VIEWS OF PENNSYLVANIA.
Tour to Harrisburg--Aspect of the country--The Valley
of the Susquehanna--The passage of the River--The
Valley of the Juniata--Huntingdon--The Rev. John W.
James--His sudden exit.
The following twelve Chapters consist principally of extracts from the note
book which the author kept, during a tour through the great Western Valley
in 1837.
_On board the Canal Packet Swatara,
Wednesday evening, June 14, 1837._
I have never been more struck than to-day with the tranquilizing influence
which the works of nature are capable of exerting upon the mind. There is a
calmness, a solemn stillness--a sweet quietude spread over field and
forest, and all that the eye rests upon in passing through the country at
this beautiful season, which cannot fail to find a response in the bosom of
every beholder. I have no doubt a ride into the country would often operate
like a charm to calm down the agitations, quiet the corrodings, and soothe
the anxieties of many, who amid the engagements of the city are the victims
of carking care, and seem to live only to wade through the fiery stream of
perturbed and anxious feeling.
We left Philadelphia at six o'clock this morning. The cars belonging to the
three regular lines that run on the Rail Road to Harrisburg, filled with
about one hundred and fifty passengers, and fastened to each other in one
train, were moved by the same locomotive. There is something very
exhilarating in the act of being borne through a beautiful country at the
rate of fifteen miles an hour. It seemed as we moved along as though our
whole train was instinct with life, and endowed with magic pinions, which
it had only to spread abroad, and skim over the surface of the ground with
the fleetness of the wind. As we passed along from the city, one varied,
and verdant scene of all that is lovely in hill and dale, forest and field,
orchard and farm-house, presented itself in quick succession after
another--filling up the whole way with images as beautiful and varied as
are brought to the eye by every turn of the kaleidoscope.
The country between Philadelphia and Harrisburg in its outlines and
agricultural aspect strikingly reminded me of western New York. The impress
of thrift and wealth are enstamped upon every vale and hill-side that meets
your eye in this vast fertile landscape. I could not but ask myself,
however, "Is there a moral beauty here, displayed in the lives of those who
cultivate this land, corresponding with the marks of material loveliness
which the Creator has spread over all this scene? Do the walls of these
cottages and farm-houses resound to the voice of prayer and praise with
each rising and setting sun? Is the Saviour of sinners universally known,
and loved, and served here? Do all these people, whose homes are scattered
along this range of country, regard this beautiful region as the theatre on
which God has placed them to prepare for the skies?"
I know not what the state of religion may be generally through these
counties, but when I turned to a tabular list to see how many churches and
communicants we numbered in this extent of country, I felt sad to find how
small a part of the land we had possessed, and how very little we, as a
branch of the great Catholic Church, were doing to extend the kingdom of
Christ even in our very neighborhood. I hope other communions have done and
are doing more to diffuse vital godliness through this section of the land
than we, otherwise there must be a lamentable want of that faith which
Christ came to establish on the earth. O when shall prayer go up as one
thick cloud of incense from every house and hamlet scattered through this
region, made so fair and beautiful by a divine hand! Then indeed will "the
valleys which stand so thick with corn laugh and sing, the hills will clap
their hands, and every thing that hath breath praise the Lord."
At Harrisburg we took the canal. Our course till evening lay along the
valley of the Susquehanna, which as we proceeded we found hemmed in with
mountain bluffs, not unlike the palisades which surmount the banks of the
broad Hudson, or some of the rougher mountain features in the neighborhood
of the Highlands. The scene that opened before us was one of calm--quiet
beauty. There was awakened somewhat of a romantic feeling as we sat down to
our tea, borne quietly along through the rural beauties that clustered
thick around us. Our cabin windows were thrown wide open, and we inhaled
with delight the cool and refreshing breath of evening. On our right,
almost within reaching distance, the road passed along just under the brow
of a very precipitous hill, whose top peered up amid the clouds. On the
left, parallel with our course, was the expanded Susquehanna: and beyond
this beautiful stream one bluff and lofty range of hills rising up after
another, gave to that side of the river the aspect of continuous mountain
scenery.
As the day declined and the sun sunk below the horizon, a dark mass of
clouds seemed rolling up from the northwest. This stupendous pile of clouds
hung directly over the gap in the mountains, through which the Susquehanna
poured its wide and troubled waters. Soon the heavens began to gather
blackness, and the forked lightning to play with fearful glare on the
surface of this dark mass of clouds, followed by loud peals of startling
thunder. Almost immediately the rain commenced pouring down in torrents.
The transition from the quiet scene through which we had been passing, to
one of storm and tempest, was sudden and unexpected. There was a sublimity
and awful grandeur that gathered around that hour and spot, which I shall
not soon forget. What added to the effect, was, that just then we had
arrived at the point, where we were to cross the Susquehanna. The bridge
that had been flung up over the river to afford a passage for the horses to
tow the boat across, had partially fallen down, so that it was no longer
capable of use. A strong cable had been fixed across the stream, by means
of which a power was applied to our boat, which, in connexion with the
force of the current, would bear us rapidly over. It began to be dark, and
the rain fell violently. The waters seemed rough and threatening, and many
of the passengers felt a sense of great insecurity. To many on board,
though I presume there was no danger, it was a moment of deep and awful
suspense. My mind instantly run off into a train of serious thought. It
appeared to me that our course this day had been not unlike the journey of
life. At first in the May morning of our existence, we start off with speed
and are borne as by enchantment through a succession of gay, bright,
blooming fields. As we advance, though we move apparently beneath benignant
skies, and tread amid many of the beauties of creation, our path all the
while runs along by the side of the river of death. That river we must
finally cross, and it may be amid darkness and storms, and beneath the
impending thunder cloud of divine wrath! Happy are they whose hopes and
interests are so garnered up in Christ, that it matters not to them _when_,
or _how_ they cross it! Happy are they who can embark upon this river with
such a simple, and firm reliance on the Saviour, as to feel that there is
no danger, however rough or dark the passage may be!
_Thursday, June 15._--When we awoke at four o'clock this morning, we found
ourselves wending our way along the valley of the Juniata, a stream
tributary to the Susquehanna. The scenery on either side of this river is
surpassingly beautiful, and in style not unlike that which we passed
yesterday on the Susquehanna. The hills that hedge in the narrow valley of
the Juniata are usually of a conical, or triangular shape, covered to the
very summit with a stunted growth of forest trees. There was a peaceful
quiet--a solemn stillness reigning through almost the entire extent of this
valley, which to me appeared truly delightful. It seemed like the deep and
unbroken silence of nature. It was to us a stillness seldom broken save
when the sound of the boatman's horn, or the heavy tread of the horse on
the tow path, went up the mountain side, and woke an echo amid the
untrodden solitudes that stretched up those wild, and wood covered steeps.
As we advanced farther up the Juniata we saw evidences of a more dense
population. Villages occasionally rose to view. We passed Lewistown early
in the forenoon, and heard a favorable account of the acceptableness and
labors of our young clerical friend, the Rev. J. F. H. How true it is, that
wherever a faithful servant of the Lord is planted, there "the waste places
will soon be converted into a fruitful field, and the desert will be made
to rejoice and blossom as the rose!"
Just at nightfall we passed Huntingdon, the place where poor James fell
last August on his way to western Pennsylvania. This esteemed brother had
been much in my mind in all our jaunt up the valley of this river: and it
had occurred to me as we passed along, if there was a spot on earth where
one could be content to lie down and die, far from friends and home, it was
along this valley, amid this sweet quiet mountain scenery. One can scarcely
look out upon these green and foliage clad heights and the multiplied
demonstrations around him of Almighty power and skill without feeling his
heart drawn up in devout adoration to the Framer of these everlasting
hills.
I was disappointed, and sorry in finding the scenery less beautiful at
Huntingdon than at any of the former points on the Juniata. The village
presented an unattractive appearance. The house in which our brother[1] met
his final hour was pointed out to me. It seemed a very gloomy and unlovely
abode. As I passed the spot I felt the deep fountains of sensibility moved
in my soul: I thought, that it was here, far away from the sympathy of his
people, that this man of God lay down in the agonies of death. It was here
that his eye was sealed for ever on earthly scenes--and his liberated
spirit mounted up to God! Though to mortal eyes the circumstances of his
death seemed most undesirable, yet we know that he went quickly up to tread
the streets of the heavenly city, and to stand where he could gaze
everlastingly on the unveiled face of Jesus, his crucified and risen Lord.
O who that looks to the end of the glorious consummation will not long to
depart and "be with Christ which is far better!"
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The individual above referred to was the Rev. John W. James, assistant
minister of Christ Church, Philadelphia. Mr. J. was travelling with his
family on a summer excursion in 1836, when he was suddenly arrested with
disease, and called from the scenes of his labors to "the rest which
remaineth for the people of God." He was a faithful minister of Jesus
Christ, and his memory is still most sacredly cherished by many, who feel
that he was to them the messenger of salvation.