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Table of Contents

Tour to Harrisburg—Aspect of the country—The Valley of the Susquehanna—The passage of the River—The Valley of the Juniata—Huntingdon—The Rev. John W. James—His sudden exit.

The following twelve Chapters consist principally of extracts from the note book which the author kept, during a tour through the great Western Valley in 1837.

On board the Canal Packet Swatara, Wednesday evening, June 14, 1837.

I have never been more struck than to-day with the tranquilizing influence which the works of nature are capable of exerting upon the mind. There is a calmness, a solemn stillness—a sweet quietude spread over field and forest, and all that the eye rests upon in passing through the country at this beautiful season, which cannot fail to find a response in the bosom of every beholder. I have no doubt a ride into the country would often operate like a charm to calm down the agitations, quiet the corrodings, and soothe the anxieties of many, who amid the engagements of the city are the victims of carking care, and seem to live only to wade through the fiery stream of perturbed and anxious feeling.

We left Philadelphia at six o'clock this morning. The cars belonging to the three regular lines that run on the Rail Road to Harrisburg, filled with about one hundred and fifty passengers, and fastened to each other in one train, were moved by the same locomotive. There is something very exhilarating in the act of being borne through a beautiful country at the rate of fifteen miles an hour. It seemed as we moved along as though our whole train was instinct with life, and endowed with magic pinions, which it had only to spread abroad, and skim over the surface of the ground with the fleetness of the wind. As we passed along from the city, one varied, and verdant scene of all that is lovely in hill and dale, forest and field, orchard and farm-house, presented itself in quick succession after another—filling up the whole way with images as beautiful and varied as are brought to the eye by every turn of the kaleidoscope.

The country between Philadelphia and Harrisburg in its outlines and agricultural aspect strikingly reminded me of western New York. The impress of thrift and wealth are enstamped upon every vale and hill-side that meets your eye in this vast fertile landscape. I could not but ask myself, however, "Is there a moral beauty here, displayed in the lives of those who cultivate this land, corresponding with the marks of material loveliness which the Creator has spread over all this scene? Do the walls of these cottages and farm-houses resound to the voice of prayer and praise with each rising and setting sun? Is the Saviour of sinners universally known, and loved, and served here? Do all these people, whose homes are scattered along this range of country, regard this beautiful region as the theatre on which God has placed them to prepare for the skies?"

I know not what the state of religion may be generally through these counties, but when I turned to a tabular list to see how many churches and communicants we numbered in this extent of country, I felt sad to find how small a part of the land we had possessed, and how very little we, as a branch of the great Catholic Church, were doing to extend the kingdom of Christ even in our very neighborhood. I hope other communions have done and are doing more to diffuse vital godliness through this section of the land than we, otherwise there must be a lamentable want of that faith which Christ came to establish on the earth. O when shall prayer go up as one thick cloud of incense from every house and hamlet scattered through this region, made so fair and beautiful by a divine hand! Then indeed will "the valleys which stand so thick with corn laugh and sing, the hills will clap their hands, and every thing that hath breath praise the Lord."

At Harrisburg we took the canal. Our course till evening lay along the valley of the Susquehanna, which as we proceeded we found hemmed in with mountain bluffs, not unlike the palisades which surmount the banks of the broad Hudson, or some of the rougher mountain features in the neighborhood of the Highlands. The scene that opened before us was one of calm—quiet beauty. There was awakened somewhat of a romantic feeling as we sat down to our tea, borne quietly along through the rural beauties that clustered thick around us. Our cabin windows were thrown wide open, and we inhaled with delight the cool and refreshing breath of evening. On our right, almost within reaching distance, the road passed along just under the brow of a very precipitous hill, whose top peered up amid the clouds. On the left, parallel with our course, was the expanded Susquehanna: and beyond this beautiful stream one bluff and lofty range of hills rising up after another, gave to that side of the river the aspect of continuous mountain scenery.

As the day declined and the sun sunk below the horizon, a dark mass of clouds seemed rolling up from the northwest. This stupendous pile of clouds hung directly over the gap in the mountains, through which the Susquehanna poured its wide and troubled waters. Soon the heavens began to gather blackness, and the forked lightning to play with fearful glare on the surface of this dark mass of clouds, followed by loud peals of startling thunder. Almost immediately the rain commenced pouring down in torrents. The transition from the quiet scene through which we had been passing, to one of storm and tempest, was sudden and unexpected. There was a sublimity and awful grandeur that gathered around that hour and spot, which I shall not soon forget. What added to the effect, was, that just then we had arrived at the point, where we were to cross the Susquehanna. The bridge that had been flung up over the river to afford a passage for the horses to tow the boat across, had partially fallen down, so that it was no longer capable of use. A strong cable had been fixed across the stream, by means of which a power was applied to our boat, which, in connexion with the force of the current, would bear us rapidly over. It began to be dark, and the rain fell violently. The waters seemed rough and threatening, and many of the passengers felt a sense of great insecurity. To many on board, though I presume there was no danger, it was a moment of deep and awful suspense. My mind instantly run off into a train of serious thought. It appeared to me that our course this day had been not unlike the journey of life. At first in the May morning of our existence, we start off with speed and are borne as by enchantment through a succession of gay, bright, blooming fields. As we advance, though we move apparently beneath benignant skies, and tread amid many of the beauties of creation, our path all the while runs along by the side of the river of death. That river we must finally cross, and it may be amid darkness and storms, and beneath the impending thunder cloud of divine wrath! Happy are they whose hopes and interests are so garnered up in Christ, that it matters not to them when, or how they cross it! Happy are they who can embark upon this river with such a simple, and firm reliance on the Saviour, as to feel that there is no danger, however rough or dark the passage may be!

Thursday, June 15.—When we awoke at four o'clock this morning, we found ourselves wending our way along the valley of the Juniata, a stream tributary to the Susquehanna. The scenery on either side of this river is surpassingly beautiful, and in style not unlike that which we passed yesterday on the Susquehanna. The hills that hedge in the narrow valley of the Juniata are usually of a conical, or triangular shape, covered to the very summit with a stunted growth of forest trees. There was a peaceful quiet—a solemn stillness reigning through almost the entire extent of this valley, which to me appeared truly delightful. It seemed like the deep and unbroken silence of nature. It was to us a stillness seldom broken save when the sound of the boatman's horn, or the heavy tread of the horse on the tow path, went up the mountain side, and woke an echo amid the untrodden solitudes that stretched up those wild, and wood covered steeps.

As we advanced farther up the Juniata we saw evidences of a more dense population. Villages occasionally rose to view. We passed Lewistown early in the forenoon, and heard a favorable account of the acceptableness and labors of our young clerical friend, the Rev. J. F. H. How true it is, that wherever a faithful servant of the Lord is planted, there "the waste places will soon be converted into a fruitful field, and the desert will be made to rejoice and blossom as the rose!"

Just at nightfall we passed Huntingdon, the place where poor James fell last August on his way to western Pennsylvania. This esteemed brother had been much in my mind in all our jaunt up the valley of this river: and it had occurred to me as we passed along, if there was a spot on earth where one could be content to lie down and die, far from friends and home, it was along this valley, amid this sweet quiet mountain scenery. One can scarcely look out upon these green and foliage clad heights and the multiplied demonstrations around him of Almighty power and skill without feeling his heart drawn up in devout adoration to the Framer of these everlasting hills.

I was disappointed, and sorry in finding the scenery less beautiful at Huntingdon than at any of the former points on the Juniata. The village presented an unattractive appearance. The house in which our brother[1] met his final hour was pointed out to me. It seemed a very gloomy and unlovely abode. As I passed the spot I felt the deep fountains of sensibility moved in my soul: I thought, that it was here, far away from the sympathy of his people, that this man of God lay down in the agonies of death. It was here that his eye was sealed for ever on earthly scenes—and his liberated spirit mounted up to God! Though to mortal eyes the circumstances of his death seemed most undesirable, yet we know that he went quickly up to tread the streets of the heavenly city, and to stand where he could gaze everlastingly on the unveiled face of Jesus, his crucified and risen Lord. O who that looks to the end of the glorious consummation will not long to depart and "be with Christ which is far better!"