Transformed to vapor would the water rise
And float, a cloud, along its sunny skies;

Where majesty and beauty linked afford
A theme of gratitude to One all-wise.

And there are realms of quietude and peace,
Where happy spirits unperturbed abide;
No mourner longing for her soul's release,
No sinner shrinking from a life untried,
No widow bending with a grief untold
O'er the still forms of loved ones pale and cold;
For pain nor wo are needed there to chide
The wayward wanderers from the SHEPHERD's fold.

To the poor wretch who deems that all in all
Is centred in this little scene below,
The bright blue sky becomes a dungeon-wall,
Beyond whose bound he never hopes to go;
Earth's circling seasons in his view appears
A whirlpool narrowing in the tide of years,

Whose dark oblivious depths must quench the glow Of human sympathies and hopes and fears.

But to the trustful soul the good man's rest
Is not the torpor of a loveless frame,

But the high fellowship of spirits blest,

Far from this earthly strife for wealth and fame. Oh, where is that bright land? is 't sunk from view In the calm ocean of the zenith's blue?

Or do its portals glisten in the flame That to the sunset lends its golden hue?

We may not know; our queries are in vain!
That pathway, trodden for six thousand years,
Hath seen no pilgrim turning back again

To mingle in life's stream his falling tears,
And tell the secret of what orb in space
Hath gathered home the ransomed of the race;
But we shall know, for our departure nears,
And friends long parted shall again embrace.

But oh the mystery of that stern hour,
When to our reeling sense the earth shall quake,
The blackening sun resign his throne of power,
And we this outer temple court forsake!
When from the inner shrine of nature's fane
The sky-spread curtain shall be rent in twain,

And through the sundered veil upon us break
The bright reality that death is gain.'

The friends that flock around to weep farewell,
The sad, sad thoughts, the sick and dizzy brain,
The walls that close around us like a cell,

The cold limbs fettered by death's cruel chain,
The darkening room, the dying-out of feeling,
The bursting light, the chamber's parted ceiling,
The spirit-world!-the new-born seraph's strain!
The ransomed sinner with the ransomed kneeling!

MOUNT SAVAGE RAMBLINGS.

NUMBER THREE.

MOUNT

SAVAGE,

OR Savage Mountain, as it is called in the books, is, as I said before, not so much of a mountain after all, compared with some of the great Alleghany ridges. Still it is about twenty-five hundred feet above the level of the sea. It is ascendable on horseback to the very top, on a tolerably good road, which is twice a-day traversed by mule teams to bring down loads of fire-clay from the summit. This road extends, I believe, quite over the mountain, and when you get on the other side you are in Pennsylvania. It is covered for the most part with a thick growth of all sorts of trees and shrubs, which look wilder at a distance than when you approach them. There is, in fact, nothing very savage about it; certainly nothing more so than the rest of the region for miles around. One who travels much in America sees so many such districts that it requires pretty tall hills, or very picturesque spots indeed, to rivet attention for any great length of time. Think of it! One may ride on a rail-road, the Erie for example, hundreds of miles through an almost uninhabited country; a country where, if you should chance to be dropped by the way, it would seem as if you would literally have

'NOTHING to eat except bear's meat,
And nothing to drink at all:

as the fireman on the Erie Rail-Road sung when, for the first time, he went over it in a solitary locomotive. Think of the Adirondack wilderness in the State of New-York, which Headley describes as scarcely ever having been explored, although as large as the State of Connecticut! Or take a ride in the stage across the mountains over the National Road, (they are making a rail-road there now,) if you would realize the extent of wilderness in even the most civilized portion of the New World. Think how the iron-horse is gradually working its way to apparently the most inaccessible spots, and carrying with it the overflowing population of Europe, filling up the habitable places, and developing the hidden resources of earth, tunnelling the mountains and bridging the valleys and rivers, making the desert to rejoice and blossom as the rose. I never ride on a rail without indulging in some of these poetical fancies; and they crowd upon me still more when standing on the Savage Mountain and looking over the dense foliage of the valley, so thick that it seems as if you could walk upon it. Here and there are cultivated spots, which, though of many acres extent, look like small affairs. The iron-village, with the store prominent above all, and near it the tall chimneys of the works,' occupy another little space, and off there above the trees the moving smoke denotes the approach of the locomotive. There is the out-crop

of an old iron mine on one side of the place where we stand; on the other side they are at work with pick-axe and spade getting out the bluish white clay. It is as hard as a stone, and you wonder how they ever came to think of grinding it up to make brick and pottery

ware.

The Pennsylvania side of the mountain is said to be much more savage and inaccessible. There are a few saw-mills there for cutting out the timber, and the people live in the most out of-the-way places, and in the most outlandish manner. Many of them know little of this world and less of the next, and live and die like the Dutchmen of New-Jersey, with a profound abhorrence of all new inventions for farming and all schools and other sources of taxation. They are content with pork and cabbage, potatoes and whiskey, and now and then a haunch of venison. They are shrewd at a bargain and think a man who gets money, no matter how, is a good fellow. Such is the character given me by a Gothamite who has been long sojourning there and perhaps judges too much by contrast with city life. Such people, however, are by no means uncommon in every state; and when he mentioned their indifference for churches, I could not help thinking of that strange people who live on the Isle of Shoals, not far from Hampton beach. Some zealous Christians built them a church, and sent over a clergyman to preach to them. A large congregation was gathered by the novelty of the thing; but when the services were over, the old man who kept the keys, and officiated as sexton, instead of thanking the minister for 'the word' thus given without money and without price, demanded five dollars for the use of the church, and his (the sexton's) sacrifice in leaving his fishing to come there! The minister gave them up as a hopeless set.

I am no great hand at climbing precipitous mountains simply for the sake of saying I have accomplished the feat, as many do who visit the White Hills in New-Hampshire. They tire and strain themselves almost to death in clinging to the saddle or footing it up steep rocky pathways, and become bespattered from head to foot with mud, simply for the sake of being able to say that they have stood on Mount Washington and looked upon nothing but clouds and mist. That one who has science and taste enough to note the different degrees of temperature and the nature of the formations should fancy it I can imagine, but I had no patience when I saw a company of boarding-school girls come down from the mountains nearly dead with an exertion to which they were so little accustomed.

But when one can go up without an unreasonable degree of trouble and peril, it is always well to climb to those points where you can overlook the country round and take in the whole at one view. No one can be said to have seen the Connecticut River who has not been to the top of Mount Holyoke. I don't mean to say that the view from Mount Savage is to be compared with that, but from no point can a better landscape of a wild country just opening to the

miner be obtained with less trouble.

So much for Mount Savage, or rather for what occurred to me as I rode up and back one day before dinner, alongside of my friend's

eldest son, who expatiated on the scenery, the comparative speed of our nags, and the quantity of sugar he should secure by tapping the large maple-trees in the spring of the year.

There are two shafts in the side of the mountain, one for coal and the other for iron. If they go on working them they will one day come out on the other side, forming complete tunnels. Neither vein is as thick as that at Frostburg, but they make the passages about five feet square. In the iron tunnel they passed through a vein for some time without knowing it, such earthy shapes does the ore

assume.

We returned through Rhododendron Alley, so named from the number of plants of that beautiful flower which line the sides. An English botanist has promised to give them a long paragraph in his forthcoming book.

In the evening we had a visit from our minister and the draughtsman of the company, who is the beau of Mount Savage and of all other places where he appears. He is a perfect Mother Carey's chicken; his presence always portending a storm on female hearts.

We had Old Uncle Ned,' and divers other approved negro melodies, we had story-telling and flirtation, and other innocent amusements, until the clock tolled the hour of retiring,' and the parson and the draughtsman, who is one of his vestrymen, started down the hill with lamps in their hands and cigars in their mouths.

THE MINERS' SABBATH.

Now that the iron manufacture is suspended, nine-tenths of those who live in this region are, in one way or another, connected with the mines, and to them the Sabbath is indeed a day of rest. No squeaking of the brakes is heard on the tram-road, no puff of the locomotive on the wide track; the horses and mules are quietly standing in their stalls, licking up the last oat of their morning's allowance, clearing the racks of the less dainty dish of hay, or, having disposed of all, are poking their noses in every corner, and expressively looking round in expectation of having something else to do. And now the interior of every workman's house at the Savage village, at the Maryland mines and at Frostburg, presents a busy scene; such washing and scouring and rubbing and scrubbing with soap and hot water and hard hands to get off the week's accumulation of coaldust and soot ! And then the donning of clean shirts, white or check pantaloons, gay neck-kerchiefs, and cloth coats with metal buttons, or the more seasonable brown linen wrapper, all contribute to effect such a metamorphosis, that you will scarcely know men whom you have met and conversed with every day for a week past.

A large proportion saunter up Church-Hill, and on a half mile farther to the Roman Catholic church, a large brick edifice, with the priest's house adjoining, which is a very prominent object as you look from any of the neighboring hills. The Welshmen have their hall in the village, where they listen to prayer and preaching in that

strangely-sounding tongue. Now and then an itinerant Methodist holds forth to a pretty good congregation, in a house back of the blast furnace; and the English Church,' as they call the Episcopal, which I pointed out to you the other day from Bruce Hill, gathers every Sunday a respectable number, considering the state of the works. That's the church we propose to attend, and the bell is now pealing forth a notice that it is time to go. This bell is a new thing, and was purchased by general subscription to do away with all excuses for tardiness in difference of time.

Talking of bells, it has always seemed to me that the churches of New-York are remarkably deficient in this respect. But few have bells, and, excepting the Trinity chimes, those they have are far from being of a size and tone to correspond with the cost and elegance of the respective edifices. Who that has visited Italy has not been delighted with the music which peals forth from the church-towers? They give you rather too much of it at Florence, where it is heard every hour almost and becomes wearisome. But where, as in this country, they are usually rung only on Sunday, one or two of these on the principal churches, one would think, could disturb no man's nerves, and must materially contribute to punctuality. But it is not to be wondered at that property-holders in the neighborhood object to the tinkling things which occupy most of the belfrys. In the country there is nothing more delightful than the sound of the church-going bell, reverberating amid valleys and rocks in the stillness of the day.

Well, mounting our horses we ride to the chapel; and will wait at the door until the ladies arrive in the buggy, which is very slowly drawn up a very bad and circuitous road. Most of the villagers are taking the short cut on foot, across lots and over the rocks which thickly stud the side of the hill. They pick their way from stone to stone, the masculines each leading one or more children (of which there are plenty) and the feminines carefully holding up their skirts to keep the briars and dirt away from the clean calico or muslin.

Robert is at the church door and is engaged in conversation with the two vestrymen and a group of villagers, on the style of the belfry, the tone of the bell, and the improvement which a coat of paint would make on the outside of the edifice; next they talk of the drought and the state of the crops, and the news about the cholera; and the last intelligence about the little girl who is so sick on Bruce-Hill. here come the ladies, and we 'll go in with them.

But

The chapel is as plain inside as out, but it will hold many more than usually attend, and is very comfortable. It would look better if that tall pulpit were moved away; and the reading desk placed in the centre so as to serve both for prayers and preaching. Our minister makes it serve this purpose, being one of those who believe that what is good for prayer is good for preaching and that the sermon sounds just as well when delivered in one gown as another. wears the surplice throughout. It is well enough for a clergyman to wear a gown of some kind, since it prevents remark on his dress, and

He