IF the geographical lessons of his youth are not fresh in the memory of the reader, let him procure an Atlas, and turn to the map of the great North American Lakes. How shapeless, how regularly shapeless, in their outline do these inland seas appear. Is there anything real or imagined, that resembles them in form? We have, at times, amused ourselves in tracing, or rather fancying, a likeness of figure in bays, lakes, promontories and continents to animals in various positions. How ridiculous, we hear somebody say, thinking to himself aloud. Was it ridiculous in the Chaldeans, who watch ed their flocks by night, on the hills of Asia, to arrange the stars in constella tions? We affirm that the Northern lakes represent a cluster of Rohan potatoes. Lake Huron, it is true, does not carry a very close resemblance to a potatoe; yet potatoes may be deformed and mutilated. For instance, the northern end of the vegetable may have been pressed against a rock, during its growth, and the southern portions may have been split by the hoe, in cultivation. This is as near the potatoe as the belt, sword, and one eye of Orion to an armed war rior. We venture to suspect that the man who ridicules our philosophy of resemblances, has himself seen stranger things with less cause. Has he not sat hours before a winter fire, before a grate full of coals, peering into its red depths, descrying castles and faces; warriors and demons; yea, with an especial variety of imps and blue devils? School girls have seen the hair of their lovers in a glowing coal; the face of a dead father, the weeping of an absent mother. Far less imagination is required to make out our potatoe theory.

Applying the same rule to Lake Superior, it comes out a weasel. This is a very respectable lake in every particular; its waters are the purest, broadest, deepest, coldest, and most transparent of any lake, ancient or modern. It is said that even John Bull does not deny this, which "if true," settles the matter as against the world.

Until lately its waters have rolled in solitude from side to side; but in history it is more ancient than the Mississippi. Before Marquette and La Salle floated down the Great River, Mesnard and Allouer buffeted the waves of the Great Lake. It was only twenty-one years after the feet of the Pilgrims touched the eastern shore of this continent, that those strange, daring, calmly enthusiastic Jesuits arrived upon the borders of this remote sea.

It was only four years after Plymouth Rock was consecrated to futurity, that the tribes of Lake Huron heard the Gospel and saw the Cross. As though they were impelled by an irresistible motive, the Catholic missionaries persevered against every obstacle, until they reached La Pointe, then called Chegoimegan. In 1641, Rambault and Jonges founded a chapel at the Falls of St. Mary.

Thirteen years before Marquette saw the Mississippi, the Abbe Mesnard was heard preaching to the Chippeways at the Ance-Kewawenon.

It was from thence, pressing forward on foot to the waters of the Ontonagon, he is supposed to have perished in the labyrinths of the Porcupine Mountains.

Eight years before the canoe of Marquette floated out of the "Quisconsang" River, Father Allouer had established his chapel at Chegoimegan. But the Mississippi has become the channel of commerce, the home of 600 steamers, and thus the names of Marquette and La Salle are rendered immortal. Until lately, the commerce of Lake Superior was carried on in a few Mackinaw boats and bark canoes, carrying provisions_and trinkets, and returning with furs. Thus Mesnard, a martyr to discovery and religion, is forgotten.

To particularize, the arched curve of the northern shore of Lake Superior, is the back of the weasel; descending westward to his head, at Fond du Lac, and to his haunches at Michipicaten and White Fish Point. Point Keweno represents a space between the fore-legs and the body. Isle Royal, Cariban and Michipi

caten are beautiful spots on his side, and Grand Island is one of the toes of the hind foot. Some persons have, in our hearing, recommended the beaver as a fitter animal, but we cannot make the pattern fit. Where shall we place his flowing tail, equal in length to his body. In Tequanewan Bay, say they. But this bay will not contain one quarter of a tail proportioned to such a body—we adhere to the weasel.

The government of the U. States was the first to establish a uniform system of public survey. The whole of its immense surveyed domain has been divided into squares of one mile each, by lines that run due north and south, and due east and west. This is called the system of rectangular co-ordinates, first put in operation in Ohio in 1784. By its "meridians,” and “base lines,” its “ranges" and "townships,” the exact position of a resident, or an explorer upon any portion of the public lands, is always known with reference to any other portion of this extended territory, whether 100, 500, or 1,000 miles distant.

This system has required for its execution a new class of men. There are surveyors general, who have charge of large districts, and keep an office at some central point. But the men upon whom the labor and exposure falls are the field surveyors and their subordinates. The surveyor works by contract with the government, at so much per mile. He furnishes his own instruments, provisions and as sistants. Each party consists of a surveyor who takes charge of the field work and runs the lines, of two chainmen, one axe-man, and in bad regions two, a man to keep camp and officiate as cook; with one or two packers-the packers are a race analogous to the boatmen of the Ohio, in the days of Mike Fink-whose duty it is to pass and repass between the depôt and the working parties, conveying provisions upon their backs. Solitary and alone do these men travel the wild regions of the North and West with the instinct of the Indian; always hardy and cheerful, never so happy as when employed in the depths of the forest.

The surveyor ordinarily carries a tent for each party, and where the country will admit, the packer is furnished with a horse, which is a great advantage. The surveyor, like a general in his campaigns, establishes his magazines on the nearest navigable water, from which sup

The

plies are taken, by the packers. professional surveyor is a man of some scientific, but in general of more practi cal knowledge. He must be courageous, energetic, and capable of enduring the severest fatigues. He requires a capacity for combination, so directing his parties, and his stores, as to ensure co-operation; to accomplish the greatest results with the least labor, expense, and exposure, and particularly so as to take away the greatest number of chances against a failure of supplies with the consequences that follow. His men have a professional pride which causes them to follow, wherever the surveyor leads, to partake of fate, without murmurs, to exercise patience under hardship, to be good-natured, kind, social, and efficient. If misfortunes occur, if the packer is lost, the horse stolen by Indians, snows and rains fall, or a short allowance is necessary in camp, the true woodsman never despairs. He is all perseverance, confidence, and hope.

If night overtakes him far from the camp, and it becomes too dark or stormy to follow the lines; like a good soldier he borrows no trouble, but coiling himself at the foot of a tree, makes up for the want of his supper by a sound and early sleep. During the past year the surveys have reached the remote parts of Lake Superior. Exploring in those regions we have often pitched our tents with those of the surveyors, and listened with the highest pleasure to their conversation. Sitting around the same camp-fire, covered with the same rough dress, like them unshorn with razor or scissors, for months together, eating bean soup from the same cup, and broiled pork from the same skewer; all restraint was banished, and the evening's talk and fun ran free; would that we had the pen of Irving or of Cooper, to do justice to the simplicity, the force, truth and modesty of the tales of forest life that have fastened our attention so many hours. Many young men of education take the post of chainmen in these parties, either to gratify a disposition for novelty and excitement, or with a view to future employment as surveyors. Among the nobs of the Huron Mountains, which geologists say were thrust up from beneath by volcanic forces, and whose irregular summits stand in cold relief against the sky, we met an M.D. who had taken to the woods for health and amusement. His legs were provided with a pair of pants made of

striped bed ticking, the stripes pretty much obliterated by hard usage, greasespots, and dirt. A flannel shirt, a pair of badly-rent brogans, a pair of woolen stockings, a canal driver's hat, and a coat of the same material as the pants, constituted his dress. But healthy, and full of animal life, however disfigured may have been his exterior, the M.D. possessed more of the man at that moment, whether physical or mental, than ever before. His reason was stronger, his fancy brighter, memory better, and capacity of acquirement greater than at any former period of life. He had been some months in the district west of the first principal Meridian and north of the Base line of the Lower Peninsula of Michigan, back of Grand Traverse Bay. The horse appeared to be his favorite animal and he related many a tale of the sagacity, intelligence and kindness of the Canadian pony which the packers use.

In the fall of 1842, two parties under Mr. Hudson were subdividing lands at the sources of the Manistee River. Winter set in before the contract was finished. After a separation of three weeks they met at a rendezvous in the interior, having brought their work to that spot simultaneously. It was now five months they had been from the settlements buried in the forest of the north, and had seen no whites but those of their own number. For three weeks the two parties had seen or heard nothing of each other, and meeting so opportunely they made the woods ring with shouts of joy, and hurried to embrace each other like long parted brothers. The trees were now stripped of leaves, and snow began to fall. The grass and herbage, upon which the pony had subsisted hitherto, began to perish. His plump form began to shrink, and it was impossible for him to bear the usual burden. The good packer took a share of it upon his own shoulders, and came into camp exhausted, when he threw himself at full length upon the ground and without supper or blanket fell asleep. By the rules of the surveying department the field notes of all the townships named in the contract must be returned before payment can be demanded. None but emergencies beyond the foresight and efforts of the surveyor would constitute an excuse for modifying this rule. A few days of severe weather or a few days of short allowance would not by any means be received as sufficient reasons for abandon

ing a task; with a plentiful supply of provisions, weather and seasons are laughed to scorn by such men. Everything rested therefore on the packer and his horse.

By the first light of day he and his companion, the Canadian pony, start for the depôt. Rains and snows had raised the streams and filled the swamps. There was neither game for the support of the men, nor time to kill it if there had been. It was necessary to use expedition for other reasons. Their return to the settlements was to be made in open boats along the coast to the southward, and if ice formed in Lake Michigan, how was this to be effected? If not effected how were they to subsist? All these contingencies were fully present to their minds as the packer disappeared in the bush, followed by his faithful pony. Would they reach the depôt ? Would they be able to return? If they did, would the animal have strength enough to bear his load, and thus supply the hunger of twelve men for two weeks or more? These questions were seriously but silently studied by those worn and ragged woodsmen, but not with any weak misgivings as to the future. Full of resolution, they betook themselves to their work of running and marking lines upon the leafless trees. They pursued their labors as usual for a week, and began to expect the arrival of provisions from the coast. The packer came not much behind his time, accompanied as usual, by his horse, but with only a partial load. He had been obliged to throw away many pounds of meat, in order to enable the good creature to reach the camp. Enough food was brought, however, to secure the company against want.

No wonder the little Frenchman saw with the deepest sorrow, the decline of his little horse. How many days, how many nights, had they spent together in that broad forest. Like a faithful dog, the pony followed wherever the packer went; came in the morning to receive his load, swam rivers, clambered up the ascent of steep hills, let himself down slippery precipices, and always came at the call. Can it be a matter of wonder that the human heart should knit itself with that of a beast. Here was that confidence, that submission, that usefulness, kindness and devotion which give rise to affection in men towards their subordinates. Hear this unlettered packer, as

he rises from his bed of hemlock boughs in the morning, talking familiarly to his horse, as he would to a companion or a friend; was there not between them a communion of feeling?—on the part of the horse of gratitude for attention and protection on the part of the man, of gratitude for long-tried faithfulness and brute intelligence. See him pat the sleek and staunch creature upon the neck as he is dismissed at night, well rubbed and cleaned, to graze in the vicinity.

The pony, now released from duty, was suffered to run at random in the neighboring swamps. But the herbage, principally destroyed by frost, did not seem to have a relish. He spent most of the time among the men, and about the camp-fire, weak, sickly, and without appetite. The work of the season was at length finished, but not until winter had fully set in. Preparations were immediately made to quit the country. These hardy chain-men, axe-men, and packers will themselves find no difficulty in reaching the boat, and thence to the settlements; but the poor horse, what will become of him. The party prepare for the trip with alacrity, not by laying in provisions and comforts, as they do in making up an outfit, but by dispensing with every thing that has weight, and is not indispensable on the march. The extra provisions are stowed away in hollow logs, the extra blankets are hid in the same manner, the compass and chain, the axes and hatchets are all put in some secret place, to be in readiness for next season's operations.

But the fate of the old horse is not absent from their minds. No one could be found with the heart to shoot him, and thus end, or rather avoid much of his sufferings. He was now so much reduced that he could not keep up with the company, and the company were too much straightened for time to be delayed on their way to the coast. The surveyor made liberal offers to the man who would volunteer and endeavor to take

him to the nearest settlement. If he should reach the coast, the season was too far spent to expect a vessel that might take him on board, and there the chances of famishing by hunger and cold would be greater than in the recesses of the forest. He must be left. The old crea ture seemed to comprehend the fate that awaited him, and stuck close to the men. His pack saddle was taken off and hung in the top of a small tree, and sorrowfully the party set out. He neighs after them, and makes an effort to follow. But the little fellow's frame is too weak. He stumbles and falls to the ground, uttering a low and touching moan.

It struck a chord in every heart. Those rugged men turned back in mercy at the call of a brute, but it was impossible to take him forward. They cut boughs from some evergreen trees and made him a comfortable bed. They pulled some coarse grass, laid it near his head, and slowly turning away, left him to a bitter death. But there was a power in the beseeching look of the prostrate and helpless creature, which none could resist. There were wet eyes when they abandoned him to his fate.

The following winter was one of less rigor than usual. In the spring the surveyor returned to continue his work, expecting to find the bones of his pony, stripped of their flesh by wolves. But with what surprise and joy did they hear the well-known neigh, as he came running from a neighboring swamp to greet his long-absent master and friend. The simple-hearted man yielded to the impulse of nature-he threw his arms around the shaggy little neck of the deserted animal, that came fondling around him like a dog, shedding as many tears as he would for the reappearance of a brother who had been, by necessity, abandoned on the edge of winter in the depths of the wilderness. The pony had managed to live all winter in the close thicketed swamps, where occasional juicy shrubs and plants remained not entirely destroyed by the frost.

THE distinguished position occupied by this lamented gentleman-the heavy blow sustained in his death, alike by the profession, of which he was the pride and ornament, and the country to which he had devoted his talents and energies -and the eventful period in which he lived and acted, claim at our hands a more extended notice than they have already received.

The melancholy occasion invites, too, some serious thoughts upon the press of our country. We are too apt to confine our attention to the unsubstantial puppets which it calls into action, while the true spring which gives motion to the whole is unregarded.

We are accus

tomed to associate the idea of greatest power with those high in office, distinguished by place alone, and rendered more imposing by all the outward manifestations of authority. We are alarmed at the aggressions of chief magistrates, and declaim against the malfeasance of subalterns. We look with anxiety to every motion of that hand which grasps the purse and sword, and watch with jealous scrutiny that power which bids armies go forth-at whose command navies sweep to the uttermost parts of the sea. But within yonder humble closet, is preparing an engine more powerful, perchance more terrible, than ever tyrant shaped! The power which sways materials is trifling to that which regulates the mind. Compared with the editor, even the spell of the orator seems vain and fleeting. Brilliant eloquence may lead to stormy action. The crowd may cry, "Let us march against Philip," but the effect is transient, though intense. On the forum, too, rival copes with rival. The bane and antidote are side by side. Not so with the editor. His paper goes forth, and whether for good or for evil, meets no opposing force. It finds admittance, and gains ready credence within every wall, from the palace to the cottage. It is frequently found, where even the Bible is not, insidiously distilling poison, as did the fiend who sat,

"Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve, Forging distempered,discontented thoughts, Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires."

The close lines of party prevent the

entrance of the Ithuriel of Truth, and the venom has full time and power to effect its object. This is the dark side of the picture. The other is radiant with all the hues of the first promise. Properly directed, the press is the surest guaranty of freedom. To it is given the fearful duty of moulding and directing public opinion, that mighty resultant of the minds of a people. The tyrant may overwhelm every other bulwark; flattery and servility may give a gloss to every crime. But even in the riot of the banquet, the press is the hand-writing on the wall, which announces with silent, but terrible monition, that he has been weighed in the balance and found wanting-that his days are numbered-that his empire has passed away for ever. The press is, in truth, the mainspring of society. Legislative bodies, as a general rule, but register the edicts of this mighty law-giver, Archimedes needed but a fulcrum to move the world. Faust has supplied at once, the lever and the fulcrum, by which the moral universe may be swayed. "Is the press," says an eloquent writer, "to be regarded only as a dexterous combination of springs and screws-or is it to be worshipped as the steward of all the hidden treasures of the mind-as the breaker of intellectual chains-the avenger of injured rightsthe moral Hercules, that goes forth, turning the wilderness to fertility, and smiting the monsters of the world?" How impotent is England's greatest premier, with a submissive majority at his heels, in comparison with the Times, the imperium in imperio, best entitled to the appellation of sovereign of Great Britain. But it is in our own country that the press is most powerful. It is the republican Warwick, that raises or deposes Presidents at will. With silent power it overthrows the patriot, or elevates the demagogue. Here it proves itself the subtle alchymist of the nineteenth century. In its glowing alembic wondrous decompositions take place. Vice emerges with the front of virtue, and honor, blackened, takes the guise of shame! In view, then, of this mighty power, which gives us laws and rulers, how momentous is its proper direction. Need alike for the jealous eye and bounteous hand-scorn, unutterable scorn, for him who would