JUNE 23d, 1840.
_Dear E._--At ten o’clock, we entered the stage coach for Rochester, 70
miles distant. Among our passengers were two whom we had found extremely
interesting, while journeying from Utica here--a clergyman of
Massachusetts and his daughter. The Rev. N. T----r, was about seventy,
but extremely active, and very cheerful. His conversation was
instructive and agreeable and of course in a pious vein, for he had
occupied the pulpit 47 years, as had his ancestors for 230 years back.
There was such simplicity of heart about him, such piety, and kindness
of manner, joined with elevated thought and deep learning that we lent a
charmed ear to his discourse, during the whole day.
Our route lay through an exquisitely beautiful country, covered with
cultivated farms and varied with pretty lakes and towns. The first lake
we saw was Cayuga lake. It is from one to four miles broad, and
thirty-eight long. It is a bright sheet of water, lying in a deep
valley and from its surface its shores gently rise, covered with a fine
farming country. We crossed the end of the lake over a bridge more than
a mile long. So pure was the water that as we looked down upon it, we
plainly beheld the trout swiming beneath.
Leaving the lake we passed through the pretty villages of Waterloo and
Seneca Falls. Here the dark green Seneca river rushes foaming over a bed
of rock, in a fall of forty seven feet. There are several mills and
manufactories upon its borders, and we observed several churches, an
academy, and many shops. Seneca! fair Seneca Lake, how can I describe
the gentle beauties of thy varied shores, and of that pretty town which
so adorns thy banks. This lake and its surrounding country, present a
very lovely scene. There is nothing grand about the lakelet; you must
not imagine it enclosed in the moutains of lakes George or Champlain;
the style is petite and delicate. Its Indian name was Jensequa, which
has been modernised into its present appellation. It is a placid,
transparent sheet of water, of very great depth, 4 miles by 35 long, and
is said never to be frozen over in the coldest winter. The road lay
around the end of the lake, from whence the eye wound over its fair
pellucid waters to its cultivated shores, adorned with handsome
farm-houses, and country seats, and the massive buldings of the college
which occupies a commanding elevation near the town--and the towers and
steeples of the village peeping through the trees, as if to catch a
glimpse of the waters below. We stopped at a small stage house in the
lower and business end of the town, where we all descended from the
stage while the operation of changing horses and stages was going on. A
good sized parlor furnished with gay landscape paper received the female
part of the passengers, while the restless _mankind part_, repaired to
the shops, to inspect the manufactures of the town, or to refresh
themselves at the soda-water, and ice-cream shops. Once more seated in
our stage coach we ascended the hill, to the better portion of the town,
where we passed through the principal avenue of the place, upon each
side of which were arranged those pretty villas and gardens for which
Geneva is so justly celebrated. There were several churches in view, and
a new presbyterian half built. This, to us, was an interesting object, a
token God was not forgotten by the busy people below, or the wealthy
ones around us.
Canandaigua with its lake and street of villas received our
commendations. There we dined at a very pretty and commodious Hotel,
having a fine view of the lake from its windows. Some of the lake trout
which appeared upon the table we found very fine. This lake is smaller
than those we have passed being 14 miles long. The main street is nearly
two miles long, and we drove through a mile of tasteful ‘garden-houses,’
surrounded by grounds laid out in a pleasing manner, adorned with
flowers and fine shade trees. The country from thence to Rochester is
very beautiful. Spotted with farms and villages, and woodlands covered
with groves of maple, hickory, bass-wood, elm, and evergreen trees. It
was nearly dark around us, when we were told the city was in view, and
against the bright evening sky we beheld in the distance the towers and
spires of Rochester. When we arrived we drove to the Rochester House.
After some refreshment we bade our companions adieu; promising to meet
at an early hour the next morning and drive over the town before we left
it for Lockport--and then were glad to rest, for we had come a long
day’s journey and in spite of good roads and commodious coaches, fine
spirited horses, and good drivers, we were very much fatigued.
Well do the inspired writers compare man and his brief existence to a
flower that early withereth--to a shadow--a cloud that quickly
vanisheth--one day here, and the next gone. Truly saith Job, ‘thine eyes
are upon me and _and I am not_,’ a just figure of man’s fleeting life.
Never have I found the truth of these comparisons more striking than at
the present moment. I told you of the amiable intellectual clergyman,
who with his daughter agreed to meet us early this morning--when that
morning came he was in eternity! At two o’clock last night we were
aroused by a messenger from Miss T. saying her father was very ill. We
followed the servant through the dark and lonely halls into the chamber
where ‘the good man met his fate.’ Yes, all was over. Around the room in
attitudes of mournful musing sat the keeper of the Hotel, some servants,
and several ladies who had arisen to do all in their power to soothe the
sufferer’s pains. All had been done that was possible, but in vain. Upon
the bed, lay a silent corpse, whose countenance bespoke a death of
agony--it was all that now remained of that good and kind old man, that
tender father, whose refined manners and intellectual conversation, had
charmed us so much the day before. But his high intellect, his talents,
his agreeable converse, of what avail were they all to him now, had
they not been joined to deep heart-felt piety, and been devoted to the
interests of religion. He had died far from his home, with no friends
near him except his daughter--his last hour passed away in a hotel among
strangers--yet spare your sympathy, for he died happy. The everlasting
arms were supporting him, a tender father was waiting to receive him in
those heavenly mansions where death and sorrow can never come. He was
going to no unknown region, he was to meet no stranger face, for his
mind and his heart had ever been familiar with that celestial home, now
to be his eternally--he knew a welcome awaited him from that Savior and
that God, with whose spirit he had ever held communion through a long
life spent in devotion and in acts of beneficence. It was the wish of
the celebrated Archbishop Leighton that he might die at an inn, thus to
be more forcibly reminded he was a pilgrim upon the earth--his wish was
fulfilled, for he died at the Bell Inn, London.
With what terms of praise high enough shall I speak of the people of
Rochester. When the news of this sad event spread, they surrounded the
bereaved daughter with sympathizing hearts, and offers of service. The
persons belonging to the house, and the boarders, with many physicians
and clergymen with ther families, were anxious to cheer the heart of the
sad survivor, and to lighten her mournful duties. The services of the
Episcopal church were read over the body by the Rev. Mr. W. a young
English clegyman of great talent and piety. The persons assembled near,
seemed much affected with this solemn event. May God bless this sudden
providence to them and to us. Uniting in a procession we accompanied
the corpse to the canal boat, where bidding adieu to Miss T. we left her
to pursue her dreary journey of five hundred miles, accompanied only
with hired attendants. With what comfort did we see in her the power of
religion elevating the soul above the trials and sorrows of life.
Nothing else could have supported this bereaved daughter through so
heart-rending a dispensation. But she knew in whom she believed. She saw
from whom the blow came, and her faith told her it was done in mercy. As
we were to leave Rochester the next morning, some of our kind friends
called that afternoon and insisted upon driving us through the town. It
being our only chance of seeing this celebrated city, we accepted their
kindness, although the scenes of the morning had unfitted us for
anything but retirement.
As we drove along we were astonished at the extent and beauty of this
city. It was you know founded in 1812, and now contains 22,000
inhabitants. We had heard of its rapid rise, but supposed it must
consist mostly of wooden buildings as is often the case in new
settlements, and our surprise was the greater to find it built in the
most solid manner. Churches, houses, hotels and banks, court house and
arcade, markets were all of marble or stone. There are here fourteen
churches[2] some of them quite handsome. The Episcopal Church of St.
Paul’s, is a fine gothic edifice of grey stone--the church which enjoys
the ministration of the Rev. Mr. W. mentioned above, is also handsome,
of gothic form, neatly edged with brown free stone--the presbyterian is
of grey plaster supported by substantial abutments--the baptist, where
Mr. C. officiates, one of our active friends of the morning; a neat
brick edifice--also catholic, methodist and bethel for the canal men.
The streets are many of them McAdamized. There is a fine park here
surrounded by neat railings where the children of the neighborhood are
brought to take exercise. But what most elicited our admiration were the
private dwellings, which in number and beauty are seldom equalled in our
cities. They are spacious, built of marble or stone, in gothic or
grecian form surrounded by wings and piazzas, and out-buildings and
grounds handsomely laid out, adorned with shade trees, shrubbery and
flowers. They are delightful retreats from the city’s dust and noise;
make fine playgrounds for the children, and altogether evince much taste
and wealth. How much better is it for men of fortune, to secure for
themselves and families, pure air and room for exercise, instead of
squeezing, as they do in our city, into houses only 30 by 100 feet, as
is too much the custom in our cities. The wealth lavished upon gay
entertainments would procure space where their children might gain
health and strength. A frolic upon the green sward is much more
conducive to health, than a sober city walk beside a nurse. I often see
these palid pitiable little creatures in our streets walking as gravely
and demurely as some old octogenarian. A child without gaiety is as
cheerless as a landscape without sun.
The Genesee river divides the city into two parts, and is crossed by
three bridges and the two aqueducts of the Erie canal. The oldest of
these is a very fine piece of hewn stone work 804 feet long supported by
eleven raches. They were building another aqueduct, which is 858 feet
long and 28 in height[3], and the music of the rushing river was almost
drowned by the mason’s hammer.
Beside this canal there is another called the Genesee valley canal from
Rochester to Olean, 119 miles. The Genesee falls are very pretty,
consisting of rapids through the city, and in the suburbs it plunges
over a circular rock into a deep dell. The whole fall through the city
is 268 feet; 97 at the cascade. There is another cataract farther down
the river, which falls 106 feet. This is at Carthage, two miles below,
and here is the port at which the lake steamboats stop. A rail road runs
to this place. There was not much water in the river, and we did not see
the falls in their greatest perfection, but still there was great beauty
in the feathery foam which fell in snowy masses over the dark rock.
These cliffs are old red stone and limestones--with feruginous sand
rock, and argillaceous iron ore; supposed by geologists to be equivalent
to the Caradoc series. Upon the summit of the cliff opposite to us was a
range of solid stone mills, from whence we obtain that fine Genessee
flour, ground from the wheat in the fertile region around. Five hundred
thousand barrels of flour are turned out in a year. There are twenty-two
of these mills. The little streams which trickle down the rocks, are
stolen from the river to turn the wheels. Our kind friends were anxious
to drive us to Mount Hope, a celebrated cemetery a few miles from the
city, but time was wanting for this and many other proposed pleasures. A
distant view of Lake Ontario is said to be obtained from this hill. We
returned home through some of the business streets, which, particularly
Maine and Buffalo, were filled with busy people, waggons of home or
foreign produce, while the long ranges of shops were gay with dry goods
hanging from the doors, and piled with every comfort and luxury. Stages
were landing or taking up passengers, canal boats were arriving and
departing and every thing we saw denoted a striving and thriving
population.