The
pensive chant arose; a white band of choristers and priests came forth;
and eminent citizens gathered around to reconsecrate the tablet over the
dust of one who, two hundred years ago, had practised a civilizing art
in this fresh land, and disseminated messages of religion and wisdom. It
was a singular picture, beautiful to the eye, solemn to the feelings,
and a rare tribute to the past, where the present sways with such
absolute rule. Few Broadway tableaux are so worthy of artistic
preservation. Before, the vista of a money-changers' mart; above and
below, a long, crowded avenue of metropolitan life; behind, the lofty
spire, gothic windows, and archways of the church, and the central group
as picturesquely and piously suggestive as a mediaeval rite.
Vainly would the most self-possessed reminiscent breast the living tide
of the surging thoroughfare, on a weekday, to realize in his mind's eye
its ancient aspect; but if it chance to him to land at the Battery on a
clear and still Sabbath morning, and before the bells summon forth the
worshippers, and to walk thence to Union Square in company with an
octogenarian Knickerbocker of good memory, local pride, and fluent
speech, he will obtain a mental photograph of the past that transmutes
the familiar scene by a quaint and vivid aerial perspective.
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