Lydia H. Sigourney. Scenes in My Native Land. Boston: James Munroe & Co., 1844.
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p. 229 | REMOVAL OF AN ANCIENT MANSION. |
REMOVAL OF AN ANCIENT MANSION.
Where art thou, old Friend?
When last
This familiar haunt I past,
Thou didst seem in vigorous cheer,
As like to stand, as any here,
With roof-tree firm, and comely face
Well preserved in attic grace,
On columns fair, thine arches resting,
Among thy trees the spring-birds nesting;
Hast thou vanished? Can it be,
I no more shall gaze on thee?
Casements, whence the taper's ray
Glittered o'er the crowded way,
Where embalmed in fragrant dew
Peered the snowy lilac through,
Chimnies, whence the volumed smoke
Of thy warm heart freely spoke,
Fallen and gone! No vestige left,
Stone from stone asunder reft,
While a chasm, with rugged face,
Yawns and darkens in thy place.
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p. 230 | REMOVAL OF AN ANCIENT MANSION. |
Threshold! which I oft have prest, More a habitant than guest, For their blessed sakes who shed Oil of gladness on my head, Brows with hoary wisdom drest, Saints, who now in glory rest, Fain had I, though tear-drops fell, Said to thee one kind farewell, Fain with tender, grateful sigh, Thanked thee for the days gone by. Hearth-stone! where the ample fire Quelled Old Winter's fiercest ire, While its blaze reflected clear On the friends who gathered near, On the pictures quaint and old, Thou of quiet pleasures told; Knitting-bag, and storied page, Precepts grave from lips of age, Made the lengthened evening fleet Lightly, with improvement sweet. Fallen dome! beloved so well, Thou could'st many a legend tell, Of the chiefs of ancient fame, Who to share thy shelter came. Rochambeau and La Fayette Round thy plenteous board have met,
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p. 231 | REMOVAL OF AN ANCIENT MANSION. |
With Columbia's mightier son, Great and glorious Washington. Here, with kindred minds they planned Rescue for an infant land, While the British Lion's roar Echoed round the leagured shore. He, who now where cypress weeps, On Mount Vernon's bosom sleeps Once in council grave and high Shared thy hospitality, When the sound of treason drear, Arnold's treason, met his ear. Heart, that ne'er in danger quailed, Lips that ne'er had faltered paled, As the Judas' image stole Shuddering, o'er his noble soul, As he sped, like tempest's shock, On, to West-Point's periled rock. Beauty here, with budding pride, Blossomed into youth and died; Manhood towered with ruling mind, Age, in reverent arms declined, Bridals bright, and burials dread, From thy gates their trains have sped; But thy lease of time is run, Closed thy date, thy history done.
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p. 232 | REMOVAL OF AN ANCIENT MANSION. |
All are vanished, all have fled,
Save the memories of the dead,
These with added strength adhere
To the hearts that year by year
Feebler beat, and fainter glow,
Till they rest in turf below,
Till their place on earth shall be
Blotted out, old dome, like thee.
Other fanes, 'neath favoring skies,
(Blessings on them!) here may rise,
Other groups, by hope be led,
(Blessings on them!) here to tread,
Yet of thee, their children fair
Nothing wot, and nothing care;
So a form that soon must be
Numbered with the past like thee,
Rests with pilgrim-staff awhile,
On thy wreck, deserted pile,
And the dust that once was thine,
Garners for affection's shrine.
------
The mansion that gave a subject to the foregoing lines, was erected in 1733, by the Rev. Daniel Wadsworth, the pastor of the first congregational church in Hartford, Connecticut. It was connected with both the ecclesiastical and civil history of early times; being, while the residence of his son, Col. Jeremiah Wadsworth, the scene of frequent consultations between
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p. 233 | HISTORICAL RECOLLECTIONS. |
the officers of the American and French armies, during the war that achieved our independence. Washington, who highly valued him as a friend, was a guest in his house, when Arnold's treachery was consummated, and reached West Point, just after the flight of the traitor. The plan of the southern campaign is supposed to have been laid in one of its chambers. When La Fayette, in 1824, received the glad welcome of a country, which his youthful heroism had aided to save, vivid recollections were restored, by a visit to this abode. He was able, notwithstanding the long interval that had south front chamber, where so many important councils had been held, affecting both the fortunes of war, and the destinies of our infant nation.
This venerable dwelling was unpretending, though respectable in its exterior, and had received additions at different times, as the state of its hosuehold required. The latest erection was of several chambers in the rear, supported on heavy brick columns, through whose white rows the moonbeams, in a fine evening, had a singularly pleasing effect. The premises were surrounded by enclosures, adorned with shrubbery and trees, and by a garden of flowers, fruits, and various families of those herbs, whose friendly natures have affinity with health.
Everything in the interior of the house was adapted to promote the comfort of its inmates. During the long and cold winters, clear wood-fires diffused
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p. 234 | ANCIENT HOUSEKEEPING. |
their genial warmth through all its inhabited parts, the anthracite not having then effected a lodgment. There might be seen that perfection of ancient house-keeping, which, combining liberality with a just economy, studied the convenience of all, and kept every one at their post of duty. In those times the mistress, not deeming it beneath the dignity of a lady to know how to superintend every department of her own domicile, wisely ruled all its clock-work springs, and by establishing order and punctuality, prevented that greatest of all prodigality, the waste of time.
There, in the place of his birth, the Hon. J. Wadsworth died, held in high respect as a man of noble mind and energy of character, conspicuous in camp and council, who served his country both in war and peace, at home and in foreign climes. He sustained the office of Commissary, during the greater part of the revolutionary contest, and after the consolidation of the government, took his seat in the halls of Congress. He was especially a benefactor to his native city, where his public spirit gave him great influence, and where it was his delight to aid industry and talent, struggling against the obstacles of poverty, or an obscure station.
There his sisters, whom he made happy by every proof of fraternal affection, passed their lives and departed, at an advanced age, held in affectionate remembrance by all who knew them. They were distinguished by heartfelt piety, and an integrity that
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p. 235 | ANCIENT VIRTUES. |
influenced every word and action, by an industrious improvement of time, and fond affection for those connected with them by kindred blood. They possessed also the capacity for constant friendship, and that warm sympathy for the woes of others, which age did not quench, and which revealed itself in the moistened and tearful eye, whenever any tale of human suffering met their ear.
The same mansion was the residence of the widow of the late Col. Wadsworth, a lady who left an indelible impression on the memory of those who shared her intimacy. Her virtues having a firm root, continued to ripen and mellow to the latest hour of life. During the war, the position of her husband, as soldier and statesman, diversified her department with much care and responsibility, under the pressure of which she evinced a discretion and wisdom, competent both to execute, or to control.
As a mother, she was affectionate, and unwearied in her exertions, and to the close of her existence the wishes, hopes, and welfare of her children were interwoven with the closest fibres of her heart.
In the direction of her own affairs, as well as in her opinion of those of others, she exercised a discriminating judgment, the result of a clear mind, close observation, and grave experience. She was gifted with a native equanimity, so excellent in woman, which amid perplexing or eventful scenes, preserved her from hurry of spirits, or confusion of intellect. This, united to
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p. 236 | LONGEVITY AND PIETY. |
habits of regularity, doubtless promoted health, and longevity, and aided in the preservation of that vigor of intellect, which remained unimpaired to the last.
She revered the teachers and ordinances of religion, and made the Scriptures, with which she had been acquainted from youth, a part of her daily study. Books of high literary character, especially those of historical and theological research, were sources of unfailing delight; and she gave an example of happily combining their love, with the faithful discharge of relative and domestic duty.
Her more than fourscore years were not suffered to chill her participation of either social, or intellectual enjoyment. Her retentive memory was preserved entire, and the impressions made by passing events, or interesting authors, seemed as vivid, as those engraven at earlier periods of life. She was reading the graphic tour of a traveller in ancient climes, and speaking with animation of its varied descriptions, when the last messenger, a sudden paralysis, touched her brow, and checked the flow of utterance. A few days of gentle, and patiently endured suffering, divided the active duties of this life, from the perfect rest of another.
The mansion, thus rendered venerable by historic lore, and the memory of the sainted dead, was removed from its original site on Main Street, to Buckingham Street, in the spring of 1842. Its place is now occupied by the "Wadsworth Athenæum," thus named
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p. 237 | WADSWORTH ATHENÆUM. |
from grateful respect to Daniel Wadsworth, Esq., who, in addition to other liberal donations, freely gave for the public good a spot hallowed by the sacred memorials of his ancestors.
This new edifice, which is an ornament to the city, is of light, grey granite, laid in large blocks, and unhewn. Its style of architecture is Gothic, of the castellated character, massive, and with little decoration, but strongly marked by its towers and battlements.
The interior is divided by walls into three equal compartments. The principal rooms are in the second story, each seventy feet long, thirty wide, and from twenty-five to thirty in height. One of these apartments is occupied as the Library of the "Young Men's Institute," comprehending at present about 10,000 volumes; and by their reading-room, which is well supplied with European and American periodicals. Another is appropriated to the Fine Arts, containing pictures in history, landscape and portrait, with a department for sculpture; and a third accommodates the archives of the "Connecticut Historical Society," which comprise five thousand bound volumes, beside multitudes of pamphlets and manuscripts.
The "Natural History Society" has its Collections, and holds its meetings in the lower story; where are also smaller apartments for the accommodation of the various objects connected with the Institution.
May the benevolence that projected and completed this fine structure, dedicating it to those objects that
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p. 238 | OBJECTS OF THE INSTITUTION. |
elevate national character, be rewarded by the progress in knowledge, the refinement of taste, and the permanent improvement of this people, and their posterity.
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p. 239 | PRAYERS OF THE DEAF AND DUMB. |
PRAYERS OF THE DEAF AND DUMB.
If sweet it is to see the babe
Kneel by its mother's side,
And lisp its brief and holy prayer,
At hush of eventide,--
And sweet to mark the blooming youth
'Neath morning's purple ray,
Breathe incense of the heart to Him,
Who ruleth night and day,--
How doth the bosom's secret pulse
With strong emotion swell,
And tender pitying thoughts awake,
Which language may not tell,--
When yon mute train who meekly bow
Beneath affliction's rod,
Whose lip no utterance hath for man,
Pour forth the soul to God.
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p. 240 | PRAYERS OF THE DEAF AND DUMB. |
They have no garment for the thought
That springs to meet its Sire,
No tone to flush the glowing cheek,
Or fan Devotion's fire;
Yet upward to the Eternal Throne
The spirit's sigh may soar,
As sure as if the wing of speech
Its hallowed burden bore.
Were language theirs, perchance their tale
Of treasured grief or fear,
Might cold and unresponsive fall
Even on a brother's ear,--
So may they grave upon their minds
In youth's unfolding day,
'T is better to commune with Heaven
Than with their kindred clay.
The pomp of words may sometimes clog
The ethereal spirit's flight,
But in the silence of their souls
Burns one long Sabbath light,--
If God doth in that temple dwell,
Their fancied loss is gain;
Ye perfect listeners to His voice!
Say, is our pity vain?
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p. 241 | ASYLUM AT HARTFORD. |
The American Asylum for the deaf and dumb, is a large and commodious edifice, in a commanding situation, at a short distance from the city of Hartford, in Connecticut.
It has in front a spacious area, planted with young trees; and the principal avenue of approach is bordered with flowers. In its rear are work-shops, where the pupils can obtain useful exercise for a portion of the interval not occupied in study. As all of these establishments are under the direction of experienced masters, it is not one of the slightest advantages of the Institution, that a trade may be thus readily acquired, giving the means of future subsistence.
In the building are eight recitation rooms, where the different classes, arranged according to grades of proficiency, daily assemble under their respective teachers; each pupil writing the lesson, from their dictation, upon a large slate resting its frame against the wall. The fixedness of attention which they display is usually remarked by visitants; while the regret which many of them testify when the hour of dismissal arrives, proves with what satisfaction the light of knowledge fills their long benighted minds.
In the upper story is a dormitory for boys, one hundred and thirty feet in length, and fifty in breadth, from whose windows, on each of the four sides, are splendid prospects of a rich and beautifully varied country. Under the same roof is the chapel, where, every Sunday, portions of Scripture are explained, and
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p. 242 | QUALIFICATIONS OF TEACHERS. |
religious instruction given by the teachers. There, also, the daily morning and evening devotions are performed. It is touching, even to tears, to see the earnest attention of that group of silent beings, the soul, as it were, sitting on the eye, while they watch every movement and sign of his hand, who is their medium of communication with the Father of Spirits.
The Asylum is under the superintendence of a Principal, eight teachers, a steward, and matron. With regard to its course of instruction, it has been the wide policy of the Directors, "to procure the services of such men, and such only, as are willing to devote themselves permanently and entirely to this profession. It has also been their wish to hold out inducements to men of character, talent, and liberal education, which should lead them to engage in a life-long service. Exerting their main strength day after day in this one employment, and not having their thoughts divided by any ulterior plans of life, the chance is greater that their duties will be faithfully performed, and that the experience which they acquire, as one year follows another, in the difficult art of deaf-mute instruction, will render their services of more value to the Asylum, than those of a merely transient teacher could be expected to possess." Seven years are considered the full term for a course of education here, and it is a cause of regret that so few remain during the whole of that period.
The female pupils, out of school hours, are occupied
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p. 243 | BENEFITS OF INSTRUCTION. |
in various feminine employments, under the charge of the matron. Gathered into the same fold, and cheered by her kind patronage, sits the deaf, dumb, and blind girl, often busy with her needle, for whose guidance her exceedingly acute sense of feeling suffices, and in whose dexterous use seems the chief solace of her lot of silence, and of rayless night.
There are at present in this Institution one hundred and sixty-four pupils, and since its commencement, in 1817, between seven and eight hundred have shared the benefits of its shelter and instruction. Abundant proof has been rendered by them, that, when quickened by the impulse of education, their misfortune does not exclude them from participating in the active pursuits and satisfactions of life. By recurring to their history, after their separation from the Asylum, we find among them, farmers and mechanics, artists and seamen, teachers of deaf mutes in various and distant institutions, and what might at first view seem incompatible with their situation, a merchant's clerk, the editor of a newspaper, a post-master, and country-recorder in one of our far Western States, and a clerk in the Treasury Department at Washington.
More than one hundred of the pupils from this Asylum have entered into the matrimonial relation; and some, within the range of our own intimacy, might be adduced as bright examples of both conjugal and parental duty.
One of its most interesting members, who entered
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p. 244 | AN INTERESTING PUPIL. |
at its first organization, and remained during the full course of seven years, was a daughter of the late Dr. Mason F. Cogswell, who was early called to follow her lamented father to the tomb. Her genius, her entire loveliness of disposition, and the happiness of her joyous childhood, caused the following reply to be made to a question originally proposed at the Institution for the deaf and dumb in Paris; "Les Sourd-Muets se trouvent-ils malheureux?"*
------
Oh! could the kind inquirer gaze
Upon thy brow, with gladness fraught,
Its smile, like inspiration's rays,
Would give the answer to his thought.
And could he see thy sportive grace
Soft blending with submission due,
Or note thy bosom's tenderness
To every just emotion true;--
Or, when some new idea glows
On the pure altar of the mind,
Observe the exulting tear that flows
In silent ecstasy refined;--
Thy active life, thy look of bliss,
The sparkling of thy magic eye,
* "Are the deaf and dumb unhappy?"
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p. 245 | ANSWER TO A QUESTION. |
Would all his skeptic doubts dismiss,
And bid him lay his pity by,--
To bless the ear that ne'er has known
The voice of censure, pride, or art,
Nor trembled at that sterner tone,
Which, while it tortures, chills the heart;--
And bless the lip that ne'er could tell
Of human woes the vast amount,
Nor pour those idle words that swell
The terror of our last account.
For sure the stream of silent course
May flow as deep, as pure, as blest,
As that which rolls in torrents hoarse,
Or whitens o'er the mountain's breast,--
As sweet a scene, as fair a shore,
As rich a soil, its tide may lave,
Then joyful and accepted pour
Its tribute to the Eternal wave.
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p. 246 | NAHANT. |
NAHANT.
Rude, rock-bound coast, where erst the Indian roamed,
The iron shoulders of thy furrowed cliffs,
Made black with smiting, still in stubborn force
Resist the scourging wave.
Bright summer suns
In all the fervor of their noon-tide heat
Obtain no power to harm thee, for thou wrapp'st
Thy watery mantle round thee, ever fresh
With ocean's coolness, and defy'st their rage.
------
The storm-cloud is thy glory.
Then, thou deck'st
Thyself with majesty, and to its frown
And voice of thunder, answerest boldly back,
And from thy watch-towers hurl'st the blinding spray,
While every dark and hollow cavern sounds
Its trumpet for the battle.
Yet, 'tis sweet
Amid thy fissured rocks to ruminate,
Marking thy grottos with mosaic paved
Of glittering pebbles, and that balm to breathe
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p. 247 | NAHANT. |
Which gives the elastic nerves a freer play,
And tints the languid cheek with hues of health.
------
The sand-beach and the sea!
Who can divine
Their mystic intercourse, that day and night
Surceaseth not? On comes the thundering surge,
Lifting its mountain-head, with menace stern,
To whelm the unresisting; but impelled
In all the plenitude of kingly power
To change its purpose of authority,
Breaking its wand of might, doth hurry back;
And then, repenting, with new wrath return.
Yet still that single, silvery line abides,
Lowly, and fearless, and immutable.
God gives it strength.
So may He deign to grant
The sand-line of our virtues, power to cope
With all temptation. When some secret snare
Doth weave its meshes round our trembling souls,
That in their frailty turn to Him alone,
So may He give us strength.
------
Nahant is a rocky peninsula, stretching boldly into the ocean, and connected by beaches with the main land. Some of its cliffs have an elevation of a hundred feet, and wonderfully excavated rocks are the boundary of its shores.
Tradition reports that its name was derived from
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p. 248 | ITS EARLY HISTORY. |
Nahants, an Indian princess, or the consort of a chieftain. It was purchased with that sense of equity, which often marked similar transactions with the natives, first, in 1630, for a suit of clothes, then for two old coats, and lastly, for "two pestle stones."
It is said to have been originally devoted to pasturage and to forest-ground uses, which its present aspect contradicts to a remarkable degree. "It is well wooded with oaks, pines and cedars," wrote a historian of 1638, "also it hath good store of walnuts, ashes and elms." He who now traverses it, would be fain to wonder where they could have taken root, or how resisted the deleterious influence of the ocean-spray. Yet it seems that it was of old the scene of wolf-hunting on a grand scale, as there is a record that, in 1634, the militia of Lynn and Salem were drafted for this belligerent expedition; and as such animals are not prone to choose the sterile, open rock for their habitation, the manes of those same hunted wolves corroborate the words of the historian.
Yet, however vague may be the earlier legends of Nahant, there is no doubt of its being now the favorite resort of the beauty and fashion of the vicinity, as well as from distant parts. Its pure air is invigorating, even to exhilaration, and there is deep delight in watching the rolling of its magnificent surf, wandering amid the romantic and sublime formation of its rocky coast, now scooped into caverns, and long, subterranean channels for the resounding wave, or towering into lofty columns, that mock the fury of the tempest.
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p. 249 | EGG-ROCK AND LYNN BEACH. |
A desolate islet, with the name of Egg-Rock, rears its precipitous head about two miles north-east of Nahant. Notwithstanding its rugged aspect, it has on its summit nearly three acres of arable land. It is the paradise of sea-birds, to whose jurisdiction it is yielded, on account of the difficulty and danger of approaching it. Hardy rovers have, however, occasionally surmounted these perils, and robbed the treasures of the poor, nestless gulls, with the true piratical spirit of the old Danish sea-kings.
The principal beach of Nahant, connecting it with Lynn, is nearly two miles in length. It is a slightly curved line of sand, on whose eastern shore the surges of the unbroken Atlantic beat with great force and reverberation. It forms a delightful drive, or equestrian excursion, on whose smoothly polished surface the wheel or the horses' hoof leave no trace. Shells and fragments of coral are the frequent gifts of the receding wave, which, approaching with a show of vengeful wrath, retires like an appeased lover.
The great hotel for the entertainment of visitants is near the south-eastern point of the promontory. It was built in 1820, of the native stone by which it is surrounded, and contains a sufficient number of apartments for a multitude of guests. From the double piazza that engirdles it, is a succession of grand and extensive prospects, and a bracing ocean atmosphere. When long rains prevail, the mist enwraps it in a curtain, like a great ship in the midst of the sea.
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p. 25[0] | ITS ORNAMENTS. |
The village has several pleasant residences and boarding-houses, which have the agreeable appendages of verdure and trees. Beautiful cottages, the abodes of wealth and taste, are sprinkled here and there, the chief ornaments of the peninsula.
In one of these, on the verge of the waters, the accomplished author of "Ferdinand and Isabella," and the "Conquest of Mexico," passes the summer months, with his parents and family. None who have partaken the hospitalities of that delightful retreat, will forget its rare combinations of age and wisdom still retaining the vivacity of youth, high intellect without pride, and the sweet developments of the most sacred affections.
The fine cottage of Mr. Tudor, though occupying a site unfavorable to vegetable life, both from the bleak winds and saline atmosphere, is still, by perseverance and munificent expenditure, surrounded by the charms of a more congenial clime. Within its enclosures flowers blossom, clustering vines climb the trellises, and trees perfect their fruits, furnishing another proof that the energy of man may overcome the resistance of nature and of the elements.
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p. 251 | ROSE-MOUNT. |
ROSE-MOUNT.
A NEIGHBORLY EPISTLE.
Hartford, April 1843.
To the Lady of Rose-Mount, I've long wished to pay
Such thanks as were due for her musical lay,
But many a care, with importunate mien,
Would thrust itself me and my lyre between;
And lastly, the hydra of house-cleaning came,
With dripping fingers, and cheeks of flame;
Pictures, and vases, and flower-pots fled,
At her flashing eye, and her frown of dread,
While tubs and brushes, with Vandal haste,
Like a mob of Chartists, their betters displaced,
And she at the head of that motley crowd,
A brandished broom for her sceptre proud,
Held all in an uproar, from sun to sun,
Then went off in a rage, ere her work was done.
Keep clear of her, dearest, as long as you can,
She's a terror, in sooth, both to woman and man,
And husbands, especially, quake when they see
Their sanctums exposed to her ministry.
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p. 252 | ROSE-MOUNT. |
Books and papers, they learn to their cost, If "put in order," are fain to be lost, And though wax-like neatness may reign around, Yet the things that are wanted can never be found, And a test of their temper Socratic 't will prove, If they press through this ordeal in patience and love. From the grasp of this terrible vixen set free, How sweet was the scenery of Rose-Mount to me, When yesterday, soon as my dinner was o'er, My sunshade I spread, and set off for your door; And though disappointed that you were away, Found many bright objects, my walk to repay; For there, in her own little carriage was seen Your baby in state, like a young fairy queen, The lawn with its plants, and spring-blossoms so gay, And she, in her beauty, more lovely than they. Then she told, in a voice that like music did melt, The names of the pair who in paradise dwelt, And so many fine phrases had learned to repeat, And each guest with such gentle politeness to greet, That all were surprised, when her date they surveyed, That in scarce eighteen months she such progress had made. As for me, while I gazed on a picture so rare, The landscape, the child, and the residence fair, How many, thought I, if their pathway below Thus sprinkled with gems and with flowerets should glow, Would be tempted on earth all their treasures to rest, And ne'er have a sigh for a region more blest.
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p. 253 | ROSE-MOUNT. |
But you, with a heart ever upward and true,
Will keep, I am trusting, their Giver in view,
And be made by His gifts still more fitting and pure,
For that realm where all beauties and blessings endure.
------
Hartford, though less celebrated for beauty of landscape than its sister city, New Haven, possesses some fine objects, both of nature and art, which have perhaps not been fully appreciated. A deep, rich verdure is its birthright, and the loveliness of its surrounding heights is admitted by all.
Many of the residences on Asylum Hill are conspicuous for their elegance and grace. Among these, Rose-Mount, the seat of James Dixon, Esq., is particularly distinguished by the extent and arrangement of its grounds. Fourteen acres, highly cultivated, are divided into lawns, gardens, and groves, and embellished with parterres of flowers, hedges, and a variety of shrubs, fruits, and forest-trees. All is found here to constitute a delightful retirement for the man of letters and of taste, where cultivated intellect may enjoy the luxuries of literature, or woo the willing muse.
The beautiful elevation of Washington Street also exhibits a cluster of edifices, of finely varied architectures, from the ornamented cottage to the stately mansion. In their vicinity, the Retreat for the Insane, a noble and spacious building, rears its head, and extends its range of offices and pleasure-grounds. Its class of
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p. 254 | INSANE RETREAT AT HARTFORD. |
scenery seems well adapted, if external objects may ever produce that effect, to "medicate a mind diseased, or pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow."
It accommodates at present about ninety patients, and two wings are in the progress of erection, to allow the reception of eighty additional ones. Its inmates have the constant care of a medical Superintendent, the religious instruction of a Chaplain, and the services of a Steward and Matron. We borrow the language of the former, to describe some of the efforts made to dispel the melancholy, so often the attendant of disordered intellect.
"We present them entertainment, in which the best and wisest may at times indulge, or to which all might profitably resort, under the tedium of convalescence from this, or any other disease. They are not limited to the patients; all our family, the resident officers of the Institution, and the attendants, participate in them. Our children mingle in the dance, and take their parts in the concert. The sewing-circle, the reading and musical parties, are held two afternoons of each week, under the direction of the Matron, who, excellent everywhere, exerts here, from her cheerfulness of manners and kindness of heart, the happiest influence. These parties have met in the parlors connected with the female wing, except during the pleasant afternoons of summer, when by common consent they were held upon the lawn. Here our female patients form groups beneath the shade, some sewing or knit-
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p. 255 | SUPERINTENDENT AND CHAPLAIN. |
ting, others listening to an interesting story, or socially conversing; the nurse and the patient, the sane and the insane, so mingling together, that they are hardly to be distinguished, and oftentimes, to the amusement of all, mistaken for each other by the stranger. Such a scene looks very unlike the condition of the insane in those days, when, in the language of a quaint old Scotch writer, 'we committed the better sort of the mad people to the care and taming of chirurgeons, and the inferior to the scourge.' An hour previous to evening prayers, on every pleasant afternoon, in the summer and autumn, our female patients, oftentimes, with scarcely an exception, have joined us in a ramble about our garden and grounds, for the tasteful planning and ornamenting of which, we are so much indebted to the benevolent foresight of some of the founders of the Institution."
The intercourse of the Chaplain is also calculated to exercise a benign and healing influence. "He appears among the inmates of the Retreat, as their sympathizing friend. He exchanges with them the customary civilities of social life. He listens to their conversation, and lets them see that he is interested in it. He often introduces other than grave and serious subjects, adapted to afford rational instruction, or innocent entertainment; nor can he discover that by doing this he is exposed to any disparagement of the proper dignity of his office, by the want of courtesy and respect on the part of those whom he seeks to
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p. 256 | BENEVOLENCE OF THE SYSTEM. |
benefit. It is indeed by pursuing such a course, that he hopes to avail himself of suitable opportunities when they offer, and they not unfrequently do offer, of presenting in the most favorable manner the simple and consoling truths of the Gospel."
A select library, and collection of prints, are sources of gratification to the patients, and the commodious carriage of the establishment, is in constant requisition during the weather, to give them pleasant excursions around the city and its environs. A very large and productive garden, whose vegetable wealth conduces greatly to the comfort of the large household, furnishes also an agreeable and healthful mode of exercise for those disposed to share in such occupation.
This Institution, from its commencement twenty years since, has been blessed by the recovery of a great proportion of the sufferers entrusted to its care. During the past year, more than fifty have been restored to their homes, with that joy which those only can imagine, who have tasted the bitterness of such separation.
Though a description of the Retreat has surely no connection with the title of this article, yet in noticing some of the objects that beautify our city, we trust to be forgiven for introducing the beauty of that benevolence which is the glory of any people, and which in this instance devotes itself to the mitigation of one of the severest ills that can afflict humanity.
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p. 257 | MONTPELIER. |
MONTPELIER.
THE SEAT OF THE LATE JAMES MADISON, PRESIDENT
OF THE UNITED STATES.
How fair, beneath Virginia's sky,
Montpelier strikes the traveller's eye,
Emerging from its forest-bower,
Like feudal chieftain's ancient tower,
With parks and lawns and gardens drest,
In peaceful verdure proudly blest.
What blended beauties cheer the sight!
The distant mountain's misty height,
The nearer prospect's cultured face,
The sylvan temple's attic grace,
The locust copse, where warblers throng,
And gaily pour the unfettered seen,
The luscious fig's luxuriant green,
The clasping vine, whose clusters fair,
Seem as of genial France the care,
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p. 258 | MONTPELIER. |
The bright-eyed pheasant, beauteous guest, The eastern bird with gorgeous vest, Still for his mimic speech carest, The curtaining jessamine, that showers Rich fragrance o'er the nightly bowers, Those halls, whose varied stores impart The classic pencil's magic art, The chisel's life-bestowing power, The lore that cheats the studious hour, And music's trains, that vainly vie With the touched spirit's melody; How strong the tissued spells that bind The admiring eye and grateful mind. Here Wisdom rests in sylvan shade, That erst an empire's council's swayed. And Goodness, whose persuasive art So justly won that empire's heart, And Piety, with hoary hair, Which rising o'er this Eden fair, Beholds, by mortal foot untrod, A brighter Eden with its God. Montpelier! these thy name have set A gem in memory's coronet, Whose lustre ruthless time shall spare Till from her brow that crown he tear, Till from her book that page he rend, Which of a stranger made a friend.
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p. 259 | MOTHER OF MADISON. |
Our visit to the "Ancient Dominion," though many years since, has left pleasant traces, over which time has had no effacing power; for it was made at that sunny period of life, when hope and joy tinge every object with their radiant dies. The impressions made by Virginia hospitality were truly delightful. We found, with surprise, how immediately the painful reserve of strangers vanished before the charm of southern manners, and could not but wish that the intercourse between the distant sections of our country were more frequent and fraternal.
Montpelier had much in itself, and its adjuncts, to interest and repay the pilgrim to its shades. Yet from the fine pictures and extensive library he would find himself involuntarily turning to their distinguished Master, who, though in feeble health and somewhat advanced in years, attracted every one by the powers of his conversation, and the profound wisdom of his remarks. Courteous, and unassuming in his manners, he imparted, as it were, spontaneously, the treasures of a mind peculiarly rich in historic lore, and upright and luminous in its conclusions.
Under his roof, the object of unspeakable tenderness and respect, was his mother, who had then completed her ninetieth year. She had paid great attention to the early culture and formation of his mind, and had herself taught him to read, using as his first book of instruction the Holy Scriptures. She was a lady of true excellence and dignity of character, and was
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p. 260 | ELEGANT RETIREMENT. |
solaced to the latest hour of life by his devoted filial affection.
The Lady of President Madison, none could visit without grateful recollections. The kindness of her welcome would not be forgotten, nor that goodness of heart which breathed a magic influence upon all around. She was encircled in her elegant retirement with objects congenial to her taste,--the charms of cultivated nature, and the music of birds. Some of the most rare species of her winged friends she cherished in an aviary, and among those who ranged at will was a favorite Macaw, of shrewd character, and singularly splendid train and plumage. Blossoms and flowering trees sprang up beneath these sunny skies in luxuriance and profusion. The Pride of China expanded its delicate foliage beside the window, the Jessamine climbed up to the sleeping apartments, diffusing its rich perfume, and the Multiflora on every side cheered the eye with its countless clusters.
When called from this fair retreat by the election of her husband to the Chief Magistracy of the Nation, her queenly manners, and perfect affability, won admiration at every levee where she presided. During the eight years of his continuance in office, she filled the station of the highest lady in the land, to the satisfaction of all, and by her true kindness of heart, conciliated good will and lasting remembrance. "She never forgot," says one of her biographers, "a name she had once heard, nor a face she had once seen, nro the per-
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p. 261 | RESPECT PAID TO GOODNESS. |
sonal circumstances connected with every individual of her acquaintance."
When, after her widowhood, she was induced by the solicitation of her relatives and friends to leave her loved seclusion at Montpelier, and revisit the Capital, "her saloon," said a distinguished statesman, "was as constantly thronged by Wit, Genius, and Learning, by all that was noble of American, or distinguished of Foreign Society, as when, in the presidential mansion, she had been the idol and lady-patron."
She still continues in her advanced age, both at her Virginian retirement and her winter residence at Washington, to conciliate respect and affection by the enduring charm of unaffected goodness.
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p. 262 | THE NEWPORT TOWER. |
THE NEWPORT TOWER.
Dark, lonely Tower, amid yon Eden-sile,
Which, as a gem, fair Narragansett wears
Upon her heaving breast, thou lift'st thy head,
A mystery and paradox, to mock
The curious throng.
Say, reared the plundering hand
Of the fierce buccaneer thy massy walls,
A treasure-fortress for his blood-stained gold?
Or wrought the beings of an earlier race
To form thy circle, while in wonder gazed
The painted Indian?
Fancy spreads her wing
Around thy time-scathed brow, and deeply tings
Her fairy-scroll, while hoar Antiquity
In silence frowns upon the aimless flight.
----
Thou wilt not show the secret of thy birth!
Nor do I know why we need question thee
So strictly on that point; save that the creed
Of Yankee people is, that through the toil
Of questioning, there cometh light, and gain
Of knowledge to the mind.
We see thou art
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p. 263 | THE NEWPORT TOWER. |
A right substantial, well-preserved old Tower,
Let that suffice us.
Some there are, who say
Thou wert an ancient wind-mill.
Be it so!
Our pilgrim-sires must have been much in love
With extra labor, thus to gather stones,
And patient rear thy Scandinavian arch,
And build thine ample chamber, and uplift
Thy shapely column, for the gadding winds
To play vagaries with.
In those hard times
I trow king Philip gave them other work,
Than to deck dancing-halls, and lure the blasts
From old Eolus' cave.
Had'st thou the power,
I think thou'dst laugh right heartily to see
The worthy farmers, with their sacks of corn,
Mistaking thy profession, as of old
Don Quixote did mistake thine ancestor:
If haply such progenitor thou hadst.
----
But still, grey Ruin, though they lightly speak,
I fain would honor thee, as rhymers do,
And 'neath thy shadow weave my noteless song.
I said I 'd do thee honor, if I might,
For thou art old. And whatsoever bears
The stamp of hoary time, and hath not been
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p. 264 | THE NEWPORT TOWER. |
The minister of evil, claims from us
Some tribute of respect.
But, most of all,
Those ancient forms that lodge a living soul,
Bearing their passport from the Almighty hand
Graved on the furrowed brow, and silver hair,--
Yes, most of all to them our hearts would yield
That tender reverence, which so well befits
Them to receive, and us with love to pay.
------
Newport, the garden-isle of Narragansett, received from some of the British officers, during its investment by their troops, the name of the "Eden of America." Thos who have enjoyed its delightful scenery during the summer months, rode upon its beaches, and inhaled its balmy atmosphere, will scarcely deem these epithets exaggerated.
It is a spot to be remembered for years, with a fond desire of again beholding it. Thus, it is cherished by me, as a fine picture in the gallery of the mind, mellowed by time, though its minuter tints have faded, and been merged in the shadow of years.
Yet the Old Tower still stands prominently forth on memory's tablet, as when first beheld crowning its verdant eminence, and looking down upon the billowy bay. Its origin has given rise to many opinions and theories, from the matter-of-fact man, who preserves in designating it as the "old stone wind-mill," to the
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p. 265 | THE NORSE-MEN. |
erudite scholar, who discovers in it the architectural marks of the ancient Norse-men; or the child of imagination, taking for a text-book Longfellow's beautiful ballad of the "Skeleton in Armor." To a country of recent date, almost destitute of the vestiges of antiquity, and disposed to prize them in proportion to their scarcity, it is quite a gain to have any object which admits of such description. "The people have been disputing these twenty years," said Goethe, "as to who is the greatest, Schiller or myself. Let them go, and be thankful that they have such fellows to dispute about."
The discovery of our Northern Continent by the Scandinavians, about the year 964, two centuries previous to the expedition of Madoc, the Welsh prince, is matter of grave history. Irving, in his "Life of Columbus," derives proof from the Sagas, or Chronicles of the north, that, beside their settlements in Greenland, they established themselves around the river St. Lawrence, and in Newfoundland, called by them Eslotiland. That they penetrated also into Nova Scotia and New England, seems to rest on stronger foundation than conjecture.
Professor Rafin says: "Of the ancient structure at Newport, from such characteristics as remain, we can scarcely form any other inference than one, in which I am persuaded that all who are familiar with Old Northern Architecture will concur, that this building was erected at a period decidedly not later than the
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p. 266 | OBLIVION. |
twelfth century. That it could not have been intended for a wind-mill, is what an architect will easily discover."
Those, however, who adhere tenaciously to the "old wind-mill" creed, may derive consolation from a somewhat pedantic passage of Sir Thomas Browne. "Oblivion," quoth he, "reclineth semi-somnous, making puzzles of Titanian erections, and turning old glories into dreams, while History sinketh down beside her. The traveller asketh of her, amazedly, who builded these? And she mumbleth something, but what it is, he heareth not."
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p. 267 | AUTUMN ON STATEN ISLAND. |
AUTUMN ON STATEN ISLAND.
The autumnal breeze was sharp, when first I sought
Thy friendship, sweetest Island of the main,
Yet still in sunny nooks, with verdure fraught,
Wore lingering flowers of summer's blissful reign,
Whose grateful fragrance cheered the faded plain,
And sheltered knoll, that seemed the Frost to fear;
For that invader, with his fatal train,
Had touched the aspiring boughs with umber sere,
And, stern and cold, announced the funeral of the year.
Yes; that prophetic flush, so strange and brief,
Which, like the hectic, shows the Spoiler nigh,
Hung here and there, upon the forest leaf,
And tinged the maple with a blood-red die, [sic]
While through the groves there came a mournful sigh
Of hollow winds, bewailing Nature's doom;
But still the brightness of the unclouded sky
Did with its spirit-glance reprove the gloom,
Like that immortal Faith which shrinks not at the tomb.
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p. 268 | AUTUMN ON STATEN ISLAND. |
But thou, blest Isle, when verdant seasons die,
Hast many a charm, which change can ne'er impair,
And all that meets the mirror of thine eye
Seems softened like a dream. For thee, with care,
The great, proud City, beaming smiles doth wear,
And shroud in distance, every darkened trace,
Which penury, or pain, or guilt doth bear,
And, like a lover, show its fairest face,
Lifting its mighty head in majesty and grace.
So I have throned thee in mine inmost heart,
Fair Daughter of the Sea, around whose breast
The sparkling waters meet, and never part;
But tuneful sing thee to thy nightly rest;
Or if, by wintry blast and storm opprest,
Fierce at thy feet the surging billows roll,
Thou, in serenity and glory drest,
Dost still the madness of their mood control,
And strong in beauty's power, disarm the wrathful soul.
------
The suburbs of the City of New York present an unusual variety of romantic scenery, easily accessible to its inhabitants; and that which Staten Island exhibits is not among the least diversified or imposing. Indeed, it is a most fascinating and delightful spot, fanned by the purest breeze from the sea.
The fine residences of New Brighton give its shore the splendid appearance of a city, while from its cliffs,
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p. 269 | VARIED PROSPECTS. |
three hundred feet in height, the views of earth and ocean are truly magnificent. Its peculiar features have caused it frequently to be compared to the Isle of Wight, though inferior in wildness and grandeur.
A powerful pencil would be tasked to describe its diversified prospects, for instance from the Telegraph Station, the Quarantine, the Clove, or the deserted Fort Tompkins, whose outline and walls might almost cause it to pass for a modern Colliseum. New York, with its dense masses of architecture, and the shores of Long Island, exuberant in fertility, add their contrast of beauty, while the peninsular coast of New Jersey approaches as if to seek the embrace of its beautiful neighbor.
A short stay on Staten Island, in the autumn of 1843, gave a greater degree of familiarity with its scenery, than is usually acquired in a first visit, through the kind attentions of hospitable friends, who every day exhibited to us some new department of their region of beauty. In traversing it, you find interspersed among humble cottages, in the cultured vale, lofty hills, crowned by graceful mansions, and here and there a low-browed church, claiming reverence both from its sacredness and its antiquity.
The entrance to the town of Richmond, from the green hills that enclose it, as in a cup, descending which, you look down upon winding streams, green vallies, and quiet habitations,--is very beautiful. The perpetual gliding of sails, and the rapid movement of steamers, brilliant with their evening lights, give to the
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p. 270 | EMOTIONS OF THE VOYAGER. |
prospect of the surrounding sea continued variety and interest. The Narrows, that watery pathway, through which the voyager to distant climes passes, his heart broken with the tender farewells of beloved ones, and by which he returns, in joy unutterable, every thought filled to overflowing with the imagery of home and native land, can never be viewed with indifference by those who have felt these emotions. It was a pleasant thing, from a commanding height, to see the Great Western, a dark, gigantic mass, go forth on her ocean pilgrimage, trying her powers of speed with a small steamer, which, at their disappearance on the misty horizon, had the advantage of her Goliah competitor.
An institution on Staten Island for the relief of seamen attracts the attention of strangers, and I borrow a description of it from the pen of Mrs. L. M. Child, agreeable and forcible.
"One of the most interesting places on this island is the Sailor's Snug Harbor. A few years ago, a gentleman, by the name of Randall, left a small farm that rented for two or three hundred dollars, at the corner of Eleventh Street and Broadway, for the benefit of old and wornout sailors. This property increased in value, until it enabled the trustees to purchase a farm on Staten Island, and erect a noble stone edifice, as a hospital for disabled seamen; with an annual income of nearly 30,000 dollars. The building has a very handsome exterior, and is large, airy, and convenient.
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p. 271 | SAILOR'S SNUG HARBOR. |
The front door opens into a spacious hall, at the extremity of which flowers and evergreens are arranged one above another, like the terrace of a conservatory; and from the entries above you look down into this pretty work of 'greenery.' The whole aspect of things is extremely pleasant, with the exception of the sailors themselves. They reminded me of what some one said of the Greenwich pensioners, 'They seem to be waiting for death!' No outward comfort seemed wanting; but they stood alone in the world, no wives, no children. Connected by no link with the ever active Present, a monotonous Future stretched before them, made more dreary by its contrast with the keen excitement and ever-shifting variety of their past life of peril and pleasure. I have always thought too little provision was made for this lassitude of the mind, in most benevolent institutions. Men, accustomed to excitement, cannot do altogether without it. It is a necessity of nature, and should be ministered to in all innocent forms. Those poor old tars should have sea-songs, and instrumental music, once in a while, to stir their sluggish blood, and a feast might be given on great occasions, to younger sailors, from temperance boarding-houses, that the Past might have a chance to hear from the Present. We perform but a half charity when we comfort the body and leave the soul desolate." [sic]
"The sailor cannot be ignorant, without being superstitious too. The Infinite comes continually before him, in the sublimest symbols of sight and sound.
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p. 272 | OPINIONS OF MRS. CHILD. |
He does not know the language, but he feels the tone. Goethe has told us, in most beautiful allegory, of two bridges, whereby earnest souls pass from the Finite to the Infinite. One is a rainbow, which spans the dark river, and this is Faith; the other is a shadow cast quite over by the giant Superstition, when he stands between the setting sun and the unknown shore.
"Blessings on all friendly hands that are leading the sailor to the rainbow bridge. His spirit is made reverential in the great temple of Nature, resounding with the wild voices of the winds, and strange music of the storm-organ; too long has it been left trembling and shivering on the bridge of shadows. For him, too, the rainbow spans the dark stream, and becomes at last a bridge of gems."