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huge misshapen turrets and battlements.
Such is the varied coast called the Pictured

At other points of the coast volcanic
forces have operated, lifting up these level
strata into positions nearly vertical, and
leaving them to stand like the leaves of an
open book. At the same time the volcanic
rocks sent up from below have risen in
high mountain piles. Such is the condition
of things at the Porcupine Mountains.

The basin and bed of this lake act as a
vast geological mortar, in which the masses
of broken and fallen stones are whirled
about and ground down till all the softer
ones, such as the sandstones, are brought
into the state of pure yellow sand. This
sand is driven ashore by the waves, where
it is shoved up in long wreaths till dried by
the sun. The winds now take it up and
spread it inland, or pile it immediately
along the coast, where it presents itself in
mountain masses. Such are the great Sand
Dunes of the Grandes Sables.

There are yet other theatres of action for
this sublime mass of inland waters, where it
ms manifested perhaps still more strongly,
if not strikingly, its abrasive powers. The
whole force of the lake, under the impulse
of a north-west tempest, is directed against
prominent portions of the shore, which con-
sist of the black and hard volcanic rocks.
Solid as these are, the waves have found an
entrance in veins of spar or minerals of
softer structure, and have thus been led
inland, and torn up large fields of amyg-
daloid and other rock, or left portions of
them standing in rugged knobs or pro-
montories. Such are the east and the west
coasts of the great peninsula of Keweena,
which has recently become the theatre of
mining operations.

When the visitor to these remote and
boundless waters comes to see this wide and
varied scene of complicated attractions, he
is absorbed in wonder and astonishment.
The eye, once introduced to this panorama
of waters, is never done looking and admir-
ing. Scene after scene, cliff after cliff,
island after island, and vista after vista, are
presented. One day's scenes are but
the prelude to another, and when weeks and
months have been spent in picturesque
rambles along its shores, the traveler has
only to ascend some of its streams and go
inland to find falls and cascades and cata-
racts of the most beautiful or magnificent
character. Go where he will, there is some-
thing to attract him. Beneath his feet the
pebbles are agates. The water is of the
most crystalline purity. The sky is filled at
sunset with the most gorgeous piles of
clouds. The air itself is of the purest and
most inspiriting kind. To visit such a
scene is to draw health from its purest
fountains, and to revel in intellectual



[JOHN PENDI,ETON KENNEDY, born in Baltimore in
1795, died at Newport, E. I., In 1870. Graduated at
Baltimore College in 1812, ho was admitted to the bar
in 1816, but practiced little, entering Congress m 1838,
and becoming Secretary of the Navy in 1852. BIr.



Kennedy's numerous contributions to the press were
chiefly works of fiction, and his " Swallow Barn, or, a
Sojourn in the Old Dominion " (1832), " Horseshoe Robin-
son" (1835), and "Bob of the Bowl" (1838), are historical
novels of Southern life. Mr. Kennedy's style is grace-
ful and natural, and his pictures of nature, as well as
his sketches of character, are carefully done, though
none of his works display great imaginative power.
He wrote an excellent " Memoir of William Wirt " (2
vols., 1849.)]

I have a great reverence for the profes-
sion of the law and its votaries ; but espe-
cially for that part of the tribe which
comprehends the old and thorough-paced
stagers of the bar. The feelings, habits,
and associations of the bar in general, have
ft very happy influence upon the character.
It abounds with good fellows : And, take
it altogether, there may be collected from it
a greater mass of shrewd, observant, droll,
playful and generous spirits, than from any
other equal numbers of society. They live
in each other's presence like a set of players ;
congregate in courts like the former in the
green room ; and break their unpremedi-
tated jests, in the interval of business, with
that sort of undress freedom that contrasts
amusingly with the solemn and even tragic
seriousness with which they appear, in turn,
upon the boards. They have one face for
the public, rife with the saws and learned
gravity of the profession, and another for
themselves, replete with broad mirth,
sprightly wit, and gay thoughtlessness. The
intense mental toil and fatigue of business
give them a peculiar relish for the enjoy-
ment of their hours of relaxation, and, in
the same degree, incapacitate them for that
frugal attention to their private concerns
which their limited means usually require.
They have, in consequence, a prevailing air
of unthriftiness in personal matters, which,
however it may operate to the prejudice of
the pocket of the individual, has a mellow
and kindly effect upon his disposition.

In an old member of the profession. one
who has grown gray in the service, there is
a rich unction of originality, that brings
him out from the ranks of his fellow-men
in strong relief. His habitual conversancy
with the world in its strangest varieties, anc
with the secret history of character, gives
him a shrewd estimate of the human heart.
He is quiet and unapt to be struck with
wonder at any of the actions of men. There
is a deep current of observation running
calmly through his thoughts, and seldom

ushing out in words ; the confidence which
las been placed in him, in the thousand
relations of his profession, renders him
onstitutionally cautious. His acquaintance
ith the vicissitudes of fortune, as they
lave been exemplified in the lives of indi-
iduals, and with the severe afflictions that
mve "tried the reins" of many, known
only to himself, makes him an indulgent
and charitable apologist of the aberrations
of others. He has an impregnable good
lumour, that never falls below the level of
.houghtfulness into melancholy. He is a
creature of habits ; rising early for exercise ;
temperate from necessity, and studious
against his will. His face is accustomed
;o take the ply of his pursuits with great
facility, grave and even severe in business,
and readily rising into smiles at a pleasant
onceit. He works hard when at his task ;
and goes at it with the reluctance of an old
liorse in a bark-mill. His common-places
are quaint and professional : they are made
up of law maxims, and first occur to him in
Latin. He measures all the sciences out of
his proper line of study, (and with these he
is but scantily acquainted), by the rules of
law. He thinks a steam-engine should be
worked with due diligence, and without
laches : a thing little likely to happen, he
considers as potentia remotissima ; and
what is not yet in existence, or in esse, as
he would say, is in nubibus. He appre-
hends that wit best that is connected with
the affairs of the term ; is particularly curi-
ous in his anecdotes of old lawyers, and
inclined to be talkative concerning the
amusing passages of his own professional
life. He is, sometimes, not altogether free
of outward foppery ; is apt to be an espe-
cial good liver, and he keeps the best com-
pany. His literature is not much diversified ;
and he prefers books that are bound in
plain calf, to those that are much lettered
and gilded. He garners up his papers
with a wonderful appearance of care ; ties
them in bundles with red tape ; and usually
has great difficulty to find them when he
wants them. Too much particularity has
perplexed him; and just so it is with his
cases ; they are well assorted, packed and
hid away in his mind, but are not easily
to be brought forth again without labour.
This makes him something of a procras-
tmator, and rather to delight in new busi-
ness than finish his old. He is, however,
much beloved, and affectionately considered
by the people.





[WILLIAM WARE, an American scholar and historical
writer, born at Hingham, Mass, 1797, died ut Cambridge,
1852. Mr. Ware was a Unitarian preacher, editor of
the "Christian Examiner," and uuthor of three historical
romances, still widely read, "Zenobia, or the Full of Pal-
myra," (1837),"Pro6its or Aurelian" (1838), and "Julian, or
Scenes in JttiZea," (1841). Besides these Mr. Ware pub-
lished " Sketches of European Capitals," and "Lecturet on
Washington AUston."]

I will not detain you long with our voy-
age, but will only mark out its course.
Leaving the African shore, we struck across
to Sicily, and coasting along its eastern
border, beheld with pleasure the towering
form of ^Etna, sending up into the heavens
a dull and sluggish cloud of vapours. We
then ran between Peloponnesus and Crete,
and so held our course till the Island of Cy-
prus rose like her own fair goddess from the
ocean, and filled our eyes with a beautiful
vision of hill and valley, wooded promon-
tory, and glittering towns and villas. A fair
wind soon withdrew us from these charming
prospects, and after driving us swiftly and
roughly over the remainder of our way, re-
warded us with a brighter and more welcome
vision still the coast of Syria and our des-
tined port, Berytus.

As far as the eye could reach, both toward
the north and the south, we beheld a luxu-
riant region, crowded with villages, and
giving every indication of luxury and wealth.
The city itself, which we rapidly approached,
was of inferior size, but presented an agree-
able prospect of warehouses, public and
private edifices, overtopped here and there
by the lofty palm, and other trees of a new
and peculiar foliage. Four days were con-
sumed here in the purchase of slaves, ca-
mels, and horses, and in other preparations
for the journey across the desert. Two
routes represented themselves, one more,
the other less direct ; the last, though more
circuitous, appeared to me the more desira-
ble, as it would take me within sight of the
modern glories and ancient remains of Helio-
polis. This, therefore, was determined upon :
and on the morning of the fifth day we set
forward upon our long march. Four slaves,
two camels, and three horses, with an Arab
conductor, constituted our little caravan ;

but for greater safety we attached ourselves
to a much larger one than our own, in
which we were swallowed up and lost, con-
sisting of travellers and traders from all
parts of the world, and who were also on
their way to Palmyra, as a point whence to
separate to various parts of the vast east.
It would delight ma to lay before you, with
the distinctness and minuteness of a picture,
the whole of this novel and to me interest-
ing route ; but I must content myself with
a slight sketch, and reserve fuller commu-
nications to the time when, once more seated
with you upon the Crelian, we enjoy the
freedom of social converse.

Our way through the valleys of Libanus
was like one long wandering among the
pleasure grounds of opulent citizens. The
land was everywhere richly cultivated, and
a happier peasantry, as far as the eye of the
traveller could judge, nowhere exists. The
most luxuriant valleys of our own Italy are
not more crowded with the evidences of
plenty and contentment. Upon drawing
near to the ancient Baalbec, I found on in-
quiry of our guide, that we were not to pass
through it, as I had hoped, nor even very
near it, not nearer than between two and three
miles. So that in this I had been clearly
deceived by those of whom I had made the
most exact inquiries at Berytus. The event
proved, however, that it was not for nothing ;
for soon after we had started on our jour-
ney, on the morning of the second day,
turning suddenly around the projecting rock
of a mountain ridge, we all at once beheld,
as if a vail had been lifted up, Heliopolis
and its suburbs spread out before us in all
their various beauty. The city lay about
three miles distant. I could only therefore
identify its principal structure, the Temple
of the Sun, as built by the first Antonine.
This towered above the walls and over all
the other buildings, and gave vast ideas of
the greatness of the place, leading the mind
to crowd it with other edifices that should
bear some proportion to this noble monu-
ment of imperial magnificence. As sud-
denly as the view of this imposing scene
had been revealed, so suddenly was it again
eclipsed by another short turn in the road,
which took us once more into the mountain
valleys. But the overhanging and impene-
trable foliage of a Syrian forest shielding
me from the fierce rays of a burning sun,
soon reconciled me to my loss more espe-
cially as I knew that in a short time we
were to enter upon the sandy desert which



stretches from the Anti-Libanus almost to
the very walls of Palmyra.

Upon this boundless desert we now soon
entered. The scene which it presented was
more dismal than I can describe. A red,
moving sand or hard and baked by the
heat of a sun such as Rome never knows
low, gray rocks just rising here and there
above the level of the plain, with now and
then the dead and glittering trunk of a vast
cedar, whose roots seemed as if they had
outlasted centuries the bones of camels
and elephants, scattered on either hand,
dazzling the sight by reason of their exces-
sive whiteness at a distance occasionally
an Arab of the desert, for a moment sur-
veying our long line, and then darting off
to his fastnesses these were the objects
which, with scarce any variation, met our
eyes during the four wearisome days that
we dragged ourselves over this wild and in-
hospitable region. A little after the noon
of the fourth day, as we started on our way,
having refreshed ourselves and our exhaust-
ed animals at a spring which here poured
out its warm but still grateful waters to
the traveller, my ears received the agree-
able news that toward the east there could
now be discerned the dark line which indi-
cated our approach to the verdant tract that
encompasses the great city. Our own
excited spirits were quickly imparted to
our beasts, and a more rapid movement
soon revealed into distinctness the high land
and waving groves of palm trees which
mark the site of Palmyra.

It was several miles before we reached
the city, that we suddenly found ourselves
landing as it were from a sea upon an
island or continent in a rich and thickly
peopled country. The roads indicated an
approach to a great capital in the increasing
numbers of those who thronged them, meet-
ing and passing us, overtaking us, or cross-
ing our path. Elephants, camels, and the
dromedary, which I had before seen only in
-he amphitheatres, I here beheld as the na-
tive inhabitants of the soil. Frequent villas
of the rich and luxurious Palmyrenes, to
which they retreat from the greater heats of
the city, now threw a lovely charm over the
scene. Nothing can exceed the splendour
of these sumptuous palaces. Italy itself
has nothing which surpasses them. The
new and brilliant costumes of the persons
wh'iri we met, together with the rich hous-
ings of the animals they rode, served greatly
to add to all this beauty. I was still en-

tranced, as it were, by the objects around
me, and buried in reflection, when I was
aroused by the shout of those who led the
caravan, and who had attained the summit
of a little rising ground, saying, " Palmyra !
Palmyra 1 " I urged forward my steed, and
in a moment the most wonderful prospect I
ever beheld no, I cannot except even
Rome burst upon my sight. Flanked by
hills of considerable elevation on the east,
the city filled the whole plain below as far as
the eye could reach, both toward the north
and toward the south. This immense plain
was all one vast and boundless city. It
seemed to me to be larger than Rome. Yet
I knew very well that it could not be, that
it was not. And it was some time before 1
understood the true character of the scene
before me, so as to separate the city from
the country and the country from the city,
which here wonderfully interpenetrate each
other and so confound end deceive the ob-
server. For the city proper is so studded
with groups of lofty palm trees, shooting up
among its temples and palaces, and on the
other hand, the plain in its immediate vicinity
is so thickly adorned with magnificent struc-
tures of the purest marble, that it is not easy,
nay it is impossible at the distance at which
I contemplated the whole, to distinguish the
line which divides the one from the other. It
was all city and all country, all country and
all city. Those which lay before me I was
ready to believe were the Elysian Fields. I
imagined that I saw under my feet the
dwellings of purified men and of gods.
Certainly they were too glorious for the
mere earthborn. There was a central point,
however, which chiefly fixed my attention,
where the vast Temple of the Sun stretched
upward its thousand columns of polished
marble to the heavens, in its matchless
beauty casting into the shade every other
work of art of which the world can boast.
I have stood before the Parthenon, and have
almost worshipped the divine achievement
of the immortal Phidias. But it is a toy
by the side of this bright crown of the east-
ern capital. I have been at Milan, at Ephe-
sus, at Alexandria, at Antioch : but in nei-
ther of these renowned cities have I beheld
any thing that I can allow to approach in
united extent, grandeur, and most consum-
mate beauty, this almost more than work of
man. On each side of this, the central
point, there rose upward slender pyramids
pointed obelisks domes of the most
graceful proportions, columns, arches, and



lofty towers, for number, and for form, be-
yond my power to describe. These build-
ings, as well as the walls of the city, being
all either of white marble or of some stone
as white, and being everywhere in their
whole extent interspersed, as I have already
said, with multitudes of overshadowing
palm trees, perfectly filled and satisfied my
sense of beauty, and made me feel for the
moment, as if in such a scene I should love
to dwell and there end my days. Nor was
I alone in these transports of delight. All
my fellow-travellers seemed equally affected :
and from the native Palmyrenes, of whom
there were many among us, the most impas-
sioned and boastful exclamations broke
forth. " What is Rome to this ? " they cried.
" Fortune is not constant. Why may not
Palmyra be what Rome has been mistress
of the world ? Who more fit to rule than
the great Zenobia ? A few years may see
great changes. Who can tell what shall
come to pass?'' These, and many such
sayings, were uttered by those around me,
accompanied by many significant gestures
and glances of the eye. I thought of them
afterward. We now descended the hill, and
the long line of our caravan moved on to-
ward the city.


[JOHN If EAL, an American prose writer, born at Port-
land, Me,, in 1793, died there in 1876. His early educa-
tion was very slight, and he engaged in business, in
which he was unsuccessful, being afterward admitted to
the bar. He has been a most copious contributor to the
press, and published many volumes of stories and essays,
now little read, besides his " Wandering Recollections of
a Somewhat Busy Life " (1870).]

Now to me there is no study half so
delightful as that of these little creatures,
with hearts fresh from the gardens of the
sky, in their first and fairest and most unin-
tentional disclosures, while they are indeed
a mystery, a fragrant, luminous and beau-
tiful mystery. And I have an idea that if
we only had a name for the study, it might
be found as attractive and as popular, and
perhaps though I would not go too far
perhaps about as advantageous in the long
run to the future fathers and mothers of
mankind as the study of shrubs and flowers,

or that of birds and fishes. And why not ?
They are the cryptogamia of another world,
the infusoria of the Sides.

Then why not pursue the study for your-
self? The subjects are always before you.
No books are needed, no costly drawings,
no lectures, neither transparencies nor illus-
trations. Your specimens are all about you.
They come and go at your bidding. They
are not to be hunted for along the edge
of a precipice, on the borders of the wilder-
ness, in the desert, nor by the sea-shore.
They abound not in the uninhabited or
unvisited place, but in your very dwelling-
houses, about the steps of your doors, in
every street of every village, in every green
field, and every crowded thoroughfare. They
flourish bravely in snow-storms, in the dust
of the trampled highway, where drums are
beating and colors flying, in the roar of
cities. They love the sounding sea-breeze
and the open air, and may always be found
about the wharves and rejoicing before the
windows of toy shops. They love the blaze
of fireworks and the smell of gunpowder,
and where that is they are, to a dead cer-

You have but to go abroad for half an
hour in pleasant weather, or to throw open
your doors and windows on a Saturday after-
noon, if you live anywhere in the neighbor-
hood of a school-house, or a vacant lot with
here and there a patch of green or a dry
place in it, and steal behind the curtains, or
draw the blinds and let the fresh winds blow
through and through the chambers of your
heart for a few minutes, winnowing the dust
and scattering the cobwebs that have gath-
ered there while you were asleep, and lo !
you will find it ringing with the voices of
children at play, and all alive with the glim-
mering phantasmagoria of leap-frog, prison-
base, or knock-up-and-catch.

Even fathers and mothers look upon
children with a strange misapprehension of
their dignity. Even with the poets they are
only the flowers and blossoms, the dew-drops
or the playthings of earth. Yet " of such is
the kingdom of Heaven." The Kingdom of
Heaven ! with all its principalities and
powers, its hierarchies, dominations, thrones!
The Saviour understood them better ; to Him
their true dignity was revealed. Flowers !
They are the flowers of the invisible world ;
indestructible, self-perpetuating flowers,
with each a multitude of angels and evil
spirits underneath its leaves, toiling and
wrestling for dominion over it ! Blossoms 1



They are the blossoms of another world,
whose fruitage is angels and archangels.
Or dew-drops ! They are dew-drops that
have their source, not in the chambers of
the earth, nor among the vapors of the sky,
which the next breath of wind, or the next
flash of sunshine, may dry up forever, but
among the everlasting fountains and inex-
haustible reservoirs of mercy and love.
Playthings ! God ! If the little creatures
would but appear to us in their true shape
for a moment we should fall upon our faces
before them, or grow pale with consterna-
tion, or fling them off with horror and loath-


[SAMUEL BISHOP was born in 1731, and died in 1795.
He was an English clergyman, master of Merchant
Tailors' School, London, and author of a volume of
Latin pieces, entitled "Ferise Poeticx," and of various
other poetical pieces. We give some verses to his wife,
from which it appears that he remained an ardent lover
long after having become a husband.]


"Thee, Mary, with this ring I wed."
So, fourteen years ago, I said.
Behold another ring ! " for what? "
"To wed thee o' er again ? ' ' Why not ?

With that first ring I married youth,
Grace, beauty, innocence, and truth :
Taste long admired, sense long revered,
And all my Molly then appear' d.

If she, by merit since disclosed,
Prove twice the woman I supposed,
I plead that double merit now,
To justify a double vow.

Here then to-day with faith as sure,
With ardour as intense, as pure,
As when, amidst the rites divine,
I took thy troth, and plighted mine
To thee, sweet girl, my second ring
A token and a pledge I bring :
With this I wed, till death us part,

Thy riper virtues to my heart ;
Those virtues, which before untried,
The wife has added to the bride :
Those virtues, whose progressive claim,
Endearing wedlock's very name,
My soul enjoys, my song approves,
For conscience' sake as well as love's.

And why ? they show me every hour
Honour's high thought, Affection's power,

Online LibraryUnknownThe library of choice literature : poetry and prose selected from the most admired authors (Volume 4) → online text (page 22 of 75)