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148
meia sorrowing over her parlor floor, uncle
Simon penitent for acting so rashly, and cou-’
sin Dorothy, kind-hearted soul, weeping over
the untimely fate of the poor butterfly.
The other day I went into the library, and
my attention was excited by the buzzing of
a yellow-booted dirt-dauber. I examined to
see where he was, and finally found him
building his nest upon a splendidly bound
volume of the “Life and Writings of Wash
ington,” by Jared Sparks. Os course, I de
spatched the insect mason, and razed his cas
tle. About the time I had finished, in came
uncle Simon and rated me soundly for my
cruelty. “These dirt-daubers, Abraham,”
said he, “are very troublesome, but I rank
them as 1 do doctors and lawyers; evils that
can’t be remedied—at least without causing
a good deal of pain and suffering.” Then he
quoted to me the following lines of the sen
sitive Cowper.—
“ I would not enter on my list of friends,
(Though graced with polish’d manners and fine
sense,
Yet wanting sensibility,) the man
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
An inadvertent step may crush the snail
That crawls, at evening, in the public path;
But he that has humanity, forewarned,
Will tread aside, and let the reptile live.”
T was in hopes he would go on with the
quotation, and justify me in the sight even of |
our squeamish poet. But not so. He was
for inflicting summary punishment, and had
no idea of pouring into my bosom the oil of
justification of my deed. It was in vain
that I went over in my mind a continuation
of the quotation from Cowper.—
“ The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight,
And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes
A visitor unwelcome into scenes
Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove,
The chamber, or refectory, may die.” —
I say it was in vain that I went over these
lines to myself. I dared not repeat them a
lond, for this, so far from changing my un
cle’s whim, would only have irritated him the
more. So, to atone for my offence, and to a
void farther scolding, I preserved a proper si
lence under his reproof. In less time than I
have been employed in writing this, he chang
ed his tone, and asked my pardon for rebuk
ing me; when I, thinking it was too trivial a
circumstance to make “much ado about noth
ing,” dextrously changed the subject.
1 mentioned uncle Simon’s fondness for see
ing things eat, and also his supervision of the
feeding of all the stock. He sometimes seems
disposed to exercise the function of quarter
master in the poultry-yard ; and has had sev
eral disputes with aunt Parmela about the
proper kind of food for the various species of
infant fowls. One morning, very early, be
fore aunt Parmela had gotten up, he made
Sampson get a half bushel of shattered* corn,
and pour it to the poultry promiscuously.
Now, aunt Parmela had been in the habit ot
feeding the young fowls with dough and small
hominy, contending that a whole kernel of
com would choke them. This happened sev
eral years ago, and every spring since then,
when the old lady’s young chickens die of
the gapes , or her goslings are killed by the
minks, she attributes their death to the corn
which uncle Simon gave their progenitors
years before, and accuses him of murdering
fowls by the wholesale.
I have not told you a tenth part about my
uncle, hut I must bring this number to a close.
I wanted to give you a formal introduction to
him, by relating to you a few of the summa
capita , as Eneas said to Dido, of his charac
ter; but of these anon.
*A term used on plantations for shelled corn.
Durarility of Cedar. —At the head of
one of the graves in the burial ground at “old
St. Mary’s,” (Md.) there stands a cedar slab,
which, as the inscription upon it indicates,
was placed there in the year 1717! Notwith
standing it has been exposed to the weather
for so long a period, it is still perfectly sound,
and if unmolested by desecrating hand, it will
doubtless be standing when every man, wo
man and child that now moves upon the earth
shall have gone down to “darkness and the
worm.”—S’?. Mar if s {Md.) Beacon.
n, mr s a a ie ©ashpit
fjonie (fivrrcsponiinuc.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
NEW-YORK LETTERS—NO. 18.
Lake George, New-york, )
September 7, 1848. J
My dear Sir: —Since the date of my last
epistle I have made a hasty visit to “ Schroon
Lake,” “ Lake Paradox,” and other interest
ing points in the neighboring county of Es
sex. I return too late for my usual mail day,
yet, I hope, sufficiently early for my corner
in your columns. I must give you a few
reminiscences of my recent excursion.
Schroon Lake, some twenty miles or more
northwest of my present domicile on the Hor
icon, had often been described to me as re
plete with interest, especially in picturesque
and piscatory attractions. Lake George, with
its thirty-six mile of ever-varying beauty, had
been held up to my eyes as very petites pom
mes des terre indeed, in comparison with the
famous “Schroon.”
I was exceedingly curious about the mat
ter, and one unlucky morning,—bright and
beautiful though as morning ever was, — I
started upon a pilgrimage to the famed land.
My friend G., with two strolling artists, ac
companied me. It had been arranged that
the expedition should be pedestrian, but a tol
erably comfortable conveyance having been
placed at our disposal, on the eve of our
journey we voted walking a bore, and in due
time ordered our carriage.
When, after riding some two miles, we had
gained the summit of the hills upon the wes
tern line of Horicon, the stern and rocky face
of Black Mountain was bathed in the purple
light of the rising sun; the few fleeting clouds
visible in the heavens were tinged with gold,
doubly gorgeous in contrast with the cool,
grey tint of the unillumined hills beneath,
the blue waters, and the yet sleeping islands.
Still a few moments, and “ Heaven’s wide
arch was glorious with the sun's returning
march.” Floods of living light swept over
the wide-spread landscape—the hundred islets
rubbed their sleepy eyes and joyously awoke
again, while the waters threw off the “ dra
pery of their couch,” in the shape of long
layers of vapor, which the jocund king of
day—merrily performing the role of chamber
maid—busied himself in rolling carefully up
on the hill-side and hiding away until they
should he again required. Like the glimpses
of the beautiful Horicon, when the “moon is
on her way,” the scene was one of those fairy
visions which dwell so often in the fancy of
painter and poet. From the nature of the
landscape, the effect of a totally different char
acter to the sunrise view from the Catskill
Mountain House, was nevertheless no less
grand and beautiful than that famous sight.
Continuing our journey over a rough moun
| tain road, we found many sweet glimpses of
I valley and hill, with here and there a roman
tic lake of several miles, more or less, in ex
tent. These discoveries made, ever and anon,
pauses in our course, for the accommodation
of the artists of the expedition, who would
never suffer anything to pass nnsketched. —
“ MonDieu! that’s a glorious bit!” says one.
“Michael Angelo Buonarotti!” exclaims the
other, “we must have it!” and to work they
go. By the way, what a pleasant and curi
ous thing it would be to have an exhibition
of sunrise sketches, say those of all the ar
tists of New-York; studies made not for the
public eye, but simply as materal for the stu
dent’s own use. The world could then see
“what stuff dreams are made of.” In refer
ing thus to the professional propensities of
our painters, the propos I intended to draw
was not the exhibition just alluded to, but
the fact that the delays protracted our jour
ney and postponed our arrival at the outlet of
Schroon Lake, and, consequently, at the din
ner table, until late in the afternoon. Upon
comparing notes of our impressions of the
Lake in the way of the picturesque from the
glimpses caught during the last mile’s ride,
and particularly at the outlet where it mingles
with the broad waters of the Hudson River,
the misgivings which had been crowding up
on our minds during the day, passed away —
and when we afterwards strolled to the sum
mit of a neighboring mountain, our fears
seemed to have quite vanished. The appear
ance, however, was delusive as the signs of
the weather, which, cloudy and fitful through
out the day, despite the lovely morning, seem
ed at this instant to promise more fairly.—
The rain came at length in earnest, and when,
upon the return of sunshine, we continued
our journey to the head of the Lake, review
ing in the transit all its windings and capaci
ties, our bright expectations vanished, and
the conviction forced itself upon our minds
that we had left fair Canaan behind us on
the Horicon. In short, though the waters of
Schroon Lake offer, in the nine miles of their
extent, many picturesque points, it seemed
not so to our eyes, so long familiar with the
far more beautiful features of Horicon. The
waters have none of the pure transparency of
Lake George —their windings are less numer
ous and fanciful—the islands are few and un
interesting. The hills are comparatively
dwarfish, and their outlines unpleasing. And
to cap the climax, all the noble trout have
been destroyed there by an importation of
pickerel, made some five years ago.
We were disapointed not only in thus find
ing ourselves in a well-settled region, when
we expected to be “in the wilderness alone”
—in finding very ordinary natural scenes
where we looked for the “gloomy and grand ”
—hut in divers other mishaps. Upon exam
ining our baggage, for the first time, at the
village of Schroon, each came to a “ realizing
sense” of some terrible developments :—one
had lost his umbrella, upon which he count
ed to protect him against sun and shower—
another had somewhat soiled his wardrobe
by the breaking of a bottle of ink carefully
stowed amongst gloves, shirts, vests and cra
vats —and of the two artists, one found that a
tube of white lead had burst and painted an
admirably effective picture in the interior of
his sketch-book, while in that of the other
a paper of dry Vermillion had got loose, and
the insidious powder had tinted tubes, brush
es, papers, and his entire apparatus, with a
hue like that of the sun when he went down
“ with his battle-stained eye.”
Yet let me not dwell upon these horrors,
bnt, rather, pass on our way, where we were
more fortunate.
Two or three miles north of the Lake, we
had some noble glimpses of highly cultivated
valley scene, and grand ranges of mountain
in the distance. In this region lies Lake Par
adox, a beautiful body of water nearly four
miles in length. It is far more interesting in
every way than its pretending neighbor,
Schroon, and we were almost consoled by its
charms for our disappointments thitherto. A
fine view of Schroon Mountain, of which the
late Mr. ,Cole made so effective a picture, may
be obtained from many points in this vicinage.
Continuing northward, the traveler soon
enters upon the wild mountain lands of Es
sex county, and, after along day’s travel, ap
proaches the celebrated Adirondack group.
As our course was eastward, its principal at
tractions ended at Lake Paradox—where I
may also very reasonably bid you adieu.
FLIT.
NEW-YORK LETTERS.—NO. 19.
Sept. llth. 1848.
My Dear Sir , —l am sorry that my com
munication for your fifteenth number should
have failed to reach you in season. It was
duly posted, and, as you suppose, no one is
to blame for the delay but our reliable friend,
“Uncle Sam.” I hope that ere this time he
has made the amende honorable. By the
way, I find, from one of my letters in the Ga
zette, that while in Albany I paid a visit to
the mansion of 11 Leonard” Young. T have
some recollection of a call upon our worthy
Governor, but whether or not his Excellency
glories in th<* patronymic of “Leonard.” I
really cannot take it upon myself to say.
Autumn has come upon us in character
The skies wear a chilly and sullen air: j n
the moaning of the winds, and in the fall of
the leaves, is heard the sad whisper, “Icha
bod,” and soon the fell word will be legibly
inscribed upon all the fair scenes around me
The tourists in these latitudes have all fled r
and lam left the “last rose of summer.” As
I like not, however, to bloom long alone. I r
too, shall soon be en route for my winter
quarters.
I passed a most pleasant day, last week .in
a tour to the outlet of the Lake, passing
thence on through the villages of Ticondero
ga to the ruins of the Fort of the same name,
on the banks of Lake Champlain. This tour
is a favorite one with the Saratoga visitors.
Caldwell, at the southern extremity, or ‘head’
of Horicon, is reached in the evening after a
day’s travel from the Springs. Early the
following morning, you take the steamboat,
traverse the entire length of the Lake, and
land at the outlet, after the lapse of a few
pleasant hours. Stages carry you onward
some four miles to the Fort, near -which you
find a snug hotel buried in a beautiful grove,
which casts its shadow upon the waters of
Lake Champlain. Here you dine very com
fortably, ramble about during several hours,
are re-conducted to the outlet of Horicon—
which you traverse by the evening light, as
you have already by the morning sun—and,
finally, sup cosily where you breakfasted, at
your hotel at Caldwell. Can you imagine a
more delightful excursion? Ail the live-long
day amidst scenes not only of the highest
natural beauty, but every spot memorable for
gallant deeds. Os the scenery around “Ly
man’s,” I have already spoken. Continuing
the tour of the Lake northward, you make
the passage of the “ Narrows,” winding in
and out .amidst the islands, more numerous
here than at any other spot ; and, doubling
“ Sabbath-day Point,” you come in sight of
the mountains of Antony’s Npse on the east,
and the famous Rogers’ Slide on the West.
You pass “Garfield’s,” a favorite Lake ho
tel, before you reach these interesting locali
ties, and soon after are at the foot of the
Lake.
If, by any possibility, you should grow
weary on deck, you can step below and
amuse yourself with the poetry and prose of
the tourists’ Albums. Scanning these inter
esting tomes myself, I found the record of the
names of Sarah Jane Pell, Ann Eliza Pell,
and a variety of other Pells, male and female,
followed by the waggish note, “ Really quite
re-pelling!”
In the villages of Tye, as Ticonderoga is
familiarly called here, you will find much to
please you, both at the upper and the lower
Falls; but of course the great attraction will
be the ruins of the famous old Fort, where, if
you desire it, you may be shown the precise
spot at which Ethan Allen dashed over the
walls, and demanded a surrender, “in the
name of the Great Jehovah and the Continen
tal Congress!” Avery considerable portion
of the walls of the Fort is still standing, and
seen from the ruins of the barracks, it pre
sents quite a picturesque appearance.
As I purpose giving you an extract or two
from the letters of mv city friends, I must
not indulge in further description, unless 4
be to record the poetic names of the noted
“Hog Hill,” and the famous “ Pot-ash Kettle
Rock.”
So much for the country. Now a word oi
town. C. sends me papers crammed with
the proceedings of the New-York “sympa
thizers” in the Irish movements, their absurd
doings at Vauxhall, etc.: together with the
news, by the Brittania and Niagara, of tin
capture of the rebel leaders and the entire
suppression of the revolt. Os home matters
he speaks of yellow fever at Staten Island-