Footnotes.

1 – J. T. Buckingham.

2 – Among the Enchanted Mountains, a name given to several spurs of the Cumberland Ridge, are some very singular footprints marked in the solid limestone rock. These are tracks of men, horses, and other animals, as distinctly marked as though but yesterday impressed in clay or mortar. Their appearance often indicates that the feet which made them had slidden, as if in descending a declivity of soft clay. The human feet have uniformly six toes, with the exception of one track, which is thought to be that of a negro. One of the tracks is sixteen inches long, and thirteen inches wide from toe to heel, with the ball of the heel five inches in diameter. On the shore of the Mississippi is a similar impression of the human feet in a mass of limestone. No satisfactory explanation has been given of these singular appearances.

3 – Table Mountain, in Pendleton district, near the north-west corner of South Carolina, is thus described by Dr. Ramsay. ‘Its height exceeds three thousand feet, and thirty farms may be distinguished at any one view from its top by the unaided eye. Its side is an abrupt precipice nine hundred feet deep, and nearly perpendicular. The valley underneath appears to be as much below the level as the top of the mountain towers above it. This precipice is called the Lover’s Leap. To those who are in the valley it looks like an immense wall stretching up to heaven. At its base lie whitening in the sun the bones of various animals that had incautiously advanced too near its edge. Its summit is often surrounded with clouds. ‘The gradual ascent of the country from the seacoast to this western extremity of the State, added to the height of this mountain, must place its top more than four thousand feet above the level of the Atlantic ocean. Large masses of snow tumble down from the side of this mountain in the winter season, the fall of which has been heard seven miles. Its summit is the resort of deer and bears. Wild pigeons resort to it in such flocks as sometimes to break the limbs of the trees on which they alight.’

4 – It is common in our own country, says the London Monthly Review, for ground mists to assume the appearance of water, to make a meadow seem inundated, and to change a valley into a lake; but these mists never reflect the surrounding trees and hills. Hence the mirage must consist of a peculiar gas, of which the particles are combined by a stronger attraction of cohesion than the vapors of real water; the liquor silicum of the alchemists is described as exhibiting in some circumstances this glossy surface, yet as being equally evanescent.

5 – The following very graphic description of a flood on the Mississippi, is from the pen of the celebrated naturalist, Audubon: ‘There the overflow is astonishing; for no sooner has the water reached the upper part of the banks, than it rushes out and overspreads the whole of the neighboring swamps, presenting an ocean overgrown with stupendous forest trees. So sudden is the calamity, that every individual, whether man or beast, has to exert his utmost ingenuity to enable him to escape from the dreaded element. The Indian quickly removes to the hills of the interior, the cattle and game swim to the different stripes of land that remain uncovered in the midst of the flood, or attempt to force their way through the waters until they perish from fatigue. Along the banks of the river the inhabitants have rafts ready made, on which they remove themselves, their cattle, and their provisions, and which they then fasten with ropes or grape vines to the larger trees, while they contemplate the melancholy spectacle presented by the current, as it carries off their houses and wood-yards piece by piece. Some who have nothing to lose, and are usually known by the name of squatters, take this opportunity of traversing the woods in canoes, for the purpose of procuring game, and particularly the skins of animals, such as the deer and bear, which may be converted into money. They resort to the low ridges surrounded by the waters, and destroy thousands of deer, merely for their skins, leaving the flesh to putrefy. ‘The river itself, rolling its swollen waters along, presents a spectacle of the most imposing nature. Although no large vessel, unless propelled by steam, can now make its way against the current, it is seen covered by boats laden with produce, which, running out from all the smaller streams, float silently towards the city of New-Orleans, their owners, meanwhile, not very well assured of finding a landing-place even there. The water is covered with yellow foam and pumice, the latter having floated from the rocky mountains of the north-west. The eddies are larger and more powerful than ever. Here and there tracts of forests are observed undermined, the trees gradually giving way, and falling into the stream. Cattle, horses, bears, and deer, are seen at times attempting to swim across the impetuous mass of foaming and boiling water; whilst here and there a vulture or an eagle is observed perched on a bloated carcass, tearing it up in pieces, as regardless of the flood as on former occasions it would have been of the numerous sawyers and planters with which the surface of the river is covered when the water is low. Even the steamer is frequently distressed. The numberless trees and logs that float along, break its paddles and retard its progress. Besides, it is on such occasions difficult to procure fuel to maintain its fires; and it is only at very distant intervals that a wood-yard can be found which the water has not carried off. ‘Following the river in your canoe, you reach those parts of the shores that are protected against the overflowing of the waters, and are called levées. There you find the whole population of the district at work, repairing and augmenting those artificial barriers which are several feet above the level of the fields. Every person appears to dread the opening of a crevasse, by which the waters may rush into his fields. In spite of all exertions, however, the crevasse opens, and water bursts impetuously over the plantations, and lays waste the crops which so lately were blooming in all the luxuriance of spring. It opens up a new channel, which, for aught I know to the contrary, may carry its waters even to the Mexican gulf. ‘But now, kind reader, observe this great flood gradually subsiding, and again see the mighty changes which it has effected. The waters have now been carried into the distant ocean. The earth is every where covered by a deep deposit of muddy loam, which, in drying, splits into deep and narrow chasms, presenting a reticulated appearance, and from which, as the weather becomes warmer, disagreeable, and at times noxious, exhalations arise, and fill the lower stratum of the atmosphere, as with a dense fog. The banks of the river have almost every where been broken down in a greater or less degree. Large streams are now found to exist, where none were formerly to be seen, having forced their way in direct lines from the upper parts of the bends. These are, by the navigator, called short cuts. Some of them have proved large enough to produce a change in the navigation of the Mississippi. If I mistake not, one of these, known by the name of Grand Cut-off, and only a few miles in length, has diverted the river from its natural course, and has shortened it by fifty miles. The upper parts of the islands present a bulwark consisting of an enormous mass of floated trees of all kinds, which have lodged there. Large sand-banks have been completely removed by the impetuous whirls of the waters, and have been deposited in other places. Some appear quite new to the eye of the navigator, who has to mark their situation and bearings in his log-book. The trees on the margins of the banks have in many parts given way. They are seen bending over the stream, like the grounded arms of an overwhelmed army of giants. Every where are heard the lamentations of the farmer and planter, whilst their servants and themselves are busily employed in repairing the damages occasioned by the floods. At one crevasse, an old ship or two, dismantled for the purpose, are sunk, to obstruct the passage opened by the still rushing waters, while new earth is brought to fill up the chasms. The squatter is seen shouldering his rifle, and making his way through the morass, in search of his lost stock, to drive the survivors home, and save the skins of the drowned. New fences have every where to be formed; even new houses must be erected, to save which from a like disaster, the settler places them on an elevated platform, supported by pillars made of the trunks of trees. The lands must be ploughed anew; and if the season is not too far advanced, a crop of corn and potatoes may yet be raised. But the rich prospects of the planter are blasted. The traveller is impeded in his journey, the creeks and smaller streams having broken up their banks in a degree proportionate to their size. A bank of sand which seems firm and secure, suddenly gives way beneath the traveller’s horse, and the next moment the animal has sunk in the quicksand, either to the chest in front, or over the crupper behind, leaving its master in a situation not to be envied. ‘Unlike the mountain torrents and small rivers of other parts of the world, the Mississippi rises but slowly during these floods, continuing for several weeks to increase at the rate of about an inch in the day. When at its height, it undergoes little fluctuation for some days, and after this subsides as slowly as it rose. The usual duration of a flood is from four to six weeks, although, on some occasions, it is protracted to two months. ‘Every one knows how largely the idea of floods and cataclysms enters into the speculations of the geologist. If the streamlets of the European continent afford illustrations of the formation of strata, how much more must the Mississippi, with its ever-shifting sand-banks, its crumbling shores, its enormous masses of drift-timber, the source of future beds of coal, its extensive and varied alluvial deposits, and its mighty mass of waters rolling sullenly along, like the flood of eternity!’

6 – Lewis and Clarke.

7 – ‘The American Fur Company have sent their steam-boats twenty-one hundred miles above the mouth of the Missouri, and in high water, steam-boats of light draft can ascend two thousand and six hundred miles. The Mississippi is navigable by steam between six and seven hundred miles above St. Louis. These rivers pass through an exceedingly fertile country; and when a just system of internal improvement shall be carried into operation, not only New Orleans and the great valley of the Mississippi will be benefitted, but every portion of the United States will feel the invigorating influence of such a course.’—St. Louis Republican.

8 – Lewis and Clarke

9 – Appropriations have recently been made by Congress for the removal of obstructions in the Arkansas and Red rivers. The officer employed on that service is confident in the practicability of removing the Raft by means of boats.

10 – Long’s Expedition.

11 – On the banks of this stream, about twenty miles from the Ohio, are extensive salt-works, owned by the United States’ government.

12 – ‘The river expands into a noble bay, four or five miles-wide, called the Tappan Sea, about thirty miles from New York, at the top of which, ten miles farther on, the banks approach each other so closely, that the channel through which the river has at a distant period forced its way by some violent convulsion, is not perceived until you almost enter it. Here we suddenly found ourselves in a narrow pass between precipitous mountain tops, rising on both sides from the water’s edge to an elevation of twelve or fifteen hundred feet. These mountains or hills, as we should call them, are what are called the Highlands of the Hudson; and the entry to them seemed to us the most remarkable point on the river, not to be contemplated without feelings of the deepest interest. The river course continues to run in this defile among romantic hills covered with wood, sweetly inlaid with plateaus of green pasture, and of table-land for about twenty miles. The farm-houses and villages look as if they hung on the cliffs, or rose by terraces from the water’s edge. The river is of various breadths, from a mile and a half to two miles. The projecting rocks often force it to change its direction, so much, indeed, that you frequently appear to be sailing in a lake, from which you cannot discover an outlet. ‘After leaving the Highlands, the banks of the river are comparatively low, one hundred, or one hundred and fifty feet in height. The hills through which we had passed incline to the right, and do not break off till they reach the St. Lawrence. The river, for sixty or seventy miles, frequently opens into beautiful lakes and bays, with projecting and marked shores. Great part of this district, which is called the Valley of the Hudson, consists of good land and fine corn-fields, and is one of the richest parts of the state of New York. The town of Newburg on the one side, the village of Fishkill on the other, the noble terrace of Hyde Park, the Dutchess County, famed for its fertility, are all situated in the southern part of this reach. On the upper part of it, the grand range of mountains called the Catskills, about three thousand feet high, which are a spur from the Alleghanies, and the populous city of Hudson, strikingly placed on a fine promontory, are the most prominent objects. From Hudson to Albany, about forty miles, the Hudson has more the appearance of a river than below. It is here ornamented with many islands, the shores become less steep, the country rich looking, and more peopled. Villas on the banks appear more frequently in approaching Albany, the view of which, from the river, is very striking. The oldest part of the city reaches to the water’s edge, but a great part of it is on a fine elevation on the face of a hill. ‘Whether the glorious scenery of the Hudson be superior to that of the Rhine, the Danube, or any of the European rivers, which many of the Americans who have travelled in Europe maintain, I, who have not seen the greatest of those rivers, do not pretend to say; but I am very much mistaken, if there be any where continuously in Great Britain, so remarkable a combination of natural beauty and romantic scenery as on the Hudson between New York and Albany. Nowhere in the British dominions can so great a variety of interesting and pleasing objects be seen in the course of a single day. The Trosachs, though in miniature, resemble the passage through the Highlands of the Hudson, in all respects but one, the grandeur of the bounding objects. The lofty mountains of the Highlands of Scotland impart a character of sublimity to those justly celebrated works of nature, which is here to a certain extent wanting.’—Stuart’s America.

13 – We set off a little before sunrise; and about an hour afterward entered the first lake formed by the Columbia. It is between eleven and twelve leagues long, and about one and a half in breadth; the current smooth and steady, and pretty free from snags or sunken trees. The shores are bold and well wooded with a variety of timber of fine size; and in the distance we first caught a view of the most western chain of the Rocky Mountains covered with snow. A head wind, during the greater part of the day, considerably retarded our progress; and we encamped late, near the upper end of the lake, where a few Indians visited us. They appeared to be very poor, and brought about a dozen beaver skins to trade, which we told them we could not purchase, as we were obliged to cross the mountains; but that our party, going downwards in the autumn, would stop a few days with them, and trade all the skins they had. They were rather disappointed; but a little tobacco, and some trifling presents, sent them away in good humor. Shortly after embarking on the morning of the 18th, we left the lake, and entered that part of the river called the straits, which separates the upper from the lower lake. It is only a few miles in length, and quickly brought us to the upper lake, which is not so long as the first. The high hills in its immediate vicinity were covered with snow, the chilling influence of which we sensibly experienced by the cold blasts from the shore. Encamped at sunset at the upper end of the lake, on a fine sandy beach. During the day we struck on two sand-banks, and were slightly injured by a sunken tree. Saw no Indians. 19th. About two miles above our encampment of last night, the Columbia becomes very narrow, with steep and thickly wooded banks, covered with immense quantities of fallen trees. The current is very strong, and, owing to the great height of the water, the men at intervals had scarcely any beach on which to walk in dragging up the canoes. Our progress was consequently slow; and we put ashore for the night about fifteen miles above the lake. At nine o’clock on the morning of the 20th we reached the second Dallas, or narrows, which are formed by a contraction of the channel of the river into a very small compass. There are high and slippery rocks on each side, which make it a work of great danger and difficulty to pass them. The baggage was all carried by the men, and the canoes were towed up with strong lines, after being in great danger of filling, from the frightful whirlpools close along the shore. The weather became much cooler from the proximity of the mountains. Several patches of snow were observable on the beach during the day, and towards evening some rain fell. From dawn of day until noon on the 21st, we did not make three miles, owing to the impetuosity of the current, the shelving banks, and the extreme weakness of our men, several of whom were knocked up. We were detained at one place upwards of four hours to repair our shattered canoes, and encamped about six o’clock on a low gravelly point. We had several smart showers during the afternoon. 22d. About two, P. M. arrived at a place called the Upper Dallas, where the river is again confined for a considerable distance between a line of high slippery rocks. Got about half way through this channel, and stopped for the night in a small nook formed by the rocks, on which we lay scattered and exposed to severe rain during the night. We rose wet and unrefreshed on the morning of the 23d, and in five hours passed the Dallas, the upper part of which consists of a chain of whirlpools, which compelled us to carry both canoes and baggage some distance over the rocks; in the execution of which duty, some of the men narrowly escaped with their lives. Those who carried our canoe, from mere exhaustion fell several times, by which it was much damaged; and we were detained until three, P. M. to get it repaired. Encamped at dusk on a sandy beach, for which we had been some time on the lookout. The rain continued during the evening and the night to pour down in torrents. Our progress on the 24th was equally slow. The various tributary streams which we passed on this and the last two days, and which take their rise from the surrounding mountains, had by the recent rains been swollen into torrents, the waters of which, as they rushed with headlong force into the Columbia, repeatedly drove us back with irresistible strength, and at times we were in danger of filling. On two occasions, where the opposite shore of the Columbia consisted of perpendicular rocks, we were obliged after various fruitless attempts to pass the minor streams, to unload and carry the canoes and baggage some distance along the banks until we reached a smooth space of current, when we crossed, and by that means surmounted the difficulties of their respective embouchures.—Adventures on Columbia River.

14 – This is an Iroquois word, said to signify the thunder of waters, and the word as still pronounced by the Senecas, is O-ni-áá-gáráh, being strongly accented on the third syllable, while the interjection O, is so feebly uttered, that, without a nice attention, it may escape notice.

15 – The grandeur of these rapids is worthy of the cataract in which they terminate. In the greater branch, the river comes foaming down with prodigious impetuosity, and presents a surface of agitated billows, dashing wildly through the rocks and islands. This scene of commotion continues till within about thirty yards of the Fall. There the great body of the stream resumes its tranquility, and in solemn grandeur descends into the cloudy and unfathomable abyss. Never was there a nobler prelude to a sublime catastrophe.—Colonel Hamilton.

16 – The Table Rock was a favorite point of view for many years, and the day preceding the night on which it fell with tremendous noise, a number of visitors had stood with careless security upon it.

17 – One of these, the Island of Yellow Sands, derives its chief interest from the traditions and fanciful tales which the Indians relate concerning its mineral treasures, and their supernatural guardians. They pretend that its shores are covered with a heavy shining yellow sand, which they would persuade us is gold, but that the guardian spirit of the island will not permit any of it to be carried away. To enforce his commands, he has drawn together upon it, myriads of eagles, hawks, and other birds of prey, who by their cries warn him of any intrusions upon the domain, and assist with their claws and beaks to expel the enemy. He has also called from the depths of the lake, large serpents of the most hideous forms, who lie thickly coiled upon the golden sands, and hiss defiance to the steps of the invader. A great many years ago, it is pretended, that some people of their nation were driven, by stress of weather, to take shelter upon the enchanted island, and being struck with the beautiful and glittering appearance of the treasure, they put a large quantity of it into their canoes, and attempted to carry it off, but a gigantic spirit strode into the water, and, in a voice of thunder, commanded them to bring it back. Terrified with his amazing size, and threatening aspect, they obeyed, and were afterwards suffered to depart without molestation, but they have never since attempted to land upon it. ‘Listen, white man—go not there, Unseen spirits stalk the air; Ravenous birds their influence lend, Snakes defy—and kites defend. There the star-eyed panther prowls, And the wolf in hunger howls; There the speckled adder breeds, And the famished eagle feeds; Spirits keep them—fiends incite, They are eager for the fight, And are thirsting night and day, On the human heart to prey; Touch not then the guarded lands Of the Isle of Yellow Sands.’ —Journal of Travels.

18 – Charlevoix observes, ‘when a storm is about to rise on Lake Superior, you are advertised of it two or three days previous. At first you perceive a gentle murmuring on the surface of the water, which lasts the whole day without increasing in any sensible manner; the day after, the lake is covered with pretty large waves, but without breaking all that day, so that you may proceed without fear, and even make good way, if the wind is favorable; but on the third day, when you are the least thinking of it, the lake becomes all on fire, the ocean in its greatest rage is not more tost, in which case you must take care to be near shelter, to save yourself. This you are always sure to find on the north shore, whereas on the south you are obliged to secure yourself the second day at a considerable distance from the water side.’ Although we are not prepared to corroborate this remark, yet something of the kind has this day been witnessed, for notwithstanding the prevalence of a calm during the whole day, with the exception of about two hours in the morning, when the wind was however light, the lake towards evening has been in a perfect rage, and we effected a landing with greater hazard than has yet been encountered. At the same time scarce a breath of air was stirring, and the atmosphere was beautifully clear.—Schoolcraft.

19 – There is reason to conclude, that a well conducted series of experiments will prove that there are no regular tides in the lakes, at least that they do not ebb and flow twice in twenty-four hours like those of the ocean; that the oscillary motion of the waters is not attributable to planetary attraction; that it is very variable as to the periods of its flux and reflux, depending upon the levels of the several lakes, their length, depth, direction and conformation—upon the prevalent winds and temperatures, and upon other extraneous causes, which are in some measure variable in their nature, and unsteady in their operations.—Schoolcraft.

20 – The mountains are all primitive: they form a double barrier, between which the lake, scarcely a mile wide, but occasionally expanded into a large bay, winds its way. They are steep and precipitous to the very water’s edge. They are still clothed with grand trees, and possessed by wild animals—deer, rattlesnakes and bears. They give, in some places, the most distinct and astonishing echoes, returning every flexion of the voice with the most faithful response. We saw them hung with the solemn drapery of thunder clouds, dashed by squalls of wind and rain, and soon after decorated with rainbows, whose arches did not surpass the mountain ridges, while they terminated in the lake, and attended our little skiff for many miles. The setting sun also gilded the mountains and the clouds that hovered over them, and the little islands, which in great numbers rise out of the lake, and present green patches of shrubbery and trees apparently springing from the water, and often resembling, by their minuteness and delicacy, the clumps of a park, or even the artificial groups of a green-house. Fine as is the scenery at the southern end of the lake, and in all the wider parts of it, within the compass of the first twelve miles from Fort George, its grandeur is very much augmented, after passing Tongue Mountain and entering the narrow part, where the mountains close in upon you on both sides, and present an endless diversity of grand and beautiful scenery. It is a pleasing reflection, that even after this part of the United States shall have become as populous as England or Holland, this lake will still retain the fine peculiarities of its scenery; for they are too bold, too wild, and too untractable, ever to be materially softened and spoiled by the hand of man. The deer are still hunted with success upon the borders of this lake. The hounds drive them from the recesses of the mountains, when they take refuge in the water, and the huntsmen, easily overtaking them in an element not their own, seize them by the horns, knock them on the head, and dragging their necks over the side of the boat, cut their throats. There is a celebrated mountain about fourteen miles from Ticonderoga called Buck Mountain, from the fact that a buck, pursued by the dogs, leaped from its summit, overhanging the lake in the form of a precipice, and was literally impaled alive upon a sharp pointed tree, which projected below.—Journal of Science.

21 – From Lake Maurepas, to Fort Bute, or Manshac, on the Mississippi, is sixty computed miles, following the course of the Amité; and Manshac is one hundred and one miles above New Orleans, by the windings of the Mississippi. From Manshac to the Amité there is a natural canal of twenty-one miles, navigable for vessels drawing four feet water, when the Mississippi is high; thence the Amité is navigable all the way to Maurepas and Pontchartrain Lakes, and thence in the sea. This natural canal, which is dry for ten months in the year, is very absurdly termed the river Ibberville, for in the dry months, the surface of the Mississippi is twenty-four feet lower than the bed of this natural canal. The river Amité itself, even from where the Ibberville joins in the inundations, is not navigable above four months annually, for the first ten miles; but three mile farther down, it has from two to six feet water; and all the remaining part of its course to Lake Maurepas, there is from two to four fathoms water.

22 – Every fact which tends to disclose that hidden operation of nature, by which the salt springs of the west are produced, is interesting to the geologist. I took a specimen of the rock, called water limestone, from a hill adjoining Nine-mile Creek, a few miles west of the Onondaga salt springs. If this specimen be pulverized and examined ever so minutely, it presents nothing to the senses resembling common salt (muriate of soda.) I do not mean that the elementary constituents cannot be found in it, but I do not propose here to have any reference to a chemical analysis of the rock. On exposing a fresh fracture of a specimen from this rock, for two or three weeks in a damp cellar, it shoots out crystals of common salt, sufficient to cover the whole surface. It may be proper to state, that I have made the trial only in very cold weather; during which time a fire was sometimes made in the cellar room. I do not know, however, that these circumstances had any influence on the result. This proves conclusively, that one rock at least, reposing over the floor of the salt springs, contains in itself the materials for the spontaneous manufacture of salt. I say the floor, because I have ascertained that all the salt springs along the canal route from Lenox to Montezuma, are supported on the same continuous rock. It has long been a prevailing theory, that a vast mine of salt exists in the vicinity of these springs, which is continually dissolving, and thus yields the supply of salt water. Much time and money has been spent without success, in boring to great depths, with expectation of discovering this mass of rock salt. But if such rocks as that of Nine-mile Creek be found of sufficient extent, the origin of the salt water of the west will find a more satisfactory solution. And there may be many kinds of rocks, beside the water limestone, which contain the elementary constituents of common salt.—Silliman’s Journal.

23 – The following letter, from the New York Journal of Commerce, bears date the 8th of August, 1833. ‘The number of visitors here at the present time is great beyond all former example, and far exceeds the limits of comfortable accommodations. Every house is full, and every thing which can answer the purposes of a bed, is occupied. Many are fain to secure a lodging in the railway cars. The number is estimated at three thousand, and embraces age and infancy, belles and matrons, invalids and dandies, from every quarter of the Union. The public houses are reaping a good harvest; they have already had a double season, and made ample amends for the dull business of the last year. Ballston is also crowded, contrary to the expectations of its inhabitants, who apprehended that the rail-road to Saratoga would not leave them a single visitor. The rail-road, for the whole route from Albany to Saratoga, has proved to be capital stock. More than five hundred persons are daily transported on the Saratoga and Schenectady rail-road. It is said, that in the last three days, the fifth, sixth, and seventh, seventeen hundred dollars were received from it. As the entire stock of the Company is but two hundred and seventy thousand dollars, it must yield, at this rate, an enormous dividend. The road is to be continued to Whitehall, crossing the Hudson at Sandy Hill, above the bridge. In anticipation of the great increase of company which the facilities of travelling will hereafter bring to the Saratoga fountains, extensive arrangements are making for accommodations of increased space and elegance. A large and splendid hotel is to be erected on the hill immediately south of Congress Springs, a fine situation, shaded with forest trees, through which extensive and beautiful walks are to be made. At the north end of the village, some handsome hotels are to be built. A number of pretty cottages are, it is also stated, to be erected in the vicinity, as summer residences, by some wealthy citizens of Albany and New York. We may well imagine, therefore, that some few years hence, the little village will present all the pomp, bustle and ostentation of a city; and then, I fear, it will cease to be, what it now is, a quiet and rural retreat. There is now, indeed, more of the ostentation of wealth and fashion, and more of city-like amusements and habits, than is consistent with the object of rural retirement and healthful recreation. Besides the balls, which take place twice a week, and extend to a late hour of the night, there is a theatre which is open almost every evening. All the itinerant showmen and minstrels also find their way hither. Those who are disposed to attend church, have occasional opportunities to hear some of our most celebrated divines from different parts of the Union.’

24 – There are from fifteen to twenty thousand pounds’ weight of wool annually produced on this island, the average quality of which is acknowledged to be superior for manufacturing purposes, to most of the native wool grown on the continent. We have no woollen factories, and but very small quantities of the staple article are wrought into fabrics by domestic labor. Consequently, says the Nantucket Inquirer, it may be an object for wool purchasers occasionally to look this way for a part of their supplies.

25 – The shores of Staten Island are finely indented, and sprinkled with the white, clean looking villas of this country. The island rises quickly to a considerable height, containing an area of about fifty-two square miles. The quarantine establishment and the adjoining village are pictures of cleanliness, all painted of a bright white. The houses, hotels, &c. generally disjoined, and many of them inclosed in small gardens. The whole buildings are situated on a bank gently rising from the shore, and overhanging a beautiful bay below, in which there were some large ships, as well as a few of the elegant sailing craft, with which the Bay of New-York is always adorned. Behind the village the ground becomes abrupt, to a point at which a building is erected called the Pavilion, expressly on account of the splendor of the view, the top of which is, I think, nearly two hundred and fifty feet above the sea, consisting of handsome saloons, with balconies, piazzas, &c. on all sides, and a look-out place from the summit, from which the prospect is most glorious. I have never been more delighted with any of the prospects of this description which have charmed me most, on the Frith of Forth, the Clyde, the Bay of Dublin, or in the Isle of Wight. I cannot help doubting whether there be a more magnificent prospect in the world. All the features which it contains are beautiful, and many of them splendid. Then the moving ships, pilot-boats, and small craft, never allow the view of the water to be for two moments the same. The view comprehends half a dozen friths, dividing, by marked headlands, tracts of well wooded and waving country; and it embraces not only the city of New-York, surrounded with a vast mass of shipping, but the city of New-Jersey, projected into the bay, quite as much as Burnt Island is into the Frith of Forth, as well as the village of Newark. The cities lie too low, but they serve to convince the beholder that he is in the heart of a densely peopled country. Peninsulas, promontories, islands, isthmuses, land, in a variety of shapes, lie before him, and beyond all, the boundless Atlantic. New-York, the magnificent Hudson, the Frith of Newark, and lands and hills of Jersey are on the north; Long Island and its Sound, the Narrows, and the Quarantine Ground, with the Atlantic on the east; and the coast of New-Jersey, Raritan Bay, Sandy Hook, and the Atlantic to the south; the whole forming a noble prospect in the heart of as rich looking a country as is in the world. I have hitherto seen nothing in this country to be compared to the prospect which I have endeavored to describe from the Pavilion at Staten Island. There are finer views of New York itself from the opposite shores of New-Jersey, on the one side, and from Brooklyn and the heights of Long Island, on the other; but Staten Island is unquestionably the place for seeing New York in combination with its noble harbor, and the surrounding seas and the shipping which adorn them. After I had once found my way under the guidance of my friends to the Pavilion, I frequently bent my steps to it when I had leisure, to spend an hour or two in the island, and never returned without being equally delighted with the scenery above the quarantine ground. Strange it is, but not less strange than true, that I have never observed in any of the published tours relative to the United States, the slightest reference made to the beauties of Staten Island, or to the prospect from the Pavilion. Captain Hall’s Travels were brought me while I was writing the notes of this excursion, but it does not appear from them that he had ever visited this island, though only five miles from New York, where he resided for a considerable period. At a subsequent period I procured at Philadelphia, Mr. Darby, the geographer’s, valuable view of the United States, and was glad to find that he recommended Staten Island as possessing the most variegated landscapes on the Atlantic coast of the United States. ‘No traveller ought (he writes) to neglect it. In a clear day, a single hour on some of the hills of Staten Island is worth a voyage of considerable extent. How many who visit New-York with all the means of gratification, and who travel for mere amusement, lose the invaluable pleasure of scanning the rich perspective from Staten Island. Thousands and tens of thousands.’—Stuart’s America.

26 – There are about one hundred and twenty-five islands of considerable size, and a multitude of small ones, in that part of the Mississippi between New Orleans and the junction of the Ohio. Wolf Island, about twenty-four miles below the confluence, is situate in a fine part of the river, where the banks are high and the current rapid. This island is about twenty miles in circumference, and contains fifteen thousand acres of good land, with a fine prairie in the centre. There are many beautiful scenes in passing the islands upon the river, which I saw to great advantage, it being full, and yet only in a few places overflowing its proper course; but natural beauties of this kind, where all that sort of variety of feature is wanting which depends upon the neighborhood of mountain and hill, and where nothing but the forest is to be seen, excepting, at considerable distances from each other, patches of cultivated ground, soon cease to be very interesting, and the river, the prodigious length of which, as well as its great volume of water, astonish the beholder for the first time, is the only object that on such a voyage as this continues powerfully to arrest the attention.—Stuart’s America.

27 – The Indian tradition concerning the name of this little barren island is curious. They say that Michapous, the chief of spirits, sojourned long in that neighborhood; and they believe that a mountain on the border of the lake was the place of his residence, which they still call by his name. It was here, say they, that he first instructed men to make nets for fishing, and where he has collected the greatest quantity of fish. On the island he left spirits named Imakinakos, and from these aerial possessors it has received the appellation of Michilimackinac.

28 – The whole cost of this work was estimated by the commissioners at two million two hundred and sixteen thousand eight hundred and seventy dollars. The amount hitherto expended is not far from one million dollars. Two or three years more will be required, in order to carry the work to its completion. When finished, according to the original plan, it will afford a harbor sufficiently capacious for the anchorage of upwards of sixty vessels. ‘The water surface will comprise an area of one mile square, having a depth at low water of from three to six fathoms, between the pitch of the cape and the western extremity of the ice-breaker. This place will be completely secured from all gales from the north-east and north-west, these being the only points of attack which there has been a necessity, in the plan of the work, to secure and fortify.’ There is but one breakwater in the world that can claim a comparison with it, viz. that at Plymouth, England, the length of which is about a mile. Its cost was upwards of one million rounds sterling, and the quantity of stone employed in its construction, about two million tons.

29 – Fort Monroe is already finished, and is at this moment in admirable condition, if its armament were completed. The Rip Raps, when finished, will be a monument worthy of the people who have lavished their means in its erection, and of the genius of the engineers by whom it was planned. The area of the structure, as originally staked off, includes five acres; great part of which was twenty-two feet below the surface of the sea, and that nearest the surface eighteen feet. To get a foundation above water for the fort, or castle, an island has been raised, by throwing rocks into the water, until, by gradual accumulation, it has emerged above the tides. The rock of which this island is formed, has been brought from great distances and at vast expense. After a foundation was obtained for the castle above high water, the building of the castle was begun, and carried up so as to form the first embrasures. It was found that the settling of the artificial mound of stone, cracked the walls. The building was, therefore, discontinued; but immense masses of granite have since been brought and lodged upon the line of the work, that the weight of the material, designed for its completion, might be employed in consolidating its foundations. For some years this marine pyramid sunk between six and eight inches; during the last year, although pressed with the weight of all the material gathered for the superstructure, it settled about three inches. It is stated that the erection of the castle may now proceed with safety, and that its immediate completion is contemplated by government.

30 – Washington Irving describes Hell Gate ‘to be as pacific at low water as any other stream. As the tide rises, it begins to fret; at half-tide it rages and roars, as if bellowing for more water; but when the tide is full, it relapses again into quiet, and for a time seems almost to sleep as soundly as an alderman after dinner. It may be compared to an inveterate hard drinker, who is a peaceable fellow enough when he has no liquor at all, or when he has his skin full: but when half-seas-over, plays the very devil.’ The borders of the sound, all about this strait, are broken and indented by rocky nooks, and the bay towards the city is so beautifully shaped, and the views on both sides so interesting, that the shores and neighborhood of the bay are adorned with a great number of handsome and expensive villas.

31 – Major Rennel considers the winds the principal cause of currents in the ocean, in which opinion he is supported by several eminent writers; but allowing to the wind great influence, still that influence is not sufficient to account satisfactorily for the various and contradictory facts which are recorded concerning these mighty streams.

32 – When the course of this stream is stated to be three thousand geographical miles, some idea may be formed of the force with which it issues through the strait of Florida; a force so great as to be destructive to the land in that quarter. On the north side of Delaware Bay, the encroachments of the sea average nine feet a year, from observations made between 1804 and 1820, and at Sullivan’s Island on the north side of the entrance to the harbor of Charleston, South Carolina, the sea carried away a quarter of a mile of land in three years; which destructive power arises from the narrowness of the strait, and the great volume of water that passes through it. As the narrowest part of the strait of Florida is thirty-six nautic miles in breadth, and the annual mean velocity about seventy-three miles per day, a surface of two thousand six hundred and twenty eight square miles of gulf water will be poured into the Atlantic every day, or about two-thirds of a square equatorial degree.

33 – Humboldt is of opinion that this weed is produced in large beds, at the bottom of the ocean, and that from these beds it is detached in a ripened state, and collects in large masses on that part of the Atlantic called the Sargasso, or Weedy Sea. Hans Sloane, in his history of Jamaica, quotes many authorities for the weed’s being found on the shores of the Cape Verd and Canary islands, as well as among those of the West Indies, and that it is carried to sea, by means of winds and currents. The opinion of Humboldt appears to account more satisfactorily for the accumulation of such vast masses than that of the historian of Jamaica.

34 – Magellan set sail from Europe in September, 1519, with five ships, with the intention by sailing west and south, and following a course never before attempted, to try to make the Molucca Islands at least, by an entirely new passage. Reaching first a southern part of the South American Continent, where he rested for the winter and refreshed his followers, he leisurely proceeded still southerly; and in the October following, first discovered the strait which now bears his name. Neither the dangerous currents of this tempestuous region, however, nor the unknown nautical terrors of the stormy Cape Horn, could damp the ardor of this bold adventurer; and having at length surmounted all the difficulties of the strait, and cleared the wild shores by which they were surrounded, Magellan and his discovery ships first emerged into the great South Sea. Sea-room, almost boundless, the great delight of the sailor, together with steady breezes and salubrious weather, carried these first adventurers on into this new region, with high hopes, and spirits dancing as the waves over which they rode. Finding that the stream of wind which so pleasingly wafted them into a warmer climate, followed the course of the sun and blew steadily in one direction, in that manner which in all similar cases has since been denominated trade-wind; and that, favored by this breeze, the trader and his companions proceeded on with an ease and rapidity beyond their most sanguine expectations, the sea and sky seemed to Magellan equally to be at peace with each other and with the hopeful mariner who had intrusted himself to both; and thinking this unexplored world of waters worthy to be called a Pacific Ocean, he gave it the name, which, however inappropriate, it will probably forever retain.

35 – ‘In the afternoon,’ says Mr. Stuart, ‘we hired a carriage to take us to Gennessee, that we might have an opportunity of seeing Mr. Wadsworth’s flats or meadows, which are thought the finest and most productive in this country; they consist of a great tract of low-lying land along the river side, covered with luxuriant herbage. The farm of Mr. Wadsworth is of great extent, about four thousand acres; but the beautiful tract of alluvial land does not exceed sixteen or seventeen hundred acres, of the most fertile soil that can be conceived. A few noble oaks, single trees, which are seldom met with here, adorn the fields. I measured one of them, which was twenty-eight feet in circumference.’

36 – Before quitting New Orleans, I made a trip to visit the Delta of the Mississippi, in one of the steamers employed in towing vessels to and from the mouth of the river. Though with three large vessels attached, our bark made good way under the co-operative influence of steam and stream. About seven miles below the city is the field of battle. It is a plain about half a mile in breadth, bounded by the Mississippi on one side, and the forest on the other. Below is a bend of the river, which, from what reason I know not, is called ‘the English Turn.’ Plantations continue at intervals for about forty miles, when cultivation entirely ceases. Below this, nature is to be seen only in her dreariest and most desolate aspect. At first, there are forests springing in rank luxuriance from swamps impassable even by the foot of the Indian hunter. But these soon pass, and nothing but interminable cane brakes are to be seen on either side. From the shrouds of the steam-boat, though the range of vision probably extended for many leagues, no other objects were discernible but the broad muddy river, with its vast masses of drift-wood, and the wilderness of gigantic bulrushes shaking in the wind. There are four passes or outlets by which the Mississippi discharges its mighty burden into the Gulf of Mexico. Two of these are navigable, but changes are ever taking place, and the passage formerly preferred by the pilots, is now rarely attempted even by vessels of the smallest class. On approaching the Gulf, verdure appears only at intervals, and the eye rests on tracts of mere mud, formed by the deposit of the river on the drift-wood which some obstacle has arrested in its passage to the ocean. It is by this process that land is formed, and it may be traced in every step of its progress, from the island resting on a few logs, up to the huge tract in whose bosom are imbedded many millions. Encountering no obstacle, the river sends out arms in every direction, which, after winding through the half-formed region in a thousand fantastic flexures, are again united to the main branches. It would be difficult to convey an idea by words, of the effect which this most dismal scene produces on the heart and imagination of the spectator. It seems as if the process of creation were incomplete, and the earth yet undivided from the waters, for he beholds only an intermediate mass which admits of being absolutely assigned to neither element. He feels that he has forsaken the regions of the habitable world. Above, beneath, around, there is nothing to excite his sympathies, and, probably, for the first time in his life, he becomes conscious of the full sublimity of desolation.—Hamilton’s America.

37 – It is fortunate that habit makes us so little observant of what is disagreeable or inconsistent in climate. Every nation thinks that to which it is accustomed, combines, on the whole, the greater number of advantages. Colonel Hamilton considers it preposterous to compare the climate of the United States with that of England; and Count Pecchio, an Italian exile, is much amused that the English should attempt to persuade themselves that they have a climate even endurable. We have placed the two following extracts in juxta-position, to exhibit the respective views of these intelligent travellers on the climate of the two counties: ‘When on the subject of climate, I may just mention, that there is no topic on which Americans are more jealously sensitive. It delights them to believe that theirs is, in all respects, a favored land; that between the St. Lawrence and Mississippi the sky is brighter, the breezes more salubrious, and the soil more fertile, than in any other region of the earth. There is no harm in all this; nay, it is laudable, if they would only not insist that all strangers should view the matter in the same light, and express admiration as rapturous as their own. ‘Judging from my own experience, I should certainly pronounce the climate of the northern and central states to be only one degree better than that of Nova Scotia, which struck me, when there in 1814, as being the very worst in the world. On making the American coast, we had four days of denser fog than I ever saw in London. After my arrival at New York in November, the weather, for about a week, was very fine. It then became cloudy and tempestuous, and, during the whole period of my residence at Boston, I scarcely saw the sun. At Philadelphia there came on a deluge of snow, by which the ground was covered from January till March. At Baltimore there was no improvement. Snow lay deep on the ground, during the whole period of my residence at Washington, and the roads were only passable with difficulty. On crossing the Alleghany Mountains, however, the weather became delightful, and continued so during the voyage to New Orleans. While I remained in that city, three days out of every four were oppressively close and sultry, and the atmosphere was damp and oppressive to breathe. ‘During my journey from Mobile to Charleston, though generally hotter than desirable, the weather was, in the main, bright and beautiful; but the very day of my arrival at the latter place, the thermometer fell twenty degrees; and in the thirty-third degree of latitude, in the month of May, the inmates of the hotel were crowding round a blazing fire. On my return to New York, I found the population still muffled in cloaks and great coats, and the weather bitterly cold. Not a vestive of spring was discernible, at a season when, in England, the whole country is covered with verdure. During the last week of May, however, the heat became very great. At Quebec, it was almost intolerable, the thermometer ranging daily between eighty-four and ninety-two degrees. At New York, in July, the weather was all that a salamander could desire; and I embarked for England, under a sun more burning than it is at all probable I shall ever suffer from again. ‘In the northern and central states—for of the climate of the southern states it is unnecessary to speak—the annual range of the thermometer exceeds a hundred degrees. The heat of summer is that of Jamaica; the cold in winter is that of Russia. Such enormous vicissitudes must necessarily impair the vigor of the human frame; and when we take into calculation the vast portion of the United States in which the atmosphere is contaminated by marshy exhalations, it will not be difficult, with the auxiliary influences of dram-drinking and tobacco-chewing, to account for the squalid and sickly aspect of the population. Among the peasantry, I never saw one florid and robust man, nor any one distinguished by that fulness and rotundity of muscle, which every where meets the eye in England. ‘In many parts of the state of New York, the appearance of the inhabitants was such as to excite compassion. In the Maremma of Tuscany, and the Campagna of Rome, I had seen beings similar, but scarcely more wretched. In the “fall,” as they call it, intermittent fevers come as regularly as the fruit season. During my journey, I made inquiries at many cottages, and found none of them had escaped the scourge. But inquiries were useless. The answer was generally too legible in the countenance of the withered mother, and in those of her emaciated offspring. ‘It seems ridiculous to compare such a climate with that of England, and yet there is nothing to which Americans are more addicted. It is a subject regularly tabled in every society. “How delightful our climate must appear to you,” observed a lady, “after the rain and fogs of your own country!”—“Whether, on the whole, do you prefer, our climate, or that of Italy?” inquired a gentleman of New York, in a tone of the most profound gravity. My answer, I fear, gave offence, for it became the signal for a general meteorological attack. “I was three months in England,” observed one, “and it rained every hour of the time.” ‘Though attached to the soil of my country, I had really no inclination to vindicate its atmosphere. I, therefore, simply replied, that the gentleman had been unfortunate in the period of his visit. But I was not suffered to escape thus. Another traveller declared he had been nine months there, without better luck; and as the nine months, added to the three, precisely made up the whole year, of course, I had nothing farther to say. ‘But this tone of triumph is not always tenable. During the days, weeks, and months, when the weather is manifestly indefensible, the Io Pœans give place to apologies. A traveller is entreated, nay, sometimes even implored, not to judge of the climate by the specimen he has seen of it. Before his arrival, the sky was cloudless, and the atmosphere serene. He has just come in the nick of bad weather. Never in the memory of the oldest inhabitant, was the snow so deep or permanent. Never was spring so tardy in its approach, and never were vicissitudes of temperature so sudden and frequent. In short, he is desired to believe that the ordinary course of nature is suspended on his approach; that his presence in an American city deranges the whole action of the elements.’—Men and Manners in America. Count Pecchio holds the mirror up to the English with an equally obstinate determination to expose the deformity of their climate; though not quite so libellous, he is equally amusing with the gallant colonel. ‘When on his first arrival in England, the foreigner is seated on the roof of a carriage which bears him towards London at the rate of eight miles an hour, he cannot help believing himself hurried along in the car of Pluto, to the descent into the realms of darkness, especially if he have just left Spain or Italy, the favorite regions of the sun. In the midst of wonder, he can hardly avoid, at first setting off, being struck with an impression of melancholy. An eternal cloud of smoke which involves and penetrates every thing; a fog, which during the months of November and December, now gray, now red, now of a dirty yellow, always obscures, and sometimes completely extinguishes the light of day, cannot fail to give a lugubrious and Dantesque air to this immeasurable and interminable capital. He, above all, who is just arrived from a sunny country, experiences, as I said before, the same effect as when, from the bright light of noon, he enters a half closed chamber; at the first glance he sees nothing, but afterwards, by little and little, he discerns the harp, the lady, the sofa, and the other agreeable objects in the apartment. Caracciolo, the ambassador to George the Third, was not in the wrong when he said, that the moon of Naples was warmer than the sun of London. In fact, for several days, the sun only appears in the midst of the darkness visible, like a great yellow spot. London is a “panorama of the sun,” in which he is often better seen than felt. On the 29th of November, 1826, there was an eclipse visible in England; the sky that day happened to be clear, but nobody took the least notice of the phenomenon, because the fog produces in one year more eclipses in England than there ever were, from other causes, perhaps, since the creation of the world. ‘One day I was strolling in Hyde Park, in company with a Peruvian: it was one of the fine days of London, but the sun was so obscured by the fog, that it had taken the form of a great globe of fire. “What do you think of the sun to-day?” said I to my companion. “I thought,” replied the adorer of the true sun, “that the end of the world was come! Was it not a singular caprice of fortune, that where there is the least light, the great Newton should have been born to analyze it?” It appears to me like the other singularity, that Alfieri, who analyzed liberty so well, should have been born in Italy, where they have less of it, perhaps, than any where else. After all, what of it? The English, by force of industry, have contrived to manufacture for themselves even a sun. Is it not indeed a sun—that gas, which, running under ground through all the island, illuminates the whole in a fiat lux? It is a sun, without twilight, and without sitting; that rises and disappears like a flash of lightning, and that too just when we want it. The gas illumination of London is so beautiful, that M. Sismondi had good reason to say, that, in London, in order to see, you must wait till night. The place of St. Antonio, at Cadiz, on a stormy summer’s evening—the noisy Strado Toledo of Naples, silvered by the moon—the Parisian Tivoli, blazing with fire-works;—none of them can sustain a comparison with the Regent-street of London, lighted by gas. Nor is this artificial sun an exclusive advantage of the capital; it shines every where with the impartiality of the great planet, illuminating alike the palace and the hovel. Whoever travels in England by night, in the country around Leeds, Nottingham, Derby or Manchester, imagines he sees, on every side, the enchanting palaces of the fairies, shining in the light of a thousand torches; but they are, in reality, no other than very large and very lofty manufactories of cotton, woollen, or linen. ‘But the English have another remedy for the scarcity of sun. They follow the example of poets and philosophers, who, when they are deficient in riches, take to praising poverty;—not being able to praise the sun, they sing the praises of the fireside, and the delights of winter. Ossian, (or rather Macpherson, the author of Ossian,) instead of the sun, apostrophises the moon. He takes pleasure in describing, as if they were delightful, the whistling of the winds, and the roaring of the torrents. He compares the locks of a youthful beauty to mist gilded by the sun. Instead of depicting a valley enamelled with flowers, he spurns so soft and effeminate an image, to paint the aspect of a frozen lake, and the shaking thistle on its banks. Cowper, in his poem of The Task, seems completely to enjoy himself in describing a winter’s evening, when the rain rattles down, the wind whistles, and the wagoner growls and grumbles on his way; whilst in doors, the fire burns, the newspaper arrives, the exhilarating tea glows on the table, and the family are all collected round the hearth. ‘Some poet, whose name I forget, (I think it is Byron,) even gives to darkness the epithet “lovely.” Thomson, the bard of the seasons, was a better poet than usual, when he sung of winter. He calls the horrors of winter “congenial horrors;” and after describing the mountains of snow, that, with the roar of thunder, dart from precipice to precipice, to the bottom of the Grison valleys, destroying and burying in the depth of night, shepherds and their flocks, huts and villages, single travellers and whole troops of marching soldiers, he imagines himself, with epicurean voluptuousness, in a solitary and well sheltered country-house, before a blazing fire, and lighted by splendid chandeliers, rending at his ease the finest works of the ancients. ‘Thus all the poets have conspired to make their countrymen in love with their cloudy heavens, and induce them to believe themselves fortunate that they are born in a delightful climate. And what matter is it that it is not true? Are not the tricks and illusions of the imagination as substantial as actual reality? Montesquieu said, “If the English are not free, at least they believe they are, which is much the same.” So we may say, if the English have not a fine climate, they believe they have, and that is as good. I was once praising to a young English lady, the pure, lofty, mother-of-pearl heavens of Madrid, of Naples, of Athens, of Smyrna. She replied, “I should be tired to death by such a perpetual sunshine; the variety and phantasmagoria of our cloud must surely be much more beautiful.”’—Observations of an Italian Exile.

38 – There were several severe thunder-storms while we were in the neighborhood of New-York, very different in their appearance from those which occur in Britain, but not attended with more accidents. One of them, in the middle of June, was, however, very tremendous; it occurred in the night, and the flashes of vivid lightning followed each other with so great rapidity, that the sky was altogether illuminated for a long period, and until a violent storm of wind, accompanied with a deluge of rain, came on. The roaring of the thunder never ceased during the continuance of the storm. Several casualties occurred in New York; some trees were torn up by the roots, the shipping was damaged, one vessel upset, and the crew drowned. There is more appearance of devastation occasioned by thunder-storms in the forests and woods of this country than any where else. Large portions of the forest are sometimes seen almost torn to pieces. Subsequently to this period, and when I was travelling in the southern states, I was again and again witness to very terrifying and magnificent thunder-storms, where I have seen the whole atmosphere illuminated by the never ceasing balls of fire bursting from cloud to cloud, and the appearance every moment of forked flashes of lightning. Few nights, during the summer and beginning of autumn, in this country, occur, in which lightning is not visible in some part of the horizon.—Stuart’s America.

39 – The following account of the climate in the neighborhood of Charleston, South Carolina, is extracted from a letter of the intelligent correspondent of the Portland Advertiser, dated March 29, 1833. ‘Vegetation is quite advanced, and rapidly advancing. The air this day was not so warm as it has been; but we had this morning copious showers with loud thunder and vivid lightning. The gardens in the vicinity of Charleston are now beautiful beyond description. All vegetation is in that lively hue, which charms the eye and delights the feelings. The trees that border the wayside are rapidly putting on their green covering. The open fields are verdant with the growing grass. Corn is up and advanced. The vegetables in the gardens are as forward as they will be in ours the first of July. The market is well stocked with the luxuries of an early summer. A southern spring is spring indeed. There are music and life in every thing. If they could have here our captivating and musing scenery, our variety of hill and dale, it would be at this season another paradise on earth. ‘Charleston is considered healthy by the inhabitants. They boast of their exemption from diseases, and say their bill of mortality is not so fatal as that of New York and Philadelphia. The city itself may be thus healthy when the yellow fever does not prevail, but it is as much as one’s life is worth to venture into the lowlands in the vicinity, in the country round. No resident of Charleston, even those born Carolinians, or the best acclimated, dare run the risk. For a citizen to sleep in the country in the summer months, is considered almost certain death, for the country fever, as it is termed, immediately seizes him. The country, this side of the middle region—a rolling country of South Carolina for about one hundred miles from the seacoast—is swampy, or a pine barren. There is in the swamps a mal-aria, very fatal to health, the effects of which no white man is willing to run the risk of encountering. Hence the planters in the lowlands, particularly such as live on the rice plantations, remove in the sickly months to the seacoast, or go back into the country, to Buncumbe county in North Carolina, near the Saluda Gap, or to the Virginia Springs, or to the seacoast, or to the northern states. The slaves on the rice plantations are said to be healthy and happy, and to suffer no affliction from the burning sun of August, or the noxious effluvia from the rice grounds. ‘A white overseer is usually left in care of the plantation and the negroes, who, though born in the country, often, and commonly, has a fever every year. I am told that many of them die at middle age, and that few seldom obtain an old age. If such be the fact, it would seem that negroes are necessary to cultivate the rice grounds, though it is with difficulty that I can come to the conclusion, that the white man, well acclimated, is not as well fitted by nature to cultivate the land he lives on as the negro. But the universal opinion is, that it is exceedingly hazardous for a planter to continue with his family on his estate, and hence, no matter what the expense, the estates are deserted from June to the first frost in autumn, and the planter dare not visit his property, nor sleep in his house in that time, though he may be on the seacoast but a few miles off, or in a settlement on a pine barren, which is considered healthy. The swampy rice grounds no doubt are sickly. The effluvia from so much putrid water must be noxious. The pallor and ghastliness of many of the overseers bear testimony to the truth of the general assertion. And it is probable, yea, certain, that the habits, the manners, the long practice of the negroes, have better fitted them to undergo the danger than the white man is or can be, with his training. Hence, one of the great arguments in favor of slavery here, is, “we cannot do without the negroes.”’

40 – The first notice of gold from North Carolina, on the record of the United States’ Mint, occurs in the year 1814, when it was received to the amount of eleven thousand dollars. In 1825 the amount received was seventeen thousand dollars; in 1826, twenty thousand, in 1828, nearly forty-six thousand, and in 1829, one hundred and twenty-eight thousand dollars. In the year 1830, gold to the value of four hundred and sixty-six thousand dollars was coined at the mint, received from the gold region of the southern states. Of this amount, two hundred and twelve thousand dollars were received from Georgia, a state which had not furnished even a specimen in any previous year. In the year 1831, the southern gold region furnished the mint with gold to the value of more than half a million; of this, two hundred and ninety-four thousand dollars were received from North Carolina, and one hundred and seventy-six thousand from Georgia. But a part of the gold obtained at these mines is received at the United States’ Mint; by far the larger part is sent to Europe, particularly to Paris. It is stated that the whole number of men employed in the mines of the southern states, is twenty thousand.

41 – The coal is conveyed to Mauch Chunk village, in wagons running upon the railway. Fourteen of them, containing each one ton and a half of coal, are connected by iron bars, admitting of a slight degree of motion between two contiguous wagons; a single man rides on one of the wagons, and, by a very simple contrivance, regulates their movement: a perpendicular lever causes a piece of wood to press against the circumference of each wheel on the same side of the car, acting both ways from the central point between them, so that, by increasing the pressure, the friction retards or stops the motion, and as all the levers are connected by a rope, they are made to act in concert. The traveller is much interested in seeing the successive groups of wagons moving rapidly in procession and without apparent cause; they are heard, at a considerable distance, as they come thundering along with their dark burdens, and give an impression of irresistible energy: at a suitable distance follows another train, and thus three hundred tons a day, and some days three hundred and forty tons, are regularly discharged into the boats as already described. At first, they descended at the rate of fifteen or twenty miles an hour, but they were obliged to reduce the speed, as it injured the machines, and, by agitating and wearing the coal, involved the driver in a cloud of black dust. The empty wagons are drawn back by mules; fourteen wagons to eight mules; twenty-eight mules draw up forty-two coal and seven mule wagons, and the arrangement is so made, that the ascending parties shall arrive in due season at the proper places for turning out. The same is true of the pleasure cars, which are allowed to use the rail-way; only they must not interfere with its proper business, and should they do it, it would be at their peril, as they might be crushed by the momentum of the descending wagons. When they happen to be caught out of their proper place, the drivers make all possible haste to remove them out of the rail-way track; but they carefully avoid these meetings, and they rarely happen, unless the cars go out of their proper time. The mules ride down the rail-way; they are furnished with provender placed in proper mangers, four of them being inclosed in one pen mounted on wheels; and seven of these cars are connected into one group, so that twenty-eight mules constitute the party, which, with their heads all directed down the mountain, and apparently surveying its fine landscapes, are seen moving rapidly down the inclined plane with a ludicrous gravity, which, when observed for the first time, proves too much for the severest muscles. They readily perform their duty of drawing up the empty cars, but having once experienced the comfort of riding down, they appear to regard it as a right, and neither mild nor severe measures, not even the sharpest whipping, can ever induce them to descend in any other way. The return of the traveller, in the pleasure cars, is so rapid that it is not easy entirely to suppress the apprehension of danger; we perform the eight miles from the summit in thirty-three minutes; should an axle-tree break—an accident which sometimes happens with the coal wagons—it would be impossible that the passengers should escape unhurt, especially in the turnings of the road, and in places where trees, rocks and precipices allow no safe place of landing. All danger would however be avoided by checking the motion, so that it should not exceed eight or ten miles an hour, and this is easily done in the same way as that practised in the coal wagons. Happily, no accident has yet occurred. It would be prudent, at least, to require the manager to check the motion of the car at the steepest places; but these are the very situations where he chooses to make a display of cracking his whip and cheering his wheels, instead of his horses, and the increased impulse, given by gravity, as he relaxes the pressure of the lever, when the car springs forward like spirited horses at the word of their master makes the illusion almost complete.—Silliman’s Journal.

42 – Cougar Hunt. The hunters made their appearance, one fine morning, at the door of the cabin, just as the sun was emerging from beneath the horizon. They were five in number, and fully equipped for the chase, being mounted on horses, which in some parts of Europe might appear sorry nags, but which in strength, speed and bottom, are better fitted for pursuing a cougar, or a bear, through woods and morasses than any in that country. A pack of large ugly curs were already engaged in making acquaintance with those of the squatter. He and myself mounted his two best horses, whilst his sons were bestriding others of inferior quality. Few words were uttered by the party until we had reached the edge of the swamp, where it was agreed that all should disperse and seek for the fresh track of the painter, it being previously settled that the discoverer should blow his horn, and remain on the spot until the rest should join him. In less than an hour, the sound of the horn was clearly heard, and, sticking close to the squatter, off we went through the thick woods, guided only by the now and then repeated call of the distant huntsman. We soon reached the spot, and in a short time the rest of the party came up. The best dog was sent forward to track the cougar, and in a few moments the whole pack were observed diligently trailing, and bearing in their course for the interior of the swamp. The rifles were immediately put in trim, and the party followed the dogs, at separate distances, but in sight of each other, determined to shoot at no other game than the panther. The dogs soon began to mouth, and suddenly quickened their pace. My companion concluded that the beast was on the ground, and putting our horses to a gentle gallop, we followed the curs, guided by their voices. The noise of the dogs increased, when all of a sudden their mode of barking became altered, and the squatter, urging me to push on, told me that the beast was treed, by which he meant that it had got upon some low branch of a large tree to rest for a few moments, and that should we not succeed in shooting him when thus situated, we might expect a long chase of it. As we approached the spot, we all by degrees united into a body, but on seeing the dogs at the foot of a large tree, separated again and galloped off to surround it. Each hunter now moved with caution, holding his gun ready, and allowing the bridle to dangle on the neck of his horse, as it advanced slowly towards the dogs. A shot from one of the party was heard, on which the cougar was seen to leap to the ground, and bound off with such velocity as to show that he was very unwilling to stand our fire longer. The dogs set off in pursuit with great eagerness and a deafening cry. The hunter who had fired came up and said that his ball had hit the monster, and had probably broken one of his fore legs near the shoulder, the only place at which he could aim. A slight trail of blood was discovered on the ground, but the curs proceeded at such a rate that we merely noticed this, and put spurs to our horses, which galloped on towards the centre of the swamp. One bayou was crossed, then another still larger and more muddy; but the dogs were brushing forward, and as the horses began to pant at a furious rate, we judged it expedient to leave them and advance on foot. These determined hunters knew that the cougar being wounded, would shortly ascend another tree, where in all probability he would remain for a considerable time, and that it would be easy to follow the track of the dogs. We dismounted, took off the saddles and bridles, set the bells attached to the horses’ necks at liberty to jingle, hoppled the animals, and left them to shift for themselves. Now, reader, follow the group marching through the swamp, crossing muddy pools, and making the best of their way over fallen trees and amongst the tangled rushes that now and then covered acres of ground. If you are a hunter yourself, all this will appear nothing to you; but if crowded assemblies of ‘beauty and fashion,’ or the quiet enjoyment of your ‘pleasure-grounds,’ alone delight you, I must mend my pen before I attempt to give you an idea of the pleasure felt on such an expedition. After marching for a couple of hours, we again heard the dogs. Each of us again pressed forward, elated at the thought of terminating the career of the cougar. Some of the dogs were heard whining, although the greater number barked vehemently. We felt assured that the cougar was treed, and that he would rest for some time to recover from his fatigue. As we came up to the dogs, we discovered the ferocious animal lying across a large branch, close to the trunk of a cotton-wood tree. His brood breast lay towards us; his eyes were at one time bent on us and again on the dogs beneath and around him; one of his fore legs hung loosely by his side, and he lay crouched, with his ears lowered close to his head, as if he thought he might remain undiscovered. Three balls were fired at him, at a given signal, on which he sprang a few feet from the branch, and tumbled headlong to the ground. Attacked on all sides by the enraged curs, the infuriated cougar fought with desperate valor; but the squatter advancing in front of the party, and almost in the midst of the dogs, shot him immediately behind and beneath the left shoulder. The cougar writhed for a moment in agony, and in another lay dead.—Audubon.

43 – Godman.

44 – The prairie wolves are much smaller than those which inhabit the woods. They generally travel together in numbers, and a solitary one is seldom met with. Two or three of us have often pursued from fifty to one hundred, driving them before us as quickly as our horses could charge. Their skins are of no value, and we do not therefore waste much powder and ball in shooting them. The Indians, who are obliged to pay dear for their ammunition, are equally careful not to throw it away on objects that bring no remunerating value. The natural consequence is, that the wolves are allowed to multiply; and some parts of the country are completely overrun by them. The Indians catch numbers of them in traps, which they set in the vicinity of those places where their tame horses are sent to graze. The traps are merely excavations covered over with slight switches and hay, and bated with meat, &c., into which the wolves fall, and being unable to extricate themselves, they perish by famine, or the knife of the Indian. These destructive animals annually destroy numbers of horses; particularly during the winter season, when the latter get entangled in the snow; in which situation they become an easy prey to their lightfooted pursuers, ten or fifteen of which will often fasten on one animal, and with their long fangs in a few minutes separate the head from the body. If, however, the horses are not prevented from using their legs, they sometimes punish the enemy severely; as an instance of this, I saw one morning the bodies of two of our horses which had been killed the night before, and around were lying eight dead and maimed wolves; some with their brains scattered about, and others with their limbs and ribs broken by the hoofs of the furious animals in their vain attempts to escape from their sanguinary assailants. While I was at Spokan, I went occasionally to the horse prairie, which is nearly surrounded by partially wooded hills, for the purpose of watching the manœuvres of the wolves in their combined attacks. The first announcement of their approach was a few shrill currish barks at intervals, like the outpost firing of skirmishing parties. These were answered by similar barking from an opposite direction, until the sounds gradually approximated, and, at length, ceased on the junction of the different parties. We prepared our guns, and concealed ourselves behind a thick cover. In the mean time, the horses, sensible of the approaching danger, began to paw the ground, snort, toss up their heads, look wildly about them, and exhibit all the symptoms of fear. One or two stallions took the lead, and appeared to wait with a degree of comparative composure for the appearance of the enemy. The allies, at length, entered the field in a semicircular form, with their flanks extended for the evident purpose of surrounding their prey. They were between two and three hundred strong. The horses, on observing their movement, knew from experience its object, and dreading to encounter so numerous a force, instantly turned round, and galloped off in a contrary direction. Their flight was the signal for the wolves to advance; and immediately uttering a simultaneous yell, they charged after the fugitives, still preserving their crescent form. Two or three of the horses, which were not in the best condition, were quickly overtaken by the advance guard of the enemy. The former, finding themselves unable to keep up with the band, commenced kicking at their pursuers, several of which received some severe blows; but these being reinforced by others, they would have shortly despatched the horses, had we not, just in time, emerged from our place of concealment, and discharged a volley at the enemy’s centre, by which a few were brought down. The whole battalion instantly wheeled about, and fled towards the hills in the utmost disorder; while the horses, on hearing the fire, changed their course, and galloped up to us. Our appearance saved several of them from the fangs of their foes; and by their neighing they seemed to express their joy and gratitude at our timely interference. Although the wolves of North America are the most daring of all the beasts of prey on that continent, they are by no means so courageous or ferocious as those of Europe, particularly in Spain or the south of France, in which countries they commit dreadful ravages both on man and beast, whereas an American wolf, except forced by desperation, will seldom or never attack a human being; a remarkable instance of which is mentioned in the detail of my wanderings, in the eighth chapter. The lynxes are by no means so numerous as the wolves, but they are equally destructive, and individually more daring. They generally travel alone, or in couples, and seldom fly, as the wolves do, on the first approach of man. The largest American lynx does not exceed in size an English mastiff.—Ross Cox.

45 – A very young whelp of this fox was, some time ago, brought to the Philadelphia Museum in company with its foster mother, a common cat, which had adopted and appeared to be very fond of it. She continued to nurse the little fox for several weeks, expressing much affectionate solicitude when he wandered from her, notwithstanding the frequent ungrateful bites inflicted by her vicious foundling. How long this singular relation might have continued, or to what result it would have led, is unknown. The fox strayed too far from his cautions nurse, fell from the platform of a tall staircase to the ground, and was killed; the poor cat evinced as much sorrow for her loss as if it had been really her own offspring.

46 – For a very full, minute, and interesting account of the beaver, we refer our readers to the second volume of Godman’s Natural History.

47 – Flying squirrels are said to be found in the north of Europe, but they are very scarce.

48 – Nuttall.

49 – The figure of this noble bird is well known throughout the civilized world, emblazoned as it is on our national standard, which waves in the breeze of every clime, bearing to distant lands the remembrance of a great people living in a state of peaceful freedom. May that peaceful freedom last forever! The great strength, daring, and cool courage of the white-headed eagle, joined to his unequalled power of flight, render him highly conspicuous among his brethren. To these qualities did he add a generous disposition towards others, he might be looked up to as a model of nobility. The ferocious, overbearing, and tyrannical temper which is ever and anon displaying itself in his actions, is, nevertheless, best adapted to his state, and was wisely given him by the Creator to enable him to perform the office assigned to him. To give you some idea of the nature of this bird, permit me to place you on the Mississippi, on which you may float gently along, while approaching winter brings millions of water-fowl on whistling wings, from the countries of the north, to seek a milder climate in which to sojourn for a season. The eagle is seen perched, in an erect attitude, on the highest summit of the tallest tree by the margin of the broad stream, his glistening but stern eye looks over the vast expanse. He listens attentively to every sound that comes to his quick ear from afar, glancing now and then on the earth beneath, lest even the light tread of the fawn may pass unheard. His mate is perched on the opposite side, and should all be tranquil and silent, warns him by a cry to continue patient. At this well-known call, the male partly opens his broad wings, inclines his body a little downwards, and answers to her voice in tones not unlike the laugh of a maniac. The next moment, he resumes his erect attitude, and again all around is silent. Ducks of many species, the teal, the wigeon, the mallard and others, are seen passing with great rapidity, and following the course of the current; but the eagle heeds them not: they are at that time beneath his attention. The next moment, however, the wild trumpet-like sound of a yet distant but approaching swan is heard. A shriek from the female eagle comes across the stream,—for she is as fully on the alert as her mate. The latter suddenly shakes the whole of his body, and with a few touches of his bill, aided by the action of his cuticular muscles, arranges his plumage in an instant. The snow-white bird is now in sight: her long neck is stretched forward, her eye is on the watch, vigilant as that of her enemy; her large wings seem with difficulty to support the weight of her body, although they flap incessantly. So irksome do her exertions seem, that her very legs are spread beneath her tail, to aid her in her flight. She approaches, however. The eagle has marked her for his prey. As the swan is passing the dreaded pair, the male bird, in full preparation for the chase, starts from his perch with an awful scream, that to the swan’s ear brings more terror than the report of the large duck-gun. Now is the moment to witness the display of the eagle’s powers. He glides through the air like a falling star, and, like a flash of lightning, comes upon the timorous quarry, which now, in agony and despair, seeks, by various manœuvres, to elude the grasp of his cruel talons. It mounts, doubles, and willingly would plunge into the stream, were it not prevented by the eagle, which, long possessed of the knowledge that by such a stratagem the swan might escape him, forces it to remain in the air by attempting to strike it with his talons from beneath. The hope of escape is soon given up by the swan. It has already become much weakened, and its strength fails at the sight of the courage and swiftness of its antagonist. Its last gasp is about to escape, when the ferocious eagle strikes with his talons the under side of its wing, and with unresisted power forces the bird to fall in a slanting direction upon the nearest shore. It is then, reader, that you may see the cruel spirit of this dreaded enemy of the feathered race, whilst, exulting over his prey, he for the first time breathes at ease. He presses down his powerful feet, and drives his sharp claws deeper than ever into the heart of the dying swan. He shrieks with delight, as he feels the last convulsions of his prey, which has now sunk under his unceasing efforts to render death as painfully felt as it can possibly be. The female has watched every movement of her mate; and if she did not assist him in capturing the swan, it was not from want of will, but merely that she felt full assurance that the power and courage of her lord were quite sufficient for the deed. She now sails to the spot where he eagerly awaits her, and when she has arrived, they together turn the breast of the luckless swan upwards, and gorge themselves with gore.—Audubon.

50 – Bonaparte

51 – When the female is disposed to lay, she appears restless and dejected, and separates from the unregarding flock. Stealing through the woods and thickets, she pries into the bushes and brambles for the nest that suits her, into which she darts, in the absence of its owner, and in a few minutes is seen to rise on the wing, cheerful and relieved from the anxiety that oppressed her, and proceeds back to the flock she had so reluctantly forsaken. If the egg be deposited in the nest alone, it is uniformly forsaken; but if the nursing parent have any of her own, she immediately begins to sit. The red-eyed flycatcher, in whose beautiful basket-like nests I have observed these eggs, proves a very affectionate and assiduous nurse to the uncouth foundling. In one of these I found an egg of each bird, and the hen already sitting. I took her own egg and left the strange one; she soon returned, and, as if sensible of what had happened, looked with steadfast attention, and shifted the egg about, then sate upon it, but soon moved off, again renewed her observation, and it was a considerable time before she seemed willing to take her seat; but at length I left her on the nest. Two or three days after, I found that she had relinquished her attention to the strange egg, and forsaken the premises. Another of these birds, however, forsook the nest, on taking out the cow-bird’s egg, although she had still two of her own left. The only example, perhaps, to the contrary of deserting the nest when solely occupied by the stray egg, is in the blue-bird, who, attached strongly to the breeding places, in which it often continues for several years, has been known to lay, though with apparent reluctance, after the deposition of the cow-bird’s egg. My friend, Mr. C. Pickering, found two nests of the blue-eyed yellow warbler, in which had been deposited an egg of the cow-bird previously to any of their own; and unable to eject it, they had buried it in the bottom of the nest, and built over it an additional story! I also saw, in the summer of 1830, a similar circumstance with the same bird, in which the cow-bird’s egg, though incarcerated, was still visible on the upper edge, but could never have been hatched. At times, I think it probable, that they lay in the nests of larger birds, who throw out the egg, or that they drop their eggs on the ground without obtaining a deposit, as I have found an egg of this kind thus exposed and broken. I have also remarked sometimes two of these eggs in the same nest; but in this case one of them commonly proves abortive.—Nuttall.