mankind, our absence can be noticed only for a day; and then the ranks close up, and a gravestone tells the passing stranger that we lived and died a few years. the finger of time has been busy with the inscription, and we are as if we had never been. If, then, it must be even so, 'O, let us keep the soul embalmed and pure "The antiquity of 'Monk Mound' is a circumstance which fails not to arrest the attention of every visitor. That centuries have elapsed since this vast pile of earth was heaped up from the plain, no one can doubt: every circumstance, even the most minute and inconsiderable, confirm an idea which the venerable oaks upon its soil conclusively demonstrate. With this premise admitted, consider for a moment the destructive effects of the elements even for a limited perioù upon the works of our race. Little more than half a century has elapsed since the war of our revolution; but where are the fortifications, and parapets, and military defenses then thrown up? The earthy ramparts of Bunker's Hill were nearly obliterated long ago by the leveling finger of time, and scarce a vestige now remains to assist in tracing out the line of defense. The same is true with these works all over the country; and even those of the last war-those at Baltimore, for example-are vanishing as fast as the elements can melt them away. Reflect, then, that this vast earth-heap, of which I am writing, is composed of a soil far more yielding in its nature than they; that its superfices are by no means compact; and then conceive, if you can, its stupendous character before it had bided the rains, and snows, and storm-winds of centuries, and before the sweeping floods of the Father of Waters' had ever encircled its base. "How large an army of laborers, without the use of iron utensils, as we have every reason to suppose was the case, would be required for scraping up from the prairie's surface this huge pile; and how many years would suffice for its completion? No one can doubt that the broad surface of the American Bottom, in its whole length and breadth, together with all the neighboring region on either bank of the Mississippi, once swarmed with living men and animals, even as does now the depths of its soil with their remains. The collection of mounds, which I have been attempting to describe, would seem to indicate two extensive cities within the extent of five miles; and other groups of the same character may be seen upon a lower section of the bottom, to say nothing of those within the more immediate vicinity of St. Louis. The design of these mounds, as has been before stated, was various, undoubtedly; many were sepulchres, some fortifications, some watch-towers or videttes, and some of the larger class, among which we would place Monk Hill, were probably devoted to the ceremonies of religion. "The number of the earth-heaps know as the Cantine Mounds is about fifty, small and great. They lie very irregularly along the southern and eastern bank of Cahokia creek, occupying an area of some miles in circuit. They are of every form and every size, from the mere mole hill, perceptible only by a deeper shade in the herbage, to the gigantic Monk Mound, of which I have already said so much. This vast heap stands about one hundred yards from the creek, and the slope which faces it is very precipitous, and clothed with aged timber. The area of the base is about six hundred yards in circumference, and the perpendicular altitude has been estimated at from ninety to upward of a hundred feet. The form is that of a rectangle, lying north and south; and upon the latter extremity, which commands a view down the bottom, is spread out a broad terrace, or rather a steppe to the main body, about twenty feet lower than the summit, extending the whole length of the side, and is one hundred and fifty feet in breadth. At the left extremity of this terrace winds up the sloping pathway from the prairie to the summit of the mound. Formerly this road sloped up an inclined plane, projecting from the middle of the terrace, ten feet in breadth and twenty in extent, and seemed graded for that purpose at the erection of the mound. This declivity yet remains, but now forms part of a corn-field. "The view from the southern extremity of the mound, which is free from trees and underbrush, is extremely beautiful. Away to the south sweeps off the river-bottom, at this place about seven miles in width, its waving surface variegated by all the magnificent hues of the summer flora of the prairies. At intervals, from the deep herbage is flung back the flashing sheen of a silvery lake to the oblique sunlight; while dense groves of the crab-apple and other indigenous wild fruits are sprinkled about like islets in the verdant sea. To the left, at a distance of three or four miles, stretches away the long line of bluffs, now presenting a surface naked and rounded by groups of mounds, and now wooded to their summits, while a glimpse at times may be caught of the humble farm-houses at their base. On the right meanders the Cantine Creek, which gives the name to the group of mounds, betraying at intervals its bright surface through the belt of the forest by which it is margined. In this direction, far away in blue distance, rising through the mist and forest, may be caught a glimpse of the spires and cupolas of the city, glancing gayly in the rich summer sun. The base of the mound is circled upon every side by lesser elevations of every form and at various distances. Of these, some lie in the heart of the extensive maizefields, which constitute the farm of the proprietor of the principal mound, presenting a beautiful exhibition of light and shade, shrouded as they are in the dark, twinkling leaves. The most remarkable are two standing directly opposite the southern extremity of the principal one, at a distance of some hundred yards, in close proximity to each other, and which never fail to arrest the eye. There are also several large square mounds covered with forest along the margin of the creek to the right, and groups are caught rising from the declivities of the distant bluffs. "Upon the western side of Monk Mound, at a distance of several yards from the summit, is a well some eighty or ninety feet in depth, the water of which would be agreeable enough were not the presence of sulphur, in some of its modifications, so palpable. This well penetrates the heart of the mound, yet, from its depth, can not reach lower than the level of the surrounding plain. I learned, upon inquiry, that when this well was excavated, several fragments of pottery, or decayed ears of corn, and other articles, were thrown up from a depth of sixty-five feet; proof incontestible of the artificial structure of the mound. The associations, when drinking the water of this well, united with its peculiar flavor, are not of the most exquisite character, when we reflect that the precious fluid has probably filtrated, part of it at least, through the con tents of a sepulchre. Monk Mound has derived its name and much of its notoriety from the circumstance, that in the early part of the present century, for a number of years, it was the residence of a society of ecclesiastics, of the order La Trappe, the most ascetic of all the monastic denominations. MISSISSIPPI RIVER. Schoolcraft's description of his discovery of the extreme source-the very fountains of the great Father of Waters, is graphic and interesting: "A fog prevented our embarking until five o'clock in the morning, and it was then impossible to discern the objects at a distance. We found the channel above the Naiwa, diminished to a clever brook, more decidedly marshy in the character of its shores, but not presenting in its plants or trees any thing particularly to distinguish it from the contiguous lower parts of the stream. The water is still and pond-like. It presents some small areas of wild rice. It appears to be a favorite resort for the duck and teal, who frequently rose up before us, and were aroused again and again by our progress. An hour and a half diligently employed, brought us to the foot of Ossowa Lake. We halted a moment to survey it. It exhibits a broad border of aquatic plants, with somewhat blackish waters. Perch abound in it. It is the recipient of two brooks, and may be regarded as the source of this fork of the Mississippi. We were precisely twenty minutes in passing through it. We entered one of the brooks, the most southerly in position. It possessed no current, and was filled with broad-leaved plants, and a kind of pondlily. We appeared to be involved in a morass, where it seemed equally impracticable to make the land, or proceed far by water. In this we were not mistaken; Oza Windib soon pushed his canoe into the weeds, and exclaimed, Oma mikuanna (here is the portage.) A man who is called upon for the first time to debark in such a place, will look about to discover some dry spot to put his feet upon. No such spot, however, existed here. We stepped into rather warm pond water, with a miry bottom. After a hundred yards, or more, the soil became firm, and we soon began to ascend a slight elevation, where the growth partakes more of the character of a forest. Traces of a path appeared here, and we suddenly entered an opening affording an eligible spot for landing. Here our baggage was prepared for the portage. The carbonaceous remains of former fires, the bones of birds, and scattered camp poles, proved it to be a spot which had previously been occupied by the Indi ans. The prevailing growth at this place is spruce, white cedar, tamarac, and gray pine. Here we breakfasted. Having followed out this branch of the Mississippi to its source, it may be observed that its existence, as a separate river, has hitherto been unknown in our geography. None of the maps indicate the ultimate separation of the Mississippi, above Cass Lake, into two forks. Little surprise should therefore be manifested, that the latitude of the head of this stream is found to be incorrect. It was not, however, to be expected that the inaccuracy would be so great as to place the actual source an entire degree south of the supposed point. Such, however, is the conclusion established by present observations. "The portage from the east to the west branch of the river is estimated to be six miles. Beginning in a marsh, it soon rises into a little` elevation of white cedar wood, matted with fallen trees, and obscured with moss. From this the path emerges upon dry ground. It soon ascends an elevation of oceanic sand, having bowlders and bearing pines. There is then another descent and another elevation. In short, the traveler now finds himself crossing a series of diluvial sand ridges, which form the height of land between the Mississippi Valley and Red River. This ridge is locally denominated Hauteur des Terres, where it is crossed in passing from Lac Plaie to Ottertail Lake, from which point it proceeds northward, separating the tributaries of the River des Corbeaus from those of Red River. It finally subtends both branches of the Mississippi, putting out a spur between the east and west fork, which intersects the portage, crosses the west of Itascan fork about the point of the Kakabykonce, or Little Rock Falls, and joining the main ridge, passes north-eastwardly of Lac Travers and Turtle Lake, and is again encountered in the noted portage path from Turtle Lake to Red Lake. It is, in fine, the table-land between the waters of Hudson's Bay and the Mexican Gulf. It also gives rise to the remotest tributaries of the River St. Louis, which, through Lake Superior and its connecting chain, may be considered as furnishing the head-waters of the St. Lawrence. This table-land is probably the highest in North-western America, in this longitude. "Every step we made in treading these sandy elevations, increased the ardor with which we were carried forward. The desire of reaching the actual source of a stream so celebrated as the Mississippi-a stream which La Salle had reached the mouth of, a century and a half (lacking a year) before, was, perhaps, predominant; and we followed our guides down the sides of the last elevation, with the expectation of momentarily reaching the goal of our journey. What had been long sought, at last appeared suddenly. On turning out of a thicket into a small weedy opening, the cheering sight of a transparent body of water burst upon our view. It was Itasca Lake-the source of the Mississippi." Itasca Lake is in every respect a beautiful sheet of water, seven or eight miles in extent, lying among hills of diluvial formation, surrounded with pines which fringe the distant horizon and form an agreeable contrast with the greener foliage of its immediate shores. Its greatest length is from south-east to north-west, with a southern prolongation or bay, which receives a brook. The waters are transparent and bright, and reflect the foliage produced by the elm, lynn, maple, and cherry, together with other species more abundant in northern latitudes. The lake itself is of irregular form, which will be best illustrated by the following sketch: It has a singular island, upon which we landed, after an hour's paddling from the spot of our arrival and embarkation. We found here the forest trees above named growing promiscuously with the betula and spruce. The bones of fish and tortoise, found at the locality of former Indian camp-fires, indicate the existence of these species in the lake. We observed a deer standing in the margin of the lake. And here, as well as throughout the lakes of the region, we found the duck, teal, and loon in possession of their favorite seclusions. Innumerable shells, (a species of helix,) were driven up to the head of the island. Other parts of the lake yield a small species of the unio, which were found strewing the bed of the outlet. And it may here be remarked, that this shell exists, in the largest and heaviest species heretofore known, in the lowest parts of this stream the Mississippi having its origin here. The outlet of Itasca Lake is, perhaps, ten or twelve feet broad, with an apparent depth of from twelve to eighteen inches. The discharge of water appears to be copious compared to its inlet. Springs may, however, produce accessions which are not visible, and this is probable, both from the geological character of the country, and the transparency and coolness of the water. The height of this lake above the sea is an object of geographical interest, which, in the absence of actual survey, it may subserve the purposes of useful inquiry to estimate. From notes taken on the ascent, it cannot be short of 160 feet above Cass Lake. Adding the estimate of 1330 feet, submitted in 1820, as the elevation of that lake, the Mississippi may be considered to originate at an altitude of say 1500 feet above the Atlantic. Its length, assuming former data as the basis, and computing it through Itascar or west fork, may be placed at 3160 miles, 182 of which comprises an estimate of its length above Cass Lake. Its general course in ascending, above the latter point, is north of west as far as the Lac Travers, then south to its primary fork, which it continued, following up the east fork to Kubbakuana Lake, and for some distance further. It then varies a short distance, north and north-west, then south-west and south, and finally south-west, to its main source in Ossowa Lake. Lake Pepin is an enlargement of the Mississippi River, of about twenty-one miles in length and generally two and a half in breadth, and situated a few miles below the Falls of St. Anthony. It is encircled by majestic bluffs, with the agreeable exception of an occasional opening of Father Hennipin was the first European who ever saw this lake. He reached it in 1680, and called it the "Lake of Tears, because," says he, "the savages who took us, consulted in this place what they should do with their prisoners; and those who were for murdering us, cried all the night upon us, to oblige, by their tears, their companions to consent to our death. Its waters are almost standing, the stream being hardly perceptible in the middle." |