LETTER XII.

AH! that I could but fly away and cast a glance into my home, and see how it is with my Agatha and mamma! But ah! "that can not be, Your Grace!' said the duck, and therefore I must sit dull and silent as a duck, and enjoy myself by hoping and trusting that you are advancing with great strides on the path of improvement, and that you are becoming more and more like Taglioni in agility and grace. May it be so, my little heart! and may every thing be well at home!

Things have gone splendidly with me. I arrived this morning, after a voyage of three days and nights, expecting   [p. 261]   to have found here full summer, and somewhat annoyed, instead of that, to find the weather cold and gray, and to be obliged to go about in winter clothing. But it can not last long. The trees --for all the streets are planted with trees--are already clothed in tender green; roses, lilies, and orange-blossoms beckon from terraces and gardens, and the sun begins to break through the clouds. Probably, in the morning, it will be real summer again.

The weather during the last days of my stay at Brooklyn was wild and winterly, and the day I went on board was icy-cold; one saw ice and icicles every where; the sharp wind was full of icicles. The good, amiable Marcus and Rebecca, with their two eldest children, the angelic Eddie and the merry little Jenny, accompanied me on board. Marcus carried my luggage, spoke to the captain and to the stewardess for me, and arranged every thing.

I was so overwhelmed by introductions to strange people that I was obliged to take refuge in my room, that I might say a few words and take leave of my friends.

I really sat down and grieved for an hour after the S.'s had left me, and I was. borne upon the waves further and further from them. At night I dreamed that they were with me, and I thought, then, they are not gone, and we are not parted; it was merely a bad dream! But the dream was true enough.

The whole of the first day of the voyage was cold, gray, and cheerless. I avoided every body excepting a couple of Quakers--Friends, as they are commonly called --a man and his wife, with whom I became a little acquainted, and who pleased me, as Friends generally do, by their quietness, and their peaceful, silent demeanor. Their earliest youth was past; she had one of those pure, beautiful countenances which one so often meets with among Quaker women; he seemed to be out of health, and they were traveling to the South on his account. The next day   [p. 262]   we had splendid sunshine, but still cold, till toward noon, when we seemed all at once to come into really warm spring. It was like magic. Sky and sea were bathed in light; the air was full of life and delicious influence. It was enchantingly beautiful, divine! My whole being was suffused with this glory. I avoided the catechising conversation and sat down on the upper deck, and saw the sun go down and the full moon ascend in mild splendor; saw the North Star shining at yet greater distance from me, and Orion and Sirius ascend to the zenith. Hour after hour went by, and I was unconscious of every thing, excepting that the New World was beautiful, and its Creator great and good. I feared nothing, excepting that somebody might come and talk to me, and thus interrupt the glorious silence, the repose and gladness of my spirit.

I saw, on the lower deck, young men and their wives come out into the clear moonlight, pair after pair, cooing affectionately like doves; saw the Friends, my friends, sitting side by side, gazing upward at the moon, which shone upon their mild and calm countenances; saw the moonbeams dancing upon the dancing billows while we were borne onward along the calm sea toward Cape Hatteras, the light-house of which shone toward us, like a huge star on the south horizon.

At Cape Hatteras we were to enter the Gulf Stream, and this point is one of danger to the mariner. Violent gusts of wind and storm are generally encountered there; and many a fearful shipwreck has occurred at Cape Hatteras; but tempest and disaster came not near us. The moon shone, the billows danced, the wind was still, the pairs of turtle-doves cooed, and the Friends slumbered. We passed Cape Hatteras at midnight, and I hoped now to be in the region of steady summer warmth. But pshaw! Nothing of the kind.

Next morning it was again gray, and cold and cheerless, and not at all like summer. One portion of the company   [p. 263]   lay in their berths suffering from sea-sickness; another portion sat down to a merry game of cards under an awning on deck. I sat apart with the Friends, who were silent, and at last went to sleep. But I was full of life, and wide awake all day; felt remarkably well, and spent a rich forenoon in company with the sea and with Bancroft's "History of the United States," which interests me extremely, as well from its truly philosophical spirit as for its excellent narrative style. In the former he resembles our Geijer; in the latter, D'Aubigné. I read also on the voyage a little pamphlet on "Special Providence," by a sort of renowned clairvoyant of New York, named Davis; but a production which more clearly testified to the blindness of the spirit I never saw, and I knew not whether to be more astonished at its pretension or at its poverty.

On the morning of the fourth day we were before Charleston. The morning was gray and cheerless, and not agreeable. But the shore around the bay covered with dark cedar woods, and pale-green broad-leaved trees, had a singular but attractive appearance. Every thing was novel to my eyes, even the exterior of the city, which rather resembled a city of the European continent, at least in the style of its houses, than either Boston or New York. A young gentleman with whom I had had some excellent conversation on board, and whom I liked--excepting that he would make a show with his French, which, after all, was nothing to make any show with --now stood with me on deck observing the country, where he was at home, and crying up the happiness of the negro-slaves, which did not much enhance his own worth; for remarks of this kind only show want of judgment or of politeness. A young lady who had shared my cabin, and been silent and sea-sick the whole time, now lifted up her head and instantly asked me "How I liked America?"

Mrs. W. H. sent her brother, a handsome, middle-aged gentleman, to take me in a carriage to her house, but I   [p. 264]   preferred my own freedom, and to accompany the Friends to the hotel which they had decided upon for themselves. And there am I now, in a little room with four bare, whitewashed walls.

I have been out wandering about the town for two good hours, pleased with my solitude, and by the great number of new objects which meet my eye every where; by the appearance of the town, with its numerous gardens (for it is like a great assemblage of country houses, each one with its veranda or piazza ornamented with foliage and flowers); by the many kinds of trees, all strange to me, and which are now in flower or in leaf (I only saw one without leaves, but with its stem and tops covered with pink blossoms); by the dark-green orange groves in the gardens, and which whisper and diffuse their fragrance on the breeze. Negroes swarm in the streets. Two thirds of the people whom one sees out in the town are negroes or mulattoes. They are ugly, but appear for the most part cheerful and well fed. In particular, one sees fat negro and mulatto women, and their bright colored handkerchiefs, often wound very tastefully round the head, produce a picturesque appearance, a thousand times preferable to the bonnets and caps which they wear in the Free States, and which are unbecoming to them.

That which struck me most in the streets, after the great number of negroes, was the large flocks of turkey-buzzards, which stalk about here and there, picking up any offal which they can find to eat. They are so fearless, that they will scarcely move out of your way. I saw numbers of them, also, sitting in rows on the roofs and chimneys, and a very strange appearance they made, stretching out their heavy wings in the air and the sunshine. They are regarded in Charleston as a species of city scavengers, and are therefore welcome to the streets. It is forbidden to destroy them.

March 29th. Cold, cold, still intolerably cold to-day.

At five o'clock this morning I heard the drum which calls the negro slaves to work.

Yesterday afternoon I was invited by my acquaintance from the Northern States, who are here in the hotel, to drive out with them, and we had a charming drive in the beautiful sunshine. The country is altogether flat, as far as one can see. Beautiful forest tracts, plantations of trees, and water, all contribute a charm to it. The town itself lies by the sea, upon a peninsula, between two rivers, the Ashley and Cooper, which discharge themselves into the sea.

My friends bought oranges and bananas for me, as we drove along, and I now for the first time tasted this tropical fruit, which people here are so fond of. It has a delicate, sweet, somewhat insipid flavor; in form it resembles our large seed-cucumbers; in color and in flesh it is like a melon, but less juicy. I could have fancied I was biting into soap. I have a notion that we shall not become good friends, the banana and I.

My Quaker friends left early this morning to go still further south, in the hope of reaching summer air. It was too cold for them here. The month of February was here very warm, and the yellow jasmine which then flowers is now nearly over.

I must now bid you adieu, as I must go out and call on Mrs. W. H., and see whether I could be happy with her. If not, I shall remain quietly here, although it is certainly no El Dorado. The hotel is probably not one of the best in the city. A chaos of negro lads throng about the dinner and supper table, pretending to be waiters, but they do nothing more than spring hither and thither, round one another, without either dexterity or order, and move about every thing on the table, without rhyme or reason which I can discover. I am waited on in my room by a pretty mulatto girl, very ragged, yet with such a good and patient look, that it makes me unhappy. I asked   [p. 266]   her how much wages she had; she looked at me with astonishment, and replied, "that she belonged to "Missis." But "Missis" is a lady of a stern mien, and keen-eyed, whose property I would not willingly be, and--poor girl! Miss D. told me that a young servant girl of the house had last year been flogged by the gentleman of the house, the son of the lady.

I could remain here very well a few days longer, and then proceed further south, to Savannah and to Augusta, in Georgia, whither I am invited by my fellow-passengers of the "Canada," the family of the name of B. and Miss L. I ought to remain there through the month of April, for there one sees the paradise of the South. And I ought to take the opportunity of seeing something of the plantations there. If the Southerners knew with what an unprejudiced and honest intention I come to them, merely seeking for the truth in every thing, and ready to do justice to the good in all, even in slavery, then would they not meet me with suspicious glances. I have, besides, no wish to penetrate particularly into the most sorrowful side of Southern life. That has been penetrated into enough already. I wish to see nature, life--that which the New World is becoming here also, and that aspect of life, as a part of it, which is the result of position and the gifts of nature. I wish, therefore, to avoid conversations on slavery with people in general; and with some individuals in particular. With sensible and right-minded people, however, many of whom are to be met with here, I will talk of slavery, will question them, and listen to them, and I am certain that we shall understand each other and perfectly agree, if not always in the thing, at all events in disposition of mind. I am come hither to see and to learn, not as a spy. I wish to have in the South mild atmosphere, flowers, repose, health; and the good that it has and does will I acknowledge with all my heart. I also believe, that there are few Southerners who do not regard   [p. 267]   slavery as the misfortune of the country, although they consider it difficult to be rid of it.

From Savannah I shall write again to you. Now merely a kiss, and heartfelt wishes that this may find you once more active and well.

Later. Yet a few more words to tell you that I have seen Mrs. W. H. and her children, and that I remove tomorrow to her house and home. The very first view of her countenance, and its expression, so full of kindness and sincerity, was sufficient for me. I liked her immediately, and the short conversation I had with her sufficed to strengthen the impression of the first glance. She is evidently one of the intelligent, kind, and motherly women of the earth; she has, it is true, a little weakness toward literary endowments and literary people, but I, for my part, consider this quite amiable in her. She is about my own age, and might, from her appearance, be a Swede. The blue eyes, the round, fresh countenance, the plump figure, as well as the charming good nature in speech and manner, are so like our Swedish ladies. She is, indeed, of Scandinavian descent; her father was Danish--by name, Monefelt. Of the other members of the family I saw three pretty girls; the eldest seventeen, the youngest nine years old, and a handsome lad of ten. Mr. W. H., two elder sons, and the eldest daughter of the family, are now from home.

I have seen also another agreeable family, that of Dr. G., whose wife, son-in-law, and daughters have called on me, and offered to take me to the islands and the beautiful places in the neighborhood.

I have likewise seen to-day Mrs. Hammarsköld (Emilie Holmberg) and her mother. Tears of longing for Sweden filled the eyes of the old lady. The younger lady is a much esteemed teacher of music here.

I can now write no more, the post is leaving.

God bless my sweet Agatha!