The last ten miles of our course, as we urged our way on to Ypsilanti, lay through a country of a totally different character. I almost felt as though I was again travelling through a section of Illinois, though there were more signs of cultivation around me than I any where saw there. Our road now became fine, and we swept along through the oak openings, and by the side of successive fields of beautifully ta.s.selled corn, luxuriant oats, and yellow bending wheat, with a speed which soon brought us to the place of our destination. Ypsilanti is a neat country village, built on Huron river, and contains a population of nearly two thousand.

_July 27th._

We started yesterday morning from Ypsilanti, directing our course towards Ann Arbour. We found the country through which we pa.s.sed, rich and beautiful, and bearing every where incontestible evidence that it was a soil which would remunerate the agriculturalist for every stroke struck upon its bosom.

_Ann Arbour_ also stands on Huron river, and is a very pleasant village containing nearly three thousand inhabitants. There is here an Episcopal Church, which has been recently erected, that stands beautifully embosomed in a grove of oaks. Immediately adjoining the plot of ground on which the church is built, an acre of land which cost one thousand dollars, has been purchased by a gentleman residing, I believe, in Monroe, who purposes to erect upon it a neat and commodious dwelling for the use of the rector, and to convey it to the parish corporation as a parsonage. To this n.o.ble act of munificence he was prompted from his love of the Redeemer's cause, and an ardent desire for the success and establishment of our church in Michigan.

He saw that if there was a house provided for the rector, the parish would soon be able to provide the means for his support, and that thus the ministrations of the Gospel would be permanently secured to this people.

How many men there are within the bounds of our church, who could in like manner, with the utmost ease, bestow a few thousand dollars, and secure to feeble churches the certainty of future ministrations of the word, while at the same time they would be adding unspeakably to the comfort of a body of men who are wearing themselves out in the service of the Lord, and by their exhausting labours and toil to rescue sinners from death, are preparing themselves for a premature grave! Sure I am, when these opulent men, stand at last before G.o.d and the Lamb, and behold the resplendent crown of glory which Jesus has purchased for them by his toil and tears, and sweat and blood--when they look down into the depths of that h.e.l.l from which he has rescued them, and up to the heights of that heaven to which he is about to exalt them, and when that same Jesus points to such an act of munificence, and says, _Inasmuch as ye did it for the least of these my ministers, ye did it unto me_, oh then I am sure they will not regret the few thousand dollars they have given to Christ! Would to G.o.d that many professors of religion, who have already wealth enough to ruin all their children, and are still holding back their pecuniary means and h.o.a.rding them up, refusing to consecrate any part of them to Christ, would think seriously of this, would meditate frequently on the scenes of that day.

Our course from Ann Arbour was towards Ore Creek. The country through which we pa.s.sed was somewhat undulating, and upon the whole a very fine agricultural district. No where in the west have I seen better crops. The yellow golden wheat, the bearded and densely standing barley, the luxuriant oats, and stout corn, as they were spread out before the eye in vast fields rapidly succeeding each other, and gently waving in the summer breeze, presented a scene full of interest, and bore indisputable testimony in relation to the excellence and fertility of the soil. The point to which we were directing our course was _North Green Oak_. We had already travelled some thirty miles, and were now within the limits of this town. Night was coming on, and we were yet some four miles from the place which I wished to reach. As it would be dark before our arrival, and the road was rough, and it was uncertain whether we could all be accommodated for the night at the place to which I was directing my course, it was decided as a matter of prudence, that Mr. and Mrs. R----, who had kindly accompanied me in their carriage, should remain at the log inn which we had already reached, and whose quaint sign was "CALL AND C," while the driver, mounting one horse, and myself the other, should go on to find the house of my friend. I scarcely need say that we had now reached a very new country. It was with difficulty that we could muster a saddle in the neighbourhood; but at length one was found, and we set out, bidding adieu to our friends for the night. During the first two miles our path lay chiefly through the forest: we however pa.s.sed in that distance three houses; at the last house, which was on the borders of a lake, we stopped to enquire for the residence of my friend. We were told he lived almost two miles on the other side of the lake, that there was no road save the track of a wagon, and that as our path was a blind one, it was very uncertain whether we should find the way.

We tried to get some one to go with us as our guide, but there was no one at home but women and children. It was already dark, our path was through the thick woods, and as the last rays of twilight were fast fading away, we had no time to lose. We rode rapidly on, and were soon buried in the dense forest. We had not proceeded more than a mile before we lost every trace of our path, but after riding around awhile among the bushes we again struck upon the track, and were able to advance a little further. Soon, however, in consequence of the increasing darkness, we were again at fault, and knew not which way to proceed. We dismounted, and having searched for awhile on our hands and knees, succeeded in discovering the track of a wagon wheel, which we followed till it led us into a small oak opening. We had gone but a few paces, however, on our way, before the path, which had now become more distinct, diverged into two branches, the one leading into the dense forest, and the other descending into a low marsh. It now became a grave question which path we were to take. We were far away from any human habitation; it was doubtful whether we could retrace our steps, even if we attempted to return; the night was dark, sultry, and hot, the deep forest was around us, the musquitoes were biting us most unmercifully, and we had not provided ourselves with the means of striking a light to kindle a fire.

The idea of spending the night, therefore, unsheltered in the woods under these circ.u.mstances, was not altogether agreeable. What added to our embarra.s.sment was that if we took either path and were able to follow it, we knew not but we might be going so much farther from the place where we would be. The driver, who was now my only companion, proposed to lift up his voice and halloo, thinking that if any one was within hearing distance, we should receive an answer. But though the woods rung to the shout, and echoed back his voice, no other response was returned.--All was still and silent around us as though we were in some vast and boundless solitude. At length we determined to advance as far as we could trace the track of a wheel through the marsh, and if our path did not lead us to the place where we would be, to return and try the other. We had not proceeded far amid the high gra.s.s before we ascended a hill, and again entered the woods. Our road now became more distinct, but whether it was leading us in the right direction we knew not. At length my eye caught the glimmering of a taper; at first I thought it might be only the phosph.o.r.escent light of the fire-fly, swarms of which had been hovering around our path. A second look, however, convinced me that it was indeed the light of a taper we saw. I cannot describe the emotions that then thronged around my heart. I thought at that moment of those words of Cowper, and could in some measure understand their meaning, and conceive of the feelings of a lost sinner, upon whose benighted path the first glimmering of hope fell.

"I see, or think I see A glimmering from afar, A beam of day that shines for me, To save me from despair."

We now rode on with speed, and were soon by the side of a log cottage. It was the very place which we had been seeking. All anxiety was now at an end, and the glad welcome so cordially tendered, and the well-known face glowing with looks of kind recognition, made all the care and toils of the evening appear as naught. Here was a family around me, consisting in all of some ten or twelve in number, apparently contented and happy in a log cabin. They had a single room below and a sort of garret above it. The last time that I saw them was in an elegant three story house, in East Broadway, in New York. I know not that they appeared more happy then than they did this evening. They expected soon to have a better and more commodious domicil, which they were erecting but even with their present dwelling place they were contented. Truly happiness is in the mind, and they whose hopes are on G.o.d, and who feel that they are in the path of duty can be happy in spite of all external circ.u.mstances.

The sun was shining brightly the next morning as we retraced our way, and joined our friends at the log tavern. Our course was then towards Pontiac, which we reached just at the close of the day. We pa.s.sed through a beautiful country rendered truly picturesque and romantic by the chain of little lakes that stretch through this section of the state. The banks of these lakes are high and shaded, affording the most delightful spots for residence. The waters are pure and limpid, and filled with the finest fish.

We must have pa.s.sed during our journey at least twenty of these lakes.

Pontiac is as beautiful a village for size as I saw in Michigan.

_Friday, July 28th._

On our way to Detroit we stopped to-day at Troy, to visit our old friend, the Rev. Mr. H----, who is leading a little flock onward in their heavenly journey.

CHAPTER XII.

TOUR FROM THE WEST.

The Romanists--Miracles--Indians--Captain M---- The unhappy sailor--Toledo--Cleveland--Buffalo--Niagara Falls.

_Detroit, Monday, July 31._

The Roman Church has been supposed to be very strong here, but from inquiries that I every where made, I am still more confirmed in the belief that the papists at the west are making very little impression upon the Protestant population. While they are attempting much, and with sinuous effort endeavoring to identify themselves with every interest, they in fact as yet, with all their marvellous reports to the Leopold Society, have done but very little. That system cannot bear the light. It flourishes best under arbitrary governments, and amid the thick darkness of ignorance. The experiment is now making in this country, whether it can live and flourish in Protestant and republican America without losing its essential and most obnoxious features. The remark was made to me by a highly intelligent man in Detroit, "that the absurdities that were swallowed ten years ago by the Catholics there would be hooted at now." In ill.u.s.tration of this remark, he went on to say, that about eleven years since he was present at the cathedral where the former bishop was preaching, and endeavoring to prove the doctrine of transubstantiation. Among other evidences to which he referred was the following: "A few years previous," said this mitred prelate, "in a certain city in Europe, a profane person procured one of the consecrated wafers, and with carnal curiosity, after leaving the church, broke it in two, when instantly a stream of blood issued forth, which ran down his clothes, and stained his apparel. He went home in great affright, but the stream of blood still flowed, and ceased not till in haste he returned to the priest, and confessed his sin; then the crimson stream was dried up, and its stain from his person removed." "This," said the bishop, "happened in such a city, and there is such an individual now present who lived in that city at the time, to whom you can refer for corroboration."

"It would be the utter ruin of their prospects," said my informant, "for a bishop or a Roman Catholic priest to make such an a.s.sertion at the present time. There is too much light now, even among the papists, to listen to such a ridiculous story for a moment."

There is one point of view in which it is infinitely important that Detroit, and many other towns situated similar with it, should have pervading it a high sense of religious feeling. I speak with reference to the influence which the tone of its morals must, and does exert upon the many hundreds of Indians that annually visit it. These red men of the woods are forming their opinions of Christianity from what they see at Detroit, and St. Louis, and many of our western towns. They see among the white population every thing to lead them to turn away with disgust from a religion, professed to be drawn from the Bible. Their depraved natures readily lead them to lay hold of the vices that abound among us, and they go back to their tribes, carrying the impression that these are among the fruits of Christianity. It is painful to see how degraded many of them become in their intercourse with what is called civilized society.

Intemperance is the vice which they most readily fall into. Under its baneful influence they seem to lose all the natural and n.o.ble traits of their character. I saw in Detroit a stout built Indian playing the _merry Andrew_ through the streets, hawking about a lump of ice, as though it were a loaf of sugar, and calling for the highest bidder. As he staggered by I could not but think how different he appeared from the native son of the forest; that manly and n.o.ble bearing, that graceful and elastic step, that grave, serious, and dignified look which sat so well upon the native Indian's brow, and marked him as one of nature's true n.o.blemen, was gone and he had become a poor, degraded, drunken outcast and was trying to pick up a few pennies by making himself a laughing stock to a crowd of idle boys! What formidable barriers do the vices that still remain incorporated with Christian communities present, to hinder the progress and extension of the Redeemer's kingdom!

While at Detroit I met with two incidents, which I noted down at the time, and which it may not be improper to record here. The one was an interview with Captain M----, the popular author of several recent novels who is now making the tour of the lakes. The gentleman whose kind hospitalities I was sharing, had met with him on his way from Buffalo, and had also after his arrival at Detroit, called to pay him his respects. It was certainly civil in the captain to have returned the call, but it was shocking to the feelings of Christian sensibility, that the time selected for this reciprocation of civility, was during the sacred hours of the Sabbath.

Capt. M---- could not attend the place of public worship, for the day was to be employed in returning his calls. He appeared to be addressing himself to this in a business-like way. With a friend as his guide, and a carriage to convey him, he was proceeding from street to street, carrying with him his long list of names, and a bundle of visiting cards. All this was done, of course, to show that he appreciated the attentions and civilities he had received. When will men show as much respect to G.o.d and his inst.i.tutions, as they do to the worms of the dust around them?

The other incident was of a still more painful character. On the same Sunday, just at the close of the day, there pa.s.sed my window, a face that called up the recollection of one whom I supposed had long since been numbered with the dead. My first acquaintance with him was at the commencement of my ministry. His father's residence occupied one of the loveliest spots I had ever beheld on the bank of Lake Ontario. The house and garden, and court yards, all indicated ease and opulence. This young man was then a youth, the only son of his father, and cherishing large expectations in relation to future wealth. He had been reared up under the eye of a fond mother, who "would not let the winds of heaven blow too roughly" upon him. His disposition was naturally amiable and vivacious, and there were many to admire and caress him. But suddenly his prospects were darkened. It was discovered that his father's estate was covered with mortgages, and his affairs embarra.s.sed beyond redemption. One piece of property went after another, till the beautiful family residence was alienated, and bankruptcy and poverty seemed now staring them in the face.

Mr. ---- had reserved a single farm unenc.u.mbered, which he now promised to give his son. The young man, with a truly n.o.ble spirit, determined to accommodate himself to the circ.u.mstances around him, and entered with hearty zeal upon the cultivation of his farm with his own hands. He had just become acquainted with some of the more common agricultural operations and began to look forward to humble independence, when the astounding fact was disclosed, that this farm too was under a heavy mortgage. In the straitened circ.u.mstances in which Mr. ---- found himself, he had been led to forget his promise to his son, and to alienate his last acre of land.

The young man's spirit seemed broken. He had unhappily contracted the habit of moderate drinking. On his father's sideboard, while he was yet a boy, there always stood a decanter of brandy, and every visitor who made a morning, afternoon, or evening call, was urged to drink. The father and son, to encourage their guests always drank with them. Thus this young man contracted a love for ardent spirits. It was now the season of darkness and depression with him. The mother who had watched over his childhood, had gone down to the grave. The riches in which they once rolled, had taken to themselves wings and flown away. The fond hopes he had cherished of rising by his own industry, had been crushed. Poverty was staring them in the face. This young man was without employment. Several years pa.s.sed by, and the prospects of this family did not brighten in a single particular. At length the father went abroad. His family were left behind to shift for themselves. He never returned. The son became more and more dissipated, till in a fit of desperation he went to New York, and embarked on board of a ship as a common sailor. Many a father and mother who knew this promising young man, and witnessed his career up to this point, when they looked around upon their own infant band, sighed and shook their heads, painfully feeling that they could not tell what their children would come to. Young ---- went to the East Indies, and, it was said, was lost during the voyage.

I had never heard of him since. But as I sat by the window at this time, the countenance and form of one that pa.s.sed by, so strongly reminded me of him, that I sent out a young lad to overtake him, and invite him to come in. There soon entered one in complete sailor's dress, with loose pantaloons, round-about coat, and tarpaulin hat, swaggering along, evidently under the influence of intoxicating drink. He looked at me for a moment, and then uttered my name! What was my astonishment and amazement!

Was this the gifted and talented young ----, whom I had first met in the dwelling of courtly splendor--from whose father's hands I had received so many expressions of kindness and acts of hospitality--over whose pleasure-grounds, amid delightful shade and shrubbery, I had so often roamed? Was this that n.o.ble, gifted boy, in relation to whom such high hopes were formed, and who had naturally such generous and kind feelings? I had thought the waves of the deep had long since rolled over him! But no, there he stood, a perfect wreck of what he once was. His eye was gla.s.sy, and his breath fetid and offensive beyond endurance. He seemed to be conscious of the degradation he had brought upon himself, and by an evident struggle and effort of will, did succeed in throwing off the symptoms of present inebriety. I found that he had visited every part of the world, and had suffered every thing but death. He had been imprisoned in Chili, and cast away on the sh.o.r.es of western Africa. I spoke to him about his soul.

He seemed much affected, and shed tears. After a few moment's pause, he said, "I have been a very wicked fellow, but I have never lost the early impressions I had in relation to my responsibility to G.o.d. The little Testament my sister gave me, I have kept when stript of every thing else. I have read it when the other sailors around me were asleep. I knew they did'nt understand my feelings, and they would only laugh at me. I have often prayed, but then I would soon become as wicked as ever. I have thought of you, sir, often, and of the sermons I used to hear. When I sat naked on the burning sand in Africa, I thought of many serious things, which I had heard from your lips, and I tried to pray. Yes, that was an awful time! We were cast away--our vessel was lost--three or four of us got ash.o.r.e and were saved. But we were immediately stript of every rag of covering, and for three months I wandered over the sands of Africa, naked as when I came into the world, and living as I could s.n.a.t.c.h a little fruit here and there. I at length found my way to Liberia, and was sent to America by the Governor of that colony."

He then told me that for several years past, he had been on the lakes. I asked him if he was happy. He said "No, never, except in a storm, when every thing around me seems going to destruction. Then I become excited and feel a sort of mad happiness." I entreated him to bethink himself of his ways, and turn unto the Lord. He said he did not think it would do any good; that he was too far gone, and that if he prayed ever so much, or made ever so many resolutions, in a few days he was as bad as ever. I endeavored to point out where the difficulty lay. He went to church with me that evening, and seemed solemn and affected. Poor fellow, I know not what will be his end! I fear there are many youths of our land going on just in this same path.

_Cleveland, August 2d._

Yesterday I took leave of Detroit on board the steamboat "United States"

for this place, which we reached this morning. On our way here, we visited Toledo, in Ohio, which stands on the Maumee River, about ten miles from its mouth. This is a place of some notoriety, but although we stopped there several hours, I found very little to interest me. There were not a few indications that it was a place where iniquity abounded. Though a place of considerable size, the inst.i.tutions of the gospel have found very little foothold as yet. I was told, though I cannot vouch for the correctness of the account, that some time ago, when an effort was about being made to establish some religious society here, a public meeting was called, and they voted that they would have no such thing in their town. I hope they have come to a better mind before this.

Just before we entered the Maumee River, we pa.s.sed a light house that had been erected on a bare and barren bank of sand, of about an acre in extent, which had risen up in the midst of the surrounding waters. On this barren spot there is a solitary dwelling, the residence, I presume, of the keeper of the light-house. There is something very striking in this lonely residence, pitched in the midst of a wild waste of waters, and forcibly reminded me of the state of the Christian in this life, whose habitation is often in some desolate place, some lonely spot amid a surrounding moral desert, but always where he can answer some useful end, can tend upon some light-house to direct the path of tempest-tost mariners towards the haven of rest.

We also touched in our way to Cleveland at Sandusky City and Huron. It was my original intention to stop at one of these places, and make an excursion through the northern part of Ohio, taking Gambier in my circuit. I felt an increased desire to visit that place, after learning as I did in Michigan, the important influence the inst.i.tution there is silently exerting upon the west, but I found it necessary to deny myself this pleasure for the want of time. From what I heard of Kenyon College, I should think that the standard of attainment there was very high, and that they had wisely guarded against the custom too common in the west of hurrying the student through a rapid and superficial course of studies, and conferring upon him a degree at a time when he ought to be regarded as a _soph.o.m.ore_. The course of studies at this inst.i.tution is very thorough, and the faculty able and talented.

Kenyon College cannot fail to prove a most powerful auxiliary to the cause of learning and religion in the west, and its influence for the interests of the Episcopal Church will be more extended than any of us of the present generation can compute.

With Cleveland I have been decidedly pleased. It is princ.i.p.ally built on a high table of land, that looks boldly off upon the far-stretching and majestic waters of Erie. It has a population of about eight thousand; its houses are generally handsome and well built. It is separated from Ohio City by the Cuyahoga river, a stream into which the steamboats run up, which stop at Cleveland. Ohio City is a pleasant town, having between two and three thousand inhabitants. They are here erecting a fine stone edifice for an Episcopal Church. This place appears to bear the same relation to Cleveland that Brooklyn does to New York. Unhappily there is no small jealousy between the two places, which it is hoped the experience of a few years will cure. Some of the streets in the eastern part of Cleveland, looking off upon the lake, are beautiful beyond the power of description.

_Niagara Falls, August 3d._

In pa.s.sing from Cleveland to Buffalo over Erie's green waters, we touched at several interesting points, but I omit any description of them or of Buffalo, which has grown up into a large and beautiful city. I have spent the day most delightfully here, silently musing on these vast waters that leap with giant stride over this mighty precipice of rock. I had thought that these falls, when I first gazed upon them from Table Rock, some four years since, possessed all the conceivable elements of sublimity, but I never understood their full grandeur and majesty till I looked at them to-day, and remembered that the water of all those lakes upon which I had travelled more than a thousand miles, was pouring in one gathered column over that precipice! Then, immediately, I felt that the tremendous roar, that rose deafening around me, was the voice of G.o.d! I saw that it was His hand that had gathered those waters, and poured them with such resistless force over that vast precipice, and the thought then flashed upon my mind, "How will he speak to impenitent sinners when he riseth up to judgment? How will they escape from his mighty hand when he poureth out his fury like fire?"

Just then a rainbow met my eye that lay beautifully pencilled on the foaming flood below. I remembered it was the bow of promise; and new emotions of grat.i.tude were waked up in my heart, when, at the very moment I was surrounded with such demonstrations of almighty power, and such vivid proof that G.o.d could with the breath of his mouth hurl the guilty down to bottomless perdition, I was reminded by the bow that lay on the bosom of the foaming gulf, that through the mercy of G.o.d in Christ there was a way for poor sinners to escape! Oh that they might be prevailed upon to lay hold of the hope set before them, and not rush madly on to the precipice of eternal death!

CHAPTER XIII.

WESTERN NEW YORK.

Niagara Falls--Rochester--Canandaigua--Geneva--Seneca Lake--The moonlit heavens--Departed friends--The clergyman's son--The candidate for the ministry--A beloved brother--My departed mother--Geneva College--The Sabbath.

_Geneva, Aug. 9th._

Every man who has visited Niagara Falls, that scene of enchantment, remembers with what difficulty he tore himself from the spot. To every mind that has any sensibility--any relish for the grand and sublime, every island and grove, every stone and tree, every green bank and shaded nook around that mighty cataract, is a charmed spot. Go to what point you may, to take your last look at the falls, whether it be on the British or American side--whether you stand on Table Rock or Goat Island--whether you look out from the top of the observatory that has been reared with daring intrepidity on the edge of the foaming current and the brow of the Falls, or look up from the foot of the vast cataract, and see a world of waters plunging in one animated, leaping ma.s.s from the heights above, you will feel as you gaze there to bestow your last lingering look, that the hand of some giant power has laid a spell upon all the scene around you, and chained you to the spot. You may tear yourself from this scene, but it is with the feeling with which you separate yourself from, and bid adieu to the loved one of your heart. Your eye and your thoughts oft turn back to catch another glimpse of that which you fear is fading from your view for ever.

Have you not sometimes in your journeyings, taken your leave with great reluctance from some dear family circle, who gathered around you at the door, and followed you while you could yet see them with every demonstration of kindness and interest? At length a turn in the road shut them from your view, and you went on your way musing on the past, and thinking perhaps you would never meet them more till you met them with the ransomed on high. While you moved on indulging in a pensive train of reflection, your path took another turn, and brought the mansion you left again to view, and showed you your friends still watching your course, whose waving hands and handkerchiefs testified that their hearts were with you, though their voices could no longer reach your ear. It was somewhat so with us, when on _Friday morning the fourth of August_, we started in the railroad cars from the Falls, bound to Lockport. The course of the railroad for some distance lies along on the bank of Niagara river, every now and then revealing to us the swift and green waters of the stream as it leaps along its deep-worn channel, some hundred feet below. We had proceeded thus a mile or two, when suddenly by a turn of the river, the entire view of the Falls was again brought before us. The eye was now able to take in the whole scene at a single glance, and no view of Niagara appeared more impressive than this. You could distinctly trace the rapids above the Falls, see the foaming current urging its way on like the angry billows of the ocean, till it reached the dreadful leap, and then gracefully and majestically sliding off from the edge of the precipice to the vast abyss below in one beautiful and vast column of emerald green. Below you saw, as in one great cauldron, the whole river boiling up in white and milky appearance, and then winding off in its deep channel, till at length it again a.s.sumed its native hue of green. The islands and groves, and wild scenery that environ this wonder of the world, were all gathered in one rich group distinctly before the eye. Who can look on such a scene and not remember its Creator? What must be the glories which G.o.d will reveal to his ransomed and sanctified people in the celestial world, when he allows to linger here amid the defilements and desolations of sin such traces of surpa.s.sing beauty and loveliness!

We took Rochester in our way, and thence directed our course by stage to Canandaigua, which, with its tasteful court-yards, and beautiful houses, and elegantly shaded streets, reminds one of a beauteous, gemmed, and highly adorned bride that has retired from the festal scene, and is seeking repose in some rural bower. The country through which we rode from Rochester to Geneva is in a high state of cultivation, and the rich fields of waving grain around one makes him feel at every step that he is pa.s.sing through the garden of America. We reached Geneva in the early part of the afternoon. There is not a lovelier spot beneath the far-expanded sky for the site of a village than the banks of the Seneca. Though the business part of the village is situated princ.i.p.ally on the northwest corner of the lake, by far the most beautiful part of the town stretches along on the western bank which rises some fifty or hundred feet above the quiet waters of this beautiful lake. Here a street runs along parallel with the lake, and the most delightful residences are built up on either side. Almost every dwelling has before it a fine court-yard filled with shrubbery and ornamented with flowers. And those built on the brow of the lake have gardens terraced down to the water's edge.

The lake is here some three miles wide, stretching off forty miles to the south, and presenting on the opposite side a beautiful and finely-cultivated country. On this street, looking off upon this lovely sheet of water, stands the college. As we recede to the west the land rises by gentle and successive undulations for a mile or two, furnishing on the summit of these successive ridges the most delightful locations for residences, from some of which you have brought within the ken of your eye the whole village and lake, and country beyond. I have already partially described the street that runs along on the western bank of the lake, which is adorned and shaded with trees, and on which the college and princ.i.p.al churches are built. Farther west and running parallel with this is another street inferior in beauty, but peculiarly attractive to me, as at its northern extremity is situated the old burying ground, where sleeps the dust of many, many dear friends.