Gleanings by the Way Part 10

Emerson--Transcendentalism--Westerly.

_Seneca, August 1._

In my last I was princ.i.p.ally occupied in giving you some account of the picturesque grounds of Green Wood Cemetery. It was on Tuesday afternoon, the thirtieth of June, at five o'clock, that we started in the well-built and beautiful steamer Ma.s.sACHUSETTS, on our way upon an excursion to Rhode Island. The scenery along the East River and up the Sound presents evidences of higher cultivation, but possesses features of less native picturesque wildness and rural beauty, than that which opens to view along the pathway of the Hudson. The atmosphere we encountered on our way to the steamboat issuing from every street of the great metropolis we had just left, was like the heat from a burning furnace. In delightful contrast with this, was the cool refreshing breeze that played around the bow of our advancing steamer, as we tracked our way up the river and along through the whirlpools and breakers of Hurlgate, a pa.s.s far more formidable, and requiring vastly more nautical skill than the famous Straits of Pelorus with Scylla on one side and Charybdis on the other. The evening was beautiful, and our sail up the Sound proved truly delightful. The last rays of twilight were beginning to fade away, and the countless stars studding the arched firmament, to twinkle with unwonted brightness, when we reached the spot where we were told the ill-fated LEXINGTON met her disastrous end.

I could not but contrast the scene around me at the moment with the events of that awful night. We were sailing along over the tranquil and starlit bosom of the Sound, with the balmy breath of a summer evening fanning us: with no alarms within,--no raging tempest without. But on that fearful night, and aboard that ill-fated vessel, what a scene was exhibited! What amazement and terror and dismay must have seized every heart when the conflagration broke forth in all its fury! What added exceedingly to the excitement, and no doubt tended greatly to bereave many of all self-possession and presence of mind, was that the fire burst out in the central part of the steamer, cutting off all communication between those occupying the forward and the hinder part of the boat. Thus, in this moment of awful peril, husbands and wives,--parents and children, brothers and sisters were suddenly separated from each other by a wall of fire, and deprived of each other's counsel when most they needed it: and thus they were filled with increased alarm, not only for themselves, but for each other. Alas! this was an hour when no man could help his brother,--when the parent could neither save himself nor his children. If they remained on board the burning vessel, they must be consumed. If they plunged into the roaring waves they would sink into the depths beneath, and find there a watery grave: or if they should escape the fury of the waves by clinging to a bale of cotton, or some floating part of the wreck, the chill winds of winter, and the icy waters that dashed over them, would soon stagnate and freeze to the very fountain the warm current of life. Thus all the elements of nature were armed against them, flame, and flood, and frost, and they could not escape. No imagination can conceive the horror or agony of the scene! I leaned over the side of our steamer, as we pa.s.sed the spot where this awful scene occurred, and tried to picture to myself some of its outlines. Even the picture which rose before me was too awful to contemplate.

What a lesson that disaster ought to teach us of our entire dependence upon G.o.d for safety while travelling by land or by sea! What an admonition ought it to sound in our ears to be always ready for death! We know not the day nor the hour in which the Son of Man cometh! Our death may be as sudden, and as unexpected, as that of any of those on board the Lexington, though it occur in our own dwelling, and in the bosom of our family. If we are truly the Lord's people, and our names are in the Lamb's book of life, it matters little _when_, or _where_ death meets us: for then the grizly king becomes the friendly porter that opens to us the golden gates of paradise.

The more usual course that pa.s.sengers now pursue to Providence and Boston is to stop at Stonington, and take the railroad cars from that point. By this means they reach Providence and Boston several hours earlier than they were accustomed to by the old route. But as the steamboat arrives at Stonington long before morning, we were not disposed to leave our quiet berths for the sake of reaching Providence some three or four hours earlier than we otherwise should, and therefore kept on in the old course around Point Judith touching at Newport.

The time that we spent at Providence in the midst of our old friends, I need not tell you, was pa.s.sed most delightfully. The church where I once preached the reconciling word, the lecture-room where I saw countenances that called up with thrilling emotions the memory of days and scenes that will be fresh in my recollection through all eternity,--the private circle where cordial greetings, and more than Highland welcomes met us, all these and the countless a.s.sociations they awakened, seemed to throw around us such a circle of enchantment, that, when the time had elapsed which we had designed to spend there, we still lingered from day to day, as though unable to pa.s.s that circle. If there be one draught of enjoyment more delicious than another which a Christian minister is permitted to drink this side of heaven, it is, when after years of absence, he returns to visit the flock from whom in the providence of G.o.d he was removed, and with whom his labours were once greatly blessed, and finds those for whose salvation he laboured, and whom he was instrumental in introducing into the fold of the Redeemer, "standing fast in the Lord," and exhibiting "the fruits of the Spirit;" or learns that those who are gone, and are numbered with the dead, departed in the triumphs of Christian faith. St. John could say, "_I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in the truth._" And St. Paul, "_For now we live if ye stand fast in the Lord._"

The highest zest of the pleasure I enjoyed in this visit to the scene of my former labours, arose from what I saw and heard of the stability, and increased spirituality of a people with whom I hope to sit down one day, in company with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of G.o.d.

You are familiar with the whole topography of Rhode Island, and therefore I need say nothing of the interblending of rural scenery and retirement, with city embellishment and comfort, which so eminently distinguish not a few of the neat and elegant residences in Providence. There is one feature in the moral character of this city, which distinguishes it from most other New England towns. In almost all New England the great ma.s.s of mind is educated, and the people upon all subjects think for themselves. Generally, however, especially in the interior, the descendants of the Puritans, cleave in religious matters to the faith of their forefathers, and are opposed to all change. But in Rhode Island, there has always been a more liberal, and free-thinking spirit on the subject of religion than in any of the other New England states.--It was here that Roger Williams fled when his Puritan brethren would not tolerate him in the Bay state. It was through his influence that a more enlightened feeling in reference to religious toleration was made to pervade the community settling at Providence, than was found at that period in any other New England town.

And probably there is no place in our country, where, at this time, a more kind and catholic spirit, or a greater freedom from the influence of narrow, sectarian feeling prevails, than here. This tolerant spirit, however, in some minds, manifests a strong tendency to lat.i.tudinarianism.

Hence, perhaps, there is no community in the world where a new religious sect would so soon gather intelligent adherents as at Providence, and no where, where more sound and able, and fearless advocates would rise up to defend "the faith once delivered to the saints." I have been led into this train of reflection, from encountering a greater prevalence of the transcendental spirit, at Providence, than I have anywhere before met in our country. This offshoot of German neology, issuing from the same parent stock with Socinianism, finds a congenial soil in a Unitarian community.

You are aware that the Rev. Mr. Emerson, formerly a Unitarian minister at Boston, has embraced transcendentalism in all its heights and depths.

Whether he be actually deranged, as some suppose, or not, matters very little, since mult.i.tudes, and some who desire to be cla.s.sed among the _elite_ of the land, are ready to gather around him and receive the law of their belief from his mouth. He has recently made a visit to Providence, and developed by means of lectures and conversations, his peculiar views.

He is spoken of as a man of genius, and wonderfully attractive. He is a thorough pantheist. He believes that every thing in nature is a part of G.o.d--that good men are incarnations of Deity, and that it was in this sense alone, that G.o.d is said to be "_made flesh_" in the person of Jesus Christ.

He places Socrates, and Zoroaster and Jesus in the same category, and considers that they differed from each other only in the degree of inspiration which they had. He thinks that the writings of Socrates and Plato, and Zoroaster should be bound up in the same volume with the Bible, and that they are ent.i.tled to more confidence, and marked with deeper wisdom than some portions of our present canon of Scripture.

During Mr. Emerson's stay at Providence, having advanced some crude idea, he was referred to a saying of the Saviour, which contradicted his position: when he very deliberately replied, "_Jesus was mistaken_." On another occasion speaking of the Saviour, he said: "Jesus was a very good man, I wish he had been better: he had no fun, no humour in his character, in this respect he was imperfect." Such are some of the specimens of gross infidelity, which the abettors of transcendentalism in New England, openly put forth. The charm of this transcendental scheme consists partly in the metaphysical mystification, the sentimental namby-pambyism,--the crazed poetic inspiration, with which the masters of this school speak and write.

Then there is much to soothe and flatter the pride of the human heart, in the idea which they would have every man take up that he is a pure emanation of Deity,--a bright scintillation from the divine mind, and that all he has to do, is to follow the lofty inspirations of his own mind, and then he will sparkle forth along the track of being, an incarnate G.o.d. One very truly remarked in relation to transcendentalism, that it was no new doctrine,--that it was taught as long ago as when man was in the garden of Eden: even then, the father of lies, said to our first ancestors, eat the forbidden fruit, and "_ye shall be as G.o.ds_."

In the midst of abounding iniquity and multiplying error, it behoves the friends of truth to stand on the watch tower and give the people timely warning. I felt greatly refreshed and truly delighted in various interviews with the clergy whom I met in Rhode Island. My mind naturally reverted to the scenes of former days, when I was so pleasantly a.s.sociated with them, and when we used to meet at the monthly Convocations as a band of brothers, having one heart and one mind, and labouring together for one simple object, the upbuilding of the Saviour's kingdom and the glory of G.o.d. Great changes since that period have taken place. Some of these brethren have gone to the north, and some to the south--some to the east, and some to the west; and yet the character of the Rhode Island clergy continues the same.

Take them all in all, I know of no set of men more thoroughly evangelical or more truly devoted to the best interests of the Church of Christ; or occupying a more elevated stand for piety and learning and talents, than the clergy of Rhode Island.

I pa.s.sed a few days at Westerly, and could not but remember with grat.i.tude my first visit to this place some six years ago. As I saw the beautiful church--the neat parsonage house--the respectable congregation, and the multiplied tokens of true piety around me, I could not but say, "_What hath G.o.d wrought!_" Never can I doubt that the power of G.o.d is connected with _Revivals of religion_, while I remember the scenes of Westerly--while so many "fruits of the Spirit" remain, of consistent, devoted, exemplary followers of Christ, brought to a knowledge of the truth in a revival.

Because men get up imitations of the work of the Lord, as the magicians did of the miracles of Moses, it does not invalidate the Lord's work any more than those magical attempts did the truth of his miracles.

I have room only to add, if the Lord permits, you will soon hear from me again.

CHAPTER XX.

THE SUDDEN STORM.

Rapid travelling--Auburn--Stage coach--Seneca Lake--Summer's sultry heat--Sudden change--Fierce tempest--Imminent peril.

_Seneca, August 6th._

In our journey to this place, we had a practical ill.u.s.tration of the increased facilities and greatly accelerated movements of modern travelling. Having left New York on Wednesday evening, the fifteenth of July, at five o'clock, we found ourselves the next evening, before nine o'clock, at Auburn--a distance but little short of three hundred and fifty miles, which was pa.s.sed over, omitting, in our reckoning, the time spent at Albany, Utica, and Syracuse, in about twenty-one hours.

I cannot now stop to notice the refreshing influence of the broad-swelling tide of the n.o.ble Hudson as we sailed up this stream--nor the picturesque aspect of the palisades--nor the more sublime features of the rugged and sombre highlands, throwing their dark shadows upon the moonlit waters below; neither can I now stay to tell you any thing of the improvements in the capital of the great empire state, nor of the improving aspect of the interior city, which stands, as it were, on the dividing line between Eastern and Western New York--nor yet of the peculiarities of the rising town, which is the centre and the great emporium of the salt trade, and which has appropriated to itself the dignified name of the renowned city where the great Archimides met his fate. Pa.s.sing by all these, with railroad speed, and all the varied beauties of a magnificent agricultural region, I hasten to give you some account of an adventure in which we found ourselves involved just before arriving at this place. The railroad is completed no farther than Auburn, from which place we were obliged to come on in a common stage coach. The morning was very hot and dusty, and our ride, although only about twenty miles, seemed long and tedious. The driver of our coach, in order to avoid the deep sand between Waterloo and Geneva, took the lake-road, which brought us on to the beach of the lake, about three miles from Geneva. From this point, on quite to the village, we keep along upon the circling margin of the lake, with the waters of the broad Seneca dashing up over the pebbly sh.o.r.e, almost laving with every returning surge the carriage wheels. Here too we see the whole expanse of the lake, which is about three miles wide, together with the beautiful farms that sweep away from the sh.o.r.es back into the country; and are also able to follow the long track of these far stretching waters many miles towards their head. Upon a n.o.ble and finely-elevated bluff of land which forms the sh.o.r.e and northwestern corner of this beautiful lake, the village of Geneva, with its colleges and churches, and stores and elegant residences, surrounded with gardens and embowered in shade, lies spread out in one n.o.ble panoramic view. We had reached the point where all this scene of beauty opened upon us. We thought we never saw the lake more placid--nor all nature more quiet. Every thing seemed to be oppressed with the weight of the sultry and heated atmosphere. Immediately around us was a rural district, from the living features of which Thomson might have drawn all the pictures that make up one scene of his SUMMER. A various group of herds and flocks were scattered around us. Some lay ruminating on the gra.s.sy bank; while others stood half in the flood, and "often bent to sip the circling surface." Deeper in the lake drooped the strong laborious ox "of honest front, which incomposed he shook;" and lashed from his sides the troublous insects with his tail. Not a breath of air seemed to shake a bough of the leafy elm, or spread a ripple over the gla.s.sy waters. But as we rode leisurely along the sandy beach, a little cloud seemed gathering over the lake, and now and then a faint gleam of lightning played with fitful and flickering blaze over its darkening fold. We had nearly reached the place of our destination, and were congratulating ourselves that we should be in the midst of our friends and under safe shelter before the shower reached us. But scarcely had we thought this, before the heavens began to gather blackness and the wind to rise and roar as though a tempest were coming. And indeed a tempest was coming; for scarcely five minutes had elapsed after the first visible indications of the coming storm before a perfect gale struck us. The waters of the lake were dashed into the wildest scene of agitation--the trunks, and band-boxes, and baggage began to be blown from the top of our coach, and chased along on the ground, "like a rolling thing before the whirlwind." And then the rain began to descend, and to rush into our carriage as though the water had been scooped up from the lake and poured upon us in a torrent. We had no time to fasten down the uprolled curtains of our coach; we had no time to protect ourselves in any way--our baggage was flying--our horses were frightened--our driver could hardly keep in his seat. And still the storm increased: the wind swept down in a narrow column from the head of the lake with all the fury of a tornado, and blew our horses and coach quite up against the fence, where the rain continued to come in upon us as though a water spout had broken directly over our heads. But this was not our greatest difficulty.

Our carriage was now in a position in which it seemed impossible that it should not be upset. The wheels had already become entangled in the fence.

One of the huge stakes of the fence was thrust into the window of our carriage which we could not remove, while the carriage itself was rocking, and nearly on its side. The horses all this time were floundering and jumping, and exceedingly restive; but the wind was so strong that they could not move forward. There were three ladies in the coach, of whom I had the care, besides my wife and children, and nurse. Never before did I so fully realize that I was held in the hollow of G.o.d's hand, as at this perilous moment. For at least five minutes there seemed to be but a hair's breadth between us and death. But we looked unto the Lord, and he delivered us. In a few moments the storm abated--the rain ceased--the dark clouds rolled away, and the sun came forth as bright and as l.u.s.trous as though no mist or dark thunder cloud had ever obscured his disk.

CHAPTER XXI.

REMINISCENCES OF THE PAST.

Sunday--Sacred worship--The sanctuary recalling youthful scenes--Early plighted vows at the table of the Lord--Retrospect--Mournful reflections--Change in the congregation--Mr. and Mrs. N---- The C----family--Col. T---- Village burial ground--C----The buried pastor--My mother--Palmyra--Early ministerial labours--Lyons.

_Fairfield, Aug. 15th._

In these GLEANINGS BY THE WAY, I have very little plan or method, but send you just what happens to interest me most at the time.

Perhaps there are no two places that we visit, after long years of absence, with so much interest as _the sanctuary_ where we first plighted our vows of allegiance at the sacramental table to Jehovah, and the old, shaded _burial place_ where repose the ashes of many whom we knew and loved in early life. In my late excursion through Western New York, I was permitted to enjoy this pleasing, yet melancholy satisfaction. Upon the first Sunday of the present month, I was permitted to worship in the sanctuary where twenty-two years before I first knelt at the communion table to receive the consecrated symbols of my Saviour's dying love. As I stood within the rail of the altar and looked around that sanctuary, a tide of thought rushed upon me, awakening in my mind varied and conflicting emotions.

The sacred place with its history called up some pleasing reflections. I could not but rejoice that "_the truth as it is in Jesus_," continued to be proclaimed there, and that the cross of Christ was perpetually held up as the sinner's only hope. I could not but rejoice to see the increase and prosperity of Christ's spiritual flock; the number of communicants having swelled from _fifty_ to nearly _two hundred_. I could not but be thankful to remember how mercifully and kindly the Lord had led me through the wilderness for more than twenty years, and how unerringly he had fulfilled all his covenant promises!

But there were also painful reflections called up by what I saw before me.

Remembering as I did that here, in this spot my covenant vows were pledged before high heaven, I could not but recollect how far I had fallen short of that entire consecration to G.o.d--that separation from the world, and supreme love for Christ, implied in those vows--I could not but recollect what poor returns I had rendered to that Saviour who had laid down his life for my redemption, to that merciful G.o.d

* * * * * * that sought me Wretched wanderer, far astray; Found me lost, and kindly brought me From the paths of death away.

Since the hour I had first knelt at that altar to consecrate myself to the service of Jehovah, his covenant promises had been all verified. "Not one thing had failed of all the good things which the Lord my G.o.d had spoken concerning me." During all this period, "his loving kindness he had not taken away, nor suffered his faithfulness to fail." But amid all these unwearied displays of divine faithfulness, alluring me with the sweetness of spiritual joys, and rousing my dullness, as well as rebuking my waywardness with the chastenings of a father's rod, how often had I, like Israel of old, by spiritual declension, and worldly conformity "forsaken the Lord--provoked the holy one of Israel unto anger, and gone away backward!" Most overwhelming, indeed, would have been the review of the past, but for that voice of redeeming love which breathed from the altar on which lay the symbols of Christ's great sacrifice, saying--"the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin." "Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord; though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool." "If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ, the righteous; and he is the propitiation for our sins."

The scene within that sanctuary also awakened other mournful reflections. A large congregation sat before me, but where were the individuals and families that twenty years before filled those pews? Only here and there amid the a.s.sembled congregation could be traced a familiar countenance. The great ma.s.s had gone! Some had undoubtedly left the place and removed to other parts of the country; but the majority of the senior members of the former congregation, had finished their probation and gone to the Spirit land! How solemn did the place seem as I stood and looked upon the mere handful now remaining of that large congregation that once filled this temple. There were four pews to which my eye was particularly directed. I recollected distinctly how they were occupied twenty years ago. Each of the families that sat in those pews were among the most respectable and influential people in the place. Regular as the Sabbath morn came, was Mr.

and Mrs. N---- with their large and interesting family seen moving up the aisle in a dignified train and with looks of deepest seriousness towards their pew. He was for a long time one of the wardens of the church. He had filled some most important posts of civil duty, and enjoyed the esteem and respect of all. Mrs. N---- afforded in her whole life a most lovely specimen of consistent, dignified, matronly piety. So extensive were the charities of this family, that it might almost literally be said of them, that "they were eyes to the blind, and feet to the lame. They delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him,"--so that in truth wherever they went in the neighbourhood of their own home, "the blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon them; and they caused the widow's heart to sing for joy." But those venerable forms, those worthy characters, were no longer to be seen in that pew. Long since they had been borne to the place of the dead, and several of those children that used to sit by them, had also been laid by their side in the grave.

Adjoining this pew, was another occupied by a family of great respectability and worth. The head of this family was one who filled a large s.p.a.ce in the public mind, and for many years held a seat in the highest legislative council of the nation. I looked for him in that pew, but he was not there! he was numbered with the dead! I was wont to see amid that family group, a young beautiful blooming girl--the pride of her parents' hearts, but now _she_ was not there! She had been married, and had every thing around her that earth could afford to make one happy. But in the midst of all that was bright and lovely, consumption had fixed its deadly blight upon her, and nothing could rescue her from the grave.

I looked across the church to two other pews, their former occupants, though they were families that had been long residents in the place, and possessed great wealth and respectability, were gone. Not a single representative of either family remained in the congregation or the place.

Mr. C----, the head of one of these families, was also long a warden of the church. They had a lovely daughter, who was an only child. I well recollect her appearance in the house of G.o.d. She was a delicate flower, and most tenderly was she nurtured by her affectionate parents. All their earthly hopes seemed to centre in her. No expense was spared in her education.

Every advantage that was supposed calculated to refine her taste, cultivate and expand her intellect, embellish her manners, and fit her to shine in the world, was placed within her reach. She was indeed a lovely young being. She had already interested the affections of one every way worthy of her. He was highly educated--of an excellent moral character, and belonged to a family of great wealth, influence and respectability--the very family who occupied the other pew of which I am soon to speak. But strong parental affection, high personal accomplishments--the brightest prospects in life, and the warm attachment of a devoted lover, could not shield Susan from the power of disease, or the cold iron grasp of death. The long gra.s.s now waves over her grave, and her broken-hearted father lies by her side. Their large estate has been scattered to the winds--and her mother resides in a distant part of the land a lonely widow.

I have already alluded to a fourth pew in this sanctuary, whose occupants I had some twenty years before so often seen in this place of worship. Col.

T---- held a proud place among the distinguished and influential men in Western New-York. He possessed all which wealth and high standing and extensive influence can impart to secure to himself and family the most unalloyed earthly enjoyment. And I trust that he had something better than this, even that hope, which sheds light over the gloom and darkness of the grave. He and his family were regular attendants upon the service of the sanctuary. He had two sons whom he expected would inherit a portion of his property and perpetuate his name in the world. But the youngest to whom we have before alluded, did not long linger upon the sh.o.r.es of time, after he saw the object of his young affections torn from him and swallowed up in the grave. His only surviving brother, in the very midst of life, shortly followed him. And soon his father and his mother were laid by his side.

This is a picture--a miniature picture of life! Thus doth "the fashion of this world pa.s.s away!" What solemn testimony was before me, that "all flesh is gra.s.s, and all the goodliness thereof as the flower of the field." How emphatic then did the words of the prophet seem--"The gra.s.s withereth, the flower fadeth; because the Spirit of the Lord bloweth upon it: surely the people is gra.s.s." Not only had the flock changed--but the pastor was also gone! He who had instructed my youth--who had led me to the Saviour--who had first broken to me the sacramental bread, and given some of the first impulses to my preparation for the ministry--no longer stood before that altar--his voice was no longer heard in that sanctuary! A simple marble slab placed in the recess behind the pulpit, told the melancholy tale that he too had gone to the spirit land.

The account I have given you of my visit to this sanctuary, is so full of death I need scarcely take you to the village burial ground. It was a place, however, consecrated by the dust of too many dear friends for me to abstain from treading among its gra.s.s-covered and heaped hillocks of earth.

This burial place, consisting of several acres of ground, enclosed by a neat pale, and shaded by shrubbery and trees, was located in the outskirts of the town, and at present, is seldom used for interments. A solitary walk amid its graves brought up a long train of recollections of the past. How mournful, yet how sacred did I find the satisfaction of brushing away the long gra.s.s that had grown over the spot where reposed the mouldered ashes of one who gamboled with me amid the sports of childhood's careless hour, and rushed onward at my side in life's joyous course till youth was ripening into manhood, and then the barbed arrow of death met him, and he fell like a young, vigorous, foliage-clad tree, struck by heaven's bolt, in all the freshness of his existence! How mysterious and inscrutable did the ways of Providence appear to me as I trod down the tall weeds that had grown up around the grave of one who had been a.s.sociated with me during a portion of my academical life, and who looked forward to the same profession with myself! C---- had one of the warmest and most amiable hearts that ever beat within the human bosom. He had faults of character, but they were all counterbalanced and lost amid the many excellencies that distinguished him. He had long contended with poverty and discouragements of various kinds, in order to press his way towards the sacred ministry.

After years of toil, and sacrifices of every kind, when he had just reached the goal, and was to be invested with the ministry of reconciliation, disease fastened upon his earthly tabernacle, and he sank down in death. No tender mother, nor kind sister was near to close his dying eyes. No family friends were present to follow his remains to the tomb. There he lies in a lone spot, far from the home of his childhood, with the weeds grown up all around his grave, and few that pa.s.s by understand the full import of the simple inscription of the marble slab that marks the spot where his ashes repose!

And there too, amid the gathered crowd of the dead, was all that remained of the mortal part of one whose voice had been heard a hundred times amid those grounds repeating the solemn burial service of our Church. But years have pa.s.sed away since that service was repeated over him. Well do I recollect the melancholy occasion, when the cold icy clod of winter fell upon his coffin, as the affecting words were p.r.o.nounced--"_We commit his body to the ground: earth to earth--ashes to ashes, dust to dust._" I could not pa.s.s through those grounds without paying a visit to the grave of the buried minister, for he had not only shed spiritual light upon my path, but was united to me by the strong ties of kindred and blood. He was my own brother! The gra.s.s was green over his grave; for it had flourished there undisturbed for more than twelve years.

But no spot in all that ground seemed so sacred, or so pregnant with power to awaken deep emotions and melt my soul into tenderness, as my mother's grave! What a volume of past recollections does every visit to that grave call up! What hallowed thoughts and sacred remembrances stand a.s.sociated with the dust that slumbers in that narrow house? Can I ever forget a sainted mother's love! Can I ever forget the hour she took my tiny hand into hers and led me to a secret place there to pray for me and to teach me how to lift up my infant voice to the Creator of the skies? Can I ever forget how each night and morning in childhood's happy days I knelt at her side to repeat "OUR FATHER?" Can I ever forget how in my childish sorrows her voice soothed my distress, and her bright beaming smile spread a sunshine around my path? Can I ever forget how, when sickness came upon me, and the scorchings of fever sent the blood boiling through my veins, she hung over me like a guardian angel--laid her soft hand upon my burning brow, and night after night sat and watched by my pillow? Can I ever forget that look of holy rapture and unutterable grat.i.tude that lit up her countenance when the constraining love of Christ first led her unworthy child to go forward and take hold of the horns of the altar? And above all, can I ever forget her prayers and solemn counsel, her holy trust in Christ and upward looking towards the summit of the everlasting hills, when the icy hand of death was upon her, and her hold upon life was breaking away?

And could I stand by her grave, and not have these recollections come thronging upon me? But I must stop. I had almost forgotten that I was writing for the eye of others. Did I not know that many into whose hands these remarks will fall, have also stood by _a mother's grave_, and thought and felt unutterable things, and will therefore appreciate the source and sacredness of these feelings to which I have been almost involuntarily led to give expression, I would immediately erase them from this sheet.

But I have lingered over these scenes much longer than I intended. I had purposed to give you some account of an excursion I made to Palmyra and Lyons, two rising and beautiful villages located within sixteen miles of each other, at different points on the line of the great Erie Ca.n.a.l. The whole range of country from Geneva onward to these villages, and still farther north till we reach the sh.o.r.es washed by the waves of the broad Ontario, which expands before the eye like a great inland sea, is one of the richest and most beautiful farming districts found in our country. This region, fourteen years ago, was the scene of my early missionary labours.

It was then comparatively a new country. A change has come over the whole aspect of this agricultural district, and that within so limited a period, that it would almost seem to have been effected by the wand of enchantment.