acquisition of property. The love of property to a certain degree seems indispensable to the existence of sound morals. I have never had a servant, in whom I could confide, except such as were desirous to earn, and preserve, money. The conveniences, and the character, attendant on the possession of property, fix even these restless men at times, when they find themselves really able to accumulate it; and persuade them to a course of regular industry. I have mentioned, that they sell the soil of their first farms at an enhanced price; and that they gain for their improvements on them what, to themselves at least, is a considerable sum. The possession of this money removes, perhaps for the first time, the despair of acquiring property; and awakens the hope, and the wish, to acquire more. The secure possession of property demands, every moment, the hedge of law; and reconciles a man, originally lawless, to the restraints of government. Thus situated, he sees that reputation, also, is within his reach. Ambition forces him to aim at it; and compels him to a life of sobriety, and decency. That his children may obtain this benefit, he is obliged to send them to school, and to unite with those around him in supporting a school-master. His neighbours are disposed to build a church, and settle a Minister. A regard to his own character, to the character and feelings of his family, and very often to the solicitations of his wife, prompts him to contribute to both these objects; to attend, when they are compassed, upon the worship of God; and perhaps to become in the end a religious man.

1 The people in the Atlantic states have not yet recovered from the horror, inspired by the term "backwoodsman." This prejudice is particularly strong in New England, and is more or less felt from Maine to Georgia. When I first visited this country, I had my full share, and my family by far too much for their comfort. In approaching the country, I heard a thousand stories of gougings, and robberies, and shooting down with the rifle. I have travelled in these regions thousands of miles under all circumstances of exposure and danger. I have travelled alone, or in company only with such as needed protection, instead of being able to impart it; and

1 Flint, Recollections of the Last Ten Years [1826], etc., pp. 174-177.

this too, in many instances, where I was not known as a minister, or where such knowledge would have had no influence in protecting me. I never have carried the slightest weapon of defence. I scarcely remember to have experienced any thing that resembled insult, or to have felt myself in danger from the people. I have often seen men that had lost an eye. Instances of murder, numerous and horrible in their circumstances, have occurred in my vicinity. But they were such lawless rencounters, as terminate in murder every where, and in which the drunkenness, brutality, and violence were mutual. They were catastrophes, in which quiet and sober men would be in no danger of being involved. When we look round these immense regions, and consider that I have been in settlements three hundred miles from any court of justice, when we look at the position of the men, and the state of things, the wonder is, that so few outrages and murders occur. The gentlemen of the towns, even here, speak often with a certain contempt and horror of the backwoodsmen. I have read, and not without feelings of pain, the bitter representations of the learned and virtuous Dr. Dwight, in speaking of them. He represents these vast regions, as a grand reservoir for the scum of the Atlantic states. He characterizes in the mass the emigrants from New England, as discontented coblers, too proud, too much in debt, too unprincipled, too much puffed up with self-conceit, too strongly impressed that their fancied talents could not find scope in their own country, to stay there. It is true there are worthless people here, and the most so, it must be confessed, are from New England. It is true there are gamblers, and gougers, and outlaws; but there are fewer of them, than from the nature of things, and the character of the age and the world, we ought to expect. But it is unworthy of the excellent man in question so to designate this people in the mass. The backwoodsman of the west, as I have seen him, is generally an amiable and virtuous man. His general motive for coming here is to be a freeholder, to have plenty of rich land, and to be able to settle his children about him. It is a most virtuous motive. And notwithstanding all that Dr. Dwight and Talleyrand have said to the contrary, I fully believe, that nine in ten of the emigrants have come here with no other motive. You find, in truth, that he has vices and

barbarisms, peculiar to his situation. His manners are rough. He wears, it may be, a long beard. He has a great quantity of bear or deer skins wrought into his household establishment, his furniture, and dress. He carries a knife, or a dirk in his bosom, and when in the woods has a rifle on his back, and a pack of dogs at his heels. An Atlantic stranger, transferred directly from one of our cities to his door, would recoil from a rencounter with him. But remember, that his rifle and his dogs are among his chief means of support and profit. Remember, that all his first days here were passed in dread of the savages. Remember, that he still encounters them, still meets bears and panthers. Enter his door, and tell him you are benighted, and wish the shelter of his cabin for the night. The welcome is indeed seemingly ungracious: "I reckon you can stay,” or "I suppose we must let you stay." But this apparent ungraciousness is the harbinger of every kindness that he can bestow, and every comfort that his cabin can afford. Good coffee, corn bread and butter, venison, pork, wild and tame fowls are set before you. His wife, timid, silent, reserved, but constantly attentive to your comfort, does not sit at the table with you, but like the wives of the patriarchs, stands and attends on you. You are shown to the best bed which the house can offer. When this kind of hospitality has been afforded you as long as you choose to stay, and when you depart, and speak about your bill, you are most commonly told with some slight mark of resentment, that they do not keep a tavern. Even the flaxen-headed urchins will turn away from your money.

II. THE PROCESS OF PIONEERING IN NEW ENGLAND

1 The settlement of a new country is an object which has not been hitherto described, I believe by any writer. At the same time, it exhibits the character of man, his enterprise, patience, perseverance, and power over this world, every where naturally a wilderness, in a light which cannot be uninteresting to a philosophical mind. As I have been not a little conversant with this subject, I will here give a summary account of the efforts, by

1 Dwight, Travels in New England and New York [1796-1815], II, 464-469, 297-298, 308-309.

which every part of this country has been changed from a forest into its present appearance.

In forming new settlements, it will be easily believed, the planters are necessitated to struggle with many difficulties. To clear a farm covered with a thick growth of large trees, such as generally abound in this country, is a work of no small magnitude. Especially is this true, when, as is usually the fact, it is to be done by a single man; and still more especially, when that man is poor, and obliged to struggle with many other discouragements. Yet this is the real situation of multitudes, who undertake enterprises of this nature.

When a planter commences this undertaking, he sets out for his farm with his axe, gun, blanket, provision, and ammunition. With these he enters the forest; and builds himself a shed, by setting up poles at four angles, crossing them with other poles, and covering the whole with the bark, leaves, and twigs of trees, except the south side, purposely left open to the sun and a fire. Under this shelter he dresses his food; and makes his bed of straw, on which he sleeps soundly beneath his blanket. Here he usually continues through the season: and sometimes without the sight of any other human being. After he has completed this shelter, he begins to clear a spot of ground: i.e. to remove the forest, by which it is covered. This is done in two ways: girdling, and felling, the trees. The former of these I have already described. The latter has now become almost the universal practice: and wherever it can be adopted, is undoubtedly to be preferred. The trees are cut down, either in the autumn, or as early as it can be done in the spring; that they may become so dry as to be easily burnt up in the ensuing summer. After they have lain a sufficient length of time, he sets fire to them, lying as they fell. If he is successful, the greater part of them are consumed in the conflagration. The remainder he cuts with his axe into pieces of a convenient length; rolls them into piles; and sets fire to them again. In this manner they are all consumed; and the soil is left light, dry, and covered with ashes. These, so far as he can, he collects, and conveys to a manufactory of potashes if there be any in the neighbourhood; if not, he leaves them to enrich the soil. In many instances the ashes, thus gathered, will defray the expense of clearing the land.

After the field is burned over, his next business is to break it up. The instrument, employed for this purpose, is a large and strong harrow; here called a drag, with very stout iron teeth ; resembling in its form the capital letter A. It is drawn over the surface, a sufficient number of times to make it mellow, and afterwards to cover the seed. A plough would here be of no use; as it would soon be broken to pieces by the roots of the trees. In the same manner the planter proceeds to another field, and to another; until his farm is sufficiently cleared to satisfy his wishes.

The first house which he builds, is formed of logs and commonly contains two rooms, with a stone chimney in the middle. His next labour is to procure a barn; generally large, well framed, covered, and roofed. Compared with his house, it is a palace. But for this a saw-mill is necessary, and is therefore built as early as possible. It will be easily believed, that the labours, already mentioned, must be attended by fatigue, and hardships, sufficient to discourage any man, who can live tolerably on his native soil. But the principal sufferings of these planters, in the early periods of their business, spring from quite other sources. The want of neighbours to assist them; the want of convenient implements; and universally the want of those means, without which the necessary business of life cannot be carried on, even comfortably; is among their greatest difficulties. The first planters at Haverhill and Newbury, on the Connecticut river, were obliged to go to Charlestown, more than seventy miles, to get their corn ground; (there being no mill nearer to them,) and to obtain assistance to raise the frame of every building. At that time there was no road between these towns. The travelling was of course all done on the river. Mr. Page, the first settler of Lancaster, on the same river, seated himself in that township in 1766. For several years there was no family, beside his own, within many miles. He also was necessitated to get his corn ground at Charlestown; distant more than one hundred and twenty miles; but at length he relieved himself from this inconvenience by building a horse-mill.

In sickness, and other cases of suffering and danger, these planters are often without the aid either of a physician, or a surgeon. To accidents they are peculiarly exposed by the nature of