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OTSEGO LAKE.

At three o’clock A.M. on a cloudy and somewhat chilly morning, left the door of the Eagle in a very comfortable extra coach, which was chartered to convey a freight of four persons to the mansion of Mr. C e, lying upon Otsego Lake, distant from Albany some sixty miles.

My companions were Mr. H e, whom I had with me at starting, and Mr. I. V. B n, for whom we had agreed to halt at his hotel on the top of the State House hill, and a long halt we had of it; for, having no great confidence in our punctuality, he had very wisely, as far as his own comfort was concerned, left orders to be called whenever we should appear: and not a moment earlier was he in the least danger of being roused, for we had to awaken one of the Irish waiters before he could be come at; a task of no small difficulty. After some half-hour’s delay at the top of the hill, we set forward.

Mem.In future, always arrange on all early expeditions to have my quarters beat up last.

Although the morning broke gloomily, the sun rose brave and bright, and managed throughout the day to keep the field against both wind and cloud, that sought to overcast him. For the most part, this line of country is very tame, and offers little to compensate for the bad road leading through it. The amusement, therefore, which a series of fine landscapes affords the traveller not being found here, we had to draw upon our own personal resources to banish weariness; happily these were not wanting: the youngest of my friends was the son of a leading Whig, or Oppositionist, and newly inoculated with the right degree of political fervour becoming the time and his age; the senior was a Tory, or of the Government party, possessed of much natural humour, and having a thorough knowledge of the people.

Previous to starting, the young politician was bold in his assertion that in Schoharie county,that through which our route lay,the Whig interest was in the ascendant; this assertion his better instructed opponent as stoutly contradicted, insisting on the contrary, that Jacksonism was the political creed cherished as orthodox amongst the country people.

The mode of coming at the true state of the parties was simple enough; we had only, whilst halting to change horses or bait, to touch upon the absorbing topic of the day, and the village loungers, landlord, bar-keeper, and guests, might have been placed upon a canvassing roll without a chance of error, so decidedly did they make “their love known.”

I soon discovered that the “ould Gineral” had a hollow thing of it on this line of march, as, indeed, I have uniformly observed to be the case in all the agricultural districts; and although it may be argued that the confidence of these sons of the soil may neither be wisely nor well placed, it must, I conceive, be on all hands admitted that it is at least the result of honest conviction; for, if a stranger may be permitted to judge, I should say, a more virtuous and right-meaning class does not exist than the agriculturists generally of these States; indeed it appears clear to me that it is to this great body of truly independent electors the political seer must turn when he would desire fairly to calculate the probable changes likely to be worked out in this vast region. They are the owners of the land which their votes govern; they are invulnerable to the anarchist and the mad agrarian; they are observant and intelligent; and although liable, as are all men, to be for a time hoodwinked, or led astray, by interested brawlers, only let the veil be once lifted, and a glimpse afforded which shall inform them that their property or the country’s freedom are endangered, and they will be found a rampart behind which all true patriots, the lovers of order and country, may rally, and which they may hold impregnable against the furious assault of the leveller, or the insidious sap of the disguised despot.

But enough of this: chacun a son metier; yet here I am betrayed into a homily where I only contemplated a jest. The truth is, my allusion to this topic at all arose from the vivid recollection I still have of the great fun I derived from this canvassing of my companions in support of their opinions previously expressed.

At each new stopping-place, my Whig friend would jump out with eager anticipations that here his majority would be made too palpable for denial; after him would quickly stride his long-legged, long-headed rival; and in a moment both were hard at it with the inmates of the house.

At places where a weak minority gave signs of hardihood, I usually adopted their side in argument; and, as I was fully au fait to all the slang of party at least, it became my business in promotion of fun, to fan the flame, which in one instance had nearly ended in getting myself and my allies turned out of an honest Jacksonian’s house, who swore no such libellous Whigs should drink at his bar. In fact, my ears being kept on strict duty during our noisy debates, in order to determine the exact moment for prudently backing out, I, in this case, concluded it wise to anticipate the expulsion which was decreed by a large majority, having caught certain ominous disjointed words, which, by the aid of a copulative conjunction or two, would have read, “Take ’em down and duck them in the river.”

About two o’clock we reached the neat little village called Cherry Valley, and, in a couple of hours after, entered upon the well-kept domain of Mr. C e. The view of the lake and mansion, as it is approached from the main road, is exceedingly good; and, when the spirited proprietor’s tasteful designs shall be completed, will have no equal in this country.

Our reception at Hyde-hall was as hospitable as heart could wish. It was the birthday of our host’s son; and we found a large party assembled, amongst whom were three or four remarkably handsome women.

Otsego, or, as it is commonly called, Cooper’s-Town Lake, has been best described by the novelist of that name, in, I think, his admirable American book, “The Last of the Mohicans.” He looked upon it with the eye of a poet and the love of a son; for he was born and passed his boyhood upon its banks, and in the pretty town reflected in its clear water the name of his father is perpetuated. The son has founded his name upon a yet surer basis: towns may fall as they have risen, and their founders be forgotten; but the pleasure we derive from genius enshrines its possessor within our hearts, and transmits his name to be a household word amongst our children. Ages may pass away, and empires may flourish and may fade, but the hand of a Cicero will ever be found to pluck the weeds from the tomb of an Archimedes!

This mansion, at which I continued for three or four days, is built upon a natural terrace, part of a fine hill that juts out into the lake, and creates a little bay that laves its south side, and forms a safe harbour for the boats of the family, in one of which I remember to have had the pleasure of making an exploring cruise under the infliction of as pitiless a shower as ever a party of fair voyagers was pelted by.

On either hand range the bold finely-timbered hills by which the lake is bordered, until, gradually rounding at the southern extremity, it affords space for one of the neatest little towns I ever visited, and whose white buildings and glittering vanes give a charming termination to the view from Hyde, from which it is distant some eight or nine miles; but the character of the vista, and there being only water between, makes it look nearer by half this space.

On Monday, June 30th, after abiding three cold, wet days, quitted Mr. C e’s family, drove along the bank of the lake to Cooper’s Town, and thence took stage for Utica, accompanied by my young Whig companion, who now had the field of politics to himself; for our Tory friend had turned upon his steps for Albany.

We did not reach Utica till late in the afternoon, the distance being forty miles, and our rate of going not exceeding six miles per hour: we made no halt here, but, hiring a carriage, immediately pushed for the Retreat at Trenton Falls, which we did not arrive at until after ten o’clock P.M. The people, however, were yet up, and with much civility set to work to provide us with a broiled chicken and a fresh trout, over which we quickly forgot a very rough day’s ride.