how the world lay at our feet one Sunday morning. I rose very early, and
looked abroad from my window, two stories above the platform. A dense
fog, exactly level with my eyes, as it appeared, roofed in the whole
plain of the earth—a dusky firmament, in which the stars had hidden
themselves for the day. Such is the account which an antediluvian
spectator would probably have given of it. This solid firmament had
spaces in it, however, through which gushes of sun-light were poured,
lighting up the spires of white churches, and clusters of
farm-buildings, too small to be otherwise distinguished; and especially
the river, with its sloops, floating like motes in the sun-beam. The
firmament rose and melted, or parted off into the likeness of snowy
sky-mountains, and left the cool Sabbath to brood brightly over the
land. What human interest sanctifies a bird’s-eye view! I suppose this
is its peculiar charm; for its charm is found to deepen in proportion to
the growth of mind. To an infant, a champaign of a hundred miles is not
so much as a yard square of gay carpet. To the rustic, it is less
bewitching than a paddock with two cows. To the philosopher, what is it
not? As he casts his eye over its glittering towns, its scattered
hamlets, its secluded homes, its mountain ranges, church spires, and
untrodden forests, it is a picture of life; an epitome of the human
universe; the complete volume of moral philosophy for which he has
sought in vain in all libraries. On the left horizon, are the green
mountains of Vermont; and at the right extremity sparkles the Atlantic.
Beneath lies the forest where the deer are hiding, and the birds
rejoicing in song. Beyond the river, he sees spread the rich plains of
Connecticut; there, where a blue expanse lies beyond the triple range of
hills, are the churches of religious Massachusetts sending up their
sabbath-psalms—praise which he is too high to hear, while God is not.
The fields and waters seem to him to-day no more truly property than the
skies which shine down upon them; and to think how some below are
busying their thoughts this Sabbath-day about how they shall hedge in
another field, or multiply their flocks on yonder meadows, gives him a
taste of the same pity which Jesus felt in his solitude, when his
followers were contending about which should be greatest. It seems
strange to him now that man should call any thing _his_ but the power
which is in him, and which can create somewhat more vast and beautiful
than all that this horizon encloses. Here he gains the conviction, to be
never again shaken, that all that is real is ideal; that the joys and
sorrows of men do not spring up out of the ground, or fly abroad on the
wings of the wind, or come showered down from the sky; that good cannot
be hedged in, nor evil barred out; even that light does not reach the
spirit through the eye alone, nor wisdom through the medium of sound or
silence only. He becomes of one mind with the spiritual Berkeley, that
the face of nature itself, the very picture of woods, and streams, and
meadows, is a hieroglyphic writing in the spirit itself, of which the
retina is no interpreter. The proof is just below him, (at least, it
came under my eye,) in the lady (not American) who, after glancing over
the landscape, brings her chair into the piazza, and turning her back to
the champaign, and her face to the wooden walls of the hotel, begins the
study, this Sunday morning, of her lap-full of newspapers. What a sermon
is thus preached to him at this moment from a very hackneyed text! To
him that hath much—that hath the eye, and ear, and wealth, of the
spirit, shall more be given—even a replenishing of this spiritual life
from that which, to others, is formless and dumb; while, from him that
hath little, who trusts in that which lies about him rather than in that
which lives within him, shall be taken away, by natural decline, the
power of perceiving and enjoying what is within his own domain. To him
who is already enriched with large divine and human revelations, this
scene is, for all its stillness, musical with divine and human speech;
while one who has been deafened by the din of worldly affairs can hear
nothing in this mountain solitude.”
[Illustration]
FANEUIL HALL,
FROM THE WATER.
* * * * *
Two noble streets, and a market, perhaps the finest in the world, have
been projected in front of the old Faneuil Hall, which stood a very few
years ago close to the water’s edge. The new land was made, and the plan
carried into effect during the mayoralty of Josiah Quincy, Esq., to
whose enterprise and sagacity the city is indebted for these great
improvements.
Faneuil Hall, which in the view from the water stands in the rear of
these fine structures of granite, is the dearest spot connected with
American freedom. It was used as a town-hall in the time of the
Revolution; and within its walls arose the first murmur, which, stirred
by the daring eloquence of Adams and Otis, terminated in the Declaration
of Independence. The name by which it is best known, is, “_the Cradle of
Liberty_.”
In the year 1740, Peter Faneuil (a Huguenot) made an offer to build, at
his own expense, “an edifice on the town’s land in Dock Square, to be
improved for a hall and market, for the sole use, benefit, and advantage
of the town, provided that the town would authorize it, and lay the same
under such proper regulations as should be thought necessary, and
support the same constantly for said use.” A vote of thanks was
immediately passed to Mr. Faneuil, the work was commenced, and two years
afterwards, “Mr. Samuel Ruggles, who was employed in building said
house, waited on the select-men, by order of P. Faneuil, Esq., and
delivered them the key of said house.” A meeting was then held in the
hall, and a motion was made that the thanks of the town be given to
Peter Faneuil, Esq., for his generous benefaction of the Market-House to
the town; and resolutions were drawn up and passed to that effect. A
large committee of the first citizens waited on him, “and, in the name
of the town, rendered their most hearty thanks for so bountiful a gift,
with their prayers that this and other expressions of his bounty and
charity might be abundantly recompensed with the divine blessing.”
Another vote was then passed unanimously, “that, in testimony of the
town’s gratitude to Peter Faneuil, Esq., and to perpetuate his memory,
the hall over the market-place be named Faneuil Hall, and at all times
hereafter be called by that name.” And as a further testimony of
respect, it was voted “that Mr. Faneuil’s picture be drawn at full
length, at the expense of the town, and placed in the hall; and the
select-men were charged with the commission, which was accordingly
executed.”
“The building was of brick, two stories in height, and measured one
hundred feet by forty. It was esteemed one of the best pieces of
workmanship, and an ornament to the town. The hall would contain one
thousand persons; there were convenient apartments for the officers of
the town, besides a room for the naval office, and a notary public.”
Mr. Faneuil did not long live to enjoy the gratitude of his townsmen. He
died suddenly, a year after the completion of the building. His funeral
oration, delivered by Mr. John Lovell, Master of the Grammar School, was
the first specimen of eloquence uttered in the “Cradle of Liberty.” It
was, in some of its sentiments, very unlike the orations which followed,
and far from prophetic.
“What now remains,” he concludes, “but my ardent wishes (in which I know
you will all concur with me) that this hall may be ever sacred to the
interests of truth, of justice, of _loyalty_, and honour. May no private
views nor party broils ever enter within these walls; but may the same
public spirit that glowed in the breast of the generous founder
influence all your debates, that society may reap the benefit of them.
“May liberty always spread its joyful wings over this place—liberty,
that opens men’s hearts to beneficence, and gives the relish to those
who enjoy the effects of it; and _may loyalty to a king, under whom we
enjoy this liberty_, ever remain our character—a character always
justly due to this land, and of which our enemies have in vain attempted
to rob us.”
The family of Faneuil had been more than fifty years in America, and had
fled from persecution in France to find a refuge in the wilderness. The
Faneuil arms were subsequently placed in the hall, elegantly carved and
gilt.
Eight or nine years after the erection of Faneuil Hall, it took fire
from a neighbouring conflagration, and was nearly burnt to the ground.
It was on one of the coldest nights of January, and the water froze so
rapidly, that it was impossible to work the engines. The walls were left
standing, and it was rebuilt and enlarged soon after.
Just against the end of Faneuil Hall, in a broad dock, now filled up and
built upon, used to lie a cluster of oyster-boats, that were half house,
half vessel, floating oyster-shops—in short, of the most canonical
rudeness and simplicity. It was as necessary to go to them to eat
oysters in perfection, as it is to go to Blackwall for white-bait; and
no true gourmand pretended to have elsewhere found the relish. They are
gone, alas! and with the old hulks are gone the amphibious venders—the
rude, high-booted, superannuated oyster-openers, dressing, for years
after they had given up the vocation, just as if they were embarking for
the mud-bank, and talking in the same hoarse tone as if their words were
meant to struggle, as of yore, with a nor’wester. So flee away before
the advances of improvement all that reminded us of other days; and it
is by this resolute plucking up of old associations, and resolute
modernizing and improving, even upon the most sacred habits and usages
of our forefathers, that this new nation keeps its unchecked headway,
with neither rooted superstition nor cherished prejudice to restrain it.
When it ceases to be so, we shall have the age of poetry; but adieu,
then, to the age of improvement!
THE END.
PRINTED BY RICHARD CLAY, BREAD-STREET-HILL.
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple
spellings of names occur, the majority spelling was used. Changes
include:
— Renssellaer to Rensselaer
— and Susquehannah to Susquehanna.
Inconsistencies in punctuation have been maintained.
Some illustrations moved to facilitate page layout.
A cover was created for this eBook.
[The end of _American Scenery, Volume II_, by N. P. (Nathaniel Parker)
Willis.]