24

Original.

MT. HOLYOKE.

MT. HOLYOKE.

FROM NOTES OF TRAVEL BY A WESTERN LADY.

From Northampton we went to Mt. Holyoke, three miles east of that place. The ascent is steep and rough. About two-thirds of the way up, we left the carriage, turned our horses out, hitched them to trees, and walked to the summit. It was very fatiguing, but amusing withal. There happened to be a number of visitors, some ascending, some descending-young gentlemen dragging young ladies down the steep, with the rolling stones giving way under their feet, and they begging and pleading to be permitted to help themselves.

merous others, numbering thirty-six towns, are viewed from this point, which lie scattered over the apparent plain; though, in fact, the whole country, except some flats bordering the Connecticut, is broken and undulating; and not far from Holyoke, Mt. Thom, or Tom it is pronounced, rises up in bold relief. I don't know how to give you an idea of the flats, which are under the highest state of cultivation. Their crops are planted in strips, instead of irregular fields as ours. In riding along, in our approach to the mountain, we observed this feature-now a long strip of corn, then a strip of wheat yellowing for the harvest; then a strip of clover, or grass; then of some grain or other, in constant succession, without fences. The road seemed to be passing through a farmer's corn-field. This, when seen from the height of Holyoke, looked like a mathematical pro

We reached the summit, panting for breath, but immediately forgot our fatigue in transport with thewhat shall I call it?-scene-view-panorama?-all gramme-or a Michigan speculator's plan of some are too hackneyed words to apply here. For beauty, grandeur, variety, extent, it surpasses, is transcendently superior to any one scene I ever beheld. The mountain itself is eleven hundred feet above ocean level. The summit is cleared for an area of an acre or two. Large rocks lie all about in wild confusion. An old house, all open and weather-beaten, stands there, with the names of (if the poet wrote truth) hundreds of "fools" carved on the floor, sides, door lintels, &c., whose only immortality is to be seen in public places. We took our seat upon large rocks, overlooking an extent of eighty miles. I was reminded of the exclamation of the Arab chief, when he reached the summit of the hills surrounding Damascus. The extent of his view was about ten miles, says the traveler, "I have heard," said this chief, "that there is but one heaven-I will not enter there, lest I should never find another."

As I have no graphic powers, I shall not presume to attempt a description; but will try to give a kind of inventory of what I saw. First, apparently at the foot of the mountain-the distance is one and a half miles is the beautiful, tranquil Connecticut, reminding one of Fenelon's description of Calypso's grotto. After describing several streams, sporting in the plain, he says, "Others, after a long circuit, turned back, as if they wished to re-ascend to their source, and seemed unwilling to quit these enchanting shores." So glides and winds this lovely Connecticut. It is seen for miles. I discovered seven or eight turns. Its banks are skirted with most luxuriant foliage, cultivation, and multitudes, almost, of villages. From the mountain, in front, Northampton seems to lie at the beholder's feet, though on the opposite side of the river. At the right, several miles distant, is South Hadley, lying on a kind of peninsula, formed by a curve of the river. The principal street extends across, so as to meet the river at each end. The street is very straight, and lined with large trees. These are the two nearest villages. Then in the distance is Amherst, farther east; and about southwest, New Haven, East and West Rock are indistinctly descried-distance eighty miles, as we were informed. Springfield, Hartford, Middletown, and nu

great Babylon, which his castle-building, prolific brain had built, or like the country gentlewoman's pride—a beautiful piece of patch-work-or like—I am not apt in comparison, you know, so I must despair of giving you any thing like a just conception of the living reality. Beyond the flats the gently sloping hills arise. Those that are cleared of their native forest, are under a good state of cultivation, with here and there an isolated tree, or a small group of trees-interspersed over them at graceful distances; then still beyond rise the mountains, covered with impenetrable forests, presenting every shade of luxuriant foliage, every varietyrather a great variety of fantastic figures, formed by the summits upon the horizon. The day was clear; but an occasional cloud, passing over the face of the sun, threw its shade on the fields below, the effect of which was very beautiful. I was never before placed in a position from which I could see the whole cloud-its exact form; but here it lay like a vail on the face of sleeping beauty, with brightness and splendor beaming all around. Upon our first glance at the boundless scene, some one of the company remarked, "I would rather have seen this than Niagara." But between the two there are no points of comparison, more than between a terrific thunder storm, and a calm, peaceful summer evening. This combined all of the beautiful, some of the sublime; but it wanted Niagara's cataract and Niagara's roar; while Niagara, with its cataract and roar, and many other romantic beauties, wants variety, extent, and mellowness. Indeed, analogy fails. The two are as unlike as the emotions which each produce. Some are such as arise in contemplation of the sublime-others such as are incident to the beholding the mellowed beautiful.

After looking, admiring, exclaiming, musing, perhaps as long as I have been scribbling about, and will take you to decipher it, we began to think of getting down-a descent which we dreaded as much as Mr. Buckingham and his company did theirs from Cheops. So we commenced the Herculean task in Indian file. By slipping, stumbling, and scrambling sometime, we gained the base, right glad that we were all sound, though tired out.

Original.

THE GRAVE.

BY WILLIAM BAXTER.

-

How soothing is the thought of death to earth's weary traveler, when life's gayest scenes have departed, and the gloom of years hangs heavily over the past. Yes, the thought falls softly upon us, when in life's decline, as dew on the earliest flowers of spring, or the memories of childhood on the heart-stricken wanderer; as calm too and refreshing in its kindly influ

ences.

In such moments, when we read on the page of memory those things we vainly strive to forget, how often do we turn to the grave for consolation, pleased with the reflection that grief enters not the tomb. When the heart is tired of the sorrows which beset our path, when the generous feelings of youth are chilled by the frosts of time, death is shorn of its terrors; and we look to the grave as the mansion of a friend.

we may find the tranquility which has been the object of our fondest desires, the rest for which we have so often yearned.

It is true, there is something appalling in the preparations for our last journey. The sombre hues of the mourning garb, the sound of the deep-toned bell, breaking on the still air as a requiem for the departed spirit; the sobs of those we love, the measured step of friends in the funeral train, are all calculated to make the soul shrink back to its citadel; and the desire of life to be again renewed. Yet why start! When we become the cause of this solemn pomp we shall heed it not-not a single emotion will be awakened by the sorrows of those who mourn. The grave-yard will soon be deserted, the tear of affection will soon pass from the cheeks, and amid our silent companions we shall soon be forgotten. The dead are all around us-the garrulous tongue of age is as silent as that of the infant at his side, who passed to the tomb e'er the tongue knew its office; the husband rests listlessly near the wife of his youth; and even the lover has forgotten the charms of her whom he adored, whose dust now unconsciously mingles with his own. The solitary is now a recluse among thous

In early life we deem this world beautiful-its scenes are those of pleasure and delight. Hope, the fair deceiver, springs up in the breast, and whispers her flattering tale. By her skillful lures we seem ands-the retirement of his cell is now exceeded by what we are not; but experience soon teaches that the silence which broods over him. Pride has forgotall our fancied enjoyments, in their very nature, are ten its dignity, and humility its reserve. Wealth asks transitory and unsatisfying. Such thoughts as these not the homage of thousands, but seeks as lowly a are but too well calculated to cast a shade over our bed as poverty itself no clamor for place or distincbrightest hours; and even in youth to impress upon tion-all here is equality, silence and gloom. All our imaginings the seal of age, to blight the promising earth's myriads are fast thronging that path-its portals harvest of expectation, and cause the buds of hope to are thrown wide to receive the travelers who are preswither e'er they blossom. sing their way to its dreary mansions. Time flies, earth fades, and they sink into its cold recesses. aged man, leaning on his staff, looks wistfully for his long-sought rest; sprightly youth and manhood's prime all tend thitherward; and the grave is the last gaol of human attainment. O grave! thou art a solemn teacher, thy warnings far transcend all other voices-the slumbering past is awakened at thy call, and its hallow reverberations fill the future with

The

to live-we slumber but to wake in a cloudless day; for the death of the body is but the birth of the soul.

The dim realities of the past seem to be brought nigh; the present is beclouded by the remembrance of happier hours; and all the bright illusions of the future seem formed but to fade. Pleasure, the object of our fond pursuit, has ever eluded our grasp promise has ever ended in disappointment; and weary of life, its turmoils and cares, we look forward with complacency to that period when the tomb shall receive us, and close its no longer gloomy portals over uncertainty. Yet welcome, thrice welcome; we die but humanity's pale wreck. The grave! how peaceful its rest! how congenial its silence. There the head is softly pillowed at last-the brain no more sends forth the busy legions of fancy-the voice of dreams cannot penetrate its recesses; for there the reveries of the dreamer shall cease for ever. Reader! art thou familiar with thy last resting place? Does the contemplation excite no bitter emotion? Or have you drunk deeply of the cup of sorrow, and feel that the bitterness of death is past? Have you been the sport of passion, the mock of wayward fortune? Here is rest.

Child of oppression here is your refuge. The crowding recollections of the past intrude not here the fleeting chimeras of the present, and the "thick-coming fancies" of the future are alike unknown-silence deep and universal holds here its unbounded sway. And yet the grave is not terrible

we should not shrink from its chill embrace; for there VOL. III.-4

THE LAST ALTAR.

"IF Christianity should be compelled to flee from the mansions of the great, the academies of the philosophers, the halls of legislators, or the throng of busy men, we should find her last and purest retreat with woman at the fire-side; her last altar would be the female heart; her last audience would be the children gathered around the knees of a mother; her last sacrifice, the secret prayer, escaping in silence from her lips, and heard, perhaps, only at the throne of God."

So writes an eloquent author. This is a high eulogy upon woman. Rather than call in question its justness, we solemnly admonish her to show herself worthy of it.

26

THE SEPARATE STATE.

FIRE-SIDE JOYS.

THE SEPARATE STATE. Or the immortality of the soul, some nations have DOMESTIC felicity cannot be equaled in the whole doubted, and others have been totally ignorant. His- round of enjoyments of which men are perpetually in torians, of unimpeachable veracity, inform us that the the pursuit. It is the greatest, because the most aboriginals of Soldania and some of the Caribbee islands rational; the sweetest, because those whom we love had no notion of a Supreme Being, nor of a future are partakers of it; whether it be communicated to us state that "the Rejangs in Sumatra worship neither in the canversation of the hoary and venerable grandGod, devil, nor idol, and have no name for the Deity in sire, the endearments of the parent, or the reciprocal their language"-that the nations of Caffraria, "con- exchange of fraternal sentiments of heart-felt affection. sider man as on a level with the brutes, with regard to In vain is such satisfaction to be sought after, when the duration of his being, so that when he is dead, encircled with strangers, or engaged in parties of there is an end of his existence"-that several tribes pleasure from home. The play-house cannot yield it: have been discovered in America, who have no idea our walks will be solitary, and our business itself, whatever of a Supreme Being, and no rites of a relig-if domestic bliss be unrelished, will prove nothing but ious worship. toilsome and disagreeable.

Inattentive to that magnificent spectacle of beauty and order presented to their view, unaccustomed to reflect upon what they themselves are, or to inquire who is the author of their existence, men, in a savage state, pass their days like the animals around them; without knowledge or veneration of any superior Power; nor have the most accurate observers been able to discover any practice or institution which seemed to imply that they recognized his authority, or were solicitous to obtain his favor. The legitimate inference from these historical extracts is, that the tribes to which they refer, could have no idea of the immortality of the soul. For if they acknowledge no Supreme Being, they could have no foundation to sustain their belief of that immortality.

Hence does the aspiring soldier comfort himself, under the various hardships of his profession, with the anticipation that one day there will be a period to his toil, when he shall retreat with honor from the more dangerous employment of war, to enjoy the peaceful moments of a domestic life. Neither poverty can taint its felicity when relished with content, nor affluence arrogate its situation when enjoyed with humility. The rigid looks of adversity are dared where innocence resides; and prosperity, with her alluring promises of happiness, despised, when her fickle nature is discovered by the sharp penetration of the cautious peasant.

Irus was obliged to confess that domestic happiness exceeded every other pleasure in the world, because he Among the nations of antiquity, Greece and Rome esteemed his poverty his greatest glory, and declared stood unrivaled for politeness and learning, yet we find he never felt its weight because he kept it a secret. their most renowned sages, as it regards the immortality The troubles and cares of a public life are often found of the soul, were in a state of complete vacillation. Even by experience to be the parents of many anxious "the best sort of them, who were the most celebrated, hours, and to banish those peaceful moments from the and who discoursed with the greatest reason, yet ex-breast of a prince, which the meanest beggar can enjoy. pressed the most uncertainty and doubtfulness concern- The conduct of a people, and the management of ing things of the highest importance; the providence an army, though to the outward spectator they promof God in governing the world, the immortality of the ise the greatest pleasures, will never be blest with the soul, and a future judgment." innocent amusements of a quiet, serene, and tranquil life.

Socrates, whose opinions and dogmata came nearest to inspiration; when about to die, expressed himself in a hestating manner: "I am now about to die, but ye shall survive me; and which of us shall have the better part, is known only to God." Again, "I would have you to know that I hope to join the company of good men; but of this I cannot speak confidently."

Cicero, when speaking of a future state, says, "What you wish, I will endeavor to explain; but you must not look on what I say as infallible. I only guess, like other ignorant creatures, at what seems most probable. Farther than this, I do not pretend to go." Again, when writing upon the same subject, and adverting to the question, Is the soul mortal or immortal? he himself replies, "Which of these two opinions is true, God only knows; which of them is the most probable, is a very important question." Such were the obscure views of the greatest luminaries of Greece and Rome. And much more obscure were those of the second, third, and fourth magnitude.

CHARITY.

THE habit of discovering good qualities in others is a source of diffusible happiness. Though a knowledge of human nature teaches that the best characters have a mixture of infirmity, it still admits that in the worst there are some redeeming virtues. The telescope which reveals the brightness of the most opaque and remote planets, is more valuable than the microscope that detects motes in the sunbeam, and deformed insects feeding even upon the heart of the rose. A disposition to dwell upon the bright side of character, is like gold to the possessor. One of the principal ingredients in the happiness of childhood, is freedom from suspicion, and kind and loving thoughts toward all. Why might not that sweet disposition be combined with a more extensive intercourse with mankind? A habit of searching out the faults of others is calculated both to increase evil, and to perpetuate its remembrance.

Original.

THE PIONEER.*

BY H. GOODWIN.

FAR to the west, where Rocky Mountains rise,
Lifting their ragged summits to the skies,
An ardent youth, whom fancy led to roam
Through trackless wilds, away from friends and home,
Climbed a dread steep, which o'er the desert frowned,
And dizzy gazed on all the scene around-
Surveyed each object which below him lay,
And traced, in memory's map, his devious way.
While strong emotion heaved his swelling soul,
He burst, at length, from reason's calm control—
With half checked words the awful stillness broke,
And to the winds, mild passing, thus he spoke :-
How grand is nature! what bold scenes appear!
These cliffs, how rude! yon wilderness, how drear!
Far east Columbia's states in peace and wealth repose,
Where patriotic fire in every bosom glows.

Far west the vast Pacific meets the bending sky,

Swelling and towering, whence the raptured sight
Beholds, in prospect wide, at once unfurled
The boundless grandeur of this western world.

As thus in devious course I boldly strayed-
What varied scenes my wondering eye surveyed!
Beside Niagara's swiftly rushing flood,
Upon his rocky, tremulous bank I stood-
Saw all his waters in one volume pour

Down the dread steep, with ever thundering roar-
Saw the white cloud of constant rising spray,
Through which bright beams in beauteous colors play;
With cautious foot then sought the gulf profound,
And heard with awe the deep appalling sound-
Beneath the stream-worn rocks in silence trod,
And thought-how weak is man, how great is God!
Thy shading forests, Erie, are no more-
Gone is the wildness from thy fertile shore;
Along thy winding bays and banks of green,
Resplendent towns, in growing wealth are seen.
Where Perry bade the British thunder cease,
Commerce now spreads her whitened sail in peace.

Where, hid in the wide waste, his countless islands lie. Thy isles, yet spared by art's transforming hand,

And Mexico, far south, reveals her lifted plains,
Where verdant spring, or golden autumn, ever reigns;
While to the north afar unmelted mountains stand,
And the cold ocean raves along his icy strand.

Let the weak throng in polished life remain,
Content with pleasure, honor, ease, or gain,
Court the soft scenes of luxury and dress,
And every lofty passion there suppress;
But give me scenes where all is bold and wild,
Where beasts prowl free, and man is nature's child—
Where I may hear at night the boding owl,
And list afar the wolf's tremendous howl-
Where I may see creation's rudest forms-
The naked height long swept by rushing storms,
The rocky mass in wild disorder thrown,
And deep, dark glen with hemlocks overgrown.

These are the scenes which chain my roving eye,
These are the scenes which lift the soul on high;
The forest, mountain, cascade's dashing spray,
And boundless prairie, power supreme display;
These lead the thoughts to Him who rules above,
And speak his wisdom, majesty, and love.
These are the scenes for which I bade farewell
To all that bound me to my native dell—
Forsook the much loved, oft remembered spot,
Where rural toil had been my humble lot-
Sailed the rough lakes from swift Niagara's tide
To the last surge that bathes Superior's western side-
Sought Upper Mississippi's highest source,
Thence glided down its bright meandering course;
And where Missouri rolls his mighty floods,
Turbid and deep through darkly pendant woods,
Still urged the light canoe; then climbed this height,

In native pride amid thy billows stand;
In all their robe of woods and flowrets dressed,
Still cast their shadows o'er thy darkened breast,
Land-lock thy spacious harbors, and convey
Picturesque beauty to the tranquil bay.
But how did Huron open to the sight!
Its boundless waters, spreading on the right,
Seemed to support afar the concave blue,
And all its northern barrier sunk from view.
Its broad south beach the wave-worn pebbles line,
And on its level coast dark groves of pine
Wave their dense tops of never fading green,
With nought to break the smooth, unchanging scene,
Save some receding mountain dimly seen-
Save where, amid his heaving watery bed,
The white rock, giant-like, uprears his head,
And, undisturbed, the storm's wild fury braves,
While round his waist strong dash the angry waves-
Save here and there, above the water's edge,
Broken and threatening hangs the beetling ledge,
Against whose base the mountain billows break,
Rolled by fierce winds across the stormy lake,
O'er whose expanse loud roaring tempests sweep,
And fling on high this mighty inland deep.
The storms of Huron past, with joy I saw
The rising peaks of distant Mackinaw.
"Twas eve: the rugged bluffs ascending high
Showed their rude outlines on the western sky,
While o'er the fort, where once war's tumult raved,
Columbia's flag in peaceful triumph waved.

I seem to view thee now, romantic isle

I see thy cliffs that frown, thy vales that smile,
Thy lofty arch projecting o'er the deep-
Thy cave of skulls, where Indian heroes sleep-

* Materials principally from the journal of an early western Thy towering pyramid of nature's pride, And pleasant village on thy southern side.

traveler.

THE PIONEER.

And sailed in wondering awe o'er vast Superior's breast. And awkward rove through many a trodden maze;

This still remains the soul in thoughtful gloom is Kindness to friends, and vengeance to his foes.

Where gay-plumed songsters tune their trilling throats, || And strange emotion to his eye ascends.