A WALK I TOOK.
Did you ever see the New York Battery? Of course you have, if you are a New Yorker. You have stood a thousand times looking toward Staten Island, over the blue water, and seen the gallant ships, and the little pleasure-boats, and the mammoth steamers, and listened to the far-off “yeave-ho,” of the good honest sailors, and felt the fresh sea-breeze fan your heated cheek; sat down under the shady trees, and watched the children roll upon the grass, and heard their merry shouts. Not the children of the rich—no; luckily for poor children, the Battery, one of the most beautiful spots in New York, was long ago voted “unfashionable;” after that, of course, it would never do for any body who wished to be thought any body, to walk there, and to admire this beautiful view or enjoy the cool shade of the lovely trees—no, indeed. So these fashionables left the beautiful Battery to the poor people, and I thanked God for it, as I sat there under the trees, one hot summer afternoon, and saw them come streaming in through the gates, from the filthy alleys, and by-streets, with their little barefooted children, and their care-worn anxious-looking wives. They had it all to themselves now, no fear of intruding, for, as I told you, nobody who cared to be thought fashionable would ever dare to venture there, much less sit down beside them on the benches. But I was not fashionable, so I sat there and watched the face of the tired, worn-out mother, and saw her faded eye brighten, as it rested on the blue water and the beautiful sunset clouds, enjoying the cool wind as it lifted the tangled curls from her sick baby’s face. Her poor little baby! who had been shut up in a dark underground room all day, while his mother stood scrubbing out clothes at the wash-tub—ah! it was quite another thing for them this fresh sea-breeze, this pretty grassy velvet carpet, dotted with butter-cups and dandelion blossoms. The little baby hardly knew its own mother’s face, it looked so pleasant and fresh and happy; hardly knew her voice, which grew softer and sweeter, though she did not know it, as she felt that God had made some things for the poor as well as the rich; and as I sat beside them, and watched the little pale baby tumble round on the soft grass, picking butter-cups, I thanked God, as I told you before, that the Battery had become “unfashionable,” so that these poor creatures and I, could go there and enjoy all this beauty without having it spoiled by their foolish presence. Just as I was going away from the Battery, thinking of these things, I saw a group of emigrants before me, who had just landed from some ship. How oddly they were dressed! Most of them were young, hale, and strong; and glad to leap from the rocking vessel to the shore, which they had been told was the “poor man’s paradise.” On they went, gazing bewilderingly about, jostled hither and thither as they passed through the streets. Strange sights, strange sounds, strange faces all. There was nothing there to remind them of the old “fatherland.” How odd the vehicles, how curious the houses, how new the dresses; how little all the busy people about them seemed to care what became of the poor emigrants in a strange land.
Now, as the emigrants pass along, still gazing, still wondering, they see a church. They understand that! Ah! the great loving heart of God beats for his children in all lands, beneath all skies! And so the poor emigrants stopped, and the old man reverently uncovered his silver head; the child hushed its gleeful prattle; the rosy maiden checked her merry laugh, and with one accord they all knelt upon the pavement, to render thanks to Him who held the winds and waves in the hollow of His hand, and who had brought them safely to this foreign land.
It was a holy and beautiful sight! The man of business stared at that kneeling group as he rushed by, and for the first time for many, many a day, he thought of the long-forgotten prayer at his dead mother’s knee; and the half-way Christian crimsoned with shame, as he looked at these poor emigrants, and remembered how the noisy voices of the world had drowned for him the still, small whisper of God’s Spirit.
Ah! my dear little children, believe me, there are many good sermons which are never preached in churches.