Or^/yu^. ^]/. /^. ^^^-^ 1 ^^ 1- 1 12- C>- % ,.y(?^^-(j;" :TTr,v ^ 2- / f ?^ :-^W7V-'t;,'^?'M1r.;';f' y the road side, or from an upper window to look down upon a long and gradual slope, on which an old orchard is freshly blooming, while the sweet leaves are wafted by the puff of every breeze, and the green germs of the fruit are forming underneath no larger than pins' heads. Also, the welcome lilac is the ornament of every court-yard, and you may 196 UPTHERIVER. snap off a branch without compunction, and stick it in a pitcher, if the fragrance be not too powerful for feeble nerves. It is now the tenth of June, and up to this date we have had neither untimely frost nor memorable days of heat ; but it has been, without exception, the most balmy season within my recollection. There has not been a single drawback. Copious showers have fallen on the earth ; the air is choice and healthful ; even in the heart of the city you have been able to find a refreshing coolness, and every where the vegetation is so rich, the crops are so far advanced, and the prospect is so promising, that we might with justice call this a mirahilis annus. It is almost intoxicating to walk ' in the cool of the day ' over the pleasant roads which intersect the country in all directions, and especially where they wind over the high ground in full view of the river ; or to recline in an easy carriage, not your own, and to be borne along by a pair of well groomed horses, whose coats are sleek and well protected by the clean netting, and who are as gentle as doves in harness ; and so, without a word spoken, with your head bare, and with a soul com- posed and tranquil, to travel through avenues and UP THE RIVER. 197 green lanes, where the giant elms lift their arms above you. Nature is so suggestive, and so many pleasant influences steal upon you, that it is most perplexing to transfer your impressions of beauty, and you feel only fitted for silent enjoyment. If there is any pleasant feature in the country, it is a winding narrow lane carpeted with a green sod, skirted on either hand with mulberry trees, and the wild cherry, over which the brier bushes, the wild grape, and the ivy and honeysuckle are interlocked in many an impenetrable thicket ; places which the cat-bird loves to frequent, and from which he pours forth his mellow and melting cavatina. Here is the spot where the young man, with the furze just blackening upon the lip of manhood, passing his arm about the waist of the pretty maid, whispers into her ear the most tender sentiments ; for the very birds on the branches teach them how to woo and coo most lovingly. Almost every village has its Love Lane, as well as its Gallows Hill and But- termilk Hollow. In the course of your wanderings, you will ol)- serve that the tulip tree is now covered all over with yellow flowers, and the locusts are in full bloom, emitting from their ' high old ' crowns a delicious fraarance. In the fields the clover is knee 198 Ur THE HI V ER. deep, and the cattle dispose themselves in easy attitudes, and, as they remain dreamy and almost motionless on the top of some shady knoll, in relief against the blue sky, afford a picture of grace to the eye of the CLAUDE-like painter. But the anniversary of the blooming roses is also at this time, and you must by all means shut up your workshops and hurry out to this feast. For the time is short. In a few days the brief and beautiful existence of the rose is terminated, and. Flora gives the field to Ceres ! The one is intended to administer to the sense of Beauty, and to be twined in a triumphant chaplet around the brows of Innocence ; the other comes upon a sterner and a grander mission, to fill the granaries with bread and nerve the arm with vigour. In the winter-time a few rose-buds cut from a green-house where they had been fostered under glass, and given to you by a generous friend, stand perha])S in a wine-glass on your table, and represent the summer. You tend them from day to day, and furnish them with clean water, until the opening bud feeds no longer on the juice of the stem, and you throw them out of your window. But they may have sufficed while on their brief errand to have soothed your soul ; and, oh ! to a man of guilt, if ho UP THE mVEK. 199 has any particle of human feeling-, a rose in his lonely cell would preach to him more eloquently than words, and he could wash its crest with his tears like a shower : — * Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell : They have tales of the joyous woods to tell ; Of the free blue streams, and the sunny sky, And the bright world shut from his languid eye. But when, in the gradual advancement of the year, the time draws nigh which is monopolized by this choicest and most exquisite specimen of floral beauty ; when the wild, untutored, modest May- rose, with its multiplicity of pink leaves, has given place to the vaunted varieties whose names are at the tongue's end of every gardener ; when the un- cared-for one which grows like a brier by the way- side, soon drops its scanty petals, and on comes precipitately the glorious, universal bloom of the rich and double flowers which have received culture and they crown the well-trimmed stalk, and burst out in a dissipation of beauty over the porch, the net-work trellis, and the garden bower, casting forth their very souls on all the currents of the summer air, and floating into your olfactories, climbing up and insinuating themselves into the windows where you converse, sweetly intruding themselves in every covert path, wherever you wander through the de- 200 ^'r THE KIVER. licious garden ; seen at the tops of the trees, as ye are, O Kentucky roses ! budding and bursting out under the eaves of the mansion, where the little downy bosom of the just-hatched chirping birds heave in their nests, and the parents drop the worm into their red mouths, unfrightened by the play of romping children ; and the bumble-bee, and the honey-bee, and the humming-bird drink together out of the same cup of intermingling eglantine ; then I say that you must let your soulexpand with a calm en- joyment, and be convinced that God in His benevo- lence fashions in every phase of existence a heaven for us. There is now a very prevalent smell of mint from the meadows, as its tender stalks are bruised by the feet of cattle, or its odours are dislodged by the some- what rough handling of the freebooting winds. Thirsty people like to bruise it against little ice- bergs, in a tumbler with wine of a choice quality, and if I remember rightly, a slight paring of lemon and a straw-berry or two, to produce a curious composite flavour, and so imbibe it slow^ly through a wheaten-straw, or sometimes a glass tube. Whal the advantage of this mode is, does not appear clearly ; but perhaps the volatile aroma of the herb following in the wake of the drops which clamber UP THE HIVE R. 201 up the tube, more gradually and pleasantly insinu- ates itself into the brain than when it sweeps over the sense in a powerful puff. To have it poured from a silver pitcher, on whose outer surface the at- mosphere is collected in cool drops, in the heat of a sultry day, and offered in moderate quantity by the fair hands which have concocted it with skill and with a scrupulous mildness, is not unacceptable to those who make use of such fluids ; and of the julep it can with truth be said that it contains some good ingredients — the fragrant mint and crystal ice-drops. That the mint has medicinal quality, is well known. With the valetudinarian cat it disputes the palm with cat-nip ; and when covered with the dews, the sick chicken takes a little nip of it. I have spoken of the feast of roses, but the feast of straw-berries must be remembered. How plenti- ful is the crop ! In tliis happy land the poor taste of delicacies, and the horn of plenty is literally poured out with its profusion of fruits and flowers. Here the cows come home at night with their hoofs actually dripping with the red blood of this berry, and the odours of it float over the snowy foam of the milk- pail. It grows wild in all the woods and all the meadows, and many think the wilder the sweeter; for as it is smaller in size than the seedlings of ihe 202 UP THE RIVER. garden, it stands a better chance to become dead- ripe and lose its acid. It requires no addition, and is rendered fit to eat by the sugar of its own nature. In flavour, the straw-berry is admitted to be the acme of perfection, and it has probably not degenerated since it was originated in Eden. But it is so keen and pungent that in a little while it destroys the tone of the tongue, whereas the rasp-berry has an exceedingly delicate aroma, as much so as the wild grape blossom. Its merits are more slowly perceived, but it less fatigues the taste, and is longer appre- ciated. There is a pretty notion held by the Indians called the " Six Nations," that the other fruits of the earth form a part of the Great Spirit's ordinary bounty, but that the strawberry is a special gift. Hence they hold a feast in its honour, when it is offered up with especial ceremony and thanks- giving. The succession of fruits as the year ad- vances, exhibits an adaptation most pleasing and wonderful. The straws-berry is first with us, and its precedence in time is a fair presumption in favor of its ripe merits. Then comes the rasp-berry. These occupy a certain space mostly to themselves, but when they are gone, a rabble of fruits jostle one another in the garden, and every one may take his UP THE RIVER. 203 pick and choice. The English ox-heart cherry charms the eye and satisfies the taste, esjDccially when you pluck it from the branch as it hides its blushing cheek beneath the leaves. The goose- berry and tart currant arrive in the very nick of time, but the berries taper off in excellence at the close of the year. The plain and healthful black- berry is succeeded by the whortleberry, the poorest of fruits — God forgive me ! But, in the meantime, the larger kinds come in to adapt themselves to every variety of taste, and to every necessity of constitution — peach, plum, and grape. June 20. — While walking to-day out of the silent woods into a sequestered glen, I encountered a very distinct and truthful echo. Every foot-fall was re- peated, and if you called Hylas, Hylas was re- sponded. There was a well-built wall of rocks in front, and happening to soliloquize aloud, it was from the hard and flinty surface of them that my own words were thrown back with an almost impu- dent celerity : — 204 UP THE RIVER. ' Ye woods and « Woods and- WUds- Wilds- •Echo!'- Ehol j fyi.'}/ OWARD the close of day, I was just sitting under a pi azza, marking the effect of light and shade upon the mountains, and the transformations of the golden - tinted clouds, which, in the transparent at- mosphere of our clime, almost rival the glories of an Italian sun-set. — The day had been warm and sultry, producing a nerveless lassitude, an inattention of duty, and neglect of dress ; and 222 UP THE RIVER. from the mere exertion to pump up some kind of feel ing, without coat, without collar, with a head drip ping- wet from having just plunged it to the bottom of a bucket of cold water, desiring to see no body, I was reading over the engrossing pages of Lewis's novel, or rather melo-drama, called ' The Monk,' a production spoiled by indecency, diablerie, and blue- fire, and only fit for adult people. From the monk, as depicted in the romance, I kept turning my eye perpetually toward a cowled mountain (no pun is intended) which I have called The Monk ; and from the nun Agnes to a pinnacle which, in winter- time, when it was enwrapped in a garment of chaste snows, I took a fancy to christen The Niai. Pre- sently, as the shades thickened, the bad print of the book became no longer discernible ; and looking up, the star of eve, w'ith its soft and unblemished light, appeared alone in the heavens. I heard the faint hu-m which marks the close of day proceeding from the distant barn-yards, and the farmers driving the cattle home, and the whip-poor-wills in the meadows began their evening-song. If we have no nightingales in our climate, this bird is no bad sub- stitute ; and if we have no larks in the morning, the bobolink sings sweetly and perpetually upon the wing. As to Bull-frog, his croakings are abated ; UP THE RIVER. 223 and as to Katy-did, his lamentations about the broken bottle have not yet begun. The night was very still ; only now and then was heard by the lovers of melody the infinitely fine music produced by the tiny wings of the mosquito beating the air, and which really seemed to be a Bellini melody, blown through the fragile trumpet of his proboscis. To those whose ears and tempers are attuned rightly, this music, pursued from high to low, or low to high, through the marvellously-ascending or descend- ing scale of the gamut, would almost appear suited to dilettanti spirits, and as if produced by a detach- ment from Queen Mab's orchestra. It would be to- tally lost in the midst of vulgar noises ; but its at- tenuated notes are wafted, in all their delicate sub- tleness, to those who recline in arm-chairs, repose on couches, and who are lulling themselves to re- pose. I have often and often admired them when just on the verge of sleep, and been recalled by them, from the land of shadows. How beautiful is their ' Hum-Waltz,' and their ' Teaze Polka,' and their ' Sing-sing Requiem ;' enough to make you clap your hands until the blood flows ! And when I have seen them after death, mashed flat in their embalment upon a white-washed wall, I think of 224 UP THE KIVER. that sentiment of Kirke White, if I remember rightly : ' Music past is obsolete.' In a short time the shades of evening fast prevailed ; and the lone star, so serene in lustre, was succeeded by the whole splendid galaxy ; and I marked the course of the Milky-way ; and the big, round moon, which always seemed to me very skull-like, rose slowly, almost sluggishly, over the mountains ; and before I thought that the night was far advanced, the clock struck ten. Which do you like best, the long days or the long nights ? I am equally balanced in my own mind between the love of summer and winter ; but I think that our clime is the most happy, where there are four seasons of the year, and they roll round in just succession. I can make no choice, but enjoy them all equally, because they relieve each other, and afford a pleasing variety. There is no monotony so dreary as that of perpetual sun- shine and summer ; but if I ever feel a sadness, it is when the days begin to get long in March, and the delightful early blazing fire-side has become cold. If you live according, to nature and to the clime in which you are born, when the days are long, you will go to bed early, and when they are UP THE RIVER. 225 short, you will sit up late. But artificial habits turn the laws of nature topsy-turvy. I cannot prevail upon myself to go to sleep during these heavenly nights ; and during winter the charms of social con- verse keep one up unnaturally late. It is hard to tell which to like best, the long days or the long nights. But I was enamoured of this night very much ; for when the clock struck twelve, I was still sitting on the piazza looking at the stars, enjoying the hum of the mosquitoes, smoking a segar, and observing the multitude of lightning-bugs, who ap- peared like stars in a lower firmament, and as they flapped their wings, threatened to set the hay-cocks on fire. Last evening, I observed a young girl, dressed in white, walking on the edge of the mea- dows, carrying two pails of white maple filled with still whiter milk, for she had just performed her evening task of milking the cows in my neighbour's barn-yard; and as the lightning bugs flitted around her, she seemed to have on a splendid ball-room at- tire, spangled with stars. While drawing the last puff's from the aforesaid cigar, thinking that it was high time to go to bed and to sleep, for the clock tolled one, (the Yankee clock in my kitchen,) and presently the factory-bell at Matteawan, three miles off", sounded the same 226 UP THE RIVER. hour of night through the mountain-defiles, I observed an animal half white, half black, first pressing it- self under the large gate, then stealing about along the edges of the fence among my enclosures very stealthily; then hopping and skipping at the base of the hay-cocks. I could not exactly make out what it was. Its motions w'ere exceedingly agile, and as the moon's quiet beams were shining down upon the grass, it looked as if it might be a leopard, a sly fox, a fawn, a small gray-hound, a stray lamb, a rabbit, a dear little deer — I knew not what. I retreated hastily, set the end of another segar on fire, sat down and watched the motions of this strange ani- mal. In the first place, I could not make out how large it was, as the light was so deceptive ; I could only detect that it was variegated with white and black spots. I knew not whether it was a harmless creature or a ferocious wild-cat from the neighbour- ing woods ; but its motions were exceedingly grace- ful, hopping, and skipping, and playing in the moon- beams, and I conjectured that, however savage might be its real nature, it was but a cub, and that there would be no real danger in running out upon the lawn and seizing it by the neck. Thinks I to myself, ' I will do it.' But just at that moment, the black-and-white spotted animal leaped upon the UP THE RIVER. 227 Stone fence, and with the swiftness of lightning ran for about twenty yards along it, among the poison- vines and briers which grew over it, and appearing as it did in strong relief, it seemed to be of the size of a half-grown fox ; and I decided to let it alone, and to remain stationary. For half an hour I w-atched it with much curiosity in a state of sus- pense, not knowing what to make of it. Presently, crawling along on the grass to the foot of an apple- tree, it ran half way up the trunk, turned its head around, looked down, and so remained clutching the bark. ' Can this be,' thought I, 'a racoon ?' I had scarcely conceived the idea, when, going at once into the house, 1 opened the drawer of a bu- reau, drew out an old pistol, put into the barrel a pinch of powder and a few shot, and returned to search for the 'coon. He was gone. In vain did I look for him along the stone fence, and round the house-corners, in the garden among the gooseberry bushes and the currants ; but going under the shed, I saw something white. I pulled back the trigger, put a little powder in the pan, for 1 had not any patent pistol, saw something move, took aim, when suddenly my heart quite failed me. * Dear me !' said I to myself, ' can this be a pole-cat V The thought seemed feasible, for several times I had 228 ^P THE RIVER. been in most dangerous propinquity to these un pleasant animals. I knew that ihe prevalent co- lours which they hung out were hlack and white — and, moreover, that they much abounded in these regions. Tt was enough. I retreated in excellent order, uncocked the pistol, and again sat down on the piazza, watching the moon as she waded through the sombre clouds, brushing off an occa- sional mosquito, and thinking of the just-published poems of Alexander Smith. Was Alexander a real poet ? From reading many extracts of his verses I inclined to favor the opinion that he was, although he has not yet written a perfect poem. But he is a very young man, and if he does not write one, he will very much disappoint the richness of his early promise. The mere fact that his name is Smith affords no reason why he should not be a distin- guished author, for several persons with that cogno- men have become renowned in the ranks of litera- ture. The works of Sidney Smith are well known, spiced as they are with wit, although he makes no pretension to poetry, and perhaps one of the most noted poems of the language on the pleasant theme of May-Day But I must return to the animal. It again appeared in sight, emerging from some UP THE RIVER. 229 loop-hole in the fence or the hedge, coming out from the high grass or the concealment of the stone wall upon the open lawn, and from hillock to hil- lock lightly leaping with the fleeting movement of a shadow. It teased me so by the distance at which it kept from the door in the performance of its fan- ciful gyrations, that I resolved that it would be safe to take a pistol-shot or two at it from a distance, and with the thought again seized the pistol, re- primed, took aim, when off went the little skulker into a bush. When it appeared again, my intention was changed, for it came jumping in a direct line to the place where I sat, waving its tail, which was barred with chocolate-coloured rings, rubbing its sides against the boards, putting out its front paws, and drawing them back again with fantastic play- fulness ; and then I saw that it was not a wild-cat or a pole-cat, but a young kitten. It slipped by me, and, faintly mewing, ran into the house, and al- though several times put out, returned again, as if desiring to seek a home. Since the loss of my ca- nary, I have a sworn antipathy to cats. Though interesting at the period of mewing kittenhood, when fully grown they are skulking and unafFectionate— • domesticated, yet not domestic ; in old age mO" rose, vagabond, and cruel. The other day I met 230 UP THE II I V E R my friend Lemon in the city, and the first question which he asked me was about the canary which he had given me. When he learned the fate thereof, he was displeased, saying that it was a gift ; that there was no excuse ; that I ought to have taken better care of it ; and that it was one of the most promising birds in the United States. July 4. — I passed the fourth of July again this year in the meekest seclusion, and except the boom- ing of the distant guns, when the glorious day was ushered in, heard no sound but the whispering breeze among the tree-branches, and suffered no in- convenience from the smell of gunpowder. I detest the use of Chinese crackers, and for one, would neither instruct nor indulge children in celebrating the anniversary by an unmeaning racket. The un- ceasing waste of ammunition from sun-rise to sun- set is simply annoying to all people who have come to years of discretion, and is unworthy of young American citizens. To say nothing of blown-off thumbs and fingers, and of eradicated eye-balls, if the Republic should endure for a few hundred years — and who can doubt that it will ? — ^ esto jyerjjetua ' — more waste of life will ensue from fourth-of-July celebrations than was incurred in the whole course UP THE IIIVER. 231 of the Revolution. However rash it may be to run counter to popular custom or prejudice, the indis criminate firing of guns, crackers, pistols, muskets, and arquebuses, in all streets, places, lanes and alleys, in the ears of pedestrians, and before the houses of sick people, is opposed to common sense, good feeling, and good breeding. It iS also in di- rect violation of municipal laws and regulatjphs, which are duly posted up in all towns and cities, and which ought to be enforced, if officers have a sense of their own dignity. Do they affix the laws to the pillars, that the populace may sneer at those who made them, and laugh in their sleeve at those who never intend to enforce them? Gun- powder will lose all respect if it is in the hands of every body. It ought to be confined strictly in magazines, and let out by safety-valves through the muskets of true sportsmen, or of authorized artille- ry-men, only as need may require, and according to strict license. This is using gunpowder as not abusing it. Far be it from me to desire any cold and heartless recognition of this inspiriting anniver sary ; to have it ushered m or to let it go out in such a way as would suit tb.e ideas of a few formal philosophers ; to devote it only to prayers and preaching, to the sleepiness of an England Sunday 232 UP THE RIVER. or to the eating of a New England thanksgiving. Let it be announced regularly with the discharge of cannon, with the pomp of war, and with the move- ment of the ' peoples ;' let the folds of the star- spangled banner be every where let loose over the masses who are collected to celebrate it ; and while all men are 4reed from labour, let the young and the old jrejoice together until the set of sun, in a uni- versal holiday. July 10. My old Shanghai rooster is dead. From the time he was brought to my house in a basket, about a year ago, until now, his career has been varied, but the latter part of it miserable indeed. He has not ventured upon a hearty crow for the last six months. All things went smoothly with him at first, and there was a degree of eclat attaching to his family. The neighbours came to see him, and remarked that he was an uncommonly large fowl ; but he was perhaps magnified in their eyes because he was di foreigner ; and they turned upon their heel with a sovereign contempt of the common barn-yard fowl. He had the enclosures all to himself, and, standing erect on the hillock, out crowed the neis^hbourin"- roosters. UP THE RIVER 233 When the hen began to lay, every body wished to get eggs of me. My friends asked it as a par- ticular favour that I would grant them a few, when I had them to spare ; and the butcher and baker stopped at the gate to inquire if I would not sell them a few Shanghai eggs. Thus the stock rose in the market, and feathers were buoyant. When the Cochin-China cock arrived, he was at least one- third larger, and so much superior to the other in all points, and had such a lordly strut and royal comb, as completely to cast him in the shade. They at once fought valiantly for the mastery, and the contest was continued in various skirmishes and pitched battles for several days. At last, when Shanghai became convinced that he was no match, his eyes wavered and refused to meet the adversary, and on every occasion he pusillanimously fled. He eould not be secure even of a bit of bread; he was bullied at every turn ; and he lost the haughty bear- ing which he once had when he was cock of the walk. What appeared to mortify him more, was, that the hen deserted him, and preferred the Cochin guest, so that he strayed solitary on the corners of the field, and picked up what living he could. He also roosted alone. Every now and then, when he 234 UP THE RIVER. was minding his own business, and no attack was suspected, I noticed that his adversary would rush on him from a distance, and give him a sound drub- binsr. On these occasions, he would run under the steps or the bushes : and at last he got to be so timid that he would fly away and poke his head in a corner at the least alarm. As he sneaked about under the fences, or stood upon one leg with his head crouched between his thighs, and his eyes half closed, and his tail, already sparse enough, soaked in the rain, he presented a melancholy ensample of the loss of self-respect. To get him out of his pain- ful position, I offered to give him away, in hopes that when he had the field to himself, his spirits would revive, and that he would act worthily of his race. But the proper occasion not having arrived to carry him ofT, he remained in disgrace, and walked moodily apart, not venturing to salute the rising sun. Alas ! that the chicken-stealer had not been success- ful in his attempt, or that he had not been metamor- phosed, before it was too late, into a delectable fri- cassee ! For a month past, I have noticed that he has waxed uncommonly lean, and I have taken care that he should not be bullied out of his corn and In- dian meal. He fed readily out of my hand, and ap- peared to relish the attention well. But his lean- UP THE mVER. 235 ness increased, and I began to perceive that he was losing his feathers faster than his flesh. I at first thought that the poor bird was shedding them ; that he was inouJting, and, in consequence, in feeble health, until I caught the Cochin-China cock in the cruel trick of picking out a feather, from time to time. His plumage was thus decimated, and at last his tail totally gone, and he began to look as if he had been in the hands of the cook, and was nearly dressed. Dressed! according to the vocabulary of the kitchen. Perceiving that removal was his only chance, I sat down and indited the following note to a friend : " I offered you my Shanghai cock. When you come this way again, bring a basket in your car riage, and a bit of canvas, I don't want him, as the other cock is fast killing him, and he is of no use. He is losing all his feathers. Yours, &c." I had scarcely penned the above, when a circum- stance occurred, which, for aught I know, was fatal to my Shanghai. I had noticed that, at the height of supremacy, he was a truculent old fellow, and ate up his own offspring ; and that Eng, the hen, although good at sitting, so that she would sit, and sit, and would for ever sit, was not a good mo- 236 UP THE RIVER. iher in rearing her brood, whereas the Cochin China hen is an unmatched mother. There is a nest of wrens in the apple-tree at the kitchen door; and when the young were hatched, I noticed them from time to time with their heads poking out, until the straw-house became too small for them. They were ready to be fledged, and fell out into the deep grass. At this moment, Shanghai, being alone, snapped them up and killed them all. I saw one of them danjrlino;- from his beak stone-dead, while he strutted about, appearing to have regained his lost estate. At this moment, in a fit of indignation I pursued him, and snatching him from the lilac- bush, at the roots of which he had poked his head, dragged him forcibly out, and threw him into the air. He came down on his legs, and ran under the shed. This last insult was too much for him. In the morning he was found upon the coal-heap, dead. Well, he is gone ! he is gone ! and I am sorry for it, because he was a gift, and all gifts from kind- hearted people ought to be duly prized. But I am happy to inform the donor that I have a brood of fourteen Cochin-China chickens, now out of harm's way, and one-third grown. Palmer, my neighbour, the other day said to me : ' Those are superior chickens of yours ; I assure you that I do like them. UP THE RIVER. 237 wery much indeed.' In a retired country-place, where there is a lack of incident, and excitement is rare, there is an eminent source of pleasure in the rearing" of fowls. You are gratified with the antics of your dog, but nine puppies out of ten are of no value. You respect your horse, and have him com- fortably stabled, but for the most part he is only a patient drudge. You may even look down into your pig-pen w4th a degree of satisfaction. But the hen and chickens, by their nature, habits, and instincts, are an unfailing source of instruction and delight. There is something beautiful in their domesticity and close attachment to home, always feeding about your doors, crowding about you as you go forth, running and flying toward you to re- ceive the scattered grains. The sounds which they make belong to the most cheering associations of the homestead: the motherly clucking, that fre- quent reiterated cittarcut ! and the healthy, whole- souled crowing of the chanticleer. At night, when the stillness becomes insupportable to the waker, he celebrates the watches, and re-assures you with his voice. Starting at those unaccountable noises which are heard at night, there is a familiarity in the cock-crowing which puts you in a fearless mood, and seems to say : ' All's well.' The fresh 238 ^'P THE RIVER. egg daily brought in and deposited in a basket, the incubation, the hatching, the matronly conduct of the hen, walking with careful steps among the brood, now exchanging her tenderness for ferocity at the approach of a mousing cat, or the shadow of a swooping hawk, or, when the storm lowers, gathering her chickens under her wings ; the gra- dual relinquishing of her charge, as they increase to the plumpness of a full-grown quail or a young par- tridge, when the young roosters, in the spirit of imitation, venture upon their first ragged crow, (mixed bass and treble, like the changing voice of a hobbledehoy ;) the occasional cock-fight and sham battle ; the feelings which you experience when you drag down a brace of young pullets for your dinner, and perhaps see their heads cut off at the wood-pile, while they flop and flounce about on their sides among the chips — these things arrest your attention from day to day, and mitigate seclusion. Although it is amusing to see ducks waddling down to the pond at sun-rise in Indian file, and at the cry of their owner returning to be locked up at night-fall in the same order, gluttonizing on little fish till the fins and tails stick out of their mouths, they have not half the interest of hens and chickens. As in- habitants of te7-ra f/yna, they are not worth notice ; UP THE RIVER. 239 in the water they are inanimate, and have neither the agility of fishes nor the grace of wild fowl. It is a beautiful sight to see a large brood of half- grown, full-blooded chickens, sitting down as close together as they can be on the grass, occupying a space no larger than could be covered by the broad brim of a Panama hat, or could be commanded by the sweeping charge of a double-barrel. At night they huddle together in the same manner in an angle of the shed ; but when a little older, seek the perch, there to remain until the break of day, un- less pulled down by the abandoned chicken-stealer. A cock is the proudest and most majestic bird which was ever feathered. Let the gay flamingo flap his wings, and the peacock flirt his gaudy fan, and all the songless flock which make the tropic groves so brilliant. The Bird of Paradise may be esteemed a marvel, and a paragon of the most ecstatic beauty, with all its train of soft and melting heavenly colours, the blending of that holy Hand which, whether shown on the aerial bow or in the sun-set skies, or on the cheeks of fruits, or in the bloom of flowers, is far beyond all imitative pencil; Die of those forms of love divine which never yet have ceased to grace our natural Eden. Even as a dove just parted from the leash, the carrier of some 240 UP THE RIVER. hopeful message, it seems to have been flung down already fashioned from the very groves which hang over the flashing waves that roll hard by the Gol- den City. But for these birds of gorgeous plumage it may be said that they live too near the sun. They are where the tendency of all dust is to take on also the more disjfustino: forms of life : where the lizard lurks among the choicest perfume, and where the basilisk lies along the branch. They are symbols of a perfection of beauty which is not of earth. Now the cock is the representative of the erect, inherent dignity of nature. His race is found every where. He loses not caste among the tropic- birds. He walks along the equatorial belt ; he has his coop in Terra del Fuego as well as in the icy north. He flies wild through the primitive forests, over the great moors and prairies of the western continent. He peoples all the islands of the sea, from New-Holland to Pitcairn's Island, occupied by the descendants of the mutineers of the ' Bounty ;' he is in Europe and Asia, and Africa, and perhaps in the suburbs of Jerusalem at this very day may be found the lineage of the cock which crowed the third lime before ' Peter went out and wept bit- terly.' I will mention another superior advantage which UP THE RIVER. 241 is possessed by these home-bred birds. Things which are exceeding- bright soon weary, and pall upon the sense of sight ; and when the eye becomes dissipated among gorgeous objects, it soon rests upon vacancy, having reached the limit of enjoyment in the present sphere. The fiery plumes leave no im- pression on the seared brains of those who live in the tropics, any more than they do a track in the cloven air. The nature of these birds must be ex- plored by the far-searching naturalist, who with an enthusiasm of his pure studies which blends itself into the very religion of his heart, like Wilson, and Bartram, and Audubon, is willing to pursue them through every danger, and wing them in their timorous retreats. Through the labours of such men we learn at second hand the endless variety of the creation, and from the wonderful adaptation of all things to their end, enrich the argument for the existence of a glorious and merciful God. But in the hen and chickens we have every where before us a perpetual lesson of affection, high instinct, and domestic vir- tues, of which the mind never tires. Pride and na- tive dignity attend the foot-steps of the male, and in his mate we see the inherent strength of true love, assuming the fierceness of a vulture when it stands in need of better protection than the shadow 11 242 UP THE RIVER. of its wings. The pugnacious disposition of the cock shows that the government of the flock is pa- triarchal, and that there cannot rightfully be but one lord within the same enclosures. There can be no mixed government to be consistent with the dignity of the bird. Hence, my Shanghai, after a fair contest, was compelled to knock under, and finally fell off the perch from sheer mortification and neglect, hav- ing lost nearly all his feathers. Had he shown more spirit, although the smaller bird, he might have kept possession of the ground which was his by legal tenure. His unhappy fate reminds me of a tilting-match which actually occurred between a cock and a peacock, which goes to show the strength of weakness when enlisted in a right cause, and what will sometimes ensue from picking your neigh- bours gradually to pieces : and as the narrative in- volves so good a moral, I shall endeavour to put it into the form of a fable, without intending to en- croach upon the department of that unique and ex- ceedingly original delineator and learned Professor, Gilbert Sphinx. Here it is : IN an extensive barn-yard, where the harvests of a rich farmer were collected, and the scattering of corn, hay, oats, and Timothy seed, was exceedingly UP THE RIVER. 243 profuse, there existed the most flourishing establish- ment of fowls in that whole neighbourhood. In the midst of this harem of hens, ruled an extremely handsome and vain-glorious chanticleer. He would have been singled out for his gay plumes, blood-red comb, expanding chest, swelling throat, uplifted head, eminent aspect. In case of any intrusion upon his premises, the result was a bloody fight, which usually left the adversary on his back stone- dead. Early one morning before the cock-crowing, the whole family in the barn yard were awakened by a shrill, wild, unearthly scream. Sir Chanticleer jumped from his perch, and as the day just began to dawn, he discovered an unusual visitor, a pea- cock, who had strayed from a great distance. ' What do you want here ?' said Chanty, bristling up. ' To ask about your Majesty's health,' replied the other, causing his tail to droop, and trembling all over, for he was a great coward ; ' only to ask about your Majesty's health, and permission to spend a day or two in youi dominion, until I am rested from the fatigues of my journey.' * Certainly,' said Cockspur, appeased by his guest's submissive air. ' What is your name ?' 244 UP THE RIVER. 'They call me Splendid Peacock,' replied he. 'Very well, Splendid, I am glad to see you. It is not very often that one of your set does us the honour to call. It is time for breakfast. Here are oats, there is corn. Help yourself : be entirely at home.' * I will,' said Splendid, recovering his assurance, and scratching up a few grains. During the whole of the first day, nothing oc- curred to mar the pleasure of the visit, although Peacock was so embarrassed and bashful that he did not do himself justice. He lurked about in cor- ners, with his head down and his plumage folded up, and his voice was not even heard. His timidity showed itself in all his movements. On the second day, not having worn out his welcome, and his re- ception being good, he walked with much more free- dom ; and about noon, when the sun was shining in its utmost splendour, ascending a hillock which was the very throne of Chanticleer, he opened all his gorgeous plumage to the light. The sensation was prodigious; a crowd gathered around him, and a chuckle of admiration went through the whole yard. From that moment Sir Chanty was filled with deadly animosity, and could hardly refrain from picking his eyes out on the spot. He, however, UP THE RIVER. 245 smothered his rage for the present, but he determined to be the death of him. He therefore souffht a cause of quarrel, and was content to remark, when he heard his guest praised, that he had a scrawny neck, ugly- feet, and a miserable, discordant voice. On the third day, being unable any longer to hold his spite, he came slyly up to Peacock and plucked out one of the handsomest feathers in his tail. Of this the other took no notice, as he had still ample plumes. Every day, however. Chanticleer continued this process of picking till there was not another feather left in the poor bird's tail, and he was an object of ridicule to the whole harem. Chanty, however perceived that his work was not done while his ad- versary had still some very handsome feathers on the top of his head ; he therefore approached with the intention of plucking them out by the roots. When Splendid Peacock found that he was going lose his top-knot also, his cowardice gave place to an ungovernable rage, and he flew at his opponent in so unexpected a manner, and without observing any of the rules of fighting, that the latter was on his back before he knew it. Peacock then, encour- aged by success, and growing all the time more vin- dictive, followed up the attack until he had driven Cockspur entirely out of the enclosure, who was 246 UP THE RIVER. SO mortified and chagrined that he never came back, but left his guest in undisputed possession. While on the subject, it may not be amiss to say something about the rearing of fowls mostly for the banefit of your ignoramus who is smitten with a sudden love of the country, and purchases a box and few acres, and dreams of his exploits in hus- bandry and the happiness which he has in store. From the extensive henneries and large spaces which you see enclosed with light picket-fences, and the extravagant prices which are given now-a- days for certain breeds of fowls, one would suppose that they laid golden eggs, like the goose in ^Esop's fable, and would make their owners rich. Such in fact, is the futile hope which is cherished. Now there is nothing which is more certain to remunerate you than the few chickens for which there is room upon your place, and which may pick up their own living from the chaff, or be supplied from the pro- vender which you have. The fresh eggs alone will recompense your care, and your expense will be no- thing. The cock will roam abroad at will, and the hens will deposit their eggs where they please, in the loft or in the garden. %ut when it comes to making artificial nests, and providing the birds with UP THE RIVER. 247 bits of lime instead of permitting them to seek out the broken clam-shells, and having their roosts made by a carpenter, instead of letting them find their own roosts on a beam or on a tree ; when you attempt to raise them by the fifties or by the thousands, in nine cases out of ten you will find yourself out of pocket. These thick populations do not thrive ; and as they are domestic in their habits, they are fond of a quiet home, and do not, like the turkeys, who are wild in nature, love to go in large flocks. If you live in the country, you need never be with- out a pair of broiled chickens on your table if you have a friend to dine with you, but you will be wo- fully disappointed if you expect to grow rich out of your fowls. I am very much struck with the con- stant rejection by the country-farmers of all fan- ciful schemes, and their perseverance in the old ways of husbandry and the succession of crops. No mat- ter how tempting may be the prospect, their atten- tion is never distracted for a single season from the common routine, and their ultimate success proves iheir judgment to have been correct. You will scarcely find a farmer supporting an inordinate family of hens, or providing for them any better shelter than his barn-yard or his sheds. It is the amateur-husbandman, the philosopher, the poet, the 248 UPTHERIVER. man of letters, who ventures on these experiments. The person who made me a present of my Shanghai and Cochin-China fowls has a large number of them in his enclosures, the descendants of those which he has imported directly from far countries ; but his object is not to make money out of them, and he dispenses them with a free will among his friends, in order that the stock may be improved. While speaking of high-breeds, it may be well to mention that I lately met a man who was going all over the country trying to procure a pair of the original, common, barn-yard fowl, and he complained that they were difficult to be found, the race is so mixed. The foreigners may have their peculiar points, it is true. Their flesh may be more tender, but they do not stand the winters as well. If they lay eggs profusely, they do not always make good mothers. If their reputation is great, they are more likely to be taken from the perch by the abandoned chicken-stealer. This, however, is along talk upon a subject on which I have conversed before ; but 1 must inform you before concluding that I buried my old Shanghai at the roots of a Diana grape-vine, in hopes that the effect would be seen on the future grapes, and on the same night had a singular dream, in which was blended a remembrance of juvenile, 1 UP THE RIVER- 249 romantic story, and on a larger scale the obsequies of the late lamented Cock-robin. For I imagined that I saw again the grave dug, and the pall borne, and the mourners walking, and the bell pulled, while overhead, upon a willow-branch which drooped upon the place of sepulture, I heard the voice of the same ghostly raven which tormented the life of Vander- DONK. July 20. — I am not very fond of fishing, lacking the essential patience of a true fisherman. I never re- member to have caught many fish, or to have been on many excursions where a great many were taken. To sit all day on a rock, or to be continually bait- ing a hook for the benefit of small nibblers, to get your line out of a snarl and untie knots, is not to me an amusing occupation. Several times in the season, however, it is pleasant to go out for this os- tensible purpose ; and though you take nothing, you come home with a sharp appetite, and sleep the bet- ter at night. The books on angling are very pleas- ant reading, especially the ' Complete Angler,' and ' Salmonia,' and one called ' Spring-Tide, or The Angler and his Friends,' by John Yonge Akerman ; 250 UP THE RIVER a publication whose dialogue is intended to illustrate and defend from the charge of utter vulgarity, the language of the rustic population of the southern and western parts of England. But the trout are becoming more and more scarce every year, and even the mountain-streams will soon need to be replenish- ed with this choice fish, while it requires more skill and patience to decoy the large ones at the bottom of their cold and crystal pools. To land a good big trout, whose nose you have been tickling for a long time, as he remains almost motionless, slightly os- cillating as if on a pivot, and tremulously pointing, like a magnetic needle, to some dark hole beneath the shelving rock, excites a feeling of triumph as you place him in the bottom of your basket. Per- haps, however, you will have to wait all day before you get another bite. I like to go a-crahhing, an occupation w^hich has never, according to my knowledge, been dignified by description, although these shell-fish are in much request. To pick them to pieces, and nicely to ex- tract the meat from the several compartments, is in itself an art, and enhances the pleasure of eating and now and then, in the fall-of the year, if you are fond of suppers, it is agreeable to sit down before a large plate of boiled or roasted crabs, with your \ I UP THE RIVER. 251 crash-towel at your side, and draw out the white moisels from the sockets, or scoop out from its re cesses the richer fat. But the soft-crab is especially- desiderated by epicures; for no part is rejected, and when done nicely brown, they eat the whole, claws and all. Says the old poet: • I HAVE no roast But a nut-brown toast, And a crab laid in the fire : Much meat I not desire.' I always thought that the shell-fish was referred to in these verses, but am informed by one well versed in literary things that the allusion is to the crab-apple, which was used to garnish a dish. There will be no harm, however, in making the applica- tion double. When I was a boy — since which many years have elapsed, although it seems but yesterday — I used to resort to an old mill on the salt meadows of Long-Island, where a creek put up from a neigh- bouring bay, to fish for crabs. All which was re- quired was a good strong net, a piece of string, a bit of lead for a sinker, a small chunk of meat, or a lew clams for bait. The crab pulls strong and steadily, and seldom lets go his hold unless you jerk him, and then, if the water is clear, you will see him slinking and sliding off, with a sidelong motion, and with great rapidity toward the bottom. When you 252 UP THE RIVER. are sure that he has well fastened on the bait, you draw in very slowly and gradually, conjecturing his size and fatness from the strength with which he pulls ; and the excitement increases until his brown shell and formidable claws begin to appear above the surface, when you dexterously slip the net under him. and he is yours. It requires some tact then, to turn the net suddenly the wrong side out, before he be- comes entangled in the meshes. When you have got him on the ground, at a sufficient distance from the wave, he will exhibit a remarkable rapidity of locomotion, travelling forward, yet backward, to- ward the element from which he came. Then is the time to put your foot on his back, and to look out for your fingers, for he is a spiteful customer. Nab him effectually by the hind-claws, exerting an antago- nistic strength against his powerful muscles, and put him in the basket. The beauty of this sport is, that your line is already baited ; and if you go at the right time of tide, you do not have to wait long, for abundance of these brown shells have come, to feast on the 'fat of the land.' Sometimes the crab nips so eagerly that you can jerk him out of the water without net, but it is hardly worth while to make the attempt if you are so provided. When your basket is half-full, keep a sharp look-out, or they UP THE KIVEll. 253 will scramble and scrabble out of it, for they are bustling- about, biting and grabbing- one another, ex- hibiting a temper far from amiable. Having reached home with your prize, you tell the cook to put them in boiling water with a little salt in it. ''JMiis,' says the kind-hearted Mrs. Hale, 'may appear cruel, but life cannot be taken without pain.' The only draw- back to the pleasure of crabbing, is the chance of taking- now and then a wriggling eel, which you do not want, and which is hard to get rid of. Perhaps IzAAK Walton, who has thrown the charm of a scholastic elegance about the art of trout-fishing, would have disdained to employ his net in this fashion. And it is true that the crab is associated with no poetic meditations, except of a good supper; neither does this kind of sport afford such leisure intervals to think upon the pleasant fields and (lowers which skirt the meadows. Jt is devoid of science and demands no nicety of skill with which to outwit the 'scaly people,' and which makes the capture of each trout a triumph. But then there are no hooks bit off; no disappointment of empty baskets; no tantalizing sight of fish lla.shiug in mid-air, and then falling back into the water; no tedious sit- ting on a rock to fill up the waste time \\ilh medita- tion. The tact of catching fish is a natural gift, and 254 UP THE RIVER. is not to be learned from books or from the experi- ence of others. It is accompanied by an inborn love of the pursuit, and an instinctive knowledge. Bill Mallory will throw his line into a mountain trout- stream full of stumps, sticks, branches, and obstruc- tions, in nine cases out of ten, so as to avoid them all ; but if his hook gets fastened out of sight, or his snell wound round and round the slender twig, by some dexterous twitch, some easing process-, some change of position, some compound tug, he will re- lease it quickly ; while his fellow-fisherman stamp- ing the bank is deprived of hook and line and tem- per. He will manage, with a knowing look and quiet smile, to cast his hook into the very choicest pasturage of the brook, while I, less fortunate, toil all day, and take no fish. On this account I prefer to go a-crahhijig. July 15. — Although living near the river at pre- sent, I am not exactly in sight of it, (the more's the pity,) and am not quite contented until I get upon its banks. Two years ago I was within a few yards of the wave in one of the most delicious coves of Long Island Sound. When the tide rose high by UP THE RIVER. 255 the joint influence of moon and wind, it sometimes came up to the court-yard gates, salted the roots of rose-bushes, set the bean poles of the garden afloat,, and enabled me to cry ship ahoy ! to a schooner from the window where I sat. One day the pig was drowned, and the chickens cried ' save me' to the ducks. At that time I had a boat pre- sented to me by Lady H., called the ' Governor,' provided properly with oars and sail. Intending to take advantage of living on the water-side by be- coming acquainted with naval tactics, I forthwith tried the sail, and began to scud about the harbour, until an untoward accident induced me to abandon the attempt for ever. In the middle of the stream lay anchored a Connecticut sloop called the ' Julius Caesar,' and in attempting to pass before her, I ran into her bows. Taking hold of the boom in attempt- ing to push off, my boat passed from beneath me and I was left dangling between wind and water for a moment, but as she returned presently, I fell plump into her like a stone with no damage but the loss of a new hat. While taking down the sail, I was so unfortunate as to unship the rudder, and while try- ing to recover the rudder, lost one oar, and while seeking to regain that, I lost the other. I however pushed the boat ashore with the sprit, put the sail 256 UP THE RIVER. in the hay-loft where it became the prey of mildew, and never cauo^ht the breeze aofain. One nig-ht when my boat had been drawn up high and dry, and the caulking had been taken out preparatory to her being recaulked, two fellows took a notion to steal her, and had they not been good swimmers, would probably have been drowned. For in the darkness of the night, not suspecting her condition, and hav- ing first searched for and found the oars, they launch- ed her and pulled boldly for the middle of the stream. Before long they took to bailing, and after that to swimming, and with many oaths and imprecations they trotted home on the sands and hung their jackets up to dry. ' The Governor' was found the next day bottom upward on the opposite coasts. This whole Christian country from end to end is in- fested with thieves, making it almost the bounden duty of every honest man to resolve himself into a missionary to preach up honesty. ]\Iy boat was also shamefully banged about by those who took hei without license, leaving the bottom covered with sand and ill-smelling clams and decayed crabs. J was, on two separate occasions, challenged to row by two ladies for a slight wager, but I permitted them both to beat me, out of politeness, of which fact they may not be aware until this day, and I UP THE RIVER. 257 hope that they will excuse me for mentioning it. I have not, however, a natural taste for boating, though extremely fond of aquatic excursions when there is a good Palinurus at the helm, and of baiting hooks for ladies who are tender of the worms. I like amazingly to sail about in a good yacht, well manned and properly provisioned, whether to a neighbouring port or to the grounds where in cool waters beneath the sheltering rocks, repose the much-loved black fish. Has no one written pisca- tory eclogues ? If not, perhaps I will do it. July 25. — To-day, again, I was delighted with the remarkable effects of fogs among the mountains, as they rolled down from the summits, and, breaking over the forest-tops, fell softly into the deep abyss in many a snowy cataract. Before sun-rise there was a drenching rain, and I rose and shut down the sashes in my chamber, as it w^as sifting in and wet- ting the carpet ; and, beside, the air w^as exceed- ingly cool. The frequent rains have been amarkeil feature in this most delightful summer. Scarcely has the earth begun to thirst, or living things to pant under the ardent sun, when the grateful clouds have collected, and presently there has been vouchsafed 258 UPTHERIVER. a refreshing shower. If the streams have befeii scanty for a week or two, so that the rocks in their beds have become bare and liot, and the water trick- led among the stones, in a little while the tributary drops have coalesced, and what with fogs, and mists, and showers, have gushed down through every gully into the impoverished stream, pouring over the mill- dams in copious floods, and adding force and gran- deur to the most insignificant cascade and cataract. The corn-blades shine brightly, (I speak of the In- dian maize,) and there has just been gathered in the most glorious golden harvest that ever rewarded the reaper. Magnificent as the sea is, with its billows, white caps, and its breakers, its sweet waves softly laving the delicious shores, have you not sometimes been more refreshed by the sight of acres upon acres of wheat all ready for the sickle ; and as the wind, the west wind, moves along the surface, at one time pouring down into the hol- lows and the valleys, then glancing up the acclivi- ties ; now causing the whiter and silvery stalks to • bow down, and then the golden heads to stand upright, have you not looked down from a high hill upon the ripples of this waving ocean ? I, for one, can never see the harvests of this glorious land, where there is bread enough for all, and to spare, without UP THE RIVER. 259 thinking of those lately-impoverished granaries Vi^hich had no food for the starving people. It is only when the heavens are brass, and the blight comes, and the hand of labour is of no value, that we feel that God feeds us. To starve to death is hard and tantalizing, when almost within reach of the most superabundant plenty. O ye people of England ! methinks you should have stripped your- selves of every grandeur, retrenched all your luxu- ries, cast down your precious jewelry, and brought yourselves to a mere morsel of bread, sooner than have let that thing come to pass. Yet who can doubt that such a price was thought too dear to buy the luxury of doing good ? And there within the halls which overlooked those scenes of desperate sorrow might be heard the voice of revelry ; the tables groaned, and still the dance was woven, and the feast went on, while from the lordly roofs the lights shone down upon the gold and silver plate, emblazoned with the arms of your illustrious ances tors, and made the wine flash brighter in the gob lets, which maketh glad the heart of man. Here are millions upon millions of acres, blooming almost spontaneously, which only wait the hand of culture. The soil is full of richness : the vegetation of a mul- titude oi centuries has blended with its mellow loam, 260 UP THE RIVER in places where the plough has never passed, and where the sower has never scattered. Tend it with a somewhat sedulous care, and from the bottom of the valleys to the high mountain-tops, it would burst out and blossom like the rose. Indeed, I see not how a universal famine could prevail among us We have a multitude of happy valleys, beside that rolled over by the fruitful Mississippi ; not one ma- jestic, melancholy Nile alone, like Egypt ; and the land is too great for one ansrel of destruction to overlap it with a black shadow. For if a drought should fall upon the Empire State, and all its neigh- bouring compeers, the doors of the great western granaries would be flung wide open, the freighted cars of burden would thunder on a thousand miles toward the hungry spot, from many a bright and green oasis, to equalize the gifts of God, bear- ing the corn more precious far than yellow gold, and the very standard of golden value. XV. August 8. -:^- ,'7 r. ',■ •' V . SAID something about mosquitoes, which, after all, is too serious a mat- ter to trifle with. The frequent rains have been produc- |tive of great swarms of these detestable and annoying visi- tors, who are rank- ed in the same ca- tegory with fleas and a certain name- less domestic bug. It takes a strong wind or a sharp frost to annihilate these blood-suck- 262 UP THE RIVER. ers on wings. When ihey get into the upper rooms there they stick, and the whole household must be resolved into a vigilant police to detect them in their secret hiding-places. Before retiring for the night, you take a candle and trim the wick so as to afford a clear light, shut down the windows, and commence the search. This is pleasant work, and is performed with all the alacrity which attends the satisfaction of a deep grudge. To stop their music for the night and ever more, is the object of your candle-light campaign. And first, you take a gen- eral survey of the walls to see the number and dis- position of the troops, hearken with the acute ear of an Indian to detect the hum of preparation in the distance, and take notice of a few scouts who are moving about. Then you set down the candle, pull off your coat and shoes, turn up your wristbands, and take a soiled towel to apply it again to practical use, before it is tossed into the basket. Fold the towel neatly, so that it may lie flat on the palm of you hand, and go to work on the Johnsonian theory, that ' killing is no murder.' Never mind the walls. Looks are a minor consideration to true comfort, a maxim which is little practised by some people now- a-days. Now. my little Maretzeks, your opera will not succeed to-night. It costs too much ; there are UP THE RIVER. 263 too many tenors in the band. With satisfaction you look upon the first victim. He is pendent on the celling with hisheadtothe antipodes, stickingormov- ing about with a secure foot-hold on the principle of ex- haustion of the air and pressure of the external atmos- phere. How marvellous the apparatus ! There is at present a great man-fly who can walk upon walls, but not so glibly. The mosquitoe is directly over your bed, a fine, plump fellow, with blithe legs. Slap ! — he has departed this Yiie, felix opportunitate mortis. Twirl him up in your fingers, and be as- tonished that from a speck of dust such an ingeni- ous, vital piece of mechanism could have been form- ed a proboscis wonderful as an elephant's ; an ap- paratus for exhausting the air more perfect than man can make ; a faculty for disturbing the temper and exciting to action some of the strongest passions of a philosophic man ! There's another. Ah ! he's gone ; flown clean over to the most remote part of the room. The rascals dodge if they do but catch your eye, refusing to look you in the face ; and from that time until the lights are out and all is still, they skulk. Do not fight the battle by halves ; pursue the fugitives; track them to their ambuscades; shake the counterpanes and loose articles of dress ; look high, look low on your hands and knees ; in- 264 UP THE mVER. spect the carpet. Behold the little fellow on the very angle of the mantle-piece. Slap ! — that's good! he's out of harm's way, and that makes two. You don't see any more, but you hear one, and by no means think it a small matter if there is only one. He will be sure to find you out ; he is there for the express purpose of preying on flesh and blood. Fee- fo-fum. Dead or alive he will have some. Hanging above your head in some uncertain part of the fir- mament he will sing for the half hour, alight mo- mentarily upon your forehead, change his mind and descend on your hand ; finding it not very plump, he will go to your ancles ; convinced that he has made a mistake, will return to head quarters and bite your temples, while you box your ears and slap your cheeks in vain. One mosquitoe is as good as a swarm, for in the morning you wake up, if you have been asleep at all, and find yourself vaccinated in a hundred places with virulent poison, covered with blotches, wishing that yon had a hundred hands, and that they were all actively employed in scratch- ing. Briareus alone would be in a state of toler- able comfort. With regard to instinct, the mos- quitoe is not a whit inferior to the more sizable nui- sances of creation. He prefers the cheek of a young maiden, but if she is Turkishly veiled, he can sip UP THE RIVER. 265 from another source under the wing of a horse-fly. As to nrian, the uses of this affliction are uncertain, but perhaps these petty stings are intended to pre- pare the way for his sublimer sorrows. August 9. — There is a saying, ' the winter goes out like a lion.' The same expression might be ap- plied to summer if there is any fierceness in the sun. Some days at the latter part of the season, those which announce the advent of the locusts, and pre- cede the arrival of the catydids, become notorious for a raging heat, like that which comes from the Desert of Sahara. Their character is duly chroni- cled and remembered. The silvery tides steal up in the long and glassy reservoirs. The temperature of these days is productive of a languor and dead sickness. In vain the plums are plentiful, and the grapes become ripe, and the harvest-apples blush with a red tinge ; no sight is agreeable but that of the rippling waves, and no sound but that of the tinkling ice. O, ye breakers of Rockaway ! you apostrophize, would that I might dash into your midst. 0, ye rivers which lave the shores, might I but dip my feet in your waves ! O, thou cataract 266 UP THE EIVER. of Niagara ! that I could at this moment behold you plunge ! O, ices and snows of the Alpine moun- tains, how agreeable your sight ! 0, avalanches ! — Anne ! Anne ! Anne ! where are you ! bring a bucket of fresh water, and throw this lukewarm fluid aw^ay ! How hot is this black collar ! There, there ! This button pinches the throat ! I am go- ing to pull my coat off, and my waist-coat ! That feels better. Now I hope that no people will come. If they do, I shall not see them. Preserve me from intrusion on a very cold day, or on a very w'arm. At these times you read the bills of mortality and think of your fat friends, your sickly acquaintances, the city babies who are toted about the parks. You cannot eat your dinner. With a desperate malignity you attack the faults of every body whom you know. Then you take up the newspaper and complain that it is dull, nothing stirring. A great many people are sun-struck. Stupid hod-carriers ! perhaps they were never struck with anything else in their lives. Every body is out of humour, and this is plainly shown in the daily papers. One man complains that he cannot see at the Opera, at the Castle Gar- den, because there is a pillar in the way right in front of the stage ; another, that the boiler of a steam-boat on which he travelled blew up ; another, UP THE RIVE 11. 267 that the mails are irregularly carried, or that the teleg-raph is not worth a rush ; a fourth, that as he journeyed in the omnibus a bullet was shot into it by a negro as black as soot ; all calling upon the editor, by the virtue which is in him, to avenge these injuries which have become intolerable and not to be endured. As to the pistol-shot, for my own part, I am perfectly convinced that you cannot pack four- teen or sixteen people, promiscuously brought to- gether in an omnibus, (which is the ordinary load,) among whom there is not at least one deserving to be shot. Let us hear no more on that score, since nobody was hurt, and the negro is at large. This last exploit was perfectly trivial compared with what is done in the city every day. I remember a fat virago who had beaten her husband, and entered a pathetic plea in his behalf before the Judge. He had invited a friend to smoke a pipe with him, and all which he had done was to deposit a little gun- powder in the bowl of the pipe, so that when it ex- ploded, it carried away the end of his friend's nose. 'What of that?' she protested; 'was it worth while for a thing of that kind to bring a poor man into court for everybody to stare at V Certainly not. But perhaps all this smacks of peevishness 268 UP THE RIVER. and hot weather, As Saxe says, with much facility of numbers : — Heaven- help us all in these terrific daj-s ; The burning sun ujion the earth is pelting With his directest, fiercest, hottest rays, And everv thing is melting. While prudent mortals curb with strictest care All vagrant curs, it seems the queerest puzzle The dog-star rages rabid through the air, Without the slightest muzzle. But Jove is wise and equal in his sway, Howe'er it seems to clash with human reason ; His fiery dogs will soon have had their day. And men shall have a season.' August 10. — Smythe, who came here to spend the summer, expected to-day his little Mexican pony, which had been in the battle of Buena Vista. I rode down to the boat in Smythe's carriage with his man Alexander. On approaching, the little black war-horse was descried in company of several others on the bow. He was a well-rounded animal, with a flowing mane, handsome tail, and mischievous eye. No sooner had Alexander conducted him upon the sands than he began to make amends for his cramped position on the voyage, rearing up on his hind-legs, and squealing prodigiously. Among UP THE RIVER. 269 other feats, he stood almost upright, his head high in air, and attempted to plant his hoofs on Alexan- der'' s croion, which would have been the ruin of that regal piece of furniture. After that, he curvetted about, and finally succeeded in tearing the halter out of Alexander's hand. Some one then assisted in passing the rope between his teeth, and fastening the noose tightly over his nose, after which he con- sented to be led. This being slow work, Smythe told Alexander to get into the carriage, wind the rope round his hand, and so conduct him in the rear. We had proceeded about two miles peaceably, and the sun was down, when Mexico, perceiving some excellent herbage by the way-side, gave the halter a sudden jerk, and he was loose. To catch him ap- peared easy, but it turned out to be difficult. For no sooner had you approached within a few feet of him than he gave a bound and retreated down the road about a hundred yards, where he began again quietly to graze. This he repeated many times, until he had traveled back a half a mile, when he was caught. ' Now,' says Smythe, ' this time do you hold him tightly.' But scarcely had the car- riage started than he pulled most violently, tore the skin from Alexander's hand, and was off. All ef- fort was now made to capture the mischievous little 270 UP THE RIVER. beast, but becoming irritated, at last, by having his will thwarted, he dashed off on the full gallop to the water-side, where he soon came plump up to his belly in a deep marsh, and we could see him in the dim twilight floundering and flopping about with pro- digious violence, and entirely beyond reach. Smythe came back in a most vindictive passion, exhausting a vocabulary of no choice epithets, saying that he might go where he liked and get drowned; that he should not trouble his head about him, and so drove home in moody silence. ' Where's the horse V ex- claimed all the ladies on the piazza. ' Where's your horse?' exclaimed one and another, till the question became vexatious in the extreme. Smythe drank three cups of tea, lit a cigar, and stood in silence on the bank marking the eff'ect of moon shine on the flashing waves, and listening to the hoarse suspiration of the porpoises who were disporting in the full tide. At ten o'clock the pony was brought home, covered with mud, in an ugly temper, and disposed to bite. August 1 1 . — Smythe intended his Buena Vistan for a ladies' saddle-horse, but his war-horse attitudes and rough-and-ready way of grabbing the bit made I ( U P T H E 11 1 V E R . 27 1 it necessary to put him in harness. He was accord- ingly hitched to a carriage, the lash was smartly laid on, and his master and I proceeded at a rapid pace over some of the most romantic hill-tops of the country. Here Mexico at first j-ustified his reputation as a most gentle creature, only a little lively from the effect of oats, and full of fun. He came very near, however, getting us into trouble. In passing over a mill-dam, where there was some little commotion of the water, he shyed in the middle of a bridge which had no balustrades, advancing so near to the brink that another step would have plunged us both into the stream. With great nim- bleness we got out behind, and his master, going to his head, led him on for a few yards, (his master appearing exceedingly pale,) when he was driven home without trouble. In the evening, a riding- party was formed, and an adventurous Diana Vernon volunteered to mount Mexico. He was brought 1o the door properly saddled, but some person who did not know how to assist a lady on horse-back by the foot, imprudently placed a ciiair at his side, which Mexico at once kicked over, and began to wheel about in numerous gyrations. At last, the rider being firmly seated, pony put himself in those ex- travagant attitudes which are seen in battle-pictures, 272 UP THE RIVER. to the great alarm of some of the lookers-on. But a few vigorous lashes well applied caused him pre- sently to fall into rank, and the whole party were observed to proceed prosperously until concealed by a bend in the road. After advancing a mile or two, pony insisted upon being a little in advance, and, as usual, would have his own way, until from the effect of checking and whipping he broke suddenly into an irresistible gal- lop. The rest, alarmed, urged on the horses to keep up, if possible, while Smythe gallantly tried to head him off. But the sound of clattering hoofs in the rear only put him on his mettle, and made him go the faster ; seeing which, the others were compelled to check up, straining their eyes after Diana, who was carried along with the speed of the wind. The utmost apprehension filled the minds of the whole party ; and the cheeks, which were lately as red as the rose, became blanched like ashes. They imagin ed that they saw the rider j ust ready to fall, and riding on a fast canter sometimes with exclamations of alarm, and again in a dead silence followed for a mile farther the course of that shady lane. At last, a man, distinguishable by a white hat, was seen in advance of the Vernon, and great hopes were placed on his timely assistance, and not in vain. He per- UP THE RIVER. 273 ceived the predicament, planted himself firmly in the middle of the road, took off his white hat, and swaying it violently before the eyes of the approach- ing Mexico, caused him to sheer off up a gentle ac- clivity, and brought him up all standing against the fence. In a moment more, the party arrived breath- less. There was an exchange of saddles, and the gallant Smythe, striding the wicked beast, galled his mouth well, and basted his sides, again ariving at the goal in advance. It is said that a Mexican officer was shot from the back of the pony at Buena Vista, that famous battle-field where five thousand volunteering Yan- kees took possession of the field occupied by tw^enty thousand of that degenerate race, now ruled over by the illustrious Santa Anna. Perhaps in that campaign he got a taste for tumbling people from his back. His sides had been formerly branded with a hot iron, which was the only blemish on his sleek skin. From the date of the present adventure, he was abandoned by his fair patrons, driven in harness, and backed only by the rougher sex. Horsemanship is an accomplishment that, if fearless and skilful, is both delightful and safe. But rude and untamed beasts should never be ridden by ladies for the mere purpose of recreation, unless they hap 274 UP THE RIYEPv pen to be Amazons, as their position on the saddle, however brave they may be, does not give them a full control. In cases of danger, the attendant ca- valier can, for the most part, render no succour, although I have once or twice seen the requisite aid bestowed with an incomparable grace and efficiency. To dash up to a refractory steed, seize the bit and bridle, re-arrange the girth, pass the arm quietly about the waist of the falling maiden, and re-assure both the horse and the rider, is the part of the most accomplished knight, who by virtue of his tact, may be well deserving of his pleasant burden. But under proper auspices no spectacle is more pleasing or exhilarating, nor free from alarm, than a spirited courser, who seems proud of the charge he bears; nor can any position more serve to set off the charms of a stately woman. For mark how every rustic drops his hoe ; the plough stands still ; the golden grain still takes a momentary lease, when, with quadrupe- dante tramp, just like a vision, bursts upon the sight the lovely cavalcade. With buoyant grace they float upon the air, serenely gay ; eyes sparkling with delight ; cheeks mantling with the rose, and every feature speaking with the zest of exercise. Sir William Jones, once looking from his case- UP THE RIVER. 275 ment in the East, beheld a sight like this, and has recorded his impressions : ' As swiftly sped she o'er the lawn Her tresses wooed the gale, And not more lightly glanced the fawn On Sidon's palmy vale.'* August 12. — Where now are all those delightful anticipations of the country, balmy breezes, spring- time excursions, plenty of fresh air and fresh milk, flowery meadows, songs of birds, excursions up the river? Fulfilled and past. The heats have been excessive ; all things droop and lag ; a blue mist hangs over the mountains, indicative of droaght ; the mosquitoes sing all night ; the day opens with a sickening heat and with the chaffering of locusts in the grove ; the excessive vegetation begins to have a rank smell ; elasticity departs ; and the ani- mal man feels bad. What creatures of circum- stance we are ! The utmost which you can do is to do nothing and to keep a serene temper. Turn the butcher from your door ; live upon rice and su- * Quoted from memory. 276 UP THE RIVER. gar ; shut the windows to keep out the flies and hot air ; cultivate the grace of patience ; lounge all day and make your oblutions frequent ; revise the classic authors, and try to con over some moral maxims, that the time may not be all lost. ' A mer ciful man is merciful to his beast.' When I see a poor horse lashed to the top of his speed and over- come with his exertions, panting, and gasping, and covered with foam, I could wish that a transmigra- tion of souls were possible, and that his cruel task- master, like the vixen in the Arabian Tale, might be transformed into the ill-used beast, and lashed and goaded without stint for his cruelty. Not long ago, I met a negro going about the country with an old horse and cart picking up the dried bones of horses to be ground in a mill and converted into manure. He had arranged the skulls in a row quite regularly along the edges of his wagon, and as I approached, saluted me with a very knowing look and cunning grin, as if expecting some recognition of his artistic ingenuity. ' What is the name of your beast V said I. ' Lazarus,' quoth he, with a smile ; and, in fact, I thought the name not inappropriate, for there are many poor horses whose raw bones and sunken eyes remind you of the sepulchre. Some reflections occurred to me more pathetic than those UP THE RIVER. 277 derived from the contemplation of Sterne's dead ass. Those white bones were the frame-work and timbers of once useful and docile beasts. That long skull with molars well worn, indicates a beast which has served his master well. For how many years had he drawn heavy burdens, and for a modicum of hay fulfilled his compact while he could. How many times had he been ready to fall under the ar- dent rays of the sun. How many lashes had he received in the course of his life. At last, when old and sick, he was denied shelter and turned out to die. He fell by the way-side, covered with sores ; and at last the crickets lodged in the sockets of his eyes. August 13. — To-day has been a desperate day with me. The thermometer at ninety degrees in the shade. Irritated by the mosquitoes, smarting from head to foot, sweltering with the heat and gasp- ing for breath, at twelve ajvte meridiem I held a consultation in my own breast to know if any defen sive policy could be adopted. It is a satisfaction, however small, to wreak your vengeance on paper 278 UP THE RIVER whicli is the most innocent exhibition of discontent. I intermitted my usual walk to the post-ofRce to begin with, and sacrificed the perusal of the morn- ing's paper, thereby denying myself the fresh ac- count of rail-road slaughtery and poor labourers killed by the sun. Next, I ordered a handful of rice and a few tomatoes to b'^ cooked for dinner, the same to be eaten at any hour when appetite should justify the attempt. I then carried a wash- tub into a vacant room, poured into it a few buckets of rain-water, and set a large piece of sponge a-floating on the same. I have a cellar, a deep cel- lar, a capacious cellar, which now, as always, proved a most valuable part of my house. Dug ten feet be- low the surface, with the light and air admitted through a few apertures, it is at once cool, dry, and salubrious — the very place for milk, butter, and cheeses, with which my neighbours keep me well supplied. Flies or mosquitoes do not find the air sufliciently genial for their natures ; but rats, sly rats abound. I carried into the cellar three chairs and a cushion, and a small table, an ink-stand, pens, and a few sheets of paper, a small stick for the rats, and Macaulay's History of England. Then I took a sponging, and retreating to my cell, remained for three hours, alternately reading and writing, and at UP THE RIVER. 279 intervals coming up stairs to indulge in afresh bath. The air of the place was most salutary ; the hot breeze from above occasionally came in puffs through the slats, and once only I beheld a sly rat leering from beneath the roots of a cabbage, and with his bright eyes intent on a betty of oil. Attacked the rat, and then back to Macauley ! Perhaps it may be a weakness to reveal these small personal mat- ters, but hot days like the above deserve to be com- memorated ; and I would wish to show that for every grievance we have an ample remedy in our power. If we are too lazy or listless to apply it, then we may take it out in sighing and complaining, knitting the brows, and inflicting our ill-humour on everybody within reach. If I were about to erect a house, which, in my present state of prosperity, does not seem probable, let me tell you what I would do. I would sink a deep, capacious cellar, fill in the subterranean walls with some substance to exclude the damp, and build me rooms which should have the luxurious coolness of an under- ground palace. Then when the raging heats pre- vailed, I should not be compelled to sigh for the cool sea-shore or for the high mountain-top, but would be contented in my own house, and thus re- tiring to the 'deep-delved earth,' save some valu- 280 UP THE RIVEK. able hours of study, and retrieve more from las- situde, vexation, and ill-humour. August 14. — Again the heats have been unmiti- gated, and about noon the sultriness was so great that existence seemed a burden. There was not a cloud in the sky, and I gazed in vain to discover some symptoms of a coming shower. At two o'clock, retired to the cellar, and read Macaulay. Compared with the insufferable heat which came down into the rooms through the blistered shingles, how equable was the climate. A sufficient light stole in upon the well-printed page, and with a cooled cranium I applied myself vigorously to the great historian. He concentrates so much allusion through the philosophy of his antithetic narrative as to tax the remembrance of those not read up in the sources of history, so that in a short time he becomes painfully brilliant even in a cellar. Went up stairs presently, and found the atmosphere dreadful, and indulged in a copious ablution. All faces were ill- humoured, and the strength of animal bodies gradu ally oozed out at every pore, and I said to R , 'Go upon the grass and tell if you observe any UPTHERIVER. 281 clouds on the horizon ;' just as the wife of Blue- beard, when the emergency was pressing, exclaimed : ' O, sister Annie, look out of the casement ! Do you not see any thing V And she replied : ' I see a cloud of dust rising in the distance.' And so might be descried a few dark specks, while the mu- sic of far-off thunder was heard at the same mo- ment. At five o'clock, the clouds were evidently working around from the south-west, but the pros- pect was not favourable, and the heat of the sun continued intense. Yesterday, we had the same symptoms, but at evening the heavens were brass, and the very rays of the moon seemed to reflect a portion of the sun's heat. In another hour the heavens were darkened, and a refreshing breeze came up, and on the other side of the river the clouds were evidently discharging rain, for I could see it just like long pencilings of the rays of the Aurora Borealis, sweeping around and gradually ad- vancing over vast tracts which, at that very instant, were experiencing relief. Occasional gusts rifled the trees of dead leaves ; the cattle lowed and gal- loped through the clover-fields in search of shelter ; and carriages dashed along the road in great haste for their destination. In a short time, there was a coalition of clouds from all quarters, and the moun- 282 UP THE RIVER. tains before us were entirely obscured from view The drops descended ; the play of lightning was in- cessant ; a tremendous hurricane came down the mountain, prostrating every fragile thing in its path ; hail-stones began to play plentifully against the panes ; and in an instant all the collected moisture which had been sucked up from the sea-gulfs for so many days swept along in one sheet ; it rolled over the stubble-fields in actual waves, and through the gullies like rivers. Presently the earth was sated, and the invigorated lungs swelled out with fresh air like a sponge. The birds, who had been mute, be- gan to sing on the branches ; the quail uttered his sweet peculiar whistle ; and the night advanced with reiterated showers. Where now were all the le- gions of mosquitoes ravenous for blood ? Swept along by the invincible wind to parts unknown, those only excepted who have taken shelter within doors, and it will go hard with them. When a little bird, weared out with the frequent librations of his wings, seeks refuge in your house all trembling from the violence of the hurricane, you catch him, and coop him kindly in your hands, smooth down his rumpled feathers, calm his palpitating heart, and when the storm subsides fling him back into his na- tive air. But for those marauders who have winffs UP THE RIVER. 283 without feathers, and carry poison in their bills, you adopt a different course. You grasp at them in their flight, mash them flat on their roosts, slap them down on the walls, urge them into cob-webs and cheer on the little spider as he comes down the in- visible rigging to his prey. Of all the many who ventured on your hospitality you spare not a single one. But if you have a good microscope, you will take a scientific look at the little tormentors, and not be astonished that a poultice should sometimes be necessary to alleviate their fangs. Aug. 15. — In the above, you have my peevish diary or journal for a week, and more intense suf- fering from the heat of the sun, was perhaps never experienced in the same space, by mortal man. Whole regiments of horses gave up the ghost m the midst of their labours, and a hundred people drop- ped down dead, in a single day, in the neighbouring city. The form of the Pestilence hovered near, like a foul bird watching the prey ; like a dog or a jackal, crouching beneath the wall ; when suddenly the rains descended, and the floods came, and the elec- tric fluias resolved themselves into red-hot balls, 284 UP THE HIVER. darting flames, and passed away through the firma- ment, burning up the noxious gases, and cleansing it of impurities ; and at last, the sun, veiled of his ter- ror, came forth to cheer and to animate : a light blue haze, like a precursor of Indian summer, over- spread the mountains, and attempered its brilliancy, the breezes gushed forth, cool, as if wafted from crystal reservoirs, while every living thing which lately gasped and panted, drew a long breath, and the whole realm, by a successful revolution of the elements, was changed'at once from a burning de- sert, to a bright and beautiful oasis. Now, the languid arms are nerved anew, and the monotonous song of the cicada is lost in the hum of industry, and the little lambs skip in the fields, and the pig no longer wallows in the mud, but walks erect, with clean and shining bristles, in all the dig- nity of his porcine nature. Now the sound of the hammer is again heard, and the workman toils on the scaffold, and the labourers return cheerily when the horn blows at noon. Now you can look on the limpid rolling stream without desiring to share with the fishes, or to be amphibious, like the alligator, or the seal. It is enough to walk upon the clean mar- gin, to pick up pebbles, to see the sails glide by, to listen to the plash of the waves, to mark the thin- UP THE RIVER. 285 legged snipe, as they run before you on the beach, or the sea-gulls, as they dart about, in their sharp, angular wanderings on lithe wings, as they pause motionless, then drop like a stone into the river, to bring up the little fishes in their beaks. You are not perpetually dreaming of icy draughts, or, like the tired Caesar, crying, ' Give me some drink, Titinius.' Those who knitted the brows and scowled when the rays of the sun scourged them as with a lash, now partake of the bland weather as a matter of course, merely saying to the passer-by, with the indifferent air of those not grateful for any benefit, ' Fine day — fine day.' These valleys between the mountains are like great halls, and when you are released, as it were, from a hot oven, the ventilation is refreshing beyond expression ; and although I miss your damask cheeks, oh roses, and you, sweet breathed honeysuckles, from whose lips the hum- ming-bird dartingly drinks, as you burst into the open windows, and twine about the porch ; and though all the sweeter and more delicate vegetables of the garden, such as those saccharine and much- prized peas, Prince Albert and Queen Victoria, have given place to corpulent roots, to be laid up for winter use, yet walk I with pleasure among the still verdant fields, and mar , without a murmur, the 286 ^P THE RIVER. approach of the season which is heralded by the falling leaf. Hast thou ever read ' The Farmer's Boy,' com- posed by Robert Bloomfield in a garret, without the aid of pen, ink, paper, or slate, while he in the mean- time plied the awl, and pulled the waxed thread? If not, procure a copy, (I have the first American reprint,) and after you have perused it faithfully, though you may not be arrested with dazzling beau- ties, it will leave after it a remembrance like the fragrance from a bed of daisies or violets. Although formally divided into the four seasons, it is by no means a repetition or an imitation of Thompson, nor so minute in its particulars, but describing only the more ordinary incidents of a country life. There had been few good pastorals in English, most com- positions of this kind being formed too frigidly after classic models, smelling more of the oil-can than the milk-pail ; a fact which gave good scope to the satiric pen which indited mock eclogues. These writers affected the clown with not more success than the latter would ape the gentleman, and, al- though they treated of swains, rustic lovers, bleating lambs, hedges and stiles, and banks of vio- lets, they lacked a true Doric innocence of expres- sion, and the sincere spirit of the pastoral muse. UP THE R I V E 11 . 287 Milton mourned, indeed, with a touching lyric, and tender pathos, the death of his ' loved Lycidas,' but for the rest, their artificial poems, however highly polished, and filled up with rustic imagery, recalled no truthful pictures of rural life. After Thompson had written his charming work, came Bloomfield, and there were scholars at the time who thought that the composition of this untutored and unher- alded bard were unequalled since the days of Theo- critus. It is remarkable for ease, sweetness, and simplicity, for the general purity of its style, and is a standing protest against the old motto, 'ne sutor ulti'a crepidam.'' There are true pictures in this little poem, which remind one of Goldsmith's village School-master. Look, for instance, at those passages which describe the character and pursuits of Giles : • This task had Giles, in fields remote from home, Ott as he wished the rosy morn to come, Yet never famed was he, nor foremost found To break the seal of sleep ; his sleep was sound. But when at day-break summoned from his bed, Light as the lark that caroled o'er his head. His sandy way, deep worn by hasty showers, O'erarched with oalcs that formed fantastic bowers, Waving aloft their towering branches proud In borrowed tinges from the eastern cloud, — His own shrill matin joined the various notes Of Nature s music, from a thousand throats ; Tlie blackbird strove, witJi emulation sweet, And Echo answered irom her close retreat ; The sporting white-throat, on some twig s end borne, Poured hymns to freedom and the rising morn ; 288 UP THE RIVER- Stopt in her song, perchance the starting thrush Shook a -white shower from the blackthorn bush, Where dew-drops thick as early blossoms hung, And trembled as the minstrel sweetly sung. Across his path, in either gro%-e to hide. The timid rabbit scouted by his side ; Or bold cock-pheasant stalked along the road, AVhose gold and purple tints alternate glowed.' Is not that genuine, and true to nature ? Bui Giles is a man of all work : • His simple errand done, he homeward hies ; Another instantl 3' his place supplies. The clatt' ring dairy-maid, immersed in steam, Singing and scrubbing 'midst her milk and cream, Bawls out, ' Go ffich ihi- cons ." he hears no more, For pigs, and ducks, and turkies, throng the door, And sitting hens, for constant war prepared ; A concert strange to that which late he heard. Forth comes the maid, and like the morning smiles — The mistress, too, and followed close by Giles. A friendly tripod forms their humble seat, W'th poilx hrifrht sconred, and delicate) y sweet. Where shadowing elms obstruct the morning ray, Begins their work, begins the simple lay ; The full-charged udder yields its willing strf^ams, While Mary sings some lover s amorous dreams. And crouching Giles, beneath a neighbouring tree, Tugs o'er his pail, and chants with equal glee ; Whose hat, with tattered brim of nap so bare. From the cow's side purloins a coat of hair, — A mottled ensign of his harmless trade — An unambitious, peaceable cockade. Brisk goes the work beneath each busy hand. And Giles must trudge, whoever gives command : A Gibeonite that serves them all by turns, He drains the pump, from him tlie faggot burns : UP THE RIVER. ggg From him the noisy hogs demand their food, While, at his heels, runs many a chirping brood. Or down his path in expectation stand, With equal strains upon his strowing hand : Thus wastes the morn, till each with pleasure sees The bustle o'er, and pressed the new-made cheese.' Now mark this picture of lambs at play : Now, challenged forth, see hither one by one, From every side assembling play-mates run ! A thousand wily antics mark their stay, A starting crowd impatient of delay. Like the fond dove, from fearful prison freed. Each seems to say, ' Come, let us try our speed !' Away they scour, impetuous, ardent, strong. The green turf trembling as they bound along : Adown the slope, then up the hillock climb. Where every mole-hill is a bed of thyme ; There, panting, stop ; yet scarcely can refrain, — A bird, a leaf, will set them off again ; Or, if a gale with strength unusual blow, Sca'i'-rins the wild-b-ier rotten into snow. Their little limbs increasing efforts try ; Like the torn llowr the fair assemblage fly.' Here is one more, which will suffice : • He comes, the pest and terror of the yard. His full-fledged progeny's imperious guard. The gand'-^ : spiteful, insolent and bold. At the colt's footlock takes his daring hold; There, serpent-like, escapes a dreadful blow. And straight attacks a poor, defenceless cow ; Each booby goose the unworthy strife enjoys, And hails his prowess with redoubled noise. Then back he stalks, of self-importance fuU, Seizes the shaggy fore-top of the bull. Till, whirled aloft, he falls a timely check, Enough to dislocate his worthless neck ; For lo ! of old he boasts an honoured wound, — Behold that broken wing, that trails the ground 1' 13 290 "UP THE RIVER. For myself, I admire Thompson much, and Bloomfield more, although it would be no envi- able praise to stand next on the shelf to that most exquisite descriptive poet. The first is more ex- haustive of topics, but the second has produced a work not less rounded and complete. The one is more read, but the other is not less remembered. For the one depicts like a true artist, and simply, too ; the other artlessly describes, but with the same truth. They are like shepherds playing alter- nate flutes on a green bank, among the flocks and kine, and we listen beside the hedge to the air or me- lody ; but in the attitude of Colin, when the tune is done, exclaim, ' What a beautiful second /' Bloom- field's poem does not seem to be written under a sky-light, (as it was,) in the city, but beneath the open sky itself; for it smacks of the soft, sweet, in- fluences of nature, whence its inspiration was de- rived ; and although its merit, like its author, is modest, it will live and be admired among loftier works, so long as the daisy is not put to shame by the damask-rose. It is one of the most difficult among literary feats to write a good pastoral. In the last century, when passable poetry was not such a drug as it is at present, and the bard, as in Ho- mer's days, was considered sacred, it was customary UP THE RIVER. 291 to regard a rhyming plough-boy, or a poetic dairy maid, as a real curiosity, and to bring them out for exhibition into the drawing-rooms of people of quality, where the poor creatures were smitten with amaze ment, and struck dumb, and afterwards rendered good for nothing, when their rhyming faculty turned out to be a mere ordinary gift. There were, how- ever, two Robins, whose sweet and wholesome notes have justified the praise of those who love Nature, and have confirmed their reputation as genuine birds of song — Robert Bloomfield, and a greater still, Robert Burns. Aug. 15 — The willow and the poplar are always associated in my mind, because they have been the or- nament of some old and well remembered spots. Nei- ther of them have received justice, and they have been rooted from the spots which they were born to grace, to make room for the stifferand more stately trees of the forest. The acorns drop where the wil- lows should weep, and the elms' branches are in- termingled in the narrow lanes where the long row of poplars should stand like sentinels. All trees de- rive a part of their beauty from the position in which they are, and the common cedar which is permitted to grow in wild patches, or by the way-side, Avould become illustrious if transplanted to the lawn to 292 UP THE RIVER. stand in contrast with a softer foliage and with other styles. There is one tree for the knoll, another for the nook, another for the avenue, another near the stately mansion, and all may be intermingled every where. Sometimes they should be planted like flowers in masses, and sometimes singly where they will be set off and relieved by their neighbours, so as to please the eye, to gratify the taste, to afford shelter, to enhance beauty, and to leave nothing to desire. But they are cut down with the civilized axe, and they are planted without judgment. If they are near a house they are often removed be- cause they occasionally obstruct the eaves or enter the spring, or what is worse, because the limber will bring money. As ladders are not expensive, nor labour too dear, it would be better to remove the leaves yearly, or even to dig a new well than to cut down a tree because of its roots. The shade is often as desirable as cool water, and a house stand- ing in the hot sun is most uninviting. Many people in the country never think of planting a tree, nor hesitate to cut one down for a few dollars, nor have one sentiment with respect to any thing except the pork and beans which will feed them and the laying up of money. If they had the first inkling of an idea of the happiness which might be derived from UP THE RIVER. 293 Other sources, they would set out trees as well as corn, and aspire to other flowers than a chance holly hock. From the time when Pope planted the first willow in England until now, no tree, whether native or foreign, has competed with it in use or beauty. Its tender foliage first sprouts in spring time and lin- gers to the very verge of winter. Its crown is noble and fai spreading, its shade ample, and its limbs are graceful and beautiful, whether they droop upon the roof of the old homestead or into clean waters. Standing singly it is a welcome and refreshing sight, but I have not seen what would be the effect of a whole grove or forest of willows. No doubt it would be delightful in the extreme. No smell which is offensive exudes from the bark or sprouting foliage, but the cattle love to nip it, and it contains a principle which is a powerful antidote to the poi- sonous miasma. To the sick or the consumptive a twig of it is a grateful sight, and I would not cut down a willow except for the most stringent neces- sity, unless it undermined the very house I lived in. It is indeed true that its branches are brittle, and that its symmetry is often injured by the winds which snap off the tender twigs or perhaps uproot it ; but it has this advantage ; if the limbs have 294 UP THE RIVER. strayed off wildly, or its form has }ost symmetry, you can saw off the tops and immediately there springs from the thick trunk, which is full of sap and tena- cious of life, a green and tender vegetation. I am surprised that the willow is not more used for orna- ment, and that it is only tolerated as long as con- venient, in the places where it has happened to spring up ; for I considerno paradise complete with- out it, and it ought to be planted and tended and trimmed, with as much care as the best tree in the forest. The poplar seems to have gone entirely out of date, and is rooted up now almost invariably wher- ever found. Once it used to be greatly valued, and pains were taken to plant it in avenues where its unique appearance was highly becoming. It is no longer pop'lar, but this is usually the effect of ex- travagant admiration. The public is fickle in its tastes, and where it has lavished too much praise, at last refuses any. The poplar, it is true, has many faults. It soon becomes paralyzed at its ex- tremities, as tall people are apt to be sickly, and abounds in dead limbs ; it has a tendency to overrun the soil, and if not restricted, may make itself a nuisance, but under proper discipline it ought to be permitted to rank among the trees. It makes a UP THE RIVER. 295 good landmark near the sea-shore, and although its dry branches may rattle together in the winds, the helmsman fixes his eye upon it, and it becomes the life of the crew. The locusts, w'hich for many years have been af- flicted by the borers, are gradually recovering, and this beautiful and most valuable tree, has never lost favour. But I would wish to say a good w^ord for the Alanthus, which some few years ago was all the rage and now is evil spoken of, and rooted out of enclos- ures. It is possible to slander trees as well as men. It is said that the smell of the blossoms is deleterious and unhealthful. I say that it is no such thing, and that if it were so, they bloom seldom, and are scarcely ever a nuisance, but almost always afford a great shade and comfort. Some people of peculiar or- ganizations have defamed them lately in the news- papers and periodicals, because their nerves have been affected by them for the few days during w hich they have been in bloom. There are those also who are ready to faint at the smell of the lilach, which is exceedingly sweet and powerful, but who ever thought of banishing it frorn the court-yard? its flowers continue for a short space, and if they offend a few, they are very welcome to the many. Such 296 UP THE RIVER. is the case with the Alanthus, and I challenge proof that it has been hurtful to the health of any one. It is of rapid growth, and affords a quick interest in shade for the expense invested. This is certainly a desirable end to be attained, because every man would naturally wish to have some good of the tree which he sets out, although J like to see an old man sedulously planting acorns, who knows that even his sons may not live to behold the glory of the oak. The Alanthus, it is true, is not the best kind of tree nor the most permanent, but its shade is desirable until you can make other trees to grow. After that when it becomes old and scrawny, cut it down if you please ; but in the mean time you will find it of great value. But he who plants an elm, deserves well of pos- terity. It is the tree of trees. Its roots grapple the earth and make its hold secure against the ap- proaching tempest. In grandeur of proportions, it is only equalled by symmetry of form and the clean- ness of its foliage. Its stately column rises to an immense height before lowest limbs by degrees parting from the main trunk, overarch the widest highways and the highest roofs. It counts its age by centuries, and acquires strength, not feebleness, by old age, for the sap rolls in rivers from its great Uf THE RIVER. 097 heart, and every part is vital. On the banks of the Hudson, in front of an ancient homestead, where the Order of the Cincinnati met, there is an elm which is the crowning glory of the hill-top, and deserving to be venerated by the near grove. It is a tree- model which the eye of the painter might content- plate with pleasure, and I have seen a picture of it which is a dainty and delicate piece of pencilling, which you shall see presently. What can be more suggestive to one inclined to poetry, than the noble tree which stands in solitary grandeur. It is not as when you walk in the gothic gloom of forests, or beneath the shade of interlocked and intertwining limbs. It has a history of its own, whispered into your ear by its waving branches, and made emphatic by its nodding crown, and in the winter time by its bare and outstretched arms. When you commune with an old man, you are linked by a living tie with the generations lately passed from the stage, but in the presence of an old tree to departed centuries, and you invoke the spirit of its glory, to tell you what it knows and on what scenes its shadows may have fallen. Tell me, thou aged elm ! — offspring of classic soil, and nodding toward yon roof where those old men sat in coun- cil, what legend should be engraven on thy stately 298 UP THE HI V^ shaft which stands as the monument of that green knoll which overlooks the river ? When thou wert young, the Indian paddled his canoe through yonder waves where now the princely steamboat ploughs her way as graceful as a swan, or drew his barge among the trees, the '* high trees," which the red man venerated, " on which the eagles built their nests." What plumed and painted chieftain hither led his swarthy love, and what his name and hers ? Grey Eagle and Morning Glory ? Big Thun- der, and Curling Smoke, or Cataract and Leap ing Fawn or Prairie Flower ? W^hat said the King of Matteawan ? And tell me, old tree, in what battle of the elements hast thou won those honourable scars and at what time the skies grew lurid with the bolt which pierced thy heart, thou vanguard of the forest, and champion against the storm ! Thou hast wrestled with the hurricane, and the lightning' has thrust its red fingers through thy locks, and all the winds have many a time come down the mountains to fight thee, and snows have weighed thee down, yet thou art glorious in old age, and can respond as musically as ever to the summer winds, and the weary wanderer courts the shelter of thy shade. Cans't thou tell me of Hendrick Hudson, old tree ? UP THE RIVER. 299 Aug. 15. — There is an old dog belonging to my neigh- bor Palmer, who comes to see me once every day about the hour of dinner, with the expectation of being in- vited to accept of a choice mouthful. He comes with the attitude of a suppliant for alms, his head down, his tail streaming along the ground, his mouth watering, his eyes cast down, and now and then furtively lifted, and so crawling, almost creeping to- ward me, as if waiting for a word of positive encour- agement, when he leaps forward with alacrity, or with the mere utterance of the words " go home," he turns his back and with a flea in his ear, to say noting of those on the rest of his body, goes back to the old farm-house. If the family are at dinner, he sits down on the steps and thumps with his tail. To- day he made his appearance out of the woods cov- ered with cobwebs, and as the sun shone on them, he looked like a lion tangled in the meshes of a sil- ver net. During the dog-days, I have no meat to give him except it be now and then a small piece of lamb, for which it seems hardly judicious to culti- vate his taste. Although he is very hard on hogs, T am not aware that Boos is addicted to sheep- stealing, and I never knew a dog who was, accord- ing to his master's knowledge. No matter how many innocents have been throttled over night, the man who loves his dog would consider it a po- 300 UP THE RIVER. sitive injustice and slander on his character to hint at such a thing, and perhaps would even come to high words with him whose fold had been invaded. Sheep are a grand objection to keeping a dog, and vice versa. Above all things it is the part of a Christian man to be at peace and tranquility with his neighbour. In vain the air is choice and the daisies bloom, and the birds sing, and all things without contribute to a tranquil bosom ; a little strife will turn your pleasant garden into a place for thorns and brambles, and the course of life so clear and lucid, now frets along in a turbid and interrupted current. Scratching chickens may be the destruc- tion of a well riveted friendship, and a nudging pig who opened a garden gate, once caused a mighty faction and a revolution in the politics of a whole country. A noble dog who would take a thief by the throat, or save a child from drowning, is too apt to have a weakness for mutton, and this neutralizes all his virtues and makes him outlawed. There are no shepherds proper in this country, but it is hard for the farmer who has counted his white sheep on the hill side, when with the peeping dawn he takes down the bars and goes among the dewy grass, to find a score of them dead under the apple trees, giving their last bah ! in their white woollen wind- UP THE HI VER. 301 ing-sheets. In vain then as he returns sorrowful to his breakfast to tell his wife of this deficit in the revenue, does he cast a scrutinizing look at Boos or Neptune, who lies innocently wagging his tail, and distilling lucid drops before his master's door, and discovers on him no mark of blood. He states his misgivings to the proprietor of the dog, who sympa- thises with him most sincerely in his loss, but who is sure that his suspicion is unfounded. And so the matter ends until an explanation is heard which re- sults in the death of the Newfoundland, and mutual bickerings ensue which are only to be stopped by the arrival of a new tenant. Were it not for this contingency, I should be very happy to maintain a pup. When I lived on the sea-shore, there was an old doff of low extraction, a member of the extensive family of Rovers. He was worthless, though not in the bad sense in which that epithet is applied to men. He was of no value, although even that is perhaps estimating him unfairly, for he was affec- tionate to a degree w^hich provoked a smile, and so ugly as to win upon your esteem. He would jump up and put his clumsy paws all covered with mud upon your knees, and the more you put him away, so much the more would he leap upon yoii, till an- 302 UP THE RIVER. grj, yet laughing, you succeeded in driving him off and looked for the broom. When my breakfast was brought up stairs, he was punctual to the moment, and sat outside the door thumping the floor with his tail, or whining with piteous inflections to be let in, until dashing down the napkin in a rage, I admit- ted him to a solitary mouthful, which he swallowed with a gulp, and with a smart valedictory kick dis- missed the leering suppliant, and used to hear him bungling down the stair-case. When we went out in the bay, this old dog could not bear to be left behind, but resolutely swam for the boat, and in spite of brandished oars would scramble in, and standing on the poop shake himself as if he had gone where the crew wished him. Sometimes he would follow so far, that he was dragged in out of pity ; at other times when we were too far off, he would stand on the bank filling the air with lamen- tations, and imploring us to come back and take him * in. If his request were not complied with, he would take a short cut, two miles, to head the boat, and when we reached the narrow inlet, there he stood, when some one of the party would usually insist that he should be permitted to embark. Patting on the head, or the common-place approval of " good dog ! — good dog !" used to fill him with the liveliest sen- UP THE RIVER. 303 timents of satisfaction. But I cannot say after all that he was of no value. One evening the person to vi'hom he belonged, sent a little boy in his com- pany to the village to buy a bottle of brandy for external application. On his return, a coloured gentleman who had a small current of Indian blood in his veins, who was distinguished for his know- ledge of roots, who took his medical degree in the college of Nature, and was known by the title of Doctor January, perceived the neck of the bottle in the basket, and highly appreciating the medical qualities of the fluid, attempted to possess himself of the same, without regard to the outcries of the little boy. The dog who was three or four hundred yards ahead proceeding homeward on a jog trot, forthwith returned and bit the leg of the doctor so shockingly, that he was laid on his back for a month. Lady R. possessed an Italian greyhound, the weest of all wee things. He was what we would imagine a dog to be after swimming across the Sty- gian pool into the spirit-land of the canine species, if dogs have souls, and they say that pet dogs have. He was spirituel in the extreme, his height almost the same as that of a young puppy, his legs no thicker than a pipe-stem, his nose sharpened to the point of a cambric needle, and oh ! his amblings, his an- \ 304 UP THE RIVER. tics, his actions — they were like those of the shadow of a Lilliputian deer. His name — but I forget — her name was Jenny Lind. Every morning after break fast, when the fowls came to the hard-rolled, peb- bled walk before the door for crumbs of bread, she would approach and retreat, crouch down and cur- vet about in a circle, and make her laughable at- tacks, till frightened back by the flapping wings and fierce onset of a stout and motherly duck. One night the little dog, in consequence of a too luxu- rious diet, fell into convulsions, and surrounded by a tearful household, expired in her master's arms before the break of day. Poor Jenny Lind ! I was acquainted with a man who owned a Scotch terrier of exceeding intelligence. His master went to the city every morning and returned at night. As soon as the car-bell rang and announced the return of the train, he started for the depot in a slow and or- derly trot, where he took his place on the platform, and as the cars severally passed by, he poked his nose into one and another, glancing over the passen- gers, until he perceived his master, whom he wel- comed with an extravagant joy. This little dog understood the use of language, although he had never been trained to letters in an artificial way as they bring up a learned pig' or a learned goat. His UP THE RIVER 305 master shrewdly suspected that he knew every- thing which was said, and he was confirmed in his opinion in this manner. One day in winter, the fire gomg out, he said to him jocosely, " Ponto, take that basket and go into the yard and pick up a few chips." Ponto took the basket, went to the wood- pile, took up the chips in his mouth, and brought them in. Ponto was death on rats, and would de- spatch a score of them in an incredibly short time, but he nearly lost his life in an unlucky, useless, and inglorious tussle with a pole-cat. Not suspect- ing its peculiar means of defence, he flew at it, and received in his face and eyes the full out-squirt of its pungent and pestilential indignation. I neve saw an animal in such agony in my life. He groan- ed, he squealed, he choked, he squirmed, he twisted, he rolled on the grass, he bit the dust, he rubbed his eyes, and at last plunged headlong into a pond where he liked to have been drowned. This was his first lesson in Natural History. XVI. TO RICHARD HAYWARDE. Up the River, September. N the banks of the noble Hudson, be- fore it becomes ab- breviated in width, high up, upon a grassy slope, thou, Haywarde, enam- oured of the coun- try, not about to erect a modest man- sion, not castella- ted, although in one sense a castle ; the stronghold of hospi- tality and domestic virtues, andaccord- mg to that rural taste which distinguishes the Hay- UP THE RIVER. 397 wardes to be entitled Chestnut Cottage. Beneath the spreading branches of that ancient and vigor- ous tree which gives a name to your place, I imag- ine the pleasure which is in store autumnally for the youthful Richard and his co-mates, as soon as the burrs have become large, and they have entered in earnest on the collection of that fascinating nut. To go a-chestnutting is associated in my own mind with more pleasing juvenile reminiscences than to go a-fishing. When the days began to grow cool in autumn, and the first frost had whitened the earth, and cracked open the prickly enclosures, and ripened the nutty crops, we used to go forth with little bas- kets, and having arrived at some " sweet hollow" or amphitheatre in the woods, we stood upon the green sward looking up at the rounded crowns of the chestnut-trees and at the nuts ready to burst with plumpness out of their fortifications, some while as milk, others mottled, others of a chocolate colour, and the rest like burnished mahogany, with a little downy tuft at the point of the shell. To hunt among the leaves for the fallen nuts, and to throw them one by one with a rattling sound into the baskets, counting their number as with a cry of delight they were found, was the first labour. When this harvest was pretty well gleaned, the more active and adven- 308 UP THE RIVER. turous bo}'', throwing his coat away, taking off his shoes and hat, and hugging and clasping the mighty trunk, would begin gradually to as- cend, assisted in the rear by juvenile arms, and finally standing as if the platform were secure upon a multitude of little palms overlapped, and taking breath before making a resolute effort to reach the branching limbs where the grey squirrel's nest was situate. And " don't you remember" how others would take out their jacknives (those four-bladed jacknives, last year's Christmas presents from Grandpa or Aunty,) and hack down the long, lithe saplings, with which to thrash the superincumbent limbs, and what a rattling, nutty shower would ensue ? But it required a coy and dexterous handling to get the meat from the well-protected and nutty porcupines. The little girls wore gloves and the boys fingered the burrs tightly with sharp spikes, and mashed them between two stones, leaving at last an im- mense pile on the ground and bearing away with joy the well-filled baskets — recompense of a day's hard work. Is not a fruit basket filled with boiled chestnuts, which have been flavoured with a little salt, a very pleasant addition to the dessert ? But if a large stock has been laid in, put them in bags and liang UP THE RIVER. 309 them up to be smoked and cured in the chimney corner, and in the middle of winter, you will find the nuts, if properly dried and not too hard, exceed- ingly sweet and toothsome ? Your children will not be obliged to roam into the woods to which ex- cursion a part of the pleasure of chestnutting is due, but will experience some of the sport in days to come at Chestnut Cottage. Richard, on some accounts, I really regret that you intend to camp among the fields. - I shall pre- sently have no friends in town. On a winter even- ing when the ground was covered with snows, and the cold was bitter, I would sometimes wander up Broadway a long distance, then turn to the right, pass the Italian Opera House with its row of gas lights in front, and when before a house whose threshold is approachable by a single step, and just opposite the dial of St. Mark's Church, pull a bell heartily, and ask if Mr. Haywarde were at home ; — a question which in nine cases out of ten was an- swered in the affirmative by the cheerful maidser- vant, except that now and then she would say that Mr. Haywarde had gone to the club. When such was the case, I would sorrowfully depart, being a member of no club, but one o* an Eclectic Society composed of men in every honest and honourable; 310 UP THE RIVER. calling, who sometimes meet together to pass a few literary hours snatched from the toils of life, depre- dated and distinguished by their pleasantness from common time. Oh, jocund seasons ! — bright salu- brious hours, enjoyed among the poets, and the Al- dine bards, refreshed with memories of Shakspere and rare Ben Jonson, and all the wits of England who have ever lived ; — sparkling with anecdote, with apposite allusion, and with suggestive fancies ; sometimes, it is true, extending toward the midnight, but ever bedewed wdth a freshness and a sweetness like that which is sprinkled on the flowers of a May day morning, or early June. But I shall regret the evacuation of that town house, and especially of that choice library, although the books may be readily transported to another place. It was an exceedingly snug room, with its oaken cases, and oak pannellings, shields, spears, and war-like trophies disposed on the walls, but above all, its selection of books was choice and cu- rious, some of them very antique, whose dupli- cates cannot be found. I can scarcely imagine how with your pursuits, in this part of the world, you managed to pick up such rare and costly treasures. There is that first edition of Sterne's works in a number of little volumes, clear type, bearing on the UPTHERIVER. 311 blank page, in ink somewhat pale, the well-known chirography and undoubted signature of Laurence Sterne. There were scores of clearly printed folios full of those pithy and quaint sayings for which you may look in any book having the year 16 — on its title-page, besides many nick nacks of literature which I may no doubt see again at Chestnut Cottage. But there was something in the length and breadth of that little study which exactly pleased the eye by its harmonious proportions, and with the com- fortable arm-chair placed in one corner, when the gas shed down a cheerful blaze, it was a welcome spot for a literary man to pass an hour in, and it seems a pity that it should be desecrated, or that any of its fixtures should be removed. But a change of residence is nothing uncommon in our part of the world. The benefits which we derive from our civil institutions sometimes, it must be confessed, make a fearful inroad on things merely sentimental. An hereditary possession, whether of blooming acres, house and fixtures, silver goblets, or what not, which remain unmoved and irremovable, has somehow a refining influence on its owner, and brings a fine aroma to the feelings inappreciable by the vulgar sense. All places and things become religiously consecrated by the occupation and use, and are soon 312 UP THE RIVER- associated with the dearest memories. But this deeply . planted sentiment of our natures, we arc compelled to violate. We make a stand on hallow- ed churches, but our homes are temporary, and our household gods are destined to be removed. Oh, that it might be otherwise, if it could be. for the com- mon weal, and that we' might join in that aspiration of Pope's fresh and early muse : — ' Happy the man whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air, On his own ground.' One of the most melancholy sights which I ever beheld was what was called a Great Vendue. It was the selling out of all the goods and chattels which attached to an old homestead. A few months before, the gray-haired sire walked stout fresh and vigourous in his eightieth year, full of pleasantry, with all the graces of the old school, de- lighted as much as ever with crops and farming and sleek cattle. Then came a funeral procession from the hall of the mansion, winding about among the oaks, and with many tears, and with much respect, this old occupant of the soil was softly let down into the sepulchre of his fathers. ' Linquenda tellus et domus et placens Uxor neque harum quas colis arborum Te praeter invisas cupressos Ulla brevem dominum sequetur. UP THE RIVER. 31;^ I can never tire of repeating this sentiment of the poet Horace, an author which this old man had at his fingers' ends, and while he lay on the hard sofa in the hall, reading the odes on a summer's day, quoting those sentiments which apply to common life, expressed by a few compact words in majestic Latin, he would say with a smile in allusion to his latter end, that he was " only waiting for the car- riage." Horace and Livy he used to read through and through every year, and the Bucolics of Virgil, and he would laughingly say that the perusal was an ever fresh delight, because the decay of his me- mory was so great that it was every time like anew story. But the Bible was his Book of Books, of which, although he forgot nothing, he always found some new direction given to thought in the expan- sion of its immutable and glorious principles. But he died and was buried by his kindred, and the place must needs be sold and pass into the pos- session of strangers who would demolish the house and set no value on a single tree, except for the sake of its shadow. The law of change, however, arrest- ed for a little by arbitrary enactment, must alas ! pre- vail in the end, and with a sigh we acknowledge that it is well that it should be so. One day I passed by, (it was a sunshiny morning,) and observed an 314 UP THE RIVER. unusual bustle. All kinds of carriages were on the ground, and the horses who were tied to the posts and trees at every available spot wiiere there was any shade, were stamping with their hoofs round holes in the grass, and there was a great crowd as- sembled about the porch, and wandering with free license through the chambers of the house, among the grounds and through the garden, picking fruits,' making themselves at home, and satisfying their cu- riosity by a sight of mere ordinary things which had heretofore been hidden from view. In the midst of the confusion could be heard the hammer of the auctioneer, and the gay hilarious laugh in answer to his appeal to their risibilities, because the auc- tioneer usually professes to be a wit. There he stood in the most unfeeling manner, knocking down to the highest bidder old pieces of furniture now out of fashion, tables with lion-like claws, just like so much lumber. There was a samp-mortar, used by the Indians who pre-occupied the spot before windmills and water-w^heels were heard of on this continent. There was the substantial mahogany cradle in which so many members of the family had been rocked, as good as ever. I once saw a man bowed down with age, look down upon the roofed nestling place, where as it seemed but yesterday UP THE RIVER. 315 his infantine face was pillowed, and he marked where the rocker had been worn away by the touch- ing foot of one whose tenderness was not yet forgot- ten. There was the solid, sound, round, substantial mahogany, which had so often groaned with dainties, around which so many delightful family gatherings had been held on many a Christmas holiday. " How muchumoffer'd, how muchumoffer'd ? — going, going, going — an half do I hear ? — anaf — naf — naf — naf — naf — naf — naf — naf — naf — nafnaf — nafnaf — nafnaf speak quick and be done — bang. — Cash takes it. — And here, gentlemen, is a globe of the United States." Ah, how discordant the choral laugh, and the con- tinual tramping of the multitude, so different from the pattering footsteps which used to be heard on the stair cases and in the hall. By night-fall the work was done, the accounts were cast up, the house was dismantled of its furniture, and the com- pany went home. And much more varied and melancholy, Haywarde, are the adventures and destiny of choice books. The treasures of the Vatican and Bodleian libraries remain, and will remain, it may be for ages on the foundation which was intended to be eternal, until the fires of Vandalism or Revolution sweep them away like those of the Alexandrian. But what be- 316 UP THE RIVER. comes of the private collections, small libraries like yours, compacted with so much pains, and guarded with so much affection ? In a few years the books are scattered abroad, and one of them is picked up at a night auction-sale under the gas lamps, and others which whilome used to stand in most re- spectable company among the Beaumonts and Fletchers in some rosewood case, are wistfully gazed at on a street-corner by the sauntering scrutiniz- ing collector, or antiquary, mixed up with Dilworth's spelling books, elegant extracts of prose and poetry, and the stray odd volumes torn away from costly sets, and the emptying of trunks in the garret. Long may it be before the books in the Hayward collec- tion be thus scattered, but although removed from their snug delightful depository in the city, may they find an equally pleasant, but longer and securer resting place in Chestnut Cottage, there to be taken down and delicately handled by the friends who are seated in social converse, to be perused with dulcet gusto, on the piazza of that rising house which is to overlook the river. The River ! — It is a great privilege, every year more dearly purchased, to have a house not exactly out of the world, upon some stream of flowing wa- ter. From experience I speak, haA^ng for three UPTHERIVER. 317 years lived within a stone's throw of the spot where the tide rolled up on snow-white sands and pebbles, and almost on any sultry night could I walk into the phosphorescent wave and return all dripping to a couch visited by sleep sweet and sound and re- freshing until the birds began to sing at early day, and there too, from time to time, enjoyed the charm- ing prospects from the Piazzas of Rhineland, Eg- lantina, Bella Vista, Ward's Promontory, Thursto- nia, Kalmia abounding with laurels, and Hawthorn- den. And oh, the rides about that rolling landscape, winding about promontories whose base was laved by the clear blue waters of the Long Island Sound, those beautiful coves sweeping around in a circle like the Bay of Naples ! — and the excursions into the broad deep through that narrow inlet ! — the black-fishing on the rocks, the feasting and jocosity on the mainshore, or the embowered islets ! Some would prefer a house upon the broad ocean, but there are few available places to be had along the coast where in addition to a sight of the " Far Sounding," you have the advantage of high banks, green fields, and of a pleasant landscape. There is indeed nothing more hilarious and inspiriting than the sea itself, emblem of the Infinite ; to feel in hot summer gushing over your brow the ever pure and 318 UP THE RIVER. fresh breeze which comes up from its bosom, saying with the Greek poet, avpo, ■roj'rtas avpu, and with Plinius in his delight, O, mare et tellus ! verum atque secretum, (xovattov — quam multa invenitis ! — quam multa dictatis ; — to walk bare-footed on the white beach, on the very edge of the retreating wave, and feel the sands sucked away beneath your toes, yea, to dash with a frantic joy into the midst of the breakers, now floating like a surf-duck buoyant above them, struggling for a moment with the un- dertow, and dragged seaward, then cast like a piece of wreck-wood on the shore ; — to walk there silent and thoughtful, murmuring ' there go the ships, there goes the leviathan,' and ever to hearken to the beating of that oldest and mightiest pulse which has throbbed since the world began. Oh, the sea is beyond the apostrophe of any poet to picture its sublimity. It has a life, and that the longest ; a heart, and that the boldest ; a voice, and that the most audible ; a calm which is indescribable, but a fury which is beyond control. And when I look upon the hoary mane which lies across its back like the mane of an old lion, the froth which gathers on it from lashing the rocks, and hearken to the sound of its bowlings, or to the music of its murmurs in the rosy ear of the conch shells which lie along the U P THE RIVER. 3I9 shore, it appears like some masterful giant, the greatest and most venerable in the physic world. The sons of men, and the trees of the forest do not retain their individuality, but are perpetuated by successive generations. It is a great thing to recog- nize in those who live, the name and traits of other men who in days past were deemed heroic, or to sit beneath the shadow of a tree whose roots were stricken in centuries gone by. But the sea is the same sea which began to roll at the prime creation when God separated the elements, into which Xerxes cast his shackles, which Canute rebuked, and upon whose billows Jesus walked, and which now throws its great Briarean arms to the ends of the world, enwrapping continents and girdling the sunny isles in its embrace ; — never changing, never corrupting, because it contains within it the very principle of preservation — the salt of the earth. There is great food for reflection upon its brink There the thoughtful may muse solitary, and the religious lifts up his heart to God. But to recur to what I was saying. When you wish to have a house where you may live the year round, you do well to build it by the river rather than by the sea. The latter accords not so well with social feelings, for there is a dreariness as well 320 UP THE mvER. as majesty in a vast expanse of waters, where you can see no land beyond, and where your thoughts are outward, and onward, and far away. You must have some natural barriers which will hem you in, and make your mind return whence it set out, and your home snug. The sea does not limit you ; — because it appears to have no limits. The Switzer loves his native cot so much, not because the moun- tains tower beyond his sight and are lost in clouds, but because their sloping bases so wind about it, as to form pleasant vallies and sequestered nooks and natural walls the most impregnable to guard his little paradise on earth. Perhaps the peasant has not that poetic feeling which tempts the traveller to where the avalanche threatens and the chamois leaps from cliffs to ice clad cliff, and Mont Blanc " mo- narch of mountains," upheaves the skies. His af- fection arises from a different principle. His little cot is placed in a valley W'hich catches all the sun- beams, where he is within sight of grandeur but sur- rounded with beauty, where the avalanche cannot hurt him, but he hears the sound of the cascade and cataract, and with clear resilience the echoes of the Ranz des Vachs. There can he walk securely with those he loves, and on being removed thence, UP THE RIVER. 321 he pines away and dies with a dreadful sinking and sickness of the heart. Therefore I think that the silver stream of a river is a better boundary for your habitation, than the illimitable sea, because although occasionally you may wish to look upon the grandeur, you would not always bear the fury of the storm. Having tender Haywardes, you must be where the winter winds will not visit you too bleakly ; you must woo the amenities of the landscape, live on the edge of the waves, not breakers, upon whose glassy surface you may see the trees inverted, the image of the rose repeated in the clear cold depths, the stars twink- ling by night in a mock firmament, and where i1 may be a matter of marvel to your little boys how Chestnut Cottage, far off as it is, should be turned upside down, as if it stood on the very brink of the water. When your house, though not grand or towering, not marked with wooden and ambitious colonnades of Ionian or Corinthian columns ; not aping styles of architecture which ill comport with its size or it« location, but with a harmony which costs no money, although it can only be had as the result of taste improved by study and chastised by art ; in which length shall correspond with breadth, and both with 322 UPTHERIVER. heiffht, and all details with the material of which the structure is builded, so that lightness or massive strength may have reference and relation to sur- rounding things, and colour itself may be made to blend pleasantly with adjoining colours, but above all, that the house may be consonant to the charac- ter of the owner, to the design and purposes for which it has been built, and be an example of domes- tic architecture to the whole docile neighbourhood, and not a mere challenge to the vulgar who happen to be possessed of wealth : — when, I say, the whole has been reared, and the carpenters have removed their tools, and the painters have gone away, and the smell of the paint has evaporated, it is expected by your friends that you fling open the folding doors, light up the wax candles, and give an old fashioned " house warming," do you hear? J would sooner be present than to have a ticket to the Inauguration of the Crystal Palace. You will not live in a glass house, which is w ell enough, as you some- times write satires, but in a much more substantial residence, let us hope, because the ground it stands on is your own. There is no sentiment in dwelling in a hired tenement, even if it blaze with a facti- tious splendour. For though the roof protects you, what protects the roof ? I wish to see what start UP THE RIVER. 303 you will make, and with what kind of a grace you are going to dispense hospitality on your own ground when relieved from every vestige and disability of the feudal system. Upon my word I would not wish to own a decent, comfortable house, and live in it after the fashion of some people, in the same torpid security with which a snail inhabits its shell. For they see nobody, or think that some annual, heartless, vapid, showy supper, will be a set off for the genial, easy, intercourse which should be a part of every day, or hour. I go in heartily and devoutly for the sedulous cultivation of the social element in every man's character. By neglect or solitude, a taste for that happiness which it confers will fast decay, and general shyness and apathy ensue. It is pleasant to see people with some little life in them, and who are ready to welcome the occasion with an alacrity and lighting up of the countenance, and who have some pressure in the grasp, if it be not so strong as to crush the knuckles. And although there are individuals whom seclusion is befitting, as the State prisoner in his cell, the sick man in his chamber, the student in his closet, or the afflicted in his retirement, it is essential to the proper en- joyment of life while it lasts, and to the healthy constitution of the general social body, that there 324 UP THE IIIVER. should be a frequent congress of its members. There is no such thing as solitude except by contrast ; — I mean that there is no such thing as natural and healthful privacy. What says the Great Zimmer- man, whose name is indissolubly connected with a theme of which he has treated so charmingly. *' The pleasures of society, though they may be attended with unhappy effect and pernicious consequences to men of weak heads and corrupted hearts, who only follow them for the purpose of indulging the follies and gratifying the vices to which they have given birth, are yet capable of affording to the wise and virtuous, a high, rational, sublime and satisfactory enjoyment. The world is the only theatre upon which great and noble actions can be performed, or the heights of moral and intellectual excellence use- fully attained ;" and he says toward the conclusion of his most excellent work that the chief design of it is " to exhibit the necessity of combining the uses of solitude w'ith those of society, to show in the strongest light the advantages they may mutually derive from each other, to convince mankind of the danger of running into either extreme ; to teach the advocate of uninterrupted society how highly all the social virtues may be improved, and its vices easily abandoned by habits of solitary abstraction ; UP THE RIVER. 325 and the advocate for continual solitude how much that indocility and arrogance of character, which is contracted by a total absence from the world, may be corrected by the urbanity of society." These are the very ideas which I would advocate, and which apply peculiarly to the case of every country gentleman. It is pitiful to see so many delightful rural neighbourhoods where people of equal, or nearly equal quality, live near together, who have abandoned themselves to petty feelings and the ad- justment of their several shades of respectability instead of forgetting all in a constant and whole- souled hospitality. A partial blending even with imperfect sympathies, would be better than nothing, while in seclusion and aversion and a dull apathy, are hatched as in some secret favourable spot, the eggs of envy, malice, detraction and uncharitable- ness. Because, therefore, one lives in the country, that is not to say that thereafter he must live alone. One great duty of the cultivated man, is to try by his example to help the progress of ideas like the above among the rural population who give up too much time to work, live too much in the kitchen, and who have little of that vivacity wiiich distinguishes even the oppressed people of the Continent of Europe. 326 UP THE RIVER. Their very speech is lazy, the current of their con- versation as languid as the waters of a duck-pond, accompanied not with sparkling eyes, or even with a see-saw, sawney gesture, not spoken tripplingly or trillingly with inflection, cadence, and a sharp emphasis. You never see them collected under the trees of a summer evening, young and old, with an apparent freedom in all their motions, partaking of nick-nacks, listening to the sound of a flute or a viol. It is true that on a fourth of July, when the heat is sweltering, they will start off early in the morning, and make a day's work of it in dragging after them heavy baskets loaded with root beer and such trash miles into the country, coming back at evening tired out and satiated with amusement for a year. Or perhaps others will go in the winter to a ball at a country tavern, where, as recreation has been such a scarce commodity, they are apt to proceed to great excess. As to a constant habit of sociality, it is not known. A tea table with its loads of unhealthy cake and sweetmeats, and solemn silence is the ulti- matum, A large proportion do not partake at home in all their fulness of the refinements of life and com- forts which they have richly earned, and which they are able to enjoy. The very process of acquisition seems to have raised an insurmountable barrier to UP THE RIVER. 327 the use. A man who will not be generous to him- self, will never be ready to make sacrifices for others. Always treat yourself politely, kindly and genially, (but never extravagantly,) if you can do so with jus- tice, and your neighbour as yourself. Charity does not even begin at home with some, and of course, in a perverted sense, there is no end of their good deeds, because that can have no end which has no begin- ning. I perceived, while strolling over your ground, that you have already laid out the walks of a pleasant garden, where you may obtain your fresh vegetables, from the early radish to the late celery and snowy- headed cauliflower, and as to flowers, it will be em- bellished like a painting in the Crystal Palace drawn by some fair hand, in which is all the floral train described by Shakspere in his plays, with the " sweet musk-rose" in the centre, A garden, however small, if it only contain a few beds, a little sage and thyme and parsly, has about it a smack of the old Eden, before the fall. There you will notice the gradual growth of plants in the early spring, and get a smell of the mould as you stoop down to root out a weed or to pluck a violet. The great Lord Chancellor Bacon, in writing pleasantly on this subject, to which he imparts a 328 UP THE RIVER. portion of his universal learning, says that "the con- tents are not to be under thirty acres, divided into three parts, a green in the entrance, a heath or de- sert in the going forth, and the main garden in the midst with allies on both sides." But this applies only to the " royal ordering of gardens," and is ac- cording to that scale of princely living, a taste for which reduced that paragon of letters to the dust of humility, brought a slur on the new philosophy in the very person of its illustrious founder, and caused him at last to bequeath his " name and me- mory to foreign nations, and to his own countrymen after some time he passed over^ " There ought," says he, " to be gardens for every month in the year, in which severally things of beauty may be then in season. For November, December, January and February, you must take such things as be green all winter, holly, ivy, bays, juniper, cypress trees, yew, fir trees, rosemary, periwinkle, the white, the purple and the blue germander, flags, orange trees, lemon trees and myrtle, if tliey he stoved, and sweet marjeram, ivar7n set. For the latter part of January and February, you have also the merzereon tree, which then blossoms, crocus vernus, both the yellow and the grey prim- UP THE RIVER. 329 rose, anemonies, the early tulip, hyacintbus orient- alis, chamairis, fritellaria. For March, here come the violets, especially the single blue, which are then earliest, the yellow daf- fodil, the daisy, the almond tree in blossom, the peach tree in blossom, sweet brier. In April follow the double white violet, the wall- flower, the stock gillies, the cowslip, flower-de-luce, and lillies of all natures, the tulip, the double piony, the pale daff"odil, the honeysuckle, the cherry tree in full bloom, the damascene and plum tree, the white thorn in leaf, the lelach tree." Then he goes on to mention buglos, columbine, ribes, rasps, sweet satyrian, liliuni convallium, melo- cotones, wardens, services, medlars, bullaces, &c. " And because," saith he, " the breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air, where it comes and goes, like the warbling of music, than in the hand, there- fore nothing is more fit for that delight than to know what be the flowers and plants that best perfume the air. Roses damask and red are fast flowers of their smells, so that you may walk by a whole row of them and find nothing of their sweetness ; yea though they be wet with a morning's dew. Those which yield the sweetest smell are the strawberry leaves when dying, the flower of vines, a little dust 330 UP THE RIVER. which grows on the cluster in the first coming forth, wall flowers very delightful to be set under a parlour and lower window, and honeysuckles, so that they be somewhat afar off." Here you have from one, and him as wise as Solo- mon in things of natural science, the catalogue of all the trees, shrubs, fruits and flowers which are pleasant to the eye, agreeable to the taste, and which give forth a " most excellent, cordial odour." There are other matters alluded to by the Lord Chancellor in his essay, such as hedges, arbours, aviaries, fish pools, fountains, reservoirs, which were no doubt practised upon by him in his palmy days, and for which I refer you to his works, which are, I believe, to be found on the shelves of the Hay- warde library. I have often thought that it was a redeeming circumstance in the great man's lot, that when the incense of adulation was no longer given, the incense of flowers was not withdrawn, for these are often the most sweet allayment for a wounded spirit, and for slights, cuts, indignities and the aver- sions of men. But I shall also suggest something which is not found in the above treatise, and that is, that you are to have a sun-dial in the middle of your garden, and under the embowering trees in some alley, a couple UP THE RIVER. 331 of bee houses made semi-globular, of twisted straw after the old fashion, forasmuch as they have a more rustic look, and are a better ornament than Yankee bee hives. Thence you shall see the little rovers sally forth upon a bright spring morning to commit their petit larcenies, sipping- from the cups in which the humming bird has plunged his beak, and which the winds have rifled, supplying all the cells with virgin honey, yet without a damage done to any rose. There you shall watch them on their swift return from apple orchards and from banks " whereon the wild thyme grows" with gilded thighs, like little ingots hunof about their waists, and all that marvellous economy in which we see their in- stinct excelling art. There you shall behold a model of good government, patterns of loyalty and industry, as well as the sweet rewards of toil. Bees bring- good luck as well as birds. It was a summer morning, as I sat in my own chamber, and the windows were all wide open to admit the breeze, and I was listening to the song of birds, to the plash of the waves, and tinkling of kine in the neighbour- ing meadows, when suddenly down the hills of Rhineland there came a tumultuous company of boys and girls, accompanied by the cymbals and music of the Corobantes, while over the heads of 332 UP THE RIVER- all the youthful revellers as they beat the flashing pails and wares of Cornwall, I beheld a moving cloud, and above the din I heard a hum, a buzz, a murmur of the bees in agitation, still moving on but with their phalanxes steadily wheeling about the queen. The queen was in the centre of the flying group, protected by her thick body-guard, while I could observe the scattered scouts, and many outer sentinels fall victims to the birds. Onward they came, and still the humming and the din became more aggravated until the swarming bees began to flit and buzz around the very porch and windows of the house. The combatants came within where they were reinforced in the hall of the old farm house by all manner of brazen implements and tin tinabu- lations ; the cook, the chambermaid, the little boy, the fat woman, and the rosy-cheeked girls, all helped along the Callathumpian band, and ever and anon the latter rushed with screams into some upper room chased by a solitary, wanton bee. Under the pear tree on the green there stood a table spread with a clean white cloth on which was placed the medicated hive or box besmeared with sweets. But this house of refuge was rejected : it did not so please the mind of the queen bee. The whole swarm entered the windows of my chamber and UP THE RIVER. 333 hung like a bunch of grapes on the low post of my bed. This I accounted a good omen, and I patiently wait until this day for something which deserves the name of luck to overtake me. Alas ! there is al- ways a lion in the way, but when he is slain, 1 hope that some honey may be found in his carcase. Haywarde, as you have a numerous family, I sin- cerely hope that Chestnut Cottage may not for a long period or never share the fate of that old man's heritage of which I just spoke, but may be of the nature of an entailed estate. Thus you will not be planning walks, training briers and making terraces for some Bathyllus who is to come after you. Sic vos non vobis will not apply ; nor will you be like the birds, the sheep, the bees, the oxen which Vir- gilius speaks of. But admit that it is so. Hold an acorn in your hand, and imagine the fairy trunk and roots and limbs and foliage which are even now enshrined invisible within its polished walls. Are you one of those who would not cover it with a lit- tle dust for fear a stranger should enjoy the future shadow ? What avenue of trees should we now walk under, and how would every public road be like a passage through a stately forest, if former men had dropped in a row of acorns for the benefit of us strangers. But selfishness is deeper rooted 334 UP THE RIVER. than the trees would now be, or rather in charity let us suppose that men do not think of a future which is not circumscribed by their own interests. But I must not go on to a tedious prolixity, and I now conclude by assuring you of my wishes for your future prosperity, and can imagine the pleasure which you will hereafter experience when leaving the hot and crowded city at the close of a summer's day, you shall arrive at the door of Chestnut Cottage, and having brushed off the dust, put on a clean shirt, and washed your hands and face, you walk forth upon your terrace which directly faces the grand gigantic, natural wall of the Pali- sades, and the expansive river. There you will have embowered seats, and it will be the very place in which to meditate aright, to read a book, or to compose a poem, and as the hour of twilight creeps along, and the crests of the waves flash in the moonbeams, and the hum of the departing day has ceased, your friends and family shall gather round to hear the tum-tum of the light guitar, and the rippling of the river. In a few years you will have your trees rooted, your vines blooming, your grass in order, your walks laid out, and the whole place so arranged that it would meet the approbation of Blenerhasset ; and although it is no Chats worth with its Paradisal lawns and ut- UP THE ItlVER. 335 most luxury of landscape, nor is your garden order ed with that right royal breath and scope advised by England's learned Chancellor ; — nay, though you are rather straitened to the quatuor jugera of the poet, in which to plant the shrubs of every season, and raise the plants productive of a most excellent, cordial odour, your sylvan theatre is large enough for the exhibition of a correct taste, a contented mind and all the graces of hospitality. Let others own the acres ; as far as eye can reach, the prospect is your own ; below, the wide expansive basin of the Tappaan Sea ; above, the towering Highlands ; be- yond, the blue line of the Kaatskills, classic ground. Here then, let our aspirations be, for many a pleas- ant morning, attempered noonday, serene and star- lit evening of our days among the sylvan sceneries, Up the River. /^7 I i i