[Subsection]

It is Sunday, and I have remained at home from church to rest and converse with you. It is very hot, but the sycamore-tree outside my window casts a shadow, and all is kept cool by the green Venetian shutters.

And now you are indeed with mamma at Aersta, my little Agatha, and are living out in the summer air and among the flowers. May every thing else at home afford you summer benefit also, and enable you to enjoy your rural life!

Here every thing is again in perfect warfare. President   [p. 471]   Taylor reposes in his quiet grave, sincerely lamented by his nearest friends, and by his comrades on the field of battle. His funeral was performed with some pomp, but much less than that of Calhoun in Charleston, and attracted much fewer spectators. Political parties seemed to prepare themselves for renewed combat over his grave, and those impulses which his death seemed to have called forth in Congress toward the consideration of subjects higher than selfish and worldly interests, appear now buried with him. Mr. King, the senator from Alabama, is now the speaker in place of Mr. Fillmore, and occupies the post with somewhat more acerbity of manner and considerably less grace. Newspaper articles are now showered down on Fillmore, who has all at once become the greatest man of the United States, scrutinizing him, his life, his conduct, his talents, character, &c., on all sides. A statesman in this country stands like a helmsman on his ship, exposed alike to all winds and weather, so that he soon becomes so weather-proof as not to trouble himself, let it blow as it may. This character of helmsman is one, however, which suits every public man, statesman, official, or author. Let the wind blow how it may, there is but one thing to attend to, one thing to ask about, namely, whether he steer according to the compass, which, in this case, is the conscience or conscientious conviction.

The biography of Fillmore shows that he also is one of the New World's "self-made men;" that his father was a poor farmer, and that the boy enjoyed only a common school education; that as a boy he learned the tailoring trade, then was a schoolmaster, and after that a writer with a lawyer, who, having observed the promising endowments of the youth, took him into his employment. His talents are not considered of the highest order; but he is praised for his character and good sense. A deal has been said about the fact of his only daughter having been at the time of his elevation, and being still, a teacher in a   [p. 472]   ladies' school; yet not as a common teacher, but occupying for one year the situation of teacher in a school, where all the pupils must hold this office for one year before they are considered as perfectly taught.

I have, my little Agatha, nothing to say about myself excepting what is good. I live in a world full of interest, and almost every day furnishes acquaintance and conversation, which call forth more thought than I shall be able to work out for many a day, and all of which is exciting in this great heat. But let me be as weary and as much exhausted as I may, yet with the first word of real, vital interest, my heart beats afresh, my nerves are braced, and I feel myself again as strong and as full of life as ever. And I have nowhere had conversations so full of universal interest as since I have been here; but this must be taken into consideration, that a great deal of the wisdom of the United States is now concentrated here, in and around Congress; for they who desire to carry out any generally beneficial reforms or plans come hither to present their petitions to Congress, to talk with the members, or to watch the progress of their affairs. Among these gentlemen is a Mr. Tomsens, who is working for post-office reform, reduction of the rate of postage throughout the whole Union, similar to the reform in England in this respect; and there is reason to believe that the thing will be carried. Mr. T., besides this, interests me by the interest he takes in the higher development of woman, and his correct views as regards its influence on the whole race. If the choice should be given me of affording education to the men or to the women of a nation, I should begin with the women, said he. But this view is tolerably general among the thinking men of the New World. T. is struck, as I have been, by the marked character of the Quaker women, and considers that it has its origin in their being early accustomed to self-government, and from their early participation in the business of civil life.

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Professor Henry is one of the most amiable scientific men whom I ever met with, and his conversation affords me great pleasure. We one day talked about the supreme and universal laws; Henry remarked that the closer we advanced toward these the simpler they appeared, and added, "In order to comprehend them in their highest truth, an angel's mind and an angel's glance are requisite."

For the rest, Henry is, like Oersted, a worshiper of the laws of nature, yet without wishing to receive the natural phenomena as having reference to a spiritual world of nature, far richer than that portion which is alone considered real. And on this point I stand at issue with Henry, as I did with Oersted; but no matter what men are, what they do is the important thing, not what they are not, or what they can not do. One and all have to turn their own talent to good account. We all know that; but we so often forget it--while we blame and criticise.

Mr. Carey, the political economist, talked with me yesterday for certainly more than an hour about the true states' formation. According to him, the true and permanent states' erection must not resemble the pillar, but the pyramid. The pillar corresponds with the European monarchical form of government. But it can not support any large additional weight without falling to pieces under it. Some years ago, when Carey saw Louis Philippe in France, concentrating the power and dominion upon himself and his dynasty, he remarked, "That can never last long! That will go to pieces!"

And so it did in very short time. The true form of government, that which will defy time and tempests, must have a broad basis, and from this build upward; such is the form of the pyramid; such is the form of the United States government--from which, raised on the basis of public education and equal civil rights, the national weal ascends firmly and immovably on its foundation, like the Andes and the Alps of the earth. This comparison is good, and   [p. 474]   the argument is just. Less striking appears to me his theory of national economy, which would make the productions of the earth equal to its population, and render death, at least as far as his great agents, war and pestilence, go, unnecessary there--unnecessary especially as the means of making breathing-room for the survivors. I rejoice in all theories, and all efforts which tend in this direction, because they always admit light, and breathing-room, and hope upon earth. But, nevertheless, it seems to me clear that an island which will very well support ten persons, never can support equally well ten hundred.

Yes, but say they, an island, a little circumscribed space, with circumscribed resources and means, and the whole earth! but what, indeed, is the whole earth more than a small, a very small island floating in the ocean of the universe? Has it any thing more than circumscribed resources? Can it, even if the whole of its surface were plowed up, be any thing else than a nursery, where the trees would soon choke one another if they were not thinned out; a colony for pilgrims who must emigrate to new worlds?

Ah! next to being nourished by this our earth, I know no more joyful privilege than the hope of being able to leave it, to be able to emigrate from it to a larger, freer, better world. But if national economy and science did no more than render death a peaceful member of society, who came merely to the aged, and came like their best friend, sleep, that would be glorious!

Horace Mann, the great promoter of education, is a man of strong, immeasurable hope. I was depressed in mind when I talked with him, but he inspired me with a feeling of new courage. On his forehead (one of those vernal foreheads which are arched upward with aspiring ideas) one sees the man who, merely through the influence of his brain, has erected large, airy halls of learning   [p. 475]   throughout the Northern States, and who has elevated the whole social system. His views are summarily these:

We inherit capacity of mind, and good and bad qualities from our parents; one generation inherits from another. The sins and the virtues of the parent, according to the words of the Scriptures, are visited, punished, or rewarded in the person of his children and children's children. By diffusing the influence of good education through the whole people, will the whole people be elevated, and the next generation similarly treated, and having inherited a higher nature, will be elevated still more, and so on infinitely.

Horace Mann talks on this subject with a faith which might remove mountains. He is, like Carey, a heroic nature, and is not sparing of those who oppose him, and not much liked by those who desire to live in an inactive state of mind. I, who merely opposed him to hear more of his views, have merely learned from them that which I was glad to learn.

Both these men are in the prime of life, are slender in person, youthful and lively in manner, with that beam of genius which, lighting up the countenance, is its highest beauty.

I meet with many persons here whose peculiar talent or sound reason is illumined by this ray from above, which, wherever we find it, produces such an enlivening effect. And here, where every political question bears publicly or privately a close relation to the highest interests of humanity, to the highest well-being and object of humanity, and which may be dealt with accordingly; here, where the social circles are at this moment and in this city merely a drawing-room to Congress, every conversation seems naturally to turn upon questions of the most vital importance, and to receive vitality therefrom.

Never, since the time when, yet quite young, I met with Montesquieu's "Essai sur l'esprit des Lois," and in profound   [p. 476]   solitude at Aersta lived in this book, or, rather, in the thoughts which it awoke on the relationship between mankind and government, have I, until now, so much lived in and occupied myself with such thoughts.

July 16th. But if a stranger came to Washington at this time, and gazed out from the Capitol over that glorious country, and let his thoughts extend themselves further yet over the territory of the United States, from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean; if he here took his stand during the sitting of Congress, and saw the star-spangled banner of the United States floating from the Capitol, and thought,

"How great, how glorious must it be for the men within to glance forth, and think that over this grand, this affluent land, over this hemisphere of the world a life of liberty extends!"

Would he not be startled and amazed when he heard the answer from within the Capitol:

"No, of slavery !"

Would he not be startled, and believe that he heard incorrectly; would he not believe any thing rather than such a monstrous assertion, such a frightful lie in a land, the fundamental law of which says, "We regard this truth as self-evident, that all mankind are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the endeavor after happiness," &c.

And yet, if a stranger were now to come to Washington and listen to the voices of the Capitol, he would hear nothing but the abnegation of liberty.

I acknowledge that I felt extreme indignation to hear day after day in the Senate pro-slavery speeches from the men of the South, without hearing a single word in reply from the side of the anti-slavery party. I asked in astonishment, what was the cause of this? And for reply was told that the anti-slavery party had already fired off all   [p. 477]   their guns, and that now the other side must have their turn to talk, after which they would proceed to voting, when the protest against slavery would be availing without talking. From some speeches which I heard in the beginning, and from the printed speeches of William H. Seward and other members of Congress which I have read, I see that their declarations are correct, and I can only deplore that I arrived here during this period of the discussion.

It is, however an important step forward in political life that the discussion of the question of slavery is perfectly open; a few years since it was forbidden, on pain of death, in Congress. Courageous men, friends of humanity and public feeling, have broken down this barrier; and the combat about freedom and slavery has at this time more forcibly concentrated itself upon the inner bearing of the question, during which the instincts of humanity and noble thoughts have been called forth, even as in a landscape alps shoot upward, upon whose lofty brows the ascending sun casts his earliest beams. Among these noble thoughts is this, that God's law is higher than the laws of the state, and that, empowered by this, the community has a right to oppose the latter if they are contradictory to the former.

This is, in fact, merely an application of the first principle of the American Declaration of Independence to the question now under contention. But the Idealists of the North gave it utterance at this time, with a force and beauty which makes it clear to me that sooner or later it will become the standard of freedom in the strife. The opposite party, in return, say that they do not understand this talk about a law which is higher than the Constitution and fidelity to it. And this is even said by Daniel Webster, the representative of the Pilgrim State; his watchwords are "The Constitution and the Union." These are his gods, and there is no God superior to them in his eyes.

July 18th. Yesterday I heard a very remarkable speech from Webster in the Senate, which impressed me greatly   [p. 478]   in his favor. I have hitherto lived much with the enemies and political opponents of Webster, and have heard him attacked and keenly criticised in many ways. I am now convinced that he may be perfectly honest in his convictions, and I will believe that he is so. He spoke for Clay's Compromise Bill, gave in his full adherence to it, declaring that he considered it, at the present moment, as furnishing the necessary terms of reconciliation between the contending states, and that he considered this reconciliation necessary to the stability and the future welfare of the Union.

He said, "I have faith in a wise mediatrix, in a healing vitality in the nation as well as in private individuals, and that, whatever may be the faults and short-comings with which we are now chargeable, yet that we shall all the sooner rid ourselves of these, if we only hold together in a high-minded spirit of forbearance, instead of rending asunder our band in blind over-haste."

"As to Utah," said Webster, "let her sit upon her salt plain, on the shores of her salt lake, for yet a few years, if it is necessary," which called forth a general smile. He then summed up in strong, short sentences, each sentence a picture, the record of what each different state, the Pilgrim as well as the Palmetto State, had been to each other during their war of Independence; what they had suffered, how they had striven together for the general good, and ended by admonishing them to turn their regards from private interests to the common weal, to maintain the Constitution which their fathers had founded, and to practice more than ordinary virtue! "As far as myself am concerned," said he, "I will stand by the Union and all who stand by it. I propose to stand firmly by the Constitution, and need no other platform. I will do justice to the whole nation; I will recognize only our country; let the consequences to myself be whatever they may, I trouble not myself about that. No man can suffer too much, or   [p. 479]   fall too soon, if he suffer and if he fall in defense of his country's freedom and Constitution!"

Webster had begun his speech calmly, heavily, and without apparent life. Toward the end of the speech his cheek had acquired the glow of youth, his figure became more erect, he seemed slender and full of vivacity; and as he spoke the last concluding words, he stood in full manly, almost Apollo-like beauty, in the midst of that fascinated, listening assembly, stood, still calm, without any apparent design, but as if reposing himself, happy and free, in the quiet grandeur of the song which he had sung. Ah! that he had but sung one still more beautiful--a yet nobler song, all then had been perfect--a victory for the light as for himself! But while he spoke for the freedom of California, he spoke also for the recapturing of the fugitive slave, even upon that formerly free soil, and no spot of American soil may ever again be said to be the home of freedom. The unhappy circumstances of the time, political necessity compelled him to this step; he could not do otherwise--so I believe; and I believe also in his confession of faith, "I believe in a healing vitality in the people," &c.; and believe that it will show itself prophetically true.

I will, however, now tell you the impression produced by this speech. I never witnessed any thing which more took hold upon the attention, or had a more electrifying effect. Amid the profound silence with which he was listened to, nay, as if the whole assembly held its breath, burst forth again and again thunders of applause; again and again was the speaker, the senator from Alabama, obliged to remind, and finally very severely to remind, the audience in the galleries that it was forbidden thus to give expression to their applause. With every new lightningflash of Webster's eloquence burst forth anew the thunder of applause, which was only silenced by the desire to listen yet again to the speaker. From this fairly enchanted   [p. 480]   audience I turned my glance to one countenance which beamed with a joy so warm, so pure, that I could not do otherwise than sympathize in the liveliest manner, for this countenance was that of Webster's wife. I have heard it said that when she first heard her husband speak in public she fainted; yet she looks like a strong, and by no means a nervous woman.

No one can, even in the effect which it produces, form too high an idea of Webster's power as a speaker; of the classical beauty and strength of his language, or the power and deep intensity of voice with which he utters that to which he desires to give strong effect. If this is not an unusually great natural power--for it has the appearance of being altogether simple and natural--then it is very great art. Our Archbishop Wallin is the only speaker whom I have heard who in this respect resembles Webster, and who was possessed of an equal power over his hearers.

In general, the speakers in this country scream too much; they are too violent, and shout and roar out their words as if they would be very powerful. Henry Clay is free from this fault, but he is evidently more impulsive and has less control over himself than Webster. Although the Compromise Bill has now both these great statesmen on its side, yet it is the general opinion that it will not be carried, at least in its present omnibus character--nay, that it is lost already. Henry Clay, who has battled for it these seven months, fights for it still, almost like a dying gladiator, and it really quite distresses me to see him, excited and violent, almost like a youth, with trembling, death-like hands, so thin and pallid are the fingers, push back the white locks from the lofty brow over which they are continually thrown by the violent movements of his head while he is speaking or replying to attacks made upon him in the Senate. Webster is more beautiful, and calmer in his whole demeanor. Nevertheless, I see in   [p. 481]   Clay the patriotic hero, who will conduct his native land and his countrymen onward along the path of freedom; while Webster, with all his beauty and his power as an orator, is to me merely like a great national watchman, who keeps watch that the Constitution does not take fire in any of her old corners. Webster is a mediator; a man of the Union. He is a pacificator, but not a regenerator.

July 20th. I am never able to write to you when I wish; my time is so much occupied. The great question yet remains undecided in Congress, and statesmen fight for it to the death. Since I have seen the personal contests here, nothing appears to me more natural than the enthusiasm of the Americans for their statesmen, because heroic virtue and heroic courage is required in this intellectual combat, and that of a much higher quality than is called forth in bloody war. Yet neither is this war bloodless, although blood may not be seen to flow; the best blood of the human heart wells up and is consumed here amid the keen conflict of words.

I was yesterday witness of a single combat between the lion of Kentucky and the hawk of Missouri, which made my blood boil with indignation. Colonel Benton had, the day before, made a violent attack on Clay's Compromise Bill, during which he said, "The bill is caught in the fact -- flagrante delicto--I have caught it by the neck, and here hold it up to shame and opprobrium before the public gaze" (and with this Mr. Benton held the bill rolled up aloft in his hand), "caught it just as it was about to perpetrate its crime, just as it was about to," &c., &c. Of a truth, for three whole hours did Benton labor, with a real lust of murder, to crush and annihilate this "monster," as he called Clay's bill--to attack even Clay himself with all kinds of weapons, endeavoring to hold him up also to public disapprobation and public derision in a manner which betrayed hatred and low malice. This attack occupied nearly the whole of the day.

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Yesterday Clay rose to reply, and called upon the Senate to disapprove of expressions such as those that I have given; but by this he only irritated the wild beast of Missouri to a still more personal attack, and I felt an abhorrence of that evidently cold-blooded delight with which he, when he had discovered a weak place in Clay's position, seemed to gripe him in his claws and regularly dig into his flesh and blood. Pardon me, my child, for using so coarse an expression, but I only paint, and that in water-colors, the character of the transaction. Among other things, I remember the following:

Benton mentioned some points in the bill regarding which, he said, he had noticed Clay to be sensitive. "I see," said he, "that the senator of Kentucky is particularly impatient about that passage. I shall, therefore, at once dissect it, I shall at once apply the knife to its quivering nerves!" and with this he turned up his coat-sleeves--perhaps unconsciously-- as if preparing himself for an operation which he should perform with gusto. I saw before me the cold-blooded duellist, perhaps turning up thus his sleeves that he might have his wrists at liberty slowly to take aim, and finally to shoot his adversary. How I abhorred that man and his ignoble mode of combat! A strong, noble anger is a refreshing sight to witness; but this beast of prey's lust of torture--shame!

That the lion of Kentucky felt the claws and the beak of the hawk, I could see by the glow on his cheek, and by his hasty, feverish movements when he rose once or twice in self-defense. Yet all the more did I admire his not allowing himself to go into any personality, nor yet to retort in any other way than by remaining silent during a great part of his adversary's tedious operation, and by his continuing to be a gentleman vis-à-vis a beast of prey, who gave himself up to the coarse instincts of his nature. But I could not help being surprised that, during the long time that this quarrel lasted, no high-minded sentiment   [p. 483]   was excited in the Senate against this mode of bearing arms. I longed that it might. The Scandinavian pagans combated in a more chivalric manner. I was also astonished in the evening, when in company, not to find that my feeling with regard to Senator B.'s conduct was general.

"I am much mistaken, Miss ----," said Senator H. to a young lady, a literary lioness now in Washington, "if you were not cordially delighted by Benton's treatment of Clay."

"Yes," replied she, "I enjoyed it heart and soul; it was a regular treat to me!"

What taste!

Clay has not, however, always shown in the Senate the same moderation and superiority in political quarrels, and not very long since, in a contest with Benton, he indulged in a coarseness something like his own; but that was merely for a moment. That violence which with Clay is paroxysm, is natural to Benton; the former is excited, the latter falls into it from an almost incredible arrogance. Clay is surprised into it; Benton has it always at hand.

To-day, when, later than usual, I entered the Senate, Clay was speaking; he was not expected to speak to-day, but something which had occurred during the discussion had excited him, and I now saw him in one of those moments when his impassioned ardor carried along with it, or controlled, the surrounding multitude. He stood with his hands closed, and his upturned countenance directed to heaven, and with a voice, the pathos and melody of which I now for the first time properly estimated, declared the purity of his intentions, and that he desired nothing but the well-being of his country. "What is there to tempt me?" asked he. "At my age a man stands nearer to heaven than earth, and is too near leaving the latter for him to be seeking reward there. The approval of my conscience is the only thing which can sustain me through the conflict."

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Every one listened in silence. I felt a deep sympathy with the solitary champion, who stood here so alone among enemies, addressing a prejudiced audience, and without a friend. But the isolated state is the highest grandeur on earth, if a man knows that the Supreme Judge is his friend, or at least his one confidant.

On Monday Clay is expected to make his last great, perhaps his dying speech, on the Californian question, after which it will probably be soon decided, and Clay, in any case, will leave Congress and go to the sea-side. I shall yet remain here a few days on purpose to hear him.

I shall now tell you of some other persons and occurrences here which have interested me. Among the former is a scientific man, Mr. Schoolcraft, who has discovered the springs of the Mississippi, far up in the Northern province, Minnesota. He has been very much among the North American Indian tribes, and has a deal to tell about them which is very interesting. He is now busy occupied in bringing out a work on them, and the country around the Upper Mississippi. He walks on crutches, in consequence of lameness, but the soul moves itself unimpeded. He is an interesting and very good-natured man.

He and two other persons here have excited in me the greatest inclination to visit the Upper Mississippi, the character of which is described to me as being very magnificent; to go among the Indians and see something of their wild life, and to make a journey down the valley of the Mississippi, in its whole extent, from the North to New Orleans, in the South. I must see this great future home of a population vaster, it is said, than that which the whole of Europe now contains. Since I have seen the southern parts of North America, I have obtained an idea of the life of the West, and see the truth of Waldo Emerson's words, "The poet of America has not yet appeared." And if I can not see the poet yet, I must see his muse, the goddess of song which shall inspire him   [p. 485]   have at least a glimpse into the grandeur of her kingdom, and of the powers which she commands in nature; be able to form an idea of the life and development of those future generations which she will bring forth.

I saw in Mr. Schoolcraft's Collection of Indian Curiosities, among other things, small flutes, which the enamored Indians make use of when they would declare their passion to the object of their affections. They paint and adorn themselves in their best manner, and go out in the quiet evening or night, and blow upon the flute in the neighborhood of the tent or wigwam of their beloved. If the fair one be propitious to the lover, she shows herself outside the tent, and sometimes comes forth to him, and allows herself to be carried away. This flute is a very imperfect instrument, and the Indians, who are possessed of but very small musical powers, produce from it only a low note, almost without melody, resembling the whistling or twittering of a bird. Mr. S. has had the kindness to give me some paintings of Indian life and manners; one of them represents such a nocturnal wooing. It is not far removed from the life of the animal; one seems to see a fine bird whistling to his little mate.

I have had a view of the moon from the Observatory, through a very good telescope; have seen its sleeping "Mare Vaporum," its mountains and valleys, and the chasm in one of its mountains, better than I had hitherto done. It is a pity that this beautiful Observatory has so unhealthy a site on the banks of the Potomac, so that no astronomer can live here without endangering his health.

I went one day with a handsome, young, new-married pair, and Miss Dix, to the "Little Falls" on the Potomac, in a wild and picturesque district. There dwells here, in great solitude, a kind of savage, with seven fingers on each hand, and seven toes on each foot. He is a giant in his bodily proportions, and lives here on fish; be is said to be inoffensive when he is left at peace, but dangerous   [p. 486]   if excited. I can believe it. He looked to me like one of those Starkodder natures, half human and half enchanter, which the old Scandinavian ages produced at the wild Falls of Trollhätta, and which the wildernesses of America seem to produce still.

Another curiosity, but of smaller dimensions, I saw also, not however in the wilderness, but in the Capitol. I was in the House of Representatives. There were not many people in the gallery, and I went forward toward the railing, so that I might hear more distinctly what was said in the hall below. Here stood beside me a little lady, meanly attired, and about middle age, but so short that she scarcely reached my shoulder. Several persons came up into the gallery to speak to me, and by this means my name was mentioned. When they were gone, my little lady turned to me, wishing also to shake hands with me and bid me welcome, which she did in quite a friendly manner, but added, in a tone of vexation, "I am very much disappointed in you!"

"Indeed!" said I; "and why?"

"Well," said she, eyeing me with a grave and displeased glance, "I expected that you would have been a tall lady."

"Oh!" said I, smiling, "did you wish, then, to find me tall?"

"No, not precisely! But I am very much disappointed in you!"

And with that she laid her hand upon her breast, and turning herself to me, she continued, with great emphasis, "In me you see a descendant of the old Pilgrims, a lineal descendant of the great and celebrated Miles Standish!"

The little descendant evidently expected that I should fall down from sheer astonishment, but I merely said, "Oh!" If I had had spirit enough I should have added, "I am very much disappointed in you! for the great granddaughter of the great Miles Standish ought at least to have been six feet high!"

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But like a little descendant of the great Vikings, I did not think that it became me to do battle with a great grand-daughter of the Pilgrims about our respective heights, and therefore I merely indicated my satisfaction both by glance and lips, which she could explain as she pleased. She explained it probably to her advantage, because she went on to communicate to me, in a weighty manner, the business which now had brought her to Congress. The little lady was grave and important, Puritanic to the last crumb; but not, I should imagine, very like the old Puritan, her ancestor.

I must now give you a little domestic news. Professor Johnson is come back. When his wife read his letter, which announced his speedy return, she jumped for joy, and I jumped too in sympathy, and from the pleasure which I felt in again seeing one of those happy marriage connections which it is my delight to witness, and so many of which I have already seen in the New World. The expected husband came the next day, a strong, kindhearted, excellent, and good-tempered man, who adds considerably by his presence to the richness and well-being of home, even as far as I am concerned, inasmuch as he reads aloud to me in the afternoons and any evenings when I am disengaged, or when the weather--which has now been wet for a couple of days--prevents my going out. In this way he has read to me Governor Seward's excellent biography of the late President Adams, which has struck me particularly from the heroic character of the noble statesman in his struggle against slavery. A great statesman in this country must be, at the same time, a sage and a hero, if he is to be adequate to his post.

I spend most of my forenoons at the Capitol, and generally in the Senate. In the afternoons some of my friends among the senators frequently drive me out to various places in the neighborhood; and in the evenings I receive visitors. During such a drive to-day with Governor Seward,   [p. 488]   he related to me the circumstance in his life which aroused his inextinguishable abhorrence of slavery, and his unwavering opposition to it.

Yesterday afternoon I drove with the senators from Illinois and Miss Lynch to an old battle-field, now a churchyard, on the banks of the Potomac. When I stood with General Shields, and beheld from this spot the extensive view of the river banks, scattered with hamlets and churches, and villas and cottages, amid their garden-grounds, he exclaimed, as he pointed it out, "See! This is America!" And so it is. The true life of the New World is not to be seen in great cities, with great palaces and dirty alleys, but in the abundance of its small communities, of its beautiful private dwellings, with their encircling fields and groves, in the bosom of grand scenery, by the sides vigorous rivers, with mountains and forests, and all appliances for a vigorous and affluent life. One of the peculiar appliances for this vigor and affluence of life are the magnificent rivers, the many streams of water with which North America abounds, and which promote the circulation of life, both physically and spiritually, and which bring into connection all points of the Union one with another. The circulation of life and population is already very great in the United States, and it becomes greater every day by means of new steam-boat communication and new rail-roads. The North travels to the South, and the South to the North, to and fro, like shuttles in the weaver's loom, partly for business, partly on account of the climate. The Northerners love, during the winter months, to warm themselves in summer air, and to gather flowers in Carolina and Florida (as well as in Cuba, which, indeed, lies out of the political, but not out of the natural Union); and the Southerners escape their always enervating summer, during the months of May, June, July, August, and September, and seek to invigorate themselves on the cool lakes of Massachusetts and New York, or among the White Mountains of the Granite Stato.

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The North and the South could not dispense with one another--could not break up the Union without the life's-blood of the body politic becoming stagnant and the life itself being endangered. And the great statesmen here know that, and endeavor in the present contest, by means of a compromise, to keep the circulation unimpeded. The ultras of the anti-slavery party maintain that it will go on of itself nevertheless, that for twenty years has this cry of danger to the Union been heard, and that in reality there is no danger at all. But--I have many acquaintance of more than ordinary interest among the men of Washington; but I will tell you about them when we meet. I have not become acquainted with any ladies who interest me, excepting those of this family, with the exception of Miss Dix. A young and really gifted poetess, Miss C., is too much of an Amazon for my taste, and with too little that is noble as such. She has both heart and genius, but of an unpinned kind. If I saw more of her, we might perhaps approximate more. As it is, our approximation is somewhat like that of a pair of rebounding billiard-balls. The sketches of the members of Congress and of the transactions in the Capitol, which she has published during the present sitting of Congress in one of the papers of the city, are brilliant, bold, and often striking; but they are sometimes likewise deficient in that which --I find deficient in herself. They have excited here the attention which they merit. Another gifted authoress also, who has begun to excite attention by her novels, is too much wrapped up in herself. Mrs. W. and Mrs. P. I like; but then I have so little time to see those whom I do like. I see every day in the gallery of the Senate many elegant toilets, and very lovely faces, which seem to show themselves there--only to be seen. Again and again, as I gaze on those lovely faces, I am obliged to say silently, regarding their expression, "How unmeaning!" And involuntarily, but invariably, I am impressed more and more   [p. 490]   with the conviction that the women of America do not, in general, equal that good report which some European travelers have given of them. I would that it were otherwise. And the beautiful examples which I have seen of womanly dignity and grace do not contradict my opinion. But it is not the fault of the women. It is the fault of their education, which, even when it is best, merely gives scholastic training, but no higher training for the world and social life. I can not help it. The men of America appear to me, in general, to surpass the women in real development and good breeding. And it is not to be wondered at. The American man, if he have received only a defective school education, enters early into that great school of public and civil life, which in such manifold ways calls forth every faculty, every power, and whatever capacity for business nature has endowed him with. Thus he becomes early familiar with the various spheres of life, and even if he should not fathom any of them, still there are no cardinal points in them which are foreign to him, so far as they have reference to the human weal and the well-being of social life. Besides, he acquires, through his practical life, local and peculiar knowledge, so that when one converses with a man in this country, one is always sure of learning something; and should he have received from Mother Nature a seed of a higher humanity, then shoot up, as if of themselves, those beautiful examples of mankind and man, which adorn the earth with an almost perfected humanity, some of which I have become acquainted with under the denomination of "self-made men."

July 21st. I have been to-day to a Methodist church of free negroes. The preacher, also a negro, and whom I had seen in a shop in the city, had a countenance which bore a remarkable resemblance to an ape; he had, however, that talent of improvisation, and of strikingly applying theoretical truths to the occurrences of daily life,   [p. 491]   which I have often admired among the negroes. This man possesses in a high degree the power of electrifying his audience; and as it is the custom in the Methodist churches to give utterance to the feelings and thoughts, it caused an extraordinary scene on this occasion-- so vehement were the cries and expressions of emotion.

The theme of the preacher was a common one--conversion and amendment, or death and damnation. But when he spoke of different failings and sins, his descriptions were as graphic as his gestures. When he spoke about the sins of the tongue, he dragged this "unruly member" out of his mouth, and shook it between his fingers very energetically. On his admonishing his audience to bid farewell to the devil, and turn away from him (after he had vehemently proclaimed the damnation which the Evil One would drag them into), his expressions took such a strong and powerful hold of his hearers, that the whole assembly was like a tempestuous sea. One heard only the cry, "Yes, yes!" "Farewell! forever!" "Yes, Amen!" " Never mind!" "Go along!" "Oh God!" "Farewell!" "Amen, amen!" &c. And besides these convulsive groans, cries, and howls, the assembly was ready for any extravagance, whatever it might have been, if the preacher had willed it. The swell of excitement, however, soon abated when the sermon was ended.

After that, a noble instance of social feeling occurred. The preacher announced that a slave, a member of the congregation, was about to be sold "down South," and thus to be far separated from his wife and child, if sufficient money could not be raised in Washington to furnish the sum which the master of the slave demanded for him. And the negro congregation offered to make a voluntary collection for purchasing the freedom of the slave brother. A pewter plate was set upon a stool in the church, and one silver piece after another rang joyfully upon it.

The whole congregation was remarkable for its respectable,   [p. 492]   and even wealthy appearance. All were well dressed, and had the expression of thinking, earnest people. I missed among the women the picturesque head-gear of the South, which had here been replaced by the unbecoming, ordinary female bonnet; but those black eyes and countenances, how full they are of ardent feeling and life! And there is always life in the congregations of this people; and though the expression of it may sometimes approach the comic, still one never gets sleepy there, as one often does in the very proper congregations and churches of the whites.

From this negro assembly, which honorably testifies of America's behavior to Africa, I must conduct you to a dwelling which testifies also, but in an opposite way. I went thither one morning with Dr. Hebbe and my good hostess, before we went to the Capitol, because the "Slavepen" of Washington is situated near to the Capitol of Washington, and may be seen from it, although that gray house, the prison-house of the innocent, hides itself behind leafy trees. We encountered no one within the inclosure, where little negro children were sitting or leaping about on the green-sward. At the little grated door, however, we were met by the slave-keeper, a good-tempered, talkative, but evidently a coarse man, who seemed pleased to show us his power and authority. Mrs. J. wished to have a negro boy as a servant, and inquired if she could have such an one from this place. "No! children were not allowed to go out from here. They were kept here for a short time to fatten, and after that were sent to the slave-market down South, to be sold; no slave was allowed to be sold here for the present. There were now some very splendid articles for sale, which were to be sent down South. Among these there was a young girl who had been brought up in all respects 'like a lady;' she could embroider and play on the piano, and dress like a lady, and read, and write, and dance, and all this she had   [p. 493]   learned in the family which had brought her up, and who had treated her in her childhood as if she had been their own. But, however, her mind had grown too high for her; she had become proud, and now, to humble her, they had brought her here to be sold."

All this the talkative slave-keeper told us. I inquired something about the temper and the state of mind of those who were confined here.

"Oh !" said the man, smiling, "they would be unruly enough if they were not afraid of a flogging."

My honest, open-hearted hostess could not contain her indignation at this treatment of people who were not guilty of any crime. The man laughed, and maintained that the negro people, both men and women, must be ruled by the whip, and took leave of us as much satisfied with himself and his world as we were the contrary.

In Washington, near the United States Senate House--this slave-pen! Could one not be tempted to enter and read aloud there the American Declaration of Independence! Yet there are sufficient there to read it aloud. The freedom and honor of America will not die or become paralyzed in American hands.^[1*]

Have I told you about a baptism by immersion, which I have witnessed in one of the churches here? I believe not. In the South, on the banks of the Red River, in Macon, and in Savannah, I had seen processions of people returning from baptisms in the river, but I had missed seeing the ceremony itself. I saw it here, however, in the Baptist church; after the sermon the pulpit was removed, and we saw in the choir, before which the pulpit had stood, six young girls, each in a light gray woollen blouse, bound round the waist with a scarf, standing all in a row at the lower end of the choir. A young minister, dressed in black, descended into an opening in the   [p. 494]   floor, within which was a font. Here he addressed the assembly, and the young girls who were about to be baptized, on the signification of baptism; relating his own feelings when he, for the first time, was bowed into the purifying element, with the full sense of the intention and power of the rite. He invited, therefore, the young sisters to come to the baptism of regeneration. They now advanced forward, one at a time, led by the hand by an elderly male relative, to the edge of the font; here the minister received the hand of the young girl, and conducted her down the steps. He stood facing her in the font for a moment, holding her hands; probably he then received a promise from her, but I could not hear it; after which, with her head resting on the hand of the minister, she was hastily dipped backward under the water. It was the work of a moment, and as soon as she was raised again a song of praise burst forth, the first words of which rang in my ears, as "Rejoice, rejoice!" When the baptized reascended the steps she was received by one of her relatives, who wrapped around her a large shawl or cloak, and led her hastily out of the choir. Thus did five young girls and one young man pass through the ceremony of baptism; but there yet remained one of the girls, the youngest, the loveliest, who stood immovable in a corner during the long baptism of the others, like a church-angel, and might have been taken for a statue had not the lovely rose-tint on her cheek testified that the figure was living. But I was astonished at that delicate girl's ability to stand in expectation so long and so immovably.

And now the young minister ascended from the font, and all seemed to be over. Was it possible that they had forgotten that lovely young girl, or was she really, after all, not a living creature, but a statue, a church-angel? An old man came forward and addressed the congregation. He was the young girl's father; he had been her teacher, had initiated her into the life and doctrines of   [p. 495]   religion, and prepared her for baptism. He wished to have permission himself to administer the sacrament of baptism to his beloved child. He descended into the font. The statue now moved from the church wall; the young girl came forward alone with a light step, and full of trust, as a child to its beloved father, and gave herself up into his hands. It was beautiful, and really affecting, to see the aged and the young standing here before the eye of Heaven, the father dedicating the daughter, the daughter giving herself up to her father's guidance, and, through it, to a holy life; and it would have been yet more beautiful if it had taken place with the blue heavens above, and green trees around them instead of a white-arched roof and walls.

"Rejoice! rejoice!" again sang the choir, in a glad song of praise, over the young girl now consecrated by baptism; and father and daughter reascended from the font.

The greater portion of the assembly, among which were a great number of children, beheld the whole affair as a spectacle, and made a dreadful noise when they went out of the church, notwithstanding the admonitions of the ministers to silence. And even by the rivers and in the silence of the woods, the rite of baptism would be disturbed by curious and self-elected spectators.

I shall now go out and refresh myself by a quiet ramble into the country with my Quaker friend, the agreeable Miss D. Next week I shall leave Washington, and return to Philadelphia to go with Professor Hart and his family to Cape May. Then, after I have refreshed and invigorated myself by sea-bathing for a couple of weeks, I shall go to New York, to consult with my friends the Springs about my further journeying, whether it shall be first to the North or to the West. The young Lowells will go with me to Niagara, and if I could induce the Springs to accompany us, that would be charming; they   [p. 496]   are such agreeable people to be with, and they enjoy every thing which is good and beautiful so delightfully. From Niagara I shall travel alone, perhaps westward to the Mississippi-- and for how long I know not. The giants plan, but the gods decide.

I had here last evening a great gathering of "my friends," acquaintance, and non-acquaintance, and received flowers and distributed flowers. The Americans have a great deal of fresh cordiality and youthful ardor about them; there is no denying that.

I heard both glad and sorrowful tidings last evening--namely, that Denmark has obtained peace on the condition which she desired, and that--Sir Robert Peel is killed by a fall from his horse. The death of this great statesman is universally deplored here, but en passant for people here have not time just now to occupy themselves with other people's misfortunes. Their own affairs engage their time and their intellects, and--the heat is overpowering. The members of Congress are tired out with Congress; the speakers are tired out with hearing each other talk.

"Neither the eloquence of Demosthenes nor of Cicero would be able to give us any pleasure!" said a wearied senator to me to-day. Yet, nevertheless, people listened willingly to the lively and witty sallies of Mr. Hale, the representative of the Granite State. He, to-day, personified all the states, and spoke in character for all their representatives, during a general attack on the Compromise Bill, in a manner which caused universal merriment.

Every body, longs in the mean time, that Congress should come to a close, and that every body may be able to set off, the one to his home, another to the sea-side, every one to get away, away, away, away--from speeches and contention in the Capitol, and all the hot, high-pressure life of Washington! The last great speech of this session is expected to-morrow.

  [p. 497]  

Monday, July 22d. Clay has made his great speech, and the question stands as it stood before, and the world goes on as it did before, but it is said that Congress will soon be at an end.

Clay spoke from three to four hours, but his speech, which was in fact a summing up of the whole state and development of the question during the session, as well as a statement of Clay's own part in the affair, did not seem to make any great impression upon the Senate. A sentimental address to the members of Congress, bidding them to reflect upon what they, on their return home, should have to tell their wives and children about the position of their country, did not succeed at all, and called forth laughter, so likewise his warning to them to put aside all little-mindedness, all selfish impulses, &c., and for the sake of the welfare of the whole land to vote for the Compromise Bill; and this last deserved to fail, inasmuch as it represented that all opposition to the bill was alone the effect of base motives, which is not the case. I can not, nevertheless, but admire the athletic soul of this man, and his power as a speaker.

After having spoken for more than three hours with fervor and power, sometimes with emotion, disentangling clearly and logically the progress and state of this contested question, which had occupied Congress for seven mouths, he stood vigorous still, and ready for a little fencing-match, although with very keen weapons--those of sarcasm and joke-- with Senator Hale, of New Hampshire, who, as usual, set the whole house in a roar of laughter. Clay showed himself, however, a master in this art of fencing as well as Hale, but somewhat more bitter. Some of his attacks were so vehemently applauded from the galleries, that the vice-president, after repeated reminders of silence, angrily said that he should be obliged to clear the galleries if the audience would not attend to his words.

  [p. 498]  

Clay will now leave Washington. The rejection of his Compromise question will cost him dearly. Opposition against him and his bill is strong at this moment; and he stands with his bill just as obstinately against opposition.

I set off in the morning with Miss Dix to Baltimore, where I remain a couple of days on my way to Philadelphia.

I leave Washington, and this phasis of the life of the New World will close itself forever to me. What have I seen? Any thing nobler, any thing more beautiful than in the national assemblies of the Old World? No! Have I seen any thing new? No! Not, at least, among the gentlemen senators. The new has our Lord given in the world which he created, and upon the new soil of which contests arise, and in the prospects which are opened by the questions between Freedom and Slavery, into regions and amid scenes hitherto unknown, and which are, even now, frequently but indistinctly seen through mists. That which is refreshing and new is in the various characters of the states represented, especially in those of the vast and half-unknown land of the West, over whose wildernesses and paradises many different races of mankind wander, seeking for or establishing homes; in the prospects unfolded by the immense Texas, out of which five states might now be formed, where the Rio Grande and the Rio Colorado, and innumerable rivers flow through fertile prairies; by New Mexico, with its stony deserts, "el Slano Estuccado," where water is not to be found for twenty, thirty, or forty miles, but in whose "Valle de los Angelos" the heat of the tropics ripens tropical fruits; finally, by California, with its gold-bearing rivers, its Rocky Mountains full of gold, its many extraordinary natural productions, its Sierra Nevada with eternal snows, its great Salt Lake, on the borders of which the Latter-day Saints, the Mormons, have established themselves in an extensive valley, the fertility of which, and the delicious climate of which, are said to rival those of Caucasus and Peru--and where equally, within   [p. 499]   these regions, exist all the natural requisites for the development of a perfected humanity. California, the greatest of all the states of the New World, a new world yet to be discovered, full of beautiful sights and pictures of horror; where the people from the East and the West pour in, seeking for the gold of Ophir! California, which for its eastern boundary has the wild steppe-land of Nebraska, the hunting-ground of the wild Indian tribes, and on the other side the Pacific Ocean --that great Pacific Ocean, whose waves are said to strike with such regular pulsation against the shore, and with such mighty power, that its thundering sound is heard to a great distance, and the air and the leaves of the trees tremble far inland. Behold--all this and still more such--as the prospects opened by Panama and the regions of Central America, where the people of the United States are now digging canals and laying down rail-roads to unite the oceans--all this is a new and invigorating spectacle, and it is presented in the Congress of the United States. In the discussions, on the contrary, I see nothing new. I see in them the same bitterness and injustice between political parties as in the kingdoms of Europe; the same distrust of each other's honesty of purpose; the same passions, great, and small; and in debate the same determination to carry their point, to have their rights, cost what it will; the same misunderstanding and personality, the same continual deviation from the thing itself to the person; the same irritability and impatience about the beloved I, which cause incessant provocations, outbreaks of temper, explanations and fresh explanations, and an infinite number of little quarrels in the infinitely prolonged progress of the great quarrel; and which make the great men, the representatives of great states, frequently like childishly brawling children. And if it happen, in addition, that the state's representative is very touchy on the subject of the honor of his state, and is ready to boil up on the slightest allusion   [p. 500]   which seems to touch its credit, and especially as the states are not just now on the best terms with each other, it will easily be seen that occasion of quarrel will exist in double measure.

So much for the dark side of the Assembly. But neither is there light wanted on the other side, and it is, I believe, equally strong with that which the Old World can show. There is no lack of great-minded protests against darkness and selfishness; no lack either of great-minded appeals to the highest objects of the Union, or to the highest weal of humanity. The eagle sits upon the rock of the sea, and lifts his pinions, glancing now and then toward the sun, but he has not yet taken his flight toward it. Henry Clay resembles this eagle. Daniel Webster is the eagle which wheels round in the clouds, resting upon his pinions, but flying merely in circles around an imaginary sun--the Constitution. Neither of them possess that greatness which I admire in the greatest statesman of the Old World--Moses. The greatest statesman of the New World has not yet come.

But what might not this representation be if it answered its condition. and its purpose; if the representative of each individual state, permeated by the peculiar individuality of his state, its natural scenery and popular life, and by the bond of its connection with the highest object of the Union, stood forth to speak thus for it in the Congress! Of a truth, then would the Congress of the United States become a magnificent drama, a spectacle worthy of gods and men!

July 25th. A cordial good-morning to you, my sweet Agatha, from a wonderfully lovely country seat, with a view commanding the outlet of the River Patapsco into Chesapeake Bay, near Baltimore. I am here with Miss Dix, a guest at General S.'s, on my way to Philadelphia. My host is a lively, cordial, clever, loquacious officer, whose wife is a beautiful, quiet woman, the happy mother   [p. 501]   of ten young children; they are evidently a happy married pair, with a good and happy home. I feel such immediately on entering the house.

Having taken the kindest leave of my hearty, good, and kind entertainers at Washington, and of my beloved Quakeress friend, I set off with Miss Dix, and an agreeable friend of the Downings, Mr. William R.; but it was a difficult and fatiguing day's journey, in the great heat and from many delays, in consequence of the road being broken up by the floods. I was enabled, however, to see some beautiful views of the Susquehanna River.

Late in the evening, I sat in the most beautiful moonlight alone with Miss Dix, on the balcony of General S.'s villa, looking out upon the gleaming river, the broad Chesapeake Bay, and listening to the story of her simple but extraordinary life's destiny. Among all the varying scenes of my life in this country, this was not one of the least interesting. I asked Miss Dix to tell me what it was which had directed her into the path which she now pursues, as the public protector and advocate of the unfortunate. I will tell you more of her narrative by word of mouth; now, merely the words with which she replied to my question regarding the circumstances which had decided her career.

"It was," said she, "no remarkable occurrence, nor change in my inner or outer life, it was merely an act of simple obedience to the voice of God. I had returned from England, whither I went on account of my health, which had obliged me to give up the school which I had kept for several years, and I now lived in a boardinghouse, without any determined occupation, employing myself in the study of various branches of natural history, to which I had always been attached, but yet some way depressed by the inactivity of my life. I longed for some nobler purpose for which to labor, something which would fill the vacuum which I felt in my soul.

  [p. 502]  

"One day when returning from church, I saw two gentlemen talking together, and heard one of them say, "I wish that somebody would see to the jail, for the state of things there is dreadful!" In a moment it flashed upon me, "There was a something for me to do!" And I did it. I found many unfortunate lunatics confined in the prison, together with criminals, and treated in the same manner, besides a deal of mismanagement, and many faults in the institution which I need not now mention. I wrote an account of this, and drew up a plan for its amendment, which I transmitted to the States' government. This drew attention to the subject, and a measure was passed by government for the improvement of the prison, and the erection of an asylum for the reception of lunatics, where they could receive such attention as they required. That was the beginning. Thus I saw the path marked out for me and it, and that which I have done in it have, as it were, been done of themselves."

Washington lay behind me, with its political quarrels, its bitter strife of state against state, man with man, its intricate relationships and unsatisfactory prospects, its excited, chaotic state. And here was a small human life, which by an act of simple obedience had gone forth from its privacy, from its darkness, extending itself into a great active principle, fraught with blessing for neglected beings throughout every state of the Union, like that little river before us, which, supplied by unseen springs, had poured forth itself into that glorious creek, and in that united itself with the world's ocean! The contrast was striking; the resemblance between that human life, and the scene before me was striking also; and the peace and beauty of the night, and that pure moonlight, were like the blessing of Heaven upon them both.

Miss Dix has, during her twelve years' labor as the good angel of the prisoner and the lunatic, traveled through most of the states of the Union; has forced her way into   [p. 503]   regions and places which had hitherto been hidden from a gleam of light, and has conveyed the message of light and hope to those who sat in darkness; she has, through her excellent memorials to the States' governments, and her influence with private individuals, been the means of the erection of thirteen hospitals for the insane, and of an improved mode of treatment for these unfortunates, as well as of prisoners generally, particularly in the prisons of the Southern States.

She is one of the most beautiful proofs of that which a woman, without any other aid than her own free-will and character, without any other power than that of her purpose, and its uprightness, and her ability to bring these forward, can effect in society.

I admire her--admire, in particular, her courage and her perseverance. In other respects we hardly sympathize; but I love the place she occupies in humanity; love her figure sitting in the recess of the window in the Capitol, where, amid the fiery feuds, she silently spins her web for the asylums of the unfortunate, a quiet centre for the threads of Christian love, which she draws across and across the ceaseless contests, undisturbed by them--a divine spinner is she for the house of God. Should I not kiss her hand? I did; and do it again in spirit, with thanks for that which she is and that which she does.

I will tell you, when we meet, some extraordinary anecdotes, which she related to me from her life--so rich in adventure; they are of the most romantic kind in the history of real life.

I shall now tell you a little about Baltimore. Baltimore is the capital of the State of Maryland. Maryland is the earliest residence of Catholicism in the United States. Lord Calvert Baltimore, who went over from the Protestant to the Catholic faith, and who resigned his post in the English government in consequence, was the founder of the colony in Maryland, which was intended, in the   [p. 504]   first place, to afford an asylum for persecuted and suffering Catholics; and not alone for them, but for people of every sect, who merely acknowledged themselves as Christians--and there are mentioned as among the earliest planters here also Swedes and Finns. The noble and large-minded Lord Baltimore wished to erect the Catholic Church on the soil of the New World upon a broader basis than it occupied in the Old World.

The city of Baltimore became the seat of the archbishop, and the Convent of the Visitation was established there, as the mother institution of any of a similar kind which might extend themselves on the soil of the New World. Maryland had tobacco plantations and slaves, and lived, it is said, in a patriarchal manner. It lives yet by tobacco and slaves--less patriarchally, however, as various transactions and narratives from the chronicles of the Slave State prove; and Baltimore is still the home of Catholicism, the seat of the Catholic archbishop, and the convent of the order of the Visitation. Some of Lord Baltimore's liberal spirit seems also to continue here. I visited the convent during my stay in Baltimore, and liked very much what I saw, in particular the appearance and manners of the Abbess and the young Sisters. They take the vows for their whole life, but have laid aside much of the old Catholic ceremonial, and have no peculiar habit. They principally occupy themselves in education, as well as in the guardianship of poor orphans. Many of the best Protestant families in the United States send their children hither to be educated, because they are better instructed, and at a less expense than in most other educational institutions. Catholicism in the United States seems to have left behind it all that which made it feared and hated on the other side of the ocean, and to have taken with it merely that which was best; and here it is justly commended for its zeal in good works. The Catholic congregations here are also distinguished by their excellent institutions   [p. 505]   for children, and for the sick. That great boarding-school for young girls is the principal source of revenue for the convent. The public examination there will shortly take place. I heard also, in a large concert-hall, some of the young girls play both on the harp and the piano, besides singing in chorus, which they did very well, and with fine effect.

I have visited both the prison and the lunatic asylum of Baltimore, but found nothing greatly to admire. Maryland is a small state, and a slave state. Baltimore is a large city, but is less beautiful, and has fewer trees and gardens, than most of the American cities which I have hitherto seen. Baltimore is renowned for its cheerful society and beautiful women. "The Belle of Baltimore" is a gay negro song, which is sung both by the blacks and the whites, both servants and masters. But that which makes Baltimore remarkable to my feelings, is something quite different. It is the story of a scene in a public house, and about a little girl. Will you hear the former for the sake of the latter? You must, for they can not be separated.

A few years ago, there lived in Baltimore a family of the name of Hawkins. They had been in better circumstances, but were reduced through the drunkenness of the father. There was a public house in one of the lanes in Baltimore, where every day five or six drunken companions used to assemble to guzzle all day long. Hawkins was one of this set; and although he cursed it, and cursed himself for his weakness in going there, yet it clung to him like a curse, and every day he went there, and only came thence when he was no longer able to stand; and late in the evening, or in the night, staggered home, often falling on the steps, where he must have remained lying, and have perished of cold and wretchedness, had it not been for his daughter, little Hannah. She sat up till she heard him coming home, and then went out to   [p. 506]   meet him and helped him up the steps; and when he fell down, and she was not able to raise him, she carried down pillows and a bed-cover and made him a bed where he lay, doing all in her power to make him comfortable, and then lay down beside him. The wife, who in her despair had grown weary of striving with him, endeavored by her own labor to maintain herself and the other younger children. Little Hannah, however, only ten years old, did not grow weary, but still watched over her father, and devoted to him her childish affection. When he, in the morning, awoke out of his drunkenness, he used immediately to send the little girl out to get him some brandy, and she did as she was bid when her prayers could not prevail with him to abstain. She succeeded only in awakening in him a yet stronger sense of his misery, and the need there was for him to forget it. He cursed himself for being so unworthy a father to such a child, and he compelled the child to give him the drink which would drown his misery. And when he, by means of the fresh, fiery liquor, was revived and invigorated so that he could stand and walk, he again went to the ale-house.

Such was his life for a long time; a lengthened chain of misery and self-accusation, interrupted merely by fresh debauch. The family had sunk into the depth of poverty, and each succeeding day only added to their distress. One morning, when Hawkins, ill both in body and mind, after the carouse of the foregoing day, awoke in his bed, he desired Hannah, as usual, to go out and get him some brandy. But the girl would not go. She besought him earnestly; "Dear father," she said, "not to-day--not today, dear father!" and she wept bitterly. The father, in extreme anger, bade her leave the room.

He got up, and with staggering steps crawled down to the usual place. Here, in the mean time, an extraordinary scene had occurred, one which is difficult to explain excepting by a mysterious and higher intervention.

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The drunken companions were already there with their filled glasses in their hands, when one of them said, "It is very foolish of us, though, to sit here and ruin ourselves merely for the good of ----!" meaning the master of the public house. The others agreed.

Some one of them said, "Suppose that from this day forth we were not to drink another drop!"

One word led to another. The men hastily made an agreement and drew up a paper, in which they bound themselves, by oath, to a total abstinence from all intoxicating liquors.

When Hawkins, therefore, entered the public house, he was met by his companions with the temperance pledge in their hands, and by the cry from all, "Sign it! sign it!"

Astonished, overpowered, almost beside himself, he added his name to that of the others. Without having asked for a drop of brandy he now hastened home, as if from a new sort of carouse. He found his wife and his daughter together. He threw himself upon a chair, and could only ejaculate, "It is done!"

His paleness and his bewildered aspect terrified them; they asked him what he had done.

"I have signed the pledge!" exclaimed he, at length.

Hannah and his wife threw themselves upon his neck. They all wept--tears of a new delight.

It was from this point, from this scene in the public house, that the movement commenced which has since spread itself with lightning speed through the United States, carrying hundreds of thousands of human beings along with it, until it has grown into a mighty wall, a bulwark against drunkenness, which had for some years begun to spread itself over the land like a swelling tide, bearing along with it to destruction persons of all classes.

These formerly drunken companions of the public house in Baltimore became Temperance lecturers, and, under the   [p. 508]   name of "the Washingtonians," went forth, many with them, to hold meetings in cities and in the country, in which they addressed large multitudes, their own life's experience giving color and vitality to their pictures of the curse of drunkenness, and the bliss of an amended and pure life.

They came to Boston, and Hawkins with them. People wished him to speak, but Nature had not formed him for an orator, and he was scarcely able to stand up before an assembly. He did it, however, at the request of many persons. Marcus Spring was present on this occasion, and he gave me the account. Hawkins, when he stood up, began with these words, "I have been a drunkard!" and then stopped short, as if overcome by the memory of that time and the solemnity of the present moment. The numerous assembly clapped and encouraged him, and inspired him with new courage.

He began again, but merely to relate the history of his former misery, and of little Hannah's conduct toward him. The simplicity of the narrative, its intrinsic beauty, the sincere emotion of the man as he related it, made a deep impression.

After this, one and another rose, and spoke the innermost truth out of their heart's or their life's experience. One voice out of many exclaimed, "Is there, then, hope even for me?" "Yes! yes!" cried another; "come brother, come and sign! We will stand by you!"

Thousands of people this evening signed the pledge. The good M. said that he himself became so excited and was so affected by the scene, that he too rose up to express to the meeting the pleasure which it had afforded him; but scarcely had he said two words when he lost himself, forgot what he meant to say, and sat down again with the firm resolve never again to stand up as an orator.

The history of this conversion is, in reality, very extraordinary, because the operating cause proceeded not from   [p. 509]   That little heroine alone. I believe she stood in secret relationship with a good angel, and that it had found its way to the public house that very morning, and whispered in the men's ears that they should outwit the landlord. A cunning little female angel it was, I am pretty certain!

Hawkins still continues to travel about the country as a Temperance lecturer. He has, as such, accumulated a little property, and acquired a position; and little Hannah is at the present time with him in the West, no longer little Hannah, but a nice young girl of sixteen. The history of Hannah Hawkins is my "Belle of Baltimore."

Among other guests, last evening, at General Stuart's, was a Miss ------, I have forgotten her name--an elderly and very agreeable lady she was, and a splendid human being, with a warm heart and a fresh spirit. She was the daughter of a wealthy, slaveholding family, and on coming of age emancipated her slaves; and, as she was rich, gave to every one of them-- somewhat above twenty in number--a small gratuity wherewith to begin an independent career. She told me that one of these slaves, a negro who had always distinguished himself by his good conduct, had, as a freeman, acquired considerable property by trade, so that he was able to live in comfort and independence. But his son, who was a spendthrift, so much reduced his father that, in his old age, he was obliged to maintain himself by hard labor--I believe as a "cart-driver"--that is, one who carries materials to the roads and for building. At length the old man fell sick, and knew that his end was near. He sent, therefore, a message to his former owner, Miss ------, begging that she would come to him, otherwise he could not die in peace. She went to his house, and found the old man in a mean room, lying in bed, and very weak.

"Missis !" said he, "you have always been good to me, and I have thought I must tell you that which lies on my mind, and beg you to help me, if you can!"

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Miss ------ told the old man to speak freely.

He continued. "You know, missis, how I lost my property. I have now, for several years, maintained myself by my labor, always paying my way. Latterly, however, I have not been able to avoid getting into debt, and I shall not die easy if I do not know certainly that these debts will be paid. Missis! I beg of you to pay my debts !"

"And how large are your debts?" asked Miss ------.

"Fifteen dollars!"

"Make your mind easy, dear Jacob," said Miss ------; "I can and I will pay them."

"God bless you for it, missis!"

"Now answer me, Jacob," said she, "one question which I will put to you, and tell me, on your conscience, have you, as a freeman, felt yourself happier than when you were a slave in my father's house?"

"Missis," said the old man, solemnly, raising himself up in his bed, "your parents, my master and missis, were always good to me, and in their house I never knew what want was. As a freeman, and especially in my latter years, I have suffered very much; I have suffered hunger and cold; I have had to work in rain, and snow, and storm; but yet, missis, I have borne that suffering unrepiningly, because I was free, and would willingly suffer it again, merely to have my freedom and the right to control my own actions, for that has been my greatest treasure."

In the combat of freedom against slavery this testimony is of no small value.

Nevertheless, it would not be difficult to produce testimony on the opposite side, of fugitive slaves who, in the Northern States, have been asked by old friends from, the South what they thought about freedom, and they have answered that they "were sick of it; that they wished massa would take them back again!" So I have been   [p. 511]   told, and I feel certain of the truth of it. That dispositions naturally lazy, and not accustomed to independence, should prefer "the flesh-pots of Egypt" and the bondage of Egypt to freedom, with hard labor and scanty food, is quite intelligible; and that the servants of good masters in the South should, when they find themselves free among people who care nothing about them, or are not kindly disposed, and that in a severe climate, far from their former warm homes, warm hearts, and warm parlors, is very natural also. For my part, it only seems extraordinary that so few instances occur of fugitive slaves returning to their former connections, and begging "massa" and "missis" to take them back again. But by no means is it allowable to judge on either side of this question between freedom and slavery by isolated facts and anecdotes; judgment must be based upon principle, must be based upon that truth which is immutable and of universal application.

When Bernsdorf, the great statesman of Denmark, emancipated the peasant serfs on his estate, these assembled to a man, and besought of him, with tears, that he would not give them up, but still continue to be their paternal lord and master; that he would annul the declaration which made them free.

"You do not understand what I have done for you," replied Bernsdorf; "but you will understand it at some future time, and your children will understand it and thank me."

And he maintained that which he had done. And he did more, inasmuch as he established schools and other institutions for the improvement of his dependents, and prepared them, by these means, properly to avail themselves of their freedom.