752,,W1M 710 'II' 0 N:RT 5Z ID 8 WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1845 Trip to Cape May. Sketches by travelling editors have become so common —4O much matters of course, in the editorial routine, as scarcely to challenge criticism in any point of view ; hence we feel emboldened to venture upon one, in an interval of graver labors. In speaking thus of travelling 'editors, we desire not to be understood astlisparhing the e lms of those connected with the public press, whom pleasure or business may have sent abroad. On the contrary, we differ widely frommany of the conclusiOns recently expressed in the columns of this paper in regard to the racy and graphic sketches of WILLIS in his Euro• peas wanderings. We generally turn to them with pleasure , and enjoy the contrast which they present to the more elaborate and finished pictures of Brt TANT, now on the same side of the Atlantic.• Nor have we failed in being both profited and delighted whenever, our es teemed eoremporary of the UtiTted States Gazette, cont. tonnes with this •" Arm Chair," during a ramble from borne. We have observed too, that our friend Former of the Lancaster Intelligencer, travels with his eyes open, and knows right well how to describe what he sees: The wry mention of these, renders us more diffident in sending to press our own hasty pencillings, made lit trey by the way-side. Having entered upon an ex i!ie,str, and apologetic strain, we.tnay as well at this urge ako promise, that in our occasional labors for this rarer—soth Bil due respect to its readers be it Fran:— we seek as much our own amusement as any thing else ; and least of all, du we write from any pride ,f author -ship. There are, in the lives of. all—(and much too frequent have they come to ns in later years)—melan choly moments—when a heavy-hearted despondency has crept over us, on finding some long-cherished friendship rudely driven from its favorite resting-place ;—or mo ments of morbid gloom, when a listless indifference seems to have swallowed up even our best hopes and ;affec tions, and we feel for a season, abandoned on the wide waste of cheerless existence, without elace to cast an chor, and without a shore in view, to excite a singlewish, or give the slightest interest to contemplation. In such moments as these, we are sure to find relief in the cheer ful exercise i f the pen. To comment, criticise, or rea son—careless often as to the thought or the subject we we seize upon—lo roam any where in the irfinite field of menial speculation, serves to recall the mind to its wonted tone and energy, and to dispel the gathering clouds. Such, freqUently have been our incentives to literary labor; and such especially way the spirit in which we sat down to fill up our notes of a " trip to Cape May." A Might and beautiful morning in July, Yee entered a eartiage.that had been summoned for the purpose to the door of some hospitable friend* With whom we had been ',jamming in Philadelphia, determined to obey the fash ionable it4tilse—(which was accelerated in our case, by the plea of ill:health put in by a compognon du royoge_ . : eo to the Cape. Not by any means intending tir to in-innate, that we were Mrs. Caudle-d into a jaunt, which gentlemen are quite as fond Of taking, as the la dies—though they often pretend otherwise. As we neared Chesnut Street wharf, a shower of printed bills setting forth the merits of the rival steamboat-, then in readiness for the Capes, was thrown into our carriage; and soon breathless runners on each side, also began vas oferously to claim our patroziage. " Turn to the right" —"take the left." "The Portsmouth sir." " Napoleon at your service sir." '• This way." "0, take our boat 4ir"—were shouted in deafening cadence and eager,ear nestness, by half a dozen voices. Which boat s4all we take"—asked one of our party doubtingly. In spite of the attraction of a great name, we entered the Ports mouth—being the safest bOat in case of rough weath er in the Bay. In a few moments we were ploughing our way through the broad and placid bosom of the Delaware. We watched the city we had left, and as it g-ndually sunk in the distance, and one after aniitlier of its swelling domes and glittering spires faded from the view—our mind reverted to memories of its crowded streets ; its va ried contrasts of want and wealth —of virtue mid deprasi ty. Every large city in these respects is the same. The lununous acid gilded carriages of the rich, roll carelessly on. while the shnnking beggar clamors for bread, or pines in sullen hate ; grace and deformity jostle each other in its crowded pathways—and the sweet tones and gentl e werilg of virtuous beauty, are often borne on the same breeze with the hollow laugh and heartless , hilari ty of the strolling wanton. The ravishing music which peals from its splendid "boudoirs and drawing-rooms, scarcely drowns the voices of anguish that rise in the sickly atmosphere of pent-tip courts, where cluster the crowded dwellings of the poor. Nor is misery and vice to be found only in the low abodes of poverty. Could we tear the mask from the face of splendor and wealth, bow many features would be black with evil passions, or convulsed in the darkest despair !•There is in city-life !such to covet; and many in its thronging Crowds whom We could admire and love. But more—how much more there, unworthy and illusive ! Like the dangerous gardens of the fair East, where fair flowers „and shady trees wave in beauty and bloom ; but beneath them cow ers the green adder anal the basilisk, and around, prowls in stealth, t'be gaunt wolf and merciless tiger,pantiug for blow!, At length, the windings of the river ihut oat sudden ly from our view, the dim outline of the city, and chan ged the current of our moralizing. Thus distance af fects the physical, as time does the moral world. A few more yearn will by—a little longer shall we toss upon the billows, or drift on the bosom of the lazy cur rent of life, or be hurried swiftly along its swelling tide and the incidents we have met with—the pleasures we have enjoyed, and the friends we have so fondly, clung to whether in sun-shine or in storm—will all gradually fade from the minds•eye, and be nearly forgotten, when tyrant death, like an angle in the stream, shall at once blot them from before ne , and open perhaps, a new and different scene to our vision. The harsh voice of the colored stewartlA—" ell gem s ' men what hao'nt paid their paesenges, please step to the Cap'ne office and settle"—soon roused us from our rev eries, and turned our attention to more practical affairs. The day continued beautiful in the extreme. A fine Tweeze from the ocean, lifted th waters of the river against the prow of our steamer, which dashed them off again, long in a track of foam on either side. We stopped at . _ . . - 1. - . , -.".*'f. ' ';'. ' .6": •''jil_fj,: il ..,)'. .-, t4 .-:7 , ~5 . ,n,! , . •..-•.i .= q . . . , . . . , . _ T t. ~, ..,,...-: , .-„. .., --. , ..-_,....,,..i .., • , ,, . .,,, , , , ,,,..., . ; , ; , : ::...", .;.,.,: , ,,-,..-i . ...--,,,,i , , _ . Wilmington and New Castle to take in passengers. At the latter place there WILS a large accession to our numbets —mostly from Baltimore. Below New Castle, the bay grows'w ider ; its low green shores spreading out, as it were, to embrace the " bounding sea." Soon these were no longer visible, and there was All around us, one broad ocean— All above us, one blue sky." . Just before losing sight of land, we passed the ne ship Susquehanna, of Philadelphia, homeward hound from Liverpool. Her decks were crowded with passen gers--emigrants escaping from the tyranny of the told world, seeking the just reward of honest toil under our equal and benign institutions. And who shall say them nay I Why should not our country be and become the asylum of the oppressed I It is another question what probation they shall undergo—how long they shall be required to study the principles of our government, 'be fore they are permitted a voice or a vote in selecting its rulers,—and it is a question about which we may hon estly differ. But what American freeman can look up• on the suffering and oppression of the down-trodden I masses of Europe—suffering end oppression which if it had not been for the spirit and valor of his forefathers, might to a great extent even now have been his own,— and not feel Hs sympathies aroused, and his heart open ed to allow all who may escape to these free shores, a home in our aide-spread domain? Late in the afternoon we reached the landing-place on Cape Island. Here we were crowded promiscuously into small Rockaway wagons (as they are called) and driven at a snails-pace through the .sand, some four or live mills to the village. This we found to consist of a cluster of common.looking wooden buildings, irregularly -placed and occupied in the sunimei chiefly as boarding. houses—interspersed with four large, showy hotels. The buildings—hotels. and all—were surmounted as usual 'in New Jersey, with staring red roofs. "Jersey blue," (es pecially with its political and historical associations,) it well enough. But " Jersey red," every where capping the otherwise plain and neat dwellings of Jersey farriters —has always been our aversion. 11e learned to detest the color, for marring some very beautiful landscapes in in Penns) Ivania. Even savages, never employ it, ex cept as an emblem of war and hatred! We four.d very comfortable quarters at the new "At. !antic Hotel," notwithstanding the crowd—there being an invalid " lady in our case ;" and were soon fairly ft,- tabliNhee, with leisure to look around us. Of course, our attention was first attracted by the Ocean, whose swelling waves with all their !bite crests dancing Come, like thick plurri'd squadrons, to the shore Gallant) , bounding—" • theme far away in the distance, it seemed as calm and plat id as the blue Heaven above. There is a strange, sympathy in the mind with exter nal objects, which no philosophy can repress. Stoicism may teach us to bear what we cannot escape ; but there are certain emotions which it can never master. No man on the summit of a lofty mountains feels as he did upon the plain. Even the sight of a mountain, swells the heart with a feeling of admiration. But how much more—especially in him who looks upon it butseldom— does the great ocean expand the senses and give rise to lofty ideas. As we behold a vast body of waters rolling in eternal commotion, and embracing in its deep bosom so many wonders—our thoughts naturally recur to that inconceivable Being who thus rocks it forever in its mighty bed ! And then—to stand upon the vessel's deck, far out from shore, amid the waste of waters, and watch the rising storm. To see the blank clouds float swiftly and silently up the track of sky, like armed ships ranging fur a battle, and as if guided by an invisible storm-spirit. Soon, the red sheet ordazzling flame leaps out from its hiding-place, and the crashing thunder peals aloft; and the very air groans as it were, with terror—while the soaring eagle screams, and the sea-bird flaps his broad wings and veheels.above the sullen wave. Onward now dashes the heaving billow, and the sea becomes white with foam; the wind sweeps through th e hare and creaking masts, arid the ship rocks and trembles and plunges, so if in agony—while the blinding sheet of rain pours over its streaming deck. Oh !' it must be a stern and proud spirit indeed, that will not quail, at least for a moment, in a war of elements like this; and trembling feel the being and presence of a Gad who•' rides upon the whirl-wind and directs the storm." Once it was our chance to witness such a scene at sea, and long will it be before we forget its awful sublimity. Always since we first read them, whenever we - gaze upon the ocear, those noble stanzas in" Childe Harold " rise almost involuntary to our lips: •• Roll on, thou dark and deep blue ocean—roll! Ten thousandfleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin—Shis control Stops with the shore ;—upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save big own, when, for a moment like a 'drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with baling groan, Without a grave, uuknell'd, uncut:Sued, and unknown Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests, in all time, Calm or convuls'd—in breeie, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving ;—boundless, endless, and sublime— The image of eternity—the throne Of the invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made ach emus Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone." Barry Cornwall, in his ‘.llfarcian Colonnr," has Ostia thrilling apostrophe on the same subject, which, though less hackneyed, is scarcely second in beauty and power to that of Byron. " 0 thou east Ocean ! Ever sounding sea ! Thou symbol of a drear immensity ! Thou thing that windest round the solid world Like a huge animal, which, downward btard From the black clouds, lire weltering and alone, Lashing and writhing till its strength he gone. Thy voicsie like the thunder, and thy sleep Is as a giant's slumber loud and deep. Thou speakcst in the East and in the West At once, and on thy heavily laden breast Fleets come and go, end shapes that have no life Or motion yet are moved and meet in strife. The earth bath nought of this no chance no change }Mines its surface, and no spirit dare Give answer to the tempest-waken air; But o'er its wastes the weakly tenants range - At will, end wound its bosom as they go; Ever the some, it bath no ebb, no Bow ; But in their stated rounds the seasons come, And pass like visions to their viewless home, And come again, and vanish ; the young Spring Looks ever bright and blossoming, And winter always winds his sullen horn, • And the wild Autumn with a look forlorn Dim in his stormy manhood ; and the skies PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY, AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. S. GOODRICH & SON. "REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANT QUARTER." Weep and flowers sicken when the summer Ries. Oh ! wonderful thou art, great element : And fearful in thy spleeny humors bent, And lovely in repose: thy summer form Is beautiful, and when silver waves Make music in earth's dark and winding caves, I love to wander on thy pebbled beach Markin; the sunlight at the evening hour, And hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach— Eternity, Eternity, and rower." A stroll on the beach by moonlight, and an hour or two spent as a looker-on at a dance—(" hop," is the fash ionable phrase)—which had been arranged in the large dining-hall of our hotel—made up our first evening at Cape May. The favorite hours for bathing in the surf, are eleven in the morning, and five in the evening. Then may be witnessed a scene of the most animated and exciting description. Several hundred persons of all sexes and ages—bathing dresses of all colors and fashions. La dies, in their little oiled-silk caps, or in coarse straw gypsey hats drawn down at the sides ;—gentlemen, with hats and caps of all patterns, and many without any thing of the kind;—children dressed; or undrered just as it may happen—ill mingled in the dashing surf— shrieking, helloing; shouting, laughing in one grand chorus. Nut unfiequently you hear in the intervals, a child, or a timid, nervous woman screaming and remon strating at being held up to be whelmed again in the chill and pitiless wave. Yonder, is a fine Newfound land dog, breasting the sea and anxiously watching its floating master nr mistress ;—near by, may be seen a favorite horse, sharing the invigorating exposure with its owner—whilst user the IA hide scene, the glorious sun is shedding warmth, and life—flashing brightly on each rising billow, and sparkling in every drop of .pray, Whenever the batkrs become tired of their sport, they retreat to the littlAvooden sheds or closets, placed along the beach, for the purpose. Here the dripping ba thing-dress is thrown off, and dry clothes huddled on, so as to reach their chambers decently—always avoiding recognition by the way, if possible. An elahorate'tuilet and its mysteries, soon enables them to re-appear "The glass of Fashion, and the mould of Form—" ready fur the trying glare of the dinner hour, or the more softened light of the evening meal. We gaze— we wonder—we admire;—hut the ugly costume of the surf—the merciless clinging and drenching of the wave— why will ye thus haunt our memory Corsets and bus tles and cotton-bags I May we never speak against you again—never—never ! We know better now. Our eyes were opened by the salt -water, and our understand ings enlightened by the sea-breeze at Cape M 4. silent we mean to be on the subject—except to advise all la dies who are indebted to their milliners for any of what Hogarth terms the " curve lines of beauty," to go to lie hant for sea-bathing,—where, according to Miss Marti neau, there is a luxurious place for them—" alittle beach, shut in by rocks along the top of which runs a high fence, and where the retirement is complete." Paulding, speaking of this fashionable bathing in the open sea by ladies, has somewhere ill-naturedly said, that in their transits to and from the waves—instead of looking like the fabled goddess' rising from the ocean— they reminded him of " old-clothes women when they went in, and drowned rata when they came out." By the vi s ay, speaking of the " fabled goddess" we must be secied to add, that if Phryne of Athens, had put on any thing like modern bathing costume of the sex, when she took it into her pretty head to bathe on the open shore during the feast of Eleusis, not much caring who, or how many were looking on—sure we are, that two of the chef dourres of Grecian art, the Venus of the wave by Apelles, on canvas., and the Guidean Venus of ?nisi teles in marble, would never have been modeled after her. And inespite of her matchless beauty, the offer to rebuild Thebes; if she could he allowed to inscribe upon its walls—'• Alexander diruif zed meretrix Phryne , re fecil—" would have been the proudest record of her memory. Well—having disposed of and described the bathing unless we go to particular and personal history, (which of course we shall not do)—we may as well draw our rambling, desultory sketch to a close. - The generalities of life at Cape May, can be enumerated in tivery brief space. First in the day, comes breakfast ; then, ba thing—dressing--dinner;—bathing again,—dressing— lea: A stroll on the herd white beach—a ride or a drive, and dancing afterwards, (if you like it)—make up the evening. Newspapers—cigars and for the gentlemen ; and delicate little bits of scandal for the la dies, fill up the intervals. A week, being all we could spare from business, fur the present season, sufficed us. During this period we picked up our quota of Cape dia• monde—swallowed more than our share of sea•water,— conned many a, new and interesting page in the great book of human nature, and came away, at least as well satisfied, as we had expected to be. We have engaged to make another trip—but don't be alarmed gentle read er."—whatever we may do in the premises --of this rest assured—we shall never again undertake to write you an account of it. • THE AFFECTIoIi OF OLD AoE.—How beau tifully affecting to witness an aged couple who have weathered tile's stormOiand in hand, and smiled on each other amid all the trials and tribulations which they have met in this vale of tears "—even as when basking together in the brightest each of prosperity—whose pleasures in each other's society are decreased not by the butfetings of ) Time—shat sure de spoiler of all that is beautiful in the human form divine." To such a couple, thoughts are an inexhaustible spring of joy. as, from the mirror of memory, the bright rays of their youthful happiness and love are once mote re flected upon them ; and the pore Spirit of Religion unfolds to their view, through the portals of the tomb, the hopeful prospect of a happy' re-union in that world " Where parting is no mote PORITY OF HEAR?.--Purity of heart IS of all virtues. the most elevated. A Greek maid being asked what fortune she could bring to her husband, answered, "I will being him what is more valuable man any treasure, a heart un• spotted, and virtue without a stain, which is all that descended to me from my parents." TAKINO IT Commt.—The editor of a Buck. eye paper has beeti threatened with a flogging. He ver i y quietly insinuates that he ,may be found up stairs. •• anti that it is but forty feet to the bottom.' [From the Washington Union..) Fremont's Exploring Expeditions. January 20.—The party started with a guide. Suffering much from the Cold, one man had his feet frost-bitten. At night, many Indians visited his camp. Held a council With them by signs. They appeared to have no knowledge of the use of fire arms. Engaged a guide, repaired moccasins, leggins,.elothing. and made every arrangement to cross the Sierrra Nevada." The guide was also clothed. ...February 2.—lt had ceased snowing, but the air was clear and frosty. The peaks of the *. Sierra " were near. The guide shook his head, and pointed to the icy pinnacles shoot ing high up iu the sky." The people were unusually silent, for every man knew that our enterprise was hazardous and extremely doubtful." The snow deepened rapidly. To day the journey was 16 miles, the elevation above the sea, 6.760 feet. February 3.—Could make only 7 miles ; snow and ice impeding progress at every step. The road had to be opened, and the snow was so deep in the hollows, that he was obliged to keep on the mountain side. cut a foot ing as we advanced, and a road through for the animals ; but occasionally one plunged out of the trail, and elided along the field to the bottom, a hundred yards below." Towards a pats which the guide had indicated, endeavors were made to force a wa) ; but, alter great el forte, it had to be abandoned. The animals had not sufficient strength to get on, even with out a load ; and the' road was strewed with camp stores and horses floundering m the stow. That night the party had no shelter. Some Indians joined them, and one gave them a talk. • He spoke in a very loud voice, and there was a singular repetition of phrases and ar rangement of words, which rendered his speech striking. and not unmusical. We had now begun to understand some words, and, with the aid of signs, easily com prehended die old man's simple ideas. Rock upon rock—rock upon rock—snow upon snow—snow upon snow," said he ; • even it you get over the'snow, you will'not be able to get down front th- mountains." He made us the sign of precipices, and allowed is how the feet or the horses would slip, and throw Ihent ofT from the narrow trails which led along their sides. Out' Chinook, who comprehend ed even more readily than ourselves, and be lieved our situation hopeless, covered his head with his blanket, and t egait to weep and le nient. 1 wanted to see the whites," said he; •• I came away from my own people to see the whites, and I would'm rare to die among them; but here "—and he looked around into the cold night and gloomy forest, and drawing his blanket over his head, began again to lament. - • Seated around the tree, the fire illumina ting the rocks and the tall bolls of the pines uld about, and the old Indian haranguing, we presented a group of very sarious faces. February s.—The night had been too cold to sleep, and we were up very eary. Our guide was standing by the fire with all his finery on ; and, seeing him shiver in the cold, I threw on his shoulders one of my blankets. We missed him a few minutes afterwards, and never saw him again. He had deserted. His bad faith and treachery were in perfect keep ing with the estimate of Indian character, which a long intercourse with this people had gradu ally forced upon my mind. " While a portion of the camp were occupi ed in bringing up the baggage to this point, the:remainder were busied in making sledges and snow-shoes. I had determined to explore the mountain ahead, and the sledges were to be used in transporting the baggage. "The mountains here rusisted wholly ofa white micaceous granite. '• The day was perfectly clear. and,•wltile the sun was iu the sky, it was warm and plea sant. '• By observatton, our latitude was 38° 42' 28" ; and elevation, by the boiling point, 7,400 feet. February o.—Accompanied by Mr. Fitz patrick, I set out to-day with a reconnoitring party, on snow-shoes. We marched all it single file, trampling the snow as heavily as we could. Crossing the open basin, nt a march of about ten miles we reached the top of one of the peaks, to the left of the pass indica ted by our guide. Far below us, dimmed by the distance, was a large snowless bounded on the western side, at the distance of about a hundred miles, by a 'low range of mountains, which Carson recognized with de light as the mountains bordering the coast.— " There." said he, t. is the little mountain—it is 15 years ago since I saw it; but I ant just as sure as it I had seen it yesterday." Be tween its, then, and this low coat t range. was the valky of the Sacramento ; and no one who had not accompanied us through the incidents of our life for,the last few months, could rea lize the delight with which at last we looked down upon it. At the distance of apparently 30 miles beyond us were distinguished spots of prairie ; and a dark line, which could be traced with the glass, was imagined to he the course of the river; but we were evidently at a great height above the valley. and between us and the plains extended miles of snowy fields, and broken ridges of pine-covered moun tains. •• It was late in the day when we tinned to wards the camp t and it grew rapidly cold as it drew towards night. One of the men became fatigued. and his feet began to freeze, and, building a fire in the quoit ()la dry old cedar, Mr. Fitzpatrick remained with til his clothes could be dried, and he was in condition to come on. After a day's. march of 20 miles, we straggled. into camp. u.ne after another, at night-fall ;" the greater number ex cessively fatigued, only two,of the party hav ing ever. traveled on snow-shoes before. . .• All our energies were now directed to get ting our animals across the snow ;.anitit was supposed that, after all cite baggage had been drawn with the sleighs over the trail • , we had made, it would be sufficiently hard to bear our animals. At several places, between this point and the ridge, we had discovered some grassy spots where the wind and sun had dispersed the snow from the sides of the hills ; and these were to form resting-places to support the ani mals for a night in their passage across. On our way across, we had set on fire several broken stumps, and dried trees, to 'melt holes In the snow for the camps. 'lts general depth was five feet; hut we passed over pfaCes where it was twenty' feet deep, as shtivrit by the trees. •• With one party drawing sleighs loaded with baggage, I advanced to-day about four miles Meng the trail, and encamped at the first grassy spot where we expected to bring our horses. Mr. Fitzpatrick, with another party, remained behind, to form an intermediate sta tion between us and the animals. February 8.--The night has been extreme ly cold ; but perfectly still, and beautifully clear. Before the sun appeared this morning, the thermometer was 3° below zero; 1° high er, when his rays struck the lofty peaks ; and 0° when he reached our ramp. - February 9.—A severe storm—the trail co vered with snow ; had to remain in camp that day, men becoming weak from insufficient food. . The elevation of the camp "by tte boiling point, is 7,920 feet." February 10.—The wind kept the air filled with snow. The elevation of the camp by the same ". point " this day. 8,050 feet-1.000 feet above the South pass of the Rocky mountains, and still we are not done ascend ing." Went out exploring on snow shoes.— " The glare of the snow, combined with great fatigue, h•td rendered many .of the people near ly Hind." Februaryi I.—The high wind eontinueil.— At work in beating a road, Feb. 12—made mauls" and worked hard upon the road..:- 13—continued the labor upon the road. "We had to-night an extraordinary meal—pea-soup, mule, and dog." 14th. 15th, 10th—still toiling and workit g on. Had become satisfied, from his numerous reeonnoitnngs, that he had fnund -the stream upon which ,Jr. Sutter lived, and then returned In his camp. But we will again use the words of Capt. Fremont: I was now perfectly satisfied that we had strudi the stream on which Mr. Sutter lived'; imd. turning about, made a hard push, and readied the ramp at dark. Here we had the pleasure to find all the remaining animals, 57 in number, safely arrived at the grassy hill near the camp; and here, also, we were agreeably surprised with the sight of an abuti dance of salt. 'Some of tho horse-guard .14d gone to a neighboring hut for pine nuts,-and discovered unexpectedly a large cake of very white, fine-grained salt, which the Indians told them they had brought front the other side of the mountain; they used it to eat with their pine nuts, and readily sold it for goods. Ott the 19th. the people were occupied in making a road and bringing up the baggage ; and. on the afternoon of the next day, Feb.2o, 1844. we encamped with the animals and all the materiel of the camp, on the summit of the Pass in the dividing ridge, 1.000 Miles by our traveled road from the Dulles of the Columbia. " The people, who had not vet been to this point, climbed the neighboring peak, to enjoy a look at the valley. The temperature of boiling water gave for the elevation of the encampment 9,338 feet above the sea. " This was 2.000 feet higher than the South Pass in the Rocky mountains, and several peaks in view rose several thousand feet still higher. - Thus, at the extremity of the conti nent, and near the coast, the phenomenon was seen of a range of mountains still higher than the great Rocky mountains themselves. This extraordinary fact accounts for the Great Ra. sin, and shows that there must be a system of small lakes and rivers here scattered over a fiat country.and which the extended and lofty range of the Sierra Nevada preVents from escaping to the Pacific ocean. Latitude 38° 45' ; longitude t2o° 28'. '• Thus this Pass in the Sierra Nevada, which so well deserves its name of - Snowy mountains, is 11° west, and about 4° south of the South Pass. '• February 21.—We now considered our selves victorious over the mountain ; having only the descent before us, and the valley un der our eyes, we felt strong hope that we should force our way down. But this was a case in which the descent was not facile. Still deep fields of snotty lay betWeeu, and there was a large intervening spare of roughluokingi mountains, through which we had yet to wind' our way. Carson roused me this morning with an early fire, and we were all up long be fore day, in order to pass the snow-fields be fore the sun should redder the crust soft. We enjoyed this morning a scene at sunrise, which even here was unusually glorious anti beautiful. Immediately above the eastern mountain was repeated a cloud-formed mass of purple ranges. bordering with bright yellow gold; the. peaks shot up Into a narrow line of crimson cloud, above which the air was filled with a greenish orange; and over all was the singular beauty of the blue sky. Passing along a ridge which commanded the lake on our right,,of which we began to discorer, , an outlet through a chasm on the west, we passed ocer alternating, open, ground, and hard crusted snow 7 fields, which supported ihe'sminials. and ,encamped on the ridge after a journey of sii miles. ,T,he'graiS was betti;r than We had yet iren. - and we were encaMped in a clunip of trees twertty or thirty feet CO. resembling white pine: With' tW eleepfion of lhese small clumps, the 'ilibrt;tr were bare ; and, where the snow feumh the support of the trees, the wind'had blown it up into hanks" ten or fifteen feet high. It required much rare to hunt outs practicable way, as the most open places frequently led tmimpassable banks,' • we had hard auddoubtful labor vet before ue, as the enow appeared, to he Jteevier.witere, the timber began further tatru,„islith few open spots: Ascending a height, we traced out the ==i= best line we could discover for the 'neit march, and had, at least, the consolation to see that the mountain descended rapidly. The day had been one of April., --gusty, slew occasional flakes of snow ; which, in the after noon. enveloped the upper mountain in clouds. We Matched them anxiously, `as no* we dreaded a snow-sturm. Shortly afterwards we heard the roll of thunder, and, looking towards the valley, found it all enveloped in a thunaer storm: For us, as connected with the idea of summer, it had a singular charm ; and we watched its progress With excited feelingir un til nearly sunset, when the eky cleared off brightly, and we Caw a shining line of water directing its course towards another, ebroader and larger sheet. We knew that these could be no other than the Saeranieinto and the boy of San Francisco ; but, after our long wander ing in rugged mountains, where so Irequently we had Met with disappointments,_ and Where the crossing of every ridge displayedibrne un known lake or river, we were yet alMost afraid to believe that we were at last to escape into , the genial country of which we bad heard so many glowing descriptions. and dreaded - again to find some vast interior lake, whose bitter waters would bring us disappointment. On the southern shore tikwitat appeared to be the bay, could be traced the gleaming line where entered another large stream ; and again the Buenaventura ruse up in our minds." February 22.—Moved on early in the morn ing over the frozen snow. That night killed another ntle, now the "only resource from starvation." February 23.—A difficult and laborioub day: Had, in many clues, to crawl across the enow.beds." Axes and mauls were necessary to make the road, That evening reached the creek, and encamped on a dry, open place in the ravine. February 24.—Early that morning, the thermometer 2° below. zero; latitude 38° 44' 58." longitude 120!' 24' 20." • The- descent Was now very rapid, along which the patty hurried with great energy. " The oppOsite mountain-side Was very steep and continuous, unbroken by ravines, and covered with pines and snow . ; while, on the role we were traveling, innumerable rivu lets poured down from the ridge. Continuing on, we hatted a moment at one of these rivulets, to admire some beautiful evergreen trees; re sembling live-oak, which shaded the little stream. They were forty or fifty - feet high, and two in diameter, witlia uniform tufted top; and the summer green of their beautiful foliage, with the singing -birds, and the sweet summer wind, which was whirling about the dry oak leaves, nearly intoxicated us with delight ; and we hurried on, filled with excitement, to es cape entirely from the horrid region of inhos pitable snow, to the perpetual spring of the Sacramento. Witco we had traveled about ten miles. the valley opened a httle to an oak And pine bottom, through which ran rivulets closely bordered with rush, s, on which our half•starv ed horses fell with avidity ; and here we made our encampment. Here the roaring torrent has already, become a river, and we had de scended with elevation of 3,864 feet. " Another horse was killed to-night, for food." February 25. 26, 27, continued down the valley of this stream, with comparative com fort, living on horse or Mule soup. Still the dangers were not over : one of his men .bm came " light-headed and wandering," and um less food could be found for the horses, death yet hung his gloomy pall over them. While searching for grass, : a loud shout from Carson was heard : " Life vet." said he, as he came up. " life yet—l have found a hill side sprink led with grass enough for the night.". Three horses "gave out " that day—the remainder were conducted to the fund, which had been found. February 29(11, rested. for the horses to gain strength, and to recover those that had failed and strayed. Another man became de ranged. " The time were severe when - stout men lost their minds from extremity of suffer ing—when horses died—and when mules and horses ready to die of starvation, ivere killed for food ; yet there was no murmurifigot heel tation."_ The journey still continued down the valley of this stream. On the sth March, Mr. Preuss recovered the camp; after having been wandering alone for several days. On the 6:11, the horses had recovered suttreient strength to carry riders. On that day, they (that is. the advanced party) reached "Sutter's. Yet, the joy at the termination of this dread ful passage of the " Sierra " did not make Capt. Fremont forget his men. He started hack the next day. to meet those left behind under the care of itlr. Fitzpatrick, taking with him a supply of fresh horses and of provision. HP met them in two days--a forlorn and OW hi e sight--.. all on foot—each man, weak and emaciated, leading a' horse or.mule as weak and emaciated as himself." Many of.the ani- Male had fallen over precipices ; among others; a mule with the plants which had been colter ted since leaving:. , Fort Hall;" others had been eaten; so that out of 07, with which the passage of t h e Sierra "had been commenced, only 33 had reached the valley of the Serra memo.... On thmBth cf March the.whole party were together, near hospitable mansion of Captain Sinter. Here we ' trill let them rest, and here, alio we will take some rest ourselves. ia..4SWERED.—A •yotint wife reinonp piratedr with her litiabaml. n iliasipated *pen& thrift: on, bia ennd net:. ...My love." , said -he. "1 stir , only like the prmligal enm 1 shall rt.; form by 'and ht," l I will be like the ptodi g:;l atm. to'h,"'she " for 1 Will arias intQo,tO, my fail er," QvAllT rr7 S.(:rtie pilk.s! , l4lfr gtie,i4ooll foltiming. Onaintn!y)e : • 'rain' are ea:file:he' apple - ilornplinrii t holed nni liirget those .r ' hu' ure''ancliing, the herring bone of "No 111. is horn irobler 111211 another," lays Seneca. " ueless he is born' with lietter ably ties, 'and a more amiable ME 1 ! ' ~~t~31~~3 11~0 =NI
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers