DETROIT. WEDGED OUT FROM A POEM ON THE BY L. J. BATES. STOCKS.' BLUE roll thy waves, Detroit, as fair and free, Or when in later, more historic years, The young State gambolled in thy capitol, The child of many prayers and many tears, Whose growth her sisters watched with changing hopes and fears. Blue roll thy waters still, and still as fair As when they trembled at the gathering strife, A living tide of fear, whose looks of danger told. Slow sank the sun upon that awful night; But darkness showed fresh horrors through the veil: The distant roar of the advancing fight; The lurid fires, that made the starlight pale, Of infant innocence for life was vain; While fearful shrieks rang wildly on the gale, Or moaning sobs, in last extreme of pain, Drowned in the savage yells exulting o'er the slain ! The answering signals on the distant heights, Of the alarming drum, all sounds and sights With eager strides rushed breathless through the street, When his insatiate thirst should bloodier vengeance meet! And there were gatherings round the cheerless hearth, Since who could tell if evermore on earth Should greet them, scatheless from the field of state, And there were foot-steps faster than the gale, The sun rose redly in a smoky sky, And the black ramparts hailed it with a shout Waited with patience for the coming bout; Near and more near drew the advancing lines; When the quick tides of slaughter, warm and red, Whose clouds were with the fate of a broad empire rife. The signal! Hark! It comes not. From the fort A white flag flutters, which some coward hand That ever thrilled the pulses of the land. When certain victory, an hour before, Stretched to the grasp of every hardy band, It boots not now to tell the coward name When e'en a stripling, but for very shame, Had scorned the truce, and struck at least a blow. That not in vain the eagle banner fell, But fiercer wrath, resistless in its flow, In after fields revenged the insult well, And broke with bloody hands the foul, disgraceful spell. I stood upon a fragment of the wall, But all its silence and its freedom o'er, A thousand white sails on its bosom gleam, Where erst the light skiff plied, but may not venture more. And, turning to the forest, it has fled! Nor tree nor shrub the longing eye may greet; A vast and busy city, street on street, VOL. XLVI. 31 Summer Recreations. SARATOGA: A TRIP TO CANADA: THE GREAT SAGUENAY. Ir is a rare combination of beauties in nature and art which renders Saratoga preeminently attractive to summer visitors. The invalid, drawn thither by its healing fountains; the lover of gay life and fashionable amusements; the devotee of nature, and one who would read human character, each unquestioned in his pursuit, finds ample means of enjoyment there, and all who will may find genial friends. Congress Hall, with enlarged borders, has appeared the past season in more than its pristine glory. The exquisitely beautiful grounds of the United States Hotel, at every returning summer, with their array of beauty and talent, invite you to their enchanting shades. In addition to its other attractions, Saratoga is emphatically the great exchange for summer-tourists in America. It was my good fortune, during the month of August last, to meet there a friend, whose timely suggestion induced me to join a party to the great Saguenay; and well did the varied delights of our excursion repay us for the elegant enjoyments we left. The morning-train took us to Whitehall, where we met the steamer 'America,' Captain Flagg, on Lake Champlain. The beautiful homelike comforts of the 'America' well comport with the world-wide reputation which has belonged to the Champlain steamers from the time of Captain Sherman and Captain Chapman to the present. I enjoyed, as I have done before, and hope often to do again, the surpassingly beautiful scenery on this lake, hallowed as it is by associations with stirring events in our revolutionary history. The day was one of peculiar loveliness, of genial warmth and refreshing breezes, and the sun-set was enchanting. But there are no words which can picture that gorgeously beautiful sun-set on Lake Champlain, August eleventh, 1855. On board the cars, from Rouse's Point- on the border to the St. Lawrence the twilight afforded only an imperfect view of the country, but my thoughts were busy with local associations. To account for the origin of the name Canada, I have somewhere read that Spaniards first went thither in search of gold. Disappointed in their hopes, they frequently exclaimed, 'Aca-nada,' nothing here,' an expression which the Indians soon understood. When the French subsequently visited the country, the natives, supposing that they also had come in quest of the precious metal, and believing that the whites all spoke the same language, in order to anticipate the inquiries of their new visitors, greeted them with Aca-nada.' The French, in turn, ignorant of the Spanish as of the Indian tongue, took this oft-repeated exclamation to be the name of the country. Hence it was allowed to supersede Cartier's appellation of New-France. Notwithstanding the seeming probability of this account, I do not recollect any authentic record that Spaniards were the first explorers in this northern region. Another agreeable transfer from rail-road to steam-boat took us 1855.] Summer Recreations. across the St. Lawrence, and in a few moments more we were introduced to Mr. Coleman, of the Montreal House.' Here we were on the island of Hochelaga; but the Indian race, with the name of their rude fortress, has passed away. Their successors, the Normans, have also long since been conquered, and we were within the empire of Britain. Mr. Coleman is always at home' to his guests, though his private residence is in a retired part of the city. The Montreal House' is within a stone's-throw of the wharf, and offers every convenience and comfort to travellers. A Sabbath morning at the cathedral, during the celebration of high mass, and a discourse in French, succeeded by a visit to the Presbyterian church, where we listened to an excellent sermon by the Rev. Dr. Martin, late of New-York, brought us to the evening, when I was glad to retire to my pleasant room, looking out on the splendid river. It was five o'clock in the afternoon, of the following day, after a visit to the convents, a view from the summit of the cathedral, and a drive round the mountain, that we went on board the steamer John Munn,' Captain Crawford, for Quebec. The small white farm-houses which border the St. Lawrence like a continuous village from Montreal to that city, bring to mind, in striking contrast, the magnificent palaces which deck the shores of our Hudson. Early next morning, without landing at Quebec, we exchanged the steamer, which had afforded us very comfortable accommodations for the night, for the Saguenay,' Captain R. Simard, bound for Ha-ha Bay, the end of steam-boat navigation in the Saguenay River. Captain Simard has the past season made weekly excursions to the Saguenay, expressly for the accommodation of tourists, leaving Quebec on Tuesday mornings, and returning on Thursday evenings. Seven miles below the city are the Falls of Montmorenci. As seen from the St. Lawrence, they present the appearance of a sheet of white foam, overhanging the immense perpendicular cliff which there rises on the margin of the river. Just below the Montmorenci Falls, lies the fertile island of Orleans. The luxurious vine which Cartier found growing there in such abundance, and which induced him to name it the Isle of Bacchus, has given place to fields of grain and gardens of vegetables, fruits, and flowers. The white houses of the habitans dot the green turf of the island, and the spire of a Christian church rises among the trees. Riviere Ouell, or Grosse Isle, about one hundred miles below Quebec, on the southern shore of the St. Lawrence, was our first stopping-place. The town lies hidden behind the mountains. From the deck of our steam-boat but a solitary building was visible. This settlement, as also that of Murray Bay, twelve miles across the river on the opposite bank, is inhabited principally by French peasantry, who are contented to live as their fathers lived in Europe centuries ago, cultivating lands rented to them by their feudal lords. From Grosse Isle we crossed over to Murray Bay. This, beside being a farming and lumbering town of some importance, is also a fashionable watering-place, but its rural aspect certainly bears little resemblance to our Newport or Saratoga. I, however, admired the simple costume of the ladies, among whom was the wife of the Seigneur, who, like many others, had come down in her calèche to exchange courtesies with the friends she might see aboard our steamer, to welcome the new-comer, or to say adieu to the parting guest. Peasants were also there, as is their custom, to witness the semiweekly visits of the steam-boat. From the wharf one sees very little of the town; but farther out on the river, a fine landscape opens to view: the white church, in contrast with the deep-tinted evergreens; the small houses, all white, on cultivated farms, extending far back in the distance; the remote mountains, the intervening hills, and the broad expanse of water in front. It was a glorious view. At Riviere du Loup, nineteen miles further down, on the opposite shore, and twenty miles above the mouth of the Saguenay, we lay for the night, in order that we might have a day-light view of this remarkable scenery. At the first glimpse of dawn, our steamer was again under way, and in the morning twilight we were gazing around from the place where the English squadron, under Wolfe, on its passage to the siege of Quebec, was 'becalmed off the mouth of the deep and gloomy Saguenay.' These waters are indeed dark and deep, very deep, but to me it was no gloomy appearance which they wore. The whole scene is one of wild wonder.' At its mouth, the Saguenay is one mile in width; farther up, in many places it is broader. It is walled in by rugged and irregular mountains, now jutting out far into the stream, now receding in the back-ground, forming open bays, until you are left to conjecture as to its course; and forgetting all else, you watch with intense interest the movement of the steamer, which appears at one time making toward the base of a mountain, at another striking out into an open gulf. 'Cap l'Eternité' rises eighteen hundred feet in a perpendicular line above the surface of the water. Our obliging captain, intent on giving us the most striking and comprehensive view of this remarkable cliff, sailed out into the bay, and doubling the cape, passed directly into its shadow. Here the water has been found to be more than three hundred fathoms in depth. Not a ruffle moved its surface, but from its dark bosom, it reflected with remarkable distinctness the high-piled strata of rocks, the stunted ever-greens, and even every tint of the little flowers which grew around the mountain-base. We had scarcely lost sight of l'Eternité when Les Trois Frères, or Cap la Trinité, rose before The three successive elevations which compose this mountain are intersected by clusters of spruce and pine, of a small growth, and of the deepest green. us. All along on the declivities of the mountains which border this river, small trees and shrubs grow from the crevices of the rocks, and now and then, in beautiful contrast, appears a brilliantly-colored flower. From the fissures of the rocks little rivulets burst forth; and as if grateful for being at last released from their dark caverns, they give back the sun's rays more thick and radiant than he sent them.' Sixty miles of this wild beauty, from the mouth of the Saguenay, brought us to Ha-Ha Bay. Here is a mill-seat of considerable importance. |