Cable. "Posson Jone."

Louisiana Anthology

George Washington Cable.
“Posson Jone.”

TRIP

TO THE

WEST AND TEXAS.

COMPRISING

A JOURNEY OF EIGHT THOUSAND MILES,

THROUGH

NEW-YORK, MICHIGAN, ILLINOIS, MISSOURI, LOUISIANA AND TEXAS, IN THE AUTUMN AND WINTER OF 1834-5.

INTERSPERSED WITH ANECDOTES, INCIDENTS AND OBSERVATIONS.

WITH A BRIEF SKETCH
OF THE
TEXIAN WAR.

BY A.A. PARKER, ESQ.

Second Edition.

CONCORD, N.H.:
PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM WHITE.
BOSTON:
BENJAMIN B. MUSSEY.
1836.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1835,
By White & Fisher,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of New-Hampshire.

PREFACE.

The author of this work, unknown to fame, and unacquainted with the art of book-making, has endeavored, in the following pages, to give some account of the great Western and Southern Country. In performing this task, he has not attempted the regions of fancy and fiction; but has told his own story — “a plain unvarnished tale,” in his own way. And although it may not indicate much depth of research, or possess all the graces of polished diction and charms of novelty, yet he hopes it may be found to contain information sufficient to repay a perusal.

He spent five months on his journey, and examined the country through which he passed, as much as time would permit: — Its soil, climate and productions — the manners, customs and health of the inhabitants — the animals, reptiles and insects — in short, all things favorable and unfavorable in the New World. He has freely spoken of the country just as it appeared to him; and he believes the information this work purports to give, may be safely relied upon. But if it should be found to contain errors of fact, or of opinion, he is confident they will be deemed unintentional.

It would have been quite easy to make a much larger book of the author’s travels; and had he followed the example set him by some of the journalists of the day, he should have done so. But his object was not to make a large and expensive volume. He has given in a concise form, such descriptions, incidents and anecdotes only, as he believes may instruct and amuse, and enable the public to form a correct opinion of the country. How he has succeeded in his undertaking, others, of course, will judge for themselves; he hopes this little work may be found not entirely destitute of useful and entertaining matter, and prove an acceptable offering to his friends and fellow-citizens.

In the appendix, will be found a particular description of Michigan, and a Brief Sketch of the Texian Revolutionary War.

In this sketch, the author has consulted all the accounts given of this sanguinary war, and he believes it will be found correct in all its essential particulars: but he does not wish to conceal the fact, that amidst the hurry and bustle of a Revolution perfect accuracy is hardly attainable.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER X.

Burning of the prairies — backwoodsmen — society — meeting-houses and school-houses — what kind of goods an emigrant ought to take with him — cheapness of provisions — manner of commencing a settlement — ploughing the prairies — guarding the improvements against the prairie fires — junction of the Missouri with the Mississippi — arrival at St. Louis — a description of the town — steam ferry boat.

CHAPTER XI.

General description of the state of Missouri — south part generally barren, or wet and unhealthy — soil not muddy — prairie on the Mississippi — banks of the Missouri — large prairies destitute of wood and water — productions — prairie blossoms — wild animals, snakes, &c. — dryness and purity of the atmosphere — diseases — mildness of the winter — lead mines and minerals — chief towns.

CHAPTER XII.

Voyage down the Mississippi in a steamboat — high bluffs — screw auger grist mills — shot towers — curiosities — dangers of the Mississippi navigation — narrow escape — run aground on a sand bar — mouth of the Ohio — cargo of the boat — amusements on board — history of one of the ladies — “Queen of the Nile” — description of the steamboat — price of passage — wooding the boat — ludicrous fracas on board — noise of the boats, &c. — peculiarities of expression of the western people — names of money.

107

CHAPTER XIII.

Independent frankness of the western people — eastern people — towns on the river — great earthquake at New Madrid — bluffs on the river — woodcutters — serpentine course of the Mississippi — negro slaves on board — one died of the cholera — benefit of steamboat navigation — flat boats still in use.

119

CHAPTER XIV.

Arrival at Natchez — description of the city — starts for Texas with another traveller — cotton plantations — description of the cotton plant — passage through the great Mississippi swamp — cypress knees, water and mud — Tensaw river — overtaken by night in the swamp — gloomy situation — lake Lovelace — planter’s house on Indian mound — mildness of the weather — good accommodations — travelling in a right spirit — anecdote of a testy traveller.

125

CHAPTER XV.

Outlet of the lake — Washita river — Harrisonburg — pine woods — description of a planter — Red River rightly named — changes at its mouth — arrival at Alexandria and description of the place — race-course and horses — death of a gambler — fruit trees and vegetables — moschetoes.

134

CHAPTER XVI.

Bayou Rapide — fine cotton plantations — stream running in opposite directions — accompanied by another traveller — pine woods — planter’s house — price of meals, &c. — Spanish moss — bottom land covered with dense forest — pine woods — the widow’s house — manner of lodging travellers — inquisitiveness of the people — emigrants to Texas — Sabine river.

139

CHAPTER XVII.

Arrival in Texas — oak openings and prairies — plantations of corn and cotton — St. Augustine — arrival at Nacogdoches — its grotesque appearance — Indian trade in deer pelts — Galveston bay and Texas land company — four leagues of land for a dog — pine woods — Indian mounds — mounds in Ohio, Missouri and Illinois — Monastery near a mound — their origin and use — Neches river — new made bridge.

149

CHAPTER XVIII.

Leave the pine woods — wet prairie — Trinity river — planter’s house — death of an emigrants wife — perplexities of emigration — an emigrant lost his money — breach of trust in a hired man — beautiful prairies — muddy streams — red cedar — petrified wood — mode of grinding corn — living from hand to mouth — beautiful prospect — Indians on horseback — massacre of twenty Polanders — muddy swamp — Brazos river — Spanish trader — Indians more friendly to Americans than Spaniards — prairie country — Coles settlement — live oak — Colorado river.

160

CHAPTER XIX.

General View of Texas — herds of buffalo and wild horses — mustangs, manner of catching — seacoast flat — Galveston bay and Texas land company — burning of the prairies — fine grazing country — wildgame — deer-hunting — shooting deer in the night — productions of the soil — list of forest trees — Spanish moss — health of the country and climate.

169

CHAPTER XX.

Rivers of Texas — seacoast — mill-seats — land grants — number of inhabitants — exports — inhabitants indolent — cheapness of land and manner of obtaining it — reptiles and animals — panther — flies — moschetoes — Indian tribes — water too warm.

182

CHAPTER XXI.

Towns in Texas — Spanish villages — Mexican garrisons — Texas — mechanics — Texas and Cohahuila united — courts of law — professional men — unlawful punishments — salt lake — negroes indented — boundaries of Texas — general appearance of the country — rainy season — roads and carriages — emigration.

196

CHAPTER XXII.

Emigrants unhappy — Mexican republic unsettled — Col. Austin — imprisonment — Texians slandered — healthy portions of the country — what an emigrant ought to take with him — price of stock — mail routes — currency — best spot in Texas — emigrant puzzled — how property may be acquired.

204

CHAPTER XXIII.

Arrival at San Felipe — billiard room — gambler shot — bloody affray about a lady — ten men to one woman in the country — arrival at Columbia and Bells landing — started down river in a canoe — Brazoria — went on board a vessel — hunting excursion of the mate — Brazos river — Velasco — sandy beach.

213

CHAPTER XXIV.

Passed over the bar and left Texas — reasons for emigrating in the fall — means for going to Texas — speculation — passengers on board — sea sickness — vessel run aground — Mississippi steam tow-boats — sugar plantations and negroes — making sugar.

222

CHAPTER XXV.

City of New-Orleans — vessels in port — muddy streets and filthy gutters — houses of dissipation — character of the inhabitants — resort of knaves and vagabonds — ship yards — canal and railroad — no wharves.

228

CHAPTER XXVI.

Start down the river — nunnery — battle-ground — negro slavery — the situation of the negroes — general views on the subject.

235

CHAPTER XXVII.

General description of the Mississippi river — its source — its tributaries — Wisconsin and Illinois — Missouri, its source and tributaries — gates of the Rocky mountains — Ohio river, its general character and appearance — White, Arkansas and Red rivers — outlets of the Mississippi — falls of St. Anthony — Dacota Indian woman — river banks — width of the stream and depth of water — Mississippi swamp — serpentine course — color of the waters — the most interesting river in the world.

246

ADVERTISEMENT.

The public approbation of this work, so fully manifested by a rapid and entire sale of the first edition, has induced the publishers to issue another, much enlarged and improved edition. The broad expanse of country, stretching from the Alleghany mountains to the Pacific ocean, much of which is unsurveyed, unsettled and unexplored, is an interesting portion of the United States. It is believed, there are two hundred million acres of public lands yet unsurveyed in Wisconsin Territory — fifty millions in Michigan — and 800 millions in Missouri, Mississippi, and Arkansas. To all these, are to be added the illimitable tracts, hardly yet trodden by the foot of civilized man, which lie in the unpeopled immensity, on both sides of the rocky mountains. The value of this vast domain, at the minimum government price, defies all calculation. What a source of revenue for the present and the future!

But when the boundless resources that now lie hidden in its hills and mountains shall have become developed — when the vast plains shall have been settled — and towns, villages and farm houses arise in the lonely wilderness, and the teeming soil be cultivated — who then will be able to estimate the value of this great territory of the West? In ten years, the West will have a majority in the United States Congress; in a century, a large portion of it will contain a population as dense, perhaps, as that of the Atlantic States. Public attention, within a few years, has been directed to this section of our country — emigration has received a new impulse — government lands are sought for with avidity, and the whole country is rapidly settling. To the emigrant, speculator, and indeed, the whole people of the United States as joint owners of the public domain, any book giving information upon this subject, must be acceptable and of real value. The publishers, therefore, anticipate a rapid sale of the present edition.

TRIP
TO THE
WEST AND TEXAS.

The prairies in the western country are all burnt over once a year, either in spring or fall, but generally in the fall; and the fire is, undoubtedly, the true cause of the continuance of them. In passing through the State I saw many of them on fire; and in the night, it was the grandest exhibition I ever saw. A mountain of flame, thirty feet high, and of unknown length, moving onward, roaring like “many waters” — in a gentle, stately movement, and unbroken front — then impelled by a gust of wind, suddenly breaks itself to pieces, here and there shooting ahead, whirling itself high in air — all becomes noise, and strife, and uproar, and disorder. Well might Black Hawk look with indifference on the puny exhibition of fireworks in New-York, when he had so often seen fireworks displayed, on such a gigantic scale, on his own native prairies.

A prairie storm of fire is indeed terrific. Animals and men flee before it, in vain. When impelled by a strong breeze, the wave of fire passes on, with the swiftness of the wind; and the utmost speed of the horse lingers behind. It then assumes a most appalling aspect; roars like a distant cataract, and destroys every thing in its course. Man takes to a tree, if he fortunately can find one; sets a back fire; or, as a last resort, dashes through the flame to windward, and escapes with life; although often severely scorched; but the deer and the wolf continue to flee before it, and after a hot pursuit, are run down, overwhelmed and destroyed.

Much caution should be used, in travelling over an open prairie country, in the fall of the year, when the grass is dry. Instances were told me, of the entire destruction of the emigrant and his family by fire, while on the road to their destined habitation.

I had heard much of the backwoodsmen, and supposed, of course, I should find many of them in Illinois; but after diligent search, I found none that merited the appellation. The race has become extinct. Who are the inhabitants of Illinois? A great portion of them, from the north, recently settled there, and of course, possessing the same hospitality, sobriety and education as the northern people. They went out from us; but they are still of us. A person will find as good society there, as here; only not so much of it. The upper house on Fox river settlement, was occupied by an intelligent and refined family, recently from Massachusetts.

Meeting houses and school houses are rare, owing to the sparseness of the inhabitants; but the country is settling rapidly, and these deficiencies will soon be supplied. Indeed, so rapidly is the country settling, that in writing this account of it, I sometimes feel like the man who hurried home with his wifes bonnet, lest it should be out of date, before I could get it finished.

Emigrants, going to settle at the West, with their families, would do well to take their beds, bedding, a moderate supply of culinary utensils, the most essential of their farming tools, and a good supply of clothing. These articles are all high there, and somewhat difficult to be obtained. The more cumbersome of household furniture, such as chairs, tables, bedsteads, &c. are not so essential; because their place can be supplied by the ruder articles of domestic manufacture. In the new settlements, most of the families had chairs or benches, tables and bedsteads, made on the spot by the husbandmen.

Provisions are cheap, but vary in price according to the demand. Corn, at Beardstown, is worth twelve and a half cents a bushel; at Hennipen, twenty-five cents; and on Fox river, fifty cents; and other articles in proportion.

When the settler arrives at his location, his first business is to build a log house, which is soon done; then fence in a field, and it is ready for the plough. The prairie breaks up hard at first, requiring four yoke of oxen; but after the first breaking, a single horse can plough it. A good crop is produced the first year; but better in succeeding years. He had better hoe his Indian corn. It keeps the ground clear of weeds, and increases the crop; but half of the cornfields are not hoed at all.

In the fall of the year, he must take especial care that his crops, stacks of hay, fences, &c. are not burnt, in the general conflagration of the prairies. To prevent this, as good a method as any is to plough two or three furrows around his improvements, and at a distance of about two rods plough as many more; and in a mild day, when the grass is dry, burn over the space between. If he neglects this, he must keep a good look out in a dry and windy day. If he sees a smoke to windward, it will not do to wait until he can see the fire; he must summon all hands, and set a back fire. With a strong breeze, fire will sometimes run over the dry prairies faster than a horse. The inhabitants are often too negligent in this particular. While I was there, a number of stacks of hay and grain, and two or three houses were burnt, from the mere negligence of their owners.

But I must bid adieu to the beautiful State of Illinois. To the practical husbandman, and to the enthusiastic admirer of the beauties of nature, it is alike attractive; and in which, they both will find ample scope for the exercise of the powers of body and of mind.

After two or three hours stay at Alton, we started down the stream; and in seven miles, came to the mouth of the turbid Missouri. Here, two mighty rivers join their forces, and rolling on with irresistible power, for thirteen hundred miles, mingle with the waters of the ocean. The great Missouri, after traversing a vast extent of country, in various directions, here bears directly down upon the Mississippi; but the latter, like a coy maiden, shrinks back, recoils at his approach, and seems to decline the rude embrace; and they travel on together for forty miles, before the Missouri can unite its muddy waters with those of the clear and transparent Mississippi. Here, the Missouri, having at length gained the complete mastery, holds throughout its undisputed sway; and gives its own peculiar complexion to the united stream.

The appearance is, indeed, quite singular; to see the two rivers passing along, side by side, in the same channel, such a long distance, without mingling their waters; and the line, between the muddy and clear water, is so well defined and distinctly marked, that it can readily be seen from the shore.

On the western bank of the river, seventeen miles below the mouth of the Missouri, is the town of St. Louis. The view was fine and imposing, as we approached it by water; and it is the most pleasantly situated of any town on the banks of the Mississippi. It stands on an elevated plain, which gradually rises from the water, to its western extremity. Back of it, there is a level and extensive prairie, and above the village, are a number of stately Indian mounds. St. Louis is the most important town in all the western country; and there is not a town in the world, such a distance from the sea, that in commercial advantages can at all compare with it. When we consider its situation, near the junction of two mighty rivers, the one navigable twenty-five hundred miles, the other one thousand, and the large navigable branches of each, and see that this place must be the centre of trade for the whole, it requires not the gift of prophecy to designate this spot, as the site of the greatest city of the West. It is now a large town, chiefly built of brick; has a brisk trade; and probably contains seven or eight thousand inhabitants. There was a time, when the only craft on the river was keel boats, and the transportation of goods, arduous and expensive. Then, this place struggled slowly into existence, and sometimes remained stationary, or rather declined; but the introduction of steamboats started it into newness of life and vigor. Its trade is now daily extending itself, and the town is continually increasing in population and buildings. A dozen steamboats were lying at the landing — some bound high up on the rivers; others, to Pittsburgh and New-Orleans. This seems to be a sort of “half way house,” between the upper and lower country; being a place of general deposit for goods, destined either way. And St. Louis will never have to contend with a rival; for there is no other suitable spot near the junction of the two rivers, to locate a city. She will, therefore, continue to increase in size, wealth and beauty, and remain in all time to come, the undisputed “Queen of the West.”

There is a land office kept at St. Louis; and plenty of government land to be obtained for a dollar and a quarter an acre. It is chiefly settled by Americans; but French settlers are found, and in St. Louis there are a large number. Considerable trade in peltries is carried on with the Indians, who come to the principal towns and exchange their skins for goods. They are continually seen in the streets of St. Louis.

St. Louis has a theatre, and we attended it. — Quite a decent edifice, a tolerable play, and a full and fashionable audience. I could perceive no essential difference between this assembly and those of Boston or New-York. Good society is found here. The streets at night were quiet; or only disturbed by the sound of the violin on board the flat boats, or the merry boatmans song. The sky was serene, the air mild, and we had many a pleasant walk through the town and its environs. Indeed, there is a peculiar balmy softness in the air, grateful to the feelings, not to be found in our northern climate. St. Louis is a pleasant place; and were it not for the stacks of bar lead on the shore, and some slight peculiarities in the customs of its inhabitants, it could hardly be distinguished from an eastern city. A steam ferry boat plies between this place and the opposite shore, and affords a large profit to its owner.

Missouri contains sixty thousand square miles, being two hundred and seventy miles in length and two hundred and twenty in breadth. It lies on the west side of the Mississippi river, between thirty-six and forty degrees north latitude. It now contains, probably, one hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants, of whom thirty thousand are slaves.

A large tract of this State, commencing at its south end, extending up the Mississippi river above the mouth of the Ohio, and running into the interior, possesses rich alluvial soil, but is low, swampy, full of lakes, and much of it, subject to overflow. Beyond this to the west, the country is broken and hilly; sometimes covered with a small species of oak, and sometimes naked sandy hills and plains. — The whole southerly half of the State, offers but small inducements to the farmer. Where the soil is rich, it is too low and unhealthy; where it is high, dry and healthy, it is too barren and sterile to be cultivated. The best portion of the State lies between the Missouri and Mississippi rivers. This section is the most settled of any part of the State. Its surface is delightfully variegated and rolling, and possesses large tracts of rich alluvial and high prairies. The soil contains a greater proportion of sand, than that of the other western States; so that it is easily cultivated, and is never disagreeably muddy. There are spots where we find the stiff clayey soil of Ohio and New-York; but they are not extensive. No part of the globe, in a state of nature, can so easily be travelled over in carriages as this. Even in spring, the roads cannot be called muddy or difficult to pass. There are two extensive tracts of heavily timbered upland, similar to those of Ohio and Kentucky — the one is called the Bellevue, the other the Boone’s Lick Settlement. The surface rolls gently and almost imperceptibly. In this region are many springs of good water, and it is said to be healthy.

The Mississippi is skirted with a prairie, commencing ten miles above the mouth of the Missouri, for the distance of seventy miles. It is about five miles in width, and possesses an excellent soil.

There are no prairies of any considerable size on the borders of the Missouri, within the limits of the State; but its banks are generally covered with a beautiful growth of tall, straight forest trees. The bottom land on this river is about four miles in width, is sufficiently mixed with sand to prevent its being muddy, and is not subject to be overflowed. There are no bayous, ponds or marshes on the margin of the Missouri. The bottoms are now considerably settled for four hundred miles above its mouth. Charaton, over two hundred miles up the river, is the highest compact settlement. But the largest and most populous settlement in the State is Boone’s Lick, in Franklin county. This is one hundred and eighty miles above the mouth of the river. Scattered settlements are, however, found along the river banks for six hundred miles, to the Council Bluffs. Above the Platte, which is the largest tributary of the Missouri, the prairies come quite in to the banks of the river, and extend on either hand, farther than can be measured by the eye. This is the general complexion of the river banks until you reach the Rocky mountains.

As far as the limits of this State extend, the river is capable of supporting a dense population for a considerable distance from its banks. Above these limits, it is generally too destitute of wood and water to become habitable by any people, except hunters and shepherds. All the tributaries of the Missouri are generally copies of the parent stream, and one general remark will apply to the whole. They all have narrow margins of excellent bottom land; and as the country recedes from these, it becomes more and more sandy, barren and destitute of water, until it resembles the deserts of Arabia.

Wheat and corn are generally the chief productions, and the soil is excellent for both. The whole western country is remarkable for withstanding the severest droughts. A crop has never been known to fail in the driest seasons. From twenty-five to thirty bushels to the acre is an average crop of wheat, and from fifty to seventy-five, of corn. — The good lands in Missouri produce corn in as great perfection as in any part of the world. It is warm, loamy land, and so mellow that it is easily cultivated. Even where the sand appears to predominate, great crops are produced. The soil, in the vicinity of the Missouri, is more pliant, and less inclined to be muddy, than that on the banks of the Mississippi. Rye, barley, oats, flax, hemp, tobacco, melons, pumpkins, squashes and all garden vegetables flourish remarkably well. Peaches, pears, plums, cherries, &c. grow to great perfection. The land seems well adapted to the use of plaster, and this is found of excellent quality, in inexhaustible quantities, on the banks of the Missouri.

Beyond all countries, this is the land of blossoms. Every prairie is an immense flower garden. In the spring, their prevailing tint is that of the peach blossom — in summer, of a deeper red — then a yellow — and in autumn, a brilliant golden hue.

The natural productions of the soil are abundant. The red and yellow prairie plum, crab apples, pawpaws, persimons, peccans, hazelnuts and walnuts are generally found in perfection and abundance. Wild hops cover whole prairies; and two or three species of grapes are found in various parts of the State. The heats of summer and dryness of the atmosphere render this suitable for the cultivation of the vine. Silk might also be raised in great abundance, as the mulberry tree is every where found among the trees of the forest. Near New-Madrid, cotton is cultivated.

Bears, wolves and panthers are found here. The prairie wolf is the most numerous and mischievous. Deer, as the Indians retire, grow more plenty, and are frequently seen in flocks feeding near the herds of cattle. There is a species of mole found here, and indeed in all the western and southern country, called gopher. These animals live in communities, and build small eminences of a circular form and about a foot high. They are mischievous in potatoe fields and gardens.

Rattlesnakes, copper heads, and ground vipers are found in the unsettled regions; especially, near flint knobs and ledgy hills. They are not so common as in more timbered regions. It is probable that the burning of the prairie destroys great numbers of them. The waters are covered with ducks, geese, swans, brants, pelicans, cranes and many other smaller birds. The prairie hen and turtle dove are numerous.

The domestic animals are the same as in other States. This State and Illinois have decided natural advantages for the rearing of cattle, horses, hogs and sheep.

A distinguishing feature in the climate, is in the dryness and purity of the atmosphere. The average number of cloudy days in a year is not more than fifty, and not more than half that number are rainy. The quantity of rain is not more than eighteen inches. The sky in summer and autumn is generally cloudless. There are no northeast continued rains as in the Atlantic States. The longest storms are from the southwest.

The usual diseases are intermittent and bilious fevers. Sometimes pleurisy and lung fevers prevail in winter. Pulmonic complaints, attended with cough, are seldom; and consumption, that scourge of the East, is unknown.

The summers are quite warm, and sometimes oppressive; but generally, a refreshing breeze prevails. The winters are sometimes cold, and the wind blows sharp and keen. The Missouri is frozen sufficiently strong to bear loaded teams. But days are found even in January, when it is agreeable to sit at an open window. A few inches of snow occasionally fall, but there is hardly any good sleighing.

This State is known to be rich in minerals, although a large portion remains yet unexplored. Lead has been found in abundance. The principal “diggings” are included in a district fifteen miles by thirty in extent; the centre of which is sixty miles southwest from St. Louis, and about half that distance from Herculaneum, on the Mississippi. The earth is of a reddish yellow, and the ore is found embedded in rock and hard gravel. Fifty diggings are now occupied, from which three millions of pounds of lead are annually sent to market. It is transported from the mines in wagons, either to Herculaneum or St. Genevieve, and from thence by water to New-Orleans. Stone coal abounds, especially in the region of St. Louis and St. Charles. Plaster, pipe clay, manganese, zinc, antimony, red and white chalk, ochres, flint, common salt, nitre, plumbago, porphyry, jasper, porcelain clay, iron, marble and the blue limestone of an excellent quality for lime, have already been discovered in this State. Iron, lead, plaster and coal are known to exist in inexhaustible quantities.

St. Louis is much the largest town in the State. It is not only the most pleasantly situated, but has the most favorable location for trade of any town on the Mississippi above New-Orleans. It has, however, been sufficiently described.

St. Genevieve is situated about a mile west of the Mississippi on the upper extremity of a beautiful prairie. It is principally settled by the French and contains about fifteen hundred inhabitants. It is an old town, and has not increased for the last thirty years.

Jackson, the seat of justice for Cape Girardeau county, is twelve miles west of the Mississippi, contains one hundred houses, some of them built of brick and handsome.

The town of Cape Girardeau is situated on a high bluff of the Mississippi, fifty miles above the mouth of the Ohio. It has a fine harbor for boats, and commands an extensive view of the river above and below. It exhibits marks of decay.

Potosi is the county town of Washington. It is situated in the centre of the mining district, in a pleasant valley sixty-five miles southwest from St. Louis. St Michael is an old French town among the mines. There are some other small villages in the vicinity of the mining district.

Herculaneum is situated among the high bluffs of the river, thirty miles below St. Louis. There are a number of shot towers in its vicinity. New-Madrid is fifty miles below the mouth of the Ohio. Carondolet is a small French village six miles below St. Louis; and four miles below this, is the garrison, called Jefferson Barracks. The public buildings are extensive, and a large number of soldiers are generally stationed here. There are no large villages on the Mississippi above the mouth of the Missouri. Palmyra is probably as large as any. The others are Louisianaville, Troy and Petersburg.

There are a number of fine villages on the banks of the Missouri; the largest of which is St. Charles, twenty miles from the mouth, and just the same distance from St. Louis by land. It is situated on a high bank of solid limestone, has one street of good brick houses; and in its rear, an extensive elevated prairie. It contains a protestant and a catholic church, was once the seat of government, and numbers twelve hundred inhabitants; a third of whom are French. It has finely cultivated farms in its neighborhood, and has as interesting scenery as any village in the western country.

Jefferson City is the present seat of government, but being thought to be an unfavorable location has not improved as was expected. It is situated on the south bank of the Missouri, nine miles above the mouth of the Osage river, and one hundred and fifty-four by water from St. Louis. Fifty miles above this, is the town of Franklin. It is situated on the north bank of the river, contains two hundred houses and one thousand inhabitants. It is surrounded by the largest body of rich land in the State; and is the centre of fine farms and rich farmers. Boonville is on the opposite bank of the river and was originally settled by Col. Boone, the patriarch of Kentucky. Bluffton, two hundred and twenty-nine miles by water from St. Louis, is the last village within the limits of this State.

When we were ready to start, not finding a steamboat bound to New-Orleans, which would go under a day or two, we took passage, as far as the mouth of the Ohio, in one bound to Pittsburgh.

On the eastern side of the river, to the mouth of the Ohio, it is a level country, (with only one exception) called the “American Bottom,” and is as fine, rich land as earth affords; but is somewhat subject to overflow, and is supposed not to be very healthy. Settlements are, however, making upon it. On the west side we found a number of stately bluffs of limestone, rising from the water perpendicular two or three hundred feet.

I was much amused to see the “screw auger grist mills” on the bank of the river. A place is selected where the current sets strong along the shore; and a log seventy feet long, three or four feet in diameter, having a board float a foot in width from stem to stern, in a spiral form, like a coarse threaded screw, is thrown into the river. To the upper end of the log, by an universal joint, is attached a cable, and the other end, extended in a diagonal direction to a shaft in the mill on the bank. The log wheel floats in the water parallel with the shore, about a third of it above the surface; is held in its position by sticks at each end extending to the bank, and the cable itself prevents its going down stream. The current of the river turns the wheel, and the mill clatters merrily on the bank.

These high banks are not altogether without their use. They furnish elegant sites for shot towers; and probably half a dozen of them are thus occupied.

The greatest natural curiosity on the river, is what is called the “Towers.” High pillars of limestone are seen on both sides of the stream, and one solid rock rises almost in the middle of the river, thirty feet high. Some of the most striking curiosities have particular, if not appropriate names given them; such as “the grand tower,” “the devils candlestick,”“the devils bake-oven,” &c.

The navigation of the Mississippi in steamboats has its dangers. Snags and sawyers are scattered along down the river; and it requires great attention in the pilot, to avoid them. But there are other dangers beside this. As we came along down, we passed a steamboat that had burst her boiler; blown the upper part of it to pieces and killed a number of persons; and further down the Mississippi, the “Boonslick” run into the “Missouri Belle,” sunk her in eighty feet of water, and drowned a number of passengers.

As we came down opposite the mouth of the Ohio, we had our courage put to the test. It was about twilight, and cloudy; but objects could well be discerned for some distance. We saw a steamboat coming up the river, and apparently intending to pass us on the left hand. When within a short distance of us, the boat “took a sheer,” stood on the other tack, to pass us on the right. Our captain sung out, “the boat is coming right into us; back the engine.” Then was a scene of confusion and dismay on board; “and the boldest held his breath for a time.” If the boats came in contact, one or both would undoubtedly sink; and it appeared unavoidable. I ran up on the upper deck, and stood beside the flag staff, to wait the event. It was soon decided. By backing our boat and putting the steam on the other, we passed without striking at the distance of a few feet only. This was, indeed, a fortunate escape.

I thought the pilot of the other boat must have been at fault; but the captain told me he was not at all. A cross current from the Ohio struck the bow of his boat, and veered her round in spite of the helm; and then, the only chance was to go ahead with all the speed he could.

It now became quite dark, and in attempting to go across into the Ohio channel, the boat run aground on a sand bar. All the boat hands were employed till past midnight to get her off, but without success. They all turned in, to rest and wait till daylight.

When the captain arose in the morning, he found the boat adrift. On examination, it appeared the force of the current alone had washed away the sand bar, and drove the boat across from the Mississippi side into the Ohio channel. He put the steam on, and we run to the landing place on the Illinois side, and a short distance up the river. Here we found half a dozen steamboats, exchanging with each other goods and passengers.

The mouth of the Ohio is a general stopping place for all boats running up and down either river; and would be a fine situation for a town, if the land were suitable to build upon. Although the shore appeared to be thirty feet above the then low stage of water, yet in a freshet, the whole is laid eight or ten feet under water.

We found here a large tavern house and grocery; both stuck up on stilts; the latter, standing nearest the bank, had a breakwater, to keep it from being carried away by the flood and floating timber. We stopped an hour or more; went to the tavern, and found dissipation in a flourishing condition. Those acquainted with the place, told us it was as much as a mans life was worth, to stay there. Rioting, robbing, gambling and fighting were the general order of things, day after day, and night after night. For the honor of the human race, I hope this account is exaggerated. But I must confess, appearances are against it.

Here, we left our boat, and took passage on board another, bound to New-Orleans. These Mississippi steamboats are of gigantic size, and look like a floating castle — I was about to say the ancient ark; and although it might fall some short of that ancient vessel, in quantity and quality of lading, yet when its size and great variety of cargo are taken into consideration, the comparison might not be deemed a bad one. In one particular, it would be exact. We had aboard a number of “creeping things.”

Our boat was laden with barrels of pork, kegs of lard, hogsheads of hams, bags of corn, bars of lead, bales of cotton, coops of chickens, horses, men, women, children, and negro slaves; men of gentlemanly deportment and of good character; and gamblers, horse-jockeys, and negro dealers; and women, of good fame, ill fame, and no particular fame at all. This was, surely, variety enough for one boat.

The untravelled man might obtain some new ideas of the world, by taking a trip in a Mississippi steamboat. It seemed like a world in miniature. Singing, fiddling, dancing, card playing, gambling, and story telling, were among the pastimes of the passage. Mere pastimes, to relieve the tedium of the voyage, for those who have no other resources at command, may not be the subject of censure; but there were some practices on board this boat, which ought not to be thus lightly passed over.

One woman, in the garb and mien of a lady, and whose person still wore the bloom of youth, but whose conduct was far from being unexceptionable, appeared, sometimes, pensive and sad. She appeared as though she had seen other and better days; and that her present course of life was not, even to herself, entirely satisfactory. I had some curiosity to learn something of her history, and one day in a talkative mood, she gave me the outlines of it.

She said, she was the daughter of rich parents in the State of Delaware. Her father died while she was quite young; leaving her with an ample fortune, and in the care of an indulgent mother. She had always been kept at school; learned music, drawing and dancing; read novels; attended parties, and was caressed and flattered. In short, she was a giddy girl, and knew nothing of the world.

At this critical time of life, she was flattered by a young man of prepossessing appearance, but of worthless character, who offered her marriage. She knew her mother would, at her tender years, object to the match; and therefore, at the early age of fifteen, she clandestinely jumped out of the window of her boarding house in the night, and was married!

This was a sore affliction to her mother; and although she herself was not entirely discarded, her husband was never permitted to enter the parental mansion. Her husband obtained her fortune, spent it “in riotous living,” and after awhile, left her with two small children, and fled to Cincinnati. She, in her distress, applied to her mother; she would receive her, but not her children. She then took her children, and went after her husband. She found him; but they lived but a short time together, before he abused her in such a manner, she was obliged to quit him; and not much caring whither she went, she took passage on board a boat for St. Louis. At this place she supported herself and children as long as she could, by selling her trinkets and superfluous clothing, and then was left destitute. She had never been accustomed to labor; her hands were as delicate as those of a child — she “could not work, and to beg she was ashamed.” As a last resort, (could a virtuous woman think so?) she became an inmate of a house not of the strictest morals.

After staying there awhile, she became acquainted with some of the hands of the boat, who persuaded her to try her fortune at the city of New-Orleans. She was now only about twenty! She was miserable, and expected to be so. Vice carried with it its own punishment. I tried to induce her to return to her mother; but in vain. Her conduct had been such, she was ashamed to return. A sad termination this, to the bright hopes, and fond anticipations of an indulgent mother. So true it is, that one improvident step in life, often leads to destruction.

Another female who figured somewhat conspicuously, was one who came on board at the mouth of the Ohio from the steamboat Nile; and from that circumstance, was called by the passengers the “Queen of the Nile.” She was from the State of Ohio, possessed a fine person, and in her days of innocence, must have been handsome and fascinating. She was the daughter of respectable parents, and commenced life with high hopes and brilliant expectations; but she had been “disappointed in love.” Abandoned by her “cruel spoiler,” she gave herself up to dissipation and crime. The bloom of her cheeks began to fade, and the sad aspect, sometimes so conspicuously depicted in her countenance, plainly indicated a mind ill at ease and a heart painfully sad. She travelled without object, other than to revel in dissipation and kill time. But her course of life had made serious inroads upon her health, and it was apparent enough that her days must be “evil and few.” I sometimes observed her sitting on the guard of the boat for hours all alone, gazing in sadness at the peaceful forest and cottages as they passed in rapid review before her, the tears fast flowing from her eyes, and her face exhibiting such anguish as may not be expressed by words. She kept on in the boat to New-Orleans, and I afterwards was informed by a gentleman who was a fellow passenger, that she became mistress to a Frenchman in that city. How mistaken mankind are! Crime never did cure the heart ache, or dissipation ever dispel sorrow.

The steamboats are constructed like a long two story house, having large windows and green blinds. The hold is to stow away their heavy freight; on the first deck, is the gentlemens cabin, and the dining room, where all the cabin passengers take their meals; in the centre, is the engine, cook room, &c. — and forward, are the boilers and wood. On the next deck, is the ladies cabin aft, and forward is the place for deck passengers, having berths but no bedding. Over this, is what is called the “hurricane deck.”

A cabin passage from St. Louis to New-Orleans, is twenty-five dollars; and a deck passage seven dollars — the passenger finding his own bedding and meals. Cooking stoves are provided, so that families often lay in their own provisions and cook their own meals.

Boats burn a good deal of wood — ours consumed a cord an hour; and it is no small job to bring the wood aboard from the slippery banks of the Mississippi. As an inducement to the deck passengers to help wood the boat, two dollars are deducted to those who agree to wood; so in that case they only pay five dollars. Thirty or forty of our passengers agreed to wood, but the mate and clerk had much difficulty to make them fulfil their engagements.

It was sometimes really laughable, to see the expedients resorted to, to get rid of wooding; especially when the boat rounded to, by the side of a wood-pile in the night. The clerk would sing out, “Wood-pile, wood-pile, where are the wooders?” But they, like some characters in high places, were more inclined to “dodge the question,” than to walk up manfully and perform their duty. Some feigned themselves sick; some hid under the baggage, or beneath the berths; others went on shore and skulked in the woods, until the wooding was over. So that with all their coaxing and driving, they would not be able to bring to the work more than half of the wood hands.

One fracas was ludicrous, although I could not but regret the result. It is well known, that the inhabitants of the several western States are called by certain nicknames. Those of Michigan are called wolverines; of Indiana, hooshers; of Illinois, suckers; of Ohio, buckeyes; of Kentucky, corn-crackers; of Missouri, pukes, &c. To call a person by his right nickname, is always taken in good part, and gives no offence; but nothing is more offensive than to mis-nickname — that is, were you to call a hoosher a wolverine, his blood would be up in a moment, and he would immediately show fight. — Now it so happened that the mate, who was a regular built buckeye, had a dispute with a wood hand, who was about half drunk, and refused to wood. The mate stood on the lower deck, and he on the deck above; and in the course of the wrangle, he had called him some terrible hard names, which he bore with becoming fortitude and forbearance. At length, the wood hand called him a “d — d old puke!” This was too much — unendurable. He fired in a moment — rushed up and floored him in a twinkling — dragged him down by his collar, thrust him ashore, and left him in the woods.

But the steamboat, the steamboat! For noise and confusion, give me the Mississippi steamboat. They all have powerful high-pressure engines; the escape pipe is large, and at every breath they make a tremendous noise. They “talk big,” and swiftly dash through the water. It is indeed a grand display, to see the steamboats pass. In “a voice of thunder” they come — the wheels lash the water — and the prows cut the stream — and the waves roll in violent commotion for hundreds of yards behind them. And then, the noise of the engine, and hurry and bustle of the passengers within: — an excellent place to cure one of the ennui.

On board our boat, we had a number of very intelligent and agreeable gentlemen — Kentuckians, Tennesseans, Mississippians, &c. I wish these western people would be a little more exact in speaking the English language. Some inaccuracies I observed; and if this book ever reaches them, they will not be offended, but obliged to me for these suggestions. In the first place, they use the word which instead of what. Ask a question, and if they do not understand you, they reply "which?" — Another phrase, “I have saw,” instead of “I have seen,” is often used. Then there is “a right smart chance,” applied to almost every thing; and “tote in the plunder,” instead of “bring in the baggage.” But the word heap has too much by far heaped upon its shoulders. “A heap better,” “a heap easier,” and “a heap of ladies,” are phrases often heard. I may be a little sensitive, but the word heap is very disagreeable, and I wish it was expunged from the English vocabulary. All these expressions are not used by many literary men in this country, but they are indeed, quite too common.

They have some peculiarities in the calling of money. A New-England ninepence is called a bit; and the four-pence-half-penny bears the name of pickaroon. In travelling from New-Hampshire to Virginia some years ago, I was somewhat amused at the different names given to the same piece of money. My four-pence-half-penny became at New-York a sixpence, at Philadelphia a fip, and at Virginia it became a four-pence-half-penny again. But all these singularities and inconveniences will soon be done away, and money will universally bear its legal title, dollars and cents.

There is an independent frankness in these western people that I admire. It is a kind of individuality of character — every one appears to act out himself, without reference to others. At the north, people are too apt to follow the multitude, or a particular file leader; and by them, shape their opinions and actions. In order to tell whether they will do a particular act, they must look about them, and ascertain what others will say of it. The politician must conform to the usages of his party, whatever they may be. He must think as they think, and act as they act, whether it be agreeable to the dictates of his own conscience or not. The pious lady must be exactly in the fashion — conform to certain leaders — be charitable by rule — and kind, in the most approved mode. If any one has the boldness to take an independent course, in fashion, politics or religion, he is looked upon with suspicion, as a dangerous innovator, and must not be tolerated. The dogs of war are let loose upon him, and he is hunted down for entertaining an opinion of his own. In this manner, individual character becomes swallowed up and lost in that of the multitude.

But in this region, nature is true to herself. The useless and cumbersome shackles of custom and party are thrown aside with disdain; and the individual walks forth in his own native freedom and independence. He does not shape his course by what his neighbors may say, do or think; but acts according to the dictates of his own heart, and from his own opinion of right and wrong. He is charitable, kind and hospitable — not in a grudging, supercilious manner; or in a way calculated to display himself; but with such an air of open-hearted welcome, as to make the recipient feel at ease, and doubles the value of the kindness bestowed. How can man be niggardly and mean, among the teeming prairies and stately forests of the West, where nature herself, by showering down her blessings with a bountiful hand, teaches him also to be liberal!

And I have often to myself reversed the question and asked, how can northern people be other than inhospitable and niggardly, living in such a crabbed climate, and on such a barren soil. They cannot, in general, afford to be liberal; and were it otherwise, the severe labor and economy — the continual dealing in small things — the constant rack of brains, to find some method to turn a penny to advantage — that must be gone through with, to gain a large estate, seem to drive out of the head of the possessor all notions of liberality, and tend to steel the heart against noble acts of kindness. That which costs much, and is rarely obtained, is highly valued, and not lightly parted with. We are not well educated in the school of hospitality. We awkwardly perform its teachings — seldom with gracefulness and a hearty welcome.

Among our passengers, there were twenty-three negro slaves, men and women; bought in Kentucky by negro speculators, to be transported to Natchez, where the market is high, to be sold. One of them was taken with the cholera, and in twelve hours died. He was put into a rough box, and when we stopped to wood, buried on shore. This was the only case we had, and the only one I ever witnessed. It is a dreadful disease; but has been too often professionally described, for me to attempt it.

These negroes are singular beings. Although one of their number had died; and although they were slaves, and going to be sold to, they knew not whom, or what hardships they might be made to endure, yet they were always merry — talking, laughing, singing, dancing, in one continued round. At every place we stopped, they would run on shore, and while one sung, clapped his hands, and beat time with his foot, the others would foot it merrily on the smooth ground. Knowing their destination, their thoughtless gayety sometimes produced disagreeable sensations. There are some situations, however, where ignorance and thoughtlessness are a blessing. They were not confined at all, but appeared to be kindly treated, and to enjoy every liberty they might, consistent with their situation.

The banks of the Mississippi look high enough at low water; probably thirty feet; presenting a raw edge next the stream, and generally covered with a dense forest of lofty trees; yet at high water, they are generally overflowed, except at the high bluffs. The most prominent of these, are what are called the Iron Banks, Chickasaw Bluffs, Walnut Hills, and the site of the city of Natchez — all these are on the east side of the river. I do not remember of seeing a single high bluff on the west side, below the mouth of the Ohio. There are occasionally small elevations over which the river does not flow; and villages erected on them. But every few miles without regard to overflows, log houses are erected in the wilderness, inhabited by woodcutters; and their only employment seems to be, to supply the steamboats with wood. Although wood is cheap, being generally $1,50 a cord, above the mouth of the Ohio, and from there to Natchez $2,00, yet the demand is so great, and the forest so near, they make quite a lucrative business of it.

The river is very crooked, sometimes going five miles to gain one; has many islands, and some places, full of snags. There are two or three snag boats employed on the river, and when they get them chiefly out, the Missouri, which seems to take upon itself the chief regulation of the stream, brings down at high water a reinforcement equal to the first supply; so that to keep the river clear of snags, is like the labor of Sisyphus, who was doomed to roll a stone up a hill, and the moment he got it near the top, it would roll down again.

The introduction of steamboats on the western waters, has revolutionized the country. They have opened the deep recesses of the West, to the free access of mankind, and let in the light of day upon them. The half-horse and half-alligator race are no longer to be found; but the inhabitants of this part of creation look, and talk, and act, and live — very much like human beings. The refinements, elegancies and luxuries of life are not so generally found here, as in the Atlantic States; but all the necessaries are every where abundant.

In Michigan, Illinois, Missouri, and all along the river Mississippi, I found the inhabitants civil and kind; and in no one instance did I ask for a meal of victuals in vain. It might, sometimes, be a homely one, and once I recollect, it consisted of meat and bread; but those who have such a mawkish sensibility that they cannot relish the simple fare of the forrester, ought never to set a foot on the western world.

The flat boats are still in use on the river. We passed hundreds of them; some loaded with live stock, others with corn, cotton, &c. They have hardly any resemblance of a boat. They are sixty or seventy feet long, ten wide, having corner posts and a square form like a house, and a flat roof. The current floats them down the stream to the destined port, the cargoes and boats are both sold, and the hands take passage on board the steamboats, home.

We stopped at all the villages and towns of any size on the river, to take and leave passengers and freight; but books give such an accurate description of them, as to render any particular notice here unnecessary. Memphis is the most pleasant, Vicksburg the most flourishing, and Natchez the largest — all on the east side of the river.

There are no large towns on the west side of the river below the mouth of the Ohio. As prominent as any, perhaps, is New-Madrid, situated just within the southern border of the State of Missouri. It was once a much larger village than at present. It is memorable for the romantic history of its origin under General Morgan, and for the great earthquakes in 1811 and 1812. Mr. Flint says that these earthquakes were more severe than any known in our part of the continent. The shocks were felt more or less throughout the whole western country; but they were more severe and produced the most disastrous effects in the region of New-Madrid. — The grave yard of the village, with all its sleeping tenants was precipitated into the river — the trees were violently thrown against each other, bent in various directions or prostrated — the earth burst in many places, and earth, sand and water were thrown high into the air — thousands of acres were sunk and many ponds formed — the river became dammed up and flowed backwards — islands sunk in the stream, and boats as they passed shared the same fate — the birds of the air became terrified, descended to the earth and flew into the arms of man to shelter themselves from the commotion of nature — the whole country for a time became inundated, but as it was thinly inhabited few lives only were lost. History does not record an earthquake attended with more terrific circumstances and threatening a more exterminating war with man and nature, than this. The thriving country about the village was made desolate, but now it is slowly regaining its former condition. In this region the country is rich and beautiful, but the many ponds made by the earthquake render it unhealthy. New-Madrid is, however, quite a village, transacts much business and is the most noted landing place for steamboats on the west side of the river below St. Louis.

At Natchez, I left the boat, and stopped a day or two, to make the necessary preparations to go over land on horseback to Texas. There is a steamboat that plies regularly between this place and Alexandria on Red River; and we should rather have travelled by water as far as that place, and avoided crossing the Mississippi swamp by land; but the boat had gone, and would not return under a number of days.

Natchez is an incorporated city, containing about three thousand inhabitants. That part of it which lies under the bluff near the river, is muddy, looks old and disagreeable; but the main part of the city is situated on a high bank, two hundred feet above the river; chiefly built of brick, quite pleasant, and makes quite a show of business. The ground back of it, is full of gullies, and is unpleasant. It is an old town, but has much improved within a few years.

Many people going to Texas continue on down the river to New-Orleans, and there take a passage on board a vessel to some port in the province; but my desire was to see the country, and therefore, I chose to travel over land. A pleasant and companionable gentleman from the State of New-York, who came down in the boat with me, agreed to bear me company. Some acquaintances of his, with their families, were on the road to Texas, and he like myself wished to see the country.

Having provided ourselves with horses, portmanteaus, fireworks, &c. and obtained the necessary directions, we took an early start; crossed the Mississippi in a ferry boat, for which we were taxed half a dollar each; and took the road to Alexandria. We had some ill-forbodings about the great Mississippi swamp; for just as we were about to cross the river a gentleman, of whom we made some enquires respecting the route, told us he thought it now impossible to travel through it in consequence of the rains which had recently fallen. But we were all equipped to go by land, and this, our only route; and therefore, we determined, at all events, to push forward.

There is a road from the mouth of Red River, along its bank to Alexandria, and this, we were afterwards informed, is the best route; but it was seventy miles below us; and whoever takes it, must go down in a boat.

Our route lay, for the first six miles, up the river near its bank; and then we turned more to the west. We passed half a dozen cotton plantations, some quite large, and saw an army of negroes picking it.

The cotton plant grows about as high as a man&lsquos head, has blossoms about as big as that of a small rose, and resembling in appearance the hollyhock, but more extensive branches. The pod is about the size and shape of the outer covering of a walnut; and when ripe, it opens in quarters, and presents the cotton in full view. A negro takes a basket or a bag, and swings it at his side, and with his thumb and finger picks out the cotton, almost as fast as a hen picks up corn. It grows from the seed, is planted every year in hills like corn, and cultivated in the same manner.

A field of cotton in full blossom, makes a fine appearance. After it is picked, it is laid on a rack to dry; then ginned to take out the seed, and put up in bales for the market. The rope and bagging used, are the manufacture of Kentucky; or at least it brings more into market than all the other States. I was told that one prime hand on good land would make ten bales of cotton a year, and raise corn enough to support himself. The average worth of these bales is five hundred dollars. From enquiries I afterwards made, I believe the plantations generally make about seven bales to the hand. No wonder negroes are valuable in a cotton-growing country.

Our route now lay through a dense forest — and the ground generally so miry that we could only ride on a walk. Sometimes we came to the thick canebrakes, about twenty feet high, and overhanging our narrow path. Sometimes, we found the palmetto, which exactly resembles a large green, open fan, standing on a stem a foot high, and so thick that we could hardly ride through them, or see any path at all. Sometimes we came to a sheet of water a hundred yards wide, in which a horse would plunge to the saddle skirts, and for a while, become stuck fast; and again, we would find a cypress swamp, full of cypress knees and mud. Indeed it is the worst swamp I ever travelled over, before or since; and sometimes, I thought our horses were stuck too fast ever to move again.

These cypress knees are quite a curiosity. They start from the roots of the tree, grow from two to four feet high, about the size of a man’s arm, but rather larger at the bottom, and are smooth, without leaf or branch. They look like a parcel of small posts with the bark growing over the top end; and are so thick, that it is troublesome to ride among them. The cause or use of this anomaly in nature I cannot divine.

Eighteen miles from Natchez, we came to two log houses and a small stream, called the Tensaw. We crossed the ferry, about twice the length of the boat in width, and paid half a dollar each for ferriage. We had now twelve miles to go to find a stopping place for the night, and all the way, through a dense forest of lofty trees; and it was three o’clock in the afternoon. The first half of the distance was decent travelling, although we could not ride much of the way faster than a walk. Then we came to a wet and miry road.

It began to grow dark in the woods. The trees were quite thick, and hung full of Spanish moss; and there was no moon in the sky. The wolf, the wildcat, and the owl, had pitched their tune for the night; and soon, thick darkness shrouded around our path. The heavens were clear; yet so dense were the foliage and moss, that it was seldom I could find a loop hole, through which a star might cast its rays upon us. I never had been in such a gloomy situation before. We were in a path, to us untravelled; and by its appearance, seldom travelled by man. We had shoals of muddy water to cross, and sloughs of mud to wallow through. And then the night was so dark, and the track so faint, we frequently lost it, and found it again with difficulty. It was ten o’clock at night when we arrived on the shore of the lake, and saw a light on the other side. We raised the ferryman after a while, and he came out and took us over.

This lake is about a mile wide, and twelve long, and must have once been the channel of the Mississippi. The ferriage here was half a dollar each. On the other side, we found a good house, and a genteel family within. They soon provided for us an excellent supper, which was very acceptable after a ride of thirty miles over such an execrable road. Not being much used to travelling on horseback, I felt excessively fatigued and retired immediately to bed. My companion and myself had each of us a good bed, and we slept soundly until after sunrise.

The morning was fine, so we walked awhile along the shore of the lake, before breakfast. It was about the twentieth of November, yet the air felt as mild as a morning in June. The winter was following hard after me, yet I had travelled to the southward and westward faster than the cold weather. The coldest weather I had found on my route, was in the State of New-York. There is a softness in the atmosphere of the western States that is very grateful to the feelings, and is not found in our northern climate. In going westward on the same parallel of latitude, the air becomes sensibly more mild and bland. The air is very clear, so here as in Illinois, I could discern objects much further than at the North. I could see a house so far off, that it would not look larger than a bee-hive. There had been no frost here, and nature wore her livery of green.

This gentleman has a fine cotton plantation of rich alluvial land. His house is built facing the lake, on an Indian mound, levelled down to the height of about six feet. We took breakfast with the family in a large portico on the back side of the house. It was a good breakfast, on a neat spread table, and the lady at the head performed the honors of it, with an ease and grace seldom equalled. We performed our parts to a charm, both in eating the breakfast and complimenting the hostess.

This family were from the State of Virginia, and had been settled here in Louisiana seven years. — The gentleman informed me they had generally enjoyed good health, although they had sometimes been afflicted with the fever and ague.

It is refreshing to the weary traveller, when far away from his home, to find a spot in his path, where he can renew his strength, and repose in peace. At such a spot he lingers, leaves it with regret, and treasures it up in his memory.

I have often thought, that many persons do not travel in a right spirit. They start on their journey with a full belief that all the customs and modes of life they find, differing from those they have been accustomed to, are all wrong, and proper subjects of censure and dislike. They see nothing in its true light, enjoy nothing, find fault with everything; and are continually running their heads against a post. They are always on the rack; and probably punish themselves as much as they do every one around them. But such a course betrays a gross ignorance. Who can read the outpourings of madame Trollope’s brain, without being convinced that she had too gross conceptions, and too strong prejudices, to write the history of any people, whose manners were different from her own. She saw nothing, only through a jaundiced eye; and she had too narrow and contracted a mind, ever to make the important discovery, that the fault might be in herself, and not in the objects with which she was surrounded.

Some prefer to be mere scavengers; and when they find anything gross or impure, delight to exhibit it to the gaze of the world. I have often thought of the severe reply of Dr. Johnson to a lady, who told him she liked his dictionary, because he had no indelicate words in it. O, says the doctor, I did not trouble my head about them, but I see you have been looking for them.

Other travellers think, the more fault they find, the more they will be noticed; and they will be treated with the more deference and respect. I once happened to ride in the stage with the venerable Chief Justice Marshall. He was affable and polite, at peace with himself, and displeased at nothing. In the same stage, as if nature intended to exhibit two beings, in bold relief, and make the contrast the more striking, was a testy young man, who found fault with every thing, and was pleased with nothing. He cursed the driver, the stage and the road; and the country through which we travelled was too execrable to live in. At the hotel, where we stopped to dine, he keeps the house in a continual uproar. The dinner bell rang, and we set down at the table. For some reason, he did not come in immediately; and when he made his appearance, the table was entirely full. This was too much for him to bear. He cursed the waiter for not saving a place for him. The waiter, as quick as possible, provided him a place at a side table. But he was determined not to be thrown into the shade in this manner. The Judge ate his dinner in silence; but this side table gentleman kept a continual cry for something. “I say, waiter” — bring me this, and bring me that. — His vociferations became quite annoying. At length, he cried out with rather increased vehemence, “I say, waiter, bring me a fresh potatoe.” The moment this was uttered, one of the gentleman at our table said, “Waiter, give that gentleman a fresh chair, I am sure he has set in that one long enough." This was a damper. It caused quite a laugh at the young man’s expense. He became silent, and after dinner, we saw no more of him.

“Behold us mounted once again,” — and immediately after leaving this gentleman’s plantation, we again passed into a dense forest and found a muddy path. In about six miles we found some sandy land and pine timber, and here we left what is called the Mississippi swamp. We soon came to the outlet of the lake, which we had to ford. The water was deep, and the shore deep mud. It was a difficult job to make a horse wallow through. We were told that a horse got swamped and died in the mud, a few feet from the spot where we crossed.

We came to the banks of Washita river, followed it down three miles, and crossed over to Harrisonburg. The town is built on a level plain on the west bank of the river; but it contains not more than twenty houses. This river empties into Red River, and is navigable for steamboats a long distance above the village. It is forty-two miles west of Natchez. On this river are the lands where the famous Aaron Burr talked of establishing a colony; but unless the land above and below is better than in this region, it might not have been very flourishing. The soil is too sandy and poor.

We rode twenty-five miles over a rolling sandy country, generally covered with pine woods; and stopped at night with a gentleman who had been one of Burr’s party. He did not seem inclined to say much of that ill-fated expedition. Here we were kindly treated, and fared well. He had been there nineteen years; had cleared a large plantation; raised cotton, corn and cattle; had eight or ten negroes, and possessed the necessaries of life in abundance. But he still lived in a log house, without a glass window in it. I asked him, why he did not have windows. He said, the house was well enough; if the hole cut for a window did not make it light enough, he opened the door. It was not just such a house as I should be contented in, for nineteen years, and possessing the wealth he had. — It, however, was to his taste; and for aught I could see, he was as happy as those who live in much better houses.

To-day we travelled thirty-three miles to Alexandria, just one hundred miles from Natchez. The first forty was Mississippi swamp, excellent land, but a good deal of it too low for cultivation; the last sixty miles was, with few exceptions, hilly, sandy, pitch pine woods. We passed only a few good plantations. Occasionally, we found a small prairie of poor soil, and a deserted log house. It was indeed the most dreary road I ever travelled. In the last day’s travel, we passed two small rivers; one we crossed in a ferry boat; and to our special wonder, we found quite a decent bridge over the other.

Red River is rightly named; it is almost as red as blood, caused by the red soil through which it passes. It is quite a large stream; but the water is too brackish to drink, or for culinary purposes. The only resource of the inhabitants of Alexandria is to catch rain water for which they have enormous large cisterns. We crossed the river opposite the town in a ferry boat, and found the current about as strong as that of the Mississippi. It is navigable for steamboats, in a moderate stage of water, as high up as “the raft,” and when the removal of that is completed, for a long distance into the country. About a mile above the town, there is a short rapid which boats cannot pass when the water is low.

The mouth of Red River has probably undergone some changes. It is almost certain, that in by-gone years, Red River had its own separate channel to the Gulf of Mexico; but in process of time, the ever changing Mississippi river took a long turn that way; struck into its channel, and after appropriating its waters and three miles of its bed to its own use, wheeled round to the left, and pursued its own course to the ocean. In this state of the case, the upper part of Red River became a tributary of the Mississippi, and the lower part a mere waste-way to pass off its superfluous waters. But the inconstant Mississippi, a short time ago, cut out for itself a new, strait channel across the bend, and left Red River to itself. This cut-off, however, proved of incalculable advantage to that section of country. It let off the Mississippi waters so freely, that a large tract of most excellent land does not now overflow; and this is sought for with avidity, and settling fast.

Alexandria is pleasantly situated on a level plain, the south side of Red River, one hundred and four miles from its mouth, and three hundred and twenty-nine from New-Orleans. It is regularly laid out in squares; has a court house, three hotels, eight or ten stores, two or three groceries, and a number of good dwelling houses. Its chief export is cotton, and that of the first quality. Red River cotton commands the highest price in market. I saw a large number of bales piled on the river bank, and wagon loads coming in.

Gentlemen and ladies, in pleasure carriages and on horseback, were riding through the streets; and the hotels were full of guests. It appears to be a place of business and of pleasure; of much wealth, and in a rich neighborhood. This place and Natchitoches, seventy-five miles above it, are the only towns of any size in this section of the country.

At the upper end of the town, there is a regular laid out race-course, of a circular form, and a mile in extent. Here, the speed of horses is frequently put to the test, and extensive bets made on the result. This seems to be the favorite sport of this country — of more absorbing interest than any other; and about which the people talk more than on any other one subject. Good race-horses are of great value, and almost any price will be given for them. Although the race-course may have its great attractions — it may exhilarate the feelings, to see that noble animal, the horse, with mettle high, and lofty bearing, spurn the dust beneath his feet, and skim along the plain with the swiftness of the wind; and although it may have a tendency to improve the breed of horses; yet upon the whole, may it not be said, that it is purchasing improvement and pleasure, at a great expense of time and money; and, independent of its moral effect upon society, productive of more evil than good.

Gambling is too much the order of the day. A large billiard room faces the main street in this village, and seems never to lack for customers. In this room one man killed another by striking him on the head with the cue, and his trial was just finished as I arrived. He was convicted of manslaughter, and sentenced to ten years confinement in the State Prison. The result of the trial gave general dissatisfaction among the people. They thought he ought to have been convicted of murder and suffered its penalty.

Not much attention is paid to the cultivation of vegetables or fruit. The peach and fig-tree were the only fruit trees I saw, and but few of them. — The fig-tree much resembles our northern quince tree, but grows some larger in size. The only vegetables we had at table, were turnips and sweet potatoes. The northern potatoe will not produce a crop unless new seed is obtained every year.

All the beds in this region are surrounded with thin curtains, or as they are termed here, moscheto-bars, to protect the inmate from that pestiferous, anti-sleeping insect, the moscheto. Of all insects this world produces, the moscheto is the most troublesome and annoying. To lie down without a bar, as I sometimes did, and fight the moschetoes all night long is dreadful. Too tired and sleepy to keep awake, I would fall into a drowse, only to be aroused in a moment by half a dozen dabbing into my face, and singing in my ears. They are indeed, too familiar by half; and the only chance to cut their acquaintance is to flee. I would not spend my days in the region of moschetoes for the sake of wealth, for I should only possess splendid misery.

About a mile above this place, we left Red River, and travelled the road on the bank of Bayou Rapide for twenty-five miles, to the mansion house of a Mr. Henderson, where we stayed over night. In this day’s ride, we passed over as rich land as I ever saw, covered with extensive cotton plantations. It is all river-bottom land of a red clayey soil; and all along the road, as we passed, we saw clouds of negroes with bags and baskets at their sides, picking cotton. The land produces an abundant and a profitable crop, and the planters appear to have grown rich. But it seems not exactly to be a paradise, if there be indeed, any such a place on earth. It is excessively annoyed by moschetoes, and is very unhealthy. During the warm, sickly summer months, the planters with their families flee to the pine woods, where the air is fine and salubrious; and leave their overseers and negroes to battle with disease and moschetoes, the best way they can. They are very companionable, hospitable and kind, and their style of living is much the same as that of the southern planters generally.

About half way up, we crossed the stream over a bridge to the right hand side; and just before we arrived at Mr. Henderson’s, we crossed it again. Soon after we crossed it the first time, I happened to cast my eyes towards the stream, and found it running the other way! We had certainly been travelling all along up the stream; and now, without any apparent cause, either in the “lay of the land,” or direction of the channel, it was just as certain its current was with us. I enquired of our host the meaning of all this. He pleasantly observed, that the streams in this part of the country, were very accommodating; they could go almost any way. He, however, explained the phenomenon. He said, the channel of the stream, by the side of which we had travelled, was, undoubtedly, once the bed of Red River. Ten miles above him, the river had taken a straight course to Alexandria, and left its former circuitous route. The water, which we now saw running, is supplied by a stream from the lake, enters the old channel on the opposite side from where we were travelling, then divides itself, one half running down and entering the river near Alexandria, and the other running up the old bed, and entering the river ten miles above. When the river is high, a portion of it flows round in its old bed, and drives the upper current along with it. So that by this house the stream runs about half of the year one way, and the other half in the opposite direction! A rather difficult stream I should think, to build a mill upon. This is indeed quite a curiosity; but to the explanation one objection may be urged. If this be in fact the old bed of Red River, and from examination I am satisfied it is, one might naturally suppose it would be all along descending one way; and, therefore, the stream which enters it would not divide itself, but the whole of it run in the same direction that the river formerly did. The answer to this is, the stream coming in, carried sand with it, and for a considerable distance somewhat filled up the old channel, so as to make a descent each way; but not so much as to prevent Red River when high, from sweeping round, in its former course.

A curiosity, in some respects similar to this, is found in Arkansas territory. White river and Arkansas river enter the Mississippi ten miles apart; and about twenty miles above, there is a direct water communication between them; which is a large navigable stream; the water of which runs, sometimes one way and sometimes the other, according to the comparative height of each river; so that a person living on its bank, could make no sort of calculation which way the stream might run, from day to day.

Mr. Henderson has a large house pleasantly situated on a sandy hill near the pine woods, and commands an extensive view in front of the river flatland, and cotton plantations. We here fared well; and as Mr. Henderson has ample accommodations, his house may be safely recommended as a stopping place for the traveller. Our route now lay through the pine woods. Our object was to strike the road from Natchitoches to Mexico, at the nearest point practicable; and this spot, we were told, was at the garrison, fort Jessup. This fort is situated half way between Natchitoches and the Sabine river, the line between the United States and Texas; being twenty-five miles from each. Natchitoches being twenty-five miles north of our route, we concluded not to pass through it; but when Red River is high, travellers to Texas often take a passage on board a steamboat from Natchez to that place, and from thence, take the Mexican road.

From Mr. Henderson’s an intelligent gentleman, well acquainted with the country, travelled with us three or four days on our route; and from whom we obtained much information. This day, we travelled forty miles through an unbroken forest of pitch pine. The land is sandy, gently undulating, but seldom rocky. The trees were of good size, but not so thick together as to prevent the grass from growing beneath them; or the traveller from seeing a great distance as he passes along. About half way, we found a small log house, in which a white man lived with a black wife. With some people, I suppose this would be commendable; but I confess it gave me unpleasant feelings to see half a dozen of half-bloods running about the house. He professed to keep a sort of tavern, but all the refreshment we obtained was bread and meat.

At night, we came to the house of a planter, near a small river. He had a hundred acres cleared of river bottom land, which had been planted with cotton and corn; a large stock of cattle and hogs, which ranged in the woods. He had lived here twelve years, was worth twenty thousand dollars; yet still lived in a log house with only two rooms, and without a window in it. Our supper was fried beef, fried greens, sweet potatoes, corn bread and a cup of coffee, without milk or sugar; which we ate by the light of the fire, as he had neither a candle or a lamp. Our fellow traveller told us that we had now got out of the region of what we should call comfortable fare; and we might expect to find it worse, rather than better, all the way through Texas. Our lodging was on a comfortable bed made of Spanish moss; and our breakfast exactly like our supper, which we ate with the doors open to give us light. Our bill was a dollar each, for supper, breakfast, lodging and horsekeeping; and this, I found to be the general price, in all country places throughout Texas.

After passing the river and about a mile of bottom land, we came to the pine woods again. I could always tell when we approached a stream, by the trees being covered with Spanish moss. The first I saw, was on the Mississippi, about a hundred miles above Natchez; and in all the region south of that, it is found hanging to the limbs of the trees near streams of water. It is of a silver-grey color, hanging straight down from the limbs three or four feet, like a horse’s mane. It looks, perhaps, more like dressed flax than any thing else; and some of the trees were so completely covered with it that we could scarcely discover any thing but the moss. It does not strongly attach itself to the limb I used to pull off handfulls of it, as we passed along, to examine. It is but the work of a few minutes to gather enough for a bed. The only preparation necessary is to scald it in hot water, or to let it remain awhile in cold water, to rot like hemp. It then looks like fine long hair, and a dark brown color. When dry, it is whipped, and put into the tick. It makes a very good, cheap bed, and lasts a long time. Of this material most of the beds in this country are made, and sometimes a mattress of the kind is found at the north.

All the river bottom lands at the south, are covered with a dense, heavy growth of trees, among which are many kinds not found at the north. The cotton-wood grows very large, somewhat resembling the whitewood of the western States. The magnolia, celebrated for its large, splendid blossom, is an evergreen, having a dark, green leaf an inch and a half wide, and two and a half long, and of the size of the maple — the peccan, a tree resembling the walnut, and bearing a round nut an inch long, equal to the hickory-nut — the hackberry, about the size and much resembling the beach — the holly, a small evergreen, having a small thick leaf — the chinquopin, a mere shrub, resembling the chestnut tree, and bearing a similar but smaller nut. We frequently found the grape vine of large size running high up the trees; and occasionally, a spot of cane-brake.

This day’s travel was through the pine woods, except at some few places where we found a small clearing and a log house, near some small stream. We did not go by fort Jessup. Our companion knew of a nearer route, and we took it. About the middle of the afternoon, we came out on the Mexican road, three miles south of the garrison. It appeared to be a road a good deal travelled by wagons, as well as on horseback; some places running through swamps and muddy; occasionally, a bridge over the most miry streams; but generally in a state of Nature. The land became some better, and we passed more settlements.

At night we stopped at a log house kept by a widow. She had, living with her, two sons and one daughter. The house had no windows, and but one room in it. Near it, was a small kitchen where a negro woman did the cooking. Our fare was very similar to that of the night before, except the old lady had a candle on the table at supper. There were four beds in the room where we all slept — the old lady and her daughter in one bed — her two sons in another — and we three travellers in the other two. I hope the delicate nerves of my fair readers may not greatly be disturbed at this; if they are, they must close the book, and read no further; for If I must tell “the whole truth,” I shall be obliged to state, that during the thirty following nights, I often slept in the same room with one or more ladies!

The old lady had about twenty acres cleared and cultivated with corn; but the land is not the first rate. The fact is, all along Missouri, Arkansas and Louisiana, after you get sixty or seventy miles west of the Mississippi river, you come to light, sandy, hilly land; generally covered with pitch pine; excepting a narrow strip on the margin of the streams; so that half of Missouri, three-fourths of Arkansas, and half of Louisiana, are poor land, hardly fit for cultivation. This is not what I had supposed; but from my own observations, and the information of travellers, I believe this to be the fact.

We took an early start, and travelled on. The northern people have been accused of being very inquisitive; but I am sure I would turn out the people here against them on a wager. As a general rule, we were inquired of, “where from” — “where going,” &c. &c. To-day, a man, twenty rods distant from the road, came running up, and asked us, where we were from. I thought this was carrying inquisitiveness too far; and so I took the yankee privilege of answering his question by asking another, viz: — If it was out of mere curiosity, or for the sake of obtaining information beneficial to himself, that induced him to enquire. He said he was from Kentucky himself, and did not know but we might be from there also; and in that case, he wished to inquire the news. I told him we were none of us from Kentucky. But this did not satisfy him; he insisted upon knowing where we were from; and appeared quite vexed that he could not obtain the information from any of us.

We passed a number of covered waggons, generally with four horses, loaded with goods and families bound to Texas. They invariably lodge out doors over night. They carry their own provisions with them, and select some spot where there is plenty of wood and water, build up a fire, cook their meals, turn their horses or oxen loose to feed on the prairie, or in the woods, and camp down on the grass by the side of the fire. I saw some who had been thirty and forty and sixty days on the road; from Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, &c. and said they had not put up at a house for a single night. Some of them looked quite “wearied and worn;” and if they do indeed find rest at last, it must be confessed, that “through great tribulation,” they enter the promised land.

About noon to-day, we came to the Sabine river, the dividing line between the United States and Texas. We had now travelled from Natchez two hundred and twenty-five miles on horseback; and this, the seventh day since we started. I had now become used to the saddle; and saving the muddy roads and miry streams which we sometimes found, I enjoyed the trip very well. I was surprised to find the Sabine so small a river. I should think it was not more than one third as large as Red River. It is a deep muddy stream, and gentle current. We were paddled across the river by a woman, who was a “right smart” one, and landed at last on the shore of

I had read and heard so many fine descriptions of Texas — its pleasant streams, beautiful prairies, mild climate, and extensive herds of buffalo, wild horses and cattle, that it was with no small degree of enthusiasm, I set foot, for the first time, on its territory. I cast my eyes back for a moment on the United States; then turned to the “fairy land,” with high hopes and bright anticipations.

The Sabine has two or three miles of good bottom land on each side, heavily timbered; but it is too much subject to inundation to be cultivated. — After we passed the river bottom, we came to gentle swells, of red clayey soil, covered with oak, hickory, &c. called oak openings. Sometimes we passed a small prairie; and occasionally, a log house and a small field. Thus we passed ten miles; and here, our fellow traveller, having arrived to the end of his journey, left us. He had travelled a hundred miles with us; was an intelligent man, well acquainted with the country, and we became too much interested in him, not to feel serious regret at parting. This is one of the disagreeable things in travelling; we form acquaintances only to leave them.

We now found cotton fields, as well as corn; more extensive plantations, and better houses. We passed two race-courses by the road side, and stopped for the night, at a very decent looking double log house, having a wide portico in front, and a wide avenue through the centre. Here, we found good accommodations. The house contained three or four rooms, and had about the same number of glass windows in it. We had for supper, venison, sweet potatoes, corn bread, coffee, butter and milk. Back of the house, I observed a small orchard of apple trees, the only one I found in all Texas. The trees looked thrifty, and had just begun to bear fruit. In front, near the road, was as fine a spring of good, clear, soft water, as I ever saw; but it was hardly cold enough for a northern man. Here were extensive fields of cotton and corn. This planter had a cotton gin and press. The cotton was sent by land to Natchitoches; to be transported from thence to New-Orleans by water.

Six miles from this, we came to an entirely new village, called St. Augustine, near a stream called the Ayish Bayou. About two years ago, it was laid out; and now it contains two large taverns, three stores, a court house, and ten or a dozen dwelling houses. There is a good school kept here, to which scholars are sent from some distance. It would be tedious, however, to relate the particulars of this, and the two succeeding days — it would only be the same story over again. Our fare was rather poor — the meals, better than the lodging.

One night, we slept in a new framed house, one side all open to the weather; and the other, we slept in a log house, the interstices between the logs not filled up, so that you might thrust your arm out almost any where. This night we had a smart shower, accompanied by a strong wind, and the rain beat in so liberally, I was obliged to haul my bed eight or ten feet to leeward. We passed quite a number of log houses, small plantations, through oak openings and pine plains, and, at length, came to the ancient town of Nacogdoches.

I could not but smile at the odd and grotesque appearance of Nacogdoches, as I entered the principal street of the town. In by-gone days, the Spaniards built a town of log houses; generally having the logs standing perpendicular at the sides and ends, and the space between them filled with mud; with chimneys made of the same materials. These look old and woe-begone. In modern times, the Americans have erected a number of elegant, framed houses, well finished and painted white; and these are scattered along among these ancient hovels. The contrast is very striking, and somewhat ludicrous. Before me, stood an ancient Roman Catholic church, built in true Spanish style, with perpendicular logs and mud; now falling to decay, and presenting to the eye a hideous mass of ruins.

The town stands on a beautiful plain; having a small stream of water on each side; is very healthy; and when American industry shall have removed these dark spots from its surface, will be a most desirable place in which to reside. It has two public houses; and the one we put up at, had very respectable accommodations. There are a number of stores, which carry on a brisk trade with the country people and Indians. The chief article the Indians have to sell is deer pelts; and in the course of the year, they bring in a large number. These are done up in bales, and sent by land to the United States. — These skins are bought of the Indians by weight, and, I was told, the average amount was about fifty cents apiece. I observed a number of Indians in town on horseback; and this is the general mode of travelling for all the western and southern Indians.

Nacogdoches is the head quarters of the“Galveston Bay and Texas Land Company.” The lands of this Company embrace three grants; that of Xavala, Burnet and Vehlein, and are bounded on the northeast by the Sabine River; on the northwest by a small river called the St. Jacinta; on the south by the gulf of Mexico — about one hundred and seventy miles in width, and running northwest nearly three hundred; equal to fifty-one thousand square miles. I shall now continue my journal, and give hereafter a description of this Company’s lands in my general view of Texas.

While at this place, I frequently saw Maj. Nixon, the agent of the Company for giving titles to the grants. He is quite an agreeable and intelligent man, and very readily gave me all the information respecting the country that I requested. No more than a league of land is granted to foreigners; but to the Spaniards, a number of leagues are frequently given. The Spaniards, however, place but little value upon land. They sometimes have large flocks of cattle and horses; but are too indolent to cultivate the soil. Quite a number of them reside at Nacogdoches; some very respectable families; but a good many are poor and indolent. They are of a darker complexion than the Americans, and are readily designated at first sight.

An instance of the little value placed upon land was stated to me while here. An American had a fine looking dog that a Spaniard took a fancy to; he asked the price and was told a hundred dollars. The Spaniard replied, he had no money, but would give him a scrip for four leagues of land! The bargain was immediately closed; and the land could now be sold for $10,000. Truly, the old adage, “dog cheap,” ought to be reversed.

Immediately after leaving the town, we came into pine woods again; to all appearance, the same we had already passed over — rolling, sandy soil; the trees straight and tall, but standing so far apart, that a carriage might go almost anywhere among them. The grass grew beneath them, and we could see a great distance as we passed along. And thus it continued, for about twenty miles, with hardly a house on the way. I thought, we never should have done with pine woods. We had travelled about three hundred miles from Natchez; and two-thirds of the way had been pine woods; and here, they made their appearance again. To ride a short distance in them, is not unpleasant; but to continue on, day after day, is too monotonous — there is no change of scenery.

In twenty miles, we came to an elegant house, painted white, a large portico in front; a neat paling round the yard, and large fields beside the road. A saw and grist mill were building on a small stream, about a mile from the house. We passed a small river over a bridge, having split rails for a covering, instead of plank, and through pine woods, oak woods and small prairies, and put up at a house near the bank of the river Neches, forty miles from Nacogdoches.

By the side of the road near his house, I saw a race-course, and the gentleman told me there were frequent races on it. He had himself won twelve hundred dollars on a bet, a short time before. His house was made of hewn logs and clapboarded, having three rooms in it, but as usual in this country, no windows. We had our common fare, beef, corn bread and coffee.

On a large prairie in front of his house, I saw two Indian mounds, and as I had a little leisure before breakfast, I went out to examine them. I had seen many of the Indian mounds in the western States and Louisiana; and these were similar to them. The largest one was about twenty feet high and ten in diameter. I was puzzled to find where the dirt was taken from to make them, as the ground was a perfect level a long distance around; but my host showed me the spot about half a mile distant, and from the size of the excavation, I thought he was right. No reason can be given, however, why the dirt was carried to such a distance.

Throughout the western and southern country, are found mounds of earth of different sizes, shapes and heights — some, of a conical form; others, of an oblong shape; and occasionally, much resembling fortifications. They are first seen along the southern shore of Lake Erie; they increase in number and size in Ohio, Indiana and Illinois; are scattered over the Mississippi Valley; and are often found on the plains of Texas, and along the Gulf of Mexico. They are generally found on level prairies, or on rich and level woodland, and near lakes, ponds, or streams of navigable water. A very interesting essay might be written upon these Indian Mounds; but I shall notice only some of the most remarkable.

The largest mound in the state of Ohio, is on the level bottom land of Grave Creek, near its entrance into the Ohio river, and fourteen miles below Wheeling. It is 350 feet in diameter at the base, sixty feet across at the top, and seventy-five feet in height. The area at the top is slightly concave, and from its centre, arises a stately oak, in a straight shaft, like a flag-staff. One of these mounds has been entirely demolished, and upon its site, is built the town of Chillicothe. The town of Circleville is principally laid out within the limits of two contiguous mounds — the one of a circular form; the other, of an oblong square. The circular mound is much the largest, and from which, the name of the town is derived.

In the state of Missouri, a little north of St. Louis, are gigantic and interesting mounds. These enormous stacks of earth lift their tall heads high in the air, and show to advantage on approaching St. Louis from the upper country.

But the most numerous group of Indian mounds, is found in the state of Illinois. They are situated on the American Bottom, and are said to exceed two hundred in number. The largest and most remarkable of these, stands near the bank of Cahokia creek. It is in the shape of an oblong square, is eight hundred yards in circumference, and ninety feet in height. On its south side, is an extensive and beautiful terrace, which was formerly cultivated by the monks of La Trappe as a garden. These monks had a monastery near the base of this mound; and probably the earth could not afford a spot more in keeping with the doctrines they professed. Near them, a stately monument of by-gone ages, reared its tall head far above their rude dwelling — around them, a solitary prairie, bounded in the distance, either by stately trees of the forest, or perpendicular cliffs of solid limestone. No human habitations were within the bounds of vision; and it was indeed a spot, sufficiently lonely and retired for those who chose to abstract themselves from the busy scenes of active life, enjoy undisturbed the solitude of the wilderness, and hold communion only with the God of Nature.

It has often been asked, who built these mounds, and for what purpose were they erected? These are questions of difficult solution, and, perhaps, at this late stage of the world, of useless discussion. Some have supposed them to be places of interment; others believe them to be sentry stations, upon which guards were placed to watch the movements of the enemy. Although decayed bones have been found in some of them, yet it is not probable that they were all erected simply as monuments for the dead. Who built them? Their origin and use may never be certainly known; but I am fully persuaded, the ancestors of the present race of Indians did not erect them. The Indians, now upon the stage, know nothing about them — make no use of them — and build none like them. Now, if their ancestors built these stately mounds all over the country, it is utterly impossible to believe that all tradition would have been lost of such prominent monuments, that passed in review before the eyes of their nation, from day to day, and year to year. In addition to this, many of these mounds are of gigantic dimensions, and show much more labor in their erection, than the present race of Indians have ever been known to perform. The earth, of which they are composed, is generally brought from a distance, and some of them must have taken a thousand men a number of months to complete them.

We found the Neches to be quite a river; clayey banks and muddy water. We saw a boat on the other side; and a house half a mile distant, through the woods. We could not tell whether it was fordable or not; but after calling a few times for the ferryman, my companion concluded to plunge in. I thought in that case, discretion was the better part of valor; so I waited to see what became of him, before starting myself. He had a good horse, and although the stream was deep, and quite a current, he came safely out on the other bank; sustaining no other damage than being decently wet. He was good enough, however, to loose the boat, come over and take me across; remarking that there was no great pleasure in fording streams like that. We now passed through ten miles of pine woods; then prairies of a mile or so in extent, and post-oak openings.

This was the thirtieth day of November. The day was warm and mild, although somewhat cloudy. As we were passing through the woods, it became quite dark. On casting my eyes on the sun, I found it was under an eclipse. It was here almost total. I thought it hardly lacked a digit of being entirely covered.

We stopped at night at a small log house on the side of an extensive prairie. We found only a young woman at home. She said, she was from the east part of Texas, had been married only a week, and moved there a few days previous. Her husband soon returned. He had been to spend the day, it appeared, at a neighbor’s, seven miles distant, and left the new made bride at home alone. All we obtained here to eat, was meat and corn bread, and water to drink; and that not very good. He had sixty or seventy head of cattle, twenty cows; but no milk, butter, or cheese. He had quite a large field under cultivation, in which he raised corn only. He had a hired man to help him take care of the flocks and the field, and to accompany him in his hunting excursions. A number of skins were stretched out on the sides of his buildings, as the trophies of his prowess and success; among which, I noticed the skin of a large panther. In the morning, his wife went a quarter of a mile for water, picked up wood and built a fire; and the two men looked on and did nothing. What young lady would not marry, if she could pass such a honey-moon as this!

The next day, we passed three houses, a number of prairies and post-oak openings; but found no more pine woods. Immediately on this side of the Trinity, we passed over a low, wet prairie, four miles in extent; where a horse would sink in to the fetlock joint; and then, half a mile of heavy timber. The Trinity is a large stream; but not quite as large as Red River — deep, navigable, and muddy water. We stopped at the house of an intelligent farmer on the other bank of the river. Here, our accommodations were very good. He had a house of hewn logs, three rooms, no windows, a portico in front and rear, and an avenue through the middle. The front yard was fenced in; and a kitchen and smoke house were in the back yard. He had a large field cultivated with corn, and perhaps, half a dozen negroes.

I here found a young man who deserved commiseration. He was from Missouri. With his young wife and two small children, the youngest not quite a year old, he started in a wagon for Texas. He had been two months on the road; encamped out in the woods every night, although they had some wet and chilly weather. The fatigues of such a long journey, and the many attentions such small children required at the hands of the wife while on the route, were more than her constitution could endure. She became worn down almost to a skeleton; and grew daily more enfeebled; but as they were approaching the end of the journey, she kept up a good heart, and exerted herself to the utmost. But “tired nature” could do no more. She sickened and died — and left her husband in a distant land, with two infant children. Those who have endured the agony of a parting scene like this, although surrounded by relatives and friends, may form some estimate of the measure of pity due to him!

There are many hardships, perplexities and sufferings, necessarily attendant upon a removal to a new and distant country; and any accident or misfortune is more severely felt, because a person has no chance of remedying the evil. I do think, a single family ought not to go to a new country alone; but a number in company; and then they can assist each other in all their hardships and trials.

At the mouth of Red River, a gentleman, moving on to Texas with his family, lost his pocket-book, containing about four hundred dollars. He carried it in the breast pocket of his coat; and in unlading some of his goods from the steamboat, he stepped forward to assist, pulled off his coat, threw it across the railing, and the pocket-book dropped out into the water and sunk. It would have swam on the water, had it not contained three or four dollars in specie. Search was made for it; but the stream was so deep and muddy, they were foiled in all their attempts to find it. This was, at such a time and in his situation, a severe misfortune. On the road, two thousand miles from the place he started from, and five hundred more to travel; his family with him, and all his money gone. A family of his acquaintance happened to be in company with him, and through their assistance, he was enabled to proceed.

Another case was stated to me, more aggravating than this, because it was not the effect of accident but of knavery. A gentleman, moving from Michigan to Texas, brought down in the boat a valuable horse worth three hundred dollars. On board, he became acquainted with a young man, who wished employment, and he hired him. When they arrived at the mouth of Red River, he concluded to send his horse by the young man across the country by land, and he and his family would go round by water. He, accordingly, equipped the horse with a new, elegant saddle, bridle, martingale and saddle bags; and supplied the young man with a good greatcoat, and twenty dollars in money, and started him off. And that was the last time he saw man, horse or equippage! He incidentally heard, that a man answering his description, gambled away a horse and equippage at Alexandria.

For ten miles after leaving Trinity river, we passed over some most beautiful rolling prairies. Although it was December, yet the air was mild and serene, and the grass as green as in June. These prairies much resemble those of Illinois; and on some of them, we saw large herds of cattle feeding. We passed some miry swamps and deep muddy streams. The most disagreeable part of the whole trip, was the fording of streams. The banks were generally steep down into the water; and so slippery, we had sometimes to dismount, hold on to a tree, and let the horse slide down; then pull the horse beside us, mount him in the water, and ride across. I would sometimes take my saddle bags off, send my horse over by himself, and find a tree or a log on which to pass myself. The water was very muddy, so that we could not see the bottom, or form hardly any idea how deep it might be, until we forded. One stream was a very bad one. There were logs in the bottom, embedded in the mud about the middle of the river; and when our horses passed them, they struck into a channel where the water was about two feet deeper; their heads were suddenly plunged under water, and we came very near being thrown into the stream. Among the trees in the swamps, I noticed the red cedar, to-day, for the first time. It grows to quite a large tree, and is very good timber for building, boards, posts, &c.

To-day, we found by the side of the path a number of petrified limbs of trees; and in one place, there was a log about a foot in diameter, turned into stone. We broke off some pieces which plainly showed the grains of wood; and on one side the bark remained and was petrified also. It might probably be manufactured into good hones, although it was coarser grained, and of a lighter shade, than those usually found at our stores.

We passed only two houses this day, and put up for the night at a miserable log house occupied by a widow woman. She had a large stock of fine looking cattle, but no milk. Our fare was not of the best kind, although the old lady tried to accommodate us as well as she could.

There are few mills of any kind in the whole country. The corn is ground in a steel mill, like a coffee mill, although much larger, and having a crank on each side. This is commonly nailed to a tree before the door. The corn is often left standing in the field, and gathered only as fast as they wish to use it. It used to amuse me, when we rode up to a house at night, and called for a meal, to hear the woman sing out to a boy, “Run to the field and bring two or three ears of corn — I want to make some bread for the gentlemen’s supper.” So we had to wait until the corn was gathered, ground, kneaded and baked, before we could have bread to eat. I suppose this is the true method of “living from hand to mouth.”

We took an early start next morning, and after passing swamps, streams and woods, came out into a fine prairie country. Our path led over the top of one, somewhat elevated above the general level of the country, and from which we could see many miles all around. It was a prospect too grand and imposing to be adequately described.

As we passed along by the side of an extensive prairie, we saw two Indians horseback, on an elevated spot, about half a mile distant, with guns in their hands, and looking at the country beyond them. On seeing us, they wheeled their horses and came at full speed down upon us. We were a little startled at first; but they halted within a few rods of us, stared a moment, and then civilly passed the time of day, and enquired in broken English, the distance to a house on the road we had come. I never was an enthusiastic admirer of the Indian character. They may have done some noble deeds of daring, and performed some generous acts of disinterested friendship; but they possess and practice the art of deception so well, that no one can know, with any degree of certainty, when these acts may occur. When I see Indians approaching, I hardly know whether it is for good or for evil; and therefore, never feel entirely at ease in their society.

The Romans, in the days of their prosperity, prided themselves in being called a Roman citizen; and this was generally, a sufficient protection from depredation and insult, when travelling among the more barbarous nations around them. Like the Romans, I felt not a little pleasure in the thought, that I was an American citizen, and that this was a protection from outrage and insult in the presence of the savage Indian. Since my return, I have seen an account of twenty Polanders, while on their way from New-Orleans to Mexico, who were attacked by the Indians in Texas, and all killed except one, who was fortunate enough to escape and tell the story. Had not the Indians readily discovered by our personal appearance, that we were American citizens, we might have shared the same fate.

We passed a muddy swamp, in many places the water standing in the road a foot or two in depth; densely covered with timber, and four miles in extent. As we emerged from this, we came upon the bank of the Brazos river, at Hall’s ferry. This is a stream of the size and complexion of Red River. In crossing in a boat, we found a strong current. On the other side there is a high bank on which a town has been laid out; but now contains only three dwelling houses and one store. Here we stayed over night. Late in the afternoon, a Spanish trader arrived and put up for the night. He had two men, five mules and one horse and wagon with him. His goods were bought at Natchitoches, and he was transporting them to St. Antonio in the interior of Texas. They were made up into convenient bundles, hung across the mules’ backs and stowed in the wagon. They were all armed with guns; and the trader himself had a pistol at each side. He could not well talk English and we conversed but little with him. He had a strong dislike to the Indians, and was afraid of being robbed by them. Of this ill-will, the Indians have their full share. In hunting parties composed of both Americans and Spaniards, when attacked by the Indians in their excursions along the Rocky Mountains, they have been known to spare the Americans, when they have killed all the Spaniards.

The next day’s ride was through a most beautiful open prairie country. We crossed some small streams, skirted with timber and small groves on the highland; but generally, we found high, rolling prairie. The live-oak made its appearance to-day. This is an evergreen and a beautiful tree. We saw them growing in an open prairie, sometimes, one standing by itself, about the size, and at a distance, of the appearance of the northern apple tree.

On a fine high prairie, we observed quite a number of elegant houses, a store, a tavern, &c. and some fine farms. This is called Cole’s Settlement; and from the beautiful scenery around, and the respectable appearance of the inhabitants, I inferred that it is a desirable neighborhood.

We stopped for the night at a house half way between the Brazos and Colorado rivers; being thirty-five miles from each. A few years ago, a town was lotted out in this place, but still it shows only one decent farm house. Here is a gristmill turned by horses, and does a good deal of business; and profitable too, for the rule is to take one sixth part for toll. In the neighborhood, I saw a very good looking house, built of limestone.

From this place to the Colorado river, we passed only two houses; a distance of thirty-five miles; and the complexion of the country was similar in all respects to that of the day before. At a very decent farm house on an extensive prairie, by the side of the river, we put up for the night; and remained here and in the neighborhood, a number of the succeeding days.

And now from this central position, I propose to take a more general view of the country. I stayed more than a month in Texas, traversed the country in various directions, conversed with the inhabitants, and gained what information I could within that time. I feel therefore, somewhat qualified to speak of the country. And this I shall do fearlessly; yet I hope, in sincerity and in truth. I am aware that many articles have been written concerning this country, of various import and meaning; but I shall speak for myself only, without reference to others. I do not propose to write its geography or history. Had I the means and ability accurately to do this, the limits of this work would not allow of it. I only propose to give the information I obtained from inspection, examination and enquiry, in a concise form and tangible shape.

From whatever point you approach Texas, its aspect is unfavorable. If it be by sea, you are met by a low, sandy beach and a marshy, flat country, as far as the eye can reach. If by land, through Louisiana and Red River, its first appearance is that of a poor country of hilly land, chiefly covered with wood, and presenting to the eye a weak soil, alternately of sand and of clay. But when you pass the border towards the interior, the scene becomes entirely changed. You behold a beautiful country of rich soil, rounded by the hand of nature into the most fanciful forms, covered with eternal verdure, and begirt with forests of stately trees. Earth may not afford a more beautiful prospect than is obtained from the summit of an elevated prairie. On such a spot I have stood, and gazed with admiration. The scene extends all around as far as the eye can reach, and presents the varied aspect of wood land and lawn, like sunshine and shade. Its appearance is so much that of a country nicely cultivated by the hand of man, that one can hardly believe himself to be in an uninhabited region; but he looks in vain, to catch a glimpse of the husbandman’s cottage, and his herds of cattle feeding on the green fields. The din of human industry and civilized life strikes not his ear, and the unwelcome truth is forced upon him at last, that he is only in the solitude of the wilderness; and the scene before him, with all its beauties, is left “to waste its sweetness on the desert air!”

The scenes of Texas have so much of fascination about them, that one is disinclined to come down to the details of a common-place description of the country. But the whole truth must be told. The public have a right, and in fairness ought to know, the true state of the case. The emigrant cannot live on air, or by admiring the beauties of the country. It is of importance to him to know, what facilities the country offers, for obtaining the necessaries and conveniences of life; and what the prospect may be of enjoying them, when obtained.

In the first place, I shall strike off from the list of the resources of the country, “the immense herds of buffalo and wild horses.” They are often paraded in the many published descriptions of Texas, as a most prominent feature in the bright picture exhibited; and as one of the many inducements to the emigrants to remove thither. But they are no sort of benefit to the settler at all. They generally keep ahead of population, some small herds only are ever seen near the settlements; and there is not inducement enough for the husbandman to leave

his farm, and go far into the interior, to catch the wild horse and kill the buffalo, among tribes of hostile Indians; as the prospect of gain would not equal the hardship, risk and expense. The wild horse is an animal hard to catch; and when caught, it is difficult and troublesome to tame him, and render him gentle and kind in harness and under the saddle. It would be as well for the farmer if the fact of their existence were not known; as it is easier to raise the animal in this country of evergreen pasture, than to catch and tame the wild one. There is one point of view, in which a knowledge of the existence of these animals may be of some importance to the emigrant; it is proof positive of the natural luxuriance of the soil, and of the mildness of the climate.

The wild horses are called by the Spaniards, mustangs. I saw some small herds of them prancing at random over the plains. They are quite wild, you can seldom approach very near them. They are of various colors and of rather smaller size than the American horse. The Spaniards are fond of good horses, and are good horsemen. Some of them make a business of catching and breaking the mustangs. This is done by building a fence in the shape of a harrow, with a strong pen at the small end, and driving them into it; or mounting a fleet horse, get as near as they can unperceived, then start after them at full speed, throw a rope with a slip-noose at one end, and the other fastened to the saddle, around the neck, haul out at right angles with their course, and choke them down. When caught, they put the bridle on, take them into a large, soft prairie, mount them at once, flog them with the greenhide, and let them plunge and rear until they become fatigued and subdued. After undergoing a few more operations of this kind, they are deemed “fit for use.” They are sold at various prices, from six to twelve dollars; but unless they are caught when young, they never become gentle as other horses.

Texas appears like the State of Illinois. To the southward and westward of Trinity river, it is generally an open prairie country. All the streams have more or less bottom land, covered with a dense forest of timber; and occasionally, a grove of post oak openings will be found on the moist high land. The soil in these bottoms is very rich, but some of them are too wet, or too subject to be overflowed to admit of cultivation.

A strip of land, bordering on the bays and sea coast, and sixty or seventy miles in width, is flat, generally approaching to a dead level, in the spring and fall very wet, and sometimes impassable. Beyond this, comes the high, dry, rolling country, having no swamps except immediately on the borders of the rivers. “The Galveston Bay and Texas Land Company” have a good deal of good land, in pleasant and healthy situations; and much of it, not yet settled; but they have also a good deal of poor land. In their grant, are large tracts of pine woods and post-oak plains; among which, are found some spots of good land, but generally, it is of a weak and sandy soil. The pine woods are not without their use. Their resinous qualities give a salubrity to the air about them, and thereby render a situation in their neighborhood healthy; and the trees themselves furnish an inexhaustible supply of the first rate of timber. On the Sabine and Galveston Bays, there are large prairies of good land, but low and flat; in the region of Nacogdoches, are small prairies, large tracts of wood, good soil of red clay, black marle, sandy land, and all the varieties of soil imaginable. Higher up in the country, there are alternately prairies and woodland, and an excellent soil. This Company’s grant lies contiguous to the United States, and except on the bay, is as healthy as any part of the country; but it cannot be called the most pleasant and beautiful portion of Texas.

The prairies are all burnt over twice a year — in midsummer, and about the first of winter. Immediately after the burning, the grass springs up again; so that there is an abundant supply all the year round. No country in the world can be compared to this, in the ease and facility of raising stock. All the herdsman has to do, is to look after them, so they may not stray away, and some portion of the year, yard them to prevent their growing wild. The prairie grass is of a peculiar species, unlike any thing we have at the north; but it is of so nutricious a quality, that it keeps the cattle fat, all the year round. They grow large and handsome. I never saw better looking herds in my life. The horse does equally as well on grass, but if worked hard, requires some grain. Hogs keep in good flesh all the year; and in autumn, when the nuts fall from the trees, grow fat. Horses, cattle and hogs can, therefore, be kept in this country without any more trouble than merely looking after them to prevent their straying away.

And then, there is plenty of game. First in the list, is the deer. I hardly supposed there were as many deer on the continent, as I saw in Texas. — They were continually crossing my path, or were seen in flocks feeding on the prairies. I recollect that from an elevated spot, I counted five flocks of deer in sight at the same time! In some parts of the country, a man may about as certainly kill a deer if he choose, as a northern farmer can kill a sheep from his flock. Their meat is excellent, and their skins valuable.

Deer-hunting is not very systematically practiced here, as it is in some parts of the world. Indeed, they are so plenty, that it does not require much method, or concert of action among a number of individuals to kill them. The deer is a gregarious animal. You never find one alone, unless it be accidentally strayed away from the flock. Sometimes a number of hunters resort to a favorite haunt of

the deer, and while a part arouse them with the dogs in their retreat, and cause them to flee, others will remain in ambush, near their usual crossing places at the streams and swamps, and shoot them as they pass. In the night they are decoyed by fire and killed. A hunter fixes a blazing torch in his hat, or has another person to carry one just before him; the deer will stand gazing at the light while he approaches, and by the brilliancy of their eyes and space between them, calculates his distance and takes his deadly aim. He must take especial care, however, that the shadow of a tree or of any thing else does not fall upon the deer; for in that event, he starts and is off in a moment.

Then there are the bear, Mexican hog, wild geese, rabbits, and a great variety of ducks. The prairie hen is not so plenty here as in Illinois. An emigrant, may, therefore, easily supply himself with meat. All he has to do is “to kill and eat.”

Let us now glance at the soil, and see what that will produce. This subject I attended to, somewhat critically. It will produce cotton, sugar cane, Indian corn, rye, barley, oats, rice, buckwheat, peas, beans, sweet potatoes and all common garden vegetables. The cabbage does not form a compact head as it does at the north. Wheat will not grow in this country. The stalk will run up rank, but the ear will not fill with plump kernels. Last December, while I was there, flour sold on the river Brazos, for ten dollars a barrel; and in the interior, it sold for fourteen. Corn grows well, and is quite a sure crop when planted early — about the first of February. I saw a very good crop which had been planted in June.

I found one man, who, with the aid of a boy ten years old, raised and gathered fifteen hundred bushels of corn. Perhaps I am severely taxing the credulity of my readers; but if there be any reliance on human testimony, the fact is as I have stated. And when it is considered that the ground is only ploughed, a small portion, if any, hoed at all, and then it gets ripe early, and he can gather it at his leisure — the statement may not appear at all incredible. Tobacco will grow, but it has too thin a leaf to be valuable.

But it is emphatically a cotton country. It produces a larger quantity to the acre, and of a better quality than any portion of the United States — not excepting the bottom lands on Red River. This is my belief from an examination of the growing crop and gathered cotton. And I found this to be an admitted fact by the most experienced cotton growers.

The following is as perfect a list of the forest trees, shrubs, vines, &c., as I can make — to wit: — Red, black, white, willow, post and live oaks; pine, cedar, cotton-wood, mulberry, hickory, ash, elm, cypress, box-wood, elder, dog-wood, walnut, pecan, moscheto — a species of locust, holly, haws, hackberry, magnolia, chincopin, wild peach, suple jack, cane-brake, palmetto, various kinds of grape vines, creeper, rushes, Spanish-moss, prairie grass, and a great variety of flowers. The live oak, magnolia, holly, pine and cedar are evergreens.

The Spanish-moss, so profusely hanging on all the trees near streams of water, gives them an antique and venerable appearance. It is of a silver grey color; and, if trees may be compared with men, they appear like the long grey bearded sages of the antedeluvian world. When the tree dies, the moss soon withers, and becomes dry. I used to amuse myself by setting fire to the dry moss in the night. It burnt like tinder, and would sometimes throw a grand column of flame a hundred and fifty feet into the air, and brilliantly illuminate the scene, a great distance around.

Of fruit trees, I saw only the peach, the fig and the orange trees; excepting one small cluster of apple trees. I think it is too warm throughout the year for the apple tree to produce much fruit; but the others will become abundant.

As to the health of the country, the fact seems to be, that in all the low country, and on the streams of water, the inhabitants are more or less afflicted with the fever and ague. It much resembles Illinois in this particular, as well as in many others. In other situations, I believe it is as healthy as any portion of the United States.

The climate is fine; the air, generally clear and salubrious. It is neither so hot in the summer, or so cold in the winter, as it is in New-England. The country lies between the Gulf of Mexico and the snow-capped Cordillera mountains, so that it is fanned by a refreshing breeze, which ever way the wind may blow. Sometimes, in winter, the northwest wind sweeps over the plain, strong and keen; and the thin-clad southerner sensibly feels its effects upon his system; and I was informed, instances had been known of their being chilled to death, when obliged to encamp out in the open air without a fire. It is sometimes cold enough to make thin ice; but, generally, it is mild and pleasant all winter. The hottest days of summer, are not as warm and oppressive, as we find them at the North. Individuals originally from Maine and New-Hampshire, said they had found no night so warm, that it was disagreeable to sleep under a woollen blanket.

The rivers are navigable to some extent, whether great or small. The following are the names of the principal, to wit: — Sabine, Ayish Bayou, Atoyac, Angelina, Neches, Trinity, St. Jacinta, Buffalo Bayou, Navasota, Brazos, Bernard, Canebrake, Colorado, Navedad, La Baca, Guadalupe, San Antonio, Aransaso, Neuces and Rio Grande or Rio del Norte. The streams are all muddy and unpleasant, until you reach the Colorado; this, and those to the south are, generally, clear and beautiful. About ten miles from the mouth of the Colorado, a raft two miles in extent, obstructs the navigation; when that is removed, boats may go some distance into the country. The Brazos is navigable at high water, to the falls, about two hundred and fifty miles from its mouth. A steamboat is now running upon it, as high up as St. Felipe, over a hundred miles.

The Sabine, Neches and Trinity are respectively three hundred and fifty, three hundred, and four hundred and ten miles in length, and are navigable some distance into the country for a considerable portion of the year. The San Bernard is navigable sixty miles. It has about four feet of water on the bar at its mouth. The Colorado rises in the high prairies near the mountains, pursues quite a direct course six hundred miles and falls into Metagorda Bay. Above the raft, which is situated ten or twelve miles above its mouth, it is navigable three hundred miles. It has as strong a current as that of the Mississippi.

But the Rio del Norte is much the largest and longest river in this region. It rises high up among the mountains, and is estimated to be seventeen hundred miles in length. For two thirds of its course it runs nearly south; it then changes to the southeast, and empties into the Gulf of Mexico, near the southern boundary of Texas. It has been ascended by a steamboat two hundred miles to Loredo; and it is stated by those acquainted with the stream, that it is navigable five hundred miles further.

Texas has a seacoast of three hundred and fifty miles; and in a commercial point of view is favorably situated. Its many navigable streams afford great facilities for transporting the rich products of its luxuriant soil to the United States and the rest of the world. It will shortly be settled, its rich lands will become valuable, and it will soon be a great and powerful state.

Mill seats are not plenty. Although the streams run with a lively current, yet there are not many falls suitable for mills; especially in the lower part of the territory. On the sides of the streams, are occasionally found ledges of limestone; but none of any kind are seen scattered over the country. — The prairies are free from rocks, brambles, bushes, and every thing except grass. They look like a finely cultivated old field, well set in grass; sometimes flat, sometimes rolling, but invariably having a surface entirely smooth and unbroken. A carriage can run any where over them. Clay is found all over the country, of an excellent quality for brick. In some places, coal and iron ore are said to have been discovered.

Such are the situation and resources of the country. Let us now look, for a moment, at the inhabitants, and see how they are improved. The Spaniards are not an agricultural people. They are more fond of raising stock, than cultivating the land. They are also a very social people, and fond of society. They are seldom found on farms alone, and at a distance from neighbors. They formed some small villages in Texas, and left the remainder of the country entirely unsettled. Some ten years ago, the system of grants commenced; allowing an individual, under certain regulations, to introduce and colonize foreigners. There are now thirteen of these Grants, including a large portion of Texas, to wit: Zavala, Burnet and Vehlein — now formed into the Galveston Bay company — Austin’s, Milam’s, Robertson’s, Cameron’s, Dewitt’s, De Leon’s, Felisola’s, McMullen’s and McGloin’s, Powers’ and Beal’s. On all these Grants, more or less settlements have been made, and therefore, the population is scattered over an extent of country out of all proportion to their numbers. The large tract granted to each individual, tends to the same result. In riding through regions called settled, a person may not find a house in thirty or forty miles; but generally from ten to twenty. I believe there are from forty to fifty thousand inhabitants in Texas; and a large proportion of them are Americans. A person may travel all day; and day after day, and find Americans only. He can hardly make himself believe that he is not still in the United States.

The exports of Texas are cotton, live-stock and peltries. The cotton and peltries are sent either by Natchitoches, or by shipping through the Gulf of Mexico, to New-Orleans. The live-stock — cattle, horses and mules, are driven by land across the country to Natchez or New-Orleans. The cost of driving is trifling. Plenty of grass is found all the way for the stock; and the drivers carry their provisions, shoot game, &c. and camp down near wood and water by the side of a fire, and cook their meals.

In this manner, a fellow traveller and myself camped out two or three nights. It was quite a novelty to me to sleep in the open air; but the people here think nothing of it. The wolves made rather too much noise, for me to sleep quietly. One night, they awaked me out of a sound sleep, by their discordant yells; I jumped up, dashed a club or two at them, and off they went over the prairies. Our provisions were what they sought, I presume, and not us.

The inhabitants are, many of them, what our northern people would call rather indolent. Occasionally, I found a good farm, large plantation and fine herds of cattle, and all the comforts of life within their dwellings; but more generally, the traveller only finds the log house, built in an open, rude manner, with only one room, where he and the family lodge together; and perhaps only corn-bread, meat and sweet potatoes to eat. I called at some places where they had twenty or thirty cows, and could get neither butter, cheese, or milk. They let the calves run with the cows, and seldom milk them at all. I did not find butter at half of the places where I called; and obtained cheese only once in Texas. At only three places I found wheat bread.

Although the climate is suitable to the production of Indian corn, yet it is not cultivated to any extent. The reason is, stock is raised with less trouble, and cotton is thought to be a more profitable crop. There is hardly enough corn raised for the consumption of the inhabitants; it, therefore, bears a high price. At St. Felipe, it was a dollar a bushel; and at Velasco on the mouth of the Brazos river, I saw a bushel of shelled corn sold for two dollars!

Thus it is; man seems disinclined to “till the ground,” and by “the sweat of his face,” to obtain his bread. It often happens, where the earth produces in abundance with little labor, that little is indifferently performed, so that all the comforts and conveniences of life are less enjoyed, than in more sterile soils, and unpropitious climes. Man will “mid flowing vineyards die of thirst.” Where nature has done almost all, and scattered her favors without stint, man will not stretch forth his hand, and gather her rich bounties. It is not universally so. There are many exceptions to this in Texas. In many instances, the comforts of life are enjoyed there to perfection. Man may not be censured, for not performing severe bodily labor, if he can well provide for himself and those dependent upon him, without it; but life could not have been given, to be spent in listless idleness. A vast field of usefulness is open to the active man; and he may do much good in his day and generation, other than toil for gain.

But another inducement is held out to the emigrant to settle in Texas, besides the beauty of the country and productiveness of the soil. It is the cheapness of the land. This is no small consideration. A man with a family obtains a Spanish league of land, amounting to four thousand four hundred and twenty-eight English acres, by paying the expense of surveying it, office fees, &c. These expenses amount to one hundred and eleven dollars, with the addition of thirty dollars to the government. So that a man with a family has four thousand four hundred and twenty-eight acres of land for the small sum of one hundred and forty-one dollars. He must make application to an officer, called an empressario, and obtain his consent; which is given in the form of a certificate, stating the name of the family and the quantity of land allowed. This certificate is presented to another officer, called a commissioner, who orders a survey; and when completed, makes a deed from the government to the emigrant. The only condition is, that the land shall be settled upon, within a limited time. The emigrant may make his own selection out of any lands, not previously granted. A single man obtains one quarter of that quantity, with the privilege of having three quarters more, when he is married. And provision is made, that a foreigner, marrying a Mexican woman, may have a league and one third. These terms are, certainly, very liberal. A man here obtains good land, at a cheaper rate, than in any other part of the world.

But the government have lately adopted another method of disposing of their land. A regular land law has been enacted, and various offices have been established for the sale of all the vacant land in the province. A person desirous of purchasing public land, goes to the land office in the district where the land is situated, files a petition for a sale, and obtains an order for a survey. This land is laid off into what is called labors of one hundred and seventy-seven acres each, and an individual may purchase as many labors as he pleases, up to two hundred and seventy-five, which is about equal to fifty thousand English acres. The minimum price is fixed at ten dollars per labor, the purchaser paying the expense of surveying in addition. One third of the purchase money is payable at the time of sale; the remainder in two equal annual instalments; and the new settlers are exempt from the payment of taxes for the term of ten years.

But Texas has some evils, which will be deemed greater or less, according to the particular section of the country the emigrant may happen to come from. But still, they ought in fairness to be stated, that all may judge for themselves. And in the first place there are three kinds of venomous snakes — the great rattlesnake, the moccason snake, and the prairie rattlesnake. The large rattlesnake is not very plenty, and is seldom seen far out in the open prairie. A gentleman who had lived in the country ten years told me he had killed only two in the time. The moccason snake, deemed as poisonous as the rattlesnake, seems to be more plenty; but they are not found except in or near wet, marshy land. A gentleman told me, he had a small marsh near his house which seemed to be a haunt for them, as occasionally he found some near it, and in his door yard. He set half a dozen of his servants to cut down the weeds, and dig a ditch to drain off the water; and in one day they killed forty-three moccason snakes; and he pleasantly added, it was not a very good snake day neither. Perhaps this will be set down as another “snake story;” but my authority is Mr. Elisha Roberts, living on the main road, five miles north of St. Augustine; a very respectable man as I was informed. The prairie rattlesnake is a small one, about a foot in length, similar to that of Illinois. I saw only one in all my wanderings through the country. There are other snakes, not venomous, such as the coach-whip snake, the large black snake, which is here called the “chicken snake,” because it sometimes robs hen’s nests; the glass snake, which if you strike it, will break in a number of places, and some others. Then, there is the tarantula, a large spider; and the stinging lizard, a species of the scorpion, of a reddish color, and about two inches long. The bite of the tarantula and stinging lizard is, in pain and effect, similar to the sting of a bee. There is a weed here, growing all over the country, which is a certain cure for the bite of all these venomous reptiles.

The alligator is found in the rivers of Texas. I saw three, one large one; the other two, small ones. They sometimes catch hogs, as they go down to the water to drink. They will attack a man in the water. A man was seized by one on Little river, while I was in the country, who was swimming across; but he was beaten off by a person near him, on a raft.

Of the animals, there are many — the panther, wolf, wildcat, tiger cat, bear, Mexican hog, antelope, &c. The wolves are the most numerous, and are quite bold and mischievous. I frequently saw them in the day time, and often heard their discordant howl in the night.

One day, as I was riding along alone in the open woods, a panther came out of a small thicket, into the path before me! I knew that retreat would be dangerous; and, therefore, I boldly sung out and pushed forward towards him. He was not disposed to give battle, but leaped off at once into the woods. I was a good deal startled at this sudden appearance of such a powerful, uncaged beast of the forest; but as he appeared to be the most frightened of the two, I ought to be content. The panther is an animal of the size and color of a full grown lioness, but too cowardly to attack his prey in the open field. Like the Indian, he lies in ambush, or sits perched on the branch of a tree, and seizes his victim unawares. Even a small dog has been known to chase him into his favorite retreat on a tree. The bears, generally, take to the dense forest of trees and cane-brake. They catch the full grown hogs, and the wolves take the pigs.

Flies, of various kinds, are found here; and are more troublesome to animals in the warm summer months, than at the north. I saw large sores, caused by them, on cattle, dogs and hogs. An application of mercury is sometimes found necessary to cure them. There is also a wood tick, resembling that on sheep, which fastens itself on animals, but does not appear to do any essential injury.

But last, although not least, in the list of evils, is the ever active moscheto. In the flat country, bordering on the sea and bays, they are indeed dreadful to a northern man. When I was at the mouth of the Brazos, towards the last of December, whether on the beach, in the house, on board the vessel, day and night without cessation, the moschetoes were excessively annoying. Give me a general assortment of alligators, snakes and lizards, rather than subject me to the eternal buzz, and stinging bite of the ever busy moscheto. Other animals may be successfully combatted and subdued; but to fight the moscheto is like “beating the air;” give a blow in front and he is in the rear; brush the rear, and he is in front — and so on all day long. And when you have done, you have only excessively fatigued and perplexed yourself, and left him the uninjured master of the field. The only chance to get rid of such a keen tormentor as this, is to hang yourself, or run away. In the high rolling country, there are less flies and no moschetoes.

There are few remnants of tribes of Indians in the settled region of Texas. They are generally said to be harmless and inoffensive; doing nothing worse than stealing a hog or so, in a neighborly way; so that they may not be entirely forgotten. A woman where I stopped one night, told me that about twenty Indians encamped at the spring near her house; came to the house for meal, and she gave them all she could spare. In the morning, after they were gone, she found they had robbed the yard of all the melons, and taken the fattest shoat she had.

While I was in the country a man was shot at and wounded by an Indian, near Jones’ ferry on the Colorado river. As he was riding along alone over the prairie, he saw a number of Indians by the side of a wood, who beckoned for him to approach. When he had come quite near, happening to cast his eyes towards the wood, he saw an Indian, partly concealed behind a tree, with a gun drawn up in the act of firing. He had only time to throw himself back on his horse, and the ball made a slight flesh wound on his breast. He wheeled, put spurs to his horse and escaped. Whether these were Indians belonging to the settled or unsettled regions of Texas, could not be ascertained.

Between the settlements and the Rocky Mountains, are large tribes of Indians; and detached parties from them, sometimes come down to the border plantations, and steal a few horses. They consider the Spaniards lawful game; but do not care about fighting the Americans. They say, the Americans are a brave people and fight most desperately; and from them, they obtain their chief supplies.

Perhaps my readers may think this rather a formidable array of animals and reptiles. It may appear more so on paper, and at a distance, than in the region where they are found. People of Mississippi, Alabama and Florida, would find themselves at home among them; but to a northern man they might be found somewhat disagreeable at first. — They would, however, soon become so much accustomed to them, that in a short time they would hardly regard them at all. The inhabitants here, from whatever quarter they may have come, do not think they form any serious objection to settling in the country.

While I remained in Texas, I found no serious trouble from the animals, reptiles or insects, except that general enemy to repose, the moscheto, and that only in the lowlands. On the open prairies, there are but few noxious animals, except the wolves. This is owing a good deal, undoubtedly, to the fire running over them twice a year. As the country becomes more settled, they will be less numerous; and some of them will become entirely extinct.

The water, generally, is very good for a southern country. I found many fine springs of pure soft water in various parts of Texas; and in the rolling prairies, good water is obtained by digging. The only objection to it is in its temperature. To me, it was universally too warm to be agreeable. “A cup of cold water” is nowhere to be found in the territory; and to a northern man, in a warm day, it is so refreshing, reviving, invigorating — so readily slakes the thirst, and cools the body, it is almost indispensable to his comfort and enjoyment. Warm water is the common drink of the inhabitants. In the towns, I found the various kinds of spirits and wine; but in the country, I found no spirits, (except very seldom, whiskey) wine, beer, or cider; but only water — warm water. It must be admitted, that the people are very temperate, if not to drink the ardent be a sure indication of temperance.

There are no large towns in Texas. Bexar, or as it is commonly called, St. Antonio, is the capital, and contains about thirty-five hundred inhabitants — the other villages are small, varying from one hundred to one thousand souls. St. Antonio, like all the Spanish towns, is composed of houses built of logs and mud, and makes a squalid appearance. It is situated about twenty miles east of San Antonio river. The principal towns are, Nacogdoches, St. Augustine; and on Galveston Bay, Harrisburg and Lynchburg: on the Brazos — Velasco, Brazoria, Columbia, St. Felipe, and a new town in Robinson’s colony at the falls: Cole’s Settlement, fifteen miles west of the Brazos: on the Colorado — Metagorda, Montezuma, Electra, Bastrap, or Mina: on the Gaudalupe — Gonsales: on the San Antonio — Goliad, (formerly Bahia,) and Bexar: in Powell’s Grant — St. Patrick: on the Rio Grande, or Rio del Norte — Refugio, Metamoras, Reinosa, Camargo, Mier, Revilla, Laredo, Presidio and the city of Doloros.

A new town is laid out at the falls on the Brazos river in Robinson’s colony, about two hundred and fifty miles from its mouth. This is the place where the land office is kept for this colony, and will become quite a village. But the country is not now settled enough to make or support large towns. It must be the work of time. Although men may lay out a town, and commence building it, yet it cannot prematurely be forced into existence. It must have a back settlement to support it. The merchant and mechanic cannot sell, unless there are some inhabitants to buy.

The Spaniards, more than one hundred and fifty years ago, built some small towns in Texas, the principal of which are St. Antonio, Nacogdoches and La Bahia. These became something of villages; but for twenty years their population has continually diminished; and the country at large does not contain half the Spanish inhabitants that it did at that time. They, like the Indians, dwindle away, or flee before the settlements of the Americans.

The Mexican government had three garrisons of soldiers stationed in Texas — one at Nacogdoches, one on Galveston Bay, and one at Velasco, at the mouth of the Brazos. Some of the commanders of these garrisons, attempted to exercise despotic powers, in seizing Americans who had become obnoxious to them, and putting them in prison. About two years ago, their conduct became so oppressive, that the citizens rose en masse, killed some of the soldiers, and took the remainder prisoners. The Mexican government then recalled all the officers and soldiers, and there has not been a Mexican garrison in Texas since.

The inhabitants of the country pay no taxes at all. It is said that the lands are exempt from taxation for ten years to come. All articles imported for the private use of the emigrant, are free of duty; and in fact, a great portion of the merchandize pays none. When I left the Brazos river, there was no custom house officer upon it; and a number of vessel loads of goods were landed, without being required to pay any duty.

Almost all kinds of goods afford a good profit and a ready sale in Texas; especially domestic cottons, boots, shoes, hats and ready made clothing. Coffee is used in large quantities, but I did not find hardly a cup of tea in the whole country. It is not a good place for mechanics. Manufactured articles of all kinds are brought from the north, and sold cheaper than they can be made here; and the country is too thinly settled, and the raw material is too scarce, to give much employment to artisans of what is called custom work, such as shoemakers, tailors, &c. Blacksmiths, however, are an exception to this. They are indispensable, although there are now but few of them. The price charged for shoeing a horse is from three to four dollars.

Texas is connected with Cohahuila, and both form one province of the Mexican Confederacy. But lately, they have been made into separate judicial districts; each having its own courts and officers. In Texas their proceedings in court and the records, are in the English language; but land titles are still written in the Spanish. The laws are liberal; they guarantee the freedom of religious opinion and a trial by jury. Courts are held in St. Felipe, Nacogdoches, St. Augustine, Bastrap, &c. The government is elective and republican. I attended an election of sheriff and other county officers. They vote viva voce, as the practice is in many of our southern States. To be an inhabitant of the country, is all the qualification necessary to become a voter.

Physicians are occasionally found in the country, and there are a small number of lawyers located in the principal towns. There are but few preachers of the gospel, and I believe no meeting houses, except some decayed Roman Catholic churches.

The country needs more professional men. It opens a fine field for enterprising men in any profession. The wheels of government in Texas move quietly along. The storms which agitate and distract the city of Mexico and its vicinity, spend their force before they reach that province. I think, the government forms no serious objection to forming a settlement in the country.

But in a new and thinly settled country, the laws, however wise and good, cannot always be enforced. Magistrates and executive officers are few, and courts often at a distance. The new settlers, therefore, sometimes take the law into their own hands; and although they may not inflict the same punishment the law enjoins, I believe they generally do substantial justice. As an instance of the kind, I will state a case that happened on the bank of the Colorado river. A man settled there, who proved to be a notorious thief. He stole cattle, horses, hogs, or any thing he could lay his hands on. His neighbors resolved to endure his depredations no longer, and gave him notice to depart from that section of the country, or abide the consequences. After waiting awhile, and learning that he intended to remain, some half dozen of his neighbors went to his house in the evening, took him to a tree, and gave him thirty-nine lashes, well laid on. They then told him that the punishment should be repeated every week, as long as he remained in the neighborhood. Before a week came round, he left that section of the country, and has not been heard of since.

In the interior of the country, there is a salt lake, from which a load of fine salt may be obtained in a short time; and appears to be inexhaustible. A small stream runs from this to the Brazos river, and sometimes renders its waters too brackish for use.

By the laws, slavery is not allowed in the province; but this law is evaded by binding the negroes by indenture for a term of years. You will, therefore, find negro servants, more or less, all over the country; but more, on the lowlands, towards the bays and seacoast. Large cotton plantations, in this section of the country, are cultivated by negroes; and here also are found some good houses and rich farmers.

Texas lies between the twenty-seventh and thirty-fourth degrees of north latitude; and between sixteen degrees thirty minutes, and twenty-seven degrees west longitude from Washington; and contains probably about one hundred and fifty thousand square miles — as large as all New-England and the State of New-York. It is bounded, east by the Sabine river and a line drawn due north from its head waters to Red River — south, by the Gulf of Mexico — west, by the river Neuces, Rio del Norte, and the Cordillera mountains — north, by the Red River, until it hits its eastern boundary.

More than half of the country is prairie. The margin of the streams and the moist highlands are covered with a fine growth of timber. All the seacoast and on the bays, there is a strip of low, level land, extending seventy miles into the country. The prairies are here very rich, but too level to be pleasant or healthy. The remainder of Texas is high, dry and gently undulating; but not mountainous. Between the rivers Sabine and Trinity, are extensive, gently undulating, sandy plains, generally covered with a good growth of pitch pine; but occasionally covered with post-oaks, hickory, &c. Among these, are interspersed small prairies of good land; sometimes having a black soil, but generally of a reddish cast, and occasionally of a deep red. From the river Trinity to the western line of the State, are high, rolling, beautiful prairies of all sizes and shapes imaginable. So beautiful are these prairies, that the imagination cannot paint a more delightful scene. Cultivation, however nicely performed, will rather mar, than add to their beauty. They are surrounded with a dense forest of trees; sometimes two or three miles in depth, and sometimes only of a few yards. On the highlands, or elevated plains, are frequently found oak-openings, similar to those of Michigan and Illinois. Texas, with the exception of the pine plains, may with truth be said to possess a deep, rich soil of black marl.

That portion of the country lying between the Colorado river and Louisiana, is subject to powerful rains in the fall and spring; but as you go southward and westward towards the city of Mexico, the rains become less frequent, and not so abundant. About two months in summer, it is generally quite dry; sometimes, so severe is the drought that vegetation withers, and the grass on the prairies becomes dry. To the southward of Texas, the Spaniards irrigate their lands to make them produce a more abundant crop. The planting season is so early, (from the first to the middle of February,) that all the crops, except cotton and sugar cane, come to maturity before the dry weather commences; and these get such a vigorous start in this luxuriant soil, that they are seldom materially injured by the drought.

The roads are all in a state of nature; yet so smooth is the surface, and so gently undulating is the face of the country, that in dry weather, better roads are not found any where. A person, however, often meets with moist bottom land, and streams difficult to pass. In the wet season, travelling is more disagreeable and difficult; and sometimes impracticable, on account of the swollen, rapid streams of water.

Although carriages run without difficulty all over the country, yet the inhabitants have not yet introduced pleasure carriages. The mode of travelling is on horseback; but women and children often go in a baggage wagon drawn by oxen. Baggage wagons are quite numerous, but I found only one pleasure carriage in the whole province, and that was a gig-wagon.

Emigrants are continually pouring into Texas, both by sea and by land, and from every section of the United States. The southerners generally choose the lowlands bordering on the bays and Gulf; but the northern people prefer the high lands in the interior. If emigration continues, it will soon contain a very respectable population.

I found some of the emigrants disappointed, discontented and unhappy; and I met one man on his return to the land from whence he came. He was from Tennessee, had moved into Texas with his family and a small portion of his goods in a wagon; but they all did not like the country so well as the one they had left, and unanimously agreed to return. It was a tedious and expensive journey, but not altogether useless. It will teach them more highly to prize their own country, neighborhood and privileges, and induce them to spend the remainder of their days with contented minds.

Before a man with a family makes up his mind to emigrate to a new, unsettled and distant country, he ought well to consider of the subject. Emigration, like matrimony, ought to be fully considered; as a bad move in this particular, is attended by many evils, and cannot well be remedied. In the first place, it is the best way to “let well enough alone.” If an individual be well settled in life, has profitable employment, well supports himself and family and gains a little every year, dwells in an agreeable neighborhood, has the privilege of sending his children to school, and of attending public worship, why should he wish to remove? Why should he wish to go into the wilderness, endure the fatigues of a long journey, and the many hardships and deprivations, necessarily attendant upon a removal to the most favored spot in the new world? This life is too short and uncertain to be spent in making doubtful experiments. It is wise, to live where we can be the most useful and happy ourselves, and where we have the fairest prospect of rendering others so, with whom we are connected.

But the young man who has no lucrative employment, and the married man who has to labor hard to gain a scanty subsistence for himself and family, would do well to go to the rich prairies of the south or west. He ought to be careful not to be too much elated with the prospect before him, for disappointment, fatigue and suffering most assuredly await him. It is not “a light thing” to travel with a family of goods two or three thousand miles. — He ought to accustom his mind to dwell upon hardship and suffering, before he commences his journey. Young says —

“Our only lesson is to learn to suffer;
And he who knows not that, was born for nothing.”

But on his arrival at his location in the new world, however fine, rich and elegant the situation may be, he will feel disappointed and sad. This is perfectly natural; and although some may have too much pride to acknowledge it, yet they all have a strangeness of feeling pervading their breasts, that is sometimes painful in the extreme. Perhaps the emigrant had never before travelled far from the smoke of his father’s dwelling, and had spent his life hitherto in the neighborhood where he was born, and where his early and innocent attachments were formed. He now finds himself in a new country, far away from the ever-to-be-remembered scenes of his childhood, and he looks abroad upon the world around him, in sadness of heart; for it is a world, however beautiful it may be, that is a stranger to him, and with which he has no sympathy. Not to feel, under such circumstances as these, indicates something more or less than man. And this strange, lonely feeling is hardly softened down and mitigated, by the well known fact, that his new location is far superior to the one he has left. The inhabitants of Nantucket are proverbially attached to that island of sand, and are discontented and unhappy in the most fertile towns and beautiful villages on the continent.

The emigrant ought to think of all these things, before he leaves his native village. But when he has become located in the new world, it will not do to shrink back and despond. He must brace himself to the task before him, and cheer up his family, who in fact need some cheering, for exchanging a well built house and pleasant associates, for the rude log hut and wild beasts of the forests. They will all soon become acquainted with the new world and form new associations. A well built house will shortly take the place of the rude cabin, and emigrants will settle near them, to whom they will become attached. The rich fields will produce an abundant harvest, and large herds of cattle will be seen feeding on the luxuriant grass. He will soon gain a competency, live at ease, and become contented and happy.

The inhabitants have a strong belief that Texas will at some future day become one of the United States; but I think this, extremely doubtful. It is more probable, that it will in time become an independent sovereignty. It is now one of the Mexican States, and the seat of the general government is in the city of Mexico. The confederacy is composed of quite a number of States, and Texas sends its due proportion of representatives to the general Congress, to make laws for the whole. These States have never been well agreed in their form of government, or in the men for rulers. Revolutions, and counter-revolutions, have been the order of the day at the seat of the general government; but Texas is too much settled by Americans, and is too far removed from these intestine commotions to be much affected by them.

Col. Stephen F. Austin, to whom the first colony was granted, and who has been the indefatigable pioneer in the settlement of Texas, has generally been its representative in the general government. In the spring of 1834, he was at the seat of government, but so great were the divisions that little business could be done. He considered the country in a state of revolution, and wrote home to a friend of his, that he believed Texas had better take care of itself and form a government of its own. This friend proved treacherous, enclosed his letter to the President, and sent it to the city of Mexico. It was received just after Col. Austin had left the city on his return home. He was pursued, arrested, brought back and put in prison. He was for awhile kept in close confinement; and then, let out on his giving bonds to confine himself to the limits of the city. When I was in Texas, it was believed, he would shortly be liberated, and was daily expected home; but I have since learned, that he was not liberated until some months after my return.

It requires not the gift of prophecy to tell what the end of these things will be. Texas will become tired of belonging to such a discordant confederacy; and when their population shall have sufficiently increased to insure success, will throw off the yoke, and form a government of their own. But at all events, it will soon be disjoined from Cohahuila, establish its own State government, and elect its own officers. The seat of government will probably be San Felipe, on the Brazos river.

In some publications the people of Texas have been slandered. They have been called a set of robbers and murderers, screening themselves from justice, by fleeing from their own country and coming to this. It would be strange, indeed, if there were not such instances; but whoever travels over the country, will find them as pleasant, obliging and kind as any people in the United States. In the towns, you generally find a billiard room; and near it, a race-course. At these resorts, are found the favorite amusements of the inhabitants. I went all through the country, unarmed and unharmed; nor did I at any time feel in jeopardy of life or limb. Their most prominent fault is, in being too fond of pastime and hunting, to the neglect of tilling the land, building decent houses, and procuring the conveniences of life.

The most healthy and pleasant portions of Texas are in the regions of Nacogdoches; in the rolling country between the Brazos and Colorado; and southward and westward of the latter river — in Beal’s Grant, near the Rio del Norte; and high up on the Brazos and its branches, in Robinson’s colony. But neither Galveston Bay, nor the flat country all along the seacoast, is the place for a northern man. It is too much infested with alligators, moccason snakes and moschetoes. It is more suitable for southern planters, to be cultivated by the blacks.

But whoever emigrates with his family to Texas, let him, at all events, carry with him bread stuffs to last six months; for there is no wheat raised in the country, and only a small crop of corn for the supply of its own inhabitants. Of course, bread stuffs are always dear, and sometimes unattainable at any price. Cattle and hogs are plenty, and wild game abundant, so that he could supply himself with meat in this country.

The emigrant had better buy his cattle and horses here; for those brought from a more northern climate do not thrive well, and often die. A good serviceable horse may be bought for, from twenty to thirty dollars; a cow with a calf by her side, for ten dollars; and a yoke of oxen for about thirty dollars. The land is ploughed by oxen, horses and mules; but journeys for the transportation of merchandize are performed by oxen.

There is a mail running from the city of Mexico, through St. Felipe, as far as Nacogdoches; but as the United States mail goes no farther than Fort Jessup, the two mails do not meet each other, by seventy-five miles. There is, therefore, no mail connection between the United States and Texas. This is a serious inconvenience, and must shortly be remedied. The only chance to send a letter either way, is by a private conveyance. This is generally done by the captains of vessels.

The currency is silver and gold coin, bills of the United States Bank and those of New Orleans. — Copper coins are not found in circulation at the south and west. Texas has no bank of its own.

Thus much for my general view of Texas. I have endeavored to give a true account of the country as it appeared to me. Perhaps it may not be altogether acceptable to landholders and speculators. Be that as it may, I believe I have performed an acceptable service to the emigrant, by giving him a fair account of the country; and one that he will find to be a true one, in all its essential particulars, on his arrival. Live stock, cotton and sugar are and will be the great staples of the country — grain will be of secondary consideration.

What, then, is the conclusion of the whole matter? Is Texas a desirable place for a northern man? My opinion is, that if a northern man would locate himself in the highlands of the country, he would enjoy health as well as at the north; procure all the necessaries and conveniences of life much easier; and might, in time, become independently rich. I do think he would find the climate more pleasant, and more congenial to his feelings, than a northern one; and his life probably attended by more enjoyments.

I have been frequently asked, what particular spot in Texas is the most desirable for an emigrant to settle in? My answer is, I cannot tell. And whoever travels over the country, will be as much puzzled to tell as I am. The fact is, there are hundreds of places offering about the same inducements — all pleasant, healthy and agreeable. Among them, it is quite immaterial what particular one the emigrant may select. I saw an emigrant who had been in the country almost a year, and he had been riding over it the chief part of the time, and still was unable to make a selection. He said there were so many fine situations, so nearly alike, that he found it difficult to give a decided preference to any particular one. When he will be able to make up his mind, and decide the question, I know not. The last time I saw him, he was still on the wing; and for aught I know, he may keep in motion as long as the far-famed Boston traveller, Peter Rugg, or the Flying Dutchman, and never be able to find a spot of ground for a permanent abode! But this emigrant is not to be “sneezed at.” Questions of far less importance have agitated the world; and who knows, but that the destiny of the country, as well as his own, eminently depends upon his particular location!

Again — I have been enquired of, what can a man do to make property in Texas? I answer, he can go into trade in some of the villages, and make large profits upon his goods. He can go on to a plantation, and raise cotton, sugar, corn, or stock — any or all of these are easily raised, and find a ready market. This is what he may do; but what he will do, is altogether uncertain. He may become as indolent and inattentive to business, as many of the inhabitants of the country. He may spend his time in hunting, at the race-course, and at the billiard table. Here, at the north, the great anxiety is, how we shall live — wherewithal we shall be clothed, and how we can turn a penny to “ gain” there, the great concern is, how they shall employ themselves to kill time. Here, we struggle hard to live; there, they strive hard not to live. Here, we live in spite of nature; there, nature makes them live in spite of themselves. Could an emigrant know what course he would take on settling in Texas, he could then tell, whether it would be better to go or remain. I have spread the country open before him; let him judge for himself. And fortunate is he, who gives heed to the experience of others, and makes a wise choice.

I concluded to return to the north by water. I procured a conveyance from the interior to St. Felipe on horseback; and here I learnt that there was a schooner sixty miles down the river at Columbia, bound to New-Orleans, which would sail in a few days. I could find no conveyance to Columbia, either by land or water. I found a wagon going down for merchandize, on which I put my baggage; and in company with another gentleman, whom I found in the same predicament with myself, started off on foot.

St. Felipe is the head quarters of Austin’s colony. It is a small village, on a high prairie, immediately on the south bank of the Brazos river, nearly one hundred miles from the sea. It stands on the first high land you come to on the river; and at this spot the high rolling country commences. Its situation is beautiful and commanding. It has two taverns, four or five stores, a court house, and perhaps twenty dwelling houses; but there are only two or three good looking buildings in the place. The opposite side of the river is low, and covered with a heavy growth of timber.

St. Felipe, like most of the southern villages, is not without its billiard room; and its usual, I might say invariable accompaniment, the grog shop. — Billiards is a pleasant and manly game enough; and good exercise for a sedentary man; and if indulged in only for amusement, is as innocent as any recreation whatever. It is a game much played in the middle and southern portions of the United States; and men of the first respectability are found at the table. But in this section of the country, it cannot be recommended as a safe place for recreation. It is generally used as a mere gambling apparatus; and a person meets with a class of society not the most civil, sober and peaceable.

Not long since, a young man played with an old gambler, until he became tired, and started off. The gambler came out at the door, and called him back; but finding he could not induce him to return, out of mere wantonness and sport, commenced throwing brickbats at him. The young man was a cripple, and could neither run, nor successfully contend with his athletic opponent. He bore it as long as he could, then drew a pistol and shot him through the body. He fell dead upon the spot, without uttering a word. He had been an overbearing, troublesome fellow, and his death was the cause of joy rather than sorrow.

One night, while I was at St. Felipe, two young men returned from a bloody affray, thirty miles down the river. Early the next morning, two other men, fully armed, entered the town in pursuit, and paraded the streets in hostile array. I enquired into the history of the case, and found the following particulars.

Sometime previous, one of the young men paid his addresses to a young lady, and was engaged to be married. He went to the north on some mercantile business; and during his absence, another young man by the name of Thompson, commenced his particular attentions to the young lady; and the match was strongly advocated by his father. On his return from the north, he and another young man who had married a sister of the lady in question, payed a visit to her father’s — stayed all night, and started in the forenoon, to return to St. Felipe. One of them was in a light gig-wagon, the other on horseback. They had proceeded but a few miles when they heard the clattering of horses’ feet, at full speed, behind them. On looking round, they saw young Thompson’s father, and a doctor of the neighborhood, in close pursuit, with pistols in hand. The young men were also armed; and immediately shots were exchanged by both parties. But such was the hurry and agitation of the moment, that none took effect. They all dismounted at once, and at it they went, in a desperate contest for life and death. The doctor, not liking this part of the game, or not feeling exactly brave on the occasion, was contented to stand aloof, and see the battle rage. Old Thompson was a powerful man, and about an equal match for both of his opponents. He laid about him like a giant; and sometimes had one grounded, and then the other; and apparently, would shortly gain the victory over them both. At length, he knocked one down, and seemed determined to despatch him at once. He seized him by the throat, and called upon the doctor for a knife. The other young man saw at a glance the critical state of the contest — he jumped to the wagon, took out a loaded gun, just in time to stop the doctor, by his threats, from handing the knife, then took deliberate aim at Thompson, and shot him through the body. Thompson fell back, said he was a dead man, and expired in a few minutes. The doctor ran to his horse, mounted and fled with all convenient speed. The young men, having been rather roughly handled, were considerably bruised, although not seriously injured. They picked up the deadly weapons of the battle-field, as trophies of victory, and made the best of their way to St. Felipe.

In a short time, the doctor, young Thompson and some others, came to the battle-ground, and carried home the dead body; and without waiting to attend the funeral, young Thompson and the doctor started after the young men, to avenge his death. It caused no small stir at St. Felipe, when they arrived, and paraded the streets fully armed, and breathing out threatenings. The young men took to a store, and with arms in their hands, awaited the result. The civil authority, however, interfered. The young men gave themselves up to the custody of the law, and Thompson and the doctor were persuaded to go home, and abide a trial by jury.

It is no pleasure to me to give an account of such lawless battles; but as a faithful chronicler of events I could not pass them over in silence. Texas, however, is not more the theatre of them, than many places in the United States. If the value of an article is enhanced in proportion to its scarcity, it is more excusable to fight for a lady here, than elsewhere; for, according to the best estimate I could make, there are ten men to one woman in the country. And could the surplus maiden population of New-England be induced to emigrate to Texas, they would meet with a cordial reception; and it might prove, not only advantageous to themselves, but highly beneficial to the country.

In two miles from the town, we came to the flat, low country. It was, generally, muddy and very disagreeable and fatiguing to travel over. It was all an open prairie country, except a small skirt of timber immediately on the banks of the little streams; and almost a dead level, except in one place, twelve miles from Columbia. Here, a hundred acres or more rise thirty or forty feet above the general level of the country, and by way of distinction, is called “the mound.” Near the streams, the ground was a little elevated; and at such places, we found houses, and some small improvements, probably, in eight or ten miles of each other. We saw a great many herds of deer, and flocks of wild geese and ducks.

We were almost four days in performing the route; and were excessively fatigued, when we entered the small village of Columbia. This is a new village, having two or three stores, a tavern, and half a dozen dwelling houses. It is situated on a level prairie, two miles from the river, and ten above Brazoria. There is a small village immediately on the bank of the river, called Bell’s Landing; and the space between the two, is low bottom land, heavily covered with timber.

At this landing, vessels come up and unload their merchandize, destined for the upper country. It has a tavern, two stores, a large warehouse, and three or four dwelling houses. Here I was informed, the schooner had dropped down the stream. I stopped over night, and rather than walk, I obtained a log canoe, and a man to paddle me down to Brazoria. The tide sets up a little further than Bell’s Landing, and our boat, having the advantage of its ebb and the current also, floated us down in two hours.

Brazoria is quite a large village. I found some very good buildings, public houses, stores, and as usual, a billiard room. A newspaper is published here, called the Brazoria Gazette; and I believe is the only one printed in all Texas. The situation of the town is low and unpleasant; and subject to the fever and ague. I found a steamboat here, going up the river; but the vessel had gone further down; so we started in the canoe after her; and rowing fifteen miles we found her by the side of the river, taking in bales of cotton. I was glad to get on board the vessel, and be relieved at once from the tediousness and fatigue of pursuit, and from the uncertainty of obtaining a passage to the United States.

The vessel remained here, until the next day, when we sailed with a light breeze down the stream. The river is very crooked, so that it is twice as far from Brazoria to its mouth by water, as it is by land. We had to tie the vessel up to a tree at night, as it was too dark to proceed. The next day in the afternoon, we hauled up again, on account of a head wind. The mate stept ashore to spend the time in hunting. The river is lined with timber on both sides, about a mile in width; and then, the country is generally an open, level prairie. The mate became entirely bewildered and lost; could not find his way back to the vessel; and was obliged to camp out for the night. In the morning, the captain sent scouts in various directions after him; but they all returned without success. The captain concluded he must have gone towards the mouth of the river; so he hoisted sail and started on. Nearly noon, the mate made his appearance on the river bank, nearly opposite the vessel; and the captain sent his boat for him. He was quite exhausted. — He had wandered about almost the whole time, and could neither find a house, road or river. He said he never had been used to hunting; but he could not conceive why people were so fond of it, as it was much more pain than pleasure to him. ’Every one to his trade.’ A hunter would have found as little pleasure on the ocean, as the sailor did on the land. This hunting expedition afforded no little merriment to the captain and crew, at his expense, during the voyage.

The timber on the river banks became less, as we descended; and for five miles above the mouth, there is none at all. A small town called Velasco is situated on the sandy beach, at the river’s mouth — containing one public house, two stores, four or five dwelling houses, and the ruins of an old Spanish fort. We stayed two days here, waiting for a fair wind to cross the bar. I frequently amused myself by walking for miles on the sandy beach, and picking up some of the pretty shells among the millions that lay scattered along. It is as fine a walk as a pensive maiden, in contemplative mood, could desire. On the one hand, is the ever-toiling ocean, whose waves break upon the sand bars, and in giddy globes of foam, lash the shore, and spend their force beneath your feet: on the other, a low, sandy bluff, and then an extended lawn, stretching far away into the interior, and its utmost verge skirted with stately forest trees; and the pathway itself, smooth, hard and level, and bedecked with countless beautiful shells of various sizes, shapes and hues.

The Brazos is an unpleasant stream. Its waters are at all times muddy; its banks are generally low and present a raw edge to the eye as you pass along; and in many places the navigation is rendered difficult, by reason of the many snags. At its mouth, there is a bar, generally having not more than five or six feet of water; and the channel so narrow that a vessel can only pass through with a fair wind. Three vessels had been wrecked on the coast the past season. The remains of two of them, lay in sight partly buried in the sand.

In the spring, the waters of all the streams in Texas are high, and bring down from the upper country, large quantities of timber. The mouth of the Brazos, and a long distance on the seashore, is lined with large masses of trees; and from this source the inhabitants of Velasco obtain their fuel.

One morning, near the last of December, the captain announced a fair wind. He weighed anchor, hoisted sail, and with a stiff breeze pushed out to sea. The vessel only drew five feet water, yet she touched three or four times on the bar; but did no apparent damage. I stood upon the deck, until the land, trees and houses faded away in the distance.

Texas, like a beautiful damsel, has many charms and attractions, but is not entirely faultless. Indeed, there is no such place as a perfect elysium on earth. And those who have formed their opinion of the country from some of the many late publications concerning it, will feel some disappointment on their arrival. But its many beauties will hide a multitude of faults; or render them light and easily borne. I must say of Texas, as Cowper said of England, “with all its faults, I like it still;” and although I had experienced some hardships and inconveniences while in the country, yet its mild climate, pleasant streams, and enchanting “fields of living green,” I left at last with serious regret.

The fall of the year is the best time to move into Texas; or into any of the western States. There are four good reasons to give for this preference: 1st. It is then better travelling; both on account of the dryness of the roads, and the mild temperature of the weather — neither too hot or too cold. 2d. It is more healthy on the road — not so much danger of contracting disease on the way; and to be there at the opening of the spring, and become accustomed to the climate and warm weather by degrees, there will be a fairer prospect of continued health. 3d. It is the time of the year when provisions are the most plenty and cheapest; an emigrant can, therefore, the more readily supply himself on the road, and after his arrival. 4th. It is the shortest time a person can be in the country, and raise a crop the ensuing season. To arrive in October, or the first of November, he will have plenty of time to build a log house, split out rails and fence in a field by the coming spring, so as to raise a crop. — Were he to go in the spring, he would be obliged to support himself and family a whole year before he could get a crop into the ground.

To go from the north to Texas, the better way is to take a passage on board a vessel bound to Galveston Bay, the river Brazos, or the Colorado. But if a vessel cannot readily be found, going direct to Texas, a passage may be taken to New-Orleans; and from thence, a person can go up the Red River to Natchitoches, and across the country; or by water through the Gulf, to almost any port on the bays and rivers. The distance from Boston by water, is three thousand miles; by land, it is not quite so far. From the city of New-York, vessels frequently may be found going direct to Texas. The most convenient places for landing in Texas are Harrisburg, on Galveston Bay; Velasco, at the mouth of the Brazos, and Metagorda at the mouth of the Colorado. It would be advisable to get a protection, more especially, if a person goes by water.

Speculation — ever busy, active speculation, pervades the world. It rages with violence in Maine, disturbs the quiet villages of New-England, keeps the western world alive, and visits the shores of Texas. I was at a loss to know how speculation could get hold of Texas lands; for they are only granted to the actual settler and only one grant given to each. Human ingenuity has devised a plan. When an emigrant arrives in the country, he is met by a land speculator, who tells him he knows of a good location, and if he will go and settle on it, he shall have one half of the league for nothing. The land is entered at the land office in the emigrant’s name, the speculator pays the fees, and takes a deed of one half, from the emigrant. This is not the worst kind of speculation in the world. It, probably, may prove beneficial to both parties. The emigrant at least, seems to have no cause for complaint. He gets twenty three hundred acres of land, as much as he can ever cultivate, and pays nothing at all for it.

We had four passengers on board; two of whom were afflicted with that lingering disease called the fever and ague. They had resided a few months in the lowlands of Texas, and became so severely afflicted, they were returning to the United States for health. The other was a physician, who had gone up the river as far as Columbia; did not like the country and was on his return home to Tennessee. I informed him, he had not seen the most desirable portion of the country. And such was the fact. — But he had read some of the descriptions of the “beautiful river Brazos and the fine country adjacent,” and was thereby completely deceived.

A sea voyage is always unpleasant to me. The wind blew a strong breeze, the waves rolled high, and made our vessel dance over them like a feather. We all became dreadfully sea sick. It is a terrible feeling; and those afflicted with it, probably endure as much excruciating pain and distress, as the human system is capable of sustaining. In two days, the wind abated in a measure, and the sea became comparatively smooth. We crawled out upon deck, our sickness abated, and soon left us entirely.

On the fifth day, just at night, we saw the light at the southwest pass of the Mississippi. It soon became dark, and the captain in attempting to enter the mouth of the river, run the vessel aground near the shore. A scene here occurred, that somewhat startled us. We were in the cabin and felt the vessel strike and heard the waves dash against her. — We ran up on deck, and there saw the captain seated upon the windlass, writhing in agony, and groaning like one in despair! The idea struck us in a moment, that the captain saw our danger to be imminent, the vessel would dash in pieces, and we must all perish. But we were immediately relieved from our apprehensions. In the darkness of the night, and hurry of the moment, the captain had been thrown across the pump, and severely injured; and it was from actual pain of body, rather than anguish of mind that made him groan so bitterly. We did not, however, feel entirely at ease. We were exposed to the open sea; and if the wind should rise, and blow hard on shore, the vessel must be dashed to pieces, and we escape the best way we could.

But we were highly favored. The wind died away and the sea became quite calm. We retired to our berths, and slept quietly. In the morning, we carried out an anchor; at flood tide, hauled the vessel off; a steamboat took us in tow, and at the dinner hour, we were gallantly gliding up the river. So change the scenes of life.

The Mississippi steam tow-boats have engines of immense power. Our boat had six vessels in tow, and it carried us along at the rate of four miles an hour, against the strong current of the river. From the mouth of the Mississippi to New-Orleans is one hundred and fifteen miles, and we performed the trip in about twenty-eight hours. The price charged for towing up the river is a dollar a ton; and the amount the boat received from all the vessels was about five hundred dollars. The vessels are towed down stream for half price and sometimes less.

Fifteen miles from the sea, the Mississippi divides itself into three channels, each having a lighthouse near the mouth; but the southwest pass is the only one in which ships can enter when loaded. The river continually pushes its banks further out to sea. They are formed of mud and logs, and soon become covered with a rank growth of rushes.

The banks of the river are low, and too wet for cultivation, for fifty miles from the sea. Soon after passing fort Jackson, which is about forty miles up the river, we came to sugar plantations on both sides, and these continued to the city of New-Orleans. On many of these large plantations we saw elegant houses, surrounded by orange trees, loaded with fruit. In the rear, sugar houses, and steam mills for grinding the cane, and long rows of neat looking negro houses; and large stacks of rice standing near them. The planters were all busily engaged in making sugar; and we saw armies of negroes in the fields, cutting and transporting the cane to the mills. January had already commenced, yet there had been no frost to destroy vegetation, and the cane looked as green as in midsummer. The crop of sugar was unusually large, and of an excellent quality.

The sugar cane, in size, stalk and leaf very much resembles the southern corn. It has, however, no spindles at the top like a corn stalk, but terminates in a tuft of long leaves. It does not appear to produce any seed in this country but the crop is annually renewed, by planting short slips of the stalk. Its juice is sweet, pleasant and nutritious. — The negroes are very fond of chewing the stalk; and I saw some bundles of it at the vegetable market in New-Orleans for sale. When the cane comes to maturity, it is cut up and ground with smooth nuts, which in fact only compress the stalk, and force out the juice. This is caught in a large trough underneath, and undergoes the same process of boiling in large kettles, as the sap of a northern maple, when made into sugar. When the boiling is completed, the sugar is put into a large cistern full of holes in the bottom, where it remains a number of days, that all the molasses that will, may drain out. It is then put into hogsheads and sent to market.

On the eastern bank of the Mississippi, stands the city of New-Orleans. It is regularly laid out, chiefly built of brick, has many fine blocks of buildings, large houses and handsome streets; but its site is too low for it to appear to advantage, or to render it pleasant and agreeable. It stretches two miles along the river bank; and for that distance, the levee is lined with triple and quadruple rows of vessels, steamboats and flat-boats; all having their particular location by themselves. The trade of New-Orleans is immense. By the weekly shipping register, it appeared there were two hundred and thirty-four vessels in port. The levee is loaded with bales of cotton, barrels of pork and flour, hogsheads of hams, kegs of lard and hogsheads of sugar and molasses. It is a place of great business, bustle and blandishment; and of dissipation, disease and death.

As I passed along by its muddy pavements and putrid gutters, and saw the many gambling houses, grog shops, oyster shops, and houses of riot and debauchery, surely, thought I, there are many things here exceedingly offensive, both to the physical and moral man. And when I saw the motley throngs, hurrying on to these haunts of vice, corruption and crime, I almost instinctively exclaimed, in the words of the immortal bard —

But here, the career of the debauchee is short. — The poisonous atmosphere soon withers and wastes away his polluted life’s blood. Death follows close upon the heels of crime; and one need stand but a short time at the charnel house, to behold cartloads of his victims, hurried on, “unwept, unhonored and unsung,” to their last home!

Life seems to be valued by its possessor, in proportion to the strength of the tenure by which it is held. When danger becomes imminent, and life’s termination apparently near, instead of making the most of its short duration, man improvidently throws it away, as of no value; or suppresses all apprehension of the future, by rushing headlong into the wildest excesses of dissipation and crime. This is sometimes exemplified in the sailor. When perils thicken around and death stares him in the face, instead of summoning all his powers into action, and bravely contending to the last, he attempts to shut his eyes upon impending ruin, by stupifying the body, and ignobly surrenders life without a struggle. On no other principle, can I account for the excesses of New-Orleans. In its best estate, it is emphatically a place of disease and death. Its atmosphere is pestiferous. It is felt so to be, and so considered by its citizens. One might suppose, amid the ravages of disease and death, a man would think seriously and live soberly. That if his days were to be very few, he would make them all count, and tell to the greatest advantage. But the inhabitants of New-Orleans, instead of attempting to deprive death of his power, are enlisted on his side — they put poisoned arrows in his quiver, and add new terrors to his name! The sanctions of law and religion are set at nought, the Sabbath profaned, and they give themselves up to hilarity, dissipation and crime. Is this denied? The fact is too apparent and notorious, successfully to be concealed or denied. Could the many victims of debauchery and crime speak, they might “unfold a tale” that would cause “the hair of the flesh to stand up,” and make the boldest turn pale. Shall I be asked to particularize? Take the Criminal Code, and there read its long list of enormities and crimes.

Censures are painful, and comparisons are deemed invidious; but I must say New-Orleans does not show that order, neatness and sobriety, found in other large cities of the Union. Murders, robberies, thefts and riots, are too common hardly to elicit a passing notice. Man here seems to have become reckless of life. It is taken and given for “trifles light as air,” with an indifference truly astonishing. The police is inefficient or shamefully negligent. — The authorities of the city appear to stand aloof, and see the populace physically and morally wallowing in the mire. It does appear to me, that if all in authority, and all the virtuous portion of the citizens would brace themselves to the work, the city might be greatly improved in health and in morals. Let the strong arm of the law be put forth fearlessly — let the streets be cleared of mud and filth, and the gutters of their putrid water — let the police be active and take into custody the disorderly knaves and vagabonds — let gambling houses be put down, and Sunday theatres and circuses be suppressed, and New-Orleans would wear a different aspect. Then might its streets be walked without fear of life or limb; and the great wealth flowing in, by canal, railroad and river, be fully enjoyed.

This may be thought by some to be an exaggerated account of the city. For the honor of our country and of human nature, I wish it might be. But it is, indeed, too true; and whoever happens to visit it, that places a decent value upon life, or the goods of this life, will be glad, like me, to escape without the injury or loss of either. Although the vessel I came in was robbed of money and wearing apparel; one of its sailors knocked down and his money taken from him; and a companion of mine had his pocket book cut from his pocket; yet, I fortunately escaped. I could not, however, feel at ease among such a set of plunderers and robbers.

I am fully aware, that a large portion of the populace is made up of all nations, tongues and languages; that their residence here is often transient; that many enormities are incidental to all large cities of such a mixed population; and that the many worthy citizens ought not to be held responsible for all the crimes that may be committed, unless they make themselves accessory to them, by indifferently looking on, and taking no energetic measure to prevent them. But it does appear to me they are culpably negligent in this particular.

The city authorities need not sanction crime, by licensing gambling houses and houses of ill-fame. By so doing, they take from themselves the power of frowning upon crime, or of effectually punishing the criminal; but leave him to assume an unblushing boldness in society, not elsewhere witnessed, that is truly alarming. If crime may not be entirely prevented, it can be rendered disgraceful; and those who have a decent respect for the opinion of mankind, if they have none for themselves, will then be deterred from committing evil. But as long as New-Orleans is believed to be a place, where crimes may be committed with impunity, and without incurring the censure or disapprobation of its citizens; so long will it be the general haunt for the knaves and vagabonds of the Union, and of the world. — They will centre here; give countenance and support to each other; draw within their deadly grasp the unsuspecting, the vicious and the idle; and, like the rolling snow-ball, at every impulse enlarge their circle, and gain additional force and power.

It is time, high time for all the sober minded and well disposed to awake, look about them, and see their true condition. Theirs is the sleep of death. Like Jonah of old, they slumber amid the whirlwind and storm. New-Orleans needs reform; and in a righteous cause, small means may effect much. Ten men may chase a thousand. Can the result be doubtful?

— — “Our doubts are traitors
And make us lose the good we oft might win,
By fearing to attempt.”

But I have done with the health and moral condition of New-Orleans. I am told it has improved, and is improving. And yet there is room — an ample field for the philanthropist to exercise the utmost stretch of his powers, to improve the physical and moral condition of its citizens.

A particular description of the city is not necessary. Its favorable location for foreign and domestic trade, and vast resources, are well known. One thing was new to me. It contains about half a dozen large cotton presses, entirely occupied in compressing bales of cotton. Those intended for a foreign market, are made to occupy one half of their original space; so that a vessel can carry double the quantity it otherwise might. The large number of bales shipped from this port, makes this an extensive business. The charge for compressing is seventy-five cents a bale. Bales designed for the northern ports, do not undergo this operation, but are shipped as they come from the hands of the planter.

New-Orleans has three extensive markets; two for flesh, and one for vegetables. I walked through them all, and thought the city was abundantly supplied with provisions, and of a good quality. Although it was January, the vegetable market was supplied with melons, green peas, radishes, lettuce, &c. And boats frequently landed, with cart loads of oranges, fresh from the trees. Fish are neither abundant nor of a fine flavor.

On the opposite side of the river, are the shipyards; but they seem to be more occupied in repairs, than in building new vessels. Here is a small village of a dozen houses, a grog shop and a tavern. A steam ferry boat constantly plies across the river, and appears to have a plenty of business.

The city is connected with lake Pontchartrain, by a canal for small vessels, and a railroad. The distance is five miles. Steamboats regularly run from the end of the railroad, to Mobile and other ports. New-Orleans has no wharves. It would be more convenient in loading vessels to have them; but they cannot be built on a foundation sufficiently firm to withstand the strong current of the Mississippi. A few years ago a wharf was built; but it was soon undermined, and sunk in the stream.

After remaining in the city four days, I procured a passage on board a brig bound to Boston, and sailed down the river. In about two miles, we passed the nunnery — a pleasant looking building, surrounded by an extensive grove of orange trees. Five miles from the city, we came to the famous battle ground, where Gen. Jackson, and his brave associates “planted a British colony.” But this is a matter of history. All the indications of a battle now remaining, are scars of balls on one or two trees.

The large plantations, on both sides of the river, were all alive with negroes, cutting cane and transporting it to the steam mills to make sugar. It appears to me, that slavery sits lighter on the negro race, than it would on any other human beings. — They are, generally, cheerful, and appear to be inclined to make the best of their situation. Much injustice, and many wrongs have been done to the African race. They were torn from their homes, their friends, and their country — carried to a distant land, and sold to hopeless, irremediable slavery. The original kidnappers have much to answer for.

But the case is now somewhat changed. Neither the masters nor the slaves, now upon the stage, are the parties to the original transaction. Slavery has existed for a long series of years; and the present owners of slaves obtained possession of them either by descent, or by purchase. They came into their possession, slaves; they did not change their condition. The only fault, therefore, they are justly chargeable with, is the continuance of slavery. — How far culpable the slaveholder may be in this particular, I shall not undertake to decide, any more than I would the degree of guilt justly chargeable to a Mussulman, for believing Mahomet to be a true prophet.

In all the publications and lectures which I have seen and heard upon slavery, it appears to me, that in regard to the present owners of slaves, the subject is not viewed in its true light. Slavery is stated to be a great evil; and therefore, slaveholders are great criminals. However well this may sound in logic, it does not sound well in morals. But there is another inference drawn from the premises — that it is the duty of the inhabitants in the non-slaveholding States, to get up a crusade against the slaveholders. Not with swords and guns to be sure; but to give them a bad name, render them odious in the estimation of mankind, and to continue a general warfare upon their characters. This is, indeed, the worst kind of warfare. Better take property or life; for what of value has a man left when deprived of his “good name?” To this, I shall be answered, that it is proper to call things by their right names — a spade ought to be called a spade; and a criminal ought to be called a criminal. So far as it applies to slavery, I have two plain replies to make. In the first place, it is assuming too much to call a slaveholder a criminal, under the peculiar circumstances of the case; and secondly, if the fact were so, it is not always good policy to bring accusations against an individual, if the object be to reform him.

It is a good maxim in law, and in religion too, that even the truth is only to be spoken from a good motive and a justifiable end. For the peace and well-being of society, facts are not to be stated, merely to outrage the feelings of another, and to gratify the spleen of the speaker. Now, I would respectfully ask, what good can come of picking up all the tales concerning cruelty to slaves whether true or false, and proclaiming them in the most imposing form upon the house top, to a non-slaveholding audience? Every new case of cruelty is seized upon with avidity, and exultingly paraded before the public. This looks a little too pharisaical. ’Lord I thank thee that I am not as other men are; nor like unto these wicked slaveholders,’ seems to beam from some men’s countenances.

Is it not in accordance with the christian religion, if a brother offend, to go privately to him, and tell him his fault? Now, if the object be to emancipate the slaves, go to the slaveholder himself, and endeavor to satisfy him that slavery in itself is evil; and, on a view of the whole ground, it is safe, practicable, and beneficial to the slaves to be set free. — To the objection, that it would be unsafe to go among slaveholders for such a purpose, I reply, that missionaries are sent among the Indians of the West, the heathen of the East, and in the islands of the sea; and can it be deemed more dangerous to go among the slaveholding citizens of the United States, than among them? It cannot be pretended. The fact is a man may travel through the slaveholding States with perfect safety, provided he carry the deportment of a gentleman, and discuss the subject of slavery, as all such subjects ought to be, in a decent and respectful manner.

Of this, I cannot doubt, from my own experience in the matter. During a residence of three years in a slaveholding State, and in my various excursions among the planters, I uniformly found hospitable and kind treatment; and a readiness to discuss the subject of slavery with the same freedom that they would any other.

It would be a very good plan for our lecturers on slavery, to travel through the southern States, and see for themselves the true condition of the master and slave. Their censures of their southern brethren might be softened down a little; and they would sometimes feel more inclined to pity than upbraid. They would find the emancipation of slaves not new, or unthought of, by the people of the South; that it is a subject, which has engaged their anxious thoughts, and caused much private and public discussion. The southerners are more willing to emancipate their slaves, than our northern people generally suppose; but the great question is, how can it with safety be done? Some of our northern people would decide this off hand. Only say “be free,” and it is done. But the slaveholder believes, there are many things to be taken into consideration — self preservation, good order of society and the condition of the emancipated slave, are all to be regarded and weighed, before freedom is granted.

But I believe the slaveholders do injustice to the character of the negroes in one particular. If they were all emancipated to-day, I believe there would be no attempts made to murder the whites, as has been supposed. They are naturally a friendly, confiding race — neither ungrateful, nor insensible to kind treatment. When they have a good master, and there are many such, they become very much attached to him; and would unhesitatingly, risk their lives in his defence.

I have been in the fields, where hundreds of slaves were at work, and conversed with them. — They appeared to be well clothed and fed, and had an easy task. I thought them to be as lively, gay and happy as any set of beings on earth.

They are very fond of music, and display a good deal of ingenuity, in adapting songs to their various kinds of work and recreations. Many a night, I have raised my window, sat down and listened for hours, to the melody of their voices, in singing their harvest songs, around a pile of corn.

But the danger lies, in turning loose upon the world, a race of beings, without houses, lands, or any kind of property; who are ignorant, gay and thoughtless, and entirely unused to provide for themselves. How preposterous the idea! What rational man would think of it? They must beg, steal, plunder, or starve. If the slaves be emancipated, it must be the work of time; and provision must be made, temporarily at least, for their support.

But it is urged, that holding in bondage a human being, is wrong, and therefore, he ought to be set at liberty immediately. A person cannot do right, or repent of evil, too soon. As this applies to the slave, it may be false reasoning from just premises. Although it might be wrong for the eagle to catch the mole, and bear him aloft into the air, yet would it be right, then to let him go, when he knew the fall would dash him to pieces? The setting at liberty in such a case, would only be inevitable destruction. It would therefore be right, and not wrong, to retain possession, until liberty could be granted in safety.

That many individuals are justly chargeable with cruelty to their slaves, there can be no doubt. — Their condition is better in the old, than in the new States. But it appeared to me, that many of the acts of cruelty were negligently suffered by the master to be done, rather than inflicted by him. They are too apt to entrust their servants in the hands of ignorant overseers, who punish without judgment or mercy.

A planter informed me, he was riding along by his field one day, and observing the overseer was preparing to flog a negro, he rode up to enquire into the cause of the punishment. He was informed the negro would not work, alleging he was sick. — He asked the overseer if he had ascertained that the negro was not sick. He replied no; for he presumed it was only a pretence to get rid of work. He went up to the negro, examined his pulse and tongue, and found he had a high fever. He told the negro to take a horse from the plough, and ride home, and he would come directly and see he was properly attended to. He then turned to the overseer, and told him he was not a suitable man to have the care of human beings — and discharged him on the spot.

In Texas, I saw a negro chained in a baggage wagon, for the purpose of carrying him home to his master. He told me he ran away from him, three months previous, and had all that time lived in the woods, and obtained his food by hunting. He said his master was a cruel man, flogged him unmercifully, made him work hard, and did not feed or clothe him well. At night, an axe happened to be left in the wagon, and he liberated himself and escaped. On enquiry, I found the negro’s story to be true. — The master was all he had represented him to be, and his conduct was generally reprobated by the people. As I was walking on the sea shore, I again came across the negro. He recognized me at once; came to me, and begged that I would take him with me; and said he would willingly labor for me all the days of his life; but he could not return to his master. This I could not do; but was obliged to leave the negro to his fate.

There are many hardships and cruelties incidental to a state of slavery; but the cruel master is as much despised and reprobated in his own immediate neighborhood, as elsewhere. It is now unpopular every where, to ill-treat the slave. His condition has generally improved; and the yoke is often made to sit so light, that it is neither felt nor thought of. But still slavery in its mildest form is attended with many moral, as well as physical evils; is wrong in principle, and contrary to the spirit of our free institutions: and I earnestly hope, that this dark spot on Freedom’s bright banner may soon be blotted out forever.

But to effect such a great object as this, will require the wisdom and aid of the North and the South combined. Let “the North give up and the South keep not back;” let them amicably take counsel together; and devise some plan in which the rights, interests and feelings of all parties are nicely balanced and duly regarded.

But I see no way in which slavery can be abolished without the aid of the slaveholders. This kind of property is guaranteed to them by the supreme law of the land, and to give it up, must be a voluntary act. It appears to me, the course things are now taking at the North, instead of winning the aid of the South, tends directly to brace them against emancipation. It appears to the South, as an officious interference in their affairs, in the most offensive form.

What would we think, if the South should employ a scavenger, to pick up all the private and public acts of cruelty of the northern people; such as the whipping of the boy by Arnold, the starving to death of another by Fernald, &c. &c. &c.; and then, set up a press, expressly to blazon forth these cruelties; and hire itinerant lecturers to go about and proclaim to a southern audience, in the highest strains of impassioned eloquence, the wickedness, corruptions and enormities of the citizens of the North! And say, they “had waited forty years” for the northern people to reform themselves; which was time enough, and they would wait no longer. They, therefore, were justified in holding them up to the scorn and reproach of all human kind! When the North knew, and all the world knew, they were no better than they should be at home; that they had work of reform enough near at hand; and that they had no legal right to interfere, and could have no legal action upon the subject. And although the avowed object was the reform of the northern people, yet they kept aloof from them, and hurled their poisoned arrows at a distance, alleging that they might in their patriotic zeal, so much arouse their indignation, that it would be unsafe to go near them. What would northern people say to all this! Should we say, go on, brethren! God speed! Or should we say, this is mean, cowardly business — empty boasting — gasconade! These people may not, indeed, be guilty of this particular thing of which they accuse us; and that is the very reason why they choose this subject for accusation — why they walk so proudly erect — ring all the changes and make the most of it. It is to triumph over us, and build up themselves on our ruins. There is in truth, a worse kind than negro slavery — when a man becomes a slave to his own unhallowed, vindictive passions.

Much injustice has been done the southern people. Those who have travelled and dwelt among them, bear testimony to their high-mindedness, kindness and hospitality. They scorn to do an act of meanness; or to enter upon the broad field of scandal. And although their strong sensibility may sometimes lead them into error, yet in all the virtues which ennoble man, they might not suffer in a comparison with the North. If we choose to bring railing accusations against them; they may not descend to recriminate but leave us the undisputed occupants of the ground we have chosen. And we may have the sore mortification at last to find, we have uttered anathemas in vain; and brought nothing to any desirable result — that we have toiled hard, and effected nothing, but our own humiliation and disgrace.

But I must leave the subject of negro slavery. — Perhaps I have dwelt too long upon it already to comport with the design of this book. It is a great and an important subject; and to do it justice would require a volume. It is my solemn conviction however, that for the northern people to effect any thing, towards the freedom of the African race, much prudence must be exercised, and conciliatory measures adopted; so as to enlist the undivided energies of the South in the great work of emancipation.

The river Mississippi, which imparts a name and character to the great valley of the West, deserves something more than a mere passing notice. — When the fertility and extent of the region through which it passes, are taken into consideration, together with the magnitude of itself and its numerous branches, it way well be pronounced the noblest river on the face of the globe.

Contrary to the general analogy of other large rivers, it directs its course from north to south. It rises in about the forty-eighth degree of north latitude, in a region having the aspect of a vast marshy valley. Its commencement is in many streams, issuing principally from wild rice lakes, and proceeds but a short distance before it becomes a large river. Sometimes, it moves silently and imperceptibly along, over a wide and muddy channel — at others, it glides briskly onward, over a sandy bottom, its waters almost as transparent as air — and again it becomes compressed to a narrow channel between high and hoary limestone cliffs, and it foams and roars, as it violently lashes the projecting rocks, and struggles through.

The falls of St. Anthony, following the meanders of the stream, are three hundred miles from its source. At this place, the river is about half a mile wide, and falls in a perpendicular and unbroken sheet, between seventeen and eighteen feet. — Above the mouth of the Missouri, it receives many large tributaries, the most considerable of which are the Ouisconsin and Illinois from the east, and the Des Moines, from the west.

A little below thirty nine degrees, comes in the mighty Missouri from the west, which is a longer stream, and carries more water than the Mississippi itself. This is the largest tributary stream in the world; and from the facts, that it has a longer course, carries more water than the Mississippi, and gives its own peculiar character to the stream below their junction, many have supposed it ought to have given its name to the united stream and to the valley. In opposition to this claim, it may be stated, that the valley of the Missouri, in the grand scale of conformation, appears to be secondary to that of the Mississippi — it has not the general direction of that river, but joins it nearly at right angles — the Mississippi valley is wider than that of the Missouri, and the river is broader, and the direction of the valley and river is the same above and below the junction. From these considerations, it appears to me, that the Mississippi rightfully gives its name to the united stream, and to the great valley, from its source to the sea.

The Missouri rises in the Rocky Mountains, nearly in the same parallel with the Mississippi. It is formed by three branches, which unite near the base of the principal ranges of mountains, which severally bear the names of Jefferson, Gallatin and Madison. The head waters of some of these, are so near to those of the Columbia on the other side of the mountains, that a person may drink of the waters of each, in travelling not more than a mile. After the junction of these three streams, the river continues on a foaming mountain torrent. It then spreads into a broader stream, and comparatively of a gentler current, and is full of islands.

The river, then, passes through what are called “The Gates of the Rocky Mountains.” The river appears to have torn for itself a passage through the mountain. For the distance of six miles, perpendicular cliffs of dark colored rock, rise twelve hundred feet above the stream which washes their base! The chasm is not more than three hundred feet wide, and the deep, foaming waters rush through, with the speed of a race-horse. In no situation in life, does man so keenly feel his own imbecility and nothingness, as when viewing such terrible results of a war between the elements of nature. This is the most imposing and grand spectacle of the kind, to be found on the globe; and in the deep solitude of the wilderness, its aspect is peculiarly awful and terrific. The mountain scenery on the Hudson near West Point; and the passage of the Potomac through the Blue Ridge, sink into utter insignificance, when compared to the rush of the Missouri, through “The Gates of the Rocky Mountains.” — The mountains here, have an aspect of inexpressible loneliness and grandeur. Their summits are covered with a stinted growth of pines and cedars, among which, are seen mountain sheep, bounding along at heights apparently inaccessible.

For the distance of seventeen miles, the stream then becomes almost a continued cataract. The whole perpendicular descent in this distance, is three hundred and sixty-two feet. The first fall is ninety-eight feet — the second, nineteen — the third, forty-seven — and the fourth, twenty-six. The river continues rapid, a number of miles below; it then assumes its distinctive character — sweeps briskly along in regular curves, by limestone bluffs, boundless prairies and dense forests, to its junction with the Mississippi. It has a current of four miles an hour; but is navigable for steamboats the distance of twenty-five hundred miles.

The tributaries of Missouri are many important and large rivers; but our space will not permit a particular description of them. The most considerable of them, are the Yellow Stone, La Platte and the Osage. The Yellow Stone rises in the same range of mountains with the main river, to which it has many points of resemblance. It enters the Missouri from the south, eighteen hundred miles above its mouth, and is eight hundred and fifty yards wide. It is a broad deep river, sixteen hundred miles in length, boatable, one thousand; and at the junction, appears to be the larger stream. Its shores are heavily timbered, its bottoms are wide, and of the richest soil. Its entrance has been selected by the government, as a suitable spot for a military post, and an extensive settlement.

The La Platte also rises in the Rocky mountains, enters from the south, and, measured by its meanders, has a course of two thousand miles. It is nearly a mile wide at its mouth; but, as its name imports, is a shallow stream, and not navigable, except at the high floods.

The Osage enters from the south and is a large and important stream of the Missouri. It is boatable for six hundred miles, and its head waters interlock with those of the Arkansas.

The Gasconade enters from the south also, is not a large river, but is boatable for sixty miles, and is important for having on its banks extensive pine forests, from which St. Louis and St. Charles are supplied with lumber.

The Missouri is a longer river than the Mississippi, measured from its highest source to the Gulf of Mexico; and although it carries less than half the breadth of that stream, it brings down a larger quantity of water. It is at all times turbid; and its prodigious length of course, impetuous current, the singular and wild character of the country through which it runs, impart to it a natural grandeur, truly sublime.

In latitude thirty-six and a half degrees, the Mississippi receives from the east, the celebrated and beautiful Ohio. This is, by far, the largest eastern tributary of the Mississippi; and at the junction, and a hundred miles above, it is as wide as the parent stream. If the Mississippi rolls along its sweeping and angry waters, in more majesty — the Ohio far exceeds it in beauty, and in its calm, unbroken course. No river in the world moves along the same distance, in such an uniform, smooth and peaceful current. The river is formed by the junction of the Alleghany and Monongahela at Pittsburgh. The Ohio, at this place, is about six hundred yards wide, and it immediately assumes a broad and beautiful aspect which continues in its whole course, to the Mississippi. Beautiful and romantic streams come in, at nearly equal distances — its bottoms are of an extraordinary depth and fertility — and the configuration on its banks, has all that softness, grandeur and variety, still changing and recurring in such endless combinations, as to render a voyage down it, at all times pleasant and delightful. From Pittsburgh to the Mississippi, the distance is eleven hundred and fifty miles; and between these points, are more than a hundred islands; some of which, are of exquisite beauty, and afford most pleasant situations for cottages and farms.

The valley of the Ohio is deep, varying from two to ten miles; and is bounded in the whole distance by bluffs, sometimes towering sublimely from the river bank; at others, receding two or three miles from them. Beyond these, are a singular line of hills, more or less precipitous, which are familiarly called the “Ohio hills.” The bottoms of the Ohio are heavily timbered, and there are no where on its banks the slightest indications of prairie.

It would be difficult to decide at what season of the year, the Ohio has the most interesting and beautiful appearance — in the spring, when its high floods sweep along with irresistible power, and the red-bud and other early blossoms enliven its banks — or in autumn, when it passes quietly along, showing its broad and clean sand bars, and its pebbly bottom, through waters transparent as air — and when the withering leaves of the forest are painted in golden and scarlet colors along its shores. It is at all times, an interesting river, and probably, no other stream in the world can vie with it, both in utility and beauty.

Below the Ohio, the most important tributaries of the Mississippi, are White river, Arkansas and Red Rivers — all entering the stream from the west. White river rises in the Black mountains, which separate its waters from those of the Arkansas; and after traversing a distance of twelve hundred miles, enters the Mississippi by a mouth, nearly four hundred yards wide. The Arkansas next to the Missouri, the largest tributary from the west, is twenty-five hundred miles in length, and is five hundred yards wide at its mouth. Its waters are at all times turbid, and when the river is full, are of a dark flame color.

Eighty miles below Natchez, comes in Red River; and although it is not generally so wide as the Arkansas, yet it has as long a course, and probably, carries as much water. Its waters are always turbid, and of a deeper red than those of the Arkansas. After receiving Red River, the Mississippi carries its greatest volume of water. This, however, continues but for a short distance. Three or four miles below the mouth of Red River, and on the same side, is the first outlet of the Mississippi. This is called Atchafalaya; and probably it carries off as much water as the Red River brings in. — But one small river enters the Mississippi below its first outlet. This is on the east side, and is called the Bayou Sarah. The only eastern outlet is a short distance below Baton Rouge. This is called Ibberville, and it passes off the waters of the Mississippi into lake Maurepas. On the west side are two more considerable outlets, called Bayou Plaquemine, and Bayou La Fourche. The Mississippi, then, passes on by New-Orleans, between unbroken banks, and discharges the remainder of its waters, through four mouths, into the Gulf of Mexico.

The Mississippi is navigable for steamboats to the falls of St. Anthony — a distance of twenty-two hundred miles. These falls, although they have not the slightest claim to be compared with the celebrated Niagara, in sublimity and grandeur; yet they are interesting and impressive in the solitude and loneliness of the wilderness. As the traveller gazes at the romantic scenery around him, and listens to the solemn roar of the falls, as it echoes along the shores of the river, and dies away in the distant forest; a thrilling story is told him of the love and tragical end of a young Dacota Indian woman, whose husband had deserted her, and taken another squaw for his wife. Being a woman of keen sensibility and unconquerable attachment, in a moment of anguish and despair, she took her little children with her in a canoe, and chanted her song of love and broken vows, until they were swept over the falls, and engulfed in the waters below. — The Indians are too fond of romance, not to make the most of such an affecting incident as this. — They believe her spirit still hovers round the spot, and that her fair form is seen on bright sunny mornings, pressing her babes to her bosom, and that her voice is heard, mourning the inconstancy of her husband, amid the roaring of the waters!

Below these falls, the river swells to half a mile in width and becomes a placid, gentle and clear stream, with clean sand bars, and wide and fertile bottoms. There is a rapid of nine miles, commencing just below the entrance of the river Des Moines. This impedes the progress of large steamboats, during low stages of the water. Below this rapid, the Mississippi obtains its full width, being a mile from bank to bank; and it carries this width to the mouth of the Missouri.

The Mississippi, above the junction, is a more beautiful stream even than the Ohio, somewhat more gentle in its current and a third wider. At every little distance, the traveller finds a beautiful island; and sometimes two or three, parallel to each other. Altogether, in its alternate bluffs and prairies — the calmness and transparency of its waters — the vigor and grandeur of the vegetation on its banks — it has an aspect of amenity and magnificence, which does not belong in the same extent to any other stream.

The Missouri enters by a mouth not more than half a mile wide; and the medial width of the united stream to the entrance of the Ohio, is about three quarters of a mile, from thence to the sea the medial width is a mile. This mighty tributary, rather diminishes than adds to its width; but it perceptibly increases its depth; and what is to be regretted, wholly changes its character. The Mississippi is the gentle, clear and beautiful stream no more. It borders more on the terrible and sublime, than the serene and beautiful, from the junction to its mouth. The Mississippi flows gently onward, at the rate of not more than two miles an hour — the turbid Missouri pours down upon it its angry flood, at the rate of four miles an hour, and adds its own speed and peculiar character to the united stream. The Mississippi then becomes a turbid and furious mass of sweeping waters; having a boiling current, sliding banks and jagged shores.

A person, who merely takes a cursory view of the river, hardly forms an adequate idea of the amount of water it carries. Were he to descend from the falls of St. Anthony, and behold the Mississippi swallowing up the mighty Missouri, the broad Ohio, the St. Francis, White, Arkansas, and Red River, together with a hundred other large rivers of great length of course and depth of waters, without apparently increasing its size, he begins to estimate rightly the increased depth, and vast volume of water, that must roll on, in its deep channel to the sea.

In the spring floods, the usual rise of the river above the mouth of the Missouri, is fifteen feet; from that point to the mouth of the Ohio, it is twenty-five feet; below the Ohio, it is fifty feet; and, sometimes, even sixty. In the region of Natchez, the flood begins to subside. At Baton Rouge, it seldom exceeds thirty feet; and at New-Orleans it is only twelve. This declination of the flood, towards the mouth of the river, is caused by the many outlets which take off much of its surplus water, and conduct it in separate channels to the sea. Were it not for this free egress of the Mississippi floods, the whole country below Baton Rouge, would become too much inundated to be habitable.

Respecting the face of the country through which the river passes, it may be remarked, that, from its source to the falls of St. Anthony, it moves on through wild rice lakes, limestone bluffs and craggy hills; and occasionally, through deep pine forests and beautiful prairies. For more than a hundred miles above the mouth of the Missouri, it would be difficult to convey a just idea of the beauty of the prairies which skirt the stream. They strike the eye as a perfect level; covered, in summer, with a luxuriant growth of tall grass, interwoven with a great variety of beautiful flowers; without a tree or shrub in their whole extent. When this deep prairie comes in to the river, on one side, a heavy timbered bottom bounds it on the other. — From the smallest elevation, the sweep of the bluffs, generally corresponding to the curves of the river, are seen in the distance, mixing with the blue arch of the sky.

The medial width of the river bottoms, above the mouth of the Missouri, is six miles; thence, to the entrance of the Ohio, it is about eight miles; and from this point to New-Orleans, the Mississippi swamp varies from thirty to fifty miles. The last stone bluffs, seen in descending the river, are thirty miles above the mouth of the Ohio.

Below the Ohio, the high banks are generally composed of a reddish clay. The river almost invariably, keeps the nearest to the eastern shore, leaving much the largest portion of its swamp on its west side; but, sometimes, on the east, the river is about twenty miles from the high bank on that side. It continually moves in a circle; alternately sweeping to the right, and then to the left. These sections of circles, measured from point to point, vary from six to twelve miles; but it sometimes makes almost a complete circle. In one instance, it sweeps round the distance of thirty miles, and comes within a mile of completing the circle, and meeting its own channel again. Although the stream hurries on with the speed of a giant, yet it does not seem to be really in earnest to “go ahead.” It appears to be more disposed to gambol about, and display its power in its own ample bottom, than to pass directly on, to its destined port. Like an overgrown and froward child, its sportiveness is dangerous and destructive. It makes terrible havoc with every thing with which it comes in contact. It tears up large quantities of earth in one place, and deposites it in another. It undermines its own bank, and lets acres of stately forest trees slide into its deep channel — it wears away its deep bends, so as to make its course still more and more circuitous — and again, as if it were tired of its own sportiveness in harrassing the forest, it cuts through the small segment of a circle remaining, leaves a long bend of still water, and its jaded shores at rest. The river, in its serpentine course, hits the high bank at twelve different places, on the eastern shore. These are, at the Iron banks, Chalk banks, the three Chickasaw bluffs, Memphis, Walnut hills, Grand and Petit gulf, Natchez, Loftus heights, and Baton Rouge. At only one place, it comes in contact with the high bluff on the western side; and this is at the St. Francis hills.

Although the river is a mile in width, yet it is so serpentine in its course, that a person travelling upon it, can see but a few miles ahead. The strongest current is next the concave shore; and here also is the deepest water. A third part of the river measured in a direct line across it, would average eighty feet in depth, from thence it grows more and more shoal to the other shore.

In the spring flood, the Mississippi overflows the whole bottom, so that then, it becomes a stream fifty miles in width. It shows a breadth of a mile only, and the remainder is concealed from the eye, by the dense forest which broods over it. The mud and sand, brought down by the flood, deposites itself the most freely, near the river; so that the highest part of the bottom will be next the stream. In the time of the flood, the water barely covers the immediate shore of the river; from thence the water becomes deeper and deeper towards the bluff which bounds the bottom. The depth of the flood, then, may be thus stated — the channel, one hundred and thirty feet — its immediate bank barely covered with water, and next to the bluffs, which may be twenty miles from the channel, from twelve to twenty feet in depth. When the flood in a measure subsides, the sad havoc its waters have made begins to appear. Huge piles of flood wood, wrecks of flat boats, and occasionally, of animals, are thrown together in one promiscuous mass. The stream is filled with snags and sawyers. And the destruction of its immediate banks is still going on. The deep and solemn sound of land slips are often heard. Acres of the stately forest are precipitated into the river, new channels are made, many islands are formed; and the steamboat pilot, who had become a complete master of the intricate mazes of the channel, finds, that he must learn his lesson over again.

All of the hundred rivers that form the Mississippi, at the time of high water, are more or less turbid; but at low water some of them are clear. — The Upper Mississippi is quite transparent, but its waters are slightly of a blackish color. The Missouri is at all times turbid. It is of a whitish color, resembling water mixed with fresh ashes; and it gives its own color to the stream below its mouth. The Ohio is clear, but its waters have the appearance of being slightly tinged with green. The Arkansas and Red River are at all times as turbid as the Missouri, but their waters are of a bright redish color. After the Mississippi has received these two rivers, it loses something of its whiteness, and becomes slightly tinged with red.

The Mississippi, in show of surface, will hardly compare with the St. Lawrence; but, undoubtedly, it carries the greatest mass of water, according to its width, of any river on the face of the globe. — From the large quantity of earth it holds in suspension, and continually deposites along its banks, it will always be confined within a narrow and deep channel. Were it a clear stream, it would soon scoop out for itself a wide channel, from bluff to bluff. In common with most of its great tributaries, it widens as it ascends; being wider above the mouth of the Missouri, with a tenth part of its water, than it is in the region of New-Orleans. In the same manner, Arkansas and Red River are wider, a thousand miles up their streams, than they are at their mouths.

No thinking mind can view with indifference, the mighty Mississippi, as it sweeps round its bends from point to point, and rolls on its resistless wave, through dark forests, in lonely grandeur to the sea. The hundred shores laved by its waters — the long course of its tributaries; some of which are already the abodes of cultivation, and others pursuing an immense course without a solitary dwelling of civilized man — the numerous tribes of savages that now roam on their borders — the affecting and imperishable traces of generations that are gone, leaving no other memorials of their existence, but their stately mounds, which rise at frequent intervals along the valley — the dim, but glorious anticipations of the future — these are subjects of deep thought and contemplation, inseparably connected with a view of this wonderful river.

Notes

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Source

Cable, George Washington. "Posson Jone'" and Père Raphaël: With a New Word Setting Forth How and Why the Two Tales Are One. Illus. Stanley M. Arthurs. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1909. Google Books. Web. 27 Feb. 2012. <http://books. google.com/books?id=bzhLAAAAIAAJ>.