us!'
" "What are the matrons talking about so raysterioiisly, as they sip their tea, and ply their knitting needles?
" ' I am afraid,' says an elderly dame, * that in the midst of the pleasures and luxuries and indulgences which surround them, our children will forget the virtues and high characters of their fathers and grow degenerate and useless.'
" ' Not if we properly teach them the story of Gabrielle and the sufferings with which she so heroically contributed to the purchase of their happy lot, and the duty it imposes upon them to respect and perpetuate her memory and fame,'
" Here, too, are the bright eyes of the maidens bent in pride and pleasure upon the honest faces of their pictured pro- genitors.
" ' Gabrielle in her dangerous forest life and the wild battle- field,' says one, seeking a moment's rest, ' could not dance as gaily and unconcernedly as we do now.'
" ' Or forget the troubles and trials with which her life was beset,' adds another, marking the page of the dainty vol- ume she closes, ' in the pleasures of the world of charming books which teach us so pleasantly what she learned by harsh ex- perience.'
" ' Or love with such confident hope of realizing her dreams as we can,' whispers a youth in the ear of the fair student, as he approaches to learn what on earth the girls are so busily talking about.
" ' Every body,' says old Caesar, turning to a happy group of fellow servants, * is looking at de portraits of old Massa Fairfax and jMiss Gabrielle, and they seems to feel mighty
102 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
proud of 'em!' and tlie virtae and heroism of Coesar and Hs ebony mates grow greatly, even in the reflected beauty of the high and pure emotions which fill the souls of the good people of Margaret House, as they gaze upon the voiceful fea- tures of their ancestors, and recall the fragrant memory of their noble lives."
"The chairman," said Mr. Yermeille, "has drawn a very graceful moral from the checkered history of Mademoiselle Gabrielle; and now, if the poor lady may be permitted to rest quietly in her grave, perhaps we had better be off for Georgia, and take a peep at our host's pictures of Toccoa and Tallulah. He knows as much as any of us about that region, and I hope he will favour us with a few remarks initiatory of the subject." In reply to this demand we made a hasty reference to the several characteristics of the scenery of the South ; jumping as rapidly as possible, from the elfish beauties of the mystic swamps, the wild intricacies of the dense cane-breaks and the luxuriant rice-fields, onward to the higher lands of the golden maize and the snowy cotton ; and, finally, bringing up amidst the picturesque grandeur and beauty of the varied mountain region. Our words were of the briefest — said with no end but to awaken the memories of our guests, whose thoughts we were more desirous of hearing than to record our own.
" My own preference," said Mr. Asphaltum, as we left the subject on the hps of the company, " is for the dreary humour of the sleeping lowlands; not so much for the contrast it offers to the general character of our scenery, as for its own intrinsic charms. There is to me a marvellous attraction in the beauty of the broad savannas, seemingly interminable in the hazy at- mosphere which wraps them in such peaceful and poetic repose ; and which, with the luxuriant vegetation and the wealth of
SOUTHERN SCENERY. 103
forest flowers, soothe the feeling and fancy, but 3'et keep them delightfully wakeful and active."
" My favourite haunts," said Mr. Blueblack, " are the dark and poisonous lagunes which lead into the mysterious heart of the ghostly swamps. Creeping in my canoe through these dismal passages — their black waters filled with venomous snakes and lurking alligators, and shut out from the light of day by the intervening branches of the cypress, the dark foliage of the magnolia, and the inextricable veils of rampant vine, with the gray trailing moss pendant everywhere in mournful fes- toons— my fancy has run riot through a thousand wild and dreary imaginings which it would harrow up your soul to hear !"
"Pray don't mention them," said Mr. Brownoker; "such dismal scenes may suit your sombre temper; but for my part, except to follow the deer, and to hunt the wild fowl, which I am told abound in these horrible jungles, I should, when once I had exhausted the novelty of the thing, make my way out, and think pleasanter thoiights, with Asphaltum, under a jasmine bower, or in the quiet shadow of the great live-oaks. Still better, should I prefer the fresher airs and the more healthful beauties of the uplands."
" And better again," interrupted Mr. Deepredde, " the glo- ries of the wild mountain regions ; to which, by the way, I think that it is high time we turn our thoughts."
" Despite the many pictures, with both pen and pencil, which our host has from time to time given us of our South- ern Landscape,"* said Mr. Yermeille, " its beauties are yet very inadequately known. How few, while traversing the high roads through the monotonous pine woods of North Carolina, think of the grand Apalachian peaks, and the world of kindred
* la this mention of our own humble labours, Mr. Vermeille very kindly employed various flattering adjectives, which we are compelled to omit.
104 THE ROMANCE OP AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
charms which delight all the western part of the State; the soaring crown of Black Mountain, rising higher above the val- leys around, than even the famous snow-clad simimit of Mount Washing-ton ; and the wild passage of the French Broad through forty miles of rugged gorge, to the peaceful and fertile valley of the Tennessee !"
"Then again," said Mr. Flakewhite, "there lie, hard by, the hill-beauties of the Palmetto State : King's Mountain, famed in Eevolutionary record; the grand palisaded flanks of Table Mountain ; the bold crest of Caesar's Head ; and the many lovely little valleys and waterfalls which surround them— the Saluda, and Jocassee, Slicking, and White Water."
" Bringing us at last, and by easy stages," said Mr. Megilp, "to the third and most attractive division of the mountain scenery of the south-eastern States— the northern part of Geor- gia. All this northern part, by the way, abounds in noble hill and valley views— from the grand summit of Look-out Mountain, overlooking the magnificent plains of the Tennessee, to the thick cluster of delicious scenes in the north-eastern counties, of which Toccoa and Tallulah are the centre and chief— the one a dainty, laughing, little brooklet, making one merry, bounding leap over a precipice of nearly two hundred feet; and the other a foaming torrent, urging its mad way through a deep and jagged mountain chasm."
"The late Judge Charlton, one of the South's sweetest poets," added Mr. Flakewhite, "said of this gentle cascade of Toccoa, that it reminded him, more than any scene he had ever beheld, of the poetic descriptions of fairy land; and he has recorded this fancy of his in a graceful poem, a passage from which— if our host has a copy of his "Georgia Illustrated "—I will not hesitate to read to you.
"It runs thus," continued Mr. Flakewhite, opening the vol- ume, which we pulled down from its dusty nook: —
SOUTH-EAST. 105
•"Beautiful brook! — -vrhen the moonlight's gleam Glistens upon thy falling stream, And the varied tints of thy rainbow vie "With the brightest hues of the evening sky — The woodland elf, and the merry fa}", Chant on thy banks their roundelay ; And with fairy sword, and tiny spear, Fight o'er their bloodless battles here. The drowsy bird, from its leafy nook, Peers on the "whole with an anxious look; And the cricket uplifteth its cheerful voice, And the bats at the merry sound rejoice; And the fairy troop, on their sylvan green, Frolic and dance in the moonlight's sheen.' "
"But few scenes in the South," said another speaker, "have been so beloved by the poets as this prattling little brooklet, A few of many lines sung in its praise by a native bard,* come to my memory at this moment.
"'ToccoaI or, the BeatttitulI this name To thee was given by the tawny Indian girls, When, with the summer's sultry noon, they came To bathe their bosoms, where thy water curls Around the mossy rocks in countless pearls; Or, when in autumn, seeking o'er the hill From which thy eddying current lightly whirls, Brown nuts, their baskets of light reed to fill, They loved to pause, and gaze upon thy beauties still.' "
" As ' capping verses' seems to be the play of the moment," said Mr. Yermeille, " perhaps you will allow me to repeat a sonnet to our brook from another pen.f
" ' In the brown shadows of a mountain wood There flows a crystal stream scarce known to song,
* Hon. Henry R. Jackson. f William C. Richards, Esq.
106 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
That to its own sweet music glides along,
Charming the else mibroken solitude !
"Tis called Toocoa in the Indian tongue,
And never yet was name more fitly given :
The Beauttfux,! beneath the smiling heaven
No lovelier stream the poet ever sung;
The forest boughs above it interweave,
And through their leafy fret-work sunbeams stray,
And on the dancing ripples tremulous play,
Ab golden threads the glancing shuttles leave ; —
Thus bright and musical the streamlet goes,
And on its marge the scented wild-flower blows.' "
" Toccoa," said Mr. Decpredcle, "is a scene as exhaustless in its morale, as it is simple in its physique. It needs few words to describe it intelligibly, while volumes would not suf- fice to tell all the thought and fancy it creates. Has not some one a story or tradition with which to close our recollections of the spot ?"
" There is an old legend appertaining thereto," said Mr. Brownoker, " but it's a gloomy, tragical sort of affair. How- ever, if Blueblack will do it up for us in his Eembrandtish style, it may be effective."
"Come, come, Blueblack!" said several voices, as that gen- tleman shrugged his shoulders in dissent, " there's no appeal here ! You must touch up
€\}t ©to f cgtnly 0f €mm.
"Well, I'll start you!" said Brownoker, as Mr. Blueblack continued to hem and haw and knit his unwilling brows. " Give us your hand and step along !
" It was a fearful night — I suppose night will be the best hour, won't it? — black darkness overspread the land; the mut-
THE OLD LEGEND OF TOCCOA. 107
tering thunders and the vengeful lightning shook the trembling
air-
"But the mad frenzy of the elements," continued Mr. Blue- black, taking up the grandiloquent sentence, " was a soft repose in comparison with the tempest of angrj and revengeful passions which tore the soul of a lonely old crone gazing from the win- dow of her desolate cabin upon the terrible storm without.
" ' Why does not the wrath of heaven strike their savage hearts!' she cried. '0, I live but to avenge the cruel murder of my sons ! Not one of my darlings have their bloody hands spared to me ! My life, once happy as a summer morn, they have made, alas ! more wretched than the bitterest winter's night ! God, send me my revenge ; but what am I to do with vengeance, when I am only too weak to protect myself— protect myself! ha! ha! Let me be avenged, and I care not how soon Toccoa sings its death song over the old woman's lonely grave!'
" Here the passionate soliloquy of our solitary watcher was interrupted by the sudden and stealthy entrance of a large iroop of Indians, who had come, evidently, in search of herself.
'"Yes, yes!' she cried. 'This at least is merciful in you! to take the life you have robbed of all its light and hope!'
" ' Peace !' said the chief, gravely. ' We seek not your poor life. If we have slain your people, it is because they have stolen our lands and put out our council iires.'
If you mean me no harm, then why do you seek me ?' To guide us by Toccoa to the valley below. We are strangers here and know not the path, while you listen to the fall of the silvery waters all day long.'
" ' Conduct you over the falls that you may carry to other quiet homes the desolation you have left in mine ! I will not lead you !' answered the woman ; but as the arm of the savao-e rose threateningly above her head, another thought seemed to cross her mind, and she continued, ' I will go. Spare me, and
108 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
promise me your protection and friendsliip, and I will go witli
you !'
» ' I promise, and the red-skin never lies,' replied tlie chief, motioning her to take- her place at the head of the file, as he moved towards the door.
"Many a winding bout did the old crone lead the ghostly procession, as it slowly struggled, in single file, against the pelt-
ings of the storm.
" ' A moment's treachery and you die,' said the savage, growing somewhat surprised at the length of the way.
" ' You will soon be at the bottom of the falls !' replied the guide, quietly; and the next instant she stood upon the ex- tremest verge of the precipice.
" In the obscurity of the hour and the roar of the tempest, no eye or ear but her own could see or feel the dropping waters.
" Stepping aside at this critical moment, cautiously and unseen, her trusting followers moved on, each after the other, down the deep and fatal abyss, from which no wail of despair or death rose above the fury of the storm. One by one, they thus marched to their fearful graves, until not a soul of all the devoted procession lived to tell the gloomy tale.
"As her last foe perished, the wretched woman uttered a shout of hellish triumph. 'Not yet, not yet, will I leave the fiends!' slie cried; 'I'll follow them to their living graves!' and with one mad leap she sunk with her victims into the dark basin of Toccoa."
" A gloomy story for so smiling a scene," said Flakewhite ; "but alas! how many gay faces are masks to bitter thoughts."
"A dead march is not exactly the music to go home by," said Mr. Brownoker, as he looked for his hat. " I hope Blue- black will hereafter give us his sentiments at the beginning, rather than at the end of the evening."
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CHAPTER Yl.
" Where are we going ?" said the amiable cliairman, re- peating Mr. Brownoker's inquiry touching the route of the night. Brownoker was always curious on this point, as though it made the least difference in the world to him, happy in all places and circumstances, whither he went. " Where are we going, my dear fellow ? Not very far from our last night's camp at Toccoa; only a pleasant walk, if you will, of half a dozen miles thence to the famous cascades of Tallulah, the Terni of Georgia."
" ' Charming the eye with dread — a matchless cataract !' " mur- mured the Professor, turning Childe Harold over in his thoughts.
" Truly, * a matchless cataract,' " added Mr. Vermeille, " hard- ly surpassed by any parallel scene in the world. Unlike the beautiful Toccoa, descending sweetly and gently upon us, as the soft whispers of angels, the mad waters of Tallulah — or Terrora the Terrible, as the stream is sometimes called — howl and hiss and boil in endless torture, affrighting the ear like the wails of tortured spirits down, in their deep and dark im- prisonment."
" Mr. Yermeille," resumed the chairman, smiling at his
110 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
friend's desperate metaphors, " means to tell us, simply, tliat while the waters of Toccoa drop down upon us noiselessly, in a single waving line, leaving no impression upon the mind deeper than a pleasing sense of the beautiful, Tallulah, on the contrary, exhibits all the sterner elements of the grand and the sublime, in the greater volume and rapidity of its floods, in their passage, not trippingly over an embowered wall, but wildly through the rugged bed of a deep ravine. This stupendous chasm in the Blue Ridge is a thousand feet deep ; its granite walls rising perpendicularly in many places to the summit of the mountains. It extends in a devious line for nearly a mile, and the waters make, in their transit, a long series of cascades of great variety in form and extent. At one moment the stream flows peace- fully as at Lodore,* and, anon, it makes a grand free plunge of fifty or sixty feet, as at the falls known as the Oceana and the Tempesta, and again struggles and writhes amidst the con- fused boulders gathered at some sharp angle in the gorge. There are altogether no less than nine distinct cascades, each in itself worthy of a pilgrimage to see. They might have been not iufelicitously baptized with the names of the Muses, for they present, in their several individualities, all the contrasting characteristics of the mythic group, from the dainty grace of the fair Terpsichore, to the solemn humour of grave Melpomene. " Seen from above, the picture is ever-changing and always impressive ; while in the bed of the ravine, to which numerous paths lead the visitor, a totally different and yet more in- teresting portfolio is opened. These charming cascades have become of late years a place of favourite resort for the dwellers on the seaboard of the Southern States. They are the central attraction of a wide field of natural beauties; and the whole region abounds with the summer villas of the opulent planters.
* See frontispiece.
TALLULAH AND TOCCOA. m
Many of these elegant seats embellish the neighbouring village of Clarksville ; a convenient place from which to reach all the surrounding points of interest. Toccoa and Tallulah in one dh-ection, and the winsome vale of Nacoochee and the noble Yonah, in another. The Southern poets have always deJighted to draw inspiration from these pet shrines of Nature. Who among us can gather some of their stray wreaths ?"
"If my memory will be kind," said Mr. Flakewhite, in answer to this demand of the chair, "I will recall, for your edification, some passages from a tributary poem to Tallulah by the Hon. Henry E. Jackson, who served us, you may remem- ber, at our last meeting, in our meditations at Toccoa. The poet is, like ourselves, passing from the gentler to the grander of the sister streams.
" ' But hark ! beneath yon hoary precipice,
The rush of mightier waters, as they pour In foaming torrents through the dark abyss.
Which echoes back the thunders of their roar; Approach the frightful gorge, and, gazing o'er,
What mad emotions through the bosom thrill; Hast ever seen so dread a sight before?
Tallulah ! by that name we hail thee still,
And own that thou art justly called the Terrible!
In vain o'er thee shall glow with wild delight
The painter's eye, and voiceless still sliall be The poet's tongue, who from this giddy height
Shall kindle in thy awful minstrelsy! Thou art too mighty in thy grandeur — we
Too weak to give fit utterance to the soul! Tliy billows mock us with their tempest glee.
As thundering on while countless ages roll.
Thou scornest man's applause, alike with man's control.'"
" "While talking of the romance of this picturesque neigh- bourhood," said Mr. Megilp, " I should like to tell you the
112 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
tragic legend wliicli gives name to the little valley of Nacoo- chee ; all about a lovely Indian princess, who sacrificed her life to her passion for the son of a rival chieftain, and was buried with her lover beneath a huge mound, conspicuous in the centre of the valley at this day. But leaving you to fash- ion the tale for yourself, as every body else has done, I will make my homage to the beauty of the valley in the numbers of a remembered song.*
" * Enshrined in my heart is the vale of Nacoochee, And memory often makes pilgrimage sweet To the beautiful haunts of the bright Chattahooche, Where its silvery foimtains in melody meet.
The poets may boast if they will, of "Wj-oming,
Of peerless Avoea, and lovely Cashmere ; My fancy, contented without any roaming.
Shall find in Nacoochee a valley more dear.
Oh I soft are its airs, and delicious its breezes,
Perfumed by the breath of a thousand wild flowers ;
And wafting the music of Nature, which pleases Far more than the charms of Apollo's rare powers.
The sentinel mountains around this sweet valley Lift watchful and proudly their towering forms ;
And when 'round their crests the fierce tempest clouds rally, It sleeps in their bosoms imrecking of storms.
Above thee, oh vale of my heart 1 there's a si)lendour Unwonted and peerless in day's glowing beam ;
And never are Dian's chaste kisses so tender,
As when she bestows them on thy crystal stream.
Farewell, lovely valley! sweet theme of my numbers, Thy beauty shall evermore dwell in my heart ;
No vision more rare shall be known to my slumbers. No scene from my memory shall later depart 1' "
* William C. Richards, Esq.
MANNERS OF THE MOUNTAINEERS. 113
" The vaUej of Nacoochee," said Mr. Brownoker, as Megilp ended his lyric, " is useful as well as ornamental ; its soil yield- ing to the tiller rich returns, not only of luscious grains and fruits, but of pure gold. Indeed, as you are all aware, the mountain regions of Georgia, and the Carolinas, have long been successfully searched for the precious ore. In the " North State," as the people here call the upper Carolina, the government years ago established a branch mint, and another in Georgia, not more than two days' stout walk from Nacoochee. Iron is also found in this region, but it is more practically abundant a little further westward."
"Mr. Brownoker's allusion to the material wealth of these too much isolated regions of the South-east, leads me to give expression to a thought which has often come to my mind," said the chairman; "the hope that the influx of new and broader ideas, carried thither by the increasing current of travel, and by enlarged industry and ambition, will soon lift the peo- ple above the gross ignorance in which they at present so con- tentedly rest. In no part of our Union is the mental condition of the peasantry so low as among the inhabitants of the Southern mountain lands; so destitute are they of schools, and so little is their intercourse with the world beyond them. Where the usual means of education happen to be wanting at the North and West, there is still a constant shifting and interchange of population, which induces mental activity and progress."
"I sincerely hope that there will be, through some agency or other, a change for the better before my next visit," said Mr. Megilp, " and that the good people will learn the uses of some of the necessities, if not of the comforts and refinements of life. I have travelled weeks together, hereabouts, without finding a book or a newspaper, or any one who could have read them had they been there. Sometimes I have had diffi- culty in making myself intelligible to their uncultured ears 8 '
114 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
and have been set down as belonging to any race but their own. One estimable lady thought I was too 'light complected' for an * Ingin,' and that I talked 'too broken' to be an 'Irisher' or a 'Jew,' or even a 'Frenchman.' To relieve her mind, I gravely informed her that I was a Turk — a claim sup- ported by the miraculous beard I wore at the time, as well as by a genuine hookah I always carry with me, and was then smoking; to say nothing about a famous Greek cap which adorned my phrenology."
" ' Lord alive !' exclaimed the simple matron, in great alarm, and dropping her own corn-cob pipe from her lips. ' You don't mean to say that you are one o' them heathen what I've heerd tell of, that lives on a great wall, and has ever so many women, and chucks their motherless babes under the wheels of Juggerney !'
" ' I certainly belong there,' said I, ' but my countrymen are very much slandered. We do the babies now with epsom salts, and keep " Juggerney " for the old women only. As to the wives, it's against the law for any man to have over forty-seven, except the Sultan, and we are not allowed to whip them more than twice a day, unless they happen to be exceedingly ob- streperous.'
" ' The Lord preserve us !' ejaculated my hostess. ' I wonder they let sich critters go about!'
" ' Oh !' said I, ' when we are away from home we always do just like other people. As for myself, I came over on an elephant and six dromedaries to present a gold "Juggerney" to the President of the United States, as a mark of respect from my uncle, the great Cham.'
" This allusion to my august relative, and the high dignity of my mission, awakened the respect of the old lady, and her reverence greatly increased when I informed her that the Presi- dent had insisted upon my staying with him a month, and had
megilp's metamorphoses. 115
given me a lock of his hair in a gutta-percha box to carry back to my Imperial uncle.
" When, as supper time was approaching, the worthy widow grew doubtful about the abilities of her cuisine to supply the wants of so extraordinary a traveller as myself, I assured her that I had become accustomed to eat any thing, though if she had such an article in the house as a few young an°d tender cats
" ' Cats ! oh gracious !'
Well, well, it's no matter if you haven't got them ; and, then, if you had, you wouldn't know precisely how to cook them; and, unless they are done exactly right they are no nicer than chickens and other things of that sort; so just do the best you can.'
" When supper was ready, and the hostess watched my skill in disposing of her provisions, she seemed to think that I had indeed a wonderful knack of adapting myself to circumstances, whatever they were !
" On another occasion," continued the veracious Megilp, "when I was travelling in the character of a preacher— my' vocation about that time varied with each passing day— I held up for the night at a house, where a bridal ceremony \vas in waiting. The victims were young slaves of the family. Great preparations had been made, and both whites and blacks were expecting to have 'a time.'
''Unfortunately, just at the very height of expectation, intelligence was received of the sudden illness of the minister and his consequent inability to attend. Here was a dilemma! To postpone the frolic was a shocking thought to everybody; but to me, the turn in affairs was particularly annoying, when every eye was bent upon me with a look which I could not fail to understand, and if I had failed to do so, it would not have ameliorated my condition in the least, for a general request
116 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
was immediately made in so many plain words, tliat I should assume the office of the absent priest !
" The thing seemed so simple to every body, except myself, that there was no avoiding it, unless I doffed my borrowed plumes; and I have always played whatever part I have as- sumed, at all risks. Then the bride-elect, too— a pretty girl, though of a rather sunburnt hue — considered my hesitation as so unnecessarily cruel, that I was compelled to yield; and, in due time, the Eev. Mr. Megilp united the happy pair for better and for worse, with the grave injunction that what he had joined together no man should put asunder! Of course I declined all fee for my clerical service, even to the hymeneal kiss. Not having passed that way since, I am able to guess only at the results of my evening's work. I trust, however, that they have been satisfactory to all parties."
" Megilp's adventures," said Mr. Brownoker, when the gravity of our guests was restored, "remind me of a merry experience of my own. Like him, I was travelling in the Cherokee region of Georgia, but I was accompanied by a wag- gish friend more given to fun than myself even. I am a great consumer of the article, but he is a manufacturer. He makes sport every where, and of every thing. Life is to him a per- petual laugh.
" We were driving towards the falls of Tallulah. Our road lay along an elevated tract where water is rarely abundant, and just then a protracted drought had made it yet more scarce; we found it difficult to keep our horses sufficiently soaked, espe- cially as the few and far between settlers were quite disinclined to supply us from their half-empty wells. In our dilemma we thought it advisable to astonish the natives a little, and the most facile means seemed to be to turn Frenchmen, seeing that we could speak the language execrably, and like Megilp when he played the Grand Turk, were bearded like the pard. It
MR. BROWNOKER's STORY. 117
was agreed that my companion should be totally ignorant of the English tongue, while I should be barely able to make myself intelligible.
"When we came within hearing of the next house, my friend Harry rolled off in a towering voice, a Gallic rigmarole, which would have petrified a Canadian; and which speedily brought an old woman and a troop of white-headed clay-eating urchins to the door.
"Pointing to the horse, Harry continued an earnest and vigorous discharge of his strange gibberish at the ears of the bewildered woman, which he did not cease for a moment, not even as I was endeavouring to translate his speech.
" ' Mon ami — my frien — madam, vous demande de I'eau for de cheval — de horse.'
" ' Sir !' said the poor woman.
" ' De I'eau, madam ! watere for de horse. You understan' me, mon dieu !'
" ' Oh yes I' cried madam, with beaming intelligence. ' I understand you a little, but that other gentleman, I can't make out at all what he says.'
" ' Yous voyez, madam,' said I, as we alighted and were preparing to accept her ready proffer of the water we required, 'que nous sommes — zat is, we are ze Frenchmans— we have not been long temps— vat you call long time, in dis vilain pays — dis beautiful countree ; and nous ne don't speak English
pas.'
"Every thing was so new and strange to us, that we found it impossible first to get the bucket down the well and after- wards to raise it up ; so madam, in seeking to instruct us, had to do both herself Seeing me especially charmed with some bees humming around the pail, and seeking with gay delight to catch them, she warned me that they would sting.
" ' Mon dieu !' I exclaimed, starting back in affright, ' you
118 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.
tink him hite ! Sacre bleu! mille tonnerres ! petites pommes
de terre !'
" At this moment a grim suspicious old mastiff, who evi- dently was not to be sold so cheaply as his mistress, poked his inquiring nose so close to my companion's person that in his alarm he for an instant forgot his part, and cried in most be- tray ingly intelligible Saxon, ' Get out !'
" The woman turned with an odd look of surprise, first at Harry and then at me.
" ' My frien', madam,' said I, in explanation, ' speak one, two, three, leetle word English! pas de plus! He say "verra well, — verra well indeed, — good mornin," " how you do," " I tank you," " no you don't," " get out !" Zat is all !'
" Our divertissement was so successftd, that we determined to continue it as much for amusement as for use. We passed neither house nor traveller without leaving the wonder behind us, how poor devils like ourselves, in a strange land, and so deplorably ignorant of the language, could manage to find oux way about !
"Venerable gentlemen whom we met on the road, took infinite trouble to instruct us in the way, which we knew far better than they themselves; even counting the miles from point to point on their fingers!
" When we held up, for the night, at one of the cabins by the wayside, we changed characters, Harry talking with con- siderable fluency, while I, having just left Paris, could not speak a word. When we were seated at the supper table, Harry inquired if it was customary to make prayers.
" ' How ?' said our hostess.
" ' I mean, do you ask for blessings ?'
" ' Oh, ah, yes ! We ask a blessing— yes sir !'
"Whereupon, Harry, with the gravest air imaginable, and with edifying unction, said —
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MR. BROWNOKER'S STORY. 119
" ' 0, Saint Patrick, make us able To eat all things on the table 1'
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•You may be surprised, madam,' said he, in reply to tlie astonished look of the simple landlady, 'but that is the way we do those things in our country!' As supper proceeded, Harry continued to explain the customs of his country, and so novel were they to myself, and so grotesque the stories which he told of my own life and character, that it was with great difficulty I could keep my countenance and save myself from laughing outright
"At another time we attempted a negotiation for the pur- chase of some watermelons and peaches, neither of which we had ever seen before. The melon we would not buy nnless permitted to taste it, which the man seemed to consider a very unreasonable demand; and the peaches we half devoured in successive and dubious trials of their flavour; we affected to take the things as a present, and made the poor fellow nearly crazy in his efforts to explain to us that they were to be sold and not given away. At last, in despair of comprehending each other, we gave the fruiterer some change and bade him
bon jour.
"It happened, that while Harry was thus jabbering to a maiden by a brook-side, he was overheard by a party of ladies and