Latter Day Saints' Messenger and Advocate/Volume 2/Number 12/Letter from the editor (Aug. 3, 1836)

The following is from the Editor, now on a tour to the East, for the purpose of spending a few weeks on the sea board, to his brother in this place. Those acquainted with our brother, know of his indefatigable labors in the cause of Christ since the organization of the church. We hope his journey may be pleasant, and that his former degree of health may be restored.

ON BOARD THE STEAMER BOSTON,

Long Island Sound, August 3, 1836. }

DEAR BROTHER:—

I have often thought, that were all the ills and woes, perplexities and care of his life faithfully portrayed before the mind of anxious, expecting youth, he would sink down disheartened, and wish to be absent, rather than venture upon the stage of life where so many hazards are seen, and so little real, substantial and lasting enjoyment obtained. But, it is, no doubt, for the best, that the curtain which hides him from the next moment's opening scene, should carefully enclose its troubles and its joys, lest by the one he should be held back from duty, or by the other propelled to folly and exultation. A wise Creator has so fixed our state, that by disappointments and crosses, if not by prosperity and success, we may be admonished of our approaching end, and that this life is not our abiding place. I think, though yet young, that were it not for friends and near relatives, whom I so highly esteem, and whose society and happiness I so much value, I would even now choose rather to take my exit, that I might be at rest, than longer tarry where woes surround and afflictions overwhelm the human heart. This is not the hasty reflection of the moment, nor is it the last sad resort of the culprit, whose fate is sealed, and whose days are numbered, to his certain knowledge. For the fond prospects of youth, may be said, in fact, to be yet before me. And though despised and ridiculed by thousands, I have a certain reflection, that God has so far been my friend, that many, very many, entertain a fellowship, at least, for the religion I profess, if not for me, when a short time since, but few were found, who did not only consider those principles heretical, but the promulgators, unfit for human society. And knowing, as I do, it is the work of the great God, with confidence may I look to see it prosper and prevail. Most certainly, these last reflections are joyous and very satisfactory, yet that anchor to the soul, sure and steadfast, which is cast within the vail, outweighs all these. O, eternal rest, my spirit longs for thee! Beyond, far beyond these restless climes my hopes are centered and my treasures dwell! There, there! where the pure rays of glory, the never-fading beauties of our Creator, and the peaceful enjoyments of the redeemed, all conspire to render happiness complete indeed! Who so vain as not to choose thee rather than affliction? Who so inconsiderate as not to value thee above those things that change? And who so vile as not to cast off the sins of this life, to ensure an inheritance in those blessed mansions, where each inhabitant beholds the Savior's face?

But, if I employ all my time on this subject, I shall find no space to tell you of my journey. On Monday, the 25th of July, at 7 o'clock, P. M. I took passage on board the steamer Charles Townsend, S. Fox, Master, at Fairport, for Buffalo. The Townsend is a miserably slow boat, with but indifferent accommodations. The least swell seems to have power to toss her to and fro "like a drunken man." Brother R's and my own health, were far from being good: his, from sea, or lake, sickness, and mine, from chills and fever: increased, no doubt, by the cold, damp winds from the north east. Our other brethren were well, and found opportunity to "contend for the faith once delivered to the saints." In fact, they were rather drawn into conversation, in consequence of some on board, who sought to stir up animosity and bitter feeling, by vile insinuations and slanderous, ungentlemanly assertions.

It is certainly strange how vain mankind are; it would seem, that some are so much out of their element, if they are not slandering their neighbors, that they must necessarily employ their whole time in this vile, hellish business, in order to live. However, the good sense, the better judgment, and the manly understanding of the passengers, were not to be swerved by ruffian lies, put forth to injure the innocent. And the loud talk, boisterous assertions and exulting pride, of a few, ceased to be heard long ere we arrived at our destined port. I am satisfied that our appearance, if nothing had been said, would have been productive of good—men saw that we did not wear horns, or any other monstrous thing, to distinguish ourselves from others.

The next evening, about 10 o'clock, we arrived at Buffalo, and took lodgings at the "Farmers' Hotel." I believe that the constant and unceasing emigration to the west, and the return of land speculators, serve, with other business, to keep the Inns, in Buffalo, constantly full. From the extortionate price of board, &c. one would suppose that Inn-keeping would be an object of enough importance to warrant a sufficiently of public houses—but this is hardly so. The population and trade of this town are fact increasing. Such being the fact, of course, wickedness keeps an even pace.

Here we very unexpectedly fell in company with our highly esteemed friends and brethren, elders O. Hyde and M. C. Nickerson: the former on his way to Canada, and the later from that province. Elder Hyde soon left us, but elder Nickerson tarried in town until we left in a boat for Rochester. I confess, that to meet a friend, a tried friend in a distant place, is like meeting an angel while wandering alone in the wilderness.

We had anticipated taking a packet at Buffalo, but my ill health, together with crowded boats, withal so much fisting and fighting, racing and rioting, the brethren, for my comfort, as well as their own peace, concluded to take a line boat. This rendered our passage slow, but more agreeable.

A short time previous to our passing Albion, a man had been robbed of some nine or ten hundred dollars, by a couple of ruffians, who decoyed him alone, under pretence of showing him a farm. They shot him, robbed him, and then threw him into the canal, and fled. Fortunately, he was not killed, but crawled out and made an alarm. Report said he was like to recover. It is to be hoped, that the robbers may be found, and suffer the penalty of the law.

Not far from this place we saw another dead body, which had just been taken out of the canal, over which a jury of inquest was soon to have been held. Fresh blood was then issuing, from one of his temples. He was probably a man of about middle age. If wickedness and robbery do not walk the banks of the Erie canal, I confess myself unable to judge from the best evidence!

Rochester continues to flourish: while the Genessee River affords water, and the adjacent country, wheat, Rochester must be a place of business. Like most of our western towns, it is blessed, or cursed, with all kinds of people. Our stay here was short. I observed while passing, that many of the little towns on the canal, seemed to resemble Jonah's gourd—they have grown up in about the space of a night, and perished as soon. It will require a number of years to make the banks of the canal one continued city, as many have supposed—the adjacent country will not support it.

At nearly eight o'clock, A. M. the 29th, we arrived at Utica—just in time to take the rail road car for Schenectady: the first passengers' car on the new road. It being the first trip for the purpose of carrying passengers, I suppose prudence dictated a slow motion, to save accident; and including time occupied in receiving and unloading passengers, taking on new supplies of water and wood, we were more than six hours travelling eighty miles. I suppose the distance may be run in four hours with ease.

The locomotive had hardly stopped before the cry was—"Albany baggage—the car starts in five minutes." Such a scene of confusion, bustle and crowding, was not very pleasant.—However, there was no great outrage—no broken heads, arms or legs, but a good deal of complaining and many wry faces. We succeeded, after a good share of scuffling and pulling, in getting our trunks on board the baggage car for Albany. The engine attached to the cars about one mile from the town, (at the top of a long hill, which you ascend on an inclined plain,) and propels you at a good speed, say one mile in two and a half minutes. It might not be safe to go faster, but from any inconvenience one would suffer from fast riding, you might as well go a mile per minute.—Three miles from the termination of the track, the engine is disengaged and the cars drawn by horses—it ends on State street, a little below the State House.

Albany is an old town, said to contain near forty thousand inhabitants: its streets are very irregular, narrow and crooked: the widest is State street, graced with a large, splendid State House. State Houses, you know, are very fine buildings—here, office holders and office seekers, meet for debate, wise men to enact good laws, which many of the people, by-the-by, take special care not to observe.

I had long wished to descend the Hudson by day-light, but was always so hurried with business, that I could not delay twelve hours to see a dozen such streams, with all the cities and hills upon their banks. At seven o'clock, A. M. we went on board the steamer Erie, or rather, the John Mason, which took us to the Erie, lying over the bar. The Erie is a fine, spacious boat, fitted for day passengers, with two engines, and a very decent looking captain.—Just as the passengers were stepping off the John Mason, the Rochester, a new boat, passed us. "Now for a race—now for trying speed," was the sound from different parts; and a race and trying of speed, it was—each boat's crew seemed to be eager to effect a landing of passengers, at the different points, with the least time. However, as fate, steam, or power of engine, would have it, the Erie, after touching at Catskill and Westpoint, where the Rochester did not, went into New York a few miles "ahead." Every one on board seemed to be glad, but few to realize, that by such an extra pressure of speed, the lives of hundreds had been made to hang as by a single hair. For one, I thanked God that myself and friends were safely landed.

New York is a large town—I have no doubt but it is as rich, and as poor—as proud, and as humble—as lofty, and as low—as virtuous, and as vile; —and, it being the largest, no one will pretend it is not—the most wicked, of any other in the Union. Curiosity had brought me to the conclusion of visiting, at this time, the different parts of this great emporium of fashion and foolery; but the ill state of my health actually forbade. I walked down and took a view of the "burnt district," and saw how easily the wealth and pride of men can be made to vanish before the devouring, consuming element, when the great God so orders in his purpose. Fifteen millions is a large sum to vanish in a night. The great exchange, once the pride and boast of the sellers and buyers of cash, is a heap. There is money yet in Wall street, and "Draper, Underwood," and others, ready to help incorporated bodies to plates and dyes, to make more. Our Government is creating a large Custom House on the corner of Nassau and Wall streets, which, when completed, will be very grand. The huge marble pillars, already look like the work of a nation. Strangers find it a difficult task to pass the business streets in New York: on the side walks you come in constant collision with balloon sleeves, and off, your life is in danger, in consequence of omnibuses and drays.—The New Yorkers, with all their other inventions to make, and get money, have contrived an admirable plan—coaches and omnibuses, to that degree that no one can pass on foot, and of course, necessity compels one to ride. A man with one eye, can see that an omnibus with four horses, occupies more room than the number of passengers it can carry. But this belongs to the march of improvement peculiar to this age, and so long as people rather ride than walk, I presume but few will complain, even if now and then a man gets his neck broken.

You may think strange if I remain silent upon the subject of the religion of this city; for of course, as large a town as this must abound with religion of some kind, if not with all kinds.—Here are chapels, churches, and meeting houses, people to fill them, and priests to hold forth and tell them what they must believe; and withal, it might be considered uncharitable for me to say there were none sincere in the great body; but the important question is, are they, as societies and congregations, right? And if they are not right, they must be wrong! and if wrong, can they be saved? There may be found a few righteous enough to save it; but, with all its religion, and its righteousness, New York seems to me like a congregated mass of heedless mortals, a sink of corruption, a road to misery—a gate to hell!

But I must close for the present, hoping that the glorious gospel of our Lord, which is so little known at this day, may be carried forth to the ends of the earth, and be proclaimed with demonstration and power, till every nation hears and every soul obeys—and the glory shall be his.

You may hear from me again.