counted for only by his possessing an accurate personal knowledge of what La Salle would have discovered, in case he had gone down. This supposition is further confirmed by an additional circumstance, bearing on the question, which may as well be noted. The map published in the English edition of the New Discovery, in 1698, is an exact copy of that accompanying the first edition of the " Louisiana," in 1683, with the exception merely of continuing the stream' of the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico, instead of the dotted line before mentioned, and the substitution of the arms of England for those of France, in the beautiful emblematic design round the inscription of the map,-a tolerably convincing proof that the author knew as much of the matter when the first was published as when the second.

In one of the earliest Histories of Louisiana, that by M. Dumont, which was written as a continuation of Joutel's Journal, it is stated, that when the French first arrived at the mouth of the Mississippi they saw on that barren coast, more than a league apart, two solitary trees, one of which they named "Arbre à la bouteille," from the circumstance that they found a bottle hanging from its branches containing a letter, "par laquelle on marquoit à quelque voyageur le lieu où ses associés étoient allés." The other tree was called "la potence de Picard," because some one of that name had the fancy to wish that if ever he should be hanged, that tree might be his gibbet. We mention this obscure circumstance, only in connection with the fact that Hennepin expressly describes his having left such a letter, signed by himself and his two companions, stating his voyage, &c., and that one of his men bore the name of "Picard;" but whether this was Hennepin's letter, or whether this Picard was the gentleman who was so particular in his choice of a situation, in such a delicate contingency as his being hanged, we have no means of ever ascertaining. We only give the circumstance in connection, as a curious coincidence, which certainly has a more direct bearing on this interesting subject than half of the strong analogies by which the greatest archæologists have sustained, or built up, towering fabrics of favorite theories. And not least in the chain, may be given the fact mentioned by the Marquis de Vergennes in his Memoire Historique et Politique sur la Louisiane, p. 87, and at greater detail in the Histoire Generale des Voïages, vol. 14, p. 627—that the English in 1699 sent an expedition, conducted by French deserters, to take possession of the mouth of the Mississippi, which was repulsed by the Chevalier Bienville, then on the spot. Coupling this fact with the urgent appeals of Hennepin for King William to undertake such an expedition, it is not improbable but that his representations may have had some share in causing it to be sent; and if they had, the directness with which they appear to have made their way, shows at least that their knowledge of the Mississippi, which must have come from Hen

nepin, was much more accurate than possessed by La Salle, who, at the head of an important national expedition, and having his fame and character at stake upon the result, was utterly unable to discover the mouth of the great river of which he assumed to be the discoverer, and which was the sole object of his voyage.

It is upon this fact, which is a very striking one in the history of these respective claims,--coupled with the other, not less so, that there is no where an authentic account of La Salle's having actually proceeded so far that we are led to infer that he never was at the mouth of the Mississippi himself. Charlevoix, indeed, confesses that he cannot trace him to it on his first voyage; and coupling this absence of information, on such an important point, with his failure to reach it by sea on his last expedition, the inference is warranted, that he only proceeded far enough down the stream to learn the certainty that its debouche was in the Gulf of Mexico, when he hurried back to Canada and France, to reap the benefits he expected, probably deeming it impossible that he could miss so large a river in coasting about the site of its presumed junction with the sea. Joutel says distinctly, that La Salle never found it in his last overland journey, and his testimony must be decisive against the contrary assertion, resting only as it does on the disputed authority of Tonti's suppositious adventures.

All the circumstances carefully considered present a very curious and intricate question, and if the dates of Hennepin could be reconciled we should be compelled to give its due weight to the solemn protestation of his truth with which he opens to his readers the story of his New Discovery. "Je vous proteste ici devant Dieu que ma relation est fidele et sincere, et pouvez ajouter foy à tout ce qui y est rapporté."

A singular feature in the whole matter is the absence of authentic information respecting the discovery of the Mississippi, until 1697. No trace of any account of it occurs in any remarks that we have met written on the subject, and yet it is evident that there must exist, in the colonial archives of France, many official reports on the subject, if not the very correspondence of La Salle himself, and a search there would no doubt enable us to settle definitively this interesting question. There was a work published in Paris in 1691,* by the Father Le Clercq, which would no doubt add much to the light we already possess; but it is so scarce as to have escaped the researches of most bibliographers, and we do not believe that a copy exists in this country; we have consequently been unable to *Premier Establissement de la Foy dans la Nouvelle France, contenant la publi cation de l'Evangile, l'histoire des colonies Françoises and les fameuses découvertes depuis le fleuve S. Laurent, la Louysiane & le fleuve Colbert, jusqu'au Golphe Mexique, achevées sous la conduite de feu M. de la Salle, par ordre du Roy; avec lec victoires remportees en Canada par les armes de S. M. sur les Anglois & les Iroquois en 1690, &c. Par le P. Chretien le Clercq, Missionnaire Recollet, &c. Paris, 12mo. 2 vols. 1691.

see it. It should not be forgotten, whatever it may prove, that no criticism can deprive Hennepin of a glory and a distinction, the greatest reward of all adventurous toil, and the proudest honor that can attach to a traveller. He has given their names to the eternal objects of nature, which he was the first European to behold, and connected himself indelibly with them so long as the language of the people around them shall exist, while the tinsel nomenclature of La Salle, who scattered the titles of France over the rivers and prairies of the western wilderness, has utterly vanished from the soil. Hennepin transferred to the literature and language of the old world, the Indian name of the great MISSISSIPPI, the hoary Father of waters, which he first explored; and this epithet so expressive, in its very sound, of its mighty current, and of the snake-like flow of its course, will remain with it forever. La Salle flattered the minister of the day by baptizing the glorious stream with the name of Colbert, and it scarcely lasted long enough for the first freshet that swept its channel to wash it out. In like manner, Seigneley has given place to the Indian, and Hennepin's name of Illinois; while the "Falls of St. Anthony" will ever perpetuate his good genius in the name of his patron saint; and lastly, the wandering friar has given his own name of Louis to a territory larger than France, and destined we trust to a brighter destiny in the annals of human happiness, as an American Republic, than ever his many territories knew under the Augustan sway of Louis le DIEU-DONNE, whose accident of position enabled him for a time, to enjoy the lion's share of the honor of naming Louisiana.

THE FOUNTAIN.

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

Fountain, that springest on this grassy slope!
Thy quick cool murmur mingles, pleasantly,
With the cool sound of breezes in the beech,
Above me in the noontide. Thou dost wear
No stain of thy dark birthplace; gushing up
From the dark mould and slimy roots of earth,
Thou flashest in the sun. The mountain air,
In winter, is not clearer, nor the dew
That shines on mountain blossom. Thus doth God
Bring, from the dark and foul, the pure and bright.

This tangled thicket on the bank above
Thy basin, how thy waters keep it green!

For thou dost feed the roots of the wild vine

That trails all over it, and to the twigs,

Ties fast her clusters. There the spice-bush lifts
Her leafy lances; the viburnum there,

Paler of foliage, to the sun holds up
Her circlet of green berries. In and out
The chipping-sparrow, in her coat of brown,
Steals, silently, lest I should mark her nest.

Not such thou wert of yore, ere those old woods
Bowed to the white man's axe. Then hoary trunks
Of oak, and plane, and hickory o'er thee held
A mighty canopy. When April winds

Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush
Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up,
Opened, in airs of June, her multitude

Of golden chalices to humming-birds
And silken-winged insects of the sky.

Frail wood-plants clustered round thy edge in Spring. The liverleaf put forth her sister blooms

Of faintest blue. Here the quick-footed wolf,
Passing to lap thy waters, crushed the flower
Of Sanguinaria, from whose brittle stem
The red drops fell like blood. The deer too left
Her delicate foot-prints in the soft moist mould,
And on the fallen leaves. The slow-paced bear,
In such a sultry summer noon as this,

Stopped at thy stream, and drank, and leaped across.

But thou hast histories that stir the heart With deeper feeling; while I look on thee They rise before me. I behold the scene Hoary again with forests; I behold

The Indian warrior, whom a hand unseen

Has smitten with his death wound in the woods,

Creep slowly to thy well known rivulet,

And slake his death-thirst. Hark, that quick fierce cry
That rends the utter silence; 'tis the whoop

Of battle, and a throng of savage men
With naked arms, and faces stained like blood,
Fill the green wilderness; the long bare arms
Are heaved aloft, bows twang and arrows stream.
Each makes a tree his shield, and every tree

Sends forth its arrow.

As is the whirlwind.

Fierce the fight and short,
Soon the conquerors

And conquered vanish, and the dead remain
Gashed horribly with tomahawks. The woods
Are still again, the frighted bird comes back
And plumes her wings, but thy sweet waters run
Crimson with blood. Then, as the sun goes down,
Amid the deepening twilight I descry

Figures of men that crouch and creep unheard,
And bear away the dead. The next day's shower
Shall wash the tokens of the fight away.

I look again a hunter's lodge is built,

With poles and boughs, beside thy crystal well,
While the meek autumn stains the woods with gold,
And sheds his golden sunshine. To the door
The red man slowly drags the enormous bear
Slain in the chesnut thicket, or flings down
The deer from his strong shoulders. Shaggy fells
Of wolf and cougar hang upon the walls,
And loud the black-eyed Indian maidens laugh,
That gather, from the rustling heaps of leaves,
The hickory's white nuts, and the dark fruit
That falls from the gray butternut's long boughs.

So centuries passed by, and still the woods
Blossomed in spring, and reddened when the year
Grew chill, and glistened in the frozen rains
Of winter, till the white man swung the axe
Beside thee-signal of a mighty change.
Then all around was heard the crash of trees,
Trembling awhile and rushing to the ground,
The low of ox, and shouts of men who fired
The brushwood, or who tore the earth with ploughs.
The grain sprang thick and tall, and hid in green
The blackened hill side; ranks of spiky maize
Rose like a host embattled; the buck-wheat
Whitened broad acres, sweetening with its flowers
The August wind. White cottages were seen
With rose-trees at the windows; barns from which
Swelled loud and shrill the cry of chanticleer;
Pastures where rolled and neighed the lordly horse,
And white flocks browsed and bleated. A rich turf
Of grasses brought from far o'ercrept thy bank,