Of all public displays, that which affected me most deeply was the celebration of the opening of the Croton river into the great city of New York. A day had been appointed by the powers in being. Arrangements were made for a mighty civic procession. It was a jubilee of Cold Water. The Temperance Societies figured chiefly on the occasion. Those trades which best flourish by the practice of temperance were numerously represented, bearing before them their symbols and instruments. I remember a printing-press on a platform, borne triumphantly along, working as it went, throwing off handbills, on which odes were printed, to the eager and amused crowd on both sides of the way. By the side of that printing-press sat, in smiling dignity, Colonel Stone, as everybody called him, then editor of the Commercial Advertiser. Kind-hearted, conscientious, hospitable, credulous, verbose gentleman! thou art sleeping as silently as those aboriginal lords of the soil whose lives thou commemoratedst!

I have seen a great many multitudes, but never so quiet, so orderly, so well-dressed, so happy a concourse as that which filled the windows and balconies and doorsteps, and absolutely covered the sidewalks, on the morning of the Croton celebration. Throngs of gayly clad women and children moved merrily about; for there was not a solitary drunkard that day in all the streets of the city to molest or make them afraid. An individual under the influence of any liquor more potent than that which was gushing from a thousand fountains, would have been an anomaly too hideous to be borne. Braver than Julius CÆsar or Zachary Taylor must he have been who dared to took upon wine red in the cup on such a day as that.

I well remember the reflections which passed through my mind as I stood gazing on that happy and soul-comforting scene. The treaty of peace, as it might well have been called, establishing the North-Eastern boundary of the United States, settling a questio vexata of long continuance, which had again and again threatened war, had just been concluded between this country and Great Britain—thanks to the pacific dispositions and noble talents of the negotiators. Thinking of this, as I looked at the mighty civic array, at the procession, which was like an endless chain of human beings, the head of it, after having traveled through six miles of streets, meeting the tail of it, which had not yet drawn an inch of its slow length along, below the Park—as I looked at the smiling faces and the sporting fountains—I exclaimed to myself, How glorious a scene is this! How much worthier of a free people than the martial triumphs of old! A great good has been done. Energy and Skill have effected a stupendous work. Thousands and thousands are met together on an appointed day, to commemorate an achievement which shall prove a blessing to many generations yet unborn. Indeed, indeed this is more to be desired than the most complete of victories.

I went on thus with my cogitations. Let me suppose that these negotiations between two nations, strong in men and the resources of warfare, negotiations skillfully conducted to a most fortunate issue, and the establishment of a peace in which all the world is interested, had proved to be unsuccessful. Suppose that war had been declared, that we had no longer ago than yesterday received intelligence of a conquest on the sea, that a fierce battle had been fought, and that our ships had come into port laden with spoils and crowded with prisoners. How different to-day would have been our rejoicings! The outward demonstrations might, in some respects, have been the same. The streets would have been filled with multitudes of men; the bells of the churches (oh sacrilege!) would have pealed long and loudly; the flag of our country would have waved from many a house-top and “liberty-pole”—yet, in the midst of all this, there would have been distinguished the trophies of wo and of disaster. The cannon, which had dealed death to the brave, would have been borne through the streets, and the banners of the conquered trailed in the dust. Execrations would have mingled with shouts, and frowns of hatred with smiles of joy. Sorrow and anguish would have been comates with exultation and delight, and the hilarity of all hearts deeply subdued by the sad faces of many mourners.

And how different would have been our inward emotions! Instead of “calm thoughts regular as infant’s breath,” we should have experienced a tumultuous rapture, a demoniac triumph, an uneasy and restless joy, a trembling pride, a satisfaction with the present embittered by fears for the future. Now we rejoice with cheerful consciences. No “coming events cast their shadows before” to cloud the horizon of hope. We look upon a cloudless firmament above us and around us. We are indeed proud of the task which has been accomplished; but ours is a pride unmixed with any baser emotion—a pride honorable to humanity. Ah, how much more glorious is this than a victory! It is a sight to make the old young—a sight worthy of perpetual commemoration. It will be always recollected. We shall tell it to our children’s children. From time to time our authors shall write of it—so that it may always live in the memory of the age.

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