416 
SCENES IN THE PACIFIC. 
This latter town is beautifully situated six or seven miles 
up the Rio de Panuco. Here we remained thirteen days, 
when, with Arista’s permission, we sailed for New Orleans. 
The green woods—the rushing floods of my native land ! 
I saw ye of a stormy night, when I came from the desert, and 
the stormy seas. With a heart full of joy I ascended the Fa¬ 
ther of Waters to the holy and blooming plains of my Prai¬ 
rie Home —to wife—and the graves of those I loved, among 
the trees at Prairie Lodge ! And now, as the reminiscences 
of my wanderings are coming up before me like the fresh 
leaves of spring when the winter is gone, I marvel at the 
human soul, that it can look back on the mingled scenes of 
suffering and bliss with so much delight. The thorn that 
wounded us is forgotten, while the rose that bore it, is the 
ever-present emblem of beauty and joy. To have seen the 
Indian in his native costume—in his wigwam—in all his na¬ 
tional habits of act and thought; to have seen the flowers^ 
the animals—the streams—the mountains and the heavens 
over them—on the broad expanse of the North American 
wilderness, is a source of peculiar satisfaction. Not, indeed, 
on account of any merit which may appear to attach to the 
performance of such a journey, but because of the aliment 
which it has furnished to the mind; the knowledge it has 
given of the beautiful world on which we live!—its grandeur 
—its infinite range of beautiful forms—and its smiling pro¬ 
mises to man. And if my readers do but learn somewhat of 
these things from the descriptions I have given, and derive 
therefrom somewhat of the enjoyment which fills my heart 
while I write of them, the author will be pleased with the 
results of his labors. 
