1873
THE sixth General Meeting of the Evangelical Alliance had been fixed for
the year 1870, in New York; but, owing to the war between France and
Germany, it was postponed to the autumn of 1873. Canon Leathes, Mr.
Harrison, and myself, received invitations from the American committee,
to attend the assembly; and, accordingly, we started for our destination
in one of the Cunard steamers at the close of the month of August. With
the exception of rough weather in the earlier part, we had a fine
passage. Going out we touched on the Irish coast, and, it being Sunday,
we landed and spent the day on shore. We were on the coast of Waterford,
and found the country very pleasant. We attended church in the forenoon,
and afterwards took walks in the neighbourhood. I had spent a week or
more in Ireland some few years previously, and had then seen spots in the
Green Isle, which created a desire to see more. The city of Limerick on
the Shannon had given me delight. Dublin is a magnificent city, and the
object of my visit there had been to preach on a special occasion in Dr.
Urwick’s church. I saw at that time something of Irish society, and
found controversy rife between Protestants and Papists. I took an
opportunity of visiting the Killarney lakes, and found them all, and more
than, I had imagined. Nor could I fail to be amused with the humour of
carriage-drivers and other Irish people. Returning to our steamer on
Sunday afternoon, we started for New York, and had, in the course of our
voyage, rough weather and smooth. For some-time it was
unfavourable—“four-fifths of a gale” somebody said; but in the latter
part of our trip we had charming weather. Where the whistle at night had
sounded like a wail of distress, it was now felt to be means of safety.
Flag signals and rockets now and then relieved the tedium; so did the
gambols of porpoises. Moonbeams in a mottled sky, were pleasant
variations, as we steamed along at a rapid rate. The night before we
landed in New York harbour, the sun went down like a ball of fire, the
sea was intensely blue, whilst alive with little billows, like children
at their sports; the bow of the steamer was crowded by passengers looking
out for the pilot–a capital subject, I thought, for some clever pencil.
The next morning when we reached Sandy Hook, I could not help comparing
the coast scenery near us with some views I had seen on the Bosphorus.
“For the _first_ time I am in America,” I said to a Yankee
fellow-passenger.
“Yes,” he replied; “you are now, sir, in the land of the brave, the home
of the free.”
Mr. Harrison and myself were guests of the Hon. Mr. Dodge, President of
the American Evangelical Alliance. On our arrival he conducted us to his
country seat on the banks of the Hudson, near Tarryton.
We were in the midst of charming scenery, immortalised by Washington
Irving; near the glen of “Sleepy Hollow,” and the haunts of Ichabod
Crane. By the little Dutch church in the neighbourhood lies a cemetery,
where “the American Goldsmith” is buried.
We were driven to Sunnyside, where he lived and died, in an old-fashioned
Dutch-looking house, with picturesque gables, bearing a
seventeenth-century date. It is embosomed amidst trees which so
overshadow the lawn and walks, that “Sunnyside,” even when unclouded, can
suffer nothing from the blaze of day. Miss Irving, niece of the author,
and a friend of our host, welcomed us to this sylvan abode, and showed us
her uncle’s library, writing table, and shelves of books, just as he left
them.
We should have been glad to remain longer at Mr. Dodge’s villa, but were
anxious to reach Niagara, as soon as possible; therefore, on the second
morning after our arrival, Mr. Harrison, with Newman Hall, who had
accompanied us to America, embarked on a steamer for the Catskills, on
our way to the Falls. We arrived at the Mountain House in the evening,
having, in our river voyage, been struck with the Hudson, as resembling
in some parts, a succession of lakes full of Italian-like beauty. We
spent a Sunday at our capacious resting-place, which could accommodate
four or five hundred visitors, and engaged in united worship with Bishop
Bedell, successor to Bishop McIlvaine, of Ohio. He preached in the
morning, and at his request, I occupied the desk at night.
We did not reach Niagara till late on Monday, and heard the roar of the
cataract some time before our arrival.
Niagara is a grand study, and we spent the greater part of four days over
it—the first in taking general views, the other three in gathering up
details. I sat down on the rocks, and wrote my impressions from point to
point. From the suspension bridge, below the Falls, you have an inclined
plane of troubled waters. From the south side of Goat Island, you have a
still more striking view of the rapids, like an arm of the sea, two miles
in width, and in front it dashes down the Horse Shoe Fall. Just at the
edge it is a ridge of emerald, tinged, or rather lined, with white. Then
it goes on in rows of streaks, white, white, white; at the bottom, the
flood vanishes in vapour. In the forenoon under sunshine the picture is
crossed by a rainbow. Beyond the mist the river is a shifting floor of
variegated marble. At a right angle with the Horse Shoe, the American
Fall is seen in profile, from what is called, I think, “Prospect Park.”
The rapids below are finer than those above the Falls. Those below are
hemmed in by rocks; those above are bordered by open country on both
sides. Further on, below the Falls, there is an enormous whirlpool.
Instead of a unity, I found Niagara manifold, varying as one wanders
about the banks. The channel here is worthy of the stream. It is cut
into precipitous cliffs, picturesque rocks, forests of trees, bridges,
hotels and other houses. In photographs and engravings, there is often
but a tame outline, with which the reality does not correspond. Of the
upper and lower Rapids, I prefer the former in one respect; it gives good
views of the foliage which fringes the water. Emphatically, one may use
the word _beauty_ in reference to the landscape as distinguished from the
Rapids. Colours are charming—greens of all tints; at sunset streaks of
pink, violet, lavender, lilac, along the edge of the Falls; azure tints
in the river; sky with crimson and purple flushes at eventide.
At the expense of repetition, I will quote the words I find in my
notebook written on a rocky bank:—“Opposite, looking west, is the Canada
side, skirted by thick trees, forming a continuous border—the Horse Shoe
form of a rocky ledge, crossed by the sweep of water, would measure the
third of a mile. It still resembles a ridge of emerald, tinged, or
rather lined, with white. Then the flood plunges down, to rise again
from the bottom in columns of vapour. In sunshine the whole is crossed
by a wonderful rainbow. Then, afterwards, it appeared to me like an
altar of frosted silver, spanning the end of a temple choir, sending up
incense for ever and ever! Looking down into the precipitous gulf,
formed by the Canadian and American shores, one sees the river flowing on
steadily like a shifting floor of variegated marble,—green, streaked with
white. I shift my position, walking under the trees of Goat Island,
about a quarter of a mile from the Horse Shoe, and sit upon a bit of
tableland, forming what is called Lunar Island,—dividing into two unequal
limbs the watery flood. At the bottom appears another rainbow. I shift
again, walking up the Goat Island, and cross a bridge over Rapids, and
then enter the grounds called (as just said) Prospect Park; and there one
faces both cataracts—the American in profile, the Horse Shoe full face.”
A suspension bridge crosses the whirling waters on which it makes one
giddy to look down. Then occurs a turn, where a whirlpool is formed, and
pieces of timber are swept round and round by enormous eddies. Four days
I spent at these never-to-be-forgotten spots filled with marvels of
Divine creation.
My visit to Montreal was very short, but we saw enough to indicate the
city’s prosperity; it underwent great reverses afterwards. We were
invited to the handsome dwellings of several wealthy citizens, and
witnessed much zeal in the cause of religion.
On our journey from Montreal to Boston we passed through glorious
scenery, some of it Swiss-like. There were many tempting nooks furnished
with hotels, winding roads leading up to forests on the hills, groups of
white houses with green shutters, and a pretty church amidst them with a
lofty spire. There is a wonderful charm about New England villages.
At Boston a cordial welcome was afforded by Dr. Dexter, who hospitably
entertained us. My first impression, derived from what I saw of the
city’s less modern part, was that it had an English look; but on further
acquaintance, after seeing its modern edifices, one receives the idea of
a Continental capital. I was delighted with what delights everybody—the
broad green common, adorned by goodly trees and goodly mansions. Some of
the public buildings in Boston are very imposing: a Gothic church, built
by Congregationalists, cost, I was told, £50,000; but since I was there I
understand a much nobler Episcopalian edifice has been erected. On the
Sunday morning I preached in a large Congregational church, where the
music and singing were of a very superior kind, and the choir, I was
told, cost a large annual sum. On the Sunday evening I went to a Baptist
chapel, and, after sermon and prayers, a large number of the congregation
adjourned to a schoolroom, where something like a Methodist love-feast
was held. I met in the town with a nephew of Thomas Carlyle, who related
to me that, while on a visit to England, he called on his uncle, and was
told it was impossible to see him; Mrs. C. resisted as long as she could,
but submitted at last. The nephew was admitted to his uncle’s study, and
the two relatives had a long talk to their mutual satisfaction.
Dr. Dexter planned an excursion to Andover, where we were received by the
Principal of the College, the Venerable Dr. Park, a celebrated scholar
and divine, who took me a drive round the neighbourhood, and pointed out
the house of Harriet Beecher Stowe, and the homes of people described in
her books. We had a delightful visit to a ladies’ school, where Mr.
Harrison and I received a cordial welcome. Our kind host took us to his
residence several miles off, at New Bedford, and the next day conducted
us to Harvard University, on the other side the Boston river. There we
were entertained by Professor Abbot, who took care to show us a hall,
built by a namesake of mine. Best of all my associations with Dr. Dexter
and the neighbourhood was a most memorable day spent at New Plymouth
where he pointed out the localities of the Pilgrim Fathers.
We proceeded to New Haven, where we found at the station, Dr. Porter,
Principal of Yale University, waiting for us; we were conducted through
leafy avenues to the college buildings, and there introduced to the
famous American theologian, Dr. Bushnell, with other celebrities. The
students then assembled, and listened to an elaborate speech by Dr.
Dorner, the German scholar and divine, who happened to be there on a
visit, having come as a delegate to the Alliance meetings. Yale College
is a venerable institution, standing among the foremost Universities of
the New World. The neighbourhood is interesting, and we should have been
delighted, had time allowed, to explore the region where two of the
regicides, Walley and Gough, concealed themselves for two or three years
in a cave, to which they gave the name of Providence. One of them,
Gough, suddenly appeared, when a Puritan congregation was attacked by
Philip of Pokanoket, and delivered them out of his hands. He then
disappeared like the twin brothers at the battle of Regillus.
Having had our glimpse of New England, we hastened to Philadelphia, to
spend a quiet Sunday with a kind English friend, Mr. Yarnell.
Philadelphia is magnificent, redolent of William Penn’s memory, who
amongst colonial founders, stands unique as a man of peace. He did not
sweep away aboriginal savages with sword and shot, but entered into
treaty with them, under the shadow of a spreading elm, which came to be
held in great veneration. Views in the neighbourhood of Philadelphia,
vie with noble monuments, visible on every side, of commercial
civilisation and prosperity. The grand Masonic Temple had, when we were
there, been recently opened; and it is amongst the finest structures in
the city. But the Hall of Independence, architecturally unpretentious,
has greater attractions for historic travellers. We were entertained in
German Town, a charming suburb, by the Wissahickon—“fit haunt” for
Shakespeare’s fairies, Peas-blossom and the rest, flowing through tangled
brakes, wealthy in wild flowers. Drives by the “wedded rivers” as
Whittier calls them, the Schuylkill, and the Delaware—are enjoyments for
high days and holidays. One view of the city I caught from a hill
embosomed in trees. A long line of foliage from the tops of which rise
cupolas and steeples, reminded me of Damascus, with its groves and
gardens, mosques and minarets.
We saw something of private social life in German Town. Several families
in the neighbourhood were invited to spend an evening with us. It
resembled a party on the Continent, where eating and drinking are not of
much interest. The marked feature of the whole gathering was extreme yet
tasteful simplicity. Some ladies were sumptuously dressed, and there, as
in other places, appeared an eye for harmony of colours—a special
American endowment, which struck me pleasantly. Manners were agreeable,
and there was ease in conversation—a rare enjoyment. The ladies were
self-possessed, and could hold their own, yet not rudely; and their
kindliness indicated personal interest, which made their visitors feel at
home.
We arrived at New York at the beginning of October, and were entertained
by Mr. Dodge at his princely residence in Madison Avenue. Sir Charles
Reed was guest there at the same time, and the arrangements for our
reception betokened a cordial welcome.
In a “History of New York,” it is stated that “when Henry Hudson
discovered the river, now bearing his name, and Hendrick Christiansen,
and Adam Block, followed up the discovery, the island of Manhattan was
made the chief depôt of the trade, and Christiansen received the
appointment of agent for the traffic in furs during the passage of the
vessels to and from Holland. He immediately set about the construction
of a small fort, with a few rude buildings, on the southern extremity of
the island, thus laying the foundation of the future city.”
“In May 1626, Peter Minuet arrived at New Netherlands, as
Director-General, and immediately effected the purchase of the island of
Manhattan, from the Indians for goods and trinkets to the value of sixty
guilders or about twenty-four dollars.” “In 1628 a church was organised
with fifty communicants under the auspices of James Michaelius, a
clergyman from Holland.” From these feeble beginnings sprang the wharfs,
the quays, the avenues, the squares, the warehouses, the stores, the
halls, the libraries, the museums, the hospitals of New York. When shall
we stop in the enumeration of riches belonging to this Queen of the West?
Hence, too, we may say came the churches, the congregations, the
colleges, the schools, the reformatories and the religious institutions,
without number, which form the glory of that Western Metropolis. The
first meeting of the Alliance Congress—for the expenses of which twenty
thousand dollars had been subscribed—was held in the hall of the Young
Men’s Christian Association. The hall contains fifteen hundred sittings,
and was decorated with flags, flowers, and mottoes. It was crowded in
every corner, and the spectacle from the platform was imposing, the
audience being composed, to a large extent, of representatives from the
States, and the principal nations of our Eastern Hemisphere.
Dr. Adams of New York, an eminent Presbyterian pastor, delivered an
address of welcome. Elaborate yet unaffected, scholarly yet not
scholastic, fervent yet not rhapsodical, fluent yet perfectly finished,
pious without a particle of fanaticism,—it laid hold on people present,
and made an impression talked of to this day. I have heard many a
courteous speech at the opening of large assemblies, but never any thing
like that, before or since.
The address of welcome was acknowledged in a hearty, but inferior style,
by English, French, Dutch, and German delegates. “I am glad,” said
Professor Christlieb, the German, grasping the hand of Pastor Fisch, the
Frenchman, “I am glad to see as the firstfruits of this gathering, that
we Germans can clasp the hands of our French brethren.”
The next morning we assembled in Steinway Hall. After prayer by Dr.
Hodge of Princeton, Dr. Woolsey, Ex-President of Yale College, a
distinguished student of International Law, took the chair. The Dean of
Canterbury, Dr. Payne Smith, read a sympathetic letter from the English
Primate, and immediately after prayer, he solemnly repeated the Apostles’
Creed, in which the whole assembly followed in audible tones.
The Conference then began with the reading of papers, which, with
addresses, were continued morning and evening at sectional meetings. The
interest was kept up, attention never seeming to flag. When Sunday came,
large churches were crowded to excess. The Holy Communion was
administered in the afternoon, when Episcopal, Presbyterian, Baptist,
Moravian, and Indian brethren took part in the service.
Besides the sectional conventions, an enormous general meeting was held
in Brooklyn, when extempore addresses were delivered in free and easy
style. But perhaps the most deeply affected audience was a crowded one
in the Academy of Music the last Sunday night, for prayers and short
addresses. A prima donna, I heard, was present: certainly there was one
voice of pre-eminent sweetness and power in that vast congregation.
All the newspapers gave reports of the proceedings as fully as _The
Times_ does of our parliamentary debates. One afternoon two gentlemen,
who had been clergymen, spent some time beforehand in preparing a report
of what I meant to say in the evening. There was no other way, _they
said_, of getting the report ready for the next morning. The interest
taken in our proceedings by all classes greatly surprised me.
Newspapers, representative of churches out of sympathy with our
proceedings, noticed and criticised what went on: the secular press also
took up the matter, and conveyed abundant information. What appeared in
New York papers was transferred to others all over the States, and thus
religious news of that week spread far and wide.
The whole report, published afterwards, was a curiosity for size and
cheapness; but such voluminous accounts of a conference must not be taken
to mean more than this—that Americans like to know whatever is going on,
in every circle. It appeared to me that our transatlantic brethren are
so fond of hearing public speakers, and of reading what they say, that
they do not confine their thoughts to such discussions as are germane to
their own convictions and tastes. They are curious to hear what anybody
has to utter, if he speaks to the purpose, no matter what the topic may
be. We should be mistaken, if we measured religious belief in New York
by popular attention given to the Alliance.
The President, Dr. Woolsey, was a distinguished constitutional lawyer,
consulted at times about international claims by European authorities;
numerous professors of erudition and power, authors, orators,
politicians, merchants, gathered round him in 1873; the European
continent contributed such men as Dorner, Christlieb, and Krafft from
Germany, Prochet from Genoa, Carrasco from Madrid, Bovet from Neuchatel,
Stuart from Holland. Some of our own distinguished countrymen have been
already mentioned. Ward Beecher delivered a wonderful oration in Dr.
Adams’ church on the subject of preaching. He was like a man stopping
you in the street, and getting “hold of your button” so as to compel
attention. I met him several times in America, and received acts of
kindness, when his face was lighted up with an expression of rare beauty.
Nor were churches and halls the only “pleasant places.” One evening Mr.
Dodge had a reception to which eight hundred persons were invited, and at
one moment, he told me six hundred were actually present. Introductions,
handshakings, recognitions, questions, answers, observations and stories
were incessant; whilst a band of musicians played at one end of a suite
of apartments, it could not be heard at the other.
On Monday, all the delegates were conveyed by special train to
Philadelphia. On the way we stopped at Princeton. Students of colleges
assembled at the station, and uttered their characteristic cheers—in
imitation of ascending and descending rockets—followed by such huzzahs as
we do not hear in England. We marched in procession through the streets
to the church, where a crowded congregation awaited our arrival.
We reached Philadelphia about three o’clock. There a long train of
carriages awaited our arrival to convey delegates to the Hall of
Independence. The city authorities represented by one of the judges,
expressed a welcome, after which we were escorted to the Continental
Hotel capable of containing the whole party. We all started next morning
for Washington.
On the way we were delighted with surrounding scenery, especially when we
came to Chesapeake Bay, into which the Susquehanna pours its waters.
Woods were clothed with autumnal tints, crimson maples flashed their
fires amidst manifold hues of decaying foliage; and the sunny prospect,
as we skirted the bay, was beautiful beyond description. At the
Baltimore station brethren from Washington invested us each with a white
ribbon badge; then on we swept past homesteads, recently the abodes of
slaves, many a hut serving as an original illustration for “Uncle Tom’s
Cabin.”
We talked in the train with a black bishop, who entertained us with
descriptions of negro excitability. He said coloured congregations would
exclaim in church, as the preacher proceeded with his discourse, “That’s
true, Massa”; and a man once shouted, under the influence of what he
heard, “Massa, that’s like going up Jacob’s ladder.”
A distant view of the Capitol is not unlike that of St. Peter’s at Rome,
as seen from the Campagna. We saw a few city lions—the Capitol and
Smithsonian Institute being chief; and we found this metropolis, not
without form, for it is artistically laid out in thoroughfares radiating
from the Capitol; but it is certainly “void,” for nominal streets were
there, but at that time without houses. We drove a long distance, across
an open country, suggesting the idea of a city which _is not_, but only
_about to be_. How it looks now, I do not know. Yellow dust was blowing
in clouds, and lying in thick drifts on the steps of the Hall of
Assembly.
General Grant carried in his face the signs of an indomitable will, and
without any personal assumption behaved as one conscious of
representative power. After my return home, Dr. Adams, who was then in
England, told me that he acted as chaplain to the forces at the time of
the great war, and rode by the General’s side, when he reviewed the
troops. As illustrative of his memory for little things, I may refer to
the General’s conversation with his old chaplain, when they met in
England, and he alluded to the colour of the horse, the latter used to
ride, informing him of the animal’s death, which had just occurred. The
General seems to have possessed the royal gift of not forgetting those to
whom he had been once introduced. Let me add, he was proud of having
commanded such an immense army as he did, and said to the Duke of
Wellington—who repeated this to Dr. Stanley, my informant—“Your father
was general in chief of only forty thousand men; I led as many as _half a
million_.”
We visited a great number of institutions in New York—colleges, schools,
hospitals, and reformatories. Colleges, architecturally, were not
imposing; but the libraries and scientific apparatus possessed by some of
them, were of a choice and costly kind. I was told of one gentleman who
had contributed £100,000 to educational objects. Schools are immense
buildings; and at New York and Philadelphia it was a sight indeed, to
behold pupils, gliding to their appointed places, and then upturning some
eight hundred happy countenances towards the visitors come to see them.
The examination of classes was most satisfactory, and the resources and
adroitness of the teachers most admirable. Hospitals in the city are
abundant, beyond what the necessities of the population seemed to
require, and the reformatories afforded encouraging examples of
discipline and improvement.
Parks and cemeteries are on a scale of such magnitude, and are so
picturesquely laid out, that English visitors surveyed them with
surprise. As to American scenery in general, justice had never been done
to it.
We felt gulpy in taking leave of friends, and ending a visit so
memorable.
The sea was calm, and the weather bright, as we steamed out on our voyage
home, but a gale followed, and we had violent storms during several days.
Serious accidents occurred in consequence, which gave a maimed appearance
to some of the passengers. My dear friend Harrison had a serious fall.
Waves rose many feet high, and they supplied a key to some of Turner’s
sea pictures, and also to Ruskin’s eloquent language in describing the
“truth of water”—the power, majesty, and deathfulness of the open, deep,
illimitable sea.
A friendship I formed in America deserves a notice here, on account of
the person’s eminence and the obligations under which he laid me by his
subsequent handsome gifts. Dr. Sprague had the largest collection of
autographs in the world. The number was immense, amounting, I am told,
to about 100,000. He was living at Flushing at the time I was in New
York, and I had charge from a friend in England to call upon him. Though
having never met him before, yet from previous knowledge of each other,
we were at home, immediately after I had crossed his threshold. It is an
American characteristic to treat as friend any one who has been known by
kindly report beforehand, or who can present credentials of character.
Dr. Sprague’s wife and daughter received us at once as if we had belonged
to the family. We crowded an immense deal of talk into a short space,
and before we parted he made reference to his huge collection of
autographs. As we had little time to spare, I had covenanted with my
companion, Mr. Harrison, that I would avoid that tempting topic, as it
would detain us too long; but the ice being suddenly broken, there was no
help, and I found myself plunged—I must say not unwillingly—into a
subject which prudence had decidedly proscribed. Dr. Sprague found that
I was one of the craft, but a minor member; and forthwith he profusely
offered assistance, asking whether there were any letters of his
countrymen I particularly desired to possess. What an overture! I
modestly replied, I should be glad of a few lines written by Washington
Irving. Before I left America there came a most interesting letter from
Irving to his publisher, respecting a new edition of his works; and after
my return to England, post after post brought most valuable contributions
to my store of autographs. The very first included a letter signed by
General Washington of historical value. It relates to the close of the
War of Independence, and gives direction for cessation of hostilities
immediately after the surrender of Lord Cornwallis, in 1781. Letters in
the handwriting of Franklin, Jonathan Edwards, and a number of other
celebrities, came to England from time to time, enriching my stores,
almost to the period of Dr. Sprague’s death. He was a popular preacher,
a distinguished divine, a prolific author, and a man of widespread
influence in the States.
In closing this account of American friends, I must say a few words about
members of Harvard University. I had met with the Greek Professor at the
Mountain House, on the Catskills, who spoke much of the principal, Dr.
Peabody, for whom I felt a high respect. My friend, Mr. Harrison, and I
were most courteously received by the Doctor at his residence, and were
shown over the University buildings, especially that bearing the name of
Stoughton, a Governor of Massachusetts. I was anxious to see the poet
Longfellow, who resided in an old-fashioned house not far from the
college. Unfortunately he was not at home, and I could not refrain from
dropping him a line. I received the following reply:—
CAMBRIDGE, _October_ 7_th_, 1873.
“MY DEAR SIR,
“I have this morning had the pleasure of receiving your friendly
note, and hasten to say how much I regret that absence prevented me
from seeing you when you were in Cambridge.
“We should have lived over again that bright summer afternoon at Mrs.
Fuller Maitland’s, which I so well remember, and you would have told
me of many friends whom I should like to hear of again.
“Perhaps I may still have the pleasure of seeing you before you
return to England. If not, I beg you to present to Mr. and Mrs.
Maitland my best regards and most cordial remembrance of their
kindness and hospitality.
“With greatest esteem,
“I am, my dear sir,
“Yours truly,
“HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.”
Mr. and Mrs. Fuller Maitland, members of a well-known old Nonconformist
family, were members of my church at Kensington; and at their house I
used to meet distinguished and interesting people. The occasion referred
to in the foregoing letter made upon me a most pleasant impression. A
large company had assembled to greet the American poet, and there was
plenty of handshaking, which I feared would rather weary him, especially
as so many of us were total strangers; but he assured me that I was quite
mistaken, and that it gratified him much to be surrounded by so large a
party, composed of those whom he regarded as English friends. Americans
are in some respects more cosmopolitan and genial in new society, than
Englishmen, and I was struck with this repeatedly in my transatlantic
trip. I was quite affected with the kindness met with everywhere. Among
those who showed special courtesy were some of the well-known Abbot
family, and other professors at Yale, Andover, and Princeton, as well as
at Harvard, and Mr. Winthrop, of Boston fame. Before I conclude this
account of my American tour, one more incident remains to be mentioned.
At some of the meetings in New York, I met with an intelligent and
interesting Quaker. I found he was acquainted with Friends in England,
and in the course of conversation mention was made of the Gurneys, when
he informed me that Mrs. Gurney, widow of Joseph John Gurney, of Earlham,
was residing in the vicinity of Burlington, in New Jersey. She was an
American lady who became the wife of the Norwich philanthropist, and
retired to her own country after her husband’s death. Finding that I
knew Mr. Gurney, his widow was informed of the circumstance, and
presently I received a kind invitation to visit her at her own residence.
My friend and I, after a pleasant journey, reached the outskirts of
Burlington, and were welcomed by our hostess at a handsome house with
picturesque surroundings. We had much conversation about Earlham, and I
was shown into a comfortable library stocked with books, brought from the
Hall which I had seen in my boyhood. She told me about a visit which Mr.
Forster, father of the distinguished politician, had paid her, not very
long before,—a visit speedily followed by his death, and interment in the
neighbourhood. On the walls of the drawing-room I noticed a facsimile of
the famous letter written to Mrs. Gurney, by President Lincoln,
respecting the great war going on, in which the question of negro slavery
was so inextricably involved. She and some other ladies had been
favoured with a special interview on the subject of emancipation, and it
was to this interview, and its associations that the facsimile referred.
She asked, if I should like to have a copy of it, and then not being able
at the moment to find what she sought, she took down the framed copy and
presented it to me as a memorial of my visit. I carefully brought it to
England, and as it is not known here, as it is in America, I subjoin the
contents, showing the importance which Abraham Lincoln attached to the
conversation of the zealous Quaker on the occasion mentioned.
“WASHINGTON, _Sept._ 4_th_, 1864.
“ELIZA P. GURNEY.
“MY ESTEEMED FRIEND,—I have not forgotten, probably never shall
forget, the very impressive occasion when yourself and friends
visited me on a Sabbath forenoon two years ago. Nor has your kind
letter, written nearly a year later, ever been forgotten. In all, it
has been your purpose to strengthen my reliance on God. I am much
indebted to the good Christian people of the country for their
constant prayers and consolations; and to no one of them more than to
yourself. The purposes of the Almighty are perfect and must prevail,
though we erring mortals may fail to accurately perceive them in
advance. We hoped for a happy termination of this terrible war long
before this, but God knows best and has ruled otherwise. We shall
yet acknowledge His wisdom and our own error therein. Meanwhile we
must work earnestly in the best light He gives us, trusting that so
working, still conduces to the great end He ordains. Surely He
intends some great good to follow this mighty convulsion, which no
mortal could make, and no mortal could stay.
“Your people—the Friends—have had, and are having, a very great
trial. On principle and faith, opposed to both war and oppression,
they can only practically oppose oppression by war. In this hard
dilemma some have chosen one horn, and some the other. For those
appealing to me on conscientious grounds, I have done, and shall do,
the best I could, and can, in my own conscience under my oath to the
laws. That you believe this I doubt not, and believing it, I shall
still receive, for our country and myself, your earnest prayers to
our Father in Heaven.
“Your sincere Friend,
“A. LINCOLN.”