11th. Joanna Baillie, the celebrated authoress, who has spent a long life in the most honorable and deeply characteristic literary labors, writes from her residence at Hampstead (Eng.), as if with undiminished vigor of hope, expressing her interest in the progress of historical letters in this (to her) remote part of the world. How much closer bonds these literary sympathies are in drawing two nations of a kindred blood together, than dry and formal diplomatics, in which it is the object, as Talleyrand says, of human language to conceal thought!
Oct. 16th. Wisconsin is slowly, but surely, filling up with a healthy population, and founding her moral, as well as political institutions, on a solid basis. Rev. Jer. Porter, my old friend during the interesting scenes at St. Mary's, in 1832 and 1833, writes me, that, after passing a few years in Illinois, he has settled at Green Bay, as the pastor of a healthful and increasing church. "I have recently," he writes, "made an excursion on horseback, in the interior of the territory. I traveled about 400 miles, being from home sixteen days. I went to meet a convention of ministers and delegates from Presbyterian and Congregational churches, to see if we could form a union of the two denominations in the territory, so that we might have a perfect co-operation in every good work. We had twelve ministers of these denominations present, all but four or five now in the territory, and were so happy as to form a basis of union, which will, I trust, prove permanent, and be a great blessing to our churches. This seems to us a very favorable beginning.
"I find the beautiful prairies of the interior rapidly settling with a very good population from the Eastern States, and the healthiness of the country gives it some advantages over Illinois. With the blessing of the Lord, I think this may yet be one of the best States in the Union."
20th. The Rev. Henry Kearney, of Kitternan Glebe, Dublin (Ireland), communicates notices of some of the inroads made by death on the rank of our friends and relatives in that land. "Since my last, the valued friend of the family, the Right Hon'ble Wm. Saurin (late Attorney-General) was removed from this world of changes to the world of durable realities. He was past eighty. The bishop (Dromore) is still alive, not more than a year younger than his brother. Old age--found in the ways of righteousness--how honorable!
"You will have learned, from the European newspapers, the agitated state of all the countries from China to Great Britain. Is the Lord about to bring to pass the predicted days of retribution on the nations for abused responsibility, and the restoration of the ancient nation of Israel, to be, once more, the depository of his judgment and truth for the recovery of all nations to the great principles of government and religion taught us in His holy word?"
Nov. 1st. Having concluded the Indian business in the Upper Lakes for the season, I returned with my family to Detroit, and employed my leisure in literary investigations.
Dec. 3d. Mr. Josiah Snow apprizes me that he is about, in a few weeks, to issue the first number of a newspaper devoted to agriculture, in which he solicits my aid.
15th. J. K. Tefft, Esq., of Savannah, informs me of my election, on the 9th Sept. last, as an honorary member of the Georgia Historical Society.
19th. I wrote the following lines in memory of my father:--
The drum no more shall rouse his heart to beat with patriot fires,
Nor to his kindling eye impart the flash of martial ires:
Montgomery's fall, Burgoyne's advance, awake no transient fear;
E'en joy be dumb that noble France grasped in our cause the spear.
The cloud that, lowering northward spread, presaging woe and blight,
In that wild host St. Leger led, no longer arm for fight;
The bomb, the shell, the flash, the shot, the sortie, and the roar,
No longer nerve for battle hot--the soldier is no more.
But long shall memory speak his praise, and mark the grave that blest,
When eighty years had crowned his days, he laid him down to rest;
The stone that marks the sylvan spot, the line that tells his name,
The stream, the shore; be ne'er forgot, and freedom's be his fame.
'Twas liberty that fired him first, when kings and tyrants plan'd,
And proud oppression's car accurst, drove madly o'er the land;
And long he lived when that red car--the driver and the foe
Unhorsed in fight, o'ermatched in war--laid impotent and low.
He told his children oft the tale--how tyrants would have bound,
And murderous yells filled all the vale, and blood begrimed the ground.
They loved the story of the harms that patriot hands repelled,
And glowed with ire of wars and arms, and fast the words they held.
The right, the power, the wealth, the fame, for which the valiant fought,
Have long been ours in deed and name--life, liberty, and thought;
And while we hold these blessings, bought with valor, blood, and thrall,
Embalmed in thought be those who fought and freely periled all.