CHAPTER XVI.

Albany—The Irish mother—Incidents that occured five years ago—The disappointed emigrants—The Little Falls—Rural retirement.

Fairfield, N. Y., Sept. 22.

Our stopping place in Albany was atCongress Hall, which we reached some time before the sun sent his resplendent beams abroad: the morning was damp and hazy, and upon the whole every thing looked dull and gloomy around us. We were, however, occupying one of the most delightful positions in the place—our inn being located on one corner of the beautiful enclosure in front of the capitol or state-house, whence we could overlook almost the entire city. As I sat down by a window which commanded a view of the state-house park, or square, my travelling companion directed my attention to a female, who with tattered vestments and feeble steps, was pacing backwards and forwards one of the gravelled walks in the verdant enclosure before us. She was carrying in her arms a sickly looking infant, some nine or ten months old, and the whole appearance both of the mother and child, seemed to indicate that they were houseless wanderers, andhad passed the night without a shelter. As in her continued walks up and down the gravelled avenue, she occasionally approached near the window where we sat, I saw that she was about middle aged, and had evidently once had a fine and expressive countenance, though the traces of sorrow and grief were now deeply worn there.

We were called to our breakfast: as soon as it was dispatched we hurried away from our hotel to the grand railroad depot, whence we were to take our departure westward. On our way we passed directly by the gravelled walk, where we had seen the poor woman, who had so much excited our sympathy. She now sat on the ground, her infant sleeping in her lap, and herself apparently absorbed in melancholy. She was evidently of Irish extraction, and though her appearance bore evidence of extreme poverty, there were no indications about her of intemperance. I could not but think what a tale of sorrow, of disappointed hopes, and perhaps of cruelly blighted innocence, would that Irish mother's history, if recorded, unfold. My thoughts immediately went back to that beautiful Emerald Isle, over whose green fields I had so recently roamed. Though I had seen some misery there, I had seen much happiness and contentment. I verily believe there is often to be found more real happiness in the mud cottage than in the gilded palace. The Irish have strong and generous feelings, and strong family affection. As I saw that poor Irish mother sitting there upon the ground, so forlorn and desolate, my imagination pictured to me her early home, where she passed her childhood beneath the glad eye of her affectionate parents. They saw her grow up, the pride of their heart, and thought that she would bethe solace of their declining years. But the tempter came—she was lured from her home—she passed over the deep waters, and found herself in a foreign land. Her base husband soon showed himself the degraded victim of intemperance, and after a few years deserted her—leaving her houseless, homeless, in poverty, and broken-hearted sorrow. Perhaps in point of fact there were no lines in the history of that poor Irish mother in correspondence with this picture, but I believe, if the real history of many an emigrant from that green isle were known, we should feel more kindly to that people, and the heart and hand of Christian charity would be more frequently open to relieve the destitute among them. I know not where we shall find on earth such noble elements of character as in the Irish race. I confess I have been charmed and filled with admiration with some specimens I have met of Irish Christian gentlemen. I cannot turn my face away from any poor Irishman who asks alms at my door, unless he be manifestly the victim of intemperance, and begs to procure the means of indulgence in this sin. It is true we are sometimes liable to be deceived. Clothes and money are sometimes procured under false pretexts. But even then they may minister to the comfort of the destitute, and if we have given for Christ's sake, we shall not lose our reward.

I do not mean by these remarks to intimate that I regard it as a Christian duty to give to all without discrimination who ask alms at our hands—but simply to say, that I think it better to give to twenty undeserving objects than to turn our face away from one who is Christ's representative here on earth. (Mat. xxv. 35-46.) Neither do I mean to affirm, that there is not danger of being deceived bysome who make large demands upon us for assistance. In such cases we should undoubtedly proceed with great caution: and even then, after all, we may be beguiled. A case in point now occurs to me.

While residing in New England, on a dull, cold, rainy Saturday afternoon, some five years ago, I heard a ring at my door. As the servant did not immediately appear to answer the call, I myself went to the door, where I found two persons in shabby and tattered dress, standing on the steps, with their clothes dripping with rain. The female was the first to speak, inquiring if I would not render some assistance to a distressed couple, who were extremely destitute, and far from country and home. The tones of her voice were so sweet and gentle, her manners so modest and unobtrusive, and the language which she used so well chosen, and even elegant, I felt convinced that they had indeed seen better days, and I should have done the greatest violence to my feelings, and every better principle of my nature, had I not opened my door and bid them enter. After they had dried themselves by the fire, and partaken of some refreshment, I asked them to tell me their history. The outline of it was as follows:—They were both natives of Ireland, where they had always resided till about four years since. Mrs. S——, the name of this female, and the wife of the man who accompanied her, was the daughter of a clergyman of the Established Church, who was vicar of a parish in Ireland, the name of which I do not now recollect. She was brought up in great tenderness and highly educated, as she was an only daughter. Being a novel reader and full of romantic ideas, she took it into her head to fall in love with a young bricklayer, who was engaged in working upon a house thatwas building near the vicarage. She found means of meeting him unknown to her parents, and they were soon engaged to be married. At the appointed time she stole away secretly from home, met her lover at a specified spot, and then they went together to a distant part of the country, where they were married. She then sent home to her parents, confessing the whole affair. They were very indignant, and returned so severe an answer, that she and her husband concluded to embark at once for America.—They soon put their resolution into execution, and after a very long voyage found themselves at Montreal, without any means of subsistence. Her husband succeeded in obtaining some employment, so that they lived along comfortably for nearly a year. About this time she became the mother of a little daughter; and accidentally hearing that the Rev. Mr. ----, who was a brother of her mother's, and had been in this country several years, was residing at Troy, she persuaded her husband to go with her in quest of her uncle. When they reached Troy, they found that there was no Rev. Mr. —— residing there. Here they lived for some time, Mr. S—— hiring himself out to a builder, who was carrying on a large business there. After S—— had earned about one hundred dollars besides his living, this builder unexpectedly failed, and absconded without paying off any of his hands. S—— was again left in poverty, and without employment. A few months before, their little babe had sickened and died. They had recently heard that their relative resided in Boston. They therefore started off with the hope of finding him: having at length reached Northampton in great destitution, they made known their situation to the Rev. Dr. P——, whorelieved them from present distress, and informed them that the clergyman whom they were seeking lived in Philadelphia. With a view of going thither they had come to the place where I resided. The whole story appeared natural, and though they told it to a number of different individuals, they never contradicted themselves. Mr. S—— was rough and uncultivated—just such a man as a bricklayer would be. On the other hand Mrs. S—— was evidently an accomplished lady. She was acquainted with books, played on the piano forte, and sung beautifully. A clergyman bearing the name of the one whom she claimed as her uncle, actually resided in Philadelphia, and had not long since visited England and Ireland, as she said. I could detect no incongruity in any part of the narrative. They remained with us a week—during which time a number of our friends fitted them both out with new apparel, and procured for them the means of travelling with comfort to Philadelphia. I have seldom known so much sympathy to be awakened for destitute strangers as there was in their case. Several individuals accompanied them to the steamboat when they left, and wished them God speed. I sent by them a letter to the Rev. Mr. —— informing him of the facts above related. This was the last I ever heard of them! I saw the Rev. Mr. —— in a few months; he informed me he had never received the letter, that he had no relatives in Ireland, and that so far as he was concerned it must have been a sheer fabrication. My friends and myself, when these facts came to our knowledge, had a hearty laugh over this affair, and though we regretted that this Irish couple had used such deception, at least in one particular we did notregret that we had fed the hungry, clothed the naked, and sent them on their way with solemn admonitions about the salvation of their souls.

Very little of interest is to be seen on the way between Albany and Schenectady across those sandy plains, save the distant tops of the Cattskill to the south, and the misty summits of the Green mountains to the north. Our course from Schenectady up the valley of the Mohawk was very delightful. The beautiful sylvan scenery up this valley, with its broken sheets of water, and dark rich verdure, reminded me of some scenes in England, which I can never forget. I need not describe the grand and rugged mountain scenery which nature has thrown up in forms of singular wildness around theLittle Falls, nor the upland and undulating country through which one has to pass to reach the spot whence I write.

Here then, I am, far away from the strife of tongues, the agitations of business, and the dust and din of the city. The green hills are all around me, presenting a coat of dark rich verdure, which shows that they have not this season felt the blight of the withering and far-spread drought. All amid these retired hills appears full of quietness and repose—a fit place in which to study one's own heart and try to get nearer to heaven. I attended the other evening, what in England would be denominateda cottage meeting. The inhabitants of the neighbourhood were gathered together in a private house, and after suitable devotions conducted by the pastor, the people were familiarly and solemnly addressed on the subject of their immortal interests. These meetings, I understand, are held weekly in different parts of the village, and will, I doubt not, carrysalvation to many a house. What an inexpressible blessing is a faithful pastor, who cares for the flock, and uses every means in his power to guide them in the way everlasting!

Fairfield, N. Y., Oct. 1.

Within the last week I have made an excursion into the central part of Western New York. I never fail, while travelling through this region, to be impressed with the conviction, that this is the garden of America! The soil itself has in every field you pass, and upon every hill-side and vale to which you turn your eye, ten thousand witnesses to attest its astonishing fertility. And then there are treasures beneath the soil more valuable than silver or gold, in the vast beds of lime and plaster, and the exhaustless saline springs, scattered at different points over this region. Here, also, you have beautiful scenery in ten thousand varied forms: and if you wish to view nature in one of her more awful moods, you have only to draw near and listen to the tremendous roar of Niagara, and see the collected waters of an hundred lakes, dashed headlong in one great, furious tide, down the vast precipice, to the deep, rocky channel below.

I am sure the traveller who passes along the old post-road from Utica to Buffalo, and sees the hundred beautiful villages, the noble forests, the majestic trees, the rich foliage, the luxuriant orchards, the luscious fruits, thecrops of yellow wheat, the fields of waving corn, the vast enclosures of dark, fertile soil, the peaceful lakes and silvery streams that everywhere meet the eye, will exclaim,The garden of America! And then when he sees all this beautiful region intersected by canals and bound together by turnpikes, railroads, and lake and steam navigation, he will feel that Western New York possesses advantages of a most singular and superior character!

Last year in some few sketches of a tour to the West, a brief description was given of Geneva. This sweet village, take it all in all, I must regard as the gem of Western New York. I cannot conceive of a more lovely place for residence than this beautiful village on the banks of Seneca lake.

It was towards the close of the day that I reached this place, a spot with which so many sweet and sacred recollections were connected in my mind. My destination for the night was a few miles beyond it in the country. The road along which I passed lay through a scene full of sylvan beauty, disclosing every half mile to the eye of the traveller through the opening of the trees a beautiful view of a portion of the lake, that now slept in the sweet evening calm, tranquil as a sea of glass. The house of our friends was at length reached—and there were such greetings and gladness of heart, as they only feel who have been long and far separated from each other, with but little hope that they should ever again meet this side of eternity.

Retirement—Seneca Lake—Burlington, N. J.—Brooklyn, N. Y.

The following chapters are made up of letters detailing incidents of travel connected with a tour from Philadelphia to Rhode Island, and from thence into Western New York, during the summer of 1840.

Seneca, July 22.

Although nearly five weeks have elapsed since I left Philadelphia, I have not, till the present time, had an opportunity of redeeming my promise in giving you the sketches I promised. I am now enjoying what I have been sighing for ever since I started on my summer excursion,quietudeandseclusion. Here I am encompassed with delightful rural scenery, and passing the livelong day undisturbed by the calls of either friends or parishioners making demands upon my time or services.

I cannot understand, how those who reside in the city and who escape for a weeks in summer from the dust, and din, and heat, and ceaseless cares that assail them amid the scenes of their daily occupation, can from choice fly for recreation to other cities, or to fashionable watering places,where they are sure to encounter all the inconveniences they have left behind, with scarcely any of their home comforts. To me it would seem infinitely more desirable to seek "a lodge in some vast wilderness—some boundless contiguity of shade." Indeed I must say, I very much prefer a wholly rural district, to the most picturesque country village, in which to spend the few weeks during which I am to seek to recruit my health, and prepare for the duties and labors that await me on my return to the city. In such a situation one has not to make a constant effort to be agreeable. You can sit down and vegetate for a while, without being called upon to make any intellectual exertion whatever. Here one can sit or walk, wake or sleep, lounge or ride, as he chooses; he can read or write, or stroll forth amid the quiet fields, or sit beneath the shade of some wide-spreading tree. There is much in such a scene to hush all stormy passions to repose—to tranquilize one's existence, and to lift up the heart in devout aspirations to God.

My location for a few weeks is in just such a rural district near the banks of Seneca Lake, a beautiful expanse of water, of which I will tell you more hereafter. Around me are scattered farm-houses and orchards, and smiling fields, interspersed here and there with remaining fragments of that once mighty forest, that in the early history of this country waved in unbroken majesty from the shores of one lake to another. Here we see all the beauty of dark, deep, American foliage, and all the light, glowing brightness of American verdure, so strikingly in contrast with the English. On every side of me, I see from the window where I sit writing, the busy scenes of the hayharvest—the mowers swinging their scythes or pausing for a moment to whet the shining steel—the young lads, full of the life and spring of joyous youth, spreading the new mown grass—the rakers gathering up the hay into winnows, or rolling it into heaps; and the loaded wains creaking under the burthen of the fragrant products of the meadow, slowly moving towards the barn or the rising stack. I look across to another field, and there waves in silent beauty the newly tasselled corn; while in a third, I see the golden headed wheat, gently nodding in the breeze, or bowing before the keen stroke of the cradler, or the more slow, but no less sure onward movement of the reaper. Above this rural scene spreads a cloudless canopy, and upon it the great luminary of day is pouring a flood of brightness. The sky, however, is not always cloudless here—the heavens not always serene—nor the day always bright, as I shall have occasion to relate to you before finishing these sketches.

Having thus informed you something of my present locality, I will return to the commencement of my journey, and if you and your readers will follow me in a tour along a very common-place track, I will endeavor to furnish them and you with suchGLEANINGS BY THE WAYas I was able to make.

Our first landing place after turning our backs upon Philadelphia, was Burlington, N. J., where we spent a week in the most delightful manner. Often as I had passed that place by steamboat or rail road car, and much as I had admired its location, a single stroll along the green bank that skirts the Delaware, shaded as it is with luxuriant and full grown trees, convinced me that I had neverappreciated one half of the beauties of this sweet spot. The country seat of one of my parishioners, located onGreen Bank, amid the thickest and tallest cluster of those trees which add so much beauty to the whole extent of the river side, was the hospitable mansion where we spent our time—and from which we could look out and watch the changing phases of the river, the passing of the steamers, the garniture of the fields beyond, the glowing tints of the evening sky, and the golden glories of the setting sun. We enjoyed our walks along the verdant bank and over the green lawn—we enjoyed our little excursions across the river in the row-boat—but most of all we enjoyed that sweet Christian converse we were permitted to have with the kind friends beneath whose hospitable roof we lodged.

Strangers in passing Burlington are usually attracted by the singular appearance of one particular mansion that stands near the banks of the river, surmounted by a small cross. Although this is sometimes mistaken for a church, I need not tell you it is the residence of the Bishop of New Jersey. This structure to an American eye, at first sight, has rather an uncouth appearance; but this impression will be corrected in the mind of every one who takes the trouble to visit this Episcopal palace. The interior arrangements are delightful, and exhibit great taste. While traversing its spacious apartments, we were strikingly reminded of some antiquated structures that we saw in England. During our stay at Burlington, the Bishop was absent. The institution of St. Mary's Hall is, of course, one of the things that will be likely to attract the attention of a visitor to this place. I was invited by the superintendantto attend the family worship of the young ladies connected with this institution on Sunday evening. The evening service of the Liturgy was read; after which, by the request of the superintendent, I addressed a few words of Christian counsel to the assembled group. I have seldom seen a more interesting or intelligent company of young beings than those who then sat before me; and the solemn attention and evident sensibility with which they listened, led me to hope that under the Christian culture they were receiving, in connection with their intellectual training, they would all at last be found among the sheep of Christ's heavenly fold.

Our time passed quickly away while we remained at Burlington, and the hour we had fixed for our departure, came by far too soon. But life itself is like a journey, and to all our bright sunny spots here below, we have to bid an adieu almost as soon as we have reached them. Our next stopping place, after leaving Burlington, was Brooklyn, N. Y., where we were welcomed to the hospitalities of the spacious domicile of a Christian friend, to whom our hearts were knit in strong attachment, when existence with us was fresher than it now is. O, it is delightful to find, in this cold, heartless, fickle world, one who remains amid all the fluctuations of this changeful scene, the same; one, who, after the lapse of years, and who, though borne high upon the swelling tide of worldly prosperity, continues to the end the same simple, warm-hearted friend and consistent heavenly-minded Christian that he was at the first starting point of life. Such was the friend in the bosom of whose happy family we were permitted to abide during our stay at Brooklyn.

I shall by no means attempt to enter into a detail of the scenes or incidents connected with our visit to New York, or Brooklyn; but there are two things which I am not disposed to pass entirely by.

I was present during a portion of the exercises of the commencement of the New York Seminary, and felt particularly interested in the Address of Bishop Ives to the graduating class. It contained exceedingly well-timed counsel, calculated to produce a most salutary effect upon the minds, not only of those about to assume the responsibilities of the sacred office, but of all those engaged in the exercise of its functions. The subject was the indispensable necessity of humility to the clerical character. There was a pathos and force and unction about the Bishop's remarks, that we think must have gone home to every heart.

Had we among us universally that lowliness of mind and gentleness of spirit which the Bishop so happily pourtrayed and so delightfully enforced, we should soon learn, both laity and clergy, in the great essentials to "be all of one mind; to love as brethren; to be courteous; to be patient toward all men, not rendering evil for evil, or railing for railing; but contrarywise blessing." May the Lord speed the happy day when all the members and ministers of our Church may "be clothed with humility"—may have as the controlling principle of their lives, dwelling in them and pervading all their thoughts and actions, "the meekness and gentleness of Christ."

The other particular to which I referred as worthy of some passing notice, I shall have to reserve for my next chapter.

Brooklyn—Improvements—Ride—Approach to the Cemetery—Views—Beautiful scenes.

Seneca, July 29th.

In my last I conducted you on my journey as far as Brooklyn, N. Y. My temporary stay there was at South Brooklyn, a portion of that enterprising town which has been but recently built up. Scarcely any thing during my tour has more astonished me than the wonderful growth of this place. From a little rural village, it has grown up, in a few years, to a city, which, though it cannot pretend to rival the mighty metropolis that lies spread out in gigantic dimensions on the other side of the river, can still number itsthirtyorfortythousand inhabitants. One of the causes that have contributed to the rapid growth of this town, is its vicinity to New York. Gentlemen engaged in business in New York, find it pleasant and healthful to have their residences located upon the hills of Brooklyn, which look off upon the beautiful bay, and are daily fanned with fresh breezes from the ocean. While Brooklyn is thus increasing in population, I was happy to find that a corresponding increase was observable in its religiousinstitutions and houses of public worship. The temporary edifice occupied by the congregation of Christ Church, of which our friend the Rev. K. G—— is rector, is soon to be abandoned, and a new and beautiful Gothic structure is to be erected for the occupancy of that congregation. I was greatly delighted with what I saw of this congregation. The labours of our brother seem to have been peculiarly blessed. He has gathered around him a most interesting people, and God has sent among them already multiplied tokens of his converting grace. Whereever the Gospel is faithfully, and earnestly preached, and its holy precepts illustrated in the daily walk and conversation of those who "bear the vessels of the Lord," religion will prosper, and the church become like the garden of the Lord.

But I commenced this letter with a view of giving you an account of another matter, referred to in my last—a visit to the Green Wood Cemetery.

The friend with whom I was staying, charged me not to think of leaving Brooklyn without paying a visit to this Cemetery. I had heard something of these picturesque grounds, but had formed no adequate conception of their beauty. Several racy and graphic notices, from time to time, have appeared in the New York papers, as I since learned, of this magnificent ground plot, where is to be constructed a vast subterranean city for the dead. None of these, however, had fallen under my eye, and I therefore did not go prepared to witness the magnificent scene of wild and sylvan beauty, that a ride over these grounds revealed to me. My visit to this spot almost instantly unfolded to me the origin and propriety of its name,Green Wood Cemetery—a large portion of the grounds beingcovered with green wood. The great interest of this spot arises from the natural beauty of the grounds in connection with the association of the purpose to which it has been devoted: for as yet not a grave has been dug here, nor a monument reared.

It was a bright sunny morning, while a bland balmy sea breeze refreshed the air, in which we started to visit the Green Wood Cemetery. We rode from South Brooklyn along on the margin of the bay, some two miles or more, till we had passed the little village of Gowanus, before we ascertained the exact locality of this future city of the dead. A short distance beyond the village just named, at a spot signalized in the Revolutionary war as the scene of a bloody engagement, we left the road, and entered a lane leading to the grounds of this Cemetery. This lane, from the gate onward, had all the appearance of wild and uncultivated rusticity, being shut in on either side with a sort of rude hedge, and shaded by forest trees and brushwood. For a while it conducted us through cultivated grounds, and we saw on each side of us, rich fields of grain, and corn growing in all the luxuriance of summer. Soon, however, this lane in its winding and upward course brought us into a scene perfectly sylvan, and woodland in its character. There was a stillness and seclusion around us that impressed us with the idea that we were in the depths of a vast forest,—such as we might expect to find a thousand miles from the great metropolis, whose steeples, and shipping, and scenes of vast activity were visible a few rods from the spot we now occupied. We had already entered upon the grounds of the Cemetery. They consist of about two hundred acres. I never before saw the same extent of territory combining such vast variety of scenery.There is here forest and field, hill and dale, streamlet and lake in such variety, and singular juxtaposition, that in following the circuitous avenue that conducts you over these grounds in a ride of four miles, one is impressed with the idea that he has been travelling over a very extended district of country. It was not only the grounds themselves, but the views we caught of distant objects, from different points of the winding avenue, that helped to give effect to this whole scene. As we proceeded, every turn of the carriage wheel, either brought to view some new developement of striking sylvan beauty, or opened upon us some new feature of loveliness, or grandeur in the surrounding prospect. At one point we were completely embosomed in trees, where all was stillness and deep repose as though we were shut up in some remote dell, amid the lofty and rugged Alleghanies. Then again we emerged into smiling plains, and sunny fields, and smooth lawns of deepest green. Again our path conducted us into a dense forest, and we directly found ourselves upon the wooded brow of a steep declivity, sweeping off down to the margin of a little silent lake, whose dark shaded waters gave back with more than pictorial beauty, every tree and limb, and leaf whose shadow fell upon their surface: and then soon we again emerged from this forest scene, and found grassy fields, and an extended open country lie stretching around us. The winding avenue which we traced, every few rods brought us to a point of observation, where the surrounding scenery, made up of bays and islands, rivers and mountains, cities and villages, farms and country houses, and forests, put on a new phase, and, like the turn of a kaleidoscope, presented a new and still more beautiful picture to the eye.

The highest elevation of land in these grounds, is neartheir centre, and is said to be the highest point of land upon Long Island,—it manifestly is the highest point in this part of the Island. It is called Mount Washington, from a determination already formed on the part of the proprietors of this ground, to erect upon its summit a lofty and magnificent monument to the Father of his country. From this elevated point, a panoramic view of surpassing beauty, in almost illimitable perspective, opens upon the eye. In one direction you see the blue waves of the outstretched ocean, upon which are visible all along the margin of the horizon, the whitened canvass of a hundred receding or approaching vessels; while in the intervening space, are seen the plains of Flatland and Flatbush, covered with grain, and verdure, and orchards, and forests, villages, hamlets, and farm-houses. Turning directly around, the whole bay of New York, with its beauteous islands, and the two magnificent rivers, whose mingled waters form the bay, together with the great metropolis itself, burst upon the view. Or to trace the prospect more leisurely:—at one point, you see in the distance, Sandy Hook, and the Lighthouse; and a little further to the right, Staten Island, the Lazaretto, Brighton, and the Jersey shore: still farther to the right appears Jersey City,—the waters of the broad Hudson, and along its banks, the palisades, and, still higher up, the highlands fading away in the dim distance. At a point in the landscape much nearer us rises to view the city of New York with its canopy of perpetual haze,—its hundred spires, and encircling forests of masts, while in still closer vicinage we can trace the East River, with all its busy show of commerce, and see Brooklyn sitting like a bridal queen upon this shore of the island.

We have often followed the remains of some friend, orparishioner, to the picturesque grounds of our ownLaurel Hill—we havetracedeach winding walk among the groves and tombs ofMount Vernon, and gazed upon the various monuments, the sculptured tombs, the dark shrubbery, and encircling scenery ofPere la Chaise; but we have no where seen such combined beauties, and natural advantages for a rural cemetery, as in the grounds which we have here attempted to describe. And what will these grounds be some hundred years hence, when art shall have reared up in every vale, around the margin of every lake, and upon every hill-side a thousand marble monuments, and when a larger population shall be ensepulchred here, than the living mass of beings that now inhabit New York and Brooklyn? What multitudes and myriads will those two cities within the next hundred years send to be entombed here! How will the population of this subterranean city go on increasing, till all these acres are covered over with piles of human dust! And what a scene will be exhibited here, when the last trumpet sounds! What myriads will start up here at that call! "For all that are in their graves shall hear his voice and come forth!" And how solemn the truth which the Saviour subjoins,—"they that have done good unto the resurrection of life, and they that have done evil unto the resurrection of damnation!"

I have lingered so long about the grounds of Green Wood Cemetery, that I can tell you nothing in my present letter about our excursion to Rhode Island.

Sail up the Sound—Burning of the Lexington—Providence—Meeting of old friends—Mr. Emerson—Transcendentalism—Westerly.

Seneca, August 1.

In my last I was principally occupied in giving you some account of the picturesque grounds of Green Wood Cemetery. It was on Tuesday afternoon, the thirtieth of June, at five o'clock, that we started in the well-built and beautiful steamerMassachusetts, on our way upon an excursion to Rhode Island. The scenery along the East River and up the Sound presents evidences of higher cultivation, but possesses features of less native picturesque wildness and rural beauty, than that which opens to view along the pathway of the Hudson. The atmosphere we encountered on our way to the steamboat issuing from every street of the great metropolis we had just left, was like the heat from a burning furnace. In delightful contrast with this, was the cool refreshing breeze that played around the bow of our advancing steamer, as we tracked our way up the river and along through the whirlpools and breakers of Hurlgate, a pass far more formidable, and requiring vastly more nautical skill than the famous Straitsof Pelorus with Scylla on one side and Charybdis on the other. The evening was beautiful, and our sail up the Sound proved truly delightful. The last rays of twilight were beginning to fade away, and the countless stars studding the arched firmament, to twinkle with unwonted brightness, when we reached the spot where we were told the ill-fatedLexingtonmet her disastrous end. I could not but contrast the scene around me at the moment with the events of that awful night. We were sailing along over the tranquil and starlit bosom of the Sound, with the balmy breath of a summer evening fanning us: with no alarms within,—no raging tempest without. But on that fearful night, and aboard that ill-fated vessel, what a scene was exhibited! What amazement and terror and dismay must have seized every heart when the conflagration broke forth in all its fury! What added exceedingly to the excitement, and no doubt tended greatly to bereave many of all self-possession and presence of mind, was that the fire burst out in the central part of the steamer, cutting off all communication between those occupying the forward and the hinder part of the boat. Thus, in this moment of awful peril, husbands and wives,—parents and children, brothers and sisters were suddenly separated from each other by a wall of fire, and deprived of each other's counsel when most they needed it: and thus they were filled with increased alarm, not only for themselves, but for each other. Alas! this was an hour when no man could help his brother,—when the parent could neither save himself nor his children. If they remained on board the burning vessel, they must be consumed. If they plunged into the roaring waves they would sink into the depths beneath, and find there a watery grave: or if theyshould escape the fury of the waves by clinging to a bale of cotton, or some floating part of the wreck, the chill winds of winter, and the icy waters that dashed over them, would soon stagnate and freeze to the very fountain the warm current of life. Thus all the elements of nature were armed against them, flame, and flood, and frost, and they could not escape. No imagination can conceive the horror or agony of the scene! I leaned over the side of our steamer, as we passed the spot where this awful scene occurred, and tried to picture to myself some of its outlines. Even the picture which rose before me was too awful to contemplate.

What a lesson that disaster ought to teach us of our entire dependence upon God for safety while travelling by land or by sea! What an admonition ought it to sound in our ears to be always ready for death! We know not the day nor the hour in which the Son of Man cometh! Our death may be as sudden, and as unexpected, as that of any of those on board the Lexington, though it occur in our own dwelling, and in the bosom of our family. If we are truly the Lord's people, and our names are in the Lamb's book of life, it matters littlewhen, orwheredeath meets us: for then the grizly king becomes the friendly porter that opens to us the golden gates of paradise.

The more usual course that passengers now pursue to Providence and Boston is to stop at Stonington, and take the railroad cars from that point. By this means they reach Providence and Boston several hours earlier than they were accustomed to by the old route. But as the steamboat arrives at Stonington long before morning, we were not disposed to leave our quiet berths for the sake of reaching Providence some three or four hours earlier thanwe otherwise should, and therefore kept on in the old course around Point Judith touching at Newport.

The time that we spent at Providence in the midst of our old friends, I need not tell you, was passed most delightfully. The church where I once preached the reconciling word, the lecture-room where I saw countenances that called up with thrilling emotions the memory of days and scenes that will be fresh in my recollection through all eternity,—the private circle where cordial greetings, and more than Highland welcomes met us, all these and the countless associations they awakened, seemed to throw around us such a circle of enchantment, that, when the time had elapsed which we had designed to spend there, we still lingered from day to day, as though unable to pass that circle. If there be one draught of enjoyment more delicious than another which a Christian minister is permitted to drink this side of heaven, it is, when after years of absence, he returns to visit the flock from whom in the providence of God he was removed, and with whom his labours were once greatly blessed, and finds those for whose salvation he laboured, and whom he was instrumental in introducing into the fold of the Redeemer, "standing fast in the Lord," and exhibiting "the fruits of the Spirit;" or learns that those who are gone, and are numbered with the dead, departed in the triumphs of Christian faith. St. John could say, "I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in the truth." And St. Paul, "For now we live if ye stand fast in the Lord." The highest zest of the pleasure I enjoyed in this visit to the scene of my former labours, arose from what I saw and heard of the stability, and increased spirituality of a people withwhom I hope to sit down one day, in company with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of God.

You are familiar with the whole topography of Rhode Island, and therefore I need say nothing of the interblending of rural scenery and retirement, with city embellishment and comfort, which so eminently distinguish not a few of the neat and elegant residences in Providence. There is one feature in the moral character of this city, which distinguishes it from most other New England towns. In almost all New England the great mass of mind is educated, and the people upon all subjects think for themselves. Generally, however, especially in the interior, the descendants of the Puritans, cleave in religious matters to the faith of their forefathers, and are opposed to all change. But in Rhode Island, there has always been a more liberal, and free-thinking spirit on the subject of religion than in any of the other New England states.—It was here that Roger Williams fled when his Puritan brethren would not tolerate him in the Bay state. It was through his influence that a more enlightened feeling in reference to religious toleration was made to pervade the community settling at Providence, than was found at that period in any other New England town. And probably there is no place in our country, where, at this time, a more kind and catholic spirit, or a greater freedom from the influence of narrow, sectarian feeling prevails, than here. This tolerant spirit, however, in some minds, manifests a strong tendency to latitudinarianism. Hence, perhaps, there is no community in the world where a new religious sect would so soon gather intelligent adherents as at Providence, and no where, where more sound and able, and fearless advocates would rise up to defend "the faith oncedelivered to the saints." I have been led into this train of reflection, from encountering a greater prevalence of the transcendental spirit, at Providence, than I have anywhere before met in our country. This offshoot of German neology, issuing from the same parent stock with Socinianism, finds a congenial soil in a Unitarian community. You are aware that the Rev. Mr. Emerson, formerly a Unitarian minister at Boston, has embraced transcendentalism in all its heights and depths. Whether he be actually deranged, as some suppose, or not, matters very little, since multitudes, and some who desire to be classed among theeliteof the land, are ready to gather around him and receive the law of their belief from his mouth. He has recently made a visit to Providence, and developed by means of lectures and conversations, his peculiar views. He is spoken of as a man of genius, and wonderfully attractive. He is a thorough pantheist. He believes that every thing in nature is a part of God—that good men are incarnations of Deity, and that it was in this sense alone, that God is said to be "made flesh" in the person of Jesus Christ. He places Socrates, and Zoroaster and Jesus in the same category, and considers that they differed from each other only in the degree of inspiration which they had. He thinks that the writings of Socrates and Plato, and Zoroaster should be bound up in the same volume with the Bible, and that they are entitled to more confidence, and marked with deeper wisdom than some portions of our present canon of Scripture.

During Mr. Emerson's stay at Providence, having advanced some crude idea, he was referred to a saying of the Saviour, which contradicted his position: when he very deliberately replied, "Jesus was mistaken." On anotheroccasion speaking of the Saviour, he said: "Jesus was a very good man, I wish he had been better: he had no fun, no humour in his character, in this respect he was imperfect." Such are some of the specimens of gross infidelity, which the abettors of transcendentalism in New England, openly put forth. The charm of this transcendental scheme consists partly in the metaphysical mystification, the sentimental namby-pambyism,—the crazed poetic inspiration, with which the masters of this school speak and write. Then there is much to soothe and flatter the pride of the human heart, in the idea which they would have every man take up that he is a pure emanation of Deity,—a bright scintillation from the divine mind, and that all he has to do, is to follow the lofty inspirations of his own mind, and then he will sparkle forth along the track of being, an incarnate God. One very truly remarked in relation to transcendentalism, that it was no new doctrine,—that it was taught as long ago as when man was in the garden of Eden: even then, the father of lies, said to our first ancestors, eat the forbidden fruit, and "ye shall be as gods."

In the midst of abounding iniquity and multiplying error, it behoves the friends of truth to stand on the watch tower and give the people timely warning. I felt greatly refreshed and truly delighted in various interviews with the clergy whom I met in Rhode Island. My mind naturally reverted to the scenes of former days, when I was so pleasantly associated with them, and when we used to meet at the monthly Convocations as a band of brothers, having one heart and one mind, and labouring together for one simple object, the upbuilding of the Saviour's kingdom and the glory of God. Great changes since thatperiod have taken place. Some of these brethren have gone to the north, and some to the south—some to the east, and some to the west; and yet the character of the Rhode Island clergy continues the same. Take them all in all, I know of no set of men more thoroughly evangelical or more truly devoted to the best interests of the Church of Christ; or occupying a more elevated stand for piety and learning and talents, than the clergy of Rhode Island.

I passed a few days at Westerly, and could not but remember with gratitude my first visit to this place some six years ago. As I saw the beautiful church—the neat parsonage house—the respectable congregation, and the multiplied tokens of true piety around me, I could not but say, "What hath God wrought!" Never can I doubt that the power of God is connected withRevivals of religion, while I remember the scenes of Westerly—while so many "fruits of the Spirit" remain, of consistent, devoted, exemplary followers of Christ, brought to a knowledge of the truth in a revival. Because men get up imitations of the work of the Lord, as the magicians did of the miracles of Moses, it does not invalidate the Lord's work any more than those magical attempts did the truth of his miracles.

I have room only to add, if the Lord permits, you will soon hear from me again.

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