No. 85.] 13 



ulture and industry of New-York. We yield on this occasion to 

 no narrower sentiments than the love of country, and of collective 

 man, and we invoke the blessed influence of that universal Provi- 

 dence, which watches over the seed time and matures the harvest. 



The theme for this occasion is the agriculture of New^York. But 

 what need of words to speak its praise 1 Look around you. The 

 cultivated earth is its own eulogist. The teeming wealth that gush- 

 es from its bosom — the returns of its industry in every form, that pre- 

 sent themselves in their abundance and perfection to our never wea- 

 ried eyes — are the evidences of its magnificence. The trees in your 

 market-place and on your hill tops, are older than the settlement of 

 civilized man in our America ; they are older than the presence of 

 the plow on the soil of New-York : they are witnesses of the quite 

 recent day, when your forests stepped down to your river's bank, and 

 the glades and prairies of your west were covered with useless luxu- 

 riance. And behold the change which little more than two centuries 

 have wrought : the earth subdued ; the forest glades adorned with 

 the white spires of churches, and gleaming with the light of villages; 

 towns nestling in every valley ; crowded cities, competing with the 

 largest of the earth, profusely supplied with every article of food. 

 And by whom has this miracle been wrought 1 By the farmers of 

 New-York. 



As I turn my eye northward, along the banks of the Hudson, my 

 mind reverts to the memory of one of your ancient landholders, who 

 died before our Independence. Join with me, farmers of New- York, 

 in recalling the gentle and humane Robert R. Livingston, the elder, 

 the father of the Chancellor. His home was in your vicinity ; his 

 mind was greatly and firmly, though not passionately, devoted to 

 your service. An only son, husband of an only daughter, father of 

 those whom the world will not soon forget ; he was of so lovely a 

 nature, that it seemed as if the fragrant atmosphere of spring, and 

 the melody of its sweetest birds, and the softened reflection in your 

 tranquil river of its grandest scenes, had blended together and melted 

 themselves into his soul. Peace to his memory ; let it not perish 

 among you. Let the lines on his monument be refreshed and deep- 

 ened. 



Nor let me limit the achievements of the farmers of New- York to 

 the subjection and beautiful adornment of its soil. The great works 

 of internal communication were commenced by the enterprise of your- 



