The High School, on West Genesee street, has a delightful location on the banks of Onondaga Creek, and combines with its other advantages that of a public library. It has a free reading room, thrown open to the city at large, and a choice collection of many thousand volumes adorn its shelves. Sitting at the open window and listening to the noisy waters of the creek as it flows past, intermingled with an occasional bird carol overhead, I could almost imagine myself out in the heart of the country, away from the struggling masses of the crowded marts, in their mad race after wealth—with nothing more inharmonious around me than the bird orchestra of some imaginary June sky, the low sweep of waters and the sound of the summer wind among the pines.
Syracuse rates herself sixty thousand strong, and I am unable to say whether the hard figures will bear her out in this assertion. Perhaps, however, a small margin of egotism ought to be subtracted from our estimate of ourselves, especially when "ourselves" means a city.
James street is decidedly the handsomest thoroughfare in Syracuse. It is wide, well paved, and two miles or more in length. On it are congregated, with a few exceptions, the finest residences of the city. These are surrounded, for the most part, by spacious grounds, and some of them by groves of primeval forest growths. The street is an inclined plane on one side, with a gentle declivity on the other. From its top, quite an extensive prospect opens to the view, taking in most of the city of salt, and its enclosing amphitheatre of hills. Looking down the street, and over across the valley, the gray turrets of Yates' Castle can be seen, nearly hidden by its surrounding trees.
"A castle?" I hear my imaginary reader question. "Yes," I answer, a castle,—the real, genuine, article—towers, turrets, gate-keeper's lodge and all; nothing lacking but moat and drawbridge, to transport one to the times of tournament and troubadours—of knight-errantry and fair ladies riding to the chase with hawk and hound.
A Latin motto, on the coat of arms adorning the arched gateway, points to an ancestry of noble blood. But, alas for greatness! not even the lodge-keeper's family knew the meaning of the Latin inscription. We learned, however, that the armorial emblems were of English origin, and belonged, possibly, to the times of the royal Georges. The grounds about the castle are quite in keeping with the building itself. Winding roads, rustic bridges, statuary, summer-houses and fountains, fitly environ this antique pile.
Just opposite this place, on the hill-top, stands the Syracuse University—its white walls outlined in bold relief against the sky. It is a Methodist institution, and its chief office is to prepare young men for the ministry, and teach the youthful idea how to shoot, in accordance with modern theology. The location is breezy enough, and high enough, to satisfy almost any one's aspirations, and, if height has anything to do with ideas, the thoughts of these young students ought to be well-nigh heavenly.
But, at last, we are compelled to say good-bye to Syracuse, and all its pleasant associations, to say nothing of its salt. Westward the star of Empire takes its way, and we have engaged a seat on the same train. It is with real regret that we part company with these cities of our beloved New York—Syracuse not the least among them. But the arrival of the midnight "Lightning Express" for Rochester cuts short our musings, and we are soon whirling away in the darkness, leaving the country of the Onondagas far behind us, slumbering in the arms of night.