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The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, August 25, 1859, Image 1

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WASHINGTON, D.C
For the National F.ra.
IEM8C H ]_0 1 S CUP.
BY EDWARD SPENCER.
Tlte caravan had halted at Baasora, and w
sat in the court-yard of the old Khan, while th
kneeling camels rested themselves, and th
slavo went out into the market place to puj
< ha^ us fresh provision?a roasted lamb, am
clarified butter, and warm bread, and lusciou
ripe fruit. Waiting for these things, we sat o
our carpets, leaning back against the soft silke
< .i-liions, languidly sipping the black fragran
coflee prepared by that pearl of mamlouks, St
but ben Neameh, languidly sucking at the am
i r niouth-pieoea that decked the flexile stem
of our i&rgilhehs, languidly, and with a fain
at t.suous appreciation, hearkening to the musi
cal plashing of the fountain, the soothing " hut
ble-bubble " of our pipes, and the low soft breatb
ing of those that slept. I had turned over am
leaned on my elbow, dipping my fingers idl
into the clear crystal water, dreaming of sof
vague things that needed not thought to com
pass their meaning, but glided gently througl
ntv niiud as glided the blue stuoke-wreaths ovei
my lips ; Hermon was propped up against hi:
cushion, with half-closed eyes, making a pre
tence of reading " La Mare au Diable," tha
most delicious pastoral of Madame Georgi
Sand ; while the poet, his soft, dreamy browi
e ves bent upon the marble squares of the pave
incut, and his hands folded over his breast
h-aued forward in the trance of a rapt vision
wherein flashingly mingled waving palm-trees
lowly houris with eyes wantoning like th<
gazelle's, golden courts, fountains rippling four
awl-twenty tunes, and |>ouriug musk scented
rose-water into basins of crystal and ruby, gob
h ts of wine ripe as the bursting pomegranate,
purple as an Kind's blood, the plain of bulbuls
from the centre of rose-gardens, the dance ol
tinkling feet, and damsels, like moons, pressing
near their soft cheeks and warm hearts to the
bosom of the sighing beloved?till his eyes
Hashed as those of his sires were wont to do in
battle, and his high brow glistened with the
dew of beautiful thought.
" By the tender soul of Nisauii," burst in
llermon at last, Hinging his book at the turban
of a hideous old eunuch who was nodding in
one corner?'' this won't do ! " and he began
extracting the smoke from his pipe in sudden
puffs, like a high-pressure Ohio steamboat.
" My Western blood will stagnate here. Boys,
let's get up some excitement. Break into a
mosque, beat a dervise, pull somebody's beard,
or rob somebody s harem/'
The poet eyed him with a glance of mild
compassion, as we would one made restless
with the toothache.
" Oh, my brother," murmured he, " thou dost
most remind in thy movements of that accursed
Jew who reviled the prophet lsa ben Maria,
(whose name be blessed ! ")
Her in on stretched hiiuself, yawned, and then,
seeming suddenly to be struck by an idea, he
sprang up, and slapped the poet upon the
shoulder?
" I'oureed Saty ! awake! In the name of
me prophet, nave ... .
his pij*1 again, oh, slave, give him some sherbet
wherewith to moisten his lips. Now, oh
thou dreamer, a proof ol thy quality. Tell us
u -torv, full of Afrites and Marids, and damsels
-haped like the letter Aleef, with bosoms like
twin pomegranates, and rounded hips. Proiced.
tine of the maiulouks tuned a guitar, and
then chanted to us in his sad guttural tones a
<thazel of Hafiz, brimming of wine, and love,
and beauty, and spiced with a delicious undertone
of mysticism, whereupon the poet, Hinging
In in self back upon the cushions, and, speaking
as one would to his mistress when she was
absent, thus Itcgan :
Divinely gifted, oh my brothers, was the
jioet who said, He that lives and loves not hath
hot dipped a cup even in the sea of knowledge,
and he that loves and suffers not knoweth but
half the bliss of love. And singing these verses
did I.utf, the daughter ol Sheikh \aeoul>, eon
sole herself and dilate her heart when she grew
sad.
There are no steeds like the wiud-drinking
nmres of the Beni Malouk of Araby the Blest
nor ever was there a virgin so lovely as Lutf
81m i h 1'aeoab'a only daughter. She was as s
pure pearl among the pebliles ol the sea shore
the delight of the world, the ornament of King
doms, the crown' of desire. None could com
pare with her in justness ol stature, nor in per
lection of form. Her bosom was a nest fo
- lis, ber elieek was soft as the inner lea
of a rose of Cashmere, her breath was sweete
than musk, ami the Hash of her teeth wouh
cause the heart of a desert devotee to flutter
Her closed lips resembled the seal of Salomoi
beu Daoud, (upon both of whom be peace!
and her eyes were disturbers of souls, wild a
the eye of the falcon of Tabor, tender as th
eye of the ringdove of Damascus. And he
voice was softer than the sigh of the sleepin;
infant, and when she smiled it was like th
coming of the full moon from behind a clour
As the poet hath said: When *he looked a
inc. her glances cleft my heart like a shar
aword; and when she spoke, my soul kej.
time like a lute to the voice of the singer.
Now, Lutf fe<l with her own hand he
father's mare, Fatma, the pride of the Ben
Malouk, the spurner of the desert, the essenc
of tieetness, the outs tripper of the swift Simoon
Ami Fatnia knew Lutf well, and whinnied t
her. and laid her nose against the damsel
cheek, in the fashion of a newly-wedded lovei
But the heart of Lutf was contracted; sh
sighed, and was not happy. Ask not why, o
brothers of the far West, for even in your eol
land the maidens love, and sigh, and are m
happy. For Allah (whose name be praisec
hath so ordained it, that the bitterness of lovin
should go before the sweetness of love, like tl
drugs of Abu Mansftr, which distorted the mu
cles of the face, but refreshed the stomach eve
as sherbet refreshes the lips. Now, there dwt
with the tribe a young man of the Afghan
Hassan, sou of Casib, than whom there wi
none more excellent for perfection of form at
justness of stature. He was brave and ric
and his cheeks were pink with health, and li
beard was softer than silk. But Hassan lov
rather to chase the gazelle, and Hing t!
djereed, and drink the wind as he flew over t
desert on his mare, than to hearken to t
words of women, or look towards them wh
they slyly lifted the veil. And his scorn ma
the damsels of the tribe very wretched, for w
was there could compare with Hassan, the bar
some Hassan? Not one.
"Come, my beauty," murmured Lutf, i
early one morning, ere the sun had begun
fling his bright lances westward athwart t
yellow desert, she caressed the pride of B<
Malouk, and fed her with dates and barl
meal, and kissed the white star on her fa
head :
41 Come, my beauty , eoine, my gazelle-ey
charmer; take me upon thy back, and dan
with me along over the desert, for I wot
know?oh so much, my beauty, oh so mm
my dancing darling!" And she kissed t
mare again, and wept tears t^ft dropped up
the sand like pearls from A1 naschnvs bea
wheu he combed it.
4 Over the desert we will go, even to the cs
of the wise man ; and he shall teach me why 1
sun no longer shines, and why the moon sle
eth behind a cloud, and why the heart of H
*an ben Caaib is turned into stone."
And, drawing the white izar up so as to c
teal her face, the damsel sprang upon Fatrc
back, and the mare ^allopped off orer the c
rt. like a lover to his mistress.
f sherbet to the poet for thus
'? two last siraiten, oh slav<? " shouted Herinoi
Then, as the poet smiled and sipped the coo
iug liquid, Her in on resumed: " I say, Fouree
Safy, honestly speaking, did you ever make th
acquaintance of a promising youth by the nam
of Alexander timitn? "
u I only kaow one Smith."
e u And that is John, of course. Never mine
though. Qcon. 1 was oalv under the impres
e sion that ysa and Aleck had been negotiatiiij
e a loan between yon, though which is creditor
r- hav'n't the remotest idea/'
d Wisest of all the children of men wa
s the venerable Jemschid, the last of the follower
of SalomM ben Daood, and the heir of th
" magic copi The secrets of creation were hid
n den to him, bat said unto him, " Oh Jemschid
it here we are, at thy bidding, and at thy use.
The stars sang to him all their thoughts as the;
rolled gloriously along, and he could make th<
palm-tree Mjiiioin, the pomegranate burst opci
* in ripeness, and the water spring forth in th<
t thirsty desert. And he dvyelt apart from men
i- alone in his cave by the well of the seven pain
trees, feediiw upon dates and pulse, aud eve:
meditating tSougfcls that would nreak down th<
minds of Jowl re nil mortals, us the lnsh peaches o
* Cabul break down the limbs of the tender trees
y He had but a single mat, his wondrous cup, a jai
t of wine for divination, while without browsed t
she goat who gave him milk. Thus lived th(
sage, with no wealth of mares or camels, for h<
1 was rich in the fountains of divine wisdom ant
r the mysteries of man's heart,
s And Jemschid sat in the entrance of his cave
. : writing wun nis lingers in me sana strange
t ! symbols and mystic tokens of the knowledgt
that had come down to him from the might)
master, Salomon ben Daoud, (upon whose head
1 be peace^ words and sigi.s that all the wise
- men of Samarcand would have failed to inter
pret. Iu the matchless book of the matchless
poet,* we are told of the sacred cypress tree
' which Zerdusht brought from Paradise, and
> planted before the gate of the Temple of Fire
t iu holy Cashmere. And on its stalk he wrote
words of awful knowledge, and in its branches
[ rustled the voices of the sages, speaking tones
of truth and wisdom. So the tree grew until
the hunter's cord could no longer girdle its
r stalk, and its branches overspread half the
i world, while the odor of its blossoms was
' breathed by the angels of the Third Heaven.
Then did Zerdusht build about it a palace oi
gold, and challenged the universe to show liirn
such another tree as the cypress tree of Cashi
mere. Like the cypress tree of Cashmere was
i the wisdom of Jeuischid the Sage, built around
! by the golden palace of his thoughts. And like
the rustle of its leaves were the voices of the
dead sages, whispering in the ears of Jemsehid
the secrets of the earth within whose dark bosom
rested their weary bones!
And as Jemsehid sat in the entrance of his
cave, tracing figures in the sand, he heard the
whinny of a mare and the timid murmur of a
soft voice near at hand. Then he looked up,
and lo there stood modestly before him a damsel
like a full moon, ana it was Lutf, the
daughter of Sheikh Yaeoub, with her izar half
drawn aside, for he was a very old man, and
her arm placed caressingly over the neck of
the mare Patina, the pride of the Beni Malouk.
And the heart of the sage was warmed towards
the maiden standing there so gracefully before
him, and he said :
" Praise and glory to Allah, the compassionate,
the All-powerful! Lo! even* now my heart
was contracted, and I said to myself, there is
no warmth iu the sun nor mildness in the moon,
and I looked up and thou vert before me, a reproof
and a shame ! Welcome, oh my daughter,
for thy presence is like the morning sun to
It. tpularer. like the cheering rustle
come, my daughter, and ret.t thyself.
Then Lutf took from th< folds of her robe a
present for the sage, a haiiJiull of fresh dates,
a crystal of rock salt, a cite of barley bread,
and two hard cheeses of camel's milk and
goat's milk, and timidly laid them at his ieet.,
saying: *
" My will was strong to have brought thee
many things, but thou kuowest I am only a
poor, weak maiden, oh wise Jemsehid.
j "If Jemsehid bt truly wise, he will regard
I the will of the giver, ana not the gilt itself, as
' the measure of its value. Oh, iny daughter,
many thanks. May thy days be as numerous
as the sage's, and thy happiness as unclouded
as yon sky. What would' the daughter of the
' chief of Beui Malouk seek of the old man Is
, all well? Hath a camel strayed, or a mare
^ bean stolen, or a trinket hvst ?'
1 " Nay, oh sage," responded Lutf, hesitating"
ly, " all is well. I come for inyselt. ^ esterday
' is'gone, and the circle of )o day is very narrow.
I hear that thou hast a cup, a wondrous mystic
>' cup, wherein one can see all that is, aud has
I been, and will be."
? "The circle of today, my daughter, is as
1 wide as thy destiny, couldst thou but behold it,
5 Aye, thou has heard rightly. I have a cuj
* wherein Allah, whose naaje be exalted, permits
many and great things to picture themselves
beforehand."
r " May I look into the cup, oh sage, and set
' the picture of my wish and my longing? "
J " Not so, maiden, it would but blind thee, foi
1 thine eyes are not strong enough to encountei
'* the mysteries of the universe. Tell me thi
| wish, oh daughter, and I will behold if it is tt
/ come to pass, or fall away."
3 The old sage rose to his feet, went into tin
e cave, and took from its shelf the famous cup
r It was a beauteous beaker, targe and goblet
" shaped, made of highly wrought gold, fetchec
e from the innermost caves of the (jleiiii. On tin
' outside were graven sentences from the Koran
' set in diamonds, emeralds, and amethysts. Cir
P cling the inside, near the rim, was carved thi
'* Zodiac aud its signs, 'while the remainder sur
face was marked off into seven circular com
T partments, answering to the seven spheres o
" the universe and the seven worlds of space
e while below shone the pentagram of the mas
' ter?all graven with mystic signs and symbols
f? Holding the goblet tenderly and with care
8 Jemschid poured in wine from the jar until i
r* was filled to the brim. And, while the maide;
e watched hiin in awe, he slowly returned to th
mouth of the cave, holding the cup in one hand
" and in the other a serpent like wand, which h
thrice waved slowly in the air, murmurin
) words in an unknown tongue.
"Tell me thy wish, oh maiden!" said In
,e solemnly. " All of knowledge permitted to moi
8" tals is at thy command. The earth shall seei
transparent to thee, with her mysteries and he
treasures. The starry spheres shall rhythm
l3> cally reveal their wonders to thee, and teac
3,3 thee the melody of their voices at my bidding
Tell me thy wish."
And, as he spoke, the wine began to bubbl
113 in the cup, like the bubbles of water from th
p" rock that the prophet Moussa smote in tli
desert, while the goblet itself revolved in h
j*e hand with a slow and stately motion, as tli
"ie Natch girls of Cashmere begin to circle in the
pn dance, before the tire of the music burns i
their veins.
bo A r?<t ttia rtumspl. drawiufir vet more tight
the izar over her face, spoke tremblingly:"
"Oh my father, look into the dread cap {<
^ me, and read the maiden's heart, its trouble
^ and its grief."
}I,i The sage murmured, " Easier by far, <
[ej daughter, is it to read the wonders of the pre
re. heavens, than to pry into the secret crypts of
maiden's heart. 1 see thy heart, oh Lu
e(j daughter of Sheikh Yacoub, but it is as a pie
ice of crystal, pure, and bright, and flawless. On
jlj it quivers, and is afraid. Too pure?too pui
jIj Such the sage cannot read ; for Allah, who
hp name be ever exalted, reserves them for 1:
on own divine contemplation. Shall I tell thee
rj the treasures of the earth ? Half a day's joi
' ney hence, by the rock and the deserted tei
ive pie that thou%eest at sunrise from thy fathei
;he tent, is a great store of riches. Go thither
ep. the hour when the White Camel f.lifts its for
as- up from the great southern sea "
" Nay, father," said Lutf, a little impatient
on
la's * Firdonm1* Shah-Nameh i* thus known among
les- Pertl?n*
t "The White Camelof D.-chelladtn,' is the name gn
by the Arabian astronomer* to the Magelhamc cloud*
e 44 I desire wot such treasures. The riches I seek
1. are worth nothing, save to me only."
1- 44 Wilt thou know how to read the teaching
d of the stars, to gather the secrets of the spheres,
e and interpret the chant of the east wind ? Shall
e 1 fill thy soul with wisdom, and thy heart with
the desire of knowledge ? "
44 Says the proverb, 4 Evil treads upon wisI,
dom's heels, and the craving of knowledge is
i- as thirst in a fever.' "
g 44 Thou hast said it, daughter," groaned the
I sage, 44 on my beard be it if thou speakest not
truth. What then? Wilt thou have command
s over the genii of Salomon ben Daoud, (on
s whose heads be peace!) to visit their caves bee
neath the sea, and in the far-off' mountains,
I- and "
1 44 None of these I wish, oh sage."
" 44 Shall I tell thee of the enrapturing secrets
y of creation, of the words of Allah, and the
e mighty angels "
i 44 These would but terrify me, father."
t 44 What, then, oh damsel, is thy wish? Tell
, me, so that I may search it out for thee, and
i know the uttermost limits of it. Tell it me,
r that I may know whether good is decreed for
l its result, or evil?whether it blossoms or withf
era.''Theu
the maiden, Lutf, the daughter of
r Sheikh Yacoub, drawing the *izar yet more
i closely to her face, and leaning forward, mur;
murea in a low and trembling voice, that was
> like the coo of the ringdove to her mate:
I 44 I would have thee look into the heart of
Hassan, son of Casib, and tell me its secrets.
, I would see which of the maidens hath won it,
i or whether it is indeed of adamant, as the dams
sels of our tribe complain."
r 44 Place then thy right hand upon the rim of
I the cup, thus. Alas! see, maiden, how the
! wine ceases to bubble, and the spheres to revolve
! Hath Hassan, son of Casib, ever leaned
i thee to his breast, as the mare now presses to
thy shoulder ? "
" Woe is me! 110, father."
" Then I cannot read his heart in thine. But
now that thou takest away thy hand, I see him
> sitting moody and listless by the well, like a
dervise who hath danced himself weary. And
he traces letters in the sand?even thy name,
damsel! How thine eyes glow through thy
veil, like the stars through the veil of dawn,
ere the sun has come up! Now they call him,
and there is dismay in the camp. His eyes
gleam like the fatal tires of the Persian valley.
He clutches his djereed, as if for an enemy's
throat?now he whistles to his mare, mounts,
and gallops this way, his scimetar clanking at
his side, while the tribe ride off in every direction,
like arrows shot at random from a mighty
bow."
" They miss me, I must go."
''Stay?I he heart of Hassan ben Casib is
dark to me." " Alas, and to me also, oh,
father."
" But the cup is eloquent of thy destiny.
Thou must go home. The cup reveals to nie
that a great danger awaits thee. Go not by
the well of the graven rock?stay?go that way,
and none ether, oh Lutf, daughter of Sheikh
\ acoub, for to-day thy fate culminates, and if
the danger centres there, so also does the bliss
centre there. The blessing of Allah descend
upon thee. Away! haste, and do not tarry by
the road, for this is the hour of the fates.
Away, away! "
And, waving his hand like the prophet's signal
in the battle,.lemschid retired into his cave,
wliile the maiden, all trembling like a lotus
that lifts its head above the lake in the beginning
moonlight, mounted her mare, and rode
slowly off homeward, taking the way by the
well of the graven roek, as the sage had bidden
her to do. Tears of sorrow swelled in her eyes,
and her heart was shrunken with grief and bittcliuer
roui 10 kiiow.
wa this, oh momi-eyed damsel, that all the
wisdom of Jeiiuchid, and all the powers of his
magic cup, failed to procure its solution ! Well
hath the poet said: In every heart there is a
corner that is deepei down than the caverns of
the Afrites, ?nd darker than the vaults of Ehlis.
Fling into one of these the torches of conjecture,
and thou shalt see them melt away before thee
into the intinite abyss, as fire Hies flicker away
011 the bosom of the evening breeze. Drop into
them the sounding plummet of reason, and.
ere thou hast touched the bottom, the weight of
thv line will drag thee over the abyss brink.
A nd Fat in a gallopped on, cheered now and
then by a word troin the abstracted maiden,
who did not look up, but wandered far away on
the wings ot soil thoughts, winch, like stoiks
in their flight, alighted only 011 familiar housetops.
As the inaredrcw near to the well of the
graven rock, she pricked up her ears, and
. snorted, but Lutf heeded her not. Again she
snorted and neighed, and then there came an
I aHumorimr from tho Wt'll. Ijlltf lookfc<l |
<??.o ?. v.? "?n
up and saw a troop of mounted Arabs, in whose
i dress and pennons she recognised the insignia
of Ebu Seid, mt old-time lover of hers, whom
> she had seorned, a fierce chieftain, and at war
i with the tribe of Beni Malouk. As she gazed,
i she beheld the Sheikh Ebu Seid himself, about
to spring upon his niare, Moon-eyes, the swiftest
; marc that trod the desert, save the mare Fatma,
the far-famed pride of Beni Malouk.
r " Ha, ha ! " laughed the Sheikh, M ha, ha, my
r proud beauty! Thou and the mare have es^
eaped tne often, but to-day ye are mine. Thou
* for my tent, and the mare for my saddle/' And
he started to intercept Lutf in her course. But
i the maiden was proud with the pride of the
Beni Malouk, and she gathered her dress tightly
about her, and drew her veil close about her
face, and patting the mare, turned her head
1 out towards the desert, so as to go round the
well, and, shaking the reins on Fatma's neck,
whispered :
" Oh my beauty, oh my darling, on, on ! On,
thou pride of the Beni Malouk, on, and let not
' the robber take thee. Bring me safe home, and
I will feed thee with new dates, and bake thee
' a cake of barley meal with my own hands, and
give thee camel's milk to drink, sweetened with
wiid honey. On, my desert darling, and the
tribe shall hand down thy memory to their
1 children forever, the pride of the Beni Malouk."
e And the mare, seeming to understand these
I words, reached out her slim neck, and bounded
J along over the sands like the breath of the
r North Wind. Ebu Seid followed close, as his
whole tribe, with yells and shouts, joined in the
chase. Over the desert Hew they, like the spirit
caravan that the pilgrim to Mecca sees gliding
n by him at night Yemen-ward, and is gone out
ot sight ere he can look again. Over the desert
they Hew, Lutf in advance, and the sheikh close
^ behind, like a tlight of cranes in autumn before
the breath of coming winter, one ahead as
leader, and the rest streaming on in two spreading
lines behind. On, on, over the desert. And
now Ebu Seid, putting spurs to his mare, had
left his tribe far in the rear, and was beginning
to close upon the maiden. Nearer and nearer
he drew, until the hot nostrils of Moon-eyes
. touched Fatma's smoking tlank, and he began
to tell the maiden she was his, and must grace
his tent forever. Then Lutf, tearing off hei
I izar, and baring her lovely moon face to the
-V light, Hung the long veil in the sheikh's face
and, while he drew rein to free himself, sin
ir seized her mare by the right ear, and again ex
lS' horted her:
" On, my beauty, on like the wind thoi
drinkest!"
a' And the mare sped on with the speed of i
a ray of sunshine, that, bursting above the morn
ing clouds, comes glancing from rock to rod
ce athwart the desert.
ly And now, who is it that hurls himself toward!
'e- the maiden over the desert, like the swooping
se broad-winged eagle in chase of the gazelle'
With his djereed poised on high, and his lip
of closed like the gates of Paradise against a sin
ir ning Peri ? Does Lutf know that foaming blacl
steed, that arching foot, that green turban, thosi
r's Hashing black eyes? Now they meet, thei
at horses pause in mid course, and Lutf spring
m off her mare.
" Oh, Hassan ! "
Hassan ben Casib leaps from his saddle, an<
clasps the maiden to his breast.
lhe " Lutf I light of ray life 1 My soul was wear
for thee!"
,en One kiss, like the touch of the moon bear
- try rae, she dared me to repeat any one of l)r.
W'atts's Divine Songs, which, she said, " had
i been taught her by her nurse whom she kept
at her bed-side at night, fearing to be left alone
i in the dark, repeating these hymns till she was
- utterly exhausted, and fell asleep with a line
t unfinished." This challenge was enforced by
Mr. II. and " Aunt Martha." Feeling my honor
s was in question, I begau with the Cradle Hymn;
, my voice trembled at first, but I became reas'l
sured, and went through it very creditably, and
s with applause from every one. They were all
- profoundly silent; not a rustle of silk nor
s change of movement was heard, which to me
e was a sign of greatness of genius ; for when the
r lyre is touched by a master mind, its tones vis
brate and thrill all hearts.
Dear Doctor Watts! how many millions of
little ones have been hushed to sleep, bathed
d in visions of love and beauty, by this sweet
hymn. To get back on board our sail-boat
y Amelia said, " this was not one of the Divine
Songs though it was indeed divine;" so, then,
a I repeated,
upon the lotos blossom, one glance into each
others' eyes, like the blending of the rays of
four new born stars, and the story is all told.
There needs not another word.
" Thy veil, Lutf, where is it?"
"It flutters atop Ebu Seid's lance, as he
comes. He would have seized me, when I
flung it in his eyes and escaped."
" It \s good. Ebu Seid must not wear the
favors of a maiden of Beni Malouk. Take this
for thy veil, until I recover thine own." And
unwinding the light scarf which he wore as
sash about his waist, he gave it to her, and
then, mounting, rode off to meet Ebu Seid.
while the maiden, with her heart melting with
love like grapes pressed in a child's fingers,
went slowly homeward on Fatma. She did not
dare to glance behind, but she rode on slowly
and more slowly. Then she heard the sound
of hoofs behind her, near, nearer, and Hassan
rode up, mounted on Moon-eyes, and leading
his owu black steed.
" Here is thy veil, Lutf."
" Let it be thy scarf, Hassan, and let this bemy
veil."
" It is good."
m And they rode on in silence.
" Lutf, to-morrow I shall bring presents to
the father's tent. What sayest thou, joy of my
life?"
" Thy will is my will, oh Hassan, son of
Casib."
For the National Kra.
FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF SARATOGA.
No. 3.
United States Hotel, Any. 3, 1859.
Mv Dear G.: A thousand thanks for your
long letter and all its charming details.
I told you of our projected ride to Saratoga
Lake. It came off yesterday at five o'clock.
The rains had soaked the roads around this
place, which are sandy, so our drive was the
pleasanter for a clear day and a cool temperature.
The east piazza, fronting Broadway,
after dinner is crowded with guests?those who
are so fortunate as to own carriages make up
parties to drive out every fine day; not that
they can by any possibility enjoy the same routine
of driving, any more than any other ever,
recurring occupation, but then it is a distinc
tion here to ride out in one's own carriage,
when so many stand to gaze and admire, and
envy the fortunate ones who ride, while they
must go on foot. This seems a hard judgment
upon poor human nature, but, then, somehow
it is so, that men and women do things when
they are stared at, that they would never do all
alone by themselves. I speak out of my own
experience, for I every day feel how much of
my pains taking in dressing is to please a crowd
of people, not one in a hundred of whom 1
know, or care to know. But you do not want
my wisdom, but pictures of Saratoga. Well,
then, it is five o'clock, and Broadway in front
of the hotel is crowded with turn-outs of its
wealthy inmates. The piazza is crowded with
ladies and gentlemen promenading, doing the
agreeable to each other. Here and there you
see a flat or a hat, which shows yon a lady who,
at the hour appointed, will, with her party, leave 1
the disconsolates to hide away in their cham
bers, to drive off to the Hake or elsewhere. A
drive is charming enough, under certain cir- i
cumstances; but to be cramped up in a car- J
riage for two hours, when the company is not '
a pa?t o> v.rT - 11
through with as such. 1 am told, in a dry sea- i
son, thu roads are so dusty as to he all but intolerable,
and that these carriages follow so J
close to each other that the senBe of suffocation |
is ever present: and the entire route is one 1
long-continued discomfort. How imperious are '
the demands of fashion 1 (
After we had promenaded with others a half (
hour on the piazza, Mr. H. signalled for our
carriages to come up. Mrs. A. led the way,
taking me by the arm", and was followed by
Amelia and Dick. We filled the first car
riage, Mr. H. seating himselt on the box with
the driver. Miss Clara and Miss Eliza D., with
their cousins Ilenry and William, filled Mr. 1). x
carriage, which had been loaned to Aunt
Martha " for this afternoon. A fter I had taken
my seat, 1 looked along the line ot beautiful
women, to see if I could see Aunt Jane among
I them, and there were not a few faces who lookI
. ' . . .t i itt \iri.~
ed inquiringly, as 11 tney asxeu, - ??uu ia mm.
young girl ? "
The drives near Saratoga have nothing very
delightful in scenery to make thera attractive.
After we had been out about an hour and a
half, we reached the Lake House, and there we
saw the same carriages we had seen from the
piazza, and our fashionables thronging this
little hotel and its grounds. Some were seated
under awnings, some on the porches, and some
in summer-houses, very many of whom were
sucking sherry-cobblers through a straw, or
eating ices?not certainly because they needed
sustentation of any sort, but from very idleness.
Why such people do not die of dyspepsia is a
wonder to me. Their various capacities are
always at work, eating three meals a day, and
having papers of French confectionery in their
pockets to keep their stomachs constantly at
work.
The lake is seen from the high and steep hill
on which the hotel stands, extending north. It
is a beautiful scene, as we saw it lit up by a
bright sun, and sweept over by a fresh breeze.
As we did not drink sherry-cobblers, we descended
to the shore of the lake, and were happy
in securing a fine large boat for a sail about
the lake. It was a glorious afternoon, and white
clouds, piled high up, looked like silver domes
of some vast celestial city. Miss Amelia repeated
some sweet poetry suitable to the scene,
and I was charmed with its propriety and elegance
; then, too, her enunciation was perfect. J
Mr. II., whom I am beginning to like, took up
his parable?I believe that is proper; it certainly
is biblical?and gave us some admirable
recitations. I then looked at Dick,]to see if he
had nothing to add, but the thought never
came into his mind that he was expected to say
something in the same line. Not a sign did he
make, though I think his admiring looks, as
Amelia was making her recitations, was all the
compensation she sought for. It happened just
as I feared it would, when " Aunt Martha,"'
turning to me, asked " if I was not poetical,
and had I nothing to contribute to the pleasure
of such an hour as this." I replied, "No, dear
1 madam, I learned so many of Doctor Watts's
1 Diviue Songs in infancy, and his Psalms and
1 Hymns at Sunday school, that I was weary of
rhymes before I was compelled to pass Young's
! Night Thoughts at school. When the reflux of
, poetry will flow into my soul I cannot tell, if
. Mioa A moll A ttrna ilinrf>dlllnUS. aild, tO
" Whene'er I tske my walk* abroad,
Mow many poor 1 see ;
What pharll I render to my God
For all Mis gifts to me," Ac.
Aud Dick, to show that he was brought up in
the same school with me, repeated,
"How doth the little busy bee," Ac.
but all the young ladies declared they were not
to be put otf with verses known alike to all ol
them, and dared him to make another trial
of one not so familiar ; whereupon, to my great
joy, Dick with great emphasis and sobriety ot
face repeated the hymn?
"Whatever brawls disturb the streer,
There should be peace nl home ;
Where sisters dwell, and tvumnx meet,
C^uarrels should never come," Ae.
Now, if my dear cousin had gone through with
the whole body of English lyrics, he could not
have made a better hit; for my guess is, that
when three girls roam together at a watering
place, living out of the same trunks, there is
| ueed for a daily reeitatioif of this Divine song.
Thus we sailed happily oecupi d upon the
surface of this beautiful lake, surrounded by
hills, under a glorious canopy of clouds. I was
dreaming of something, when Amelia turned
to me, and with suddenness exclaimed, " Netta,
I hope you are not pious ! " I was embarrassed
for the instant. If she had asked me if
I was a member of the Dutch Reformed, I
would have said, " Yes I am but when she
asked me if I was pious, I was at a loss what
reply to make, and Dick, like a stanch, honest
Knickerbocker as he is, asked, <l Miss Amelia,
and why not pious ? " " Pardon me, Netta, for
being so brusque ; but it that moment came
into my mind that you, who are so familiar with
your hymns, might he pious, and I really do
not like pious girls. W e have oue in Miss F.,
A l ? * ' *
uu uur noor, wno won t go down to breakfast
even, until her hair is dressed by her friseur.
Now, 1 make up my hair very nicely for breakfast,
but when dressing for dinner I am compelteu
to wait a full half hour, because my turn
coines a'ler Miss F.'s, and she keeps him at
work upon her beautiful head of hair, while
mine, which is very intractable, and needs so
much labor, has to do with as little as may be ;
for, do you know I think she bribes him very
high, or else he is in love with her hair, and
delights to be at work upon it. Be that as it
may, 1 do uot see what a pious girl has to do
with a hair-dresser, for it is contrary to the
Scriptures for her to do so."
" Contrary to the Scriptures for Miss F. to
have her hair done up by her friseur rather
than by herself! Where is the text?" asked
Mr. EL, in a tone of greatest surprise.
" Text! /do not know where the text is,
but I am correct; and, as 1 have a high respect
for the integrity of my friend Netta, 1 ask her
what is said in the Bible against dressing hair
of pious ladies in a fashionable manner?for 1
take it that what was spoken by the Prophets
and Apostles was said, not for a day, but for all
time."
Being thus appealed to, I repeated the verse
in the Epistle ol Peter, commending wives
whose adorning w as not the plaiting of the hair,
and of wearing gold, and the putting on of apparel.
'' But what does Paul say?" asked Amelia.
Neither Dick nor 1 could recall any words of
Paul on the matter of dress, and Dick asked,
" why she had referred to Paul with such cm
phasis," when she replied, "Oh, lie is such a
woman hater," turning up her pretty lip in a
way that. <juite fascinated Dick. Then she
turned to me once more, and said, " Now, Netta,
?ou believe Peter to be an Apostle, if not the
chiefest of all the Apostles, as they do in
Rome; and if Miss F. is pious, she does so too ;
md now I want you to tell me, what right has
Miss F. and all her set to wear coetly ornaments,
iud keeping the hair dresser a v. huh* hour, while
LwLu-tim nut the least bit pen. , v,ait for bin* ,
hetrts. ' " * ? , A
Dick, greatly amused with J >
ness, asked, " VV hich of lho ten 7 W"iA,
iwered, " The very first one; for she sits down
before a mirror whilst Beaumont does up her
Imir, and 1 don't believe she takes half the time
to say her prayers."
Dick defended Miss F. very cleverly, saying
the text was expressly confined to wives, and
did not reach young ladies. VV ives whose markets
were made were not to show any desire
for dress, but girls whose fortunes were as
yet doubtful were at liberty to dress as they
pleased, so as best to please those they hoped
to win. He made an ingenious, lawyer-like (
argument about it ; and though it confounded
Miss A., it failed to convince her, as it did me;
for could 1 be in doubt as to a matter of duty, 1
would submit the text to one ol niy Sundayschool
scholars, and implicitly abide by her
decision.
We reached the place of landing, leaving this
matter unsettled; and it was at once superseded
in our zeal to roll ninepins ; but,.as the
boards were all engaged, we went into the pistol
rrollorr anil WDlllfl Vflll llpllOVO it. tit TrP, ill it
g ? , ,
shot, ' I brought down my man,' as duellists
say. Not one of the young ladies was successful,
though they fired ten times a piece. When
these performances were over, the sun having
gone down in a sea of gold, we began to ascend
the hill, and Mr. H., who had been very assiduous
in his attentions, offered me his arm, but
I preferred to hold up my dress with both hands,
while Amelia accepted Dick's aid, and went up
treading on her dress for the sake of gratifying
Dick's gallantry, or her own love of mischief.
Dear me! she has gained an ascendency over
him already, and I see her little arts of making
him useful to her, with some surprise at her
success. She is one of those women of whom
Pope tells us, in his Satires," who never drank
a cup of tea without a stratagem."
The crowd at the Lake House had already
dispersed, and we hastened to take our seats
for a direct drive homewards. When we were
seated, Miss Amelia, to my great annoyance,
began to talk to Dick about Longfellow, and in
order to enlist me, she asked me if I had read
Hiawatha; and I told her the truth when I replied
that I had attempted to do so. "You
have read Evangeline?" I shook my head.
"Is it possible?" she exclaimed. "I think
him the first poet of the age." Whereupon I
remarked, in a timid tone, that " I had heard it
said that Mr. Longfellow lacked the first requisite
of a poet; for, though a man of acknowledged
labor and taste, he had exhibited no
power of invention "?the very words I had heard
Dick say. Thereupon there arose quite a blaze
of indignation against such an illiberal criticism.
I fanned the flame by telling all I had
heard from Dick, who gave Longfellow great
credit for versification, but denied that he was
worthy of the high title of a poet. In this discussion
the young ladies and gentlemen were
all enlisted, every one echoing to the praise of
the Boston poet. Dick never so much as hazarded
a remark, while he sat laughing out of
his eyes, hearing me using his criticism as
made by a very distinguished gentleman, whose
word was law with me in all such matters. And
when I was pushed for proof of what I had
said, (for they insisted I was not so very ignorant
as I claimed to be,) I told them what I
had read of the " tioiden Liegenn, mai n wm
the old German ballad of " Poor Henry,"
Satched out with stories from " The Infancy ol
esus," known to all readers of the Apocryphal
New Testament. To my surprise, they had no
reply to these charges of piracy, and so Miss A,
changed the topic by calling our attention tc
the new moon, which now showed its easp in
the evening sky.
On reaching the States, we separated to gc
to our several rooms, and, on my entering
there sat Mrs. H. and her daughter Sophia, and
Aunt Jane, all of them in tears. " What ha.'
happened?" I exclaimed. Then it was 1
learned with deep sorrow that I)r. Alexandei
had died at the Virginia Springs. It was i
great grief to Mrs. H. and Sophy, as it is to al
the members of that large society, and indeer
to the entire city. Poor Sophy felt she ha<
lost her spiritual father ; for you know he knev
everything, and aided her in reading the bes
writers of Germany and France, and woul<
spend hours talking with her upon their merits
i correcting their false science, and so enrichinj
her with his library and his own great iutellect
And I could not but enter fully into thei
griefs aa my owu. Mrs. H. told me the clergy
were to hold a meeting at the Presbyterian i
church, to morrow morning, and we shall go i
i with them, to show, so far aa we may by so
doing, our sympathy with his own people, now 1
here, in this expression of our reverence for this |
; great and good man. <
p Mr. H. and Miss Clara called at our rooms. J
to take me down to supper, and to engage me 1
for the ball-room, but I declined ; and so here 1
I am, writing you this loug letter. Miss Clara i
brought me the enclosed rules for knitting a t
Talma, like the one she wears, which I asked s
of hei for you. It is very pretty, and perhaps t
you will thank her, through me, for sending it. c
Thursday Morning.?I have just returned i
from the Presbyterian church. The meeting t
was presided over by Dr. Spring, of New York, t
who made some admirable remarks. The reso- ?
lutions were offered by Dr. Nicholas Murray, I
who made a beautiful speech upon the charnc- c
ter and labors of dear Dr. Alexander. He j
was followed by Dr. Cutler, of the Kpiscopal c
church, Brooklyn, and by Dr. Kennedy, of the (
Methodist church, New York. But as you will 1
see ail the speeches in the next N. I*. Observer, ']
I will spare my report. v
Always, dear g., your Netta.. i
i
HOW TO KNIT A TALMA.
For Neiia, My Dear Young Friend.
Pftflf nn fnnw V* l *
uuuuicu unu uueen smcnes. ti
1st row, seam. 8
2d row, seam. ^
3d row, knit plain. 0
4th row, seam.
5th row, knit three stitches plain, knit two |(
together, thread forward, knit one, thread for- ?
ward knit ten, slip a stitch, knit two, pass the h
slip stitch over the two, knit ten, thread for- y
ward, knit one, thread forward, knit ten, make ti
hole as before, and so on, being careful to nar- ti
row and knit three stitches plain after the last H
hole at the end of the needle. f.
Cth row, seam. j
7th row, as the 5th.
Proceed in this manner until yon are about 0
to make the 10th hole, then narrow before and n
after the holes, slip and bind as usual. This
will bring line stitches between the holes and n
the slip-aml-bind stitch. r,
Then seam across this row, seam the next, ,r
knit plain next row, seam across again here. Sl
Then seam in the color, and knit as before, un- a
til you come to the ninth hole. Then you will n
have eight stitches between the holes. Then
seam in the dark color, seam again, knit this u
row plain, seam this row, and then seam in the y,
other color, and proceed as before. Every time ol
you narrow, to have one less stitch between the y(
holes and the slip-and-bind stitch. In seaming
after the one row of holes, narrow every is
fifth stitch, then every tenth stitch, then every tfc
fifteenth stitch?your judgment must guide, hi
Then knit a stitch, thread forward, and narrow, b<
for the row of holes to put the cord in. Finish (1
by seaming twice across, and knitting once si
plain ; then bind off. (e
For a large talma, cast on five hundred and T
eighty-three stitches, having eleven between, in
For an infant's talma, cast on three hundred gi
and nine, having eight rows of holes. in
Fringe?Cast on fifteen stitches, knit three !?
stitches, thread forward, jenit two together, knit w
one, and so on. cr
Dampen and press before drawing out the J>
fringe. <u
Nine ounces pink, six ounces white. w
Sura toy a, Aiiyu.il 4, 1X59. c. a. u. v?
or
INKLINGS FROM THE FRONTIER;
OR, ' P*
LMm "'durtf wn jn Lii
71) the F.ilHryr of the Ntttum.U Krti: hi
To the contemplative observer and close stu- S
dent, human nature, especially human nature P1
iti its campaign gear, turned loose to act its
part throughout its various phases in the midst ^
of wild, uutamed, and uncontaminated inattimate
nature, presents an ever-varying sourse ol it
interesting study. In civil life, when surround- <*>
ed by men and women, moved by and acting ^
under the influence of every passion, and every 8,
rttle and form of business and fashion that ever A
finds its way into the human heart, we may a
fancy ourselves possessed of that acumen which ^
enables us to read the characters of those with t)
whom we come in contact with some degree of s;
opfiirnrv Hut. these men and women seldom il
act a natural part, and are ever seeking to a
cover their motives with a cloak ; while here,
on the vast and almost ilimitable plains, away ^
from the turmoil of business and the follies of a
fashion, with their influence and restraints, o
surrounded by the beauties and the grandeur
of nature, untarnished by the hand of art, the j
soul of man throws off the shackles of society, t|
and becomes almost transparent?human na- a
ture comes forth in its shirt-sleeves, and the ob- "
servant student may read character as he runs, 1=
and measure the width and depth of the minds, Jj
the souls, of those around him. Whether a v
man be learned, reGned, of noble soul, high as- t
pirations, and flue feelings, or whether he be '
gross, grovelling, ignorant, and selGsh, the close
observer, who turns his attention to the study -j
of human nature, can draw him out and take d
his measure. And here, in the midst of cam- c
paign life, we are at no loss for a variety of spe- J
cimens of humanity. For almost every rank in L
society, every station in life, furnishes a repre- ^
sentative?oflicers and soldiers, gentlemen of t
leisure out on a pleasure excursion, teamsters 1
and camp followers, the reGned and the rough, c
But the greatest variety of character is to be 1
found in the ranks of the army, where men from
every class of society, of every calling and pro ?
fession, the refined and the uncouth, the high ?
and the low, the collegian and the ignoramos, t
the good, bad, and indifferent, all mingle to- 1
gether on the broad plaH'orm of equality.
But the contemplation of the various char- 1
acters who compose the moving community 1
campaigning over the plains need not engross 1
the attention of the student. New and strange
sights and scenes are ever presenting themselves '
to the enraptured view, and causing new 1
thoughts to well up from the great deep of the !
' soul. Varying and picturesque landscapes are
continually rolling up before you and rece- (
' ding behind, as you march along. New plants, (
of strange varieties; variegated flowers, quaintly !
formed and brightly colored, creatures of beauty,
ministering to the finer feelings of passim? hu- '
inanity; new varieties of reptiles and insects, j '
little strangers, who timidly peep out at yon j '
from under the broad cactus, or the leaves of
some other semi-tropical plant, or sit gaily , '
perched upon the leaves of plants, or swing on '
* blades of grass, and saucily sing their merry ]
little songs; swarms of lively little birds deploy
i by regiments, and wage a war of extermina,
tion upon grasshoppers and grass seed ; while '
i now and then may be seen larger animals, as J
i the buffalo, elk, antelope, bear, or wolf, gruffly '
looking at us as intruders on their private doi
main. All this conspires to render a summer's '
, campaign romantic and pleasant. The painter,
I poet, botanist, geologist, ornithologist, and /. x>loj
gist, finds ample sources for amusement, recre 1
[ ation, and study.* 1
r You never have been campaigning over the
i Southwestern plains ? Then imagine yourself
I a member of our party, mounted on a fine <
1 blooded steed, with loug, shaggy tail, mane,
1 and foretop, fleet of foot, and gifted with great
f powers of endurance. Do you see that high
t mound-like eminence to tlic left or south?
1 Turn your charger's head towards it, give him
i the reins, and he will soon carry you along the
^ gradual ascent up to the summit, from whence
you have a grand view of the whole country in
r every direction, as far as the eye can reach.
When you have taken in the landscape, an
admired the beauty of the scenery, turn you
attention to the moving column of the Antelop
Hill< Expedition, and watch it as it measured
ly winds its serpentine course over the rollin
priarie. In advance of all, some twenty roods
pou see a motley little group. They are ou
Indian guides, trailers, and interpreters. Afte
hem comes the advance guard?ten troopered
by a non-commissioned officer. Then
ivith* the aforesaid space intervening, come
he commanding olfieer, Major Emory, and hi:
itaff. And then, in regular order, with a liki
space between each, come the lour cavalr;
'ompanies, marching by twos, and each led lc
ts captain, in rear of the cavalcade are th<
entre guard and detachment of pioneers, lb
he purpose of removing obstructions (shouh
my present themselves) from before the train
tfext come the hospital ambulances for th?
:oiu4brt and convenience of the sick, aud tin
irivate carriages and buggies of thegentlemet
xcuisiouists, followed by a long, long string o
iovetninent wagons, nearly a hundred in num
?er, and to each of which is attached six mules
These are followed by the drove of beef cattle,
yhile the rearguard bring up the rear. You
nvolantarily exclaim, u On, what a grand and
mpoking procession to be traversing those wild
mt quiet old plains, and how well-ordered is
he line of march !"
But you are unwilling to descend into the low
ountry. A cool and balmy breeze fans youi
em pies and refreshes your energies, and you
till stand gazing at the passing column. Owin?
;) numerous little ruvines mid chasms running
tr to the north and to the south, we are compiled
to make a very zig-zag road, and as our
jng cavalcade and train moves along, it will
iot take a very great stretch of the imagination
y you in your elevated position to imagine
ou see a monster serpent in agonizing contorion.s
making its way to the westward. We
ravel over the untrod prairie, but leave a large
nd plain road behind us, which will not be eficed
tor years, even it the tide of emigration
ocs not now in this channel.
towards the rear ot the train, a huge cloud
f dust slowly rises, and lazily rolls away to tin
orthcast, before a lazy southwest breeze.
Scattered along the whole length of this inilense
line, for a mile or two 011 either side, you
lay see sportsmen?ollicera not 011 duty, our
cntlemeu of leisure, ollicers' servants, and
ddiers with leave?who hunt as they travel,
nd shoot turkeys, prairie chickens, jackass
dibits, and other small game.
Now descend, and take an easy hand gallop
nlil you gain the head ot the command, where
iu will please to make a more close inspection
f the command, as it. passes you. Tighten
ur reins when you come opposite the party
Indians. The first to attract your attention
a small, wiry-built man, apparently about
lirty years old ; the blackest, keenest, and
rightest pair ol small eyes you ever saw, dance
oieatli a pair ot heavy and shaggy eyebrows,
e wears long black hair hanging over his
loulders, and is possessed of regular Kuropeau
atures, but as black as the aee of spades,
his is \\ ildcat, the soli of a celebrated Seniole
chief of the same name, and the principal
side ol the Antelope Hills Kxpeditiou. Just
rear of him, Indian fashion, is a large, athtie,
olive tailored Delaware, the Indian trailer
ho led Major Van Dorn into the Camanche
imp last fall. He glories iu the name of (len.
ickson, and takes great delight in receiving
id retiirning a military salute. The others,
iih the exception of Red Blanket, who is a
ry comical follow and full of fun, are hut
diiiary Indians.
Now, drop back, and let the advance guard
iss you, and, as the commanding otliccr comes
>, you have a good opportunity to note his
Mr, and large 'wfbsk'.H* Hi %il?r'(lh MHH)^
oiue persons, not good judges of color, might
ronounce him red headed.
But, without stopping to study the peeuliaries
of the olhecrs, let us pass hack, and take a
w notes on the common soldiers. There go
rveral, with hooks in their hands, and absorbed
I reading, as they ride along. These are stu
ious men, who never lose a moment's time, if
icy can avoid it. Their five years in the army
ill not be lost time to tlieni, but a means of
oring their minds with useful knowledge,
mother group of young men are engaged in
II animated conversation. We are now passig
over a lovely and beautiful country. Gentle
opes recede for half a mile, and meet others,
ius forming lovely and enchanting vales. 1 he
lopes are numerous, and run in almost every
irection, giving the whole country the appearnee
of a billowy ocean just subsiding after a
eavv storm. Beautiful little belts and spurs
f fresh and verdant timber add to the beauty
f the landscajie. Our conversing group are
ttracted and delighted by the scenery. One
f the party points to the south, whore one ol
hosd cool little springs bursts forth from the
idc of the gently-sloping hill, and goes purling
own a murmuring rill, and exclaims, " See?
here lies my claim; on that elevated point.
cce?siblc to every breeze that blows, I'll build
ne a lovely cottage, and, just beyond that pretty
rove, I'll build me a ' bank-learn ' and all
lecessary out-buildings. I'll enlarge the spring,
,nd wall it with stone. Down there in the
alley, I'll make a basin, an artificial lake, and
hat spring will supply it with water. O11 that
icautiful soutli slope I'll plant an orchard, and
uy broad fields shall surround ine 011 all sides
fou, gentlemen, can lay claims all around me
['lie whole country is beautiful; and when yoi
lesiro a social chat, a good dinner, a drink o
ool water, or a.fine bath in my artificial lake
ou can drive yourself'and family over in yout
,wn carriage, and stay as long as vou please.'
Another adds his material and skill towards
ubrieating this series ot air-castles, and so on
intiF they have formed a very respectable com
nuiiity of agricultural aristocracy in the mids
if tli'e plains. Thus the tedium of a long day'i
narch is beguiled away.
Lyok all along the ranks, and you will se<
ouifg inen whose eyes are continually opei
md eagerly seizing every object in view. Tin si
ire they who can appreciate and love to admin
he quiet and simple beauties of nature. The;
ire loth to permit a single feature to pass 1111
lot iced: and, when thus engaged, their mind:
ire withdrawn from grovelling subjects, ant
hey revel in poetic reveries or dreams of fu
ure, happiness.
But continue your inspection, and you wil
lotiee dull, stupid, coarse-looking fellows, will
heir blank gaze continually riveted on tin
Kiinmels of their saddles or their horses1 ears
They see nothing; and if you, years hence
diauce to meet one of them in civil life, thej
cannot tell you anything of the beauty or pe
ul.-yities of the countries through which the;
lave travelled. These are the wrong-ininde<i
in ole-eyed characters, who go stumbling througl
.he world, and often find themselves in thi
iriny. They are the malcontent and growlers
who'are continually striving to alloy the plea?
ires of others. When out campaigning, they ar
continually longing fortheflesh pots, the whisk
jugy, and the brandy bottles of garrison lit*
J hey sneer at everything noble or refined
IMaiu Government rations, coarse Democrati
liet, is not good enough for them, although the
never had better before entering the arinj
Sucli characters as these it is, hi- they never s
few, who, when plied with liquor, rendt
themselves most conspicuous, and give civilian
a wfong conception of the morale of the arm;
But my pen has been running at randor
ever since 1 set it in motion, and 1 have prolu
ably not yet led otf in a strain that interest
you.
Since the date of ray last, wo have travolle
over a vast grope of beautiful ami uiiinhabio
country?the best of fanning laud? numcrou
line streams of pure water?wide slips of prairit
alternated wilh lieautiful belts of poixl timberover
beautiful mounds and ridges, and dow
iuto lovely valleys. One cannot help thiukin
how great a |>ity it is that such rich and vali
abte land, with such great natural advantage;
should lie uutduched by agriculture. Wh
ahould thousands starve iu Europe, while mi
f
5 ,t
km. jja.il.il i, Washington, D. C.
,
d lions ol acres here lie temptingly inviting the
r cultivators of the soil?
e The timber, though not abundant, is probal
bly sullicient to supply the wants of pioneer
r communities until more is grown. The prini.
cipal varieties consist of white, red, black, and
r burr oak, post ouk, and black jack, black wal- j 1
r nut, hickory, ash, elm, bowdock (O^ge orange,) 1
i, pecan, cotton wood, &c. , 1 ,
The soil is a rich black loam, several feet a
s deep, and probably inexhaustible. It is much \ ft
i better in the bottoms and valleys than on the \
i high lands ; but even on the highest eminences
y it is of an excellent quality,
y Game is plentiful, and in this region con>
sists of grouse, quails, turkeys, hares, deers, and
r bears, besides minks, weasels, skunks, musk1
rats, badgers, lieavtrs, ground-hogs, racoons,
. opossums, ike. Wildcats, panthers, wolves,
> and catamounts, are also found along the larger
; streams. We have already had considerable
i sport in hunting and shooting these animals.
f We have seen no Indians since those Cad
dos of which I spoke in my last, but we have
, seen signs of recent encampments along sever,
al streams. There may be Indians in our
i L vicinity, J)ut they keep at a respectful distance. J
I Yours, truly, Gcy Oaklkaf. j
i THE PLYMOUTH MONUMENT. J
Speech of Governor Chase, of Otiio.
The corner-stone of the monument to the
memory of the Pilgrim Fathers was laid at Plyni- i
outh, Massachusetts, oh the 2(1 inst. Among
the speeches made at the dinner upon the occasion
was the following happy and appropriate
one by lion. Salmon P. Chase, of Ohio:
Mr. President^ Ladies, and Gentlemen of Massachusetts
: When 1 came here to-day, it was
with no other purpose than to manifest my dig- J
position to co-operate with you iu rearing a '
monument to the memory of our Pilgrim
Fathers. I came with no prepared speech, with
no set phrase, but with a heart brim full of love ||
to New England and her institutions. Not for
New England alone, but for New England as
a part of our common country, embalmed in
all our hearts. (Applause.) 1, sir, desired to
take my humble part iu testifying, through this
enterprise in which you are engaged to-day, to Jj
the wortli of those who have gone Irefore us. I
feel, as you Massachusetts men can hardly feel, W
the worth of their great example, for I come from
a State which was peopled l?y the descendants of
the Pilgrims?the cornerstones of whose prosperity
were laid by men who were nurtured in
New England, ami who partook largely of the
spirit of New England.
\ t?u have laid here to-day the corner-stone
of a monument which is to commemorate the
landing of tin Pilgrims and the institution.-, of i
which they laid the foundations; but while the
Mayflower w.unc from the Old World, freighted
with empire, with institutions, with laws, with ^
order, and, last and best, with Freedom?lap- iJ
plause | then wan in 17>S to l>e seen, wending 1its
way from among the hills of Berkshire towards
the ettinp tm, some rude wagons, in which, aa J
in the Maj (lower of 11?20, were garnered the des- It
tinies of the mighty West. It was a son of ft
Massachusetts, a patriot of the Revolution, a
soldier enjoying the confidence of Washington, )
who gathered about liini a few Massachusetts ';
and Connecticut men, and emigrated in lVHrt
to the shores of the beautiful Ohio, and there
laid the foundations of a new Plymouth. At
Marietta, on tic banks of the Ohio, Kufus Put I
nam and Ins associates comniwnced the great jo
work of Western civilization, and on that day,
let uie sav to yon, they laid the foundations of a j
monument brighter than any you can rear here,
though you pile stone upon stone until it {1
| herUago^ot 'all11l.al W|WJ WgWU IJll'.U J.l*
forever -in laying, 1 say, the foundations ot
such a State, they performed a work greater 'I
than any which has been performed to-day, or
which can be performed, by the laying ot all
the monuments of the world. [Applause.] Ohio
her,. If, deriving her institutions from the sa-a- >
city of a New England man, but not from him -i
alone, but also from the concurrent wisdom of
ail the state-men of the day, North and SouthOhio,
receiving the first impress of her eivili- ('
/.ation from the united wisdom of the whole
country, stands to-day as a type of the Union
such as our fathers made it, and such a,, I j
hope iu God, it may b'' yet. 1 Applause.) W ' ,,
are. Mr. President, a 1MMMUA leathered fri?m
niTiiiy lands. Ah yet, our instilulions are the
work of all our fathers. We have no narrow, jj
no sectional, no bigoted spirit. We welcome P
the American, from whatever country he may I
come, and there we unite as brother with brother.
Virginia has contributed her share ; Massachusetts
bus contributed her share : Connecticut
has furnished a part of our population,
and South Carolina has furnished another part.
From the Green Isle of the Ocean, from tin*
banks of the Ubine, from every quarter of tho L
world, we welcome those whose love of liberty fj
and free institutions direct them to onr shores ;
and in doing so, we build a monument worthy
of the descendants of the l'ilgriuis. [Applause. | u
lint Ohio it only the corner-stone. New II
States are to be added ; one by one these stones
are to be laid in their place, the living stones
of a glorious monument. When the end will
be, no man can foresee. But we in Ohio are
accustomed to look upon this Union as indissoluble,
and as forever linked with liberty. Wa
in Ohio look forward to the time when stono
' after stone will be laid upon that foundation, J
until State alter State shall form a part of this j.
monument, and the whole ocean-bound limits
of the North shall be portions of the structure.
[Cheers.]
We arc indebted, let rae hero say, to New
England, not merely for much in the original
foundation of our institutions, but we are in- t
debted in sonic; part ulso to New England for
the care with which these institutions have been
reared. Wo are indebted to New England lor
our system of common schools, and for much
of our religious culture and our literary attain- H
ment; and I should be unjust to my own feelings,
if, seeing here my venerable friend, whom t
I knew in Cincinnati, (Dr. Beecher,) who contributed
so much to the foundation of the Weat]
era world, who, as has been quaintly said, is
tho father of more brains than any other man
in America, [laughter,] if I did not take this
] opportunity to tender to him, a son I believe of
, Connecticut, but an honored citizen of Massa- 11
chusetts, my cordial thanks for the part which
he has played in the formation of Western mor- ?
als and Western manliness. [Loud applause.]
We find in Uhioa virtue, which has I believe ?
a New England name, und it goes under the
jr denomination of nhttF. [Laughter.] And to
, that virtue as Well a.- to ethers, New England
i teachings have contributed a very large share,
e But I must not detain you. I have alreadv t !
>. said more than I intended when I rose. Lot
i- me close, then, by expressing my great gratifip
cation in all that 1 have seen to-day. 1 have
>' he. n gratified, and greatly gratified, by the
' sentiments which your worthy Governor has so
l. eloquently announced. I have been inore th^n
e gratified by ring a spectacle such as I doubt
)' whether any shot, other than this rock of Plynr
" outh, could exhibit so many intelligent men, .
0 .so many lovely women, gathered together tor
r so noble a purpose. And let. mc say that I
? trust this monument will be- built much sooner
than the distant time to which onr excellent
11 friend, the Gofentor, has alluded.
l- I want to cu it built in much less than a
s quarter of a century, for 1 do not know that
some of us will be here a quarter of a century
il hence to witne its completion. We have
J been in the habit of doing things a great deal i
quicker out in Ohio; we do not like to put off J
;, anything that is worth doing to so distant a
" d x7' , I
u While I concur in the remark of his Excelg
lcncy, that it is the duty of everybody to give
1 his mite to tlie monument, perhaps 1 should
i, sj^H it a little differently?in i-g h-t?give that
V kind of mite to the monument. [Laughter and
I- loud applause. | Then the monumeut will b*
i
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