Chapter II: Letter I: JUNE 14th, 1840

_My dear E._--The variety of scenes which have passed before my eyes since I last beheld you, and the crowd of new ideas acquired thereby, have not obliterated your Shaksperian adieu from my mind:

“Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply see’st
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travels,”

were your last words--in consequence of this desire, I hereby send you all I deem note-worthy. With what delight did I find myself once more upon the Hudson! Although so often seen, to me it is still lovely, for custom cannot stale its beauties. I pass along this river as through a gallery of cabinet pictures. The sunny vista and romantic glen of Gainsborough--the frowning cliff and murderous dell of Rosa--the Dutch cottage of Teniers--the Italian villa and graceful trees of classic Weir--cattle, as if just sprung from out a Berghman and grouped upon the shore, or standing ‘in the cool translucent wave,’ their ‘loose train of amber-dropping hair,’ not being ‘braided with lilies,’ but occupied in flapping the flies away!--all these, and many more are placed side by side before me as I float along.

You have never seen this famed stream, and I will therefore describe it to you minutely. Mine will not be ‘notes by the way,’ nor ‘crayoning,’ nor ‘pencil sketches,’ but perfect Daguerrotype likenesses of all I see.

With a bold rush our steamboat was free of the wharf and out into the stream. Ascend now to the upper deck with me and you will obtain a fine view of the city of New York and its noble bay. Upon one side lies the city with its mass of houses, churches, and vessels; beyond is Long Island. Observe what a pretty back ground is Staten Island: its numerous white buildings show well against the green elevated ridge behind them; then turn your eye to the opposite side and you will behold New Jersey, with its pretty city, and villages, and churches; and in the center of all this is the glassy water covered with steamboats, brigs, ships of war, and vessels of all sizes, and dotted with pretty fortress islets. Hoboken with its neat church and romantic colonade are passed, and the rugged cliffs of Weehawken rise upon our left as we ascend the river. These cliffs are the commencement of the Palisade rocks, which soon retreat into the interior to arise again above. Bull’s Ferry (worthy of a better name,) next appears, with Fort Lee, pretty rural retreats, whose white houses, churches, and fences, are pencilled as with white chalk upon the river’s green and sloping bank.

From the east side, turret and spire have passed away, and villages and country seats adorn the shores until we arrive at Spuyten Duyvel creek, rendered famous by the redoubtable Van Corlear, who swore he would pass it in spigt den Duyvel; and also as being the boundary line of Manhattan Island. To a hasty observer, the shores beyond this are as lonely and wild as if we were hundreds of miles from any city; but if you will fix your eyes steadily upon the woodlands which line the river banks, you will catch glimpses, between the trees, of Grecian portico, Yankee piazza, or Dutch gable, telling of many a summer haunt of the city’s ‘tired denizen.’

Upon the west side the Palisade commences, a perpendicular wall, or to speak more scientifically, ‘a columnar escarpement,’ from three to eight hundred feet high, and two miles broad, thus continuing for twenty miles along the New Jersey side of the river. As you dabble in geology, I must not forget to tell you these rocks are of the trap formation, passing into green stone. Under it are layers of slate, sandstone, and grey limestone, much of which is used in the city and its neighborhood. Sloops were lying at the foot of the rocks, as we passed, taking in their load of sandstone flagging, or roofing slate for the use of the citizens. These sloops, which carry masts sixty or seventy feet high, show the height of these cliffs, as when seen anchored below them they appear like skiffs. A few stone-cutters have erected cottages upon the rocks, which might be taken for children’s houses. Shrubbery is seen in some spots, while a green fringe of trees is waving from the summit. These rocks have stood the brunt of that mighty torrent which wise men tell us once rushed over the country from the north-west, as if some lake had burst its barrier--for bowlders washed from the Palisades are seen in various parts of Manhattan Island and Long Island. To the alluvium brought down by this flood, we are indebted for Manhattan Island and Staten Island. What a pity ‘wise saws’ are out of fashion, or I could lengthen my epistle by telling what ‘modern instances’ these islands are, of the ‘good’ brought down by ‘ill winds.’

As we are both now tired of these Palisades, it is very pretty of them to retire as they do, into the country, making a fine back ground to the rich land lying upon the river’s bank, adorned with several picturesque townlets. These are Nyack, reclining upon a verdant slope; Haverstraw, nestled under a high, green promontory; and Tappan, which ought to have been first mentioned. This is, however, but the ‘landing’ of the town of that name, lying a few miles in the interior, and whose ‘heavens’ ought to be ‘hung with black,’ for the sake of the talented and unfortunate Andre, whose silver cord was here untimely loosed.

The river swells out into a broad lake, called Tappan sea, which ought to be spelled Tap-pann Zee. The west side I have described, except that from these towns the ground rises into an elevated green ridge of Haverstraw, and then descends gracefully to the water, ending in a low level spot, covered with a rich velvet sward, dotted with groups of oaks, and evergreens, among which a silver rivulet winds its happy way. This is very prettily called Grassy Point.

Upon our right hand we have smooth, lawn-like slopes, over which the buildings of Yonkers, Tarrytown, and Dobbs’ Ferry (harmonious sounds,) are straggling, or reposing in graceful groups upon every gentle swell. Sing Sing, with its long range of prisons, is before us; so called, I suppose, that the inhabitants of those abodes may have something cheerful about them. It is a lovely spot commanding a beautiful view of the river scenery--so lovely that I am almost tempted to be _wicked_, that I may be ordered to reside there, and sit like a Naiad sing singing upon a

“diamond rock,
Sleeking her soft alluring lock.”

That is all very well, you will say, when the rock is already cut out for you to sit upon; but where one is obliged to hew out one’s own rock, as do these woful sing-singers, it would be as well to abandon the place to the heroes who there do congregate. They quarry a white granular limestone which is used as building material. The antique Dutch church looks very well, seated upon an eminence; and Wolfert’s Roost, with its Dutch points and gables, the residence of the celebrated Irving, is another interesting object upon this shore.

Look behind you quickly, if you would take a last farewell of Staten Island, whose dark outline has, until now, filled up the back ground, although we are thirty miles from it. As we turn towards the narrow outlet between Stoney and Verplanck’s Points, the Palisades are sweeping around to the east, and rapidly shoving in their side scene between us and the Island. Now it is gone, and the Narrows are fast being covered, through which you might, if your eyes could see so far, descry the green ocean and its gallant barks. The river now seems a lake behind us, upon whose bright bosom a fleet of vessels, like a flock of birds, are skimming, and ducking, or reposing upon the water. Two _Points_ defend the entrance to the Highlands: Stony Point on the west, a bold rocky promontory, formed of fine horneblend granite rock, and surmounted by a light-house; Verplanck’s on the east presents a small village, containing a pretty fanciful hotel, and some lordly dwellings upon the elevated ground above. These are now behind us, and we find ourselves in the Grand Pass of the Highlands. Beautiful creations they are--high, green cones, sweeping gradually down to the water’s edge, where they sometimes appear a verdant precipice nearly two thousand feet high; or projecting their spurs into the river, and crossing each other so that the Hudson must wind hither and thither to follow the tortuous path between them. Various lights give new beauties to these hills. It is pleasant when the sun shines broad and bright upon them, to penetrate with your eye their green recesses, or endeavor to distinguish whether those bushes on the summit are indeed trees or no; and again when a cloud passes, running rapidly over the surface, the effect is very beautiful. As we were near the centre of the Pass, the sun was obscured, and a heavy shower clothed every thing with gloom.--Through the sombre light they seemed like giant mastadon or mammoth of olden times, couching down upon each side, musing upon the changes which have taken place upon this diluvial earth. The rain has ceased, and the mist has all retired into the mountain caves, save on one spot near the summit, where it lowering stands, like one of Ossian’s ghosts, whose wont it is, he tells us, to ‘fly on clouds, and ride on winds.’ Or, it may be the wandering spirit of some red warrior who has perished on these shores, and now haunts the scene of his former triumphs.

Upon a promontory jutting out from the river, are situated the Military Schools of West Point. It is a summer’s day well spent to ramble over that pretty spot. If you care not for the Schools, nor to see the orderly young cadets, you may admire the monument dedicated to Kosciusco, or walk in his garden as they call the spot where he used to ‘sit on rocks’ and muse upon the sweets of Liberty--or you may climb up to that ruined fortress crowning the summit of the mountain which overhangs the Point. From thence you have a fine view of all the rugged, cultivated, wild, adorned and varied country for miles around--and of that broad silver stream bearing upon its waters many a graceful vessel. The dusky peaks and dells, and undulations of the several mountains around are here distinctly seen.

The Dunderberg, where is the thunder’s home, raises its frowning head at the right, followed by Bare Mountain, Sugar Loaf, Bull’s Hill, Crow’s Nest, Butter Hill, Breakneck Hill, and many others bearing designations equally euphonius. Among these hills, beside West Point, are many spots famous in the history of our country. Do not be afraid, I am not going to begin ‘In the year 17--’ nor tell of the iron chain which bound Anthony by the nose to the Fort opposite; nor arouse your indignation by pointing to the chimneys of Arnold’s house; nor make you sad by speaking again of Andre; nor arouse your patriotism by relating the deeds here done in times of old. Let the past be _by-gones_; and turn to the present whose sun is shining down upon the pretty village of Cold Spring opposite to us, and upon that romantic white chapel dedicated to ‘Our Lady of Cold Spring,’ which is so tastefully perched upon a rock washed by the Hudson’s waters. At West Point is a depot of fossil enfusoria, and sulphur has also been found. Shooting out of the Highland Pass, we find ourselves in a broad expanse of water, presenting some of the prettiest views to be seen upon the river. Seated upon the elevations of the left bank are many towns; Newburgh being the most conspicuous as it is the largest: and it is built upon a high cliff of argillaceous slate, thus displaying its numerous houses and churches to advantage. The opposite shore presents a beautiful green mountain wall, the highest peak of which is 1689 feet above the river. At its foot reposes the smiling town of Fishkill.

I must not linger thus by the way. Remember I have four thousand miles to travel and the summer is passing. Imagine then to yourself a broad and beautiful river, skirted with cultivated country with often a mountainous back ground, and rich with ‘summer’s green emblazoned field’--and wafting upon its waters river-craft of all forms, from the lazy whaler returning after a four year’s cruise, to the little pleasure yacht. There are many towns on this river, one of which, Poughkeepsie, is rendered famous as being the place where Washington, Hamilton, Jay and Chancellor Livingston met, to compose the Constitution of the United States. The city of Hudson is agreeably situated upon the summit of a slaty cliff commanding a view of the Catskill mountains, and the town of Athens on the opposite bank of the river. Imagine, scattered like gems upon the borders of the stream, pretty villas of Grecian, Gothic and nondescript styles, the homes of the Livingstons, Dewitts, Ellisons, Verplancks, Van Renselears, Schuylers, and other gentlemen of taste and wealth. I saw nothing of those Dutch elves and fays which the genius of Irving has conjured up, among the dells and rocks of the Hudson--those creatures are unfortunately out of fashion; and one might as well look for them as for high heeled shoes. Perhaps they will come in with the ancient modes. If I thought so, I would immediately order hoop, train, cushion, buckle, high heel, and all the odious costume which rendered my ancestresses so hideous. Alas I fear the ‘mincing dryades’ with high crowned hats, are all departed--and no more--

“On the tawny sands and shelves,
Trip the pert fairies, and the dapper elves.”

Albany appears at great advantage seated upon a side hill, presenting a mass of imposing buildings surmounted by many a tall steeple, and crowned by the Capitol and City Hall, from whose gilded dome the evening sunbeams are brightly streaming.

I have said nothing about my gallant bark, nor my company--the first a large and rapid steamboat, arranged with satin cushioned and canopied saloons--the latter a mixture of all countries and sexes.

But we are at the wharf and I must put up my papers. Adieu.