Chapter VIII (2)

Up to the year 1820, very little was known, even by report, of this interesting and romantic region. The scanty notices of it in the colonial writers were of the most vague and unsatisfactory character. The tale of the massacre of the garrison of Michilimackinac, and of a far off region in which Pontiac exerted his power, had been occasionally heard. But as these events were to be found only in the works of the early French writers, few took the trouble to examine them. Still fewer knew aught of its topography and natural resources, or of the interesting communities of men, women and children, to whom it was "a home and a country" long before Columbus reached St. Salvador. In the year referred to, the gentleman who at present fills the chair of the War Department conducted an exploratory expedition through the region. Its capacities for military occupation, and the character and disposition of its native population and mineral topography, constituted the principal objects of attention. But no one who was a member of that expedition, could remain an indifferent spectator of the striking scenery, and the varied forms of thrilling interest which it threw before the eye. It may be regretted that Mr. Cass himself has given so little of his attention to descriptions of these rife scenes. His graphic notice of the "Pictured Rocks," and his historical illustrations of ancient Indian institutions, will be remembered by the reader.

We have merely adverted to this era, to notice the apathy which has succeeded. The "far West" and the sunny "South," have engaged the pens of genius. But much of the area to which we have called attention, remains, as to its description, _a terra incognita_. We have given most of the time we have ourselves spent in its solitudes, to the consideration of its phenomena, as mere physical facts, and to the history and language of its native inhabitants. But aside from these objects, we think it a rich field for the future tourist. We anticipate the time, as not far distant, when it will not only attract frequent visits from the literary and scientific, but from all classes who possess the means of enjoying out door health and intellectual pleasure.

We submit the following letters, embracing sketches of some prominent portions of the scenery of this lake, as a sequel to these remarks. They are from the pen of a young man who accompanied the writer of this notice on a tour through that lake in 1831. His mind {168} was much engrossed with the beauty and grandeur of the scenes he daily witnessed, and he wrote these unpretending letters, at snatches of time, by the way. Soon after his return from this tour, he visited one of our Atlantic cities, where he suddenly sickened and died. This circumstance is mentioned, as the motive for retaining the name of the individual, which is associated with recollections of modest worth and ingenuous sensibility.

I.

Granite Point, Lake Superior, July 3, 1831.

_Esteemed Friend_,--While looking over the life of Dr. Payson, at your house, I was pleased with a remark of his, in which he says "that a formal letter to a friend, is like 'Madam, I hope I have the pleasure to see you in good health,' addressed by a son to his mother, after a year's absence." These may not be the exact words, but they convey the sentiment. Had I the disposition to write to you such a letter, the circumstances of my situation would most effectually preclude its gratification.

One week has now elapsed since we were climbing the rugged sides of the Iroquois mountain, and together gazing upon the peaceful lake whose waters reposed in quietness at its base. During that week you may well imagine that scenes have passed before me, as diverse and varied in interest and excitement as the vicissitudes of human life. We have glided over the limpid waters of the Superior, when its broad surface lay stretched out before us with all the placidity of a polished mirror, and anon our slender barks have been tossed like a feather upon the rushing billows. We have rambled along the sandy beach, or the gravelled shore, or bounded from rock to rock in search of new objects of attraction. We have ascended the sliding sands of the Grande Sable, viewed with admiration and awe the variegated walls of the Pictured Rocks, passed under the Doric arches, and scaled its summit, and last but not least, climbed a weary way up the mountain of the Breast. But I shall not be thanked for filling up my sheet with such general observations.

Very little of interest is to be found upon the coast from Point Iroquois to the Grande Marais. Nothing but a continuous sandy beach meets the eye, which at length becomes tedious in the extreme. At the Grande Marais, however, the scene changes. Here the lofty mountains of Sable commence, which in themselves are sufficient to occupy the mind until new wonders are presented. Mr. Johnston and myself, accompanied by two of the Indian lads, ascended them near the beginning of the range. Upon arriving at the summit, the prospect was at once impressive and sublime. Behind us was the Superior, bounded but by the horizon,--before us a gigantic amphitheatre, whose walls on either side rose into the magnitude of mountains. We descended into the area, and it was one in which the Olympian combatants would have delighted to wage their contests for a false and short-lived fame. It was early when we embarked, and being invigorated by the night's repose, we felt inclined, despite fatigue, to make a survey of all that might prove interesting. Passing on, we found that the winds had disposed of the sand alternately in hills and valleys. Nothing but an arid waste met the eye, except when here and there a hardy plant had reared its head above the yellow surface, or a little islet _oasis_ of green was observed on a hillock's side, struggling with surrounding desolation. Being informed that a small lake lay beyond the Grande Sable, we immediately resolved upon paying it a visit. The distance we had to traverse was about a mile; and as we wound our way along, I involuntarily drew the comparison between the journey of life and our morning's excursion. How true is it that the great portion of our existence in this world, is filled up with events that but leave the soul in bitterness, while at times some bright flower, some sunny spot will appear, to which memory can recur with pleasure, and draw new hopes for the future. How miserable the condition of those whose ideas of happiness are bounded by present enjoyment; to them, futurity appears a something gloomy and undefinable, the very thoughts of which are unwelcome. But the Christian can look into a world beyond the grave, and the vista, like the green forest around this miniature Zahara, is pleasant to the sight. And even here, although his course may be over a desert, yet every bud of promise, every opening flower, serve but as a source of new excitement, and from them he gathers strength to press his onward march amid the many thorns that beset his path. But ere I had concluded moralizing,--upon gaining the top of a sand hill, a scene opened to the view, of the most romantic beauty. Unconsciously I stopped, lest I should too soon rush upon a prospect of such quiet loveliness. We had passed over a desert whose only attraction consisted in the novelty of its character and the majesty of its outline, but the repetition of its barrenness began to pall upon the sight, and oppress the mind with a sensation of weariness, when instantly the entire scene was changed. Instead of sterile heights, every thing bloomed in the vigor and freshness of vegetation. The forest resounded with "the sweet notes of the summer birds," and as the eye sought for the merry warblers, it caught a glimpse of the blue water as its ripples sparkled in the morning sun. My hesitation was but for a moment,--and bounding down the precipitous sand hills, the isolated lake, that seemed to exult in its wild solitude, with its richly diversified and picturesque enclosures, was spread before me. O, it was a scene that the poet and the painter would love to dwell upon. Cold must be the heart, ungrateful the affections of that being, who, blessed with intelligence, can behold the fairest of Nature's works, and not adore the God of Nature. My fancy might have been highly wrought,--but it all appeared more like a pleasant dream that fills the mind, when slumber steals over the senses as we are thinking upon absent friends, and the haunts of happy hours.

The lake itself is about nine miles in circumference, and in general form, as near as a comparison can be made, resembles a heart. The shores are deeply indented and irregular, now projecting into the water in small semi-circular promontories, and again retiring, as if half afraid of the embraces of the limpid element. On the south and west, as far as the eye can reach, the land rises into mountainous elevations; on the north, stand the lofty sand banks, affording a fine contrast with the fertility around, while on the east, it is bounded by lower grounds, that in one instance descend to a beautiful grassy lawn. The water appears to be very deep, and as we sent a shout over its surface we were answered by a startled water fowl, that seldom, very seldom, hears the sound of a human voice in its wild {169} retreat. Every thing seemed to conspire to render this one of the most enchanting spots in nature, and it was with regret that we turned to regain our canoe.

Such is lake _Leelinau_; and while the breeze that moved over its waters sent its waves to my feet, I thought of the friend after whom I named it, and from my heart wished that her life might be as calm and joyous as the bright prospect before me. By that name it _shall_ be known; and if this faint description of the beauties it unfolds, will serve to beguile a passing moment, a double object will have been achieved.

As we hurried along on our return, George pointed out to me the fairy tracks that occasionally are seen on these hills. They were, in fact, exact representations of the print of the human foot, and about the size of your Chinese lady's. But alas! how unpoetical! we were forced to come to the conclusion that our fairy was nothing more than a _porcupine_. Although the 30th of June, we stopped at a _snow bank_, and after indulging for a moment in a winter's sport, filled one of our Indian's hats with specimens for Mr. S. We travelled over nearly four miles of these sandy mountains. Their summit, near the lake, is covered with pebbles, among which I found several carnelians.

It was nearly _six_ o'clock when we descended to our canoes; and the thought crossed my mind, that _probably_ our friends at St. Mary's were beginning to shake the poppies from their eyes, and seriously think of taking a peep at the sunny sky. At eight we landed to breakfast, and need I tell you that _consumption_ presided at the board--not the arch fiend with the bright though sunken eye, the hectic cough, and the delicate but death-boding tint, but a consumption that caused the solid viands before us to disappear with a marvellous quickness.

But to ensure the perusal of any future production, I must tax your patience no farther now. Suffice it to say that the farther I advance the better am I pleased with the tour I have undertaken. Let the issue be what it may, the commencement has introduced to me a friend, whom I shall _never_ forget. May the blessing of the Christian's God attend you.

MELANCTHON L. WOOLSEY.

To ---- ----.

II.

Lake Superior, July 5, 1831.

It was my intention to have had a letter for you in readiness to send by Mr. Aikin, but we met him sooner than we expected, and I was obliged to postpone the fulfilment of my promise until the Indian boys returned.

In my letter to Mrs. S., I conducted her as far as Lake Leelinau. Supposing that an account of our further progress would be as acceptable as any thing I can write, I will give you an invitation to a seat in our canoe, as we depart for the Pictured Rocks. These you have often heard described, and nothing can be added by my poor pen to what has already been said about them. They were all, and more than an excited imagination had conceived them to be. As we approach them the mind is struck with awe at their lofty battlements, and in comparison the most stupendous of the works of art sink into insignificance. Near their commencement a beautiful cascade comes tumbling down the rocks, and finally makes a leap of about thirty feet into the waters below. Passing on from this, we soon come to a most singular arrangement of rocks and arches, and the first thought that strikes the mind is, to ascend and give them an examination. It is the work but of a moment, for the eye is unsatisfied until it has drunk in all the wonders before it. Our first resting place was under the main arch, from which we had a bird's-eye view of the world of woods, and waters, and rocks, by which we were surrounded. While here, Mr. Clary with his barge came along, and jumping upon the rocks, he soon made one of our party, when we commenced a minute examination of the celebrated Doric Rock. The principal arch, under which we were, is about twenty feet in height; and while standing under its crumbling walls, our sensations were not lessened by the idea that in an instant it might be said of us, _we had been_. At our left, and in the centre of one of the large pillars another arch is formed,--upon entering this we still find one more at our right, and which commands a view of the lake. Between the two stands a pillar of stone, near four feet in height, entirely detached at the sides, and composed of thin plates of sand rock. As we go out from these, for the purpose of ascending the roof, a large urn of nature's own design and workmanship, appears before us. It might be a fit depository for the ashes of some of those mighty men, who before the children "with a white, white face," overran their country, strode through these forests, or in their light canoes bounded over these vast waters--but alas, their graves and those of their fathers are mingling with the common dust! Near this urn are the remains of an Indian's fire, which he had lighted at the close of his fast, when propitiating his Manito--a place well calculated to foster the wildness of superstition, and which to a mind more enlightened than that of the poor wanderer of the wilderness, would not be deficient in suggestions of mystery. Who can wonder that the untaught natives of a region like this, should make to themselves a Deity in the rushing stream or the beetling cliff? They act from the impulse of nature, and well will it be for those who enjoy every advantage that civilization and Christianity can bestow, if when weighed in the balance, even with the pagan Indian, they are not found wanting. We were soon at the top of the Doric Rock, and from its dizzy height the prospect was such as to preclude all attempt at delineation, at least by language. Your brother expressed his emotion as well as it was in the power of any mortal to do. Clapping his hands together, and putting a peculiar emphasis upon the last syllable, he exclaimed "Oh! _Oh!_" Nothing more could be said. But while enjoying the grandeur of the scene, I wished that M. was at my side, for my pleasure would have been increased tenfold by sharing it with her. The summit of the arch is itself a curiosity. It does not appear to be more than three feet in thickness, and yet it supports and nourishes several lofty pine trees, whose weight alone I should think would crush it to atoms. The root of one of them winds around the outer edge of the rock, as if to support the source of its existence. But we had not long to indulge our admiration, for our table was spread under the shade of one of these immense rocks, and all the sublimity around us could not satisfy the imperious demands of appetite; so after regaling ourselves on some of the dainties furnished by our excellent friends at the Sault, we departed to behold new wonders, and utter repeated exclamations of _Oh! Oh!_ Turning a point of the rocks, {170} we came in view of those natural excavations that have excited so much astonishment. It was our intention to pass through one of them, but the entrance was blocked up by the falling of an arch, the ruins of which were scattered around. We were obliged to content ourselves with an outside view; but this surpassed every thing of the kind I had before seen. We were in a bay formed by a semi-circle in the rocks. Above us the cliff, at the height of upwards of a hundred feet, projected far beyond our canoes, and formed a canopy of the most terrific description. We could not behold it without a shudder of awe. Upon leaving it we discharged our gun, and the reverberations were almost deafening. The sound rolled through these vast ramparts, and seemed to shake them to their foundations. It was like the groaning of an imprisoned spirit in its struggle to be free. At every stage of our progress we had new cause for amazement; and when we left them it was with the impression that we "ne'er should look upon their like again." Our encampment was at Grand Island. The next day we reached the _Riviere des Moines_,--here we pitched our tents, and immediately commenced a search for some of the precious minerals. The locality proved so interesting that it was determined we should devote a day or two to its examination. For the first time we were compelled to resort to our musquito bars, and it afforded me infinite amusement upon waking in the morning, to see about fifty of these insects puzzling their brains to discover the meaning of certain initials that seemed to attract their attention. This day we removed our encampment four miles. In so doing we passed a rocky mountain, that filled us instantly with a desire to ascend to its summit. This was resolved on, and at five in the afternoon we procured an Indian guide, and were soon clinging to the roots and branches that overhung its precipitous sides, as we scrambled up the ascent. We were amply repaid for our fatigue, by the prospect from its peak. Immediately before us was a beautiful bay, studded with numerous islands, some of which were crowned with verdure, while others were immense masses of rock. The bay was formed by the projections of Granite Point and Presque Isle, both of which terminated in circular mountainous elevations that were connected to the main land, but by very narrow isthmuses. At the distance of fifty miles were seen Grand Island and the Pictured Rocks. To the north-west are seen seven large bays, and Point Kewena, from which we are 65 miles distant. In the back ground, mountain rises on mountain, as far as the eye can reach. Here and there, to add variety to the scene, a lofty peak of massy, naked granite, rears its head high above its less aspiring neighbors; and to soften the asperity of the view, there are two beautiful open spots of level green, that might be taken for fairy playgrounds--so secluded, and so environed, that even the spirits of the air in them could find a resting place. And think you not when my eyes were gazing at the splendor of this scene, glowing as it was in the last rays of a glorious sun-set, that my mind wandered to the Being who is the author of these creations?

When we have occasionally met the traders, as they were returning from their year's residence among the Indians, I have asked myself what mysterious excitement there could be in the spirit of gain, that will cause men to separate themselves from society, and voluntarily renounce those privileges incident to an intercourse with the world? But as I pass along my wonder ceases. There is such an union of beauty and grandeur in all the works of nature throughout this region, that it is impossible to be acquainted with them, and not wish to pass a life in their admiration. Following the impulse of my present feelings, I could joyfully make my home among these hills and valleys, and I should want no other. 'Tis true, the busy hum of men would not reach such a wild retreat, neither would their faithlessness and cold deceit.

And now, let me tell you how I have written this letter. We are waiting, at the Kewena Bay, for the arrival of some Indians to transport part of our baggage to the Ontonagon. Mr. S., and Mr. Houghton, with Lt. Clary, are by this time over the traverse. It was uncertain how soon we might be able to embark, but I resolved to devote what time I had to you. Accordingly at 5 o'clock this morning, I turned a chest upside down for a desk, planted myself against the tent-pole, and with the stump of a pen commenced operations. But alas! the sand flies and musquitoes made such a desperate onset that I was obliged to haul down my colors, and ingloriously fly for my life. I then waited until after breakfast, and commenced again with no better success. I then resorted to the open air; and placing my paper on a small bank, and standing on the stones below, with the sun at 90, pouring its rays upon my head, while with one hand and sometimes two, I battled insects of divers descriptions, at last have made _black marks_, over the greater part of this sheet. Should you in decyphering these hieroglyphics, come to any place where the subject was suddenly dropped and another commenced, without any apology, attribute it to a huge horse-fly, which lighting on my nasal protuberance, caused me to drop my pen, and with it my ideas. But here come a dozen of them, so good bye till you hear from me again.

M. L. WOOLSEY.

To ---- ----.

III.

La Pointe, Lake Superior, July 17, 1831.

Instead of a sand bank for a writing desk, I am now seated by the side of a good table in your brother's house, and surrounded by comforts and conveniences that would be no discredit to a place less out of the world than La Pointe. We have luxuries that even the inhabitants of St. Mary's might envy. Our table groans beneath its load of white-fish and trout, veal and pigeons, rice-puddings and strawberries, all of which are served up _à la mode_, in Joseph's best style, assisted by the culinary skill of _Plufe_, the cook. We at present adopt the maxim, "Live while you may," for we well know that soon we will be out of the reach of every thing of this sort, and be glad to get our dish of corn-soup. This is a very pleasant island, and presents quite a village-like appearance. There are several large dwelling houses, besides the trading establishment, and cultivated fields, with cattle strolling about, that altogether make up a scene quite different from any thing I expected to see before arriving at Green Bay.

Since my _first_ and _last_ letter to you, we have passed through a variety of interesting incidents. As I closed my letter our Indians arrived, and in a short time we were on our way across the Kewena traverse. But now a fresh breeze had supplanted the calm atmosphere {171} of the morning, and before we were half-way over the Bay, we began to anticipate a second edition of the troubles and danger experienced by Mr. S. in 1820. But we fortunately escaped, with no inconvenience but a slight wetting, and at 12 at night came up to the encampment of our friends,--when not wishing to disturb them, we spread our blankets upon the gravel, with the heavens for our canopy, and sought a few hours repose, previous to commencing an examination of Kewena Point. In this we promised ourselves an abundance of interest, and we suffered no disappointment. Such a banging the rocks have not experienced for many a day, and we robbed them of no inconsiderable quantity of their precious contents. The "King of the metals" will be under the necessity of holding another convention,[3] and if some of the delegates do not appear with battered visages, and broken bones, then there is no virtue in our well-tried hammers. Now you know, as we go skipping down the vale of life, that it is not every circumstance that assumes a serious cast, but that we have a mixture, or a kind of dish which in Scotland, and by Dr. Johnson, would be called _hodge-podge_. So with us--after wearying ourselves in discovering copper mines, and hunting from their dark and stony enclosures the precious gems which here abounded, we would join with no little zest in the pleasures of the chase. One or two opportunities of doing this occurred while going round this Point. This was in the pursuit of _quacks_; and impelled by the purest _patriotism_, we were determined upon the extirpation of all that might fall in our way. What, ask you, is it possible, that the _pro_scribed _pre_scribers of "roots and herbs," and steam restoratives, have found their way to the lone regions of the north? Why no, not exactly _this_ kind of quacks, but a species more honest, who tell us beforehand what they are, and which, of themselves, when properly prepared by a _suitable_ apothecary, form an excellent remedy for a well-known disease, and which those in particular are apt to contract who labor for hours together among rocks and over mountains. But to tell a plain story:--while in our canoes we surprised several large broods of ducks, which happened to be in that state when their unfledged wings forbade them to fly, but when they were sufficiently large to furnish excellent game for the table. Consequently it was a trial of skill between our canoe-men and the poor quacklings, to see who could paddle the fastest; but like the boys and the frogs, while it was sport to the former, it was death to the latter. Although at first they literally walked over the water, yet their strength was soon exhausted; and what with the shouts of the men, which of themselves were sufficient to scare a duck out of its senses, and their own fatigue, they fell an easy prey to their enemies. But to secure the victims after they were run down, afforded us the most amusement. The men seemed to have given up their whole souls to the chase, and as the ducks would dive to escape being taken, they would endeavor to spear them with their poles and paddles, and these proving ineffectual, plunge in themselves regardless of the consequences. Their zeal was rewarded by the capture of twelve or fifteen of the unfortunate birds. The only fear I experienced during this enlivening scene, was that the Doctor would exhaust his stock of risibility, and in future we should be deprived of his hearty ha, ha, that makes one join in sympathy with him, _before the story comes_. He surrendered himself entirely to the power of Momus; but we have had abundant demonstration since, that he is still a subject of the laughing deity. But the afterpiece was the most interesting to us individually; what that was you must guess. But luckily the clouds now "began to gather blackness;" and before we had proceeded many miles, we were favored with a couple of smart showers, and finally obliged by the rain to go on shore--_luckily_, because this spot proved to be the richest in minerals and metals, that we had yet visited. Your brother discovered two rich veins of copper ore, and we found agates and other gems in quantities. While we were thumping about us, the Doctor got into the canoe for the purpose of seeking an encamping place. This was found at the bottom of a very pretty bay, but which nevertheless we dignified with the name of Musquito Cove. Here we were wind-bound, and I spent a half hour very pleasantly on the rocks, witnessing the foaming and dashing of the waves, that seemed enraged at the resistance which they met, while the rocks themselves groaned at the rencounter as if fearful of being shaken from their solid foundations. Here was a place for melancholy, and a mind like yours would have held a revelry with the wildness of the scene. My curiosity to witness the onset of the waters, prompted me to venture too near them, as I found by a salute, not very friendly, that left me in rather a moist condition; but although experience is the best school, yet forgetting myself, I was again reminded that being but a spectator, it would be well to retire from the influence of the battle shock.

[Footnote 3: Alludes to a jeu d' esprit poem.]

* * * * *

This ceremony over, we turned our faces homewards, but stopped for a moment on the way to take a peep at the Superior. This was so pleasing that I felt no disposition to quit it, and continued my way over the rocks, until weariness alone induced me to return. My path was through a pleasant wood, and as I was loitering along, I was startled by the report of a gun, repeated three or four times in quick succession; and upon making up to the place from whence the sound proceeded, found that two of the men had been sent out to search for the supposed lost one. The wind had abated, and we left our camp as the sun began to dip below the horizon. The rest of my story I hope to have the pleasure of communicating to you by word of mouth.

You will not probably hear from us again until our arrival at the Sault.

In the meantime remember me to William, and the young gentlemen of your household.

M. L. W.

GREECE.

"Amphyction erected a Temple at Athens in honor of the Hours, in which those citizens who knew the value of time and opportunity habitually offered their sacrifices."

"To the Temple of the Hours! Let us early pay the vow;
Aurora's bright and blushing kiss is on Hymettus' brow--
And the Hours, that lead the dapple morn thro' trembling rays of
light,
Glance tow'rds the past eternity, with pinions stretch'd for flight.

"To the Temple of the Hours! Deeper grows the orient blush,
The light shafts of the polished Fane reflect the rosy flush;
While dews are on the cypress bough and blooming myrtle spray,
A sacrifice, as fresh and fair, we'll on their altar lay. {172}

"With offering we'll propitiate--invoke with lyre and song--
And rich shall be the sacrifice--the music loud and long;
Then, Hours, as lightly over us you wing your noiseless flight,
Pour on our pathway, graciously, a flood of love and light."

Thus Athens' sons. How vainly wise!--The scathing foot hath trod,
Where many a costly Temple rose, to many an 'unknown God;'
And Hours, with retribution fraught, on pinions bathed in woes,
Long lingered where their beauteous Fane of tintless marble rose.

And have those retributive Hours passed o'er, with leaden flight?
On Athens breaks a brighter day? Dawns there a purer light?
Rejoice! The "Star of Bethlehem" leads on a perfect day,
And fades the Crescent from the skies, lost in its brighter ray.

The altar 'To the unknown God,' the Temple to the Hours,
'The Prophets' crescent-mounted Mosques, fail from her cypress
bowers;
The Tissue from the Cross shall fall, by error wreathed so fair,
Fall--and the shrinking drapery's folds reveal a Saviour there.

_Then, Greece_, shall smile propitiously, the bright, the favoring
Hours--
Then praise shall rise, as sweet as breath from Tempe's vale of
Flowers;
Rise, from that heart of love--of woe--of poesy profound--
The heart of Greece!--her sons are free--the noble mind unbound.

ELIZA.

_Maine_.

READINGS WITH MY PENCIL.

NO. I.

"Legere sine calamo est dormire."--_Quintilian_.

1. "I am resolved, by the grace of God, always to make my heart and tongue go together: so as never to speak with the one what I do not think with the other."--_Bishop Beveridge_.

There is a fine philosophy in the above excellent determination of the pious and learned bishop: it is but a paraphrase of the homely maxim, "Honesty is the best policy." But the most striking idea conveyed by it is its negative character: the resolution being, not to speak all that the heart thinketh, but never to speak what it thinketh not.

2. "I deny the lawfulness of telling a lie to a sick man for fear of alarming him. You have no business with consequences: you are to tell the truth."--_Dr. Johnson_.

Boswell says that the Doctor said this to him. I do not doubt it. It is nothing new. _St. Paul_ said it before Dr. Johnson. "What then? Shall we do evil that good may come? God forbid!" Now, a lie of this kind would be venial, where other lies, told upon occasions of less magnitude and importance, would be unpardonable. And the Doctor's idea seems to be very well explained in the next passage.

3. "All truth is not of equal importance; but if little violations be allowed, all violations will, in time, be thought little."--_Dr. Johnson_.

So much for Truth; which, according to Herodotus, was one of the three lessons inculcated by the ancient Persians upon their children.

4. "The Four Elements are the Four Volumes in which all Nature's works are written."--_Jeremy Taylor_.

What is that volume, red-bound and glittering with golden tooling, more brilliant than the highest reach of Art has ever approached; dazzling with its illuminated pages, which none can read but the eagle-eye of him who has learned to gaze upon the living light of heavenly Truth, as written by the finger of the Almighty Omniscient? It is the volume of _Fire_--Nature's _Philosophy_. That beautiful volume, delicately bound in soft cerulean, sparkling with starry splendors, and redolent of "that odor within the sense, so delicate, soft, and intense," which gives its pages the fragrance no less than the shining beauty of Paradise--that volume is _Air_--and it is Nature's _Music and Poetry_. See Nature's _History_ in those two immense volumes, _Earth_ and _Water_. In them read the History of Empires, their rise, decline, and fall: the History of Man; his birth, his life, and death: the History of Passion; its conception, development, and disappointment: the History of Evil; its origin, dominion, and decay: the History of Good; its slow and steady, yet neglected and uncultured growth--its secret yet secure and strong dominion--its lasting and undying strength: and the History of all Nature and her works--recording all her beauties, all her glories, all her triumphs, all her lessons, all her immortal lore!

5. "Not only by the warmth,
And soothing sunshine of delightful things,
Do minds grow up and flourish."--_Akenside_.

No more than flowers grow up and flourish best, when reared in a hot-house. Those flowers may have more beauty, but where is the strength which the free blowing blossom of the wilderness alone possesses? The corolla is delicate, its petals each a separate loveliness: but where is the noble stalk sustaining many and more voluminous, though less gaudy blossoms, which rears its enduring head aloft, living when the other is dead--fragrant when the other is withered upon the dewless earth around its drooping stem? Adversity has been the parent of master minds. Homer and Milton, and Shakspeare, and Burns--these were no hot-house plants in Nature's garden: they were born in obscurity; their upward growth was watered with the dew-like tears of adversity; they were reared in the great wilderness of the world, amid its storms, its tempests, and its fitful gleams of sunshine: and _so_ "do minds grow up and flourish."

6. "Renewed friendships are to be conducted with greater nicety than such as have never been broken."--_Rochefoucault_.

Yes: just as one should handle a porcelain vase, once fractured and repaired, more carefully than before it was injured.

7. "I do not subscribe to the notion that poets are _born_," said Herbert.--_Private Life_.

Horace thought otherwise. I never agreed with the Venusian poet. Walter Scott was not a _born_ poet: he was _made_ by the scenes around him from his birth. Byron was not a native poet: his early "poetry" (?) proves the fact abundantly. His only true poetry was the result of circumstances. His first good poem was _made_ by an article in the Edinburgh Review. His next was _made_ by an unhappy marriage, and all the rest that deserved the name have an origin of the kind. Would Burns the cit have ever turned out what Burns the Ayrshire ploughman proved, think ye? And was Pope _born_ a poet? No more than Napoleon was _born_ Emperor of the French!

J. F. O.

{173}

_EDITORIAL_.

CRITICAL NOTICES.

PAUL ULRIC.

_Paul Ulric: Or the Adventures of an Enthusiast. New York: Published by Harper & Brothers._

These two volumes are by Morris Mattson, Esq. of Philadelphia, and we presume that Mr. Mattson is a very young man. Be this as it may, when we called Norman Leslie the silliest book in the world we had certainly never seen Paul Ulric. _One_ sentence in the latter, however, is worthy of our serious attention. "We want a few faithful laborers in the vineyard of literature, to root out the noxious weeds which infest it." See page 116, vol. ii.

In itself, the book before us is too purely imbecile to merit an extended critique--but as a portion of our daily literary food--as an American work published by the Harpers--as one of a class of absurdities with an inundation of which our country is grievously threatened--we shall have no hesitation, and shall spare no pains, in exposing fully before the public eye its four hundred and forty-three pages of utter folly, bombast, and inanity.

"My name," commences Mr. Mattson, "is Paul Ulric. Thus much, gentle reader, you already know of one whose history is about to be recorded for the benefit of the world. I was always an enthusiast, but of this I deem it inexpedient to say much at present. I will merely remark that I possessed by nature a wild and adventurous spirit which has led me on blindly and hurriedly, from object to object, without any definite or specific aim. My life has been one of continual excitement, and in my wild career I have tasted of joy as well as of sorrow. [Oh remarkable Mr. Ulric!] At one moment I have been elevated to the very pinnacle of human happiness, at the next I have sunk to the lowest depths of despair. Still I fancied there was always an equilibrium. This may seem a strange philosophy to some, but is it the less true? The human mind is so constituted as always to seek a level--if it is depressed it will be proportionately elevated, if elevated it will be proportionately depressed. But" says Mr. U., interrupting himself, "I am growing metaphysical!" We had thought he was only growing absurd.

He proceeds to tell us of his father who was born in Lower Saxony--who went, when only a year old, to England--who, being thrown upon the parish, was initiated into the mysteries of boot cleaning--who, at the age of ten, became a vender of newspapers in the city of London--at twelve sold potatoes in Covent Garden--at fifteen absconded from a soap-boiler in the Strand to whom he had been apprenticed--at eighteen sold old clothes--at twenty became the proprietor of a mock auction in Cheapside--at twenty-five was owner of a house in Regent Street, and had several thousand pounds in the Funds--and before thirty was created a Baronet, with the title of Sir John Augustus Frederick Geoffry Ulric, Bart., for merely picking up and carrying home his Majesty King George the Fourth, whom Mr. U. assures us upon his word and honor, his father found lying beastly drunk, one fine day, in some gutter, in some particular thoroughfare of London.

Our hero himself was born, we are told, on the borders of the Thames, not far from Greenwich. When a well grown lad he accompanies his father to the continent. In Florence he falls in love with a Countess in her thirty-fifth year, who curls his hair and gives him sugar-plums. The issue of the adventure with the Countess is thus told.

"You have chosen them with much taste," said the Countess; "a beautiful flower is this!" she continued, selecting one from among the number, "its vermillion is in your cheeks, its blue in your eyes, and for this pretty compliment I deserve a ---- you resist eh! My pretty, pretty lad, I _will!_ There! Another, and you may go free. Still perverse? Oh, you stubborn boy! How can you refuse? One--two--three! I shall _devour_ you with kisses!"

* * * * *
* * * * *

We have printed the passage precisely as we find it in the book--notes of admiration--dashes--Italics--and all. Two rows of stars wind up the matter, and stand for the catastrophe--for we hear no more of the Countess. Now if any person over curious should demand why Morris Mattson, Esq. has mistaken notes of admiration for sense--dashes, kisses, stars and Italics for sentiment--the answer is very simple indeed. The author of Vivian Grey made the same mistake before him.

Indeed we have made up our minds to forward Ben D'Israeli a copy of Paul Ulric. He will read it, and if he do not expire upon the spot, it will do him more real service than the crutch. Never was there a more laughable burlesque of any man's manner. Had Mr. Mattson only _intended it_ as a burlesque we would have called him a clever fellow. But unfortunately this is not the case. No jackdaw was ever more soberly serious in fancying herself a peacock, than our author in thinking himself D'Israeli the second.

"Every day," says Paul after the kissing scene, "filled me with a new spirit of romance. I had sailed upon the winding streams of Germany; I had walked beneath the bright skies of Italy; I had clambered the majestic mountains of Switzerland." His father, however, determines upon visiting the United States, and taking his family with him. His reasons for so doing should be recorded. "His republicanism" says Paul, "had long rendered him an object of aversion to the aristocracy. He had had the hardihood to compare the _salary_ of the President with the _civil list_ of the king--_consequently he was threatened with an indictment for treason!_ My mother suggested the propriety of immediately quitting the country."

Mr. Mattson does not give us an account of the voyage. "I have no disposition," says his hero, "to describe a trip across the Atlantic--particularly as I am not in a sentimental mood--otherwise I might turn over the poets, and make up a long chapter of extracts from Moore, Byron, and Rogers of the Old World, or Percival, Bryant, and Halleck of the New." A range of stars accordingly, is introduced at this crisis of affairs, and we must understand them to express all the little matters which our author is too fastidious to detail. Having sufficiently admired the stars, we turn over the next leaf and "Land ho!" shouts one of the seamen on the fore-topsail yard.

Arrived in Philadelphia, Mr. Ulric (our hero's father) {174} "is divided," so says Mr. Mattson, "between the charms of a city and country life." His family at this time, we are told, consisted of five persons; and Mr. U. Jr. takes this opportunity of formally introducing to us, his two sisters Eleanor and Rosaline. This introduction, however, is evidently to little purpose, for we hear no more, throughout the two volumes, of either the one young lady or the other. After much deliberation the family fix their residence in "Essex, a delightful country village in the interior of Pennsylvania;" and we beg our readers to bear in mind that the surprising adventures of Paul Ulric are, for the most part, perpetrated in the immediate vicinity of this village.

The young gentleman (notwithstanding his late love affair with the Countess) is now, very properly, sent to school--or rather a private tutor is engaged for him--one Lionel Wafer. A rapid proficiency in Latin, Greek, Hebrew, music, dancing, and fencing, is the result; "and with these accomplishments," says the young calf, "I believed myself fitted for the noise and bustle of the world." Accordingly, his father having given him a flogging one afternoon, he determines upon running away. In two days he "arrives in one of the Atlantic cities." Rambling about the streets he enters into conversation with a sharper, who succeeds in selling him, for forty dollars, a watch made of tinsel and put together with paste. This and subsequent adventures in the city form the best portion of the book--if _best_ should be applied, in any way, to what is altogether abominable. Mr. Ulric goes to the theatre, and the play is Romeo and Juliet. The orchestra "breaks forth in full chorus" and our hero soliloquizes. We copy his soliloquy with the end of placing before our readers what we consider the finest passage in Mr. Mattson's novel. We wish to do that gentleman every possible act of justice; and when we write down the few words to which we allude, and when we say that they are not absolutely intolerable, we have done all, in the way of commendation, which lies in our power. We have not one other word of praise to throw away upon Paul Ulric.

"Oh Music!--the theme of bards from time immemorial--who can sing of thee as thou deservest? What wondrous miracles hast thou not accomplished? The war-drum beats--the clarion gives forth its piercing notes--and legions of armed men rush headlong to the fierce and devastating battle. Again, the drum is muffled, and its deep notes break heavily upon the air, while the dead warrior is borne along upon his bier, and thousands mingle their tears to his memory. The tender lute sounds upon the silvery waters, and the lover throws aside his oar, and imprints a kiss upon the lips of his beloved. The bugle rings in the mountain's recesses, and a thousand spears are uplifted for a fearful and desperate conflict. And now the organ peals, and, with its swelling notes, the soul leaps into the very presence of the Deity."

Our hero decides upon adopting the stage as a profession, and with this view takes lessons in elocution. Having perfected himself in this art, he applies to a manager, by note, for permission to display his abilities, but is informed that the nights are engaged for two months ahead, and it would be impossible for him to appear during the season. By the influence, however, of some hanger-on of the theatre, his wishes are at length gratified, and he is announced in the bills as "the celebrated Master Le Brun, the son of a distinguished English nobleman, whose success was so unprecedented in London as to have performed fifty nights in succession at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane"--a sentence in which we are at a loss to discover whether the English nobleman, or the English nobleman's son, or the success of the English nobleman's son is the distinguished performer in question.

Our adventurer succeeds in his debût, and is in a fair way of becoming a popular performer, when his prospects are suddenly nipped in the bud. His valet one morning announces a Sir Thomas Le Brun, and Sir Thomas Le Brun proves to be that worthy gentleman Sir John Augustus Frederick Geoffry Ulric, Baronet. A scene ensues. Paul screams, and Sir John clenches his fist. The father makes a speech, and the son makes a speech and a bow. At length they fly into each other's arms, and the drama closes by the old personage taking the young personage home in his carriage. In all this balderdash about the stage, there is not one original incident or idea. The same anecdotes are told, but in infinitely better language, in every book of dramatic reminiscences since the flood.

Our author now indulges in what we suppose to be satire. The arrows of his wit are directed, with much pertinacity at least, against one Borel Bunting, by which name it strikes us that Mr. M. wishes to indicate some poor devil of an editor in bonâ fide existence--perhaps some infatuated young person who could not be prevailed upon, by love or money, to look over the MS. of Paul Ulric. If our supposition be true, we could wish Mr. Borel Bunting no better revenge than what the novelist has himself afforded by this public exposure of his imbecility. We must do our readers the favor of copying for their especial perusal, a portion of this vehement attack.

There has been much speculation as to the birthplace of Borel; (in this respect he somewhat resembled Homer) but if I have been correctly informed it was in one of the New England States. Further than this I cannot particularize. When he came to Essex he managed to procure a situation in a counting-house, which afforded him the means of support as well as leisure for study. He did not overlook these advantages, and gradually rose in public estimation until he became the editor of the Literary Herald. This gentleman was deeply read in the classics, and had also perused every novel and volume of poetry from the earliest period of English literature down to the present. Such had been his indefatigable research, that there was not a remarkable passage in the whole range of the Waverley fictions, or indeed any other fictions, to which he could not instantly turn. As to poetry, he was an oracle. He could repeat the whole of Shelley, Moore, and Wordsworth, _verbatim_. He was a very Sidrophel in his acquirements. He could tell

"How many scores a flea would jump;"

he could prove, also, "that the man in the moon's a sea Mediterranean," and

"In lyric numbers write an ode on
His mistress eating a black pudding."

He composed acrostics extempore by the dozen; we say _extempore_, though it was once remarked that he was months in bringing them to maturity. He was inimitable, moreover, in his pictures of natural scenery. When a river, or a mountain, or a waterfall was to be sketched, Borel Bunting, of all others, was the man to guide the pencil. He had the rare faculty of bringing every thing distinctly before the mind of the reader--a compliment to which a majority of his brother scribes are not entitled.

Borel Bunting possessed also a considerable degree {175} of critical acumen. Southey was a mere doggerelist; Cooper and Irving were not men of genius: so said Borel. Pope, he declared, was the first of poets, because Lord Byron said so before him. Tom Jones, he contended, was the most perfect specimen of a novel extant. He was also willing to admit that Goldsmith had shown some talent in his Vicar of Wakefield.

In a word, Borel's wonderful acquirements secured him the favorable attention of many distinguished men; and at length (as a reward of his industry and merit) he was regularly installed in the chair editorial of the "_Literary Herald_," an important weekly periodical, fifteen inches in diameter. His salary, it is supposed, was something less than that received by the President of the United States.

The Literary Herald, Borel (or rather, Mr. Bunting--we beg his pardon) considered the paragon of perfection. No one could ever hope to be distinguished in literature who was not a contributor to its columns. It was the only sure medium through which young Ambition could make its way to immortality. In short, (to use one of Bunting's favorite words,) it was the "_nonpareil_" of learning, literature, wit, philosophy, and science.

Mr. Bunting corresponded regularly with many distinguished individuals in Europe. I called upon him one morning, just after the arrival of a foreign mail, when he read me portions of seven letters which he had just received. One was from Lafayette, another from Charles X., a third from the author of a fashionable novel, a fourth from Miss L----, a beautiful poetess in London, a fifth from a German count, a sixth from an Italian prince, and a seventh from Stpqrstuwsptrsm, (I vouch not for the orthography, not being so well acquainted with the art of spelling as the learned Borel,) a distinguished Russian general in the service of the great "Northern Bear."