A SUMMER TOUR.
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, _quietude_ and
_seclusion_. 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
hay harvest--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 such GLEANINGS BY THE WAY as 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 never appreciated one half of the beauties of this
sweet spot. The country seat of one of my parishioners, located on GREEN
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 superintendant to 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.