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spread; but unquestionably they are sufficiently abundant to attract fresh crowds of emigrants, and so to hasten the time when population shall spread all around the wide shores of Lake Superior, and settlements be found on the river St. Louis (the tiny head of the mighty St. Lawrence), as they were three centuries ago at its mouth.

But even here does not end the Line of the Lakes. Amid the woods and plains of the Far West, countless lakes are glimmering-lakes hardly yet ruffled even by the bark-canoe, and whose shores are still tenantless, save for the wild buffalo or the roving Indian. Ignorance still wraps many of them as if with the darkness of their own primeval forests; but that ignorance is rapidly dissipating, and the woods themselves must ere long give way before the pioneers of civilisation. The vast country lying to the west of Lake Superior, styled the Indian or North-west territory, possesses almost every variety of soil and climate. A great portion of the region lying south of Lake Athabasca, and west of the Stony Mountains, is eminently adapted for agriculture, and its splendid forests and brown savannahs abound with buffalo, moose, carraboo, and common deer, while its lakes and rivers swarm with great varieties of fish. This remote territory possesses resources capable of yielding sustenance and independence to many millions of inhabitants; and though but mere spots here and there have been hitherto subjected to cultivation, ere the grand cycle of the world closes, its vast solitary places will all have been replenished by the increasing and multiplying race of man.

Although much obscurity still hangs over this remote region, one watery highway, at least, can be discerned running westwards through the solitudes. In the heights immediately to the west of Lake Superior, and possibly connectable with its waters, rises the river La Pluie, which rolls its current westwards into the lonely Lake of the Woods; and this lake in turn discharges its waters by a rapid river into the irregularly-shaped Lake Winnipeg, two hundred and forty miles long, and varying from five to fifty-five miles in breadth, which communicates with the Northern Sea by two rivers which discharge its surplus waters into Hudson's Bay. Among its tributaries are the Assinboin and Red Rivers, upon

the latter of which streams Lord Selkirk planted a settlement in 1812; but by far the most important is the Saskatchawan, which rolls a vast

flood from the south-west, where it takes its rise among the Rocky Mountains. The country through which this river flows is a succession of broad level prairies; so that up its channel, or by side canals if necessary, men in future ages will sail to the very foot of the mountain-range which separates eastern from western America. A portage through one of the passes of the mountains would bring us directly upon the head-waters of the Columbia River, down whose deep rushing stream vessels will descend by locks to the western ocean. Here, along the shores of the Pacific, for twelve hundred miles, extends a British territory, abounding with innumerable bays and harbours, islands and rivers, magnificent forests and plentiful fisheries; and enjoying a climate which, like the western side of all continents, is much milder than countries under the same latitude in the eastern coasts. And so, by this long line of lakes and rivers, will this region be united to the British American territories on the shores of the Atlantic, and the progress of civilised mankind be facilitated to the still solitary shores of the Pacific.

There is no continent so fitted as America to receive the benefits of steamnavigation; and, of all America, there is no region where it can be used so extensively as in the Line of the Lakes. There, at America's greatest breadth, an almost level tract of country spreads for nearly four thousand miles from the Atlantic to the Rocky Cordillera, unbroken by any mountain-range, and whose highest peaks cannot vie with those of our own little island. With the exception of a single narrow break between Lake Superior and the River La Pluie, and which may possibly be connectable, one long vast line of water-communication extends from the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the very foot of the Rocky Mountains; while an ofshoot of two rivers connects it with Hudson's Bay; and so intimately connected are the wide valleys of Ottawa, St. Lawrence, Hudson, and other rivers, that from the shores of Long Island Sound in the south, to Hudson's Bay in the north, a vast network of water-communication penetrates and unites the different parts of the country

in all directions. Here, then, will Steam-navigation, one of the greatest triumphs of man over nature, display its marvels. Over those lakes, up those rivers, will it impel the ships of commerce, laughing at the winds, virtually annihilating tides and currents, and ascending even rapids in its irresistible course. And along with it, will man and civilisation penetrate the wilder. ness, displaying amid primeval forests the triumphs of Art, and rearing a temple to the God of Nature in her deepest solitudes. Stream and lake, field and forest, will yet be converted to the uses of commerce and civilisation; and long after the Red man and the buffalo have disappeared from the plains, the fair, white-skinned sons of Japhet will "increase and multiply " upon the prairies of the West.

When we reflect upon the gradual extinction of the aborigines of America, from the Frozen Sea to Cape Horn, and the unceasing spread over its plains of the people and religion of Europe, two designs of Providence-or rather, perhaps, one grand plan seems to dawn upon us. Are we not warranted in supposing that Providence so long held America from our knowledge, in order that Christianity, after fighting its way to a contested supremacy in the Old World, might there find a new world in which to develope itself untrammelled; and that the northern and largest half of that continent was reserved for the noblest of human races, the Anglo-Saxon? The blessings of

Christianity, the freedom and energy of the Anglo-Saxons do not these sum up all that a land can wish? And these are the gifts of America. Fast and surely the wave of emigration is moving over the prairies of the Far West; from Hudson's Bay to the Gulf of Mexico, mankind are advancing abreast, "like an army with banners," thirteen miles every year. Fearlessly the pioneers of that vast host plunge into the wild places of nature, armed only with their axe and their Bible. Let them cherish that Bible, and their empire will flourish. It is the charter by which they hold the land. It was to make way for Christianity and a new civilisation that the old tribes were permitted to die out; and to carry these to their fullest development is the mission of the race which has succeeded them. May they be true to their mission !

In the course of ages yet to roll, should Christianity, amid the corruptions of old civilisation and the violence of infidel revolutions, become lifeless in Europe, and the rude but regenerating arms of the Muscovites spread in triumph to the shores of the Atlantic-America, let us hope, will still reflect to her sunny skies, from her thousand hills and rivers, a land of Christians; and then and there will the Anglo-Saxons, overshadowing the fane of their tiny but brilliant home in Britain, erect their mighty empires, unrivalled and omnipotent, the lords of the New World.

CHATTERTON.-A STORY OF THE YEAR 1770.

CHAPTER II.

THE ATTORNEY'S APPRENTICE OF BRISTOL-CONTINUed.

To a provincial attorney's apprentice, full of literary aspiration, disgusted with his position in life, yet with no immediate prospect of a better, there was but one outlook of any reasonable hope or promise-the chance of being able, in the meantime, to form some sort of connexion with London periodicals or publishers. Accordingly, this was the scheme that Chatterton, whose highest printed venture hitherto had been in the columns of Felix Farley's Bristol Jonrnal, set himself to realize.

His first attempt was upon Dodsley, the publisher of Pall-Mall, the brother and successor in business of the more celebrated Robert Dodsley, the author of the "Muse in Livery," and other trifles of some note in their day, and the projector, along with Burke, of the Annual Register. The Dodsleys, it should be mentioned, had published a standard collection of ancient and modern English poetry, to which, it was understood, additions would be made

in subsequent editions. This fact; the notoriety of the Annual Register, then in the tenth year of its existence; probably, also, the circumstance, not likely to be overlooked by a young littérateur, that in that periodical there was a department for literary contributions and poetry; all pointed Dodsley out to Chatterton as a likely person for his purpose. Accordingly, one morning towards the Christmas of 1768, the worthy publisher, entering his shop in Pall-Mall, finds among his letters one from Bristol, addressed in a neat small hand, and worded as follows:

"Bristol, December 21st, 1768. "SIR,-I take this method to acquaint you that I can procure copies of several ancient poems, and an interlude, perhaps the oldest dramatic piece extant, wrote by one Rowley, a priest of Bristol, who lived in the reigns of Henry VI. and Edward IV. If these pieces will be of service to you, at your com

mand copies shall be sent to you by your most obedient servant,

"D. B.

"Please to direct to D. B., to be left with Mr. Thomas Chatterton, Redcliffe Hill, Bristol.”

In reply to this Dodsley probably sent an intimation to the effect that he would be glad to see the poems in question, particularly the interlude; for the following letter, turned up long afterwards, along with the foregoing, among the loose papers in Dodsley's counting-house, looks as if Chatterton had at least received a reply to his

note:

"Bristol, Feb. 15, 1769. "SIR,-Having intelligence that the tragedy of Ella was in being, after a long and laborious search I was so happy as to attain a sight of it. Struck with the beauties of it, I endeavoured to obtain a copy of it to send you; but the present possessor absolutely denies to give me one, unless I give him one guinea for a consideration. As I am unable to procure such a sum, I made a search for another copy, but unsuccessfully. Unwilling such a beauteous piece should be lost, I have made bold to apply to you. Several gentlemen of learning who have seen it join with me in praising it. I am far from having any mercenary views for myself in the affair; and, was I able, would print it at my own risk. It is a perfect tragedy -the plot clear; the language spirited; and the songs (interspersed in it) flowing, poetical, and elegantly simple; the similes judiciously applied, and, though wrote in the age of Henry VI., not inferior to many of the present age. If I can procure a copy, with or without the gratification, it shall be immediately sent to you. The motive that actuates me to do this, is to convince the world that the monks (of whom some have so despicable an opinion) were not such blockheads as generally thought, and that good poetry might be wrote in the dark days of superstition, as well as in these more enlightened ages. An immediate answer will oblige. I shall not receive

your favour as for myself, but as your agent. I am, sir, your most obedient servant, "THOMAS CHATTERTON. "P.S.-My reason for concealing my name was, lest my master (who is now out of town) should see my letters, and think I neglected his business. Direct for me on Redcliffe Hill.

[Here followed an extract from the tragedy, as a specimen of its style.]

"The whole contains about one thousand lines. If it should not suit you, I should be obliged to you if you would calculate the expenses of printing it, as I will endeavour to publish it by subscription on my own account.

"To Mr. James Dodsley, Bookseller, Pall-Mall, London."

This clumsy attempt to extract a guinea from the publisher (Chatterton had probably just finished his own manuscript of Ella, and did not like the notion of copying out so long a poem on mere chance) very naturally failed. Mr. Dodsley did not think the speculation worth risking a guinea on; and Ella a Tragycal Enterlude, or Discoorseynge Tragedie, wrotten by Thomas Rowllie; plaiedd before Mastre Canynge, atte hys Howse, nempte the Rodde Lodge," remained useless among Chatterton's papers.

Chatterton was not daunted. Among the notabilities of the time with whose names his own excursions in the field of literature necessarily made him acquainted, there was one towards whom, for many reasons, he felt specially attracted the ingenious Horace Walpole, then an elderly gentleman of fifty-two, leading his life of luxurious gossip and literary case, between his town house in Arlington-street, Piccadilly, and his country seat at Strawberry Hill, Twickenham. Known in the world of letters by his Castle of Otranto, his tragedy of The Mysterious Mother, his Catalogue of Royal and Noble Authors, and other various productions, Walpole was at that time busy in collecting additional materials for his Anecdotes of Painting in England, the publication of which he had begun in 1761. It is on this circumstance that Chatterton fastens. One evening in March, 1769, Mr. Walpole, sitting, we will suppose, by his library fire in Arlington-street, has a packet brought him by his bookseller, Mr. Bathoe, of the Strand (the first man, by the bye, that kept a circulating library in London). Opening the

packet, he finds, first of all, the following note:

"SIR,-Being versed a little in antiquities, I have met with several curious manuscripts, among which the following may be of service to you in any future edition of your truly entertaining Anecdotes of Painting. In correcting the mistakes (if any) in the notes, you will greatly oblige your most humble servant, "THOMAS CHATTERTON. "Bristol, March 25, Corn-street."

Appended to this short note were several pages of antique writing, entitled, "The Ryse of Peyncteyne in Englande, wroten by T. Rowlie, 1469, for Mastre Canynge," and commencing as follows:-"Peynetynge ynn England haveth of ould tyme bin yn use; for saieth the Roman wryters, the Brytonnes dyd depycte themselves, yn soundrie wyse, of the fourmes of the sonne and moone wyth the heerbe woade: albeytte I doubte theie were no skylled carvellers." After which introduction, the document went on to give biographical notices of certain distinguished painters that flourished in England during Saxon times and in the early Norman reigns. Attached to the document were explanatory notes in Chatterton's own name. One of these notes informed Walpole who Rowley, the reputed author of the MS. was:" His merit as a biographer and historiographer is great; as a poet still greater: some of his pieces would do honour to Pope; and the person under whose patronage they may appear to the world will lay the Englishman, the antiquary, and the poet, under eternal obligation." Another note performed the like biographical office for Canynge, that "Mæcenas of his time;" and a third conveyed the information that one John, the second abbot of Saint Austin's in Bristol, mentioned in the text as "the fyrste Englyshe paynstere in oyles," was also the greatest poet of his age (A.D. 1186), and gave, as a specimen of his poetry, three stanzas on Richard I. Finally, Chatterton offered to put Walpole in possession of still other particulars from the same source.

Whether from the suddenness and naïveté of the attack, or from the stupefying effects of the warm air of his library on a March evening, Walpole was completely taken in. He can

hardly have glanced over the whole letter, when, really interested by its contents, he takes his pen and writes the following reply:

"Arlington-st., March 28, 1769.

"SIR, I cannot but think myself singularly obliged by a gentleman with whom I have not the pleasure of being acquainted, when I read your very curious and kind letter, which I have this minute received. I give you a thousand thanks for it, and for the very obliging offer you make of communicating your manuscript to me. What you have already sent me is valuable and full of information; but, instead of correcting you, sir, you are far more able to correct me. I have not the happiness of understanding the Saxon language, and, without your learned notes, should not have been able to comprehend Rowley's

text.

"As a second edition of my Anecdotes was published last year, I must not flatter myself that a third will be wanted soon; but I shall be happy to lay up any notices you will be so good as to extract for me, and send me at your leisure: for, as it is uncertain when I may use them, I would by no means borrow or detain your MSS.

I

"Give me leave to ask you where Rowley's poems are to be found. should not be sorry to print them, or at least a specimen of them, if they have never been printed.

"The Abbot John's verses that you have given me are wonderful for their harmony and spirit, though there are some words that I do not understand. You do not point out exactly the time when he lived, which I wish to know, as I suppose it was long before John al Ectry's discovery of oil-painting: if so, it confirms what I have guessed, and have hinted in my Anecdotes, that oilpainting was known here much earlier than that discovery or revival.

"I will not trouble you with more questions now, sir; but flatter myself, from the urbanity and politeness you have already shown me, that you will give me leave to consult you. I hope, too, you will forgive the simplicity of my direction, as you have favoured me with none other.-I am, sir, your much obliged and obedient humble servant,

"HORACE WALPOLE. "P.S.-Be so good as to direct to Mr. Walpole, Arlington-street."

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men of that stamp treat one from the Catcotts, the Barretts, and other local low-born vulgarities! In haste to acknowledge such politeness, he sends off a supplementary "Historie of Peyneters yn England, bie T. Rowlie;" containing also sketches of two new poets, Ecca, a Saxon bishop of the year 557, and Elman, a Saxon bishop of the same epoch, with specimens of their verses, translated from the original Saxon by Rowley. He adds some more verses of the Abbot John's, and promises a complete transcript of Rowley's works as soon as he shall have had time to make one. At the same time he gives Walpole a confidential account of himself and his prospects. This part of the letter is lost; but Walpole thus states his recollection of its tenor:

"He informed me that he was the son of a poor widow, who supported him with great difficulty; that he was a clerk or apprentice to an attorney, but had a taste and turn for more elegant studies; and hinted a wish that I would assist him with my interest in emerging out of so dull a profession, by procuring him some place in which he could pursue his natural bent."

Clearly Chatterton was never so near telling the whole truth as when, touched by Walpole's politeness, he thus addressed him as his only available friend. One is sorry that he did not try the effect of a full confession. Had Walpole received a letter from his unknown correspondent, conveying, in addition to the foregoing particulars, this farther acknowledgment, that, what he (Chatterton) had sent to him (Walpole) was not a real extract from a MS. but a forgery; that, for more than a year, he had been palming off similar forgeries on various parties in Bristol; but that now he was heartily tired of the cheat, and would fain be out of it, and that if he (Walpole), with such specimens before him of his (Chatterton's) powers as these pretended antiques afforded, should be disposed to add the kindness of his practical assistance to that of his forgiveness for the trick attempted on him, he would thereby earn the writer's lasting gratitude and save a life not yet wholly irretrievable-one wonders greatly what, in such circumstances, Horace Walpole would have done! Would the reflection in the

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