Part 13

Beautiful! All was beautiful, And calm and sweet and pure; With naught from sense of loveliness The spirit to allure. “God made the country,” low I spoke, And meekly bowed my head; “And man the town;” more loud and stern These other words I said.

Then down a shady lane I turned, And slowly moved along, Where blossoms filled with odors sweet The air, and birds with song. Soon, from amid some broad old elms, I saw a cottage rise, And soon old Hector’s pace I checked, In sudden, mute surprise.

Unseen, I saw, O loveliness! Was ever like displayed In form so chaste and innocent, As in that heavenly maid? I sketched the scene: ’tis sent with this; Now say, in mien and face, Did city maiden ever show Such purity and grace.

I lingered long, then turned away, And slowly homeward went, That lovely maiden’s image fair With all my fancies blent. For weeks my dreams were full of her, And then I went again To seek the cottage where she dwelt, But sought for her in vain.

The old, plain cottage mid the elms, Stood where it stood before, The rustic lad was there, and sat Asleep within the door; The kid beside its stately dam In the warm sunshine lay: But the maiden and the child were gone! I slowly turned away.

Since then, of rustic loveliness, Till city belles have curled Their lips of beauty, I have talked, And challenged half the world To show in silks, and lawns, and gems, A maiden half so fair As she whose bright young cheek was fanned By purest summer air.

THE SEQUEL.

Last week, of fair young city belles I met a brilliant throng, Where jewels gleamed, and bright eyes flashed ’Mid laughter dance and song. One in the crowd, for loveliness, Was peerless ’mong the fair— Gems glittered in her rich attire, And glittered in her hair.

I saw her—started—looked again— Yes, ’twas my rustic maid. How sweet her face! how bright her smile! Even thus in gems arrayed. But something from her lip, and eye, And cheek, and brow was gone:— The rustic maid, in native grace, The city belle outshone. A.

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FLOWERS.

Golden treasures; fairy flowers— Spreading all earth’s sunny bowers. Bright and fleeting as youth’s day: Smiling sunny hours away. Thou dost heighten beauty’s glow;

Youth’s companions, too, art thou, Gladd’ning youth and beauty now, Soon thou’rt decking death’s pale brow. Idol treasures! fairy flowers— Brightly decking Flora’s bowers! S. E. T.

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GAME-BIRDS OF AMERICA.—NO. VII.

GOOSANDER. (_Mergus Merganser._ Linnæus.)

It may be considered doubtful whether the bird now before us can fairly be included in a list of the birds acknowledged as _game_ by the American sportsman. Their food, consisting entirely of fish, causes their flesh to be, in our estimation unfit for food; yet there are not wanting some, who pretend to consider them capital meat, and others who pursue them as game, from a love of sport and a desire to acquaint themselves with its natural history. On this ground, therefore, we have admitted his name into our catalogue, and placed his portrait in our gallery.

He is a winter inhabitant of the States; is found on the seas, fresh water lakes and rivers, and bears many different appellations, such as the Water Pheasant, the Sheldrake, the Fisherman, and the Diver. The name Goosander is a popular misnomer, because no one of all the nine species of the genus Mergus has either the appearance or the habits of geese of any description. They have the bill rather longer than the middle size, and much more slender and hard in its texture than the bills of ducks, not being a dabbling or sentient bill like theirs, but prehensile and of a very peculiar form. The mandibles are straight for a greater part of their length, but the upper one is much hooked at the point, and very sharp, and the cutting edges of both mandibles are in all their length beset with short, but strong and sharp teeth inclining backward. The bill is thus fitted for taking a very firm hold of slippery prey, and its skill in capturing fish proves how effective is this simple apparatus. The Goosander, from having its legs far backward, is an awkward walker, while it does not dive so well as the proper diver, yet, by the arrangement of its bill, it is enabled to levy far more severe contributions upon fish-ponds than any birds which resort to such places, not even excepting the herons. Their wings are of moderate length, but clean and firmly made, and the plumage of the body is also firm and compact, so that the power of flight is considerable, and when necessary it can be extended to long distances without much fatigue. As is the case with the ducks, there is an enlargement of the pulmonic end of the trachea, which probably answers the purpose of a magazine of air, and enables the birds to remain much longer under water than they could do if not thus provided. The general color of the bill is red; but a portion round the nostrils, the ridge of the upper mandible, and the nail on its tip are dusky. The inside of the gape is bright orange; the head and the crest, the last of which is most conspicuous in the male, together with the upper part of the neck, are dark green, passing into black on the chin and throat; the lower part of the neck, the outer scapulars, the breast, and all the under part of the body, are white, with a tinge of yellowish-red. The back and the scapulars next the back are black, fading into grayish toward the rump; and the tail, which consists of eighteen pointed feathers, is of a gray color. The principal quills and coverts are brownish-black, with the exception of the middle secondaries and the extremities of their coverts, and these form a white speculum or wing-spot. The head and neck of the female are rust color, the upper part is of a grayish tint, and the under part white, with a yellowish shade. In consequence of this she has been figured and described as the Dun Diver; and the young male, which resembles her in color, has been considered as the male of the same. The bill and feet are reddish ash color. The accurate observations of Wilson, Nuttall, and others, have proved beyond a doubt the true character of the Dun Divers, and the unfortunate Goosander, whom the English discoverers of the latter bird had deprived of any consort, has been again restored to his legitimate rights.

Among the other species which are described in the Ornithologies as belonging to the Mergansers, we may record the names of the Red-breasted Merganser and the Hooded Merganser, as species known to American sportsmen. The latter is peculiar to this continent, migrating during the winter as far south as Mexico, and displaying its high, circular and beautifully colored crest in great numbers on the broad waters of the Mississippi, its elegant form and the strong contrast of the colors of its plumage rendering it always an object of attention and admiration.

THE WILD SWAN. (_Cygnus Ferus._ Ray)

The swans are among the most ornamental of all water-birds, on account of their great size, the gracefulness of their forms and motions, and the snowy whiteness of the plumage of the most familiar species. From the remotest antiquity they have attracted attention, and the time-honored fable of the tame swan acquiring a musical song when dying, instead of the husky voice which usually characterizes him, is still repeated, though wholly destitute of foundation. The notion probably arose from confounding the wild species with the tame one, for though the note of the wild swan, or Whistler, is certainly not musical, yet there is a mournful sonorousness about it, which gives it not a little of the expression of a death-song. It is a dull and solemn hwoo-hwoo, having what is called an inward sound, though audible at a considerable distance. From this note they have acquired a popular name, that of the Hooper. They pass the period of reproduction in high northern latitudes, and in the autumn migrate southwardly over both continents. In winter they are sometimes quite numerous in the waters of the Chesapeake, and flocks are seen passing through the interior along the valley of the Mississippi to the lands around the mouth of that river. The Hooper emits his note only when flying, or calling on his mate, and though loud and shrill it is by no means unpleasant, particularly when heard high in the air, and modulated by the winds. Its vocal organs are remarkably assisted by the structure of the trachea, which forms two circumvolutions within the chest, before terminating in the respiratory organ. On their migratory flights they fly very high in the air, and close to each other. The height of their flight is probably intended as a security against their enemies, the falcons, who would prove more than a match for the swans, notwithstanding their great size and strength, if they were able to take “the sky” of them. The swan has little or no means of defence when it is on the wing, the stroke of the wing being what it chiefly depends on for its defence against an enemy, and this being but little available when the bird is flying. By taking the sky of the hostile birds, the swan, however, is enabled to perform its migratory flight in considerable safety, as the falcons are entirely harmless to any thing above them. The flight of the Hoopers when they are on their migrating journeys is much more rapid than from the size and weight of the birds one would be apt to suppose. As is the case with all birds of lofty flight, it does not appear to be so rapid as it really is. This is a point to which it is very essential to attend in all cases of birds, or indeed any thing else in motion. The portion of the retina which the visual impression of the observed object passes over is of course the standard which we have for the measure of its velocity. In consequence of this, its motion appears to be slower than it really is, in the same proportion that its distance is increased, so that a motion at five hundred yards requires to be ten times faster in order to have the same apparent speed as a motion at fifty yards distance. This renders it rather a difficult matter for an ordinary sportsman, however expert he may be in hitting partridges or other ground game when on the wing, to hit swans when they are passing over him in their migratory flight; and unless he takes aim before them, at a distance which experience only can determine, he is sure to miss. The wind, too, must be taken into calculation in order to insure a successful shot. The size and weight of the swans, with the abundance of their feathers, cause the wind to have a very great influence on the velocity of their flight. Hence they almost invariably go before the wind in their migrations, and wait, or even halt on their journey, if the wind be adverse. Before a stiff breeze they can make way at the rate of not less than one hundred miles in the hour, so that they are very soon out of the observer’s horizon; but against a wind of the same strength they can make very little way, and upon a strong cross wind they drift very far to leeward.

In all ages these birds have enjoyed a considerable degree of fictitious interest, and, therefore, beside the exaggeration of the musical power of their “sweet voices,” there are various other improbable things alleged of them. For instance, it is said that when the frost begins to set in they assemble in multitudes and keep the water in a state of agitation to prevent it from freezing. The fact is, that all the agitation a flock of swans could produce in a lake would but make it freeze the more rapidly. It is probable, however, that they break the ice, when it is thin, and continue breaking it at the same place as fast as it freezes, as is the habit of very many animals in the winter season.

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FORT MACKENZIE.

Fort Mackenzie, which was first established in 1832, is 120 paces from the north bank of the Missouri, fifteen or twenty miles from the falls of that river, and about a hundred miles from the highest range of the Rocky Mountains. It was built by the American Fur Company, for the purpose of trading with the Black-Feet and other neighboring Indians. From the force and ferocity of the large tribes of Indians in the vicinity, frequent and serious difficulties occurred. One of these, which took place in 1833, is thus described in Maximilian, Prince of Wieds’ “Travels in the Interior of North America:”

“On the 28th of August, at break of day, we were awakened by musket-shot; and Doucette entered our room crying, ‘levez-vous il faut nous battre!’ On which we arose in haste, dressed ourselves, and loaded our fowling-pieces with ball. When we entered the court-yard of the fort, all our people were in motion, and some were firing from the roofs. On ascending it, we saw the whole prairie covered with Indians, on foot and on horseback, who were firing at the fort; and on the hills were several detached bodies. About eighteen or twenty Black-Feet tents, pitched near the fort, the inmates of which had been singing and drinking the whole night, and fallen into a deep sleep toward morning, had been surprised by 600 Assiniboins and Crows. When the first information of the vicinity of the enemy was received from a Black-Foot, who had escaped, the _engages_ immediately repaired to their posts on the roofs of the buildings, and the fort was seen to be surrounded on every side by the enemy, who had approached very near. They had cut up the tents of the Black-Feet with knives, discharged their guns and arrows at them, and killed and wounded many of the inmates, roused from their sleep by this unexpected attack. The men, about thirty in number, had partly fired their guns at the enemy, and then fled to the gates of the fort, where they were admitted. They immediately hastened to the roof, and began a well supported fire upon the Assiniboins.

“When the Assiniboins saw that their fire was returned, they retreated about three hundred paces, and an irregular firing continued, during which several people from the neighborhood joined the ranks of the Black-Feet. While all this was passing, the court-yard of the fort exhibited very singular scenes. A number of wounded men, women, and children, were laid or placed against the walls; others, in their deplorable condition, were pulled about by their relations, amid tears and lamentations. The White Buffalo, who had received a wound at the back of his head, was carried about in this manner, amid singing, howling, and crying. They rattled the schischique in his ears, that the evil spirit might not overcome him, and gave him brandy to drink. He himself, though stupified and intoxicated, sung without intermission, and would not give himself up to the evil spirit. Otsequa Stomik, an old man of our acquaintance, was wounded in the knee by a ball, which a woman cut out with a penknife, during which operation he did not betray the least symptom of pain. Natah Otarm, a handsome young man, was suffering dreadfully from severe wounds. Several Indians, especially young women, were likewise wounded. A spectator alone of this extraordinary scene can form any idea of the confusion and the noise, which was increased by the loud report of the musketry, the moving backward and forward of the people, carrying powder and ball, and the tumult occasioned by about twenty horses shut up in the fort.”

Our illustration, a most spirited and vigorous representation of Indian life and character, gives a view of the attack made upon the sleeping Black-Feet early in the morning. It is eminently characteristic of Indian warfare, and affords an admirable specimen of the fierce encounters so frequent among the savage sons of that remote wilderness.

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THE FISHER BOY JOLLILY LIVES.

A GLEE, FOR FOUR VOICES.

WORDS BY ELIZA COOK.—COMPOSED AND ARRANGED BY W. R. WRIGHT.

First Verse: Merrily, oh! Merrily, oh! The nets are spread out to the sun; Merrily, oh! The Fisher boy sings, Right glad that his labour is done, Right glad that his labour is done.

Happy and gay with his boat in the bay, The storm and the danger forgot; The wealthy and great may repine at their state, And envy the Fisher boy’s lot.

Chorus: Merrily, oh! Merrily, oh! This is the burden he gives, Cheerily, oh! Though the blast may blow, The Fisher boy jollily lives, The Fisher boy jollily lives!

Second Verse: Merrily, oh! Merrily, oh! He sleeps till the morning breaks; Merrily, oh! at the sea gulls scream, The Fisher boy quickly awakes. The Fisher boy quickly awakes.

Down on the strand he is plying his hand, His shouting is heard again; The clouds are dark, but he springs to his bark, With the same light hearted strain.

Chorus: Merrily, oh! Merrily, oh! This is the burden he gives, Cheerily, oh! Though the blast may blow, The Fisher boy jollily lives, The Fisher boy jollily lives!

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REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.

_Reminiscences of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey. By Joseph Cottle. New York: Wiley & Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo._

This is quite an important contribution to the literary history of the nineteenth century. To be sure, it is confined to a small space, and a few individuals, but it is full of original and important matter as far as it goes. Cottle, the author, was a bookseller at Bristol, was the early friend of Coleridge, Southey, and Wordsworth, and carried his friendship so far as to publish their first unsalable books. Throughout the lives of Coleridge and Southey, he appears to have been their associate or correspondent. He now publishes the letters of both, and his recollections of their character, conduct, and conversation. No lover of Coleridge can read the book without deep pain. It presents him as given over to sloth and self-indulgence, as careless of his word, as indifferent to the happiness and comfort of his wife and children, as a deceitful and unsafe friend, as a kind of sublime charlatan and vagabond. The revelations regarding his use of opium are astounding. About the year 1814 he consumed a pint of laudanum a day. He spent upwards of _£_2 10_s._ a week for opium, at the very time his family were suffering, and he himself was living on the charity of a friend. He borrowed money freely of his friends, ostensibly for the necessaries of life, but really to obtain the means of gratifying his debasing habit. He lost all control over himself. The champion of free will was himself the prey of a passion which swayed his volitions. The philosopher who was to reconcile philosophy with Christianity, was daily in the habit of violating both. The poet who celebrated in such exquisite verse the affections, abandoned his own family. Since Rousseau, there has not been his like among men of letters. In a letter to Josiah Wade, in 1814, a letter which he desires to have published after his death, he acknowledges all that his worst enemies could impute to him. “In the one crime of OPIUM,” he says, “what crime have I not made myself guilty of? Ingratitude to my Maker! and to my benefactors—injustice! and _unnatural cruelty to my poor children_! self-contempt for my repeated promise—breach, nay, too often, actual falsehood!” In the same letter he remarks—“Conceive a poor, miserable wretch, who, for many years, has been attempting to beat off pain by a constant recurrence to the vice that produces it. Conceive a spirit in hell, employed in tracing out for others the road to that heaven, from which his crimes exclude him! In short, conceive whatever is most wretched, helpless, and hopeless, and you will form as tolerable a notion of my state, as it is possible for a good man to have.” The apology for Coleridge’s use of opium has been found in his own assertion, that he acquired the habit originally in an attempt to quiet physical pain. Southey denies this, and, indeed, imputes duplicity to Coleridge in all the apologies he makes for his vices of self-indulgence.

Southey, it seems, from the first, never placed any dependence upon Coleridge. Writing to Cottle, in 1836, he says—“I know that Coleridge, at different times of his life, never let pass an opportunity of speaking ill of me. Both Wordsworth and myself have often lamented the exposure of duplicity which must result from the publication of his letters, and by what he has delivered by word of mouth to the worshipers by whom he was always surrounded. . . . I continued all possible offices of kindness to his children long after I regarded his own conduct with that _utter disapprobation_ which alone it can call forth from all who had any sense of duty and moral obligation.” When Coleridge placed himself under the care of his friend, Morgan, to be cured of his opium insanity, and while he was writing letters to the friends who lent him money, that he had reduced his allowance to twenty drops of laudanum a day, he was secretly taking his enormous doses, obtained by deceiving his benefactor, and by playing the meanest tricks upon his hired attendant. Coleridge’s whole life appears to have been that of a vagabond. He subsisted on the charity of friends whom he continually deceived or outraged. At least so he appears in the representations of Southey and Cottle, and partly in his own confessions. Many of Cottle’s remarks are sufficiently good for nothing; and he occasionally cants and whines distressingly, but we see no reason to doubt his statements of fact. We hope that if any thing can be said in his favor, his relations will promptly do it. In the present book the author is sunk to the level of the Savages and Dermodys of literary history.