Chapter V: Letter IV: JUNE 23d, 1840

_Dear E._--At ten o’clock, we entered the stage coach for Rochester, 70 miles distant. Among our passengers were two whom we had found extremely interesting, while journeying from Utica here--a clergyman of Massachusetts and his daughter. The Rev. N. T----r, was about seventy, but extremely active, and very cheerful. His conversation was instructive and agreeable and of course in a pious vein, for he had occupied the pulpit 47 years, as had his ancestors for 230 years back. There was such simplicity of heart about him, such piety, and kindness of manner, joined with elevated thought and deep learning that we lent a charmed ear to his discourse, during the whole day.

Our route lay through an exquisitely beautiful country, covered with cultivated farms and varied with pretty lakes and towns. The first lake we saw was Cayuga lake. It is from one to four miles broad, and thirty-eight long. It is a bright sheet of water, lying in a deep valley and from its surface its shores gently rise, covered with a fine farming country. We crossed the end of the lake over a bridge more than a mile long. So pure was the water that as we looked down upon it, we plainly beheld the trout swiming beneath.

Leaving the lake we passed through the pretty villages of Waterloo and Seneca Falls. Here the dark green Seneca river rushes foaming over a bed of rock, in a fall of forty seven feet. There are several mills and manufactories upon its borders, and we observed several churches, an academy, and many shops. Seneca! fair Seneca Lake, how can I describe the gentle beauties of thy varied shores, and of that pretty town which so adorns thy banks. This lake and its surrounding country, present a very lovely scene. There is nothing grand about the lakelet; you must not imagine it enclosed in the moutains of lakes George or Champlain; the style is petite and delicate. Its Indian name was Jensequa, which has been modernised into its present appellation. It is a placid, transparent sheet of water, of very great depth, 4 miles by 35 long, and is said never to be frozen over in the coldest winter. The road lay around the end of the lake, from whence the eye wound over its fair pellucid waters to its cultivated shores, adorned with handsome farm-houses, and country seats, and the massive buldings of the college which occupies a commanding elevation near the town--and the towers and steeples of the village peeping through the trees, as if to catch a glimpse of the waters below. We stopped at a small stage house in the lower and business end of the town, where we all descended from the stage while the operation of changing horses and stages was going on. A good sized parlor furnished with gay landscape paper received the female part of the passengers, while the restless _mankind part_, repaired to the shops, to inspect the manufactures of the town, or to refresh themselves at the soda-water, and ice-cream shops. Once more seated in our stage coach we ascended the hill, to the better portion of the town, where we passed through the principal avenue of the place, upon each side of which were arranged those pretty villas and gardens for which Geneva is so justly celebrated. There were several churches in view, and a new presbyterian half built. This, to us, was an interesting object, a token God was not forgotten by the busy people below, or the wealthy ones around us.

Canandaigua with its lake and street of villas received our commendations. There we dined at a very pretty and commodious Hotel, having a fine view of the lake from its windows. Some of the lake trout which appeared upon the table we found very fine. This lake is smaller than those we have passed being 14 miles long. The main street is nearly two miles long, and we drove through a mile of tasteful ‘garden-houses,’ surrounded by grounds laid out in a pleasing manner, adorned with flowers and fine shade trees. The country from thence to Rochester is very beautiful. Spotted with farms and villages, and woodlands covered with groves of maple, hickory, bass-wood, elm, and evergreen trees. It was nearly dark around us, when we were told the city was in view, and against the bright evening sky we beheld in the distance the towers and spires of Rochester. When we arrived we drove to the Rochester House. After some refreshment we bade our companions adieu; promising to meet at an early hour the next morning and drive over the town before we left it for Lockport--and then were glad to rest, for we had come a long day’s journey and in spite of good roads and commodious coaches, fine spirited horses, and good drivers, we were very much fatigued.

Well do the inspired writers compare man and his brief existence to a flower that early withereth--to a shadow--a cloud that quickly vanisheth--one day here, and the next gone. Truly saith Job, ‘thine eyes are upon me and _and I am not_,’ a just figure of man’s fleeting life. Never have I found the truth of these comparisons more striking than at the present moment. I told you of the amiable intellectual clergyman, who with his daughter agreed to meet us early this morning--when that morning came he was in eternity! At two o’clock last night we were aroused by a messenger from Miss T. saying her father was very ill. We followed the servant through the dark and lonely halls into the chamber where ‘the good man met his fate.’ Yes, all was over. Around the room in attitudes of mournful musing sat the keeper of the Hotel, some servants, and several ladies who had arisen to do all in their power to soothe the sufferer’s pains. All had been done that was possible, but in vain. Upon the bed, lay a silent corpse, whose countenance bespoke a death of agony--it was all that now remained of that good and kind old man, that tender father, whose refined manners and intellectual conversation, had charmed us so much the day before. But his high intellect, his talents, his agreeable converse, of what avail were they all to him now, had they not been joined to deep heart-felt piety, and been devoted to the interests of religion. He had died far from his home, with no friends near him except his daughter--his last hour passed away in a hotel among strangers--yet spare your sympathy, for he died happy. The everlasting arms were supporting him, a tender father was waiting to receive him in those heavenly mansions where death and sorrow can never come. He was going to no unknown region, he was to meet no stranger face, for his mind and his heart had ever been familiar with that celestial home, now to be his eternally--he knew a welcome awaited him from that Savior and that God, with whose spirit he had ever held communion through a long life spent in devotion and in acts of beneficence. It was the wish of the celebrated Archbishop Leighton that he might die at an inn, thus to be more forcibly reminded he was a pilgrim upon the earth--his wish was fulfilled, for he died at the Bell Inn, London.

With what terms of praise high enough shall I speak of the people of Rochester. When the news of this sad event spread, they surrounded the bereaved daughter with sympathizing hearts, and offers of service. The persons belonging to the house, and the boarders, with many physicians and clergymen with ther families, were anxious to cheer the heart of the sad survivor, and to lighten her mournful duties. The services of the Episcopal church were read over the body by the Rev. Mr. W. a young English clegyman of great talent and piety. The persons assembled near, seemed much affected with this solemn event. May God bless this sudden providence to them and to us. Uniting in a procession we accompanied the corpse to the canal boat, where bidding adieu to Miss T. we left her to pursue her dreary journey of five hundred miles, accompanied only with hired attendants. With what comfort did we see in her the power of religion elevating the soul above the trials and sorrows of life. Nothing else could have supported this bereaved daughter through so heart-rending a dispensation. But she knew in whom she believed. She saw from whom the blow came, and her faith told her it was done in mercy. As we were to leave Rochester the next morning, some of our kind friends called that afternoon and insisted upon driving us through the town. It being our only chance of seeing this celebrated city, we accepted their kindness, although the scenes of the morning had unfitted us for anything but retirement.

As we drove along we were astonished at the extent and beauty of this city. It was you know founded in 1812, and now contains 22,000 inhabitants. We had heard of its rapid rise, but supposed it must consist mostly of wooden buildings as is often the case in new settlements, and our surprise was the greater to find it built in the most solid manner. Churches, houses, hotels and banks, court house and arcade, markets were all of marble or stone. There are here fourteen churches[2] some of them quite handsome. The Episcopal Church of St. Paul’s, is a fine gothic edifice of grey stone--the church which enjoys the ministration of the Rev. Mr. W. mentioned above, is also handsome, of gothic form, neatly edged with brown free stone--the presbyterian is of grey plaster supported by substantial abutments--the baptist, where Mr. C. officiates, one of our active friends of the morning; a neat brick edifice--also catholic, methodist and bethel for the canal men. The streets are many of them McAdamized. There is a fine park here surrounded by neat railings where the children of the neighborhood are brought to take exercise. But what most elicited our admiration were the private dwellings, which in number and beauty are seldom equalled in our cities. They are spacious, built of marble or stone, in gothic or grecian form surrounded by wings and piazzas, and out-buildings and grounds handsomely laid out, adorned with shade trees, shrubbery and flowers. They are delightful retreats from the city’s dust and noise; make fine playgrounds for the children, and altogether evince much taste and wealth. How much better is it for men of fortune, to secure for themselves and families, pure air and room for exercise, instead of squeezing, as they do in our city, into houses only 30 by 100 feet, as is too much the custom in our cities. The wealth lavished upon gay entertainments would procure space where their children might gain health and strength. A frolic upon the green sward is much more conducive to health, than a sober city walk beside a nurse. I often see these palid pitiable little creatures in our streets walking as gravely and demurely as some old octogenarian. A child without gaiety is as cheerless as a landscape without sun.

The Genesee river divides the city into two parts, and is crossed by three bridges and the two aqueducts of the Erie canal. The oldest of these is a very fine piece of hewn stone work 804 feet long supported by eleven raches. They were building another aqueduct, which is 858 feet long and 28 in height[3], and the music of the rushing river was almost drowned by the mason’s hammer.

Beside this canal there is another called the Genesee valley canal from Rochester to Olean, 119 miles. The Genesee falls are very pretty, consisting of rapids through the city, and in the suburbs it plunges over a circular rock into a deep dell. The whole fall through the city is 268 feet; 97 at the cascade. There is another cataract farther down the river, which falls 106 feet. This is at Carthage, two miles below, and here is the port at which the lake steamboats stop. A rail road runs to this place. There was not much water in the river, and we did not see the falls in their greatest perfection, but still there was great beauty in the feathery foam which fell in snowy masses over the dark rock. These cliffs are old red stone and limestones--with feruginous sand rock, and argillaceous iron ore; supposed by geologists to be equivalent to the Caradoc series. Upon the summit of the cliff opposite to us was a range of solid stone mills, from whence we obtain that fine Genessee flour, ground from the wheat in the fertile region around. Five hundred thousand barrels of flour are turned out in a year. There are twenty-two of these mills. The little streams which trickle down the rocks, are stolen from the river to turn the wheels. Our kind friends were anxious to drive us to Mount Hope, a celebrated cemetery a few miles from the city, but time was wanting for this and many other proposed pleasures. A distant view of Lake Ontario is said to be obtained from this hill. We returned home through some of the business streets, which, particularly Maine and Buffalo, were filled with busy people, waggons of home or foreign produce, while the long ranges of shops were gay with dry goods hanging from the doors, and piled with every comfort and luxury. Stages were landing or taking up passengers, canal boats were arriving and departing and every thing we saw denoted a striving and thriving population.