to time on the Indiana shore, made me lose half the morning in search of them. On the Kentucky shore I was also decoyed by the same temptations, but never could approach near enough to shoot one of them. These affairs detained me so that I was du bious whether I should be able to reach Louisville that night. Night came on and I could hear nothing of the Falls; about eight I first heard the roaring of the Rapids, and as it increased I was in hopes of every moment seeing the lights of Louisville; but no lights appeared, and the noise seemed now within less than half a mile of me. Seriously alarmed lest I might be drawn into the suction of the Falls, I cautiously coasted along shore, which was full of snags and sawyers, and at length with great satisfaction opened Bear Grass Creek, where I secured my skiff to a Kentucky boat, and loading myself with my baggage, I groped my way through a swamp up to the town. The next day I sold my skiff for exactly half what it cost me; and the man who bought it wondered why I gave it such a droll Indian name (The Ornithologist) "some old chief or warrior I suppose," says he. This day I walked down along shore to Shippingport, to take a view of these celebrated Rapids, but they fell far short of my expectation. I should have no hesitation in going down them in a skiff. The Falls of Oswego, in the state of New-York, though on a smaller scale, are far more dangerous and formidable in appearance. Though the river was not high, I observed two arks and a barge run them with great ease and rapidity. The Ohio here is something more than a mile wide, with several islands interspersed; the channel rocky, and the islands heaped with drift wood. The whole fall in two miles is less than twenty-four feet. The town of Louisville stands on a high second bank, and is about as large as Frankfort, having a number of good brick buildings and valuable stores. The situation would be as healthy as any on the river, but for the numerous swamps and ponds that intersect the woods in its neighbourhood. These from their height above the river might all be drained and turned into cultivation; but every man here is so intent on the immediate making of money that they have neither time nor disposition for improvements, even where the article health is at stake. A man here told me that last fall he had fourteen sick in his own family. On Friday the 24th, I left my baggage with a merchant of the place to be forwarded by the first wagon, and set out on foot for Lexington, seventy-two miles distant. I passed through Middletown and Shelbyville, both inconsiderable places. Nine-tenths of the country is in forest; the surface undulating into gentle eminences and declivities, between each of which generally runs a brook over loose flags of limestone. The soil, by appearance, is of the richest sort, immense fields of Indian corn, high excellent fences, few grain fields, many log houses, and those of the meaner sort. I observed few apple orchards, but several very thriving peach ones. An appearance of slovenliness is but too general about their houses, barns, and barn-yards. Negroes are numerous; cattle and horses lean, particularly the former, who appear as if struggling with starvation. for their existence. The woods are swarming with pigs, pigeons, squirrels and woodpeckers. The pigs are universally fat, owing to the great quantity of mast this year. Walking here in wet weather is most execrable, and is like travelling on soft soap; a few days of warm weather hardens this again almost into stone. Want of bridges is the greatest inconvenience to a foot traveller here. Between Shelbyville and Frankfort, having gone out of my way to see a pigeon roost (which by the by is the greatest curiosity I have seen since leaving home) I waded a deep creek called Benson, nine or ten times. I spent several days in Frankfort, and in rambling among the stupendous cliffs of Kentucky river. On Thursday evening I entered Lexington. But I cannot do justice to these subjects at the conclusion of a letter, which in spite of all my abridgments, has far exceeded in length what I first intended. My next will be from Nashville. I shall then have seen a large range of Kentucky, and be more able to give you a correct delineation of the country and its inhabitants. In descending the Ohio, I amused myself with a poetical narrative of my expedition, which I have called "The Pilgrim," an extract from which shall close this long and I am afraid tiresome letter. THE PILGRIM, A POEM; Descriptive of a voyage and journey from Pittsburg to New-Orleans, In the Spring of 1810. "Adieu the social sweets of home! The voice of friend! the kindred eye! "Through western forests deep and drear "Farewell!" he cry'd; the glistening tear With gun across his shoulder thrown, And now immur'd 'midst many a cliff And snug within his little skiff Our pilgrim down the current steers. No lucre-hunting wight was he, Intent alone on greed of gain; The noblest charms he still could see The flood his gliding bark that bore, And through a length of regions sweeps; Its flat rich banks, few cities nigh Its rough indented mountains steep; To him gave raptures every morn; The ducks that swarm'd each opening run, And prostrate floated on the tide. He gaz'd on each gigantic wood, That tow'r-like from the margin rose; He mark'd each tributary flood That to this noble river flows. And when the air was all serene, He sought some smooth and pebbly shore; Thence rang'd the lofty woods between, Their deep recesses to explore. He stoop'd each rising plant to view, He listened to each warbling throat, And blest the red-bird's mellow note When dark tempestuous winds arose, VOL. III. 3 T Or when the dashing surges froze He scorn'd the shrinking soul of slaves, He saw the shaggy hills glide by, He heard the snags and sawyers roar; And when the rolling waves rose high, He trac'd the steep and shelter'd shore. When Night descended grim and slow, He sought the squatter's wretched shed, Where deaden'd round, in tow'ing show, Vast pillar'd trunks their ruins spread. There o'er the loose luxuriant soil, A growth of weeds enormous rose. His hut of logs, untrimm'd, unbeam'd, One bed, where nightly kennel'd all, The low, wet roof unseam'd and rude, The loosen'd floor was rattling still. |