The morning admires thee; The day breathes of thee; The night sighs for thee, And the earth expires with love at thy name. And I, to praise thee, God of suns, what am I? A moment in eternity, A shadow that passes and is no more; Canst thou hear me without a miracle? Ah! thy goodness is a miracle! I am nothing, Lord, but thirst after Thee consumes me; Thou canst not scorn the insect that honors thee, When the shadows flee away, Rises with the morning, At evening still sighs, And rises again with the day. Yes, in these fields of azure that thy glory overflows, Where thou watchest over me, These accents, these sighs, vivified by faith, Shall seek, from star to star, a God who answers me, MARSCHALK MANOR. The old man treadeth wearily, But the old man prateth cheerily, CHAPTER FOURTH, Showeth forth when and where my journey came to an end. In such a wild manner I rode off, every few minutes shouting and yelling at the top of my voice, until I began seriously to think that I must be insane. Had any one chanced to pass by, he would certainly have entertained a like opinion of me, but it was fortunately too late for such an encounter. I was alone, with only the bright moon to look down upon and watch me. How I longed to plunge in among scenes which before I had regarded with the most bitter animosity! The glorious Hudson sparkled so joyously in the moonlight, that it would have been a delightful task, I thought, to dive down into its depths; though not a day before, a single drop would have sent a chilling shudder through and through my imagination-racked frame. And the surrounding mountains I now would have loved to climb, though before, I had always hugged myself close, nor ever trusted my person near their rugged sides, for fear of the moist vapors which each morning rolled down into the valleys below. And while I admired and shouted, and enjoyed the south wind playing in my thin white locks, old Ruby still pranced onwards towards the city. At length, however, my ardor somewhat cooled down, and it occured to me that it was not the most expedient thing in the world to travel all night. If my excited feelings forbade sleep, Ruby at least stood in need of rest. He had a journey of forty miles before him, and certainly was not of such a temperament as to be able to counterbalance fatigue by admiration of passing scenery. I therefore looked around for some spot of shelter. There was no house near, nor did I know when I might be likely to encounter one, but upon turning down a narrow lane which crossed the road, I found a very snug little retreat furnished by nature herself. It consisted of a large weather-beaten mass of granite, surrounded by closely-knit clumps of flowering locusts. To one of these trees I tied Ruby, giving him such a slack rope that he could easily lie down or eat, as suited his pleasure, and then I climbed nimbly to the level top of the granite rock, and stretched myself at full length upon it. In spite of my unusual excitement, I soon fell fast asleep, nor awoke until the morning was far advanced. No one had as yet passed by, for my horse, whose seemingly lonely situation would inevitably have excited surprise, if not suspicion, had any one chanced to see him, was lazily standing up and tearing off the long grass, unconscious of any recent foreign interference. And while I yet lay upon the rock and listened to the slight buzzing of the bees, as they swarmed around and plunged into the bright locust flowers overhead, serious thoughts of the propriety of returning home occurred to me. Not that by any means I intended to abandon my design of proceeding to New-York. Far from it! I yet felt assured, that among the families which composed the city, I could discover some who would have common tastes and kindred associations with myself. But doubts occurred concerning the feasibility of my present mode of making the journey. The excitement under which I had set out the night before had vanished. I now regarded in its proper light, that indefinable impression with which I had awakened from sleep. I felt that it was not the prompting of any unseen visitant, but merely one of those chance ideas, which frequently come to a depressed mind, and are so often made the basis of superstitious fancies. Ruby's gentle whinneying now aroused me from my recumbent position, and mounting upon his back, I slowly plodded back to the main road. And still I reflected upon my hasty course with some self-anger. If it were necessary to go to New-York, why had I allowed my transient excitement to beguile me into the foolish course of starting off at midnight, when, by waiting until the next morning, any passing steamer would have taken me to the city, with much less trouble and risk to health? I determined to turn back, ease poor Claes of his anxiety as to my fate, and then take a more regular and safe departure. But how little do we sometimes keep our resolutions! When I gained the main road, a brown stone staring me full in the face showed forth, that it was 25 miles to New-York, and thus told me, to my great surprise, that I had already made nearly half the required distance. The temptation to proceed became irresistible. All my old feelings floated over me. I imagined that I saw the Island city in the distance before me, crowded with hundreds of lofty steeples, environed with forests of lightly rigged ships. 66 Courage, Marschalk!" I exclaimed, turning Ruby to the southward. ""Tis now as easy to advance as to recede. And what fear of sickness need you have, when you have already slept upon an exposed rock, with the night dew falling around you, and yet have experienced no twitch or spasm of pain?". And before that evening, Ruby, tired and foaming, bore me safely into the heart of the city, where, having my purse with me, I was enabled to provide for both horse and self in the very best manner. CHAPTER FIFTH, Showeth forth a single incident, together with sundry reflections connected therewith. For three days I wandered through the long streets, marking each interesting feature of the increasing city, and wondering at the unlooked for changes which every where met my eye. And upon the last day, the sight of a gilded weathercock recalled a well known building to my mind, and with eager steps I hurried towards the Middle Church, as one hastens to meet a long absent friend. "Surely there must be some strange mistake here," I said, seeing that crowds were constantly entering or departing. "Or have the men of the present generation so improved, that the observances of Sunday are not enough to satisfy their thirsty souls, but each week day must also have its allotted service? My boy, who holds forth to day?" My question was addressed to a youth who stood lingering at the gate. It met with but little courtesy, for a harsh deriding laugh was the only answer, and I was forced to turn to another person. "What attracts this unusual gathering, my friend?" "Southern mail!" he responded, as he hurried quickly past. "Steamer!" answered another, to whom I directed the same question. Wondering at these incomprehensible replies, and despairing of obtaining proper information through any other means than my own inspection, I entered the church. In the next moment the mystery stood revealed. 66 Shade of former days! And have there been found men who were willing to part with this time-honored building for mammon? Are there those who enjoy the respect which birth and talent always command, and yet can sell their ancestors' graves for money? Shame on this generation!" I retreated and walked around the desecrated building. Perceiving that many of the old vaults were yet untouched, I climbed over the railing which separated me from them, and strolled between the flat tablets. On them, I read many an honored name, and I thought with bitterness of soul, how the descendants of the men who lay there were daily coming and going, and never casting one glance towards their family tombs, or giving one thought to aught save gain. And while I stood there musing, the iron entrance to the yard was thrown open, and I noticed that a hearse and its attendant train of carriages had stoped outside. Bearers, clothed in white scarfs, brought forward a coffin and placed it at the side of an open tomb; mourners followed and gathered around; a slight crowd of idle spectators collected;-and there, within a few paces of worldliness, was a burial service read and a corse committed to its resting place. The rites were soon over: the mourners entered the carriages and were driven home; the driver mounted his hearse, quickened his horse into a brisk canter, and went off singing;—and still I remained, buried in my own sombre reflections. "A strange contrast this!" said some one close at my elbow. I turned quickly, and noticed a little portly man, with a most benignant expression of countenance, who had lingered behind the rest of the spectators, and now, from some feelings of fellowship, ventured to address me. A strange contrast this!" he repeated. “I never miss attending one of these funerals now so unfrequent. They do not present any particular charm to me. Indeed I believe it is quite the reverse. It pains me to see the heartlessness with which many of our old and worthy citizens are hurried out of sight and forgotten. And, as one of the past age, I feel it my duty to give my presence at every such scene. May others from the same principle some day honor my dust with their presence!" The little man possessed such a rosy youthful countenance, with such a jocund pleasant expression to it, which, in spite of the solemnity of his remarks, would occasionally peep out, that I repeated in some surprise: One of the past age!" "Yes, for as such I consider myself," he responded. "In perfect health and not yet sixty, this statement may surprise you, but I speak not of my body. That will challenge comparison with the weakened frame of many a modern youth. But in all my sympathies, I am of the days gone-by." "Then you do not favor modern improvements and innovations, but like myself sigh for the gentle simplicity of our ancestors," I remarked. "To be sure, though I am not as some, such an old dead stick of the past, as not to see any good in the present. There are many respects in which the present generation has improved upon that which went before." "True," I said. "But still, however these may claim our admiration, the spirit of the past may withhold our love from them." "Exactly so,' was the response. "As-to instance your ideawe see this city daily growing more and more beautiful. We behold perfect palaces springing up on every side. We see granite and marble taking the place of common brick. We find the most elegant adornments of architecture, perfect in beauty of workmanship and proportion of form, usurping the ground once covered by inansions which would appear clumsy to the eye of modern taste. And we are constrained to acknowledge that all this is a great improvement." Well?" "As you say, these changes do not gain our love with our admiration. We look upon the past with thoughts of affection, and we would prefer for ourselves the lowly clumsy habitations of our fathers. Is it not so?" "Truly so," I answered. "Thus our own agreeable associations change deformity into beauty, and as we grow grayer and grayer, we still cling to our cherished opinons, and good-humoredly let the world laugh at us, if it will. And we will not grumble at the rising generation because it differs from us, but will charitably remember, that it has not old recollections to sour a zeal for improvement." I again assented, and my companion continued. "Yet I cannot let the subject escape me, without expressing my displeasure at some things which have marked the course of the last few years. No generation should be so hurried away by zeal as to obliterate old traditionary landmarks. Let all raise their palaces and proudly compare them with the humbler habitations of other days, yet relics of historical importance should not be removed or changed from their original uses, for mere convenience or access of wealth. I will refer to this old building as |