# Scenes in my Native Land/Fallen Forests

FALLEN FORESTS.
Man's warfare on the trees is terrible.
He lifts his rude hut in the wilderness,
And lo! the loftiest trunks, that age on age
We're nurtured to nobility, and bore
Their summer coronets so gloriously,
Fall with a thunder-sound, to rise no more.
He toucheth flame unto them, and they lie
A blackened wreck, their tracery and wealth
Of sky-fed emerald, madly spent to feed
An arch of brilliance for a single night,
And scaring thence the wild deer and the fox,
And the lithe squirrel from the nut-strewn home,
So long enjoyed.
 He lifts his puny arm,
And every echo of the axe doth hew
The iron heart of centuries away.
He entereth boldly to the solemn groves
On whose green altar-tops, since time was young,
The winged birds have poured their incense strain
Of praise and love, within whose mighty nave
The wearied cattle from a thousand hills
Have found their shelter mid the heat of day;
Perchance, in their mute worship pleasing Him
Who careth for the meanest He hath made.
I said he entereth to the sacred groves
Where Nature in her beauty bends to God,
And lo! their temple-arch is desecrate;
Sinks the sweet hymn, the ancient ritual fades,
And uptorn roots, and prostrate columns mark
The invader's footsteps.
 Silent years roll on,
His babes are men. His ant-heap dwelling grows
Too narrow, for his hand hath gotten wealth.
He builds a stately mansion, but it stands
Unblessed by trees. He smote them recklessly,
When their green arms were round him, as a guard
Of tutelary deities, and feels
Their maledictions, now the burning noon
Maketh his spirit faint. With anxious care
He casteth acorns in the earth, and woos
Sunbeam and rain; he planteth the young shoot,
And props it from the storm, but neither he,
Nor yet his children's children, shall behold
What he hath swept away.
 Methinks 't were well,
Not as a spoiler or a thief, to roam
O'er Nature's bosom, that sweet, gentle nurse
Who loveth us, and spreads a sheltering couch
When our brief task is o'er. On that green mound
Affection's hand may set the willow-tree,
Or train the cypress, and let none profane
Her pious care.
 Oh Father! grant us grace
In all life's toils, so, with a steadfast hand
Evil and good to poise, as not to mark
Our way with wrecks, nor when the sands of time
Run low, with saddened eye the past survey,
And mourn the rashness time can ne'er restore.
No one nurtured in New England, amid the veneration of fine trees, can traverse the more recently settled regions of New York, and especially the far Western States, without bemoaning the recklessness with which the ancient glory of the forest is sacrificed. Hills and vales are seen covered with stately and immense trunks, blackened with flame, and smitten down in every form and variety of misery. They lie like soldiers, when the battle is done, in the waters, among the ashes, wounded, beheaded, denuded of their limbs, their exhumed roots, like chevaux de frise, glaring on the astonished eye.
The roof of the smallest log-hut, or shanty, seems the signal of extinction to the most sacred and solemn groves; and Cromwell advanced not more surely from Naseby to the throne, than the axe-armed settler to the destruction of the kingly trees of Heaven's anointing.
The extirpation of the thicket from the field where ​the bread for his household must grow, is of course a work of necessity. But a far-reaching mind will spare here and there, the time-honored tree, to protect the future mansion from the rays of the noon-day sun.
The wild elephant, when death approaches, moves slowly to seek the shadow of lofty trees, and there resigns his breath. Intelligent man, like the most sagacious of animals, might surely spare a few, as a shelter for his weary head, and a patrimony for an unborn race. He might save, here and there, one solitary witness to His goodness, who causeth those glorious columns of verdure to rise nearer and nearer to His heaven, while the heads of so many generations of men descend to the dust from whence they were at first taken.
It seems almost a wickedness, wantonly to smite down a vigorous, healthful tree. It was of God's planting, in its veins are circulating the life which He has given. Its green and mighty arch is full of his beauty and power. It has borne winter and tempest without repining. Spring has duly remembered to awaken it from adversity, and to whisper that the "time of the singing of birds hath come." War may have swept away armies, revolution overturned thrones, time engulphed whole races of men, but there it stood unmoved, unfaded, a chronicler of history, a benefactor to the traveller, a monument of the goodness of the Almighty.
Were our new settlers more frequently men of taste, ​this indiscriminate warfare upon the trees would be mitigated. They would realize how the lofty oak, beech, or sycamore would adorn the dwelling which increased wealth might enable them to erect, or spread a blessed guardianship over the crystal stream, where the stranger might drink, and rest, and thank God.
The reverence of our ancestors in England for trees, is well known. It is not uncommon in some of their parks, to observe by a clump of fine trees, a stone monument, recording when, and by whom it was planted; thus coupling the name of the founder with those masses of umbrageous foliage, which deepen as ages pass by.
Sir Walter Scott speaks of the "exquisite delight of planting trees." He goes on to say, that "there is no art, or occupation so full of past, present, and future enjoyment." How great the delight of cutting them down may be, is best known to those who most widely deal in such extermination. Immense numbers must be needed for the wants of our increasing country; and no blame should be uttered, except for their careless and wanton destruction. Still, it seems an indulgence to quote further on this subject from the philanthropist before named, who so loved to adorn the face of nature.
"I look back," he says, "to the time when on this part of my grounds, there was not a single tree. Now I look around and see thousands of trees growing up, all of which have received my personal attention. I ​remember, five years ago, looking forward with the most delighted expectation to this very hour, and as each year passed, the pleasure of the expectation has gone on increasing. I do the same now; I anticipate what this plantation, and that, will probably become, if taken care of, and there is no spot of which I do not watch the progress. Unlike building, or any similar pursuit, this pleasure has no end, and is never interrupted; but goes on, from day to day, from year to year, with perpetually augmenting interest."
In striking contrast with what has seemed the too entire extinction of some of the lovely works of creation, are the rapid growth and prosperity of the works of man, in some of the new sections of our country. Especially at Buffalo, which has a population of 26,000, and all the marks of an enterprising, commercial city, it is difficult to realize that not a single house was left standing in 1813, at its conflagration, during our last war with England. Its spacious warehouses, hotels, and public buildings, and the numerous floating-palaces employed in the regular steam-navigation of the lakes, would naturally betoken a longer date.
In the streets were many of the aborigines, the Seneca and Tuscarora tribes residing near, and that of the Oneidas, not far distant. We were led to notice the erect, and well-proportioned forms of the females, not bending under any burden, and heeding that of their children no more than the weight of the gossamer.
​ We saw the Chief of the Senecas, the successor of Red-Jacket, a tall man, with a very bright eye. Methought his countenance expressed a cunning and adroitness, the fruit of intercourse with the whites, rather than that Roman dignity and taciturnity, which of old marked the rulers of the forest, or that tendency to sarcastic eloquence, which distinguished his immediate predecessor.
While in the vicinity of the Indian villages, numbers of their females were seen at the different stopping-places on the railroad, offering for sale their neatly made articles of bark and bead-work. Occasionally they have with them their young infants, bound flat upon a board, and incapable of motion except in a very limited degree. They seemed fond of covering them with embroidered mantles, clasped in front with gilded or plated studs and buttons. One of these black-eyed babies was taken through the car-window, and we could not but admire its plump cheeks and smiling face, apparently more full of health and contentment than many of those babes whose nurture is made an unceasing labor both to parents and nurses. A passenger, in paying for some articles purchased of the mother, offered more money, and inquired what sum would be demanded for the child. At first, the idea was not fully comprehended. But when it was, all the sang-froid that the race so often affect, vanished like snow before the sun, and with a wild exclamation in her native tongue, the dark-browed mother rushed ​into the cars, stretching out her arms to reclaim her treasure.
Rochester is a pleasant city of rapid growth and extensive resources. Its churches are fine, and it has many handsome private residences. The Falls of the Genesee River are here well worth visiting. The waters are precipitated from a height of nearly one hundred feet, in a volume of much grace and majesty.
Auburn stands on the outlet of the Owasco Lake, a stream of considerable size and power. The Lake itself, a few miles from the village, like the numerous similar bodies of water that diversify the surrounding region, is quite picturesque. The most imposing edifice here, is the castellated pile of the State prison, which induced some sad reflections on the mass of human misery which had been, and still is concentrated within its walls. It is built of granite, occupies more than sixteen acres, and is surrounded by a solid wall of stone, forty feet in height. The front of the principal building is two hundred and seventy-six feet, and the extent of the wings more than four hundred. In the latter are work-shops for various trades; in the cupola, an alarm bell; and on the walls, armed sentinels stationed night and day, to shoot down any who might attempt escape. Within these precincts, between seven and eight hundred convicts are receiving the punishment of their offences.
How many of these were swept away by sudden ​temptation, and without premeditated purpose of crime? how many from ignorance? how many for want of a friendly hand, an encouraging word to aid their flight from evil? how many for the absence of those checks and motives, which from childhood have been enforced upon us? Human justice cannot take cognizance of all these unexplained causes, and shadowy palliations, which are bound up with secret, unspoken thought. They are the province alone of Him who "weigheth the spirits."
Yet we know that these men on whom society has set its seal of reprobation, had once a mother to whom their infancy was dear; who would have shuddered with agony, had the vision of a felon's cell risen up between her and the cradle whose quiet slumber she watched. Under the influence of such thoughts, it it peculiarly painful to see the abject countenances of the prisoners, and to imagine that you trace in them a destitution of those hopes and feelings, which might brighten their period of suffering, with the hope of reformation.
A great proportion of them are foreigners. The poverty and vices of an Older World, precipitate themselves upon the New, with a fearful freedom. To furnish a poor-house for the decrepit of other realms, might be accomplished in our broad land of plenty; but to be a Botany Bay for their criminals, is a more revolting and perilous office. Could our own superflux of virtue be relied on to neutralize this mass of ​evil, there were less to regret. But to our own elements of internal danger, the thronged highway of the Atlantic is continually adding such materials as ferment in mobs, and might explode in revolutions. As the scape-goat went forth into the wilderness, bearing upon his head the sins of others,—God grant us grace, so to sustain these burdens and our own infirmities, as not to make shipwreck at last of our integrity, and stand forth at last a beacon among the nations.
There are so many interesting points in this region of country, that it is difficult either to select for description, or to describe satisfactorily. Everything about Syracuse betokens vigor and enterprise. The saline springs which supply manufactories of salt, are of inexhaustible resource. From the observatory of its spacious and well-kept hotel, we saw, lighted up by a glorious sunset, a fine, extensive prospect, in which the Onondaga Lake was a prominent and beautiful feature.
Canadaigua, on a lake of the same name, has a a great proportion of well-situated and stately edifices; and the beauty of Geneva, on the Seneca Lake, with terraced gardens, sloping down to the mirrored waters, is acknowledged by all visitants. The course taken by the railroad is not often favorable to the disclosure of the charms of a fine country. This is peculiarly the case with regard to the two last-named places. An opportunity of exploring their scenery more intimately, was given by the kindness of some esteemed friends, ​several years before the fire-horse had found his way thither. A ride on the green margin of Seneca Lake, just as the sun in rich robes of purple and gold went to his rest, and the full, queenly moon came forth, will never be forgotten. Over this noble sheet of water, which the windows of our Hotel commanded, the brilliant, tremulous moon-beams diffused a sort of enchantment, which long detained us to gaze and to admire. Suddenly, over the pure expanse glided the most graceful little boat, lifting its measured oars like wings of the sea-bird, and balancing itself as a thing of life; while, with proud velocity, a steamer passed it by, vomiting smoke and cinders like a suppressed volcano; the Ebal and the Gerizzim of the silver Lake.
A sail down the Cayuga to Ithaca, furnishes a delightful little voyage of between forty and fifty miles. The fertility of the surrounding shores, the verdure of the groves, the rural quietness of the mansions occasionally peeping through embowering shades, the beauty of the interspersed settlements, and the influence of the agreeable movement over the bosom of the clear lake, were soothing both to the eye and to the heart. The Cayuga has, in some places, the depth of one thousand feet, is never frozen, and prolific in fine fish, among which are the salmon trout, occasionally weighing thirty pounds.
The entrance to the sweet village of Ithaca, is rendered romantic by a graceful cascade, which starts ​forth suddenly as if to give you welcome. It is formed by the precipitation of Fall Creek, over a prominent and steep rock. A cataract of more power exists in the vicinity, and should always be visited by strangers. Its approach is through an excavation in the form of a tunnel, upon a causeway of boards, over deep, black waters, where one imagines there may be some peril. This feeling probably heightens the effect of the scene, when once more emerging into light, the bold, beautiful torrent bursts upon you, making successive leaps of great height, while the comparatively small quantity of water causes it to assume a flaky, feathery lightness, which adds to its peculiar beauty.
Utica exhibits undoubted marks of opulence and prosperity. One of its most conspicuous edifices is the State Lunatic Asylum. Its fine doric portico, and magnificent front of five hundred and fifty feet are of hammered stone, and were completed in 1842. With its various and well arranged offices and appendages, it is sufficient for the comfortable and even luxurious accommodation of several hundred patients. Attached to it are gardens, and a farm of one hundred and forty acres, where healthful exercise may be obtained by those able and disposed to seek it. A library and schools have been established, and music and a green-house are among the pleasures here provided for the diseased mind. This munificent endowment and benevolent sympathy on the part of New York, to one of the saddest forms of suffering human​ity, is a noble example to her sister States, and to the world.
The scenery of Little Falls, is strikingly wild and fascinating. Rocks, woods, and waters are thrown together, as if to form a miniature of Switzerland. One would like long to linger in such a region. A feeder of the great western canal is here taken over the Mohawk, by an aqueduct of admirable construction. The Mohawk flows on, often studded with islets like emeralds, through a valley of extreme fertility. Here the reaper seems to wrestle with the bearded wheat, which looks at him, eye to eye, as he does his fatal office. The rich, alluvial region of German Flats, is peculiarly beautiful at the ripening harvest.
At Fonda and Johnstown and their vicinity, we noticed the corn-fields in early summer, to abound in a most ingenious variety of scare-crows. Something of the kind is often seen in New England among planted fields, or loaded cherry trees, but not worthy to be compared with these in device or execution. Here were parti-colored pennons, broad white flags and banners, long ropes hung with bright tin filings, and braided wisps of straw, flapping in every breeze; stuffed boys, with one foot raised as in the act of ascension; men in full vigor, brandishing the semblance of a fowling-piece, or some other non-descript weapons; aged sires, with uplifted brow, in an attitude ​of supplication. Surely some incipient Chantry must ennoble this region, if not,
"Some village Hampden, who with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood."
Yet all this effort and waste of genius, was only to oppose the gastronomic propensities of the crows. But the worst of it was, those black-gowned people seemed to fly hither and thither to their heart's content, to sit on the very heads of these same redoubtable effigies, and perhaps to make themselves merry with what was intended to give them so much alarm.
At Lockport, the embankments, excavations, double ranges of locks, and magnificent mason-work, cannot be examined without wonder at the intellect that devised, and the force that executed them. While there, we were induced to embark in a large packet-boat, and make trial for a hundred miles of the nature of canal-travelling. After the heat, dust, and rapidity of the rail-cars, the unique effect of gliding deliberately through cool, shady villages and cultivated farms was quite agreeable. We were constantly passing other boats, many of which were laden with emigrants, seeking new homes in the stranger-west.
We often recognised the German countenance, the patient mother industriously plying her knitting-needles, surrounded by her little ones. The pleasure derived from a view of these objects, to which the genuflections and prostrations at the frequent bridges, gave ​a seasonable sprinkling of bodily exercise, was prolonged until the line of damp, evening exhalations following in our wake, warned us within.
As our boat boasted the unusual dimensions of a hundred feet keel, we flattered ourselves that the accounts we had read and heard of their inconveniences as dormitories, might have been exaggerated. We continued zealously to praise all that admitted of being praised, in order to turn attention from the evils that we began to suspect might be coming upon us. But when the novelty of the out-door exhibition had entirely ceased, when the tables with refreshments and books were removed, and we, being requested to leave our seats, were huddled into the area of the boat, like sheep for the slaughter, there commenced a series of mystic preparations which stripped the scene of all its lingerings of romance. With amazement we gazed upon the narrow shelves and ghosts of mattresses, ranged row above row, in fearfully close proximity, as if for baking in an oven; hoping that our senses deceived us, and that we could not possibly be expected there to deposit our persons. The people of large proportions, and those expected to lodge directly under them, evinced great consternation, and with good reason. In short, though we had the attentions of a kindly-disposed chambermaid, no description of the discomforts of a close summer night in a crowded canal-boat, may be supposed to transcend the truth. I refer the uninitiated to a graphic delinea​tion from the versatile pen of Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe, in one of our Annuals, and advise every traveller for pleasure, to decline a more experimental knowledge.
After all, is there so much travelling for pleasure, or more correctly speaking, so much pleasure in travelling, as might at first appear? Of the pursuit of health, the claims of business, or the acquisition of knowledge, as motives for either domestic or foreign excursion, I do not of course speak, but of that restless desire of change of place, sometimes common to the young, which leads to an aimless love of wandering, or a dissatisfaction with quiet, circumscribed duties, which is in our sex peculiarly unfortunate. To visit fine scenery, and points of high interest, is indeed a privilege, yet one not wholly free from drawback and disappointment. For myself, I am free to confess at my matronly years, when fatigue and disturbed rest are no longer trifles, the ruling idea in every lucubration, however pleasant, is that of getting home. And as the moralist Addison considered it the principal advantage of a female's learning to dance, that she might "sit still gracefully," so it would be well if one chief end of her excursions abroad, might be to enjoy home better, and to bring back an additional sunbeam or song of praise to its sanctuary.