Mr. ------ intended to introduce me to Dr. Spring, but he was not at home. He then took me to the Union Theological Seminary. In that institution about 120 young men are preparing for the Christian ministry. The library contains twenty thousand volumes on theology alone—musty and prosy tomes! What a punishment it would be to be compelled to wade through the whole! We saw neither professors nor students. My principal recollection of the place is that of feeling intensely hungry, and smelling at the same time the roast beef on which, in some of the lower regions of the buildings, the young divines were regaling themselves. In vain I wished to join them in that exercise.
When we came out, my guide proposed to take me to see Dr. Robinson. Much as I wanted to see the author of the “Greek Lexicon,” and the Traveller in Palestine, there were other claims that then more urgently pressed themselves. I had breakfasted at 7, and it was now near 1. I gave my friend a hint to that effect. But he overruled it by saying, “It is close by, and won’t take us many minutes.” We went, but the Doctor was not in. We were now opposite Dr. Skinner’s Church, and my friend insisted on my going to see it. It will hold about 1,000 people. All the pews are cushioned and lined, and the place has a decided air of aristocracy about it. The school-room, the lecture-room, the vestry, &c., were very complete and convenient. “How strange,” I observed to my friend, “that you should so far exceed us in the comfort of your places of worship, and at the same time be so far behind us in domestic comforts.” “That” said he, “was the principle of the Puritans,—the house of God first, their own after.” I ventured to ask him what salaries ministers in New York generally received. He told me from 1,000 to 4,000 dollars, or from 200_l._ to 800_l._ “My own,” he added, “is 2,000 dollars.” We were now not far from the New York University. “You must go and see that,” said he. I went, but saw nothing particular except the library, empty lecture-rooms, and chapel,—no professors. My friendly guide pointed to a portrait of Lord Lyndhurst, told me with evident pride that he was a Yankee, and marvelled at my ignorance of the fact.