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ing in height, and with a slightly undulating surface, having the appearance of huge columns, and now and then split into wide fissures. Into one of these clefts we were rowed, and found ourselves in a cavern some hundred yards in depth, the basaltic sides running into a point at the top at a height of ninety feet, and giving an appearance not unlike that of a Gothic entrance. This basalt, of which the coast for twenty miles is formed, is a very close-grained, heavy stone, of a dark gray color, at times approaching to black. Its principal component parts are iron and flint, and it is susceptible of a beautiful polish. In many places it has a degree of natural polish which gives it a brilliant appearance when lighted up. The aspect of the Giant's Cave, as we entered its dark recesses, was truly beautiful. The sun's rays, just peeping in at the mouth, caused a delicate tint to be reflected along the natural vaulting, and as the sea broke from one side of the entrance to the other, we could now and then in looking back discover a rainbow in the spray so formed. The gun was now brought into use, and echo repeated its report some half-dozen times with what seemed a kind of ringingmetallic sound.

Coming out of the cave, we returned to the place from which we started, and landed the man with the gun, who, by way of eliciting a larger fee, told me that he had a wife and seven children to support by his business as echo-maker. Putting out again, we rounded a sort of promontory, and came in full sight of the long projecting mole forming the Causeway. As is almost always the case with objects of which we have heard so much, the first sensation was that of disappointment. I had heard it compared to a great stone-yard or quarry full of hewn rock; and at a little distance the comparison holds good. But as you approach, it has more the appearance of a huge castle or fortification, portions of which have fallen down; and when you are directly in front of it, the comparison ceases entirely, for it looks like nothing that I have ever seen. Thousands of columns rise one above another from the height of one foot to sixty, over a space of perhaps five acres. In the back ground you may see the palisades of the Hudson, gradually changing from a rough to a smooth surface, in which long lines, as it were, of columns in embryo, are to be traced-and finally breaking into

perfect pentagonal or hexagonal pillars, in clusters and unequal lines, as if the porticoes and projections of a hundred Grecian temples had been suddenly thrown together by the fantastic architecture of Nature. And this is gradually lost in the ocean's depths, forming, in all probability, a connection with Fingal's Cave in Staffa, and the similar formations on the Scottish coast. The columns, as every one knows, are found divided at intervals of four or five inches, each of which divisions is found, on separation, to fit into the one above it like a ball into its socket.

Passing around the Causeway, we entered a little opening in a side of the mole, where the water was comparatively smooth; and where, ascending a pair of stairs, which had been formed by removing portions of columns, we found ourselves on a comparatively even surface at the top. The rolling of the sea had made me sick, and this was a great relief. As an additional remedy, the guide advised me to drink some whiskey at the Giant's well, a curious spring issuing from the joints of the columns, near the uppermost part of the Causeway. An old woman was sitting there to deal out the favorite liquor, with which an Irishman so well loves to flavor his water. She was, in appearance, a sort of mediate creation between Meg Merrilies and Norna of the Fitful-Head. She wore a red flannel petticoat, above which a man's coat of the largest size was held together by buttons of various colors and kinds. Over this was fastened an old red cloak of coarse stuff, with a hood attached, which had fallen back. Her long half-gray hair was brought round from behind her ears in two strands, and tied in a knot under her chin, in a kind of hangman's cravat. A pair of capacious feet, in Nature's shoes, peeped out from under her gown. She was very tall, and her whole appearance, from a distance, might have led one to believe her a descendant of the traditional builders of the Causeway and the Giant's Cave. When we first saw her she was walking about with a stick in her hand, scolding two or three boys for some matter of offence. The tátterdemalions seemed to have been on the look-out for strangers, tumbling forwards in a body to sell me their crystals and spars, while Meg herself proceeded to uncork her bottle and wash the tumbler, all the while vociferating, "Take a dhrop of potheen! take a dhrop of

potheen! It's good, and no desait nor mixin'."

I accepted the proffered tumbler. It had a most unpleasant taste of smoke and soot, which with the Irish is a great recommendation. I threw her a sixpence, however, which, of course, called forth a shower of blessings, and walked away. When I afterwards looked back and saw her with hood on head and cane in hand, I could not resist the idea that there was something supernatural about the old crone, and half expected to see her walk down to where the Giant's pavement has sunk beneath the sea.

We went on to inspect the more curious formations. Columns are to be found of almost every prism, though the greater part are five and six sided. The different clusters are distinguished by various names such as the Giant's Organ, the Giant's Chair, and other Titanic titles. The guide took great pains to point out every part to me, and seemed apprehensive that I would be disappointed. "It's only by these close inspaictions, sir, that a gintleman can understand the wondherful nathur ov the work."

"How do you suppose these columns came here?"

"Indade, sir, an' that's more than I can tell, or any other man. Many jaologists and learned men has been here, and puzzled their brains about it, but afther all they can only say that God made it, and that's the troth."

There is, indeed, a mystery about the workings of nature here, which gives an interest different from that with which we view other objects far more impressive to the eye. It is something so different from any thing we have ever seen before; so evidently natural, and yet so near an approach to art, that the mind is filled with speculation and astonishment; and, when we have conned over all the theories on the subject, there still seems to be so much that is unsatisfactory, that we are led to content ourselves with the conclusion of the guide, that the Deity made it, without undertaking to say through the agency of what convulsion it was brought about.

In justice to the geologists, however, it ought to be remarked, that they are not without a very plausible theory on the subject. They have mostly agreed, that this is an ancient torrent of lava, which, suddenly precipitated into the sea, would separate into spherical bodies while in the process of cooling, when

acted upon by peculiar magnetic forces; and by constant pressure against each other, while yet in a soft state, and the tendency of flint and iron to crystallization, they might gradually assume the form of oblong prisms. This view is not without its difficulties, but it has more arguments in its favor than most others, though, as we are not writing for the scientific, we shall not enter into the merits of the question. The learned professor of geology at Yale College informed the writer that there are similar formations to be seen at Mount Tom, near Northampton, in Massachusetts, where every thing indicates former volcanic action; but at no place are they so numerous or perfect as at the Giant's Causeway.

We now returned to the boat, where we found the men taking their comfort with lighted pipes. We directed our course towards another small headland, east of the Causeway. It required the utmost exertions of the oarsmen to make much headway against the heavy billows, for it was now high tide, and the sea was breaking furiously over all the lower columns, leaving a long line of foam and spray at their base, that greatly heightened the effect, as we moved away, of the vast, bold colonnades and the dark rock above. I gazed with intense interest upon the columns, as they faded by distance, and at last became blended with the masses piled above; and, as we rounded the point, it was with reluctance that I bade adieu to this object, the last appearance of which so much exceeded the first. There was a solemnity and wildness about the whole scene, which absorbed all my thoughts, and led me to pay little attention to the constant comments of the guide upon the beauty of this or that particular point. He seemed at last to comprehend my feelings, exclaiming :

"Sure and ov little use is it for me to be a talking to ye'r honor, when ye'r own reflaiction will sarve you betther than any tongue of mine could!"

We were now out some quarter of a mile from the shore, and had a fine view of the coast for some miles, till cut off by the high bluff of Bengore Head, projecting into the sea. One continuous seawall here presented itself to the eye, all of dark basaltic rock, varying from one to five hundred feet high; in some places presenting the appearance of a vast fortress, with its towers and pinnacles—in

others, capped by cliffs and jagged points formed by the falling out of the rocks below; here cut into terraces, or shelves, on some of which a small quantity of earth and stunted vegetation had collected-and there, split into huge fissures, through some of which, over piles of fallen rocks, a glimpse could be caught of the country beyond; and from others a light cloud of spray arose, caused by the leaping of some light waterfall over the giddy height. Flocks of sea-birds were flying into and out of the deep crevices, but no other sign of life was seen, except a solitary cow chewing her cud above, and apparently watching our progress. As if on purpose to add to the loneliness of the scene, a small dark cloud had settled over this very spot. I remarked that it must be a bad place for shipwrecks. This made the whole crew eloquent at once. Each had some story to tell of terrible disasters which had happened in this quarter-of vessels which had gone to pieces at midnight on the rocks, of shrieks heard through the tempest, and bodies found in the morning strown along the foot of the crags. But they all talked together, with every possible pitch of voice, and it was not easy to make out any consecutive meaning.

Steering for a sort of cave or opening in the bank, we ascended a steep hill above the ocean.

"Look here, sir," said the guide, pointing to a place that jutted two hundred feet over the sea. "Isn't that below a steep place? And would ye think, sir, that any thing could go over there and kape the life in him?"

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Hardly."

Well, sir, it's the troth I'm goin' to tell ye. There was Dinnis Slater, (he was one of thim in the boat,) had a bull that was the fiercest crathur in the county. And one night two boys from Bushmills was out here huntin' for a sthray cow; and they had two tirrible great dogs. Off there, by thim stouns, they saw the cow-as they consaited. 'There she is!' says they. Oo-w-oo!' says the bull, bellerin' low. No, tisn't!' says they, and run; and the bull run afther 'em and they set the dogs on, and there was a mischaiv'us fight. The bull worrid them a dale, and they worrid the bull a dale-for if one got on his horn, the other was bitin' on his neck, or tearin' him behind. Finally he reflaicted, Isn't it bothersome fitin' two at the

once? So he whirlt one up wid his. horn, thin thrampled him all down whin he fell wid both his feet, afore the cur kim to his sinses. Thin he turned on the second-and the second run awaywhist! how he run-and the bull afther him-and they wint it round and round in a circle, an' closer an' closer on the edge; and the bull got dizzy and didn't mind his footin'-the crazy fool!-till over he wint, and the boys heard a dale of bellerin' and a splash, but they couldn't see nothin', for 'twas too dim, faith, to see a church for to know it. And they wint home and told Dinnis his bull had gone over the rocks; and the next mornin' Dinnis came here, thinkin' he might get out his boat and save the ould carcass, for he tho't, in coorse, the crithur was dead; but what was his wondher when he see the bull solimnly standin' in the wather up to his neck, sufferin' no spacial inconvaniance exsaipt from the dampness-and when it saw Dinnis it looked up and bellered, as much as to say, 'Kim and hilp me, you spalpeen, who've been a slaapin' all night, while I've been nigh drownin'!' And troth, sir, it was wondherfull how the crathur had lighted on the only sandy standin'place there was amongst the rocks, where he would not have been knocked to paices; but isn't it the more strange that he should have iver got down there with the breath in him?-and indade, Dinnis said it was because he was dhrunk with dizziness; and you know dhrunken men niver get hurt in a fall, sir! and faith, Dinnis himself's an example of that, for he's dhrunk the bull's health tin times a day, ever sinse! But it took the consait out of the bull-intirely!"

Such was the guide's story. It will serve, as would a thousand others which any traveller in Ireland would hear, to show the fondness of the Irish for incessant chat and story-telling on all occasions, a trait which Lover has, I was surprised to find, described with so little exaggeration.

The extreme absence of all substantial property among the common people of Ireland constantly appears from the ideas they seem to entertain when one happens to possess a little. On leaving the scene of the above story, we passed over a potato field which gave assurance of our being near what my guide termed the "Great Causeway Hotel." He added that its proprietor was a very thriving man, having become "intire

owner of a house, three acres of ground, a horse, two cows, and a dacent wife." Observing a large sign swinging from a pole, with "Giant's Causeway Hotel" upon it, I looked around for the edifice to which it referred, but saw nothing except what I supposed to be a stable or shed. On nearer approach it proved to be a mud cabin of a larger size than ordinary, with a board roof instead of a thatched one; and this it was which rejoiced in the name and title aforesaid.* We walked at once into one of the two rooms. A bright peat fire was burning on the hearth, or rather on that part of the mud floor which was under the chimney, and over it was a huge pot in which some potatoes were boiling. In front of the fire stood the owner of the establishment, who was introduced to me as Mr. McGannon, a tall, well-proportioned man, with a good-looking countenance, although somewhat marked with the small-pox. He had just returned from a visit to Belfast, which perhaps accounted for his being very well dressed in a suit of blue cloth, with well-polished boots, presenting altogether a buckish appearance quite out of place considering the appearance of every thing else. Near the door was a dresser, formed by driving sticks into the floor and laying an old shutter across; and here his wife, a red-haired, fair-featured young woman, in a loose calico gown, with bare feet, was engaged in clearing up the tin vessels, and, from the bright polish of the two or three she had finished and hung up, it was apparent that she understood her business. Children were running about out of doors without the encumbrance of much clothing except a loose shirt; I understood them to be mementoes of a former wife, the present hostess being, comparatively, a bride. A table, chest, one chair, and two or three benches completed the furniture of the public room of the "Giant's Causeway Hotel." A peep into an adjoining apartment about five feet square, in which were some straw and blankets, told that the owner enjoyed the unusual luxury here of a separate sleeping-room. We were welcomed by the landlord, who drew out the chair for my accommodation.

"Is't sick you are, sir? It's ofthen the case with those who are not used to

the wather, But a little quiet will cure ye, sir."

The guide walked up to the fire, and unceremoniously thrusting a fork into the pot, took out a potato, which he broke in two, and sprinkling on a little salt with his fingers, disposed of it in three mouthfulls. Maybe, sir, you're not used to 'ating potathoes alone in so plain a way?"

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"Perhaps the jintleman 'll thry one?" said Mr. McGannon. "It'll settle ye'r stomach, sir ;" and selecting a large one, he handed it to me with a wooden platter of salt. It was a splendid potato; the rich mealy substance, just peeping through the dark skin where it had burst open, fed the imagination. I was just taking another, when a large pig entered the cabin with an extraordinary air of ownership in the premises.

"Ah, Toby, did ye smell the praties ?" said his master. "Well, an' ye shall have one," he added, taking the largest out of the pot. The " guest at home" opened his mouth, and the landlord tossed the hot edible with such force down his throat as very naturally gave rise to a half-suppressed squeal of pain. Coughing it up with great haste, and mizzling it on the ground for cooling, he commenced operations in a quiet way, and seemed to be of the same opinion with myself as to its merits.

It was altogether a scene for a painter, the landlord, the guide, the pig, and myself, each discussing his potato, the intrinsic merits of the vegetable being heightened by the quiet running comments of Mr. McGannon on its wholesomeness, which he could more fully appreciate since his visit to Belfast, where the variety and luxuries had come near making him sick.

It is singular what a hold upon the memory little things of this kind obtain, when matters of far more real claims to interest fade entirely away. I never think of the Causeway without coupling it with the potato in the Irishman's cabin. I was told that they generally cooked about a bushel a day, once in a while throwing in a little bit of pork, and in the fishing season toasting a few herrings,

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or, what is betther, a salmon." And Mr. McGannon was a prosperous man, the envy of many of his neighbors!

* I was afterwards informed that there is a very good one on the other side of the Causeway.

VOL. 1-NO. 1.

12

MR. SCHOOLCRAFT'S ONEOTA.*

THOSE who feel any interest in the character, customs, traditions, and melancholy history of the Indian tribes, are under great obligation to the labors of Mr. Schoolcraft. By long residence and extended travels among them, for the most part in an official connection, he has had the greatest advantages for gathering accurate knowledge on every point connected with them; and he has pursued his researches through the greater part of his life, in a manner that entitles him to the warm confidence of the public. Facts are of more importance on these topics than any speculations or abstract argument. We never can know the real nature of the Indian, in all the aspects and conditions of his wilderness life, till we have gathered from the widest range of inquiry, ample data on which to build our conclusions. It is idle to write or speak otherwise. The great merit of Mr. Schoolcraft's writings is, that he gives us facts; if he makes deductions, they are such as previously presented data render probable. And the most valuable part of the information he has given us, is not respecting the mere physical traits, customs, or history of the Red Men, of which writers of sketches and travels are always speaking. His aim has been far higher and more difficult to open to us the world of the Indian's mind and spiritual emotions. This he has effected to some extent by scattered observations in his several books of travels, but more successfully in some small volumes entitled "Algic Researches," a collection of simple, at times grotesque, but exceedingly imaginative Arab-like stories, which give us access, indirectly, and therefore the more certainly, to many of the Indian's opinions hitherto kept concealed by his impenetrable reserve.

Some months since, a specimen sheet was issued of an extended work, to be called "Cyclopædia Indianensis," and designed to embrace every thing that can be known about the race. Such a work

would be invaluable—to those, certainly, who take any interest at all in the subject; and it ought to meet with encouragement. As it has never appeared, we suppose the encouragement was not af forded, nor any prospect of it,—an issue which does not redound greatly to the honor of the community.

The present publication under the title of Oneöta, the first number of which is before us, appears to be an attempt to see how far the public will extend favor to a part of the plan. The name, belonging to the tribe of the Oneidas, and signifying "the people sprung from a rock," seems a very partial and fanciful one for a work treating of the entire race. It may do, however, for its indefiniteness, since we know nothing about their origin.

We cannot so easily excuse the extremely irregular arrangement of the contents of the work; at least, so far as the present number is a specimen. The materials are all good, but seem thrown in, and stewed up together into a kind of ollapodrida, very unpleasant to a reader of books. It would seem, in fact, that a bundle of notes, collected at random for many years, were handed in to the printer, and flung into type without further ordering. But this weighs little against the real excellence of the collection: there is nothing in it which has not its interest, or is not classically written.

The first few pages are occupied, under the title of Tales of a Wigwam, with two or three curious traditionary stories, such as make up the "Algic Researches." It is not generally known that the Indians possessed this story-telling faculty to so great a degree as appears by late inquiries. The earliest satisfactory information on this point is due to Mr. Schoolcraft, who first made it distinctly known in the "Researches" mentioned above; and it is now discovered that the Indian has in reality a most vivid imagination, and that wild and mysterious tales form their favorite recreation in the languid leisure of summer, or around

* ONEÖTA, or the Red Race of America: their history, traditions, customs, poetry, picture-writing, &c., in extracts from notes, journals, and other unpublished writings. By Henry R. Schoolcraft, author of "Travels to the Sources of the Mississippi,” "Algic Researches," " Expedition to Itasca Lake," &c. New York: Burgess, Stringer, & Co., 222 Broadway.

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