WESTERN NEW YORK.
_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, the crops 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.