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fame with that delightful forest region, over it, and two hours after, when we and whose description of its finest had rowed over to the camp and dinwaterfall was published in this very ner was served, this irreverent and inmagazine a dozen years ago. He it visible chorus kept bursting out, at all was who had laid out with artistic points of the compass, with scattered taste “ The Philosopher's Camp," and chuckles of delight over this extraorwho was that season still awaiting dinary bill of fare. Justice compels me philosophers as well as deer. He had to add that the dumplings were made been there for a month, alone with the of Indian-meal, upon a receipt devised guides, and declared that Nature was by our artist; the guests preferred the pressing upon him to an extent that venison, but the host showed a fidelialmost drove him wild. His eyes had ty to his invention that proved him to a certain remote and questioning look be indeed a dweller in an ideal world. that belongs to imaginative men who Another path that comes back to dwell alone. It seemed an imperti- memory is the bare trail that we folnence to ask him to come out of his lowed over the prairies of Nebraska, in dream and offer us dinner ; but his 1856, when the Missouri River was instincts of hospitality failed not, and held by roving bands from the Slave the red - shirted guide was sent to States, and Freedom had to seek an the camp, which was, it seemed, on overland route into Kansas. All day the other side of the lake, to prepare and all night we rode between distant our meal, while we bathed. I am thus prairie - fires, pillars of evening light particular in speaking of the dinner, and of morning cloud, while sometimes not only because such is the custom of the low grass would burn to the very travellers, but also because it was the edge of the trail, so that we had occasion of an interlude which I shall to hold our breath as we galloped never forget. As we were disrobing through. Parties of armed Missourifor our bath upon the lonely island, were sometimes seen
over the where the soft pale water almost lapped prairie swells, so that we had to mount our feet, and the deep, wooded hills guard at nightfall; Free-State emimade a great amphitheatre for the lake, grants, fleeing from persecution, conour host bethought himself of some- tinually met us; and we sometimes thing neglected in his instructions. saw parties of wandering Sioux, or
“Ben !” vociferated he to the guide, passed their great irregular huts and now rapidly receding. Ben paused on houses of woi nip. I remember one his oars.
desolate prairie summit on which an “ Remember to bo-o-oil the venison, Indian boy sat motionless on horseBen,” shouted the pensive artist, while back; his bare red legs clung closeall the slumbering echoes arose to ap- ly to the white sides of his horse ; plaud this culinary confidence.
a gorgeous sunset was unrolled behind “ And, Ben!” he added, imploring him, and he might have seemed the ly, “don't forget the dumplings !” last of his race, just departing for the Upon this, the loons, all down the hunting-grounds of the blest. More oflake, who had hitherto been silent, ten the horizon showed no human outtook up the strain with vehemence, line; and the sun set cloudless, as behind hurling their wild laughter at the pre- ocean-waves, wavering and elongated sumptuous mortal who thus dared to into pear-shaped outlines. But I reinvade their solitudes with details as member best the excitement that filled trivial as Mr. Pickwick's tomato-sauce. our breasts when we approached spots They repeated it over and over to each where the contest for a free soil had other, till ten square miles of loons already been sealed with blood. In must have heard the news, and all those days, as one went to Pennsylvalaughed together ; never was there nia to study coal formations or to Lake such an audience; they could not get Superior for copper, so one went to
Kansas for men. “Every footpath on Mountains, gorgeous with great red this planet,” said a rare thinker, “may lilies which presently seem to take lead to the door of a hero," and that flight in a cloud of butterflies that trail into Kansas ended rightly at the match their tints ; paths where the tent-door of John Brown.
balsamic air caresses you in light And later, who that knew them can breezes, and masses of alder-berries forget the picket-paths that were worn rise above the waving ferns. Or of the throughout the Sea Islands of South paths that lead beside many a little Carolina, paths that wound along New England stream, whose bank is the shores of creeks or through the lost to sight in a smooth green slope depths of woods, where the great wild of grape-vine : the lower shoots rest roses tossed their airy festoons above upon the quiet water, but the upper your head, and the brilliant lizards masses are crowned by a white wreath glanced across your track, and your of alder-blooms;- beside them grow horse's ears suddenly pointed forward great masses of wild roses, and the and his pace grew uneasy as he snuffed simultaneous blossoms and berries of the presence of something you could the gaudy nightshade. Or of those not see. At night you had often to winding tracks that lead here and there ride from picket to picket in dense among the flat stones of peaceful old darkness, trusting to the horse to find graveyards, so entwined with grass his way, or sometimes dismounting to and flowers that every spray of sweetfeel with your hands for the track, brier seems to tell more of life than all while the great Southern fireflies seemed the accumulated epitaphs of death. to offer their floating lanterns for guid- And when the paths that we have ance, and the hoarse “ Chuck-will's- personally traversed are exhausted, widow” croaked ominously from the memory holds almost as clearly those trees, and the great guns of the siege which the poets have trodden for us, of Charleston throbbed more faintly those innumerable by-ways of Shakethan the drumming of a partridge, speare, each more real than any highfrom far away.
Those islands are road in England; or Chaucer's everywhere so intersected by dikes
“Little path I found and ledges and winding creeks as to
Of mintes full and fenpell greene"; form a natural military region, like La
or Spenser's Vendée ; and yet two plantations that
“Pathes and alleies wide are twenty miles asunder by the road
With footing worne": will sometimes be united by a footpath which a negro can traverse in two
or the path of Browning's “ Pippa" hours. These tracks are limited in
“Down the hillside, up the glen, distance by the island formation, but they assume a greater importance as or the weary tracks by which “ Little you penetrate the mainland ; they then
Nell” wandered; or the haunted way join great States instead of mere
in Sydney Dobell's ballad, plantations, and if you ask whither
Ravelstone, Ravelstone, one of them leads, you are told “To
The merry path that leads Alabama," or “To Tennessee."
Down the golden morning hills, Time would fail to tell of that wan
And through the silver meads”; dering path which leads to the Mine or the few American paths that genius Mountain near Brattleborough, where has yet idealized ; that where Hawyou climb the high peak at last, and thorne's “ David Swan" slept, or that perhaps see the showers come up the which Thoreau found upon the banks Connecticut till they patter on the of Walden Pond, or where Whittier leaves beneath you, and then, swerving, parted with his childhood's playmate pass up the black ravine and leave you on Ramoth Hill. It is not heights, unwet. Or, of those among the White nor depths, nor spaces that make the
Love me as I love !"
world worth living in; for the fairest the tops of mountains make man landscape needs still to be garlanded blessed, if he has not with him solitude by the imagination, to become classic of mind, the sabbath of the heart, and with noble deeds and romantic with tranquillity of conscience.” There are dreams.
many roads, but one termination ; and Go where we please in nature, we Plato says, in his “ Republic,” that the receive in proportion as we give. Ivo, point where all paths meet is the soul's the old Bishop of Chartres, wrote, that true resting-place and the journey's "neither the secret depth of woods nor end.
Thomas Wentworth Higginson.
OLDTOWN FIRESIDE STORIES.
CAPTAIN KIDD'S MONEY.
wool. “How that are crittur seems
history o' Kidd's is a warnin' to fellers. Our barn had an upper loft with a Why, Kidd had pious parents and Bible swinging outer door that commanded a and sanctuary privileges when he was view of the old mill, the waterfall, and a boy, and yet come to be hanged. It's the distant windings of the river, with all in this 'ere song I'm a goin' to sing its grassy green banks, its graceful elm ye. Lordy massy, I wish I had my draperies, and its white flocks of water
bass-viol now. - Cæsar," he said, calllilies; and then on this Saturday after- ing down from his perch, “can't you noon we had Sam all to ourselves. It strike the pitch o' Cap'n Kidd' on was a drowsy, dreamy October day, your fiddle ?" when the hens were lazily "craw, craw
Cæsar's fiddle was never far from bim. ing,” in a soft, conversational under- It was, in fact, tucked away in a nice little tone with each other, as they scratched nook just over the manger, and he often and picked the hay - seed under the caught an interval from his work to barn windows. Below in the barn scrape a dancing-tune on it, keeping black Cæsar sat quietly hatchelling time with his heels, to our great delight flax, sometimes gurgling and giggling A most wailing minor-keyed tune to himself with an overflow of that was doled forth, which seemed quite interior jollity with which he seemed refreshing to Sam's pathetic vein, as he to be always full. The African in sang in his most lugubrious tones :New England was a curious contrast "My name was Robert Kidd to everybody around him in the joy
As I sailed, as I sailed,
My name was Robert Kidd ; and satisfaction that he seemed to feel
God's laws I did forbid, in the mere fact of being alive. Every
And so wickedly I did, white person was glad or sorry for some
As I sailed, as I sailed.' appreciable cause in the past, present, “Now ye see, boys, he's a goin' to or future, which was capable of being tell how he abused his religious privdefinitely stated ; but black Cæsar ileges; just hear now:was in an eternal giggle and frizzle “My father taught me well, and simmer of enjoyment for which he
As I sailed, as I sailed;
My father taught me well, could give no earthly reason : he was
To shun the gates of hell, an "embodied joy,” like Shelley's sky
But yet I did rebel, kark.
As I sailed, as I sailed. “Jest hear him," said Sam Lawson
"He put a Bible in my hand looking pensively over the hay-mow
As I sailed, as I sailed ;
He put a Bible in my hand,
n't they get it ? ” we both asked eagerAnd I sunk it in the sand, Before I left the strand,
ly and in one breath. As I sailed, as I sailed.'
“Why, Lordy massy, boys, your ques“ Did ye ever hear o' such a hard
tions tumbles over each other thick as
martins out o'a martin-box. Now you ened, contrary crittur, boys ? It's awful to think of. Wal, ye see that are's the jist be moderate and let alone, and I'll way fellers allers begin the ways o'
tell you all about it from the beginnin' sin, by turnin' their back on the Bible
to the end. I did n't railly have no and the advice o' pious parents. Now
hand in't, though I was knowin' to 't, as hear what he come to:
I be to most things that goes on round
here, but my conscience would n't railly "Then I murdered William More,
a let me start on no sich undertakin'. As I sailed, as I sailed ; I murdered William More,
“Wal, the one that fust sot the And left him in his gore,
thing a goin' was old Mother Hokum, Not many leagues from shore,
that used to live up in that little tumbleAs I sailed, as I sailed.
down shed by the cranberry-pond up " "To execution dock
beyond the spring pastur'. They had I must go, I must go,
a putty bad name them Hokums. How L To execution dock, While thousands round me flock,
they got a livin' nobody knew, for they To see me on the block,
did n't seem to pay no attention to I must go, I must go.'
raisin' nothin' but childun, but the “There was a good deal more on ’t,” deuce knows there was plenty o' them. said Sam, pausing, “ but I don't seem Their old hut was like a rabbit-pen, to remember it; but it's real solemn there was a tow head to every crack and affectin'."
and cranny. 'Member what old Cæsar “Who was Captain Kidd, Sam ?” said once when the word come to the said I.
store that old Hokum had got twins. “Wal, he was an officer in the Brit- 'S'pose de Lord know best,' says Cæish
navy, and he got to being a pirate, sar, “but I thought dere was Hokums used to take ships and sink 'em, and enough afore.' Wal, even poor workmurder the folks ; and so they say he in' industrious folks like me finds it's got no end o' money ; gold and silver hard gettin' along when there's so and precious stones as many as the many mouths to feed. Lordy massy, wise men in the East. But ye see, there don't never seem to be no end what good did it all do him? He on 't, and so it ain't wonderful, come to could n't use it and dars'n't keep it, think on 't, ef folks like them Hokums so he used to bury it in spots round gets tempted to help along in ways that here and there in the awfullest heathen ain't quite right. Anyhow folks did way ye ever heard of. Why, they say use to think that old Hokum was too he allers used to kill one or two men or sort o familiar with their wood-piles women or children of his prisoners and 'long in the night, though they could n't bury with it, so that their sperits might never prove it on him; and when Mothkeep watch on it ef anybody was to er Hokum come to houses round to
dig arter it. That are thing has been wash, folks use sometimes to miss tried and tried and tried, but no man pieces, here and there, though they : nor mother's son on 'em ever got a cent never could find 'em on her; then they that dug. ’T was tried here 'n Oldtown, was allers a gettin' in debt here and and they come pretty nigh gettin' on 't, a gettin' in debt there. Why, they got but it gin 'em the slip. Ye see, boys, to owin' two dollars to Joe Gidger it's the Devil's money, and he holds a for butcher's meat. Joe was sort o' pretty tight grip on 't.”
good-natured and let 'em have meat, “Wal, how was it about digging for 'cause Hokum he promised so fair to it? Tell us, did you do it? Were you pay, but he could n't never get it out o' there ? Did you see it? And why could him. 'Member once Joe walked clear