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Everyman, I will go with thee, and be thy guide, 
 In thy most need to go by thy side. 
 
This is No. 290 of Everyman’s Library. A 
 list of authors and their works in this series 
 will be found at the end of this volume. The 
 publishers will be pleased to send freely to all 
 applicants a separate, annotated list of the 
 Library. 
 
 J. M. DENT & SONS LIMITED 
 
 IO-I 3 BEDFORD STREET LONDON W.C.2 
 
 E. P. DUTTON & CO. INC. 
 
 2 86-302 FOURTH AVENUE 
 NEW YORK 
 
EVERYMAN’S LIBRARY 
 EDITED BY ERNEST RHYS 
 
 FICTION 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES and 
 PICTURES FROM ITALY 
 BY CHARLES DICKENS • IN- 
 TRODUCTION BY G. K. 
 CHESTERTON 
 
CHARLES DICKENS, born at Landport 
 (Portsea), near Portsmouth, in 1812. From 
 the humblest beginnings became a parlia- 
 mentary reporter, and so entered journalism. 
 Went to America in 1842 and 1867-8, and 
 to Italy in 1844. First editor of The Daily 
 News, 1846. Founded Household Words (later 
 restarted as All the Year Round ) in 1849. 
 Died at Gad’s Hill, Kent, on 9th June 1870. 
 
AMERICAN NOTES 
 PICTURES FROM ITALY 
 
 LONDON: J. M. DENT & SONS LTD. 
 NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO. INC. 
 
All rights reserved 
 Made in Great Britain 
 at The Temple Press Letchworth 
 and decorated by Eric Ravilious 
 
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 Aldine House Bedford St. London 
 First Published in this Edition 1908 
 Reprinted 1921, 1926 , 1934 
 
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 dOSTO,'] COLLEGE UBMSlfi 
 
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INTRODUCTION 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES 
 
 “ American Notes ” was written soon after Dickens had 
 returned from his first visit to America. That visit had, of 
 course, been a great epoch in his life; but how much of an 
 epoch men did not truly realise until, some time after, in the 
 middle of a quiet story about Rochester and a ridiculous 
 architect, his feelings flamed out and flared up to the stars 
 in “Martin Chuzzlewit.” The “American Notes” are, 
 however, interesting, because in them he betrays his feel- 
 ings when he does not know that he is betraying them. 
 Dickens’s first visit to America was, from his own point of 
 view, and at the beginning, a happy and festive experiment. 
 It is very characteristic of him that he went among them, 
 enjoyed them, even admired them, and then had a quarrel 
 with them. Nothing was ever so unmistakable as his good- 
 will, except his illwill ; and they were never far apart. And 
 this was not, as some bloodless modems have sneeringly 
 insinuated, a mere repetition of the proximity between the 
 benevolent stage and the quarrelsome stage of drink. It 
 was a piece of pure optimism; he believed so readily that 
 men were going to be good to him that an injury to him 
 was something more than an injury: it was a shock. What 
 was the exact nature of the American shock must, how- 
 ever, be more carefully stated. 
 
 The famous quarrel between Dickens and America, 
 which finds its most elaborate expression in “ American 
 Notes,” though its most brilliant expression in “ Martin 
 Chuzzlewit,” is an incident which has been much discussed 
 and about which, nevertheless, a great deal remains to be 
 said. But the thing which most specially remains to be 
 said is this. This old Anglo-American quarrel was much 
 more fundamentally friendly than most Anglo-American 
 alliances. In Dickens’s day each nation understood the 
 other enough to argue. In our time neither nation under- 
 
 vii 
 
Vlll 
 
 Introduction 
 
 stands itself even enough to quarrel. There was an Eng- 
 lish tradition, from Fox and eighteenth-century England; 
 there was an American tradition from Franklin and eigh- 
 teenth-century America; and they were still close enough 
 together to discuss their differences with acrimony, per- 
 haps, but with certain fundamental understandings. The 
 eighteenth-century belief in a liberal civilisation was still a 
 dogma; for dogma is the only thing that makes argument 
 or reasoning possible. America, under all its swagger, did 
 still really believe that Europe was its fountain and its 
 mother, because Europe was more fully civilised. Dickens, 
 under all his disgust, did still believe that America was in 
 advance of Europe, because it was more democratic. It 
 was an age, in short, in which the word “ progress ” could 
 still be used reasonably; because the whole world looked 
 to one way of escape and there was only one kind of pro- 
 gress under discussion. Now, of course, “ progress ” is a 
 useless word; for progress takes for granted an already 
 defined direction; and it is exactly about the direction 
 that we disagree. Do not let us therefore be misled into 
 any mistaken optimism or special self-congratulation upon 
 what many people would call the improved relations 
 between England and America. The relations are im- 
 proved because America has finally become a foreign 
 country. And with foreign countries all sane men take 
 care to exchange a certain consideration and courtesy. 
 But even as late as the time of Dickens’s first visit to 
 the United States, we still felt America as a colony; an 
 insolent, offensive, and even unintelligible colony some- 
 times, but still a colony; a part of our civilisation, a limb 
 of our life. And America itself, as I have said, under all 
 its bounce and independence, really regarded us as a 
 mother country. This being the case it was possible for 
 us to quarrel, like kinsmen. Now we only bow and smile, 
 like strangers. 
 
 This tone, as a sort of family responsibility, can be felt 
 quite specially all through the satires or suggestions of 
 these “ American Notes.” Dickens is cross with America 
 because he is worried about America; as if he were its 
 father. He explores its industrial, legal, and educational 
 arrangements like a mother looking at the housekeeping 
 of a married son; he makes suggestions with a certain 
 
Introduction 
 
 IX 
 
 acidity; he takes a strange pleasure in being pessimistic^ 
 He advises them to take note of how much better certain 
 things are done in England. All this is very different 
 from Dickens’s characteristic way of dealing with a foreign 
 country. In countries really foreign, such as France, 
 Switzerland, and Italy, he had two attitudes, neither of 
 them in the least worried or paternal. When he found a 
 thing in Europe which he did not understand, such as the 
 Roman Catholic Church, he simply called it an old world 
 superstition, and sat looking at it like a moonlit ruin. When 
 he found something that he did understand, such as 
 luncheon baskets, he burst into carols of praise over the 
 superior sense from our civilisation and good management 
 of Continental methods. An example of the first attitude 
 may be found in one of his letters, in which he describes 
 the backwardness and idleness of Catholics who would 
 not build a Birmingham in Italy. He seems quite uncon- 
 scious of the obvious truth, that the backwardness of 
 Catholics was simply the refusal of Bob Cratchit to enter 
 the house of Gradgrind. An example of the second atti- 
 tude can be found in the purple patches of fun in “ Mugby 
 J unction ” ; in which the English waitress denounces the 
 profligate French habits of providing new bread and clean 
 food for people travelling by rail. The point is, however, 
 that in neither case has he the air of one suggesting im- 
 provements or sharing a problem with the people engaged 
 on it. He does not go carefully with a notebook through 
 J esuit schools nor offer friendly suggestions to the governors 
 of Parisian prisons. Or if he does, it is in a different spirit; 
 it is in the spirit of an ordinary tourist being shown over 
 the Coliseum or the Pyramids. But he visited America in 
 the spirit of a Government inspector dealing with some- 
 thing it was his duty to inspect. This is never felt either 
 in his praise or blame of Continental countries. When he 
 did not leave a foreign country to decay like a dead dog, he 
 merely watched it at play like a kitten. France he mistook 
 for a kitten. Italy he mistook for a dead dog. 
 
 But with America he could feel — and fear. There he 
 could hate, because he could love. There he could feel not 
 the past alone nor the present, but the future also; and, 
 like all brave men, when he saw the future he was a little 
 afraid of it. For of all tests by which the good citizen and 
 
X 
 
 Introduction 
 
 strong reformer can be distinguished from the vague 
 faddist or the inhuman sceptic, I know no better test than 
 this — that the unreal reformer sees in front of him one 
 certain future, the future of his fad; while the real re- 
 former sees before him ten or twenty futures among which 
 his country must choose, and may, in some dreadful hour, 
 choose the wrong one. The true patriot is always doubt- 
 ful of victory; because he knows that he is dealing with a 
 living thing; a thing with free will. To be certain of free 
 will is to be uncertain of success. 
 
 The subject matter of the real difference of opinion 
 between Dickens and the public of America can only be 
 understood if it is thus treated as a dispute between 
 brothers about the destiny of a common heritage. The 
 point at issue might be stated like this. Dickens, on his 
 side, did not in his heart doubt for a moment that England 
 would eventually follow America along the road towards 
 real political equality and purely republican institutions. 
 He lived, it must be remembered, before the revival of 
 aristocracy, which has since overwhelmed us — the revival of 
 aristocracy worked through popular science and commer- 
 cial dictatorship, and which has nowhere been more mani- 
 fest than in America itself. He knew nothing of this; in 
 his heart he conceded to the Yankees that not only was 
 their revolution right but would ultimately be completed 
 everywhere. But on the other hand, his whole point 
 against the American experiment was this — that if it 
 ignored certain ancient English contributions it would go 
 to pieces for lack of them. Of these the first was good 
 manners and the second individual liberty — liberty, that is, 
 to speak and write against the trend of the majority. In 
 these things he was much more serious and much more 
 sensible than it is the fashion to think he was; he was 
 indeed one of the most serious and sensible critics England 
 ever had of current and present problems, though his 
 criticism is useless to the point of nonentity about all 
 things remote from him in style of civilisation or in time. 
 His point about good manners is really important. All his 
 grumblings through this book of “ American Notes,” all 
 his shrieking satire in “ Martin Chuzzlewit ” are expres- 
 sions of a grave and reasonable fear he had touching the 
 future of democracy. And remember again what has been 
 
Introduction 
 
 xi 
 
 already remarked — instinctively he paid America the com- 
 pliment of looking at her as the future of democracy. 
 
 The mistake which he attacked still exists. I cannot 
 imagine why it is that social equality is somehow supposed 
 to mean social familiarity. Why should equality mean 
 that all men are equally rude ? Should it not rather mean 
 that all men are equally polite ? Might it not quite reason- 
 ably mean that all men should be equally ceremonious and 
 stately and pontifical ? What is there specially Equalitarian, 
 for instance, in calling your political friends and even your 
 political enemies by their Christian name in public ? There 
 is something very futile in the way in which certain Socialist 
 leaders call each other Tom, Dick and Harry; especially 
 when Tom is accusing Harry of having basely imposed 
 upon the well-known imbecility of Dick. There is some- 
 thing quite undemocratic in all men calling each other by 
 the special and affectionate term “ comrade ”; especially 
 when they say it with a sneer and smart inquiry about the 
 funds. Democracy would be quite satisfied if every man 
 called every other man “ sir.” Democracy would have no 
 conceivable reason to complain if every man called every 
 other man “ your excellency ” or “ your holiness ” or 
 “ brother of the sun and moon.” The only democratic essen- 
 tial is that it should be a term of dignity and that it should 
 be given to ail. To abolish all terms of dignity is no more 
 specially democratic than the Roman emperor’s wish to 
 cut off everybody’s head at once was specially democratic. 
 It involved equality certainly, but it was lacking in respect. 
 
 Dickens saw America as markedly the seat of this danger. 
 He saw that there was a perilous possibility that republican 
 ideals might be allied to a social anarchy good neither for 
 them nor for any other ideals. Republican simplicity, 
 which is difficult, might be quickly turned into Bohemian 
 brutality, which is easy. Cincinnatus, instead of putting 
 his hand to the plough, might put his feet on the table- 
 cloth, and an impression prevail that it was all a part of 
 the same rugged equality and freedom. Insolence might 
 become a tradition. Bad manners might have all the 
 sanctity of good manners. “ There you are! ” cries Martin 
 Chuzzlewit indignantly, when the American has befouled 
 the butter. “ A man deliberately makes a hog of himself, 
 and that is an Institution.” But the thread of thought 
 
Xll 
 
 Introduction 
 
 which we must always keep in hand in this matter is, that 
 he would not thus have worried about the degradation of 
 republican simplicity into general rudeness if he had not 
 from first to last instinctively felt that America held human 
 democracy in her hand, to exalt it or to let it fall. In one 
 of his gloomier moments he wrote down his fear that the 
 greatest blow ever struck at liberty would be struck by 
 America in the failure of her mission upon the earth. 
 
 This brings us to the other ground of his alarm — the 
 matter of liberty of speech. Here also he was much more 
 reasonable and philosophic than has commonly been 
 realised. The truth is that the lurid individualism of Car- 
 lyle has, with its violent colours, “ killed ” the tones of most 
 criticism of his time; and just as we can often see a scheme 
 of decoration better if we cover some flaming picture, so 
 you can judge nineteenth-century England much better if 
 you leave Carlyle out. He is important to moderns be- 
 cause he led that return to Toryism which has been the 
 chief feature of modernity, but his judgments were often 
 not only spiritually false, but really quite superficial. 
 Dickens understood the change of democracy far better 
 than Carlyle; just as he understood the merits of demo- 
 cracy far better than Carlyle. And of this fact we can pro- 
 duce one plain evidence ir\ the matter of which we speak. 
 Carlyle, in his general dislike of the revolutionary move- 
 ment, lumped liberty and democracy together and said that 
 the chief objection to democracy was that it involved 
 the excess and misuse of liberty; he called democracy 
 “ anarchy or no-rule.” Dickens, with far more philo- 
 sophical insight and spiritual delicacy, saw that the real 
 danger of democracy is that it tends to the very opposite 
 of anarchy; even to the very opposite of liberty. He 
 lamented in America the freedom of manners. But he 
 lamented even more the absence of freedom of opinion. 
 “ I believe there is no country on the face of the earth,” 
 he says, “ where there is less freedom of opinion on any 
 subject in reference to which there is a broad difference 
 of opinion than in this. There! I write the words with 
 reluctance, disappointment, and sorrow; but I believe it 
 from the bottom of my soul. The notion that I. a man 
 alone by myself in America, should venture to suggest to 
 the Americans that there was one point on which they 
 
Introduction 
 
 xm 
 
 were neither just to their own countrymen nor to us, 
 actually struck the boldest dumb! Washington Irving, 
 Prescott, Hoffman, Bryant, Halleck, Dana, Washington 
 Allston — every man who writes in this country is devoted 
 to the question, and not one of them dares to raise his 
 voice and complain of the atrocious state of the law. The 
 wonder is that a breathing man can be found with temerity 
 enough to suggest to the Americans the possibility of their 
 having done wrong. I wish you could have seen the faces 
 that I saw down both sides of the table at Hartford when 
 I began to talk about Scott. I wish you could have heard 
 how I gave it out. My blood so boiled when I thought of 
 the monstrous injustice that I felt as if I were twelve feet 
 high when I thrust it down their throats.' 1 Dickens knew 
 no history, but he had all history behind him in feeling 
 that a pure democracy does tend, when it goes wrong, to 
 be too traditional and absolute. The truth is indeed a 
 singular example of the unfair attack upon democracy in 
 our own time. Everybody can repeat the platitude that 
 the mob can be the greatest of all tyrants. But few realise 
 or remember the corresponding truth which goes along with 
 it — that the mob is the only permanent and unassailable 
 high priest. Democracy drives its traditions too hard; 
 but democracy is the only thing that keeps any traditions. 
 An aristocracy must always be going after some new thing. 
 The severity of democracy is far more of a virtue than its 
 liberty. The decorum of a democracy is far more of a 
 danger than its lawlessness. Dickens discovered this in 
 his great quarrels about the copyright, when a whole 
 nation acted on a small point of opinion as if it were going 
 to lynch him. But, fortunately for the purpose of this 
 argument, there is no need to go back to the forties for such 
 a case. Another great literary man has of late visited 
 America; and it is possible that Maxim Gorky may be in a 
 position to state how far democracy is likely to err on the 
 side of mere liberty and laxity. He may have found, like 
 Dickens, some freedom of manners; he did not find much 
 freedom of morals. 
 
 Some of his minor comments are of slight but material 
 interest — notably his very characteristic summary of the 
 question of the Red Indian. It marks the combination be- 
 tween the mental narrowness and the moral justice of the 
 
XIV 
 
 Introduction 
 
 old Liberal. Dickens can see nothing in the Red Indian 
 except that he is barbaric, retrograde, bellicose, uncleanly, 
 and superstitious — in short, that he is not a member of 
 the special civilisation of Birmingham or Brighton. It 
 is curious to note the contrast between the cheery, nay 
 Cockney, contempt with which Dickens speaks of the 
 American-Indian with that chivalrous and pathetic essay 
 in which Washington Irving celebrates the virtues of the 
 vanishing race. Between Washington Irving and his 
 friend Charles Dickens there was always indeed this ironical 
 comedy of inversion. It is amusing that the Englishman 
 should have been the pushing and even pert modernist, and 
 the American the stately antiquarian and lover of lost 
 causes. But while a man of more mellow sympathies may 
 well dislike Dickens’s dislike of savages, and even disdain 
 his disdain, he ought to sharply remind himself of the ad- 
 mirable ethical fairness and equity which meet with that 
 restricted outlook. In the very act of describing Red 
 Indians as devils who, like so much dirt, it would pay us to 
 sweep away, he pauses to deny emphatically that we have 
 any right to sweep them away. We have no right to wrong 
 the man, he means to say, even if he himself be a kind of 
 wrong. Here we strike the ringing iron of the old conscience 
 and sense of honour which marked the best men of his 
 party and of his epoch. This rigid and even reluctant 
 justice towers, at any rate, far above modern views of 
 savages, above the sentimentalism of the mere humani- 
 tarian and the far weaker sentimentalism that pleads for 
 brutality and a race war. Dickens was at least more of a 
 man than the brutalitarian who claims to wrong people 
 because they are nasty, or the humanitarian who cannot be 
 just to them without pretending that they are nice. 
 
Introduction 
 
 xv 
 
 PICTURES FROM ITALY 
 
 The “ Pictures from Italy ” are excellent in themselves and 
 excellent as a foil to the “ American Notes.” Here we have 
 none of that air of giving a decision like a judge or sending 
 in a report like an inspector; here we have only glimpses, 
 light and even fantastic glimpses, of a world that is really 
 alien to Dickens. It is so alien that he can almost entirely 
 enjoy it. For no man can entirely enjoy that which he 
 loves; contentment is always unpatriotic. The difference 
 can indeed be put with approximate perfection in one 
 phrase. In Italy he was on a holiday; in America he was 
 on a tour. But indeed Dickens himself has quite suffi- 
 ciently conveyed the difference in the two phrases that he 
 did actually use for the titles of the two books. Dickens 
 often told unconscious truths, especially in small matters. 
 The “ American Notes ” really are notes, like the notes of a 
 student or a professional witness. The “ Pictures from Italy” 
 are only pictures from Italy, like the miscellaneous pictures 
 that all tourists bring from Italy. 
 
 To take another and perhaps closer figure of speech, al- 
 most all Dickens’s works such as these may best be regarded 
 as private letters addressed to the public. His private 
 correspondence was quite as brilliant as his public works; 
 and many of his public works are almost as formless and 
 casual as his private correspondence. If he had been 
 struck insensible for a year, I really think that his friends 
 and family could have brought out one of his best books by 
 themselves if they had happened to keep his letters. The 
 homogeneity of his public and private work was indeed 
 strange in many ways. On the one hand, there was little 
 that was pompously and unmistakably public in the 
 publications ; on the other hand, there was very little that 
 was private in the private letters. His hilarity had almost 
 a kind of hardness about it; no man’s letters, I should think, 
 ever needed less expurgation on the ground of weakness 
 or undue confession. The main part, and certainly the best 
 part, of such a book as " Pictures from Italy ” can certainly 
 be criticised best as part of that perpetual torrent of enter- 
 taining autobiography which he flung at his children as if 
 they were his readers and his readers as if they were his 
 
XVI 
 
 Introduction 
 
 children. There are some brilliant patches of sense and 
 nonsense in this book ; but there is always something acci- 
 dental in them; as if they might have occurred somewhere 
 else. Perhaps the most attractive of them is the incom- 
 parable description of the Italian Marionette Theatre in 
 which they acted a play about the death of Napoleon in St. 
 Helena. The description is better than that of Codlin and 
 Short’s Punch and Judy and almost as good as that of Mrs. 
 Jarley’s Wax Works. Indeed the humour is similar; for 
 Punch is supposed to be funny, but Napoleon (as Mrs. 
 Jarley said when asked if her show was funnier than Punch) 
 was not funny at all. The idea of a really tragic scene 
 being enacted between tiny wooden dolls with large heads 
 is delightfully dealt with by Dickens. We can almost 
 imagine the scene in which the wooden Napoleon haughtily 
 rebukes his wooden jailor for calling him General Bona- 
 parte — 4 4 Sir Hudson Low, call me not thus ; I am Napoleon, 
 Emperor of the French.” There is also something singu- 
 larly gratifying about the scene of Napoleon’s death, in 
 which he lay in bed with his little wooden hands outside 
 the counterpane and the doctor (who was hung on wires 
 too short) “ delivered medical opinions in the air.” It 
 may seem flippant to dwell on such flippancies in connection 
 with a book which contains many romantic descriptions and 
 many moral generalisations which Dickens probably valued 
 highly. But it is not for such things that he is valued. In 
 all his writings, from his most reasoned and sustained novel 
 to his maddest private note, it is always this obstreperous 
 instinct for farce which stands out as his in the highest 
 sense; his wisdom is at the best talent, his foolishness is 
 genius. Just that exuberant levity which we associate 
 with a moment we associate in his case with immortality. 
 It is said of certain old masonry that the mortar was so 
 hard that it has survived the stones. So if Dickens could 
 revisit the thing he built, he would be surprised to see all 
 the work he thought solid and responsible wasted almost 
 utterly away, but the shortest frivolities and the most 
 momentary jokes remaining like colossal rocks forever. 
 
 G. K. CHESTERTON. 
 
 December 1907. 
 
Introduction 
 
 xvn 
 
 The following is a list of the works of Charles Dickens: — 
 
 Sketches by Bo z, 1835, 2nd series, 1836 (from “ Monthly Maga- 
 zine,” “ Morning Chronicle,” “ Evening Chronicle,” “ Bell’s Life 
 in London,” and “The Library of Fiction”); Sunday under 
 Three Heads, etc., 1836; The Strange Gentleman, comic bur- 
 letta, 1837; The Village Coquettes, comic opera, 1836; Is she 
 his wife? or Something Singular? comic burletta, acted 1837; 
 Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, monthly numbers, 
 1836-7; Mudfog Papers (Bentley’s “Miscellany”), 1837-9; 
 Memoirs of Joseph Grimaldi, edited by Boz, 1838; Oliver Twist, 
 or the Parish Boy’s Progress, 1838 (from Bentley’s “ Miscellany ”) ; 
 Sketches of Young Gentlemen, 1838; Life and Adventures of 
 Nicholas Nickleby, monthly numbers, 1838-9; Sketches of Young 
 Couples, etc., 1840; Master Humphrey’s Clock, weekly numbers, 
 1840-1; volume form, 1840, 1841 (Old Curiosity Shop, Barnaby 
 Rudge); the Pic-nic Papers (preface and first story), 1841; 
 American notes for general circulation, 1842; A Christmas Carol 
 in Prose, 1843; The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit, 
 monthly numbers, 1843-4; The Chimes: a Goblin Story of some 
 Bells, etc., 1844; The Cricket on the Hearth: a Fairy Tale of 
 Home, 1845; Pictures from Italy, 1846 (from “ Daily News”); 
 The Battle of Life: a Love Story, 1846; Dealings with the Firm 
 of Dombey and Son, etc., monthly numbers, 1846-8 ; The Haunted 
 Man, and the Ghost’s Bargain, 1848; The Personal History of 
 David Copperfield, monthly numbers, 1849 - 50; Christmas 
 Stories in “ Household Words ” and “ All the Year Round,” 
 1850-67; Bleak House, monthly numbers, 1852-3; A Child’s 
 History of England, 1854 (from “Household Words”); Hard 
 Times for these Times, 1854 (from “ Household Words ”) ; Little 
 Dorrit, monthly numbers, 1855-7; A Tale of Two Cities, 1859 
 (from “ All the Year Round ”) ; Great Expectations, 1861 (from 
 “ All the Year Round ”) ; Our Mutual Friend, monthly numbers, 
 1864-5; Religious Opinions of the late Rev. Chauncey Hare 
 Townhend, ed. C. D., 1869; “ Landor’s Life,” last contribution 
 to “ All the Year Round ”; The Mystery of Edwin Drood (un- 
 finished), in monthly numbers, April to September, 1870. 
 
 Other papers were contributed to “ Household Words ” and 
 “ All the Year Round.” 
 
 First Collective Ed., 1847-74; Library Ed., 1857, etc.; 
 “Charles Dickens” Ed., 1868-70; Letters, ed. Miss Hogarth 
 and Miss Dickens, 1886; Life, by Forster, 1872-74; “ Men of 
 Letters” Series, 1882; “ Great Writers” Series, 1887. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 My readers have opportunities of judging for themselves 
 whether the influences and tendencies which I distrusted in 
 America, had, at that time, any existence but in my imagina- 
 tion. They can examine for themselves whether there has 
 been anything in the public career of that country since, at 
 home or abroad, which suggests that those influences and 
 tendencies really did exist. As they find the fact, they will 
 judge me. If they discern any evidences of wrong-going, in 
 any direction that I have indicated, they will acknowledge 
 that I had reason in what I wrote. If they discern no such 
 indications, they will consider me altogether mistaken — but 
 not wilfully. 
 
 Prejudiced, I am not, and never have been, otherwise than 
 in favour of the United States. I have many friends in 
 America, I feel a grateful interest in the country, I hope and 
 believe it will successfully work out a problem of the highest 
 importance to the whole human race. To represent me as 
 viewing America with ill-nature, coldness, or animosity, is 
 merely to do a very foolish thing: which is always a very 
 easy one. 
 
 xis 
 

 
CONTENTS 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. Going Away i 
 
 II. The Passage out 9 
 
 III. Boston ......... 23 
 
 IV. An American Railroad. Lowell and its Factory 
 
 System ........ 60 
 
 V. Worcester. The Connecticut River. Hartford. 
 
 New Haven. To New York .... 69 
 
 VI. New York ........ 78 
 
 VII. Philadelphia, and its Solitary Prison ... 95 
 
 VIII. Washington. The Legislature. And the Presi- 
 dent’s House ....... m 
 
 IX. A Night Steamer on the Potomac River. Virginia 
 Road, and a Black Driver. Richmond. Balti- 
 more. The Harrisburg Mail, and a Glimpse of 
 the City. A Canal Boat .... 127 
 
 X. Some Further Account of the Canal Boat, its 
 Domestic Economy, and its Passengers. 
 Journey to Pittsburg across the Alleghany 
 Mountains. Pittsburg ..... 144 
 
 XI. From Pittsburg to Cincinnati in a Western Steam- 
 boat. Cincinnati ...... 
 
 XII. From Cincinnati to Louisville in another Western 
 Steamboat; and from Louisville to St. Louis in 
 
 another. St. Louis. . . . . .163 
 
 XIII. A Jaunt to the Looking-glass Prairie and back 174 
 
 XIV. Return to Cincinnati. A Stage-coach Ride from 
 
 that City to Columbus, and thence to San- 
 dusky. So, by Lake Erie, to the Falls of 
 Niagara ........ 182 
 
 XV. In Canada; Toronto; Kingston; Montreal; 
 
 Quebec; St. John’s. In the United States 
 again; Lebanon; The Shaker Village; West 
 Point ........ 199 
 
 XVI. The Passage Home . . .217 
 
 XVII. Slavery ......... 225 
 
 XVIII. Concluding Remarks . ..... 241 
 
 . 250 
 
 POSTSCRIPT 
 
 xxi 
 
xxn 
 
 Contents 
 
 PICTURES FROM ITALY 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Reader’s Passport 255 
 
 Going through France ..... .25 7 
 
 Lyons, the Rhone, and the Goblin of Avignon , . 265 
 
 Avignon to Genoa ........ 273 
 
 Genoa and its Neighbourhood ...... 278 
 
 To Parma, Modena, and Bologna . . , . 309 
 
 Through Bologna and Ferrara . . . . 318 
 
 An Italian Dream ........ 323 
 
 By Verona, Mantua, and Milan, across the Pass of the 
 
 Simplon into Switzerland ...... 332 
 
 To Rome by Pisa and Siena . . , . . 347 
 
 Rome .......... 360 
 
 A Rapid Diorama — 
 
 To Naples ......... 405 
 
 Naples. ......... 408 
 
 Pompeii — Herculaneum ...... 412 
 
 P^sstum 414 
 
 Vesuvius ......... 416 
 
 Return to Naples ....... 419 
 
 Monte Cassino ......... 423 
 
 Florence , 426 
 
AMERICAN NOTES 
 
AMERICAN NOTES 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 GOING AWAY 
 
 I shall never forget the one-fourth serious and three-fourths 
 comical astonishment, with which, on the morning of the 
 third of January eighteen-hundred-and-forty-two, I opened 
 the door of, and put my head into, a “ state-room ” on board 
 the “ Britannia ” steam-packet, twelve hundred tons burthen 
 per register, bound for Halifax and Boston, and carrying 
 Her Majesty’s mails. 
 
 That this state-room had been specially engaged for 
 “ Charles Dickens, Esquire, and Lady,” was rendered suffi- 
 ciently clear even to my scared intellect by a very small 
 manuscript, announcing the fact, which was pinned on a very 
 flat quilt, covering a very thin mattress, spread like a surgical 
 plaster on a most inaccessible shelf. But that this was the 
 state-room concerning which Charles Dickens, Esquire, and 
 Lady, had held daily and nightly conferences for at least 
 four months preceding : that this could by any possibility be 
 that small snug chamber of the imagination, which Charles 
 Dickens, Esquire, with the spirit of prophecy strong upon 
 him, had always foretold would contain at least one little 
 sofa, and which his lady, with a modest yet most magnificent 
 sense of its limited dimensions, had from the first opined 
 would not hold more than two enormous portmanteaus in 
 some odd corner out of sight (portmanteaus which could now 
 no more be got in at the door, not to say stowed away, than a 
 giraffe could be persuaded or forced into a flower-pot): that 
 this utterly impracticable, thoroughly hopeless, and pro- 
 foundly preposterous box, had the remotest reference to, or 
 connexion with, those chaste and pretty, not to say gorgeous 
 little bowers, sketched by a masterly hand, in the highly 
 
2 
 
 American Notes 
 
 varnished lithographic plan hanging up in the agent’s count- 
 ing-house in the city of London ; that this room of state, in 
 short, could be anything but a pleasant fiction and cheerful 
 jest of the captain’s, invented and put in practice for the 
 better relish and enjoyment of the real state-room presently 
 to be disclosed: — these were truths which I really could not, 
 for the moment, bring my mind at all to bear upon or com- 
 prehend. And I sat down upon a kind of horsehair slab, or 
 perch, of which there were two within; and looked, without 
 any expression of countenance whatever, at some friends who 
 had come on board with us, and who were crushing their 
 faces into all manner of shapes by endeavouring to squeeze 
 them through the small doorway. 
 
 We had experienced a pretty smart shock before coming 
 below, which, but that we were the most sanguine people 
 living, might have prepared us for the worst. The imagina- 
 tive artist to whom I have already made allusion, has 
 depicted in the same great work, a chamber of almost inter- 
 minable perspective, furnished, as Mr. Robins would say, in 
 a style of more than Eastern splendour, and filled (but not 
 inconveniently so) with groups of ladies and gentlemen, in 
 the very highest state of enjoyment and vivacity. Before 
 descending into the bowels of the ship, we had passed from 
 the deck into a long narrow apartment, not unlike a gigantic 
 hearse with windows in the sides; having at the upper end 
 a melancholy stove, at which three or four chilly stewards 
 were warming their hands ; while on either side, extending 
 down its whole dreary length, was a long, long table, over 
 each of which a rack, fixed to the low roof, and stuck full of 
 drinking-glasses and cruet-stands, hinted dismally at rolling 
 seas and heavy weather. I had not at that time seen the 
 ideal presentment of this chamber which has since gratified 
 me so much, but I observed that one of our friends who had 
 made the arrangements for our voyage, turned pale on enter- 
 ing, retreated on the friend behind him, smote his forehead 
 involuntarily, and said below his breath, “ Impossible ! it 
 cannot be! ” or words to that effect. He recovered himself 
 however by a great effort, and after a preparatory cough or 
 two, cried, with a ghastly smile, which is still before me, 
 looking at the same time round the walls, “ Ha! the break- 
 fast-room, steward — eh? ” We all foresaw what the answer 
 must be: we knew the agony he suffered. He had often 
 
The State-room 
 
 3 
 
 spoken of the saloon; had taken in and lived upon the 
 pictorial idea; had usually given us to understand, at home, 
 that to form a just conception of it, it would be necessary to 
 multiply the size and furniture of an ordinary drawing-room 
 by seven, and then fall short of the reality. When the man 
 in reply avowed the truth; the blunt, remorseless, naked 
 truth ; “ This is the saloon, Sir ” — he actually reeled beneath 
 the blow. 
 
 In persons who were so soon to part, and interpose between 
 their else daily communication the formidable barrier of 
 many thousand miles of stormy space, and who were for 
 that reason anxious to cast no other cloud, not even the pass- 
 ing shadow of a moment’s disappointment or discomfiture, 
 upon the short interval of happy companionship that yet 
 remained to them — in persons so situated, the natural tran- 
 sition from these first surprises was obviously into peals of 
 hearty laughter, and I can report that I, for one, being still 
 seated upon the slab or perch before mentioned, roared out- 
 right until the vessel rang again. Thus, in less than two 
 minutes after coming upon it for the first time, we all by 
 common consent agreed that this state-room was the 
 pleasantest and most facetious and capital contrivance 
 possible; and that to have had it one inch larger, would have 
 been quite a disagreeable and deplorable state of things. 
 And with this; and with showing how, — by very nearly 
 closing the door, and twining in and out like serpents, and 
 by counting the little washing slab as standing-room, — we 
 could manage to insinuate four people into it, all at one time; 
 and entreating each other to observe how very airy it was (in 
 dock), and how there was a beautiful port-hole which could 
 be kept open all day (weather permitting), and how there 
 was quite a large bull’s-eye just over the looking-glass which 
 would render shaving a perfectly easy and delightful process 
 (when the ship didn’t roll too much); we arrived, at last, at 
 the unanimous conclusion that it was rather spacious than 
 otherwise: though I do verily believe that, deducting the 
 two berths, one above the other, than which nothing smaller 
 for sleeping in was ever made except coffins, it was no bigger 
 than one of those hackney cabriolets which have the door 
 behind, and shoot their fares out, like sacks of coals, upon the 
 pavement. 
 
 Having settled this point to the perfect satisfaction of all 
 
American Notes 
 
 4 
 
 parties, concerned and unconcerned, we sat down round the 
 fire in the ladies’ cabin — just to try the effect. It was rather 
 dark, certainly; but somebody said, “ of course it would be 
 light, at sea,” a proposition to which we all assented; echo- 
 ing “ of course, of course ”; though it would be exceedingly 
 difficult to say why we thought so. I remember, too, when 
 we had discovered and exhausted another topic of consola- 
 tion in the circumstance of this ladies’ cabin, adjoining our 
 state-room, and the consequently immense feasibility of 
 sitting there at all times and seasons, and had fallen into a 
 momentary silence, leaning our faces on our hands and look- 
 ing at the fire, one of our party said, with the solemn air of a 
 man who had made a discovery, “ What a relish mulled 
 claret will have down here! ” which appeared to strike us all 
 most forcibly; as though there were something spicy and 
 high-flavoured in cabins, which essentially improved that 
 composition, and rendered it quite incapable of perfection 
 anywhere else. 
 
 There was a stewardess, too, actively engaged in producing 
 clean sheets and table-cloths from the very entrails of the 
 sofas, and from unexpected lockers, of such artful mechanism, 
 that it made one’s head ache to see them opened one after 
 another, and rendered it quite a distracting circumstance to 
 follow her proceedings, and to find that every nook and 
 comer and individual piece of furniture was something else 
 besides what it pretended to be, and was a mere trap and 
 deception and place of secret stowage, whose ostensible 
 purpose was its least useful one. 
 
 God bless that stewardess for her piously fraudulent 
 account of January voyages ! God bless her for her clear 
 recollection of the companion passage of last year, when 
 nobody was ill, and everybody dancing from morning to 
 night, and it was “ a run ” of twelve days, and a piece of the 
 purest frolic, and delight, and jollity! All happiness be 
 with her for her bright face and her pleasant Scotch tongue, 
 which had sounds of old Home in it for my fellow-traveller; 
 and for her predictions of fair winds and fine weather (all 
 wrong, or I shouldn’t be half so fond of her); and for the 
 ten thousand small fragments of genuine womanly tact 
 by which, without piecing them elaborately together, and 
 patching them up into shape and form and case and pointed 
 application, she nevertheless did plainly show that all young 
 
In High Spirits 5 
 
 mothers on one side of the Atlantic were near and close at 
 hand to their little children left upon the other; and that 
 what seemed to the uninitiated a serious journey, was, to 
 those who were in the secret, a mere frolic, to be sung about 
 and whistled at! Light be her heart, and gay her merry 
 eyes, for years ! 
 
 The state-room had grown pretty fast; but by this time it 
 had expanded into something quite bulky, and almost boasted 
 a bay-window to view the sea from. So we went upon deck 
 again in high spirits; and there, everything was in such 
 a state of bustle and active preparation, that the blood 
 quickened its pace, and whirled through one’s veins on that 
 dear frosty morning with involuntary mirthfulness. For 
 every gallant ship was riding slowly up and down, and every 
 little boat was splashing noisily in the water; and knots of 
 people stood upon the wharf, gazing with a kind of “ dread 
 delight ” on the far-famed fast American steamer; and one 
 party of men were “ taking in the milk,” or, in other words, 
 getting the cow on board; and another were filling the 
 icehouses to the very throat with fresh provisions; with 
 butchers’-meat and garden-stuff, pale sucking-pigs, calves’ 
 heads in scores, beef, veal, and pork, and poultry out of 
 all proportion; and others were coiling ropes and busy with 
 oakum yams; and others were lowering heavy packages into 
 the hold; and the purser’s head was barely visible as it 
 loomed in a state of exquisite perplexity from the midst 
 of a vast pile of passengers’ luggage; and there seemed 
 to be nothing going on anywhere, or uppermost in the mind 
 of anybody, but preparations for this mighty voyage. This, 
 with the bright cold sun, the bracing air, the crisply-curling 
 water, the thin white crust of morning ice upon the decks 
 which crackled with a sharp and cheerful sound beneath 
 the lightest tread, was irresistible. And when, again upon 
 the shore, we turned and saw from the vessel’s mast her 
 name signalled in flags of joyous colours, and fluttering 
 by their side the beautiful American banner with its stars 
 and stripes, — the long three thousand miles and more, and, 
 longer still, the six whole months of absence, so dwindled 
 and faded, that the ship had gone out and come home 
 again, and it was broad spring already in the Coburg Dock 
 at Liverpool. 
 
 I have not inquired among my medical acquaintance, 
 
6 
 
 American Notes 
 
 whether Turtle, and cold Punch, with Hock, Champagne, 
 and Claret, and all the slight et cetera usually included in an 
 unlimited order for a good dinner — especially when it is left 
 to the liberal construction of my faultless friend, Mr. Radley, 
 of the Adelphi Hotel — are peculiarly calculated to suffer 
 a sea-change; or whether a plain mutton-chop, and a glass 
 or two of sherry, would be less likely of conversion into 
 foreign and disconcerting material. My own opinion is, that 
 whether one is discreet or indiscreet in these particulars, 
 on the eve of a sea-voyage, is a matter of little consequence; 
 and that, to use a common phrase, “ it comes to very much 
 the same thing in the end.” Be this as it may, I know 
 that the dinner of that day was undeniably perfect; that 
 it comprehended all these items, and a great many more; 
 and that we all did ample justice to it. And I know too, 
 that, bating a certain tacit avoidance of any allusion to 
 to-morrow; such as may be supposed to prevail between 
 delicate-minded turnkeys, and a sensitive prisoner who is 
 to be hanged next morning; we got on very well, and, all 
 things considered, were merry enough. 
 
 When the morning — the morning — came, and we met at 
 breakfast, it was curious to see how eager we all were to 
 prevent a moments pause in the conversation, and how 
 astoundingly gay everybody was : the forced spirits of each 
 member of the little party having as much likeness to his 
 natural mirth, as hot-house peas at five guineas the quart, 
 resemble in flavour the growth of the dews, and air, and rain 
 of Heaven. But as one o’clock, the hour for going aboard, 
 drew near, this volubility dwindled away by little and little, 
 despite the most persevering efforts to the contrary, until at 
 last, the matter being now quite desperate, we threw off all 
 disguise; openly speculated upon where we should be this 
 time to-morrow, this time next day, and so forth; and 
 entrusted a vast number of messages to those who intended 
 returning to town that night, which were to be delivered at 
 home and elsewhere without fail, within the very shortest 
 possible space of time after the arrival of the railway train 
 at Euston Square. And commissions and remembrances do 
 so crowd upon one at such a time, that we were still busied 
 with this employment when we found ourselves fused, as 
 it were, into a dense conglomeration of passengers and 
 passengers’ friends and passengers’ luggage, all jumbled 
 
Preparations for Departure 7 
 
 together on the deck of a small steamboat, and panting 
 and snorting off to the packet, which had worked out of 
 dock yesterday afternoon and was now lying at her moorings 
 in the river. 
 
 And there she is! all eyes are turned to where she lies, 
 dimly discemable through the gathering fog of the early 
 winter afternoon; every finger is pointed in the same 
 direction; and murmurs of interest and admiration — as 
 “ How beautiful she looks ! ” “ How trim she is ! ” — are 
 
 heard on every side. Even the lazy gentleman with his 
 hat on one side and his hands in his pockets, who has 
 dispensed so much consolation by inquiring with a yawn 
 of another gentleman whether he is “ going across ” — as 
 if it were a ferry — even he condescends to look that way, 
 and nod his head, as who should say, “ No mistake about 
 that”: and not even the sage Lord Burleigh in his nod, 
 included half so much as this lazy gentleman of might who 
 has made the passage (as everybody on board has found out 
 already; it’s impossible to say how) thirteen times without 
 a single accident! There is another passenger very much 
 wrapped-up, who has been frowned down by the rest, and 
 morally trampled upon and crushed, for presuming to inquire 
 with a timid interest how long it is since the poor President 
 went down. He is standing close to the lazy gentleman, 
 and says with a faint smile that he believes She is a very 
 strong Ship; to which the lazy gentleman, looking first in 
 his questioner’s eye and then very hard in the wind’s, 
 answers unexpectedly and ominously, that She need be. 
 Upon this the lazy gentleman instantly falls very low in 
 the popular estimation, and the passengers, with looks of 
 defiance, whisper to each other that he is an ass, and an 
 impostor, and clearly don’t know anything at all about it. 
 
 But we are made fast alongside the packet, whose huge 
 red funnel is smoking bravely, giving rich promise of 
 serious intentions. Packing-cases, portmanteaus, carpet- 
 bags, and boxes, are already passed from hand to hand, and 
 hauled on board with breathless rapidity. The officers, 
 smartly dressed, are at the gangway handing the passengers 
 up the side, and hurrying the men. In five minutes’ time, 
 the little steamer is utterly deserted, and the packet is beset 
 and over-run by its late freight, who instantly pervade the 
 whole ship, and are to be met with by the dozen in every 
 
8 
 
 American Notes 
 
 nook and comer: swarming down below with their own 
 baggage, and stumbling over other people’s; disposing 
 themselves comfortably in wrong cabins, and creating a 
 most horrible confusion by having to turn out again; madly 
 bent upon opening locked doors, and on forcing a passage 
 into all kinds of out-of-the-way places where there is no 
 thoroughfare; sending wild stewards, with elfin hair, to 
 and fro upon the breezy decks on unintelligible errands, 
 impossible of execution: and in short, creating the most 
 extraordinary and bewildering tumult. In the midst of 
 all this, the lazy gentleman, who seems to have no luggage 
 of any kind — not so much as a friend, even — lounges up 
 and down the hurricane deck, coolly puffing a cigar; and, 
 as this unconcerned demeanour again exalts him in the 
 opinion of those who have leisure to observe his proceedings, 
 every time he looks up at the masts, or down at the decks, 
 or over the side, they look there too, as wondering whether 
 he sees anything wrong anywhere, and hoping that, in case 
 he should, he will have the goodness to mention it. 
 
 What have we here ? The captain’s boat ! and yonder the 
 captain himself. Now, by all our hopes and wishes, the 
 very man he ought to be ! A well-made, tight-built, dapper 
 little fellow; with a ruddy face, which is a letter of invitation 
 to shake him by both hands at once ; and with a clear, blue 
 honest eye, that it does one good to see one’s sparkling image 
 in. “ Ring the bell ! ” “ Ding, ding, ding ! ” the very bell is 
 in a hurry. “ Now for the shore — who’s for the shore? ” — 
 4 4 These gentlemen, I am sorry to say.” They are away, and 
 never said, Good b’ye! Ah! now they wave it from the 
 little boat. “ Good b’ye! Good b’ye!” Three cheers from 
 them; three more from us; three more from them: and 
 they are gone. 
 
 To and fro, to and fro, to and fro again a hundred times ! 
 This waiting for the latest mail-bags is worse than all. If 
 we could have gone off in the midst of that last burst, we 
 should have started triumphantly: but to lie here, two hours 
 and more in the damp fog, neither staying at home nor going 
 abroad, is letting one gradually down into the very depths of 
 dulness and low spirits. A speck in the mist, at last ! That’s 
 something. It is the boat we wait for ! That’s more to the 
 purpose. The captain appears on the paddle-box with his 
 speaking trumpet; the officers take their stations ; all hands 
 
The Universal Question 9 
 
 are on the alert; the flagging hopes of the passengers revive; 
 the cooks pause in their savoury work, and look out with 
 faces full of interest. The boat comes alongside; the bags 
 are dragged in anyhow, and flung down for the moment any- 
 where. Three cheers more: and as the first one rings upon 
 our ears, the vessel throbs like a strong giant that has just 
 received the breath of life; the two great wheels turn fiercely 
 round for the first time; and the noble ship, with wind 
 and tide astern, breaks proudly through the lashed and 
 foaming water. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE PASSAGE OUT 
 
 We all dined together that day; and a rather formidable 
 party we were: no fewer than eighty-six strong. The vessel 
 being pretty deep in the water, with all her coals on board 
 and so many passengers, and the weather being calm and 
 quiet, there was but little motion; so that before the dinner 
 was half over, even those passengers who were most distrustful 
 of themselves plucked up amazingly; and those who in the 
 morning had returned to the universal question, “ Are you a 
 good sailor? ” a very decided negative, now either parried the 
 inquiry with the evasive reply, “ Oh ! I suppose I’m no worse 
 than anybody else”; or, reckless of all moral obligations, 
 answered boldly “ Yes ”: and with some irritation too, as 
 though they would add, “ I should like to know what you 
 see in me, Sir, particularly, to justify suspicion ! ” 
 
 Notwithstanding this high tone of courage and confidence, I 
 could not but observe that very few remained long over their 
 wine; and that everybody had an unusual love of the open 
 air; and that the favourite and most coveted seats were 
 invariably those nearest to the door. The tea-table, too, was 
 by no means as well attended as the dinner-table; and there 
 was less whist-playing than might have been expected. Still, 
 with the exception of one lady, who had retired with some 
 precipitation at dinner-time, immediately after being assisted 
 to the finest cut of a very yellow boiled leg of mutton with 
 very green capers, there were no invalids as yet; and walking, 
 
 B 
 
IO 
 
 American Notes 
 
 and smoking, and drinking of brandy-and-water (but always 
 in the open air), went on with unabated spirit, until eleven 
 o’clock or thereabouts when “ turning in ” — no sailor of seven 
 hours’ experience talks of going to bed — became the order of 
 the night. The perpetual tramp of boot-heels on the decks 
 gave place to a heavy silence, and the whole human freight 
 was stowed away below, excepting a very few stragglers, 
 like myself, who were probably, like me, afraid to go there. 
 
 To one unaccustomed to such scenes, this is a very striking 
 time on shipboard. Afterwards, and when its novelty had 
 long worn off, it never ceased to have a peculiar interest and 
 charm for me. The gloom through which the great black 
 mass holds its direct and certain course; the rushing water, 
 plainly heard, but dimly seen; the broad, white, glistening 
 track, that follows in the vessel’s wake; the men on the look- 
 out forward, who would be scarcely visible against the dark 
 sky, but for their blotting out some score of glistening stars ; 
 the helmsman at the wheel, with the illuminated card before 
 him, shining, a speck of light amidst the darkness, like some- 
 thing sentient and of Divine intelligence; the melancholy 
 sighing of the wind through block, and rope, and chain ; the 
 gleaming forth of light from every crevice, nook, and tiny 
 piece of glass about the decks, as though the ship were filled 
 with fire in hiding, ready to burst through any outlet, wild 
 with its resistless power of death and ruin. At first, too, and 
 even when the hour, and all the objects it exalts, have come 
 to be familiar, it is difficult, alone and thoughtful, to hold 
 them to their proper shapes and forms. They change with 
 the wandering fancy; assume the semblance of things left far 
 away; put on the well-remembered aspect of favourite places 
 dearly loved; and even people them with shadows. Streets, 
 houses, rooms ; figures so like their usual occupants, that they 
 have startled me by their reality, which far exceeded, as it 
 seemed to me, all power of mine to conjure up the absent; 
 have many and many a time, at such an hour, grown suddenly 
 out of objects with whose real look, and use, and purpose, I 
 was as well acquainted as with my own two hands. 
 
 My own two hands, and feet likewise, being very cold, how- 
 ever, on this particular occasion, I crept below at midnight. 
 It was not exactly comfortable below. It was decidedly 
 close; and it was impossible to be unconscious of the presence 
 of that extraordinary compound of strange smells, which is to 
 
A Novel State of Things 1 1 
 
 be found nowhere but on board ship, and which is such a 
 subtle perfume that it seems to enter at every pore of the 
 skin, and whisper of the hold. Two passengers' wives (one 
 of them my own) lay already in silent agonies on the sofa; 
 and one lady's maid (my lady's) was a mere bundle on the 
 floor, execrating her destiny, and pounding her curl-papers 
 among the stray boxes. Everything sloped the wrong way: 
 which in itself was an aggravation scarcely to be borne. I 
 had left the door open, a moment before, in the bosom of a 
 gentle declivity, and, when I turned to shut it, it was on the 
 summit of a lofty eminence. Now every plank and timber 
 creaked, as if the ship were made of wicker-work; and now 
 crackled, like an enormous fire of the driest possible twigs. 
 There was nothing for it but bed ; so I went to bed. 
 
 It was pretty much the same for the next two days, with 
 a tolerably fair wind and dry weather. I read in bed (but to 
 this hour I don’t know what) a good deal; and reeled on deck 
 a little; drank cold brandy-and-water with an unspeakable 
 disgust, and ate hard biscuit perseveringly : not ill, but going 
 to be. 
 
 It is the third morning. I am awakened out of my sleep 
 by a dismal shriek from my wife, who demands to know 
 whether there's any danger. I rouse myself, and look out of 
 bed. The water-jug is plunging and leaping like a lively 
 dolphin ; all the smaller articles are afloat, except my shoes, 
 which are stranded on a carpet-bag, high and dry, like a couple 
 of coal-barges. Suddenly I see them spring into the air, and 
 behold the looking-glass, which is nailed to the wall, sticking 
 fast upon the ceiling. At the same time the door entirely 
 disappears, and a new one is opened in the floor. Then I 
 begin to comprehend that the state-room is standing on its 
 head. 
 
 Before it is possible to make any arrangement at all 
 compatible with this novel state of things, the ship rights. 
 Before one can say “ Thank Heaven!" she wrongs again. 
 Before one can cry she is wrong, she seems to have started 
 forward, and to be a creature actually running of its own 
 accord, with broken knees and falling legs, through every 
 variety of hole and pitfall, and stumbling constantly. Before 
 one can so much as wonder, she takes a high leap into the air. 
 Before she has well done that, she takes a deep dive into the 
 water. Before she has gained the surface, she throws a 
 
American Notes 
 
 i 2 
 
 summerset. The instant she is on her legs, she rushes back- 
 ward. And so she goes on staggering, heaving, wrestling, 
 leaping, diving, jumping, pitching, throbbing, rolling, and 
 rocking: and going through all these movements, sometimes 
 by turns, and sometimes altogether: until one feels disposed 
 to roar for mercy. 
 
 A steward passes. “ Steward ! ” “ Sir? ” “ What is the 
 matter? what do you call this ? ” “ Rather a heavy sea on. 
 Sir, and a head-wind.” 
 
 A head-wind! Imagine a human face upon the vessel’s 
 prow, with fifteen thousand Samsons in one bent upon driving 
 her back, and hitting her exactly between the eyes whenever 
 she attempts to advance an inch. Imagine the ship herself, 
 with every pulse and artery of her huge body swollen and 
 bursting under this maltreatment, sworn to go on or die. 
 Imagine the wind howling, the sea roaring, the rain beating: 
 all in furious array against her. Picture the sky both dark 
 and wild, and the clouds, in fearful sympathy with the waves, 
 making another ocean in the air. Add to all this, the 
 clattering on deck and down below; the tread of hurried 
 feet; the loud hoarse shouts of seamen ; the gurgling in and 
 out of water through the scuppers ; with, every now and then, 
 the striking of a heavy sea upon the planks above, with the 
 deep, dead, heavy sound of thunder heard within a vault; — 
 and there is the head-wind of that January morning. 
 
 I say nothing of what may be called the domestic noises 
 of the ship : such as the breaking of glass and crockery, the 
 tumbling down of stewards, the gambols, overhead, of loose 
 casks and truant dozens of bottled porter, and the very 
 remarkable and far from exhilarating sounds raised in their 
 various state-rooms by the seventy passengers who were too 
 ill to get up to breakfast. I say nothing of them: for 
 although I lay listening to this concert for three or four days, 
 I don’t think I heard it for more than a quarter of a minute, 
 at the expiration of which term, I lay down again, excessively 
 sea-sick. 
 
 Not sea-sick, be it understood, in the ordinary acceptation 
 of the term : I wish I had been : but in a form which I have 
 never seen or heard described, though I have no doubt it is 
 very common. I lay there, all the day long, quite coolly 
 and contentedly; with no sense of weariness, with no desire 
 to get up, or get better, or take the air; with no curiosity, 
 
Sea-Sick 
 
 *3 
 
 or care, or regret, of any sort or degree, saving that I think 
 I can remember, in this universal indifference, having a kind 
 of lazy joy — of fiendish delight, if anything so lethargic can 
 be dignified with the title — in the fact of my wife being too 
 ill to talk to me. If I may be allowed to illustrate my state 
 of mind by such an example, I should say that I was exactly 
 in the condition of the elder Mr. Willet, after the incursion 
 of the rioters into his bar at Chigwell. Nothing would have 
 surprised me. If, in the momentary illumination of any ray 
 of intelligence that may have come upon me in the way of 
 thoughts of Home, a goblin postman, with a scarlet coat and 
 bell, had come into that little kennel before me, broad awake 
 in broad day, and, apologising for being damp through 
 walking in the sea, had handed me a letter directed to myself 
 in familiar characters, I am certain I should not have felt 
 one atom of astonishment: I should have been perfectly 
 satisfied. If Neptune himself had walked in, with a toasted 
 shark on his trident, I should have looked upon the event as 
 one of the very commonest everyday occurrences. 
 
 Once — once — I found myself on deck. I don’t know how 
 I got there, or what possessed me to go there, but there I 
 was; and completely dressed too, with a huge pea-coat on, 
 and a pair of boots such as no weak man in his senses could 
 ever have got into. I found myself standing, when a gleam 
 of consciousness came upon me, holding on to something. I 
 don’t know what. I think it was the boatswain : or it may 
 have been the pump: or possibly the cow. I can’t say how 
 long I had been there; whether a day or a minute. I recol- 
 lect trying to think about something (about anything in the 
 whole wide world, I was not particular) without the smallest 
 effect. I could not even make out which was the sea, and 
 which the sky, for the horizon seemed drunk, and was flying 
 wildly about in all directions. Even in that incapable state, 
 however. I recognised the lazy gentleman standing before me: 
 nautically clad in a suit of shaggy blue, with an oilskin hat. 
 But I was too imbecile, although I knew it to be he, to sepa- 
 rate him from his dress; and tried to call him, I remember, 
 Pilot. After another interval of total unconsciousness, I 
 found he had gone, and recognised another figure in his place. 
 It seemed to wave and fluctuate before me as though I saw 
 it reflected in an unsteady looking-glass; but I knew it for 
 the captain; and such was the cheerful influence of his face, 
 
14 American Notes 
 
 that I tried to smile: yes, even then I tried to smile. I saw 
 by his gestures that he addressed me; but it was a long time 
 before I could make out that he remonstrated against my 
 standing up to my knees in water — as I was; of course I 
 don’t know why. I tried to thank him, but couldn’t. I 
 could only point to my boots — or wherever I supposed my 
 boots to be — and say in a plaintive voice, “ Cork soles at 
 the same time endeavouring, I am told, to sit down in the 
 pool. Finding that I was quite insensible, and for the time 
 a maniac, he humanely conducted me below. 
 
 There I remained until I got better: suffering, whenever I 
 was recommended to eat anything, an amount of anguish 
 only second to that which is said to be endured by the 
 apparently drowned, in the process of restoration to life. One 
 gentleman on board had a letter of introduction to me from 
 a mutual friend in London. He sent it below with his card, 
 on the morning of the head-wind; and I was long troubled 
 with the idea that he might be up, and well, and a hundred 
 times a day expecting me to call upon him in the saloon. I 
 imagined him one of those cast-iron images — I will not call 
 them men — who ask, with red faces, and lusty voices, what 
 sea-sickness means, and whether it really is as bad as it is 
 represented to be. This was very torturing indeed; and I 
 don’t think I ever felt such perfect gratification and gratitude 
 of heart, as I did when I heard from the ship’s doctor that 
 he had been obliged to put a large mustard poultice on this 
 very gentleman’s stomach. I date my recovery from the 
 receipt of that intelligence. 
 
 It was materially assisted though, I have no doubt, by 
 a heavy gale of wind, which came slowly up at sunset, when 
 we were about ten days out, and raged with gradually in- 
 creasing fury until morning, saving that it lulled for an hour 
 a little before midnight. There was something in the un- 
 natural repose of that hour, and in the after-gathering of the 
 storm, so inconceivably awful and tremendous, that its 
 bursting into full violence was almost a relief. 
 
 The labouring of the ship in the troubled sea on this night 
 I shall never forget. “ Will it ever be worse than this?” 
 was a question I had often heard asked, when everything was 
 sliding and bumping about, and when it certainly did seem 
 difficult to comprehend the possibility of anything afloat 
 being more disturbed, without toppling over and going down^ 
 
A Heavy Gale 1 5 
 
 But what the agitation of a steam-vessel is, on a bad winter’s 
 night in the wild Atlantic, it is impossible for the most vivid 
 imagination to conceive. To say that she is flung down on 
 her side in the waves, with her masts dipping into them, 
 and that, springing up again, she rolls over on the other side, 
 until a heavy sea strikes her with the noise of a hundred 
 great guns, and hurls her back — that she stops, and staggers, 
 and shivers, as though stunned, and then, with a violent 
 throbbing at her heart, darts onward like a monster goaded 
 into madness, to be beaten down, and battered, and crushed, 
 and leaped on by the angry sea — that thunder, lightning, 
 hail, and rain, and wind, are all in fierce contention for the 
 mastery — that every plank has its groan, every nail its shriek, 
 and every drop of water in the great ocean its howling voice 
 — is nothing. To say that all is grand, and all appalling 
 and horrible in the last degree, is nothing. Words cannot 
 express it. Thoughts cannot convey it. Only a dream can 
 call it up again, in all its fury, rage, and passion. 
 
 And yet, in the very midst of these terrors, I was placed 
 in a situation so exquisitely ridiculous, that even then I had 
 as strong a sense of its absurdity as I have now, and could 
 no more help laughing than I can at any other comical 
 incident, happening under circumstances the most favourable 
 to its enjoyment. About midnight we shipped a sea, which 
 forced its way through the skylights, burst open the doors 
 above, and came raging and roaring down into the ladies’ 
 cabin, to the unspeakable consternation of my wife and a 
 little Scotch lady — who, by-the-way, had previously sent 
 a message to the captain by the stewardess, requesting him, 
 with her compliments, to have a steel conductor immediately 
 attached to the top of every mast, and to the chimney, in 
 order that the ship might not be struck by lightning. They 
 and the handmaid before mentioned, being in such ecstasies 
 of fear that I scarcely knew what to do with them, I naturally 
 bethought myself of some restorative or comfortable cordial; 
 and nothing better occurring to me, at the moment, than 
 hot brandy-and-water, I procured a tumblerful without 
 delay. It being impossible to stand or sit without holding 
 on, they were all heaped together in one comer of a long sofa 
 — a fixture extending entirely across the cabin — where they 
 clung to each other in momentary expectation of being 
 drowned. When I approached this place with my specific. 
 
American Notes 
 
 1 6 
 
 and was about to administer it with many consolatory 
 expressions to the nearest sufferer, what was my dismay to 
 see them all roll slowly down to the other end ! And when 
 I staggered to that end, and held out the glass once more, 
 how immensely baffled were my good intentions by the ship 
 giving another lurch, and their all rolling back again! I 
 suppose I dodged them up and down this sofa for at least a 
 quarter of an hour, without reaching them once; and by the 
 time I did catch them, the brandy-and-water was diminished, 
 by constant spilling, to a teaspoonful. To complete the 
 group, it is necessary to recognise in this disconcerted dodger, 
 an individual very pale from sea-sickness; who had shaved 
 his beard and brushed his hair, last, at Liverpool: and whose 
 only articles of dress (linen not included) were a pair of 
 dreadnought trousers; a blue jacket, formerly admired upon 
 the Thames at Richmond ; no stockings; and one slipper. 
 
 Of the outrageous antics performed by that ship next 
 morning; which made bed a practical joke, and getting up, 
 by any process short of falling out, an impossibility; I say 
 nothing. But anything like the utter dreariness and desola- 
 tion that met my eyes when I literally “ tumbled up ” on 
 deck at noon, I never saw. Ocean and sky were all of one 
 dull, heavy, uniform, lead colour. There was no extent of 
 prospect even over the dreary waste that lay around us, for 
 the sea ran high, and the horizon encompassed us like a large 
 black hoop. Viewed from the air, or some tall bluff on shore, 
 it would have been imposing and stupendous, no doubt ; but 
 seen from the wet and rolling decks, it only impressed one 
 giddily and painfully. In the gale of last night the lifeboat 
 had been crushed by one blow of the sea like a walnut-shell; 
 and there it hung dangling in the air: a mere faggot of crazy 
 boards. The planking of the paddle-boxes had been tom 
 sheer away. The wheels were exposed and bare; and they 
 whirled and dashed their spray about the decks at random. 
 Chimney, white with crusted salt; topmasts struck ; storm- 
 sails set; rigging all knotted, tangled, wet, and drooping: 
 a gloomier picture it would be hard to look upon. 
 
 I was now comfortably established by courtesy in the 
 ladies’ cabin, where, besides ourselves, there were only four 
 other passengers. First, the little Scotch lady before- 
 mentioned, on her way to join her husband at New York, who 
 had settled there three years before. Secondly and thirdly, 
 
Daily Life on Board 17 
 
 an honest young Yorkshireman, connected with some 
 American house; domiciled in that same city, and carrying 
 thither his beautiful young wife to whom he had been married 
 but a fortnight, and who was the fairest specimen of a comely 
 English country girl I have ever seen. Fourthly, fifthly, and 
 lastly, another couple : newly married too, if one might judge 
 from the endearments they frequently interchanged: of 
 whom I know no more than that they were rather a mysteri- 
 ous, runaway kind of couple; that the lady had great 
 personal attractions also; and that the gentleman carried 
 more guns with him than Robinson Crusoe, wore a shooting- 
 coat, and had two great dogs on board. On further con- 
 sideration, I remember that he tried hot roast pig and 
 bottled ale as a cure for sea-sickness ; and that he took these 
 remedies (usually in bed) day after day, with astonishing 
 perseverance. I may add, for the information of the curious, 
 that they decidedly failed. 
 
 The weather continuing obstinately and almost unprece- 
 dentedly bad, we usually straggled into this cabin, more or 
 less faint and miserable, about an hour before noon, and lay 
 down on the sofas to recover; during which interval, the 
 captain would look in to communicate the state of the wind, 
 the moral certainty of its changing to-morrow (the weather 
 is always going to improve to-morrow, at sea), the vessel’s 
 rate of sailing, and so forth. Observations there were none 
 to tell us of, for there was no sun to take them by. But a 
 description of one day will serve for all the rest. Here it is. 
 
 The captain being gone, we compose ourselves to read, if 
 the place be light enough; and if not, we doze and talk 
 alternately. At one, a bell rings, and the stewardess comes 
 down with a steaming dish of baked potatoes, and another 
 of roasted apples; and plates of pig’s face, cold ham, salt 
 beef; or perhaps a smoking mess of rare hot collops. We 
 fall to upon these dainties ; eat as much as we can (we have 
 great appetites now); and are as long as possible about it. 
 If the fire will bum (it will sometimes) we are pretty cheerful. 
 If it won’t, we all remark to each other that it’s very cold, 
 rub our hands, cover ourselves with coats and cloaks, and lie 
 down again to doze, talk, and read (provided as aforesaid), 
 until dinner-time. At five, another bell rings, and the 
 stewardess reappears with another dish of potatoes — boiled 
 this time — and store of hot meat of various kinds : not for- 
 
American Notes 
 
 1 8 
 
 getting the roast pig, to be taken medicinally. We sit down 
 at table again (rather more cheerfully than before); prolong 
 the meal with a rather mouldy dessert of apples, grapes, and 
 oranges; and drink our wine and brandy-and-water. The 
 bottles and glasses are still upon the table, and the oranges 
 and so forth are rolling about according to their fancy and 
 the ship’s way, when the doctor comes down, by special 
 nightly invitation, to join our evening rubber: immediately 
 on whose arrival we make a party at whist, and as it is a 
 rough night and the cards will not lie on the cloth, we put 
 the tricks in our pockets as we take them. At whist we 
 remain with exemplary gravity (deducting a short time for 
 tea and toast) until eleven o’clock, or thereabouts ; when the 
 captain comes down again, in a sou’-wester hat tied under 
 his chin, and a pilot-coat : making the ground wet where he 
 stands. By this time the card -playing is over, and the 
 bottles and glasses are again upon the table; and after an 
 hour’s pleasant conversation about the ship, the passengers, 
 and things in general, the captain (who never goes to bed, 
 and is never out of humour) turns up his coat collar for the 
 deck again ; shakes hands all round ; and goes laughing out 
 into the weather as merrily as to a birthday party. 
 
 As to daily news, there is no dearth of that commodity. 
 This passenger is reported to have lost fourteen pounds at 
 Vingt-et-un in the saloon yesterday; and that passenger 
 drinks his bottle of champagne every day, and how he does 
 it (being only a clerk), nobody knows. The head engineer 
 has distinctly said that there never was such times — meaning 
 weather — and four good hands are ill, and have given in, 
 dead beat. Several berths are full of water, and all the cabins 
 are leaky. The ship’s cook, secretly swigging damaged 
 whiskey, has been found drunk ; and has been played upon 
 by the fire-engine until quite sober. All the stewards have 
 fallen downstairs at various dinner-times, and go about with 
 plasters in various places. The baker is ill, and so is the 
 pastry-cook. A new man, horribly indisposed, has been 
 required to fill the place of the latter officer; and has been 
 propped and jammed up with empty casks in a little house 
 upon deck, and commanded to roll out pie-crust, which he 
 protests (being highly bilious) it is death to him to look at. 
 News ! A dozen murders on shore would lack the interest of 
 these slight incidents at sea. 
 
Breakers Ahead ! 
 
 l 9 
 
 Divided between our rubber and such topics as these, we 
 were running (as we thought) into Halifax Harbour, on the 
 fifteenth night, with little wind and a bright moon — indeed, 
 we had made the Light at its outer entrance, and put the 
 pilot in charge — when suddenly the ship struck upon a bank 
 of mud. An immediate rush on deck took place of course; 
 the sides were crowded in an instant; and for a few minutes 
 we were in as lively a state of confusion as the greatest lover 
 of disorder would desire to see. The passengers, and guns, 
 and water-casks, and other heavy matters, being all huddled 
 together aft, however, to lighten her in the head, she was 
 soon got off; and after some driving on towards an uncom- 
 fortable line of objects (whose vicinity had been announced 
 very early in the disaster by a loud cry of “ Breakers a- 
 head ! ”) and much backing of paddles, and heaving of the 
 lead into a constantly decreasing depth of water, we dropped 
 anchor in a strange outlandish-looking nook which nobody 
 on board could recognise, although there was land all about 
 us, and so close that we could plainly see the waving branches 
 of the trees. 
 
 It was strange enough, in the silence of midnight, and the 
 dead stillness that seemed to be created by the sudden and 
 unexpected stoppage of the engine which had been clanking 
 and blasting in our ears incessantly for so many days, to 
 watch the look of blank astonishment expressed in every 
 face: beginning with the officers, tracing it through all the 
 passengers, and descending to the very stokers and furnace- 
 men, who emerged from below, one by one, and clustered 
 together in a smoky group about the hatchway of the engine- 
 room, comparing notes in whispers. After throwing up a 
 few rockets and firing signal guns in the hope of being hailed 
 from the land, or at least of seeing a light — but without any 
 other sight or sound presenting itself — it was determined to 
 send a boat on shore. It was amusing to observe how very 
 kind some of the passengers were, in volunteering to go 
 ashore in this same boat: for the general good, of course: 
 not by any means because they thought the ship in an unsafe 
 position, or contemplated the possibility of her heeling over 
 in case the tide were running out. Nor was it less amusing 
 to remark how desperately unpopular the poor pilot became 
 in one short minute. He had had his passage out from 
 Liverpool, and during the whole voyage had been quite a 
 
20 
 
 American Notes 
 
 notorious character, as a teller of anecdotes and cracker of 
 jokes. Yet here were the very men who had laughed the 
 loudest at his jests, now flourishing their fists in his face, 
 loading him with imprecations, and defying him to his 
 teeth as a villain 1 
 
 The boat soon shoved off, with a lantern and sundry blue 
 lights on board; and in less than an hour returned; the 
 officer in command bringing with him a tolerably tall young 
 tree, which he had plucked up by the roots, to satisfy certain 
 distrustful passengers whose minds misgave them that they 
 were to be imposed upon and shipwrecked, and who would 
 on no other terms believe that he had been ashore, or had 
 done anything but fraudulently row a little way into the 
 mist, specially to deceive them and compass their deaths. 
 Our captain had foreseen from the first that we must be in 
 a place called the Eastern passage; and so we were. It was 
 about the last place in the world in which we had any 
 business or reason to be, but a sudden fog, and some error 
 on the pilot’s part, were the cause. We were surrounded 
 by banks, and rocks, and shoals of all kinds, but had happily 
 drifted, it seemed, upon the only safe speck that was to be 
 found thereabouts. Eased by this report, and by the assur- 
 ance that the tide was passed the ebb, we turned in at three 
 o’clock in the morning. 
 
 I was dressing about half-past nine next day, when the 
 noise above hurried me on deck. When I had left it over- 
 night, it was dark, foggy, and damp, and there were bleak 
 hills all around us. Now, we were gliding down a smooth, 
 broad stream, at the rate of eleven miles an hour: our 
 colours flying gaily; our crew rigged out in their smartest 
 clothes ; our officers in uniform again ; the sun shining as on 
 a brilliant April day in England; the land stretched out 
 on either side, streaked with light patches of snow; white 
 wooden houses; people at their doors; telegraphs working; 
 flags hoisted; wharfs appearing; ships ; quays crowded with 
 people; distant noises ; shouts ; men and boys running down 
 steep places towards the pier: all more bright and gay and 
 fresh to our unused eyes than words can paint them. We 
 came to a wharf, paved with uplifted faces; got alongside, 
 and were made fast, after some shouting and straining of 
 cables ; darted, a score of us along the gangway, almost as 
 soon as it was thrust out to meet us, and before it had 
 
Halifax 2 1 
 
 reached the ship — and leaped upon the firm glad earth 
 again ! 
 
 I suppose this Halifax would have appeared an Elysium, 
 though it had been a curiosity of ugly dulness. But I carried 
 away with me a most pleasant impression of the town and 
 its inhabitants, and have preserved it to this hour. Nor was 
 it without regret that I came home, without having found 
 an opportunity of returning thither, and once more shaking 
 hands with the friends I made that day. 
 
 It happened to be the opening of the Legislative Council 
 and General Assembly, at which ceremonial the forms 
 observed on the commencement of a new Session of Parlia- 
 ment in England were so closely copied, and so gravely 
 presented on a small scale, that it was like looking at West- 
 minster through the wrong end of a telescope. The governor, 
 as her Majesty’s representative, delivered what may be called 
 the Speech from the Throne. He said what he had to say 
 manfully and well. The military b&nd outside the building 
 struck up “ God save the Queen ” with great vigour before 
 his Excellency had quite finished ; the people shouted ; the 
 in’s rubbed their hands; the out’s shook their heads; the 
 Government party said there never was such a good speech; 
 the opposition declared there never was such a bad one; the 
 Speaker and members of the House of assembly withdrew 
 from the bar to say a great deal among themselves and do a 
 little; and, in short, everything went on, and promised to go 
 on, just as it does at home upon the like occasions. 
 
 The town is built on the side of a hill, the highest point 
 being commanded by a strong fortress, not yet quite finished. 
 Several streets of good breadth and appearance extend from 
 its summit to the water-side, and are intersected by cross 
 streets running parallel with the river. The houses are 
 chiefly of wood. The market is abundantly supplied; and 
 provisions are exceedingly cheap. The weather being un- 
 usually mild at that time for the season of the year, there 
 was no sleighing: but there were plenty of those vehicles 
 in yards and by-places, and some of them, from the gorgeous 
 quality of their decorations, might have “ gone on ” without 
 alteration as triumphal cars in a melodrama at Astley’s. 
 The day was uncommonly fine; the air bracing and health- 
 ful; the whole aspect of the town cheerful, thriving, and 
 industrious. 
 
22 
 
 American Notes 
 
 We lay there seven hours, to deliver and exchange the 
 mails. At length, having collected all our bags and all our 
 passengers (including two or three choice spirits, who, having 
 indulged too freely in oysters and champagne, were found 
 lying insensible on their backs in unfrequented streets), the 
 engines were again put in motion, and we stood off for 
 Boston. 
 
 Encountering squally weather again in the Bay of Fundy, 
 we tumbled and rolled about as usual all that night and 
 all next day. On the next afternoon, that is to say, on 
 Saturday, the twenty-second of January, an American pilot- 
 boat came alongside, and soon afterwards the “ Britannia ” 
 steam-packet, from Liverpool, eighteen days out, was tele- 
 graphed at Boston. 
 
 The indescribable interest with which I strained my eyes, 
 as the first patches of American soil peeped like molehills 
 from the green sea, and followed them, as they swelled, by 
 slow and almost imperceptible degrees, into a continuous line 
 of coast, can hardly be exaggerated. A sharp keen wind 
 blew dead against us; a hard frost prevailed on shore; and 
 the cold was most severe. Yet the air was so intensely clear, 
 and dry, and bright, that the temperature was not only 
 endurable, but delicious. 
 
 How I remained on deck, staring about me, until we came 
 alongside the dock, and how, though I had had as many eyes 
 as Argus, I should have had them all wide open, and all 
 employed on new objects — are topics which I will not pro- 
 long this chapter to discuss. Neither will I more than hint 
 at my foreigner-like mistake in supposing that a party of 
 most active persons, who scrambled on board at the peril 
 of their lives as we approached the wharf, were newsmen, 
 answering to that industrious class at home; whereas, despite 
 the leathern wallets of news slung about the necks of some, 
 and the broad sheets in the hands of all, they were Editors, 
 who boarded ships in person (as one gentleman in a worsted 
 comforter informed me), “ because they liked the excitement 
 of it.” Suffice it in this place to say, that one of these 
 invaders, with a ready courtesy for which I thank him here 
 most gratefully, went on before to order rooms at the hotel; 
 and that when I followed, as I soon did, I found myself roll- 
 ing through the long passages with an involuntary imitation 
 of the gait of Mr. T. P. Cooke, in a new nautical melodrama. 
 
On American Soil 
 
 2 3 
 
 “ Dinner, if you please/’ said I to the waiter. 
 
 “ When? ” said the waiter. 
 
 “ As quick as possible/’ said I. 
 
 “ Right away ? ” said the waiter. 
 
 After a moment’s hesitation, I answered “ No,” at hazard. 
 
 “ Not right away? ” cried the waiter, with an amount of 
 surprise that made me start. 
 
 I looked at him doubtfully, and returned, “ No ; I would 
 rather have it in this private room. I like it very much.” 
 
 At this, I really thought the waiter must have gone out 
 of his mind: as I believe he would have done, but for the 
 interposition of another man, who whispered in his ear, 
 “ Directly.” 
 
 “Well! and that’s a fact!” said the waiter, looking 
 helplessly at me: “ Right away.” 
 
 I saw now that “ Right away ” and “ Directly ” were one 
 and the same thing. So I reversed my previous answer, and 
 sat down to dinner in ten minutes afterwards ; and a capital 
 dinner it was. 
 
 The hotel (a very excellent one) is called the Tremont 
 House. It has more galleries, colonnades, piazzas, and 
 passages than I can remember, or the reader would believe. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 In all the public establishments of America, the utmost 
 courtesy prevails. Most of our Departments are susceptible 
 of considerable improvement in this respect, but the Custom- 
 house above all others would do well to take example from 
 the United states and render itself somewhat less odious and 
 offensive to foreigners. The servile rapacity of the French 
 officials is sufficiently contemptible; but there is a surly 
 boorish incivility about our men, alike disgusting to all 
 persons who fall into their hands, and discreditable to the 
 nation that keeps such ill-conditioned curs snarling about its 
 gates. 
 
 When I landed in America, I could not help being strongly 
 
American Notes 
 
 24 
 
 impressed with the contrast their Custom-house presented, 
 and the attention, politeness and good humour with which 
 its officers discharged their duty. 
 
 As we did not land at Boston, in consequence of some 
 detention at the wharf, until after dark, I received my first 
 impressions of the city in walking down to the Custom-house 
 on the morning after our arrival, which was Sunday. I am 
 afraid to say, by the way, how many offers of pews and seats 
 in church for that morning were made to us, by formal note 
 of invitation, before we had half finished our first dinner in 
 America, but if I may be allowed to make a moderate guess, 
 without going into nicer calculation, I should say that at 
 least as many sittings were proffered us, as would have 
 accommodated a score or two of grown-up families. The 
 number of creeds and forms of religion to which the pleasure 
 of our company was requested, was in very fair proportion. 
 
 Not being able, in the absence of any change of clothes, to 
 go to church that day, we were compelled to decline these 
 kindnesses, one and all; and I w'as reluctantly obliged to 
 forego the delight of hearing Dr. Channing, who happened 
 to preach that morning for the first time, in a very long 
 interval. I mention the name of this distinguished and 
 accomplished man (with whom I soon afterwards had the 
 pleasure of becoming personally acquainted), that I may have 
 the gratification of recording my humble tribute of admira- 
 tion and respect for his high abilities and character; and for 
 the bold philanthropy with which he has ever opposed him- 
 self to that most hideous blot and foul disgrace — Slavery. 
 
 To return to Boston. When I got into the streets upon 
 this Sunday morning, the air was so clear, the houses were so 
 bright and gay; the signboards were painted in such guady 
 colours; the gilded letters were so very golden; the bricks 
 were so very red, the stone was so very white, the blinds and 
 area railings were so very green, the knobs and plates upon 
 the street doors so marvellously bright and twinkling; and 
 all so slight and unsubstantial in appearance — that every 
 thoroughfare in the city looked exactly like a scene in a 
 pantomime. It rarely happens in the business streets that 
 a tradesman, if I may venture to call anybody a tradesman, 
 where everybody is a merchant, resides above his store; so 
 that many occupations are often carried on in one house, and 
 the whole front is covered with boards and inscriptions. As 
 
Influence of the Universities 25 
 
 I walked along, I kept glancing up at these boards, con- 
 fidently expecting to see a few of them change into some- 
 thing; and I never turned a comer suddenly without look- 
 ing out for the clown and pantaloon, who, I had no doubt, 
 were hiding in a doorway or behind some pillar close at 
 hand. As to Harlequin and Columbine, I discovered im- 
 mediately that they lodged (they are always looking after 
 lodgings in a pantomime) at a very small clockmaker's one 
 story high, near the hotel; which, in addition to various 
 symbols and devices, almost covering the whole front, had 
 a great dial hanging out — to be jumped through, of course. 
 
 The suburbs are, if possible, even more unsubstantial- 
 looking than the city. The white wooden houses (so white 
 that it makes one wink to look at them), with their green 
 jalousie blinds, are so sprinkled and dropped about in all 
 directions, without seeming to have any root at all in the 
 ground; and the small churches and chapels are so prim, 
 and bright, and highly varnished; that I almost believed 
 the whole affair could be taken up piecemeal like a child's 
 toy, and crammed into a little box. 
 
 The city is a beautiful one, and cannot fail, I should 
 imagine, to impress all strangers very favourably. The 
 private dwelling-houses are, for the most part, large and 
 elegant ; the shops extremely good ; and the public buildings 
 handsome. The State House is built upon the summit of a 
 hill, which rises gradually at first, and afterwards by a steep 
 ascent, almost from the water's edge. In front is a green 
 enclosure, called the Common. The site is beautiful: and 
 from the top there is a charming panoramic view of the 
 whole town and neighbourhood. In addition to a variety 
 of commodious offices, it contains two handsome chambers; 
 in one the House of Representatives of the State hold their 
 meetings: in the other, the Senate. Such proceedings as I 
 saw here, were conducted with perfect gravity and decorum; 
 and were certainly calculated to inspire attention and respect. 
 
 There is no doubt that much of the intellectual refinement 
 and superiority of Boston, is referable to the quiet influence 
 of the University of Cambridge, which is within three or 
 four miles of the city. The resident professors at that 
 university are gentlemen of learning and varied attainments; 
 and are, without one exception that I can call to mind, men 
 who would shed a grace upon, and do honour to, any society 
 
26 
 
 American Notes 
 
 in the civilised world. Many of the resident gentry in 
 Boston and its neighbourhood, and I think I am not mis- 
 taken in adding, a large majority of those who are attached 
 to the liberal professions there, have been educated at this 
 same school. Whatever the defects of American univer- 
 sities may be, they disseminate no prejudices ; rear no bigots ; 
 dig up the buried ashes of no old superstitions; never inter- 
 pose between the people and their improvement ; exclude no 
 man because of his religious opinions; above all, in their 
 whole course of study and instruction, recognise a world, and 
 a broad one too, lying beyond the college walls. 
 
 It was a source of inexpressible pleasure to me to observe 
 the almost imperceptible, but not less certain effect, wrought 
 by this institution among the small community of Boston; 
 and to note at every turn the humanising tastes and desires 
 it has engendered; the affectionate friendships to which it 
 has given rise; the amount of vanity and prejudice it has 
 dispelled. The golden calf they worship at Boston is a pigmy 
 compared with the giant effigies set up in other parts of that 
 vast counting-house which lies beyond the Atlantic; and the 
 almighty dollar sinks into something comparatively insigni- 
 ficant, amidst a whole Pantheon of better gods. 
 
 Above all, I sincerely believe that the public institutions 
 and charities of this capital of Massachusetts are as nearly 
 perfect, as the most considerate wisdom, benevolence, and 
 humanity, can make them. I never in my life was more 
 affected by the contemplation of happiness, under circum- 
 stances of privation and bereavement, than in my visits to 
 these establishments. 
 
 It is a great and pleasant feature of all such institutions 
 in America, that they are either supported by the State or 
 assisted by the State ; or (in the event of their not needing 
 its helping hand) that they act in concert with it, and are 
 emphatically the people’s. I cannot but think, with a view 
 to the principle and its tendency to elevate or depress the 
 character of the industrious classes, that a Public Charity is 
 immeasurably better than a Private Foundation, no matter 
 how munificently the latter may be endowed. In our own 
 country, where it has not, until within these latter days, 
 been a very popular fashion with governments to display any 
 extraordinary regard for the great mass of the people or to 
 recognise their existence as improvable creatures, private 
 
Asylum for the Blind 27 
 
 charities, unexampled in the history of the earth, have arisen, 
 to do an incalculable amount of good among the destitute 
 and afflicted. But the government of the country, having 
 neither act nor part in them, is not in the receipt of any 
 portion of the gratitude they inspire; and, offering very 
 little shelter or relief beyond that which is to be found in 
 the workhouse and the jail, has come, not unnaturally, to be 
 looked upon by the poor rather as a stern master, quick to 
 correct and punish, than a kind protector, merciful and 
 vigilant in their hour of need. 
 
 The maxim that out of evil cometh good, is strongly 
 illustrated by these establishments at home; as the records 
 of the Prerogative Office in Doctors’ Commons can abun- 
 dantly prove. Some immensely rich old gentleman or lady, 
 surrounded by needy relatives, makes, upon a low average, a 
 will a-week. The old gentleman or lady, never very remark- 
 able in the best of times for good temper, is full of aches and 
 pains from head to foot ; full of fancies and caprices ; full of 
 spleen, distrust, suspicion, and dislike. To cancel old wills, 
 and invent new ones, is at last the sole business of such a 
 testator’s existence ; and relations and friends (some of whom 
 have been bred up distinctly to inherit a large share of the 
 property, and have been, from their cradles, specially dis- 
 qualified from devoting themselves to any useful pursuit on 
 that account) are so often and so unexpectedly and summarily 
 cut off, and reinstated, and cut off again, that the whole 
 family, down to the remotest cousin, is kept in a perpetual 
 fever. At length it becomes plain that the old lady or 
 gentleman has not long to live ; and the plainer this becomes, 
 the more clearly the old lady or gentleman perceives that 
 everybody is in a conspiracy against their poor old dying 
 relative; wherefore the old lady or gentleman makes another 
 last will — positively the last this time — conceals the same 
 in a china teapot, and expires next day. Then it turns out, 
 that the whole of the real and personal estate is divided 
 between half-a-dozen charities ; and that the dead and gone 
 testator has in pure spite helped to do a great deal of good, at 
 the cost of an immense amount of evil passion and misery. 
 
 The Perkins Institution and Massachusetts Asylum for 
 the Blind, at Boston, is superintended by a body of trustees 
 who make an annual report to the corporation. The indigent 
 blind of that state are admitted gratuitously. Those from 
 
American Notes 
 
 28 
 
 the adjoining state of Connecticut, or from the states of 
 Maine, Vermont, or New Hampshire, are admitted by a war- 
 rant from the state to which they respectively belong; or, 
 failing that, must find security among their friends, for the 
 payment of about twenty pounds English for their first year’s 
 board and instruction, and ten for the second. “ After the 
 first year,” say the trustees, “ an account current will be 
 opened with each pupil; he will be charged with the actual 
 cost of his board, which will not exceed two dollars per 
 week; ” a trifle more than eight shillings English; “ and he 
 will be credited with the amount paid for him by the state, 
 or by his friends ; also with his earnings over and above the 
 cost of the stock which he uses ; so that all his earnings over 
 one dollar per week will be his own. By the third year it 
 will be known whether his earnings will more than pay the 
 actual cost of his board; if they should, he will have it at 
 his option to remain and receive his earnings, or not. Those 
 who prove unable to earn their own livelihood will not be 
 retained ; as it is not desirable to convert the establishment 
 into an almshouse, or to retain any but working bees in the 
 hive. Those who by physical or mental imbecility are dis- 
 qualified from work, are thereby disqualified from being 
 members of an industrious community; and they can be 
 better provided for in establishments fitted for the infirm.” 
 I went to see this place one very fine winter morning : an 
 Italian sky above, and the air so clear and bright on every 
 side, that even my eyes, which are none of the best, could 
 follow the minute lines and scraps of tracery in distant 
 buildings. Like most other public institutions in America, 
 of the same class, it stands a mile or two without the town, 
 in a cheerful healthy spot; and is an airy, spacious, hand- 
 some edifice. It is built upon a height, commanding the 
 harbour. When I paused for a moment at the door, and 
 marked how fresh and free the whole scene was — what spark- 
 ling bubbles glanced upon the waves, and welled up every 
 moment to the surface, as though the world below, like that 
 above, were radiant with the bright day, and gushing over 
 in its fulness of light: when I gazed from sail to sail away 
 upon a ship at sea, a tiny speck of shining white, the only 
 cloud upon the still, deep distant blue — and, turning, saw 
 a blind boy with his sightless face addressed that way, as 
 though he too had some sense within him of the glorious 
 
Asylum for the Blind 29 
 
 distance : I felt a kind of sorrow that the place should be so 
 very light, and a strange wish that for his sake it were 
 darker. It was but momentary, of course, and a mere fancy, 
 but I felt it keenly for all that. 
 
 The children were at their daily tasks in different rooms, 
 except a few who were already dismissed, and were at play. 
 Here, as in many institutions, no uniform is worn; and I 
 was very glad of it, for two reasons. Firstly, because I am 
 sure that nothing but senseless custom and want of thought 
 would reconcile us to the liveries and badges we are so fond 
 of at home. Secondly, because the absence of these things 
 presents each child to the visitor in his or her own proper 
 character, with its individuality unimpaired; not lost in a 
 dull, ugly, monotonous repetition of the same unmeaning 
 garb: which is really an important consideration. The 
 wisdom of encouraging a little harmless pride in personal 
 appearance even among the blind, or the whimsical absurdity 
 of considering charity and leather breeches inseparable com- 
 panions, as we do, requires no comment. 
 
 Good order, cleanliness, and comfort, pervaded every 
 comer of the building. The various classes, who were 
 gathered round their teachers, answered the questions put 
 to them with readiness and intelligence, and in a spirit of 
 cheerful contest for precedence which pleased me very much. 
 Those who were at play, were gleesome and noisy as other 
 children. More spiritual and affectionate friendships ap- 
 peared to exist among them, than would be found among 
 other young persons suffering under no deprivation ; but this 
 I expected and was prepared to find. It is a part of the great 
 scheme of Heaven’s merciful consideration for the afflicted. 
 
 In a portion of the building, set apart for that purpose, 
 are workshops for blind persons whose education is finished, 
 and who have acquired a trade, but who cannot pursue it 
 in an ordinary manufactory because of their deprivation. 
 Several people were at work here; making brushes, mat- 
 tresses, and so forth; and the cheerfulness, industry, and 
 good order discernible in every other part of the building, 
 extended to this department also. 
 
 On the ringing of a bell, the pupils all repaired, without 
 any guide or leader, to a spacious music-hall, where they took 
 their seats in an orchestra erected for that purpose, and 
 listened with manifest delight to a voluntary on the organ, 
 
American Notes 
 
 3 ° 
 
 played by one of themselves. At its conclusion, the per- 
 former, a boy of nineteen or twenty, gave place to a girl; and 
 to her accompaniment they all sang a hymn, and afterwards 
 a sort of chorus. It was very sad to look upon and hear 
 them, happy though their condition unquestionably was ; and 
 I saw that one blind girl, who (being for the time deprived 
 of the use of her limbs, by illness) sat close beside me with 
 her face towards them, wept silently the while she listened. 
 
 It is strange to watch the faces of the blind, and see how 
 free they are from all concealment of what is passing in their 
 thoughts; observing which, a man with eyes may blush to 
 contemplate the mask he wears. Allowing for one shade of 
 anxious expression which is never absent from their coun- 
 tenances, and the like of which we may readily detect in our 
 own faces if we try to feel our way in the dark, every idea, 
 as it rises within them, is expressed with the lightning’s 
 speed and nature’s truth. If the company at a rout, or 
 drawing-room at court, could only for one time be as un- 
 conscious of the eyes upon them as blind men and women 
 are, what secrets would come out, and what a worker of 
 hypocrisy this sight, the loss of which we so much pity, 
 would appear to be ! 
 
 The thought occurred to me as I sat down in another room, 
 before a girl, blind, deaf, and dumb; destitute of smell; and 
 nearly so of taste: before a fair young creature with every 
 human faculty, and hope, and power of goodness and affec- 
 tion, inclosed within her delicate frame, and but one outward 
 sense — the sense of touch. There she was, before me; built 
 up, as it were in a marble cell, impervious to any ray of light, 
 or particle of sound; with her poor white hand peeping 
 through a chink in the wall, beckoning to some good man 
 for help, that an Immortal soul might be awakened. 
 
 Long before I looked upon her, the help had come. Her 
 face was radiant with intelligence and pleasure. Her hair, 
 braided by her own hands, was bound about a head, whose 
 intellectual capacity and development were beautifully ex- 
 pressed in its graceful outline, and its broad open brow; her 
 dress, arranged by herself, was a pattern of neatness and 
 simplicity; the work she had knitted, lay beside her; her 
 writing-book was on the desk she leaned upon. — From the 
 mournful ruin of such bereavement, there had slowly risen 
 up this gentle, tender, guileless, grateful-hearted being. 
 
Laura Bridgman’s Story 31 
 
 Like other inmates of that house, she had a green ribbon 
 bound round her eyelids. A doll she had dressed lay near 
 upon the ground. I took it up, and saw that she had made 
 a green fillet such as she wore herself, and fastened it about 
 its mimic eyes. 
 
 She was seated in a little enclosure, made by school-desks 
 and forms, writing her daily journal. But soon finishing 
 this pursuit, she engaged in an animated communication 
 with a teacher who sat beside her. This was a favourite 
 mistress with the poor pupil. If she could see the face of 
 her fair instructress, she would not love her less, I am sure. 
 
 I have extracted a few disjointed fragments of her history, 
 from an account, written by that one man who has made her 
 what she is. It is a very beautiful and touching narrative; 
 and I wish I could present it entire. 
 
 Her name is Laura Bridgman. “ She was born in Hanover, 
 New Hampshire, on the twenty-first of December, 1829. 
 She is described as having been a very sprightly and pretty 
 infant, with bright blue eyes. She was, however, so puny 
 and feeble until she was a year and a half old, that her 
 parents hardly hoped to rear her. She was subject to severe 
 fits, which seemed to rack her frame almost beyond her 
 power of endurance: and life was held by the feeblest 
 tenure: but when a year and a half old, she seemed to rally; 
 the dangerous symptoms subsided; and at twenty months 
 old, she was perfectly well. 
 
 “ Then her mental powers, hitherto stinted in their growth, 
 rapidly developed themselves : and during the four months of 
 health which she enjoyed, she appears (making due allowance 
 for a fond mother’s account) to have displayed a considerable 
 degree of intelligence. 
 
 “ But suddenly she sickened again; her disease raged with 
 great violence during five weeks, when her eyes and ears 
 were inflamed, suppurated, and their contents were dis- 
 charged. But though sight and hearing were gone for ever, 
 the poor child’s sufferings were not ended. The fever raged 
 during seven weeks; for five months she was kept in bed 
 in a darkened room; it was a year before she could walk 
 unsupported, and two years before she could sit up all day. 
 It was now observed that her sense of smell was almost 
 entirely destroyed; and, consequently, that her taste was 
 much blunted. 
 
32 American Notes 
 
 “ It was not until four years of age that the poor child's 
 bodily health seemed restored, and she was able to enter 
 upon her apprenticeship of life and the world. 
 
 “ But what a situation was hers ! The darkness and the 
 silence of the tomb were around her: no mother's smile 
 called forth her answering smile, no father's voice taught 
 her to imitate his sounds: — they, brothers and sisters, were 
 but forms of matter which resisted her touch, but which 
 differed not from the furniture of the house, save in warmth, 
 and in the power of locomotion; and not even in these 
 respects from the dog and the cat. 
 
 “ But the immortal spirit which had been implanted 
 within her could not die, nor be maimed nor mutilated ; and 
 though most of its avenues of communication with the world 
 were cut off, it began to manifest itself through the others. 
 As soon as she could walk, she began to explore the room, 
 and then the house; she became familiar with the form, 
 density, weight, and heat, of every article she could lay her 
 hands upon. She followed her mother, and felt her hands 
 and arms, as she was occupied about the house; and her 
 disposition to imitate, led her to repeat everything herself. 
 She even learned to sew a little, and to knit.” 
 
 The reader will scarcely need to be told, however, that the 
 opportunities of communicating with her, were very, very 
 limited; and that the moral effects of her wretched state 
 soon began to appear. Those who cannot be enlightened by 
 reason, can only be controlled by force; and this, coupled 
 with her great privations, must soon have reduced her to a 
 worse condition than that of the beasts that perish, but for 
 timely and unhoped-for aid. 
 
 “ At this time, I was so fortunate as to hear of the child, 
 and immediately hastened to Hanover to see her. I found 
 her with a well-formed figure; a strongly-marked, nervous- 
 sanguine temperament; a large and beautifully-shaped head; 
 and the whole system in healthy action. The parents were 
 easily induced to consent to her coming to Boston, and on 
 the 4th of October, 1837, they brought her to the Institution. 
 
 “ For a while, she was much bewildered ; and after waiting 
 about two weeks, until she became acquainted with her 
 new locality, and somewhat familiar with the inmates, the 
 attempt was made to give her knowledge of arbitrary signs, 
 by which she could interchange thoughts with others. 
 
Difficulties Overcome 
 
 33 
 
 “ There was one of two ways to be adopted: either to go 
 on to build up a language of signs on the basis of the natural 
 language which she had already commenced herself, or to 
 teach her the purely arbitrary language in common use: 
 that is, to give her a sign for every individual thing, or to 
 give her a knowledge of letters by combination of which she 
 might express her idea of the existence, and the mode and 
 condition of existence, of any thing. The former would 
 have been easy, but, very ineffectual ; the latter seemed very 
 difficult, but, if accomplished, very effectual. I determined 
 therefore to try the latter. 
 
 “ The first experiments were made by taking articles in 
 common use, such as knives, forks, spoons, keys, etc., and 
 pasting upon them labels with their names printed in raised 
 letters. These she felt very carefully, and soon, of course, 
 distinguished that the crooked lines spoon, differed as much 
 from the crooked lines key , as the spoon differed from the 
 key in form. 
 
 “ Then small detached labels, with the same words printed 
 upon them, were put into her hands ; and she soon observed 
 that they were similar to the ones pasted on the articles. 
 She showed her perception of this similarity by laying the 
 label key upon the key, and the label spoon upon the 
 spoon. She was encouraged here by the natural sign of 
 approbation, patting on the head. 
 
 “ The same process was then repeated with all the articles 
 which she could handle ; and she very easily learned to place 
 the proper labels upon them. It was evident, however, that 
 the only intellectual exercise was that of imitation and 
 memory. She recollected that the label book was placed 
 upon a book, and she repeated the process first from imita- 
 tion, next from memory, with only the motive of love of 
 approbation, but apparently without the intellectual per- 
 ception of any relation between the things. 
 
 “ After a while, instead of labels, the individual letters 
 were given to her on detached bits of paper: they were 
 arranged side by side so as to spell book, key, etc.; then 
 they were mixed up in a heap and a sign was made for her 
 to arrange them herself so as to express the words book, 
 k ey, etc.; and she did so. 
 
 “ Hitherto, the process had been mechanical, and the 
 success about as great as teaching a very knowing dog a 
 
34 American Notes 
 
 variety of tricks. The poor child had sat in mute amaze- 
 ment, and patiently imitated everything her teacher did; 
 but now the truth began to flash upon her: her intellect 
 began to work: she perceived that here was a way by which 
 she could herself make up a sign of anything that was in her 
 own mind, and show it to another mind; and at once her 
 countenance lighted up with a human expression : it was no 
 longer a dog, or parrot: it was an immortal spirit, eagerly 
 seizing upon a new link of union with other spirits ! I could 
 almost fix upon the moment when this truth dawned upon 
 her mind, and spread its light to her countenance; I saw 
 that the great obstacle was overcome ; and that henceforward 
 nothing but patient and persevering, but plain and straight- 
 fbrward, efforts were to be used. 
 
 “ The result thus far, is quickly related, and easily con- 
 ceived; but not so was the process; for many weeks of 
 apparently unprofitable labour were passed before it was 
 effected. 
 
 “ When it was said above, that a sign was made, it was 
 intended to say, that the action was performed by her 
 teacher, she feeling his hands, and then imitating the motion. 
 
 “ The next step was to procure a set of metal types, with 
 the different letters of the alphabet cast upon their ends; 
 also a board, in which were square holes, into which holes 
 she could set the types; so that the letters on their ends 
 could alone be felt above the surface. 
 
 “ Then, on any article being handed to her, for instance, a 
 pencil, or a watch, she would select the component letters, 
 and arrange them on her board, and read them with apparent 
 pleasure. 
 
 “ She was exercised for several weeks in this way, until 
 her vocabulary became extensive; and then the important 
 step was taken of teaching her how to represent the different 
 letters by the position of her fingers, instead of the cumbrous 
 apparatus of the board and types. She accomplished this 
 speedily and easily, for her intellect had begun to work in 
 aid of her teacher, and her progress was rapid. 
 
 “ This was the period, about three months after she had 
 commenced, that the first report of her case was made, in 
 which it was stated that ‘ she has just learned the manual 
 alphabet, as used by the deaf mutes, and it is a subject of 
 delight and wonder to see how rapidly, correctly, and eagerly, 
 
Wonderful Progress 35 
 
 she goes on with her labours. Her teacher gives her a new 
 object, for instance, a pencil, first lets her examine it, and 
 get an idea of its use, then teaches her how to spell it by 
 making the signs for the letters with her own fingers: the 
 child grasps her hand, and feels her fingers, as the different 
 letters are formed; she turns her head a little on one side 
 like a person listening closely; her lips are apart; she seems 
 scarcely to breathe; and her countenance, at first anxious, 
 gradually changes to a smile, as she comprehends the lesson. 
 She then holds up her tiny fingers, and spells the word in 
 the manual alphabet ; next, she takes her types and arranges 
 her letters; and last, to make sure that she is right, she 
 takes the whole of the types composing the word, and places 
 them upon or in contact with the pencil, or whatever the 
 object may be.’ 
 
 “ The whole of the succeeding year was passed in gratifying 
 her eager inquiries for the names of every object which she 
 could possibly handle; in exercising her in the use of the 
 manual alphabet; in extending in every possible way her 
 knowledge of the physical relations of things ; and in proper 
 care of her health. 
 
 “ At the end of the year a report of her case was made, 
 from which the following is an extract. 
 
 “ ‘ It has been ascertained beyond the possibility of doubt, 
 that she cannot see a ray of light, cannot hear the least 
 sound, and never exercises her sense of smell, if she have 
 any. Thus her mind dwells in darkness and stillness, as 
 profound as that of a closed tomb at midnight. Of beautiful 
 sights, and sweet sounds, and pleasant odours, she has no 
 conception; nevertheless, she seems as happy and playful as 
 a bird or a lamb; and the employment of her intellectual 
 faculties, or the acquirement of a new idea, gives her a vivid 
 pleasure, which is plainly marked in her expressive features. 
 She never seems to repine, but has all the buoyancy and 
 gaiety of childhood. She is fond of fun and frolic, and when 
 playing with the rest of the children, her shrill laugh sounds 
 loudest of the group. 
 
 “ ‘ When left alone, she seems very happy if she have her 
 knitting or sewing, and will busy herself for hours; if she 
 have no occupation, she evidently amuses herself by imagin- 
 ary dialogues, or by recalling past impressions; she counts 
 with her fingers, or spells out names of things which she has 
 
American Notes 
 
 3 6 
 
 recently learned, in the manual alphabet of the deaf mutes. 
 In this lonely self-communion she seems to reason, reflect, 
 and argue; if she spell a word wrong with the fingers of her 
 right hand, she instantly strikes it with her left, as her 
 teacher does, in sign of disapprobation; if right, then she 
 pats herself upon the head, and looks pleased. She some- 
 times purposely spells a word wrong with the left hand, 
 looks roguish for a moment and laughs, and then with the 
 right hand strikes the left, as if to correct it. 
 
 “ 4 During the year she has attained great dexterity in the 
 use of the manual alphabet of the deaf mutes ; and she spells 
 out the words and sentences which she knows, so fast and so 
 deftly, that only those accustomed to this language can 
 follow with the eye the rapid motions of her fingers. 
 
 “ 4 But wonderful as is the rapidity with which she writes 
 her thoughts upon the air, still more so is the ease and 
 accuracy with which she reads the words thus written by 
 another; grasping their hands in hers, and following every 
 movement of their fingers, as letter after letter conveys their 
 meaning to her mind. It is in this way that she converses 
 with her blind playmates, and nothing can more forcibly 
 show the power of mind in forcing matter to its purpose 
 than a meeting between them. For if great talent and skill 
 are necessary for two pantomimes to paint their thoughts 
 and feelings by the movements of the body, and the expres- 
 sion of the countenance, how much greater the difficulty 
 when darkness shrouds them both, and the one can hear no 
 sound. 
 
 “ ‘ When Laura is walking through a passage-way, with 
 her hands spread before her, she knows instantly every one 
 she meets, and passes them with a sign of recognition: but 
 if it be a girl of her own age, and especially if it be one of 
 her favourites, there is instantly a bright smile of recognition, 
 a twining of arms, a grasping of hands, and a swift telegraph- 
 ing upon the tiny fingers ; whose rapid evolutions convey the 
 thoughts and feelings from the outposts of one mind to those 
 of the other. There are questions and answers, exchanges 
 of joy or sorrow, there are kissings and partings, just as 
 between little children with all their senses/ 
 
 “ During this year, and six months after she had left home, 
 her mother came to visit her, and the scene of their meeting 
 was an interesting one. 
 
Mother and Child 
 
 37 
 
 “ The mother stood some time, gazing with overflowing 
 eyes upon her unfortunate child, who, all unconscious of her 
 presence, was playing about the room. Presently Laura ran 
 against her, and at once began feeling her hands, examining 
 her dress, and trying to find out if she knew her; but not 
 succeeding in this, she turned away as from a stranger, and 
 the poor woman could not conceal the pang she felt, at finding 
 that her beloved child did not know her. 
 
 “ She then gave Laura a string of beads which she used to 
 wear at home, which were recognised by the child at once, 
 who, with much joy, put them around her neck, and sought 
 me eagerly to say she understood the string was from her 
 home. 
 
 “ The mother now sought to caress her, but poor Laura 
 repelled her, preferring to be with her acquaintances. 
 
 “ Another article from home was now given her, and she 
 began to look much interested; she examined the stranger 
 much closer, and gave me to understand that she knew she 
 came from Hanover; she even endured her caresses, but 
 would leave her with indifference at the slightest signal. 
 The distress of the mother was now painful to behold; for 
 although she had feared that she should not be recognised, 
 the painful reality of being treated with cold indifference by 
 a darling child, was too much for woman's nature to bear. 
 
 “ After a while, on the mother taking hold of her again, 
 a vague idea seemed to flit across Laura's mind, that this 
 could not be a stranger; she therefore felt her hands very 
 eagerly, while her countenance assumed an expression of 
 intense interest; she became very pale; and then suddenly 
 red; hope seemed struggling with doubt and anxiety, and 
 never were contending emotions more strongly painted upon 
 the human face : at this moment of painful uncertainty, the 
 mother drew her close to her side, and kissed her fondly, when 
 at once the truth flashed upon the child, and all mistrust and 
 anxiety disappeared from her face, as with an expression of 
 exceeding joy she eagerly nestled to the bosom of her parent, 
 and yielded herself to her fond embraces. 
 
 “ After this, the beads were all unheeded; the playthings 
 which were offered to her were utterly disregarded; her 
 playmates, for whom but a moment before she gladly left 
 the stranger, now vainly strove to pull her from her mother; 
 and though she yielded her usual instantaneous obedience to 
 
American Notes 
 
 38 
 
 my signal to follow me ; it was evidently with painful reluct- 
 ance. She clung close to me, as if bewildered and fearful; 
 and when, after a moment, I took her to her mother, she 
 sprang to her arms, and clung to her with eager joy. 
 
 “ The subsequent parting between them, showed alike the 
 affection, the intelligence, and the resolution of the child. 
 
 “ Laura accompanied her mother to the door, clinging close 
 to her all the way, until they arrived at the threshold, where 
 she paused, and felt around, to ascertain who was near her. 
 Perceiving the matron, of whom she is very fond, she grasped 
 her with one hand, holding on convulsively to her mother 
 with the other; and thus she stood for a moment; then she 
 dropped her mother’s hand; put her handkerchief to her 
 eyes; and turning round, clung sobbing to the matron; ] 
 while her mother departed, with emotions as deep as those 
 of her child. 
 
 * ***** * 
 
 “ It has been remarked in former reports, that she can 
 distinguish different degrees of intellect in others, and that 
 she soon regarded, almost with contempt, a new-comer, 
 when, after a few days, she discovered her weakness of mind. 
 This unamiable part of her character has been more strongly 
 developed during the past year. 
 
 “ She chooses for her friends and companions, those 
 children who are intelligent, and can talk best with her; and 
 she evidently dislikes to be with those who are deficient in 
 intellect, unless, indeed, she can make them serve her pur- 
 poses, which she is evidently inclined to do. She takes 
 advantage of them, and makes them wait upon her, in a 
 manner that she knows she could not exact of others; and 
 in various ways shows her Saxon blood. 
 
 “ She is fond of having other children noticed and caressed 
 by the teachers, and those whom she respects ; but this must 
 not be carried too far, or she becomes jealous. She wants to 
 have her share, which, if not the lion’s, is the greater part. ; 
 and if she does not get it, she says, ‘ My mother will love me .’ 
 
 “ Her tendency to imitation is so strong, that it leads 
 her to actions which must be entirely incomprehensible to 
 her, and which can give her no other pleasure than the gratifi- 
 cation of an internal faculty. She has been known to sit 
 for half an hour, holding a book before her sightless eyes, 
 
Rapid Mental Growth 39 
 
 and moving her lips, as she has observed seeing people do 
 when reading. 
 
 “ She one day pretended that her doll was sick; and went 
 through all the motions of tending it, and giving it medicine; 
 she then put it carefully to bed, and placed a bottle of hot 
 water to its feet, laughing all the time most heartily. When 
 I came home, she insisted upon my going to see it, and feel 
 its pulse ; and when I told her to put a blister on its back, 
 she seemed to enjoy it amazingly, and almost screamed with 
 delight. 
 
 “ Her social feelings, and her affections, are very strong; 
 and when she is sitting at work, or at her studies > by the 
 side of one of her little friends, she will break off from her 
 task every few moments, to hug and kiss them with an 
 earnestness and warmth that is touching to behold. 
 
 “ When left alone, she occupies and apparently amuses 
 herself, and seems quite contented; and so strong seems to 
 be the natural tendency of thought to put on the garb of 
 language, that she often soliloquises in the finger language , 
 slow and tedious as it is. But it is only when alone, that 
 she is quiet: for if she becomes sensible of the presence of 
 any one near her, she is restless until she can sit close beside 
 them, hold their hand, and converse with them by signs. 
 
 “ In her intellectual character it is pleasing to observe an 
 insatiable thirst for knowledge, and a quick perception of the 
 relations of things. In her moral character, it is beautiful to 
 behold her continual gladness, her keen enjoyment of exist- 
 ence, her expansive love, her unhesitating confidence, her 
 sympathy with suffering, her conscientiousness, truthfulness, 
 and hopefulness.” 
 
 Such are a few fragments from the simple but most in- 
 teresting and instructive history of Laura Bridgman. The 
 name of her great benefactor and friend, who writes it, is 
 Dr. Howe. There are not many persons, I hope and believe, 
 who, after reading these passages, can ever hear that name 
 with indifference. 
 
 A further account has been published by Dr. Howe, since 
 the report from which I have just quoted. It describes 
 her rapid mental growth and improvement during twelve 
 months more, and brings her little history down to the end 
 of last year. It is very remarkable, that as we dream in 
 words, and carry on imaginary conversations, in which we 
 
American Notes 
 
 40 
 
 speak both for ourselves and for the shadows who appear to 
 us in those visions of the night, so she, having no words, 
 uses her finger alphabet in her sleep. And it has been ascer- 
 tained that when her slumber is broken, and is much dis- 
 turbed by dreams, she expresses her thoughts in an irregular 
 and confused manner on her fingers: just as we should 
 murmur and mutter them indistinctly, in the like circum- 
 stances. 
 
 I turned over the leaves of her Diary, and found it written 
 in a fair legible square hand, and expressed in terms which 
 were quite intelligible without any explanation. On my 
 saying that I should like to see her write again, the teacher 
 who sat beside her, bade her, in their language, sign her 
 name upon a slip of paper, twice or thrice. In doing so, I 
 observed that she kept her left hand always touching, and 
 following up, her right, in which, of course, she held the pen. 
 No line was indicated by any contrivance, but she wrote 
 straight and freely. 
 
 She had, until now, been quite unconscious of the presence 
 of visitors ; but, having her hand placed in that of the gentle- 
 man who accompanied me, she immediately expressed his 
 name upon her teacher’s palm. Indeed her sense of touch 
 is now so exquisite, that having been acquainted with a 
 person once, she can recognise him or her after almost any 
 interval. This gentleman had been in her company, I 
 believe, but very seldom, and certainly had not seen her for 
 many months. My hand she rejected at once, as she does 
 that of any man who is a stranger to her. But she retained 
 my wife’s with evident pleasure, kissed her, and examined 
 her dress with a girl’s curiosity and interest. 
 
 She was merry and cheerful, and showed much innocent 
 playfulness in her intercourse with her teacher. Her delight 
 on recognising a favourite playfellow and companion — her- 
 self a blind girl — who silently, and with an equal enjoyment 
 of the coming surprise, took a seat beside her, was beautiful 
 to witness. It elicited from her at first, as other slight cir- 
 cumstances did twice or thrice during my \isit, an uncouth 
 noise which was rather painful to hear. But on her teacher 
 touching her lips, she immediately desisted, and embraced 
 her laughingly and affectionately. 
 
 I had previously been into another chamber, where a 
 number of blind boys were swinging, and climbing, and 
 
 
Account of Another Patient 41 
 
 engaged in various sports. They all clamoured, as we 
 entered, to the assistant-master, who accompanied us, “ Look 
 at me, Mr. Hart ! Please Mr. Hart, look at me ! ” evincing, 
 I thought, even in this, an anxiety peculiar to their condition, 
 that their little feats of agility should be seen . Among them 
 was a small laughing fellow, who stood aloof, entertaining 
 himself with a gymnastic exercise for bringing the arms and 
 chest into play ; which he enjoyed mightily; especially when, 
 in thrusting out his right arm, he brought it into contact 
 with another boy. Like Laura Bridgman, this young child 
 was deaf, and dumb, and blind. 
 
 Dr. Howe’s account of this pupil’s first instruction is so 
 very striking, and so intimately connected with Laura her- 
 self, that I cannot refrain from a short extract. I may pre- 
 mise that the poor boy’s name is Oliver Caswell; that he is 
 thirteen years of age ; and that he was in full possession of all 
 his faculties, until three years and four months old. He was 
 then attacked by scarlet fever; in four weeks became deaf; 
 in a few weeks more, blind; in six months, dumb. He 
 showed his anxious sense of this last deprivation, by often 
 feeling the lips of other persons when they were talking, and 
 then putting his hand upon his own, as if to assure himself 
 that he had them in the right position. 
 
 “ His thirst for knowledge,” says Dr. Howe, “ proclaimed 
 itself as soon as he entered the house, by his eager examina- 
 tion of everything he could feel or smell in his new location. 
 For instance, treading upon the register of a furnace, he 
 instantly stooped down, and began to feel it, and soon 
 discovered the way in which the upper plate moved upon 
 the lower one; but this was not enough for him, so lying 
 down upon his face, he applied his tongue first to one, then to 
 the other, and seemed to discover that they were of different 
 kinds of metal. 
 
 “ His signs were expressive: and the strictly natural 
 language, laughing, crying, sighing, kissing, embracing, etc., 
 was perfect. 
 
 “ Some of the analogical signs which (guided by his faculty 
 of imitation) he had contrived, were comprehensible; such 
 as the waving motion of his hand for the motion of a boat, 
 the circular one for a wheel, etc. 
 
 “ The first object was to break up the use of these signs 
 and to substitute for them the use of purely arbitrary ones, 
 c 
 
American Notes 
 
 42 
 
 “ Profiting by the experience I had gained in the other 
 cases, I omitted several steps of the process before employed, 
 and commenced at once with the finger language. Taking, 
 therefore, several articles having short names, such as key, 
 cup, mug, etc., and with Laura for an auxiliary, I sat down, 
 and taking his hand, placed it upon one of them, and then 
 with my own, made the letters key, He felt my hands 
 eagerly with both of his, and on my repeating the process, he 
 evidently tried to imitate the motions of my fingers. In a 
 few minutes he contrived to feel the motions of my fingers 
 with one hand, and holding out the other he tried to imitate 
 them, laughing most heartily when he succeeded. Laura 
 was by, interested even to agitation ; and the two presented 
 a singular sight : her face was flushed and anxious, and her 
 fingers twining in among ours so closely as to follow every 
 motion, but so lightly as not to embarrass them; while 
 Oliver stood attentive, his head a little aside, his face turned 
 up, his left hand grasping mine, and his right held out: at 
 every motion of my fingers his countenance betokened keen 
 attention; there was an expression of anxiety as he tried to 
 imitate the motions; then a smile came stealing out as he 
 thought he could do so, and spread into a joyous laugh the 
 moment he succeeded, and felt me pat his head, and Laura 
 clap him heartily upon the back, and jump up and down in 
 her joy. 
 
 “ He learned more than a half-dozen letters in half an hour, 
 and seemed delighted with his success, at least in gaining 
 approbation. His attention then began to flag, and I com- 
 menced playing with him. It was evident that in all this he 
 had merely been imitating the motions of my fingers, and 
 placing his hand upon the key, cup, etc., as part of the process, 
 without any perception of the relation between the sign and 
 the object. 
 
 “ When he was tired with play I took him back to the 
 table, and he was quite ready to begin again his process of 
 imitation. He soon learned to make the letters for key , 
 pen , pin ; and by having the object repeatedly placed in his 
 hand, he at last perceived the relation I wished to establish 
 between them. This was evident, because, when I made the 
 letters p i n, or p e n, or c u p, he would select the article. 
 
 “ The perception of this relation was not accompanied by 
 that radiant flash of intelligence, and that glow of joy, which 
 
Days of Noble Usefulness 43 
 
 marked the delightful moment when Laura first perceived it. 
 I then placed all the articles on the table, and going away a 
 little distance with the children, placed Oliver’s fingers in 
 the positions to spell key, on which Laura went and brought 
 the article: the little fellow seemed much amused by this, 
 and looked very attentive and smiling. I then caused him 
 to make the letters bread , and in an instant Laura went 
 and brought him a piece: he smelled at it; put it to his lips ; 
 cocked up his head with a most knowing look; seemed to 
 reflect a moment ; and then laughed outright, as much as to 
 say, ‘ Aha ! I understand now how something may be made 
 out of this.’ 
 
 “ It was now clear that he had the capacity and inclination 
 to learn, that he was a proper subject for instruction, and 
 needed only persevering attention. I therefore put him in 
 the hands of an intelligent teacher, nothing doubting of his 
 rapid progress.” 
 
 Well may this gentleman call that a delightful moment, in 
 which some distant promise of her present state first gleamed 
 upon the darkened mind of Laura Bridgman. Throughout 
 his life, the recollection of that moment will be to him a 
 source of pure, unfading happiness; nor will it shine less 
 brightly on the evening of his days of Noble Usefulness. 
 
 The affection which exists between these two — the master 
 and the pupil — is as far removed from all ordinary care and 
 regard, as the circumstances in which it has had its growth, 
 are apart from the common occurrences of life. He is 
 occupied now, in devising means of imparting to her, higher 
 knowledge ; and of conveying to her some adequate idea of 
 the Great Creator of that universe in which, dark and silent 
 and scentless though it be to her, she has such deep delight 
 and glad enjoyment. 
 
 Ye who have eyes and see not, and have ears and hear not ; 
 ye who are as the hypocrites of sad countenances, and disfigure 
 your faces that ye may seem unto men to fast ; learn healthy 
 cheerfulness, and mild contentment, from the deaf, and dumb, 
 and blind! Self -elected saints with gloomy brows, this 
 sightless, earless, voiceless child may teach you lessons you 
 will do well to follow. Let that poor hand of hers lie gently 
 on your hearts; for there may be something in its healing 
 touch akin to that of the Great Master whose precepts you 
 misconstrue, whose lessons you pervert, of whose charity and 
 
American Notes 
 
 44 
 
 sympathy with all the world, not one among you in his daily 
 practice knows as much as many of the worst among those 
 fallen sinners, to whom you are liberal in nothing but the 
 preachment of perdition ! 
 
 As I rose to quit the room, a pretty little child of one of 
 the attendants came running in to greet its father. For the 
 moment, a child with eyes, among the sightless crowd, 
 impressed me almost as painfully as the blind boy in the 
 porch had done, two hours ago. Ah! how much brighter 
 and more deeply blue, glowing and rich though it had been 
 before, was the scene without, contrasting with the darkness 
 of so many youthful lives within ! 
 
 At South Boston, as it is called, in a situation excellently 
 adapted for the purpose, several charitable institutions are 
 clustered together. One of these, is the State Hospital for 
 the insane; admirably conducted on those enlightened 
 principles of conciliation and kindness, which twenty years 
 ago would have been worse than heretical, and which have 
 been acted upon with so much success in our own pauper 
 Asylum at Hanwell. “ Evince a desire to show some 
 confidence, and repose some trust, even in mad people,” 
 said the resident physician, as we walked along the galleries, 
 his patients flocking round us unrestrained. Of those who 
 deny or doubt the wisdom of this maxim after witnessing 
 its effects, if there be such people still alive, I can only say 
 that I hope I may never be summoned as a Juryman on a 
 Commission of Lunacy whereof they are the subjects; for 
 I should certainly find them out of their senses, on such 
 evidence alone. 
 
 Each ward in this institution is shaped like a long gallery 
 or hall, with the dormitories of the patients opening from it 
 on either hand. Here they work, read, play at skittles, and 
 other games ; and when the weather does not admit of their 
 taking exercise out of doors, pass the day together. In one 
 of these rooms, seated, calmly, and quite as a matter of course, 
 among a throng of madwomen, black and white, were the 
 physician’s wife and another lady, with a couple of children. 
 These ladies were graceful and handsome; and it was not 
 difficult to perceive at a glance that even their presence there, 
 
State Hospital for the Insane 45 
 
 had a highly beneficial influence on the patients who were 
 grouped about them. 
 
 Leaning her head against the chimneypiece, with a great 
 assumption of dignity and refinement of manner, sat an 
 elderly female, in as many scraps of finery as Madge Wildfire 
 herself. Her head in particular was so strewn with scraps of 
 gauze and cotton and bits of paper, and had so many queer 
 odds and ends stuck all about it, that it looked like a bird’s- 
 nest. She was radiant with imaginary jewels; wore a rich 
 pair of undoubted gold spectacles; and gracefully dropped 
 upon her lap, as we approached, a very old greasy news- 
 paper, in which I dare say she had been reading an account 
 of her own presentation at some Foreign Court. 
 
 I have been thus particular in describing her, because she 
 will serve to exemplify the physician’s manner of acquiring 
 and retaining the confidence of his patients. 
 
 “ This,” he said aloud, taking me by the hand, and ad- 
 vancing to the fantastic figure with great politeness — not 
 raising her suspicions by the slightest look or whisper, or 
 any kind of aside, to me: “ This lady is the hostess of this 
 mansion, Sir. It belongs to her. Nobody else has anything 
 whatever to do with it. It is a large establishment, as you 
 see, and requires a great number of attendants. She lives, 
 you observe, in the very first style. She is kind enough to 
 receive my visits, and to permit my wife and family to reside 
 here; for which it is hardly necessary to say, we are much 
 indebted to her. She is exceedingly courteous, you perceive,” 
 on this hint she bowed condescendingly, “ and will permit 
 me to have the pleasure of introducing you: a gentleman 
 from England, ma’am: newly arrived from England, after 
 a very tempestuous passage: Mr. Dickens, — the lady of 
 the house ! ” 
 
 We exchanged the most dignified salutations with pro- 
 found gravity and respect, and so went on. The rest of the 
 madwomen seemed to understand the joke perfectly (not 
 only in this case, but in all the others, except their own), 
 and be highly amused by it. The nature of their several 
 kinds of insanity was made known to me in the same way, 
 and we left each of them in high good humour. Not only 
 is a thorough confidence established, by those means, between 
 the physician and patient, in respect of the nature and extent 
 of their hallucinations, but it is easy to understand that 
 
American Notes 
 
 46 
 
 opportunities are afforded for seizing any moment of reason, 
 to startle them by placing their own delusion before them 
 in its most incongruous and ridiculous light. 
 
 Every patient in this asylum sits down to dinner every 
 day with a knife and fork; and in the midst of them sits the 
 gentleman, .whose manner of dealing with his charges, I 
 have just described. At every meal, moral influence alone 
 restrains the more violent among them from cutting the 
 throats of the rest; but the effect of that influence is reduced 
 to an absolute certainty, and is found, even as a means of 
 restraint, to say nothing of it as a means of cure, a hundred 
 times more efficacious than all the strait-waistcoats, fetters, 
 and handcuffs, that ignorance, prejudice, and cruelty have 
 manufactured since the creation of the world. 
 
 In the labour department, every patient is as freely trusted 
 with the tools of his trade as if he were a sane man. In the 
 garden, and on the farm, they work with spades, rakes, and 
 hoes. For amusement, they walk, run, fish, paint, read, and 
 ride out to take the air in carriages provided for the purpose. 
 They have among themselves a sewing society to make clothes 
 for the poor, which holds meetings, passes resolutions, never 
 comes to fisticuffs or bowie-knives as sane assemblies have 
 been known to do elsewhere ; and conducts all its proceedings 
 with the greatest decorum. The irritability, which would 
 otherwise be expended on their own flesh, clothes, and 
 furniture, is dissipated in these pursuits. They are cheerful, 
 tranquil, and healthy. 
 
 Once a week they have a ball, in which the Doctor and 
 his family, with all the nurses and attendants, take an active 
 part. Dances and marches are performed alternately, to 
 the enlivening strains of a piano; and now and then some 
 gentleman or lady (whose proficiency has been previously 
 ascertained) obliges the company with a song: nor does it 
 ever degenerate, at a tender crisis, into a screech or howl; 
 wherein, I must confess, I should have thought the danger 
 lay. At an early hour they all meet together for these festive 
 purposes; at eight o’clock refreshments are served; and at 
 nine they separate. 
 
 Immense politeness and good breeding are observed 
 throughout. They all take their tone from the Doctor; and 
 he moves a very Chesterfield among the company. Like 
 other assemblies, these entertainments afford a fruitful topic 
 
The House of Industry 47 
 
 of conversation among the ladies for some days; and the 
 gentlemen are so anxious to shine on these occasions, that 
 they have been sometimes found “ practising their steps ” in 
 private, to cut a more distinguished figure in the dance. 
 
 It is obvious that one great feature of this system, is the 
 inculcation and encouragement, even among such unhappy 
 persons, of a decent self-respect. Something of the same 
 spirit pervades all the Institutions at South Boston. 
 
 There is the House of Industry. In that branch of it, 
 which is devoted to the reception of old or otherwise helpless 
 paupers, these words are painted on the walls: “ Worthy 
 of Notice. Self-Government, Quietude, and Peace, 
 are Blessings .” It is not assumed and taken for granted 
 that being there they must be evil-disposed and wicked 
 people, before whose vicious eyes it is necessary to flourish 
 threats and harsh restraints. They are met at the very 
 threshold with this mild appeal. All within-doors is very 
 plain and simple, as it ought to be, but arranged with a view 
 to peace and comfort. It costs no more than any other plan 
 of arrangement, but it speaks an amount of consideration for 
 those who are reduced to seek a shelter there, which puts 
 them at once upon their gratitude and good behaviour. In- 
 stead of being parcelled out in great, long, rambling wards, 
 where a certain amount of weazen life may mope, and pine, 
 and shiver, all day long, the building is divided into separate 
 rooms, each with its share of light and air. In these, the 
 better kind of paupers live. They have a motive for exer- 
 tion and becoming pride, in the desire to make these little 
 chambers comfortable and decent. 
 
 I do not remember one but it was clean and neat, and had 
 its plant or two upon the window-sill, or row of crockery upon 
 the shelf, or small display of coloured prints upon the white- 
 washed wall, or, perhaps, its wooden clock behind the door. 
 
 The orphans and young children are in an adjoining build- 
 ing; separate from this, but a part of the same Institution. 
 Some are such little creatures, that the stairs are of Liliputian 
 measurement, fitted to their tiny strides. The same con- 
 sideration for their years and weakness is expressed in their 
 very seats, which are perfect curiosities, and look like articles 
 of furniture for a pauper doll’s-house. I can imagine the 
 glee of our Poor Law Commissioners at the notion of these 
 seats having arms and backs; but small spines being of 
 
48 American Notes 
 
 older date than their occupation of the Board-room at 
 Somerset House, I thought even this provision very merciful 
 and kind. 
 
 Here again, I was greatly pleased with the inscriptions on 
 the wall, which were scraps of plain morality, easily remem- 
 bered and understood: such as “ Love one another ” — “ God 
 remembers the smallest creature in His creation”: and 
 straightforward advice of that nature. The books and tasks 
 of these smallest of scholars, were adapted, in the same 
 judicious manner, to their childish powers. When we had 
 examined these lessons, four morsels of girls (of whom one was 
 blind) sang a little song, about the merry month of May, 
 which I thought (being extremely dismal) would have suited 
 an English November better. That done, we went to see 
 their sleeping-rooms on the floor above, in which the arrange- 
 ments were no less excellent and gentle than those we had 
 seen below. And after observing that the teachers were of a 
 class and character well suited to the spirit of the place, I took 
 leave of the infants with a lighter heart than ever I have 
 taken leave of pauper infants yet. 
 
 Connected with the House of Industry, there is also an 
 Hospital, which was in the best order, and had, I am glad 
 to say, many beds unoccupied. It had one fault, however, 
 which is common to all American interiors : the presence of 
 the eternal, accursed, suffocating, red-hot demon of a stove, 
 whose breath would blight the purest air under Heaven. 
 
 There are two establishments for boys in this same neigh- 
 bourhood. One is called the Boylston school, and is an 
 asylum for neglected and indigent boys who have committed 
 no crime, but who in the ordinary course of things would 
 very soon be purged of that distinction if they were not 
 taken from the hungry streets and sent here. The other is 
 a House of Reformation for Juvenile Offenders. They are 
 both under the same roof, but the two classes of boys never 
 come in contact. 
 
 The Boylston boys, as may be readily supposed, have very 
 much the advantage of the others in point of personal appear- 
 ance. They were in their school-room when I came upon 
 them, and answered correctly, without book, such questions 
 as where was England ; how far was it ; what was its popu- 
 lation; its capital city; its form of government; and so 
 forth. They sang a song too, about a farmer sowing his seed : 
 
The Boylston Boys 49 
 
 with corresponding action at such parts as “ ’tis thus he sows,” 
 “ he turns him round,” “ he claps his hands ”; which gave it 
 greater interest for them, and accustomed them to act 
 together, in an orderly manner. They appeared exceedingly 
 well-taught, and not better taught than fed; for a more 
 chubby-looking full-waistcoated set of boys, I never saw. 
 
 The juvenile offenders had not such pleasant faces by a 
 great deal, and in this establishment there were many boys 
 of colour. I saw them first at their work (basket-making, 
 and the manufacture of palm-leaf hats), afterwards in their 
 school, where they sang a chorus in praise of Liberty: an 
 odd, and, one would think, rather aggravating, theme for 
 prisoners. These boys are divided into four classes, each 
 denoted by a numeral, worn on a badge upon the arm. On 
 the arrival of a new-comer, he is put into the fourth or lowest 
 class, and left, by good behaviour, to work his way up into 
 the first. The design and object of this Institution is to 
 reclaim the youthful criminal by firm but kind and judicious 
 treatment; to make his prison a place of purification and 
 improvement, not of demoralisation and corruption ; to im- 
 press upon him that there is but one path, and that one sober 
 industry, which can ever lead him to happiness; to teach 
 him how it may be trodden, if his footsteps have never yet 
 been led that way ; and to lure him back to it if they have 
 strayed: in a word, to snatch him from destruction, and 
 restore him to society a penitent and useful member. The 
 importance of such an establishment, in every point of view, 
 and with reference to every consideration of humanity and 
 social policy, requires no comment. 
 
 One other establishment closes the catalogue. It is the 
 House of Correction for the State, in which silence is strictly 
 maintained, but where the prisoners have the comfort and 
 mental relief of seeing each other, and of working together. 
 This is the improved system of Prison Discipline which we 
 have imported into England, and which has been in success- 
 ful operation among us for some years past. 
 
 America, as a new and not over-populated country, has in 
 all her prisons, the one great advantage, of being enabled to 
 find useful and profitable work for the inmates; whereas, 
 with us, the prejudice against prison labour is naturally very 
 strong, and almost insurmountable, when honest men who 
 have not offended against the laws are frequently doomed 
 *c 
 
American Notes 
 
 5 ° 
 
 to seek employment in vain. Even in the United States 
 the principle of bringing convict labour and free labour into 
 a competition which must obviously be to the disadvantage 
 of the latter, has already found many opponents, whose 
 number is not likely to diminish with access of years. 
 
 For this very reason though, our best prisons would seem 
 at the first glance to be better conducted than those of 
 America. The treadmill is conducted with little or no noise ; 
 five hundred men may pick oakum in the same room, with- 
 out a sound; and both kinds of labour admit of such keen 
 and vigilant superintendence, as will render even a word of 
 personal communication amongst the prisoners almost impos- 
 sible. On the other hand, the noise of the loom, the forge, 
 the carpenter’s hammer, or the stonemason’s saw, greatly 
 favour those opportunities of intercourse — hurried and brief 
 no doubt, but opportunities still — which these several kinds 
 of work, by rendering it necessary for men to be employed 
 very near to each other, and often side by side, without any 
 barrier or partition between them, in their very nature pre- 
 sent. A visitor, too, requires to reason and reflect a little, 
 before the sight of a number of men engaged in ordinary 
 labour, such as he is accustomed to out of doors, will impress 
 him half as strongly as the contemplation of the same per- 
 sons in the same place and garb would, if they were occu- 
 pied in some task, marked and degraded everywhere as 
 belonging only to felons in jails. In an American state 
 prison or house of correction, I found it difficult at first to 
 persuade myself that I was really in a jail: a place of igno- 
 minious punishment and endurance. And to this hour I 
 very much question whether the humane boast that it is 
 not like one, has its root in the true wisdom or philosophy 
 of the matter. 
 
 I hope I may not be misunderstood on this subject, for it 
 is one in which I take a strong and deep interest. I incline 
 as little to the sickly feeling which makes every canting lie 
 or maudlin speech of a notorious criminal a subject of news- 
 paper report and general sympathy, as I do to those good old 
 customs of the good old times which made England, even 
 so recently as in the reign of the Third King George, in 
 respect of her criminal code and her prison regulations, one 
 of the most bloody-minded and barbarous countries on the 
 earth. If I thought it would do any good to the rising 
 
The House of Correction 51 
 
 generation, I would cheerfully give my consent to the disin- 
 terment of the bones of any genteel highwayman (the more 
 genteel, the more cheerfully), and to their exposure, piece- 
 meal, on any sign-post, gate, or gibbet, that might be deemed 
 a good elevation for the purpose. My reason is as well 
 convinced that these gentry were as utterly worthless and 
 debauched villains, as it is that the laws and jails hardened 
 them in their evil courses, or that their wonderful escapes 
 were effected by the prison-turnkeys who, in those admirable 
 days, had always been felons themselves, and were, to the 
 last, their bosom-friends and pot-companions. At the same 
 time I know, as all men do or should, that the subject of 
 Prison Discipline is one of the highest importance to any 
 community; and that in her sweeping reform and bright 
 example to other countries on this head, America has shown 
 great wisdom, great benevolence, and exalted policy. In 
 contrasting her system with that which we have modelled 
 upon it, I merely seek to show that with all its drawbacks, 
 ours has some advantages of its own. 
 
 The House of Correction which has led to these remarks, 
 is not walled, like other prisons, but is palisaded round about 
 with tall rough stakes, something after the manner of an 
 enclosure for keeping elephants in, as we see it represented 
 in Eastern prints and pictures. The prisoners wear a parti- 
 coloured dress; and those who are sentenced to hard labour, 
 work at nail-making, or stone-cutting. When I was there, 
 the latter class of labourers were employed upon the stone 
 for a new custom-house in course of erection at Boston. They 
 appeared to shape it skilfully and with expedition, though 
 there were very few among them (if any) who had not 
 acquired the art within the prison gates. 
 
 The women, all in one large room, were employed in 
 making light clothing, for New Orleans and the Southern 
 States. They did their work in silence like the men; and 
 like them were overlooked by the person contracting for 
 their labour, or by some agent of his appointment. In 
 addition to this, they are every moment liable to be visited 
 by the prison officers appointed for that purpose. 
 
 The arrangements for cooking, washing of clothes, and so 
 forth, are much upon the plan of those I have seen at home. 
 Their mode of bestowing the prisoners at night (which is of 
 general adoption) differs from ours, and is both simple and 
 
American Notes 
 
 52 
 
 effective. In the centre of a lofty area, lighted by windows 
 in the four walls, are five tiers of cells, one above the other; 
 each tier having before it a light iron gallery, attainable by 
 stairs of the same construction and material: excepting the 
 lower one, which is on the ground. Behind these, back to 
 back with them and facing the opposite wall, are five corre- 
 sponding rows of cells, accessible by similar means : so that 
 supposing the prisoners locked up in their cells, an officer 
 stationed on the ground, with his back to the wall, has half 
 their number under his eye at once ; the remaining half being 
 equally under the observation of another officer on the oppo- 
 site side; and all in one great apartment. Unless this watch 
 be corrupted or sleeping on his post, it is impossible for a man 
 to escape ; for even in the event of his forcing the iron door 
 of his cell without noise (which is exceedingly improbable), 
 the moment he appears outside, and steps into that one of 
 the five galleries on which it is situated, he must be plainly 
 and fully visible to the officer below. Each of these cells 
 holds a small truckle bed, in which one prisoner sleeps ; never 
 more. It is small, of course; and the door not being solid 
 but grated, and without blind or curtain, the prisoner within 
 is at all times exposed to the observation and inspection of 
 any guard who may pass along that tier at any hour or 
 minute of the night. Every day, the prisoners receive their 
 dinner, singly, through a trap in the kitchen wall ; and each 
 man carries his to his sleeping cell to eat it, where he is 
 locked up, alone, for that purpose, one hour. The whole of 
 this arrangement struck me as being admirable ; and I hope 
 that the next prison we erect in England may be built 
 on this plan. 
 
 I was given to understand that in this prison no swords or 
 fire-arms, or even cudgels, are kept ; nor is it probable that, so 
 long as its present excellent management continues, any 
 weapon, offensive or defensive, will ever be required within its 
 bounds. 
 
 Such are the Institutions at South Boston ! In all of 
 them, the unfortunate or degenerate citizens of the State are 
 carefully instructed in their duties both to God and man; 
 are surrounded by all reasonable means of comfort and happi- 
 ness that their condition will admit of; are appealed to, as 
 members of the great human family, however afflicted, indi- 
 gent, or fallen; are ruled by the strong Heart, and not by 
 
Courts of Law 5 3 
 
 the strong (though immeasurably weaker) Hand. I have 
 described them at some length; firstly, because their worth 
 demanded it; and secondly, because I mean to take them for 
 a model, and to content myself with saying of others we 
 may come to, whose design and purpose are the same, that 
 in this or that respect they practically fail, or differ. 
 
 I wish by this account of them, imperfect in its execution, 
 but in its just intention, honest, I could hope to convey to 
 my readers one-hundredth part of the gratification, the sights 
 I have described, afforded me. 
 
 To an Englishman, accustomed to the paraphernalia of 
 Westminster Hall, an American Court of Law, is as odd a 
 sight as, I suppose, an English Court of Law would be to 
 an American. Except in the Supreme Court at Washington 
 (where the judges wear a plain black robe), there is no such 
 thing as a wig or gown connected with the administration of 
 justice. The gentlemen of the bar being barristers and 
 attorneys too (for there is no division of those functions as 
 in England) are no more removed from their clients than 
 attorneys in our Court for the Relief of Insolvent Debtors 
 are, from theirs. The jury are quite at home, and make 
 themselves as comfortable as circumstances will permit. 
 The witness is so little elevated above, or put aloof from, 
 the crowd in the court, that a stranger entering during a 
 pause in the proceedings would find it difficult to pick him 
 out from the rest. And if it chanced to be a criminal trial, 
 his eyes, in nine cases out of ten, would wander to the dock 
 in search of the prisoner, in vain ; for that gentleman would 
 most likely be lounging among the most distinguished orna- 
 ments of the legal profession, whispering suggestions in his 
 counsel’s ear, or making a toothpick out of an old quill with 
 his penknife. 
 
 I could not but notice these differences, when I visited the 
 courts at Boston. I was much surprised at first, too, to 
 observe that the counsel who interrogated the witness under 
 examination at the time, did so sitting. But seeing that he 
 was also occupied in writing down the answers, and remem- 
 bering that he was alone and had no “ junior,” I quickly 
 consoled myself with the reflection that law was not quite 
 so expensive an article here, as at home; and that the 
 
American Notes 
 
 54 
 
 absence of sundry formalities which we regard as indis- 
 pensable, had doubtless a very favourable influence upon 
 the bill of costs. 
 
 In every Court, ample and commodious provision is made 
 for the accommodation of the citizens. This is the case all 
 through America. In every Public Institution, the right of 
 the people to attend, and to have an interest in the pro- 
 ceedings, is most fully and distinctly recognised. There 
 are no grim doorkeepers to dole out their tardy civility by 
 the sixpenny-worth; nor is there, I sincerely believe, any 
 insolence of office of any kind. Nothing national is ex- 
 hibited for money; and no public officer is a showman. We 
 have begun of late years to imitate this good example. I 
 hope we shall continue to do so; and that in the fulness of 
 time, even deans and chapters may be converted. 
 
 In the civil court an action was trying, for damages 
 sustained in some accident upon a railway. The witnesses 
 had been examined, and counsel was addressing the jury. 
 The learned gentleman (like a few of his English brethren) 
 was desperately long-winded, and had a remarkable capacity 
 of saying the same thing over and over again. His great 
 theme was “ Warren the engine driver,” whom he pressed 
 into the service of every sentence he uttered. I listened 
 to him for about a quarter of an hour; and, coming out 
 of court at the expiration of that time, without the faintest 
 ray of enlightenment as to the merits of the case, felt as if 
 I were at home again. 
 
 In the prisoners’ cell, waiting to be examined by the 
 magistrate on a charge of theft, was a boy. This lad, 
 instead of being committed to a common jail, would be sent 
 to the asylum at South Boston, and there taught a trade; 
 and in the course of time he would be bound apprentice to 
 some respectable master. Thus, his detection in this offence, 
 instead of being the prelude to a life of infamy and a miser- 
 able death, would lead, there was a reasonable hope, to his 
 being reclaimed from vice, and becoming a worthy member 
 of society. 
 
 I am by no means a wholesale admirer of our legal 
 solemnities, many of which impress me as being exceedingly 
 ludicrous. Strange as it may seem too, there is undoubtedly 
 a degree of protection in the wig and gown — a dismissal of 
 individual responsibility in dressing for the part — which 
 
Boston Society 5 5 
 
 encourages that insolent bearing and language, and that 
 gross perversion of the office of a pleader for The Truth, so 
 frequent in our courts of law. Still, I cannot help doubting 
 whether America, in her desire to shake off the absurdities 
 and abuses of the old system, may not have gone too far 
 into the opposite extreme; and whether it is not desirable, 
 especially in the small community of a city like this, where 
 each man knows the other, to surround the administration 
 of justice with some artificial barriers against the “ Hail 
 fellow, well met ” deportment of everyday life. All the aid 
 it can have is the very high character and ability of the 
 Bench, not only here but elsewhere, it has, and well deserves 
 to have ; but it may need something more : not to impress 
 the thoughtful and the well-informed, but the ignorant and 
 heedless; a class which includes some prisoners and many 
 witnesses. These institutions were established, no doubt, 
 upon the principle that those who had so large a share in 
 making the laws, would certainly respect them. But ex- 
 perience has proved this hope to be fallacious; for no 
 men know better than the Judges of America, that on 
 the occasion of any great popular excitement the law 
 is powerless, and cannot, for the time, assert its own 
 supremacy. 
 
 The tone of society in Boston is one of perfect politeness, 
 courtesy, and good breeding. The ladies are unquestionably 
 very beautiful — in face: but there I am compelled to stop. 
 Their education is much as with us; neither better nor 
 worse. I had heard some very marvellous stories in this 
 respect; but not believing them, was not disappointed. Blue 
 ladies there are, in Boston; but like philosophers of that 
 colour and sex in most other latitudes, they rather desire 
 to be thought superior than to be so. Evangelical ladies 
 there are, likewise, whose attachment to the forms of religion, 
 and horror of theatrical entertainments, are most exemplary. 
 Ladies who have a passion for attending lectures are to be 
 found among all classes and all conditions. In the kind of 
 provincial life which prevails in cities such as this, the Pulpit 
 has great influence. The peculiar province of the Pulpit in 
 New England (always excepting the Unitarian Ministry) 
 would appear to be the denouncement of all innocent and 
 rational amusements. The church, the chapel, and the 
 lecture-room, are the only means of excitement excepted; 
 
American Notes 
 
 5 6 
 
 and to the church, the chapel, and the lecture-room, the 
 ladies resort in crowds. 
 
 Wherever religion is resorted to, as a strong drink, and as 
 an escape from the dull monotonous round of home, those of 
 its ministers who pepper the highest will be the surest to 
 please. They who strew the Eternal Path with the greatest 
 amount of brimstone, and who most ruthlessly tread down 
 the flowers and leaves that grow by the wayside, will be 
 voted the most righteous; and they who enlarge with the 
 greatest pertinacity on the difficulty of getting into heaven, 
 will be considered by all true believers certain of going there : 
 though it would be hard to say by what process of reasoning 
 this conclusion is arrived at. It is so at home, and it is so 
 abroad. With regard to the other means of excitement, the 
 Lecture, it has at least the merit of being always new. One 
 lecture treads so quickly on the heels of another, that none 
 are remembered ; and the course of this month may be safely 
 repeated next, with its charm of novelty unbroken, and its 
 interest unabated. 
 
 The fruits of the earth have their growth in corruption. 
 Out of the rottenness of these things, there has sprung up 
 in Boston a sect of philosophers known as Transcendentalists. 
 On inquiring what this appellation might be supposed to 
 signify, I was given to understand that whatever was un- 
 intelligible would be certainly transcendental. Not deriving 
 much comfort from this elucidation, I pursued the inquiry 
 still further, and found that the Transcendentalists are 
 followers of my friend Mr. Carlyle, or I should rather say, 
 of a follower of his, Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson. This 
 gentleman has written a volume of Essays, in which, among 
 much that is dreamy and fanciful (if he will pardon me for 
 saying so), there is much more that is true and manly, 
 honest and bold. Transcendentalism has its occasional 
 vagaries (what school has not?), but it has good healthful 
 qualities in spite of them; not least among the number a 
 hearty disgust of Cant, and an aptitude to detect her in all 
 the million varieties of her everlasting wardrobe. And 
 therefore if I were a Bostonian, I think I would be a 
 Transcendentalist. 
 
 The only preacher I heard in Boston was Mr. Taylor, who 
 addresses himself peculiarly to seamen, and who was once 
 a mariner himself. I found his chapel down among the 
 
The Seamen’s Preacher 57 
 
 shipping, in one of the narrow, old, water-side streets, with 
 a gay blue flag waving freely from its roof. In the gallery 
 opposite to the pulpit were a little choir of male and female 
 singers, a violoncello, and a violin. The preacher already sat 
 in the pulpit, which was raised on pillars, and ornamented 
 behind him with painted drapery of a lively and somewhat 
 theatrical appearance. He looked a weather-beaten hard- 
 featured man, of about six or eight and fifty; with deep 
 lines graven as it were into his face, dark hair, and a stem, 
 keen eye. Yet the general character of his countenance was 
 pleasant and agreeable. The service commenced with a 
 hymn, to which succeeded an extemporary prayer. It had 
 the fault of frequent repetition, incidental to all such prayers ; 
 but it was plain and comprehensive in its doctrines, and 
 breathed a tone of general sympathy and charity, which is 
 not so commonly a characteristic of this form of address to 
 the Deity as it might be. That done he opened his discourse, 
 taking for his text a passage from the Songs of Solomon, 
 laid upon the desk before the commencement of the service 
 by some unknown member of the congregation : “ Who is 
 this coming up from the wilderness, leaning on the arm of 
 her beloved? ” 
 
 He handled his text in all kinds of ways, and twisted it 
 into all manner of shapes; but always ingeniously, and with 
 a rude eloquence, well adapted to the comprehension of his 
 hearers. Indeed, if I be not mistaken, he studied their 
 sympathies and understandings much more than the display 
 of his own powers. His imagery was all drawn from the sea, 
 and from the incidents of a seaman’s life; and was often 
 remarkably good. He spoke to them of “ that glorious man, 
 Lord Nelson,” and of Collingwood; and drew nothing in, as 
 the saying is, by the head and shoulders, but brought it to 
 bear upon his purpose, naturally, and with a sharp mind to 
 its effect. Sometimes, when much excited with his subject, 
 he had an odd way — compounded of John Bunyan, and 
 Balfour of Burley — of taking his great quarto Bible under 
 his arm and pacing up and down the pulpit with it; looking 
 steadily down, meantime, into the midst of the congregation. 
 Thus, when he applied his text to the first assemblage of his 
 hearers, and pictured the wonder of the church at their 
 presumption in forming a congregation among themselves, he 
 stopped short with his Bible under his arm in the manner I 
 
58 American Notes 
 
 have described, and pursued his discourse after this 
 manner : 
 
 “ Who are these — who are they — who are these fellows? 
 where do they come from? Where are they going to? — 
 Come from! What’s the answer?” — leaning out of the 
 pulpit, and pointing downward with his right hand: “ From 
 below!” — starting back again, and looking at the sailors 
 before him: “From below, my brethren. From under the 
 hatches of sin, battened down above you by the evil one. 
 That’s where you came from ! ” — a walk up and down the 
 pulpit: “and where are you going” — stopping abruptly: 
 “ where are you going? Aloft ! ” — very softly, and pointing 
 upward: “ Aloft ! ” — louder: “ aloft ! ” — louder still: “ That’s 
 where you are going — with a fair wind, — all taut and trim 
 steering direct for Heaven in its glory, where there are no 
 storms or foul weather, and where the wicked cease from 
 troubling, and the weary are at rest.” — Another walk: 
 “ That’s where you’re going to, my friends. That’s it. 
 That’s the place. That’s the port. That’s the haven. It’s 
 a blessed harbour — still water there, in all changes of the 
 winds and tides ; no driving ashore upon the rocks, or slipping 
 your cables and running out to sea, there: Peace — Peace — 
 Peace — all peace!” — Another walk, and patting the Bible 
 under his left arm: “ What ! These fellows are coming from 
 the wilderness, are they? Yes. From the dreary, blighted 
 wilderness of Iniquity, whose only crop is Death. But do 
 they lean upon anything — do they lean upon nothing, these 
 poor seamen?” — Three raps upon the Bible: “ Oh yes. — 
 Yes. — They lean upon the arm of their Beloved ” — three 
 more raps : “ upon the arm of their Beloved ” — three more, 
 and a walk: “ Pilot, guiding-star, and compass, all in one, to 
 all hands — here it is ” — three more: “ Here it is. They can 
 do their seaman’s duty manfully, and be easy in their minds 
 in the utmost peril and danger, with this” — two more: 
 “ They can come, even these poor fellows can come, from the 
 wilderness leaning on the arm of their Beloved, and go up — 
 up — up ! ” — raising his hand higher, and higher^ at every 
 repetition of the word, so that he stood with it at last 
 stretched above his head, regarding them in a strange, rapt 
 manner, and pressing the book triumphantly to his breast, 
 until he gradually subsided into some other portion of his 
 discourse. 
 
Social Customs 
 
 59 
 
 I have cited this, rather as an instance of the preacher’s 
 eccentricities than his merits, though taken in connexion 
 with his look and manner, and the character of his audience, 
 even this was striking. It is possible, however, that my 
 favourable impression of him may have been greatly in- 
 fluenced and strengthened, firstly, by his impressing upon his 
 hearers that the true observance of religion was not incon- 
 sistent with a cheerful deportment and an exact discharge of 
 the duties of their station, which, indeed, it scrupulously 
 required of them ; and secondly, by his cautioning them not 
 to set up any monopoly in Paradise and its mercies. I never 
 heard these two points so wisely touched (if indeed I have 
 ever heard them touched at all), by any preacher of that kind 
 before. 
 
 Having passed the time I spent in Boston, in making 
 myself acquainted with these things, in settling the course I 
 should take in my future travels, and in mixing constantly 
 with its society, I am not aw*are that I have any occasion to 
 prolong this chapter. Such of its social customs as I have 
 not mentioned, however, may be told in a very few words. 
 
 The usual dinner-hour is two o’clock. A dinner party 
 takes place at five; and at an evening party, they seldom 
 sup later than eleven; so that it goes hard but one gets 
 home, even from a rout, by midnight. I never could find 
 out any difference between a party at Boston and a party in 
 London, saving that at the former place all assemblies are 
 held at more rational hours; that the conversation may 
 possibly be a little louder and more cheerful; and a guest is 
 usually expected to ascend to the very top of the house to 
 take his cloak off; that he is certain to see, at every dinner, 
 an unusual amount of poultry on the table; and at every 
 supper, at least two mighty bowls of hot stewed oysters, in 
 any one of which a half-grown Duke of Clarence might be 
 smothered easily. 
 
 There are two theatres in Boston, of good size and con- 
 struction, but sadly in want of patronage. The few ladies 
 who resort to them, sit, as of right, in the front rows of the 
 boxes. 
 
 The bar is a large room with a stone floor, and there 
 people stand and smoke, and lounge about, all the evening: 
 dropping in and out as the humour takes them. There too 
 the stranger is initiated into the mysteries of Gin-sling, Cock- 
 
60 American Notes 
 
 tail, Sangaree, Mint Julep, Sherry-cobbler, Timber Doodle, 
 and other rare drinks. The house is full of boarders, both 
 married and single, many of whom sleep upon the premises, 
 and contract by the week for their board and lodging: the 
 charge for which diminishes as they go nearer the sky to 
 roost. A public table is laid in a very handsome hall for 
 breakfast, and for dinner, and for supper. The party sitting 
 down together to these meals will vary in number from one 
 to two hundred: sometimes more. The advent of each of 
 these epochs in the day is proclaimed by an awful gong, 
 which shakes the very window-frames as it reverberates 
 through the house, and horribly disturbs nervous foreigners. 
 There is an ordinary for ladies and an ordinary for gentlemen. 
 
 In our private room the cloth could not, for any earthly 
 consideration, have been laid for dinner without a huge glass 
 dish of cranberries in the middle of the table ; and breakfast 
 would have been no breakfast unless the principal dish were 
 a deformed beef-steak with a great flat bone in the centre, 
 swimming in hot butter, and sprinkled with the very blackest 
 of all possible pepper. Our bedroom was spacious and airy, 
 but (like every bedroom on this side of the Atlantic) very 
 bare of furniture, having no curtains to the French bedstead 
 or to the window. It had one unusual luxury, however, in 
 the shape of a wardrobe of painted wood, something smaller 
 than an English watch box ; or if this comparison should be 
 insufficient to convey a just idea of its dimensions, they may 
 be estimated from the fact of my having lived for fourteen 
 days and nights in the firm belief that it was a shower-bath. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 AN AMERICAN RAILROAD. LOWELL AND ITS FACTORY 
 SYSTEM 
 
 Before leaving Boston, I devoted one day to an excursion to 
 Lowell. I assign a separate chapter to this visit; not because 
 I am about to describe it at any great length, but because I 
 remember it as a thing by itself, and am desirous that my 
 readers should do the same. 
 
Railway Dialogue 61 
 
 I made acquaintance with an American railroad, on this 
 occasion, for the first time. As these works are pretty much 
 alike all through the States, their general characteristics are 
 easily described. 
 
 There are no first and second class carriages as with us; 
 but there is a gentlemen’s car and a ladies’ car: the main dis- 
 tinction between which is that in the first, everybody smokes ; 
 and in the second, nobody does. As a black man never 
 travels with a white one, there is also a negro car; which is a 
 great blundering clumsy chest, such as Gulliver put to sea in, 
 from the kingdom of Brobdingnag. There is a great deal of 
 jolting, a great deal of noise, a great deal of wall, not much 
 window, a locomotive engine, a shriek, and a bell. 
 
 The cars are like shabby omnibuses, but larger: holding 
 thirty, forty, fifty, people. The seats, instead of stretching 
 from end to end, are placed crosswise. Each seat holds two 
 persons. There is a long row of them on each side of the 
 caravan, a narrow passage up the middle, and a door at both 
 ends. In the centre of the carriage there is usually a stove, 
 fed with charcoal or anthracite coal; which is for the most 
 part red-hot. It is insufferably close; and you see the hot 
 air fluttering between yourself and any other object you may 
 happen to look at, like the ghost of smoke. 
 
 In the ladies’ car, there are a great many gentlemen who 
 have ladies with them. There are also a great many ladies 
 who have nobody with them : for any lady may travel alone, 
 from one end of the United States to the other, and be certain 
 of the most courteous and considerate treatment everywhere. 
 The conductor or check-taker, or guard, or whatever he may 
 be, wears no uniform. He walks up and down the car, and in 
 and out of it, as his fancy dictates ; leans against the door with 
 his hands in his pockets and stares at you, if you chance to be 
 a stranger; or enters into conversation with the passengers 
 about him. A great many newspapers are pulled out, and a 
 few of them are read. Everybody talks to you, or to anybody 
 else who hits his fancy. If you are an Englishman, he 
 expects that that railroad is pretty much like an English 
 railroad. If you say “ No,” he says “ Yes ? ” (interroga- 
 tively), and asks in what respect they differ. You enumerate 
 the heads of difference, one by one, and he says “ Yes?” 
 (still interrogatively) to each. Then he guesses that you 
 don’t travel faster in England ; and on your replying that you 
 
62 American Notes 
 
 do, says, “ Yes? ” again (still interrogatively), and it is quite 
 evident, don’t believe it. After a long pause he remarks 
 partly to you, and partly to the knob on the top of his stick, 
 that “ Yankees are reckoned to be considerable of a go-ahead 
 people too upon which you say “ Yes/’ and then he says 
 “ Yes ” again (affirmatively this time); and upon your 
 looking out of the window, tells you that behind that hill, 
 and some three miles from the next station, there is a clever 
 town in a smart lo-ca-tion, where he expects you have 
 concluded to stop. Your answer in the negative naturally 
 leads to more questions in reference to your intended route 
 (always pronounced rout); and wherever you are going 
 you invariably learn that you can’t get there without immense 
 difficulty and danger, and that all the great sights are some- 
 where else. 
 
 If a lady take a fancy to any male passenger’s seat, the 
 gentleman who accompanies her gives him notice of the fact, 
 and he immediately vacates it with great politeness. Politics 
 are much discussed, so are banks, so is cotton. Quiet people 
 avoid the question of the Presidency, for there will be a new 
 election in three years and a half, and party feeling runs very 
 high : the great constitutional feature of this institution being, 
 that directly the acrimony of the last election is over, the 
 acrimony of the next one begins; which is an unspeakable 
 comfort to all strong politicians and true lovers of their 
 country; that is to say, to ninety-nine men and boys out of 
 every ninety-nine and a quarter. 
 
 Except where a branch road joins the main one, there is 
 seldom more than one track of rails ; so that the road is very 
 narrow, and the view, where there is a deep cutting, by no 
 means extensive. When there is not, the character of the 
 scenery is always the same. Mile after mile of stunted trees: 
 some hewn down by the axe, some blown down by the wind, 
 some half fallen and resting on their neighbours, many more 
 logs half hidden in the swamp, others mouldered away to 
 spongy chips. The very soil of the earth is made up of 
 minute fragments such as these ; each pool of stagnant water 
 has its crust of vegetable rottenness ; on every side there are 
 the boughs, and trunks, and stumps of trees, in every possible 
 stage ol decay, decomposition, and neglect. Now you emerge 
 for a few brief minutes on an open country, glittering with 
 some bright lake or pool, broad as many an English river, but 
 
At Lowell 
 
 6 3 
 
 so small here that it scarcely has a name; now catch hasty 
 glimpses of a distant town, with its clean white houses and 
 their cool piazzas, its prim New England church and school- 
 house ; when whir-r-r-r ! almost before you have seen them, 
 comes the same dark screen : the stunted trees, the stumps, 
 the logs, the stagnant water — all so like the last that you seem 
 to have been transported back again by magic. 
 
 The train calls at stations in the woods, where the wild 
 impossibility of anybody having the smallest reason to get 
 out, is only "to be equalled by the apparently desperate hope- 
 lessness of there being anybody to get in. It rushes across 
 the turnpike road, where there is no gate, no policeman, no 
 signal : nothing but a rough wooden arch, on which is painted 
 “ When the bell rings, look out for the Locomotive.” 
 On it whirls headlong, dives through the woods again, emerges 
 in the light, clatters over frail arches, rumbles upon the heavy 
 ground, shoots beneath a wooden bridge which intercepts the 
 light for a second like a wink, suddenly awakens all the 
 slumbering echoes in the main street of a large town, and 
 dashes on haphazard, pell-mell, neck-or-nothing, down the 
 middle of the road. There — with mechanics working at their 
 trades, and people leaning from their doors and windows, and 
 boys flying kites and playing marbles, and men smoking, and 
 women talking, and children crawling, and pigs burrowing, 
 and unaccustomed horses plunging and rearing, close to the 
 very rails — there — on, on, on — tears the mad dragon of an 
 engine with its train of cars; scattering in all directions a 
 shower of burning sparks from its wood fire ; screeching, hiss- 
 ing, yelling, panting; until at last the thirsty monster stops 
 beneath a covered way to drink, the people cluster round, and 
 you have time to breathe again. 
 
 I was met at the station at Lowell by a gentleman in- 
 timately connected with the management of the factories 
 there ; and gladly putting myself under his guidance, drove 
 off at once to that quarter of the town in which the works, the 
 object of my visit, were situated. Although only just of age 
 — for if my recollection serve me, it has been a manufacturing 
 town barely one-and-twenty years — Lowell is a large, popu- 
 lous, thriving place. Those indications of its youth which 
 first attract the eye, give it a quaintness and oddity of char- 
 acter which, to a visitor from the old county, is amusing 
 enough. It was,#, very dirty winter’s day, and nothing in the 
 
64 American Notes 
 
 whole town looked old to me, except the mud, which in some 
 parts was almost knee-deep, and might have been deposited 
 there, on the subsiding of the waters after the Deluge. In 
 one place, there was a new w’ooden church, which, having no 
 steeple, and being yet unpainted, looked like an enormous 
 packing-case without any direction upon it. In another 
 there was a large hotel, whose walls and colonnades were so 
 crisp, and thin, and slight, that it had exactly the appearance 
 of being built with cards. I was careful not to draw my 
 breath as we passed, and trembled when I saw a workman 
 come out upon the roof, lest with one thoughtless stamp of 
 his foot he should crush the structure beneath him, and bring 
 it rattling down. The very river that moves the machinery in 
 the mills (for they are all worked by water power), seems to 
 acquire a new character from the fresh buildings of bright 
 red brick and painted wood among which it takes its course; 
 and to be as light-headed, thoughtless, and brisk a young 
 river, in its murmurings and tumblings, as one would desire 
 to see. One would swear that every “ Bakery,” “ Grocery,” 
 and “ Bookbindery,” and other kind of store, took its shutters 
 down for the first time, and started in business yesterday. 
 The golden pestles and mortars fixed as signs upon the sun- 
 blind frames outside the Druggists’, appear to have been 
 just turned out of the United States’ Mint; and when I saw 
 a baby of some week or ten days old in a woman’s arms at a 
 street comer, I found myself unconsciously wondering where 
 it came from: never supposing for an instant that it could 
 have been bom in such a young town as that. 
 
 There are several factories in Lowell, each of which belongs 
 to what we should term a Company of Proprietors, but what 
 they call in America a Corporation. I went over several of 
 these; such as a woollen factory, a carpet factory, and a 
 cotton factory : examined them in every part ; and saw them 
 in their ordinary working aspect, with no preparation of any 
 kind, or departure from their ordinary everyday proceedings. 
 I may add that I am well acquainted with our manufacturing 
 towns in England, and have visited many mills in Manchester 
 and elsewhere in the same manner. 
 
 I happened to arrive at the first factory just as the dinner 
 hour was over, and the girls were returning to their work; 
 indeed the stairs of the mill were thronged with them as I 
 ascended. They were all well dressed, but not to my thinking 
 
Factory Life 65 
 
 above their condition; for I like to see the humbler classes 
 of society careful of their dress and appearance, and even, if 
 they please, decorated with such little trinkets as come within 
 the compass of their means. Supposing it confined within 
 reasonable limits, I would always encourage this kind of 
 pride, as a worthy element of self-respect, in any person I 
 employed; and should no more be deterred from doing so, 
 because some wretched female referred her fall to a love of 
 dress, than I would allow my construction of the real intent 
 and meaning of the Sabbath to be influenced by any warning 
 to the well-disposed, founded on his backslidings on that 
 particular day, which might emanate from the rather doubt- 
 ful authority of a murderer in Newgate. 
 
 These girls, as I have said, were all well dressed: and that 
 phrase necessarily includes extreme cleanliness. They had 
 serviceable bonnets, good warm cloaks, and shawls ; and were 
 not above clogs and pattens. Moreover, there were places 
 in the mill in which they could deposit these things without 
 injury; and there were conveniences for washing. They were 
 healthy in appearance, many of them remarkably so, and 
 had the manners and deportment of young women: not of 
 degraded brutes of burden. If I had seen in one of those 
 mills (but I did not, though I looked for something of this 
 kind with a sharp eye), the most lisping, mincing, affected, 
 and ridiculous young creature that my imagination could 
 suggest, I should have thought of the careless, moping, 
 slatternly, degraded, dull reverse (I have seen that), 
 and should have been still well pleased to look upon 
 her. 
 
 The rooms in which they worked, were as well ordered as 
 themselves. In the windows of some, there were green 
 plants, which were trained to shade the glass; in all, there 
 was as much fresh air, cleanliness, and comfort, as the 
 nature of the occupation would possibly admit of. Out of 
 so large a number of females, many of whom were only 
 then just verging upon womanhood, it may be reasonably 
 supposed that some were delicate and fragile in appearance : 
 no doubt there were. But I solemnly declare, that from all 
 the crowd I saw in the different factories that day, I cannot 
 recall or separate one young face that gave me a painful 
 impression; not one young girl whom, assuming it to be 
 matter of necessity that she should gain her daily bread by 
 
66 
 
 American Notes 
 
 the labour of her hands, I would have removed from those 
 works if I had had the power. 
 
 They reside in various boarding-houses near at hand. The 
 owners of the mills are particularly careful to allow no persons 
 to enter upon the possession of these houses, whose characters 
 have not undergone the most searching and thorough inquiry. 
 Any complaint that is made against them, by the boarders, 
 or by any one else, is fully investigated; and if good ground 
 of complaint be shown to exist against them, they are 
 removed, and their occupation is handed over to some more 
 deserving person. There are a few children employed in 
 these factories, but not many. The laws of the State forbid 
 their working more than nine months in the year, and require 
 that they be educated during the other three. For this 
 purpose there are schools in Lowell ; and there are churches 
 and chapels of various persuasions, in which the young 
 women may observe that form of worship in which they 
 have been educated. 
 
 At some distance from the factories, and on the highest 
 and pleasantest ground in the neighbourhood, stands their 
 hospital, or boarding-house for the sick: it is the best house 
 in those parts, and was built by an eminent merchant for 
 his own residence. Like that institution at Boston, which I 
 have before described, it is not parcelled out into wards, but 
 is divided into convenient chambers, each of which has all 
 the comforts of a very comfortable home. The principal 
 medical attendant resides under the same roof; and were 
 the patients members of his own family, they could not be 
 better cared for, or attended with greater gentleness and 
 consideration. The weekly charge in this establishment for 
 each female patient is three dollars, or twelve shillings 
 English; but no girl employed by any of the corporations 
 is ever excluded for want of the means of payment. That 
 they do not very often want the means, may be gathered 
 from the fact, that in July, 1841, no fewer than nine hundred 
 and seventy-eight of these girls were depositors in the Lowell 
 Savings Bank: the amount of whose joint savings w^as 
 estimated at one hundred thousand dollars, or twenty 
 thousand English pounds. 
 
 I am now going to state three facts, which will startle 
 a large class of readers on this side of the Atlantic, very 
 much. 
 
The Lowell Offering 67 
 
 Firstly, there is a joint-stock piano in a great many of 
 the boarding-houses. Secondly, nearly all these young ladies 
 subscribe to circulating libraries. Thirdly, they have got up 
 among themselves a periodical called The Lowell Offering, 
 “ A repository of original articles, written exclusively by 
 females actively employed in the mills,” — which is duly 
 printed, published, and sold; and whereof I brought away 
 from Lowell four hundred good solid pages, which I have 
 read from beginning to end. 
 
 The large class of readers, startled by these facts, will 
 exclaim, with one voice, “ How very preposterous ! ” On my 
 deferentially inquiring why, they will answer, “ These things 
 are above their station.” in reply to that objection, I would 
 beg to ask what their station is. 
 
 It is their station to work. And they do work. They 
 labour in these mills, upon an average, twelve hours a day, 
 which is unquestionably work, and pretty tight work too. 
 Perhaps it is above their station to indulge in such amuse- 
 ments, on any terms. Are we quite sure that we in England 
 have not fonned our ideas of the “ station ” of working people t 
 from accustoming ourselves to the contemplation of that class 
 as they are, and not as they might be? I think that if we 
 examine our own feelings, we shall find that the pianos, and 
 the circulating libraries, and even the Lowell Offering, startle 
 us by their novelty, and not by their bearing upon any 
 abstract question of right or wrong. 
 
 For myself, I know no station in which, the occupation 
 of to-day cheerfully done and the occupation of to-morrow 
 cheerfully looked to, any one of these pursuits is not most 
 humanising and laudable. I know no station which is 
 rendered more endurable to the person in it, or more safe 
 to the person out of it, by having ignorance for its associate. 
 I know no station which has a right to monopolise the means 
 of mutual instruction, improvement, and rational entertain- 
 ment; or which has ever continued to be a station very long, 
 after seeking to do so. 
 
 Of the merits of the Lowell Offering as a literary production, 
 I will only observe, putting entirely out of sight the fact of 
 the articles having been written by these girls after the 
 arduous labours of the day, that it will compare advantage- 
 ously with a great many English Annuals. It is pleasant 
 to find that many of its Tales are of the Mills and of those 
 
American Notes 
 
 68 
 
 who work in them ; that they inculcate habits of self-denial 
 and contentment, and teach good doctrines of enlarged 
 benevolence. A strong feeling for the beauties of nature, 
 as displayed in the solitudes the writers have left at home, 
 breathes through its pages like wholesome village air; and 
 though a circulating library is a favourable school for the 
 study of such topics, it has very scant allusion to fine clothes, 
 fine marriages, fine houses, or fine life. Some persons 
 might object to the papers being signed occasionally with 
 rather fine names, but this is an American fashion. One of 
 the provinces of the state legislature of Massachusetts is to 
 alter ugly names into pretty ones, as the children improve 
 upon the tastes of their parents. These changes costing 
 little or nothing, scores of Mary Annes are solemnly converted 
 into Bevelinas every session. 
 
 It is said that on the occasion of a visit from General 
 Jackson or General Harrison to this town (I forget which, 
 but it is not to the purpose), he walked through three miles 
 and a half of these young ladies all dressed out with parasols 
 and silk stockings. But as I am not aware that any worse 
 consequence ensued, than a sudden looking-up of all the 
 parasols and silk stockings in the market; and perhaps the 
 bankruptcy of some speculative New Englander who bought 
 them all up at any price, in expectation of a demand that 
 never came; I set no great store by the circumstance. 
 
 In this brief account of Lowell, and inadequate expression 
 of the gratification it yielded me, and cannot fail to afford to 
 any foreigner to whom the condition of such people at home 
 is a subject of interest and anxious speculation, I have care- 
 fully abstained from drawing a comparison between these 
 factories and those of our own land. Many of the circum- 
 stances whose strong influence has been at work for years in 
 our manufacturing towns have not arisen here; and there 
 is no manufacturing population in Lowell, so to speak: for 
 these girls (often the daughters of small farmers) come from 
 other States, remain a few years in the mills, and then go 
 home for good. 
 
 The contrast would be a strong one, for it would be 
 between the Good and Evil, the living light and deepest 
 shadow. I abstain from it, because I deem it just to do so. 
 But I only the more earnestly adjure all those whose eyes 
 may rest on these pages, to pause and reflect upon the 
 
Arrival at Worcester 69 
 
 difference between this town and those great haunts of 
 desperate misery: to call to mind, if they can in the midst 
 of party strife and squabble, the efforts that must be made 
 to purge them of their suffering and danger: and last, and 
 foremost, to remember how the precious Time is rushing by. 
 
 I returned at night by the same railroad and in the same 
 kind of car. One of the passengers being exceedingly anxious 
 to expound at great length to my companion (not to me, of 
 course), the true principles on which books of travel in 
 America should be written by Englishmen, I feigned to fall 
 asleep. But glancing all the way out at window from the 
 comers of my eyes, I found abundance of entertainment for 
 the rest of the ride in watching the effects of the wood fire, 
 which had been invisible in the morning but were now 
 brought out in full relief by the darkness: for we were 
 travelling in a whirlwind of bright sparks, which showered 
 about us like a storm of fiery snow. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 WORCESTER. THE CONNECTICUT RIVER. HARTFORD. 
 
 NEW HAVEN. TO NEW YORK 
 
 Leaving Boston on the afternoon of Saturday the fifth of 
 February, we proceeded by another railroad to Worcester: 
 a pretty New England town, where we had arranged to 
 remain under the hospitable roof of the Governor of the 
 State, until Monday morning. 
 
 These towns and cities of New England (many of which 
 would be villages in Old England), are as favourable specimens 
 of rural America, as their people are of rural Americans. The 
 well- trimmed lawns and green meadows of home are not 
 there; and the grass, compared with our ornamental plots 
 and pastures, is rank, and rough, and wild: but delicate 
 slopes of land, gently-swelling hills, wooded valleys, and 
 slender streams, abound. Every little colony of houses has 
 its church and school-house peeping from among the white 
 roofs and shady trees ; every house is the whitest of the white ; 
 every Venetian blind the greenest of the green; every fine 
 
American Notes 
 
 70 
 
 day's sky the bluest of the blue. A sharp dry wind and a 
 slight frost had so hardened the roads when we alighted at 
 Worcester, that their furrowed tracks were like ridges of 
 granite. There was the usual aspect of newness on every 
 object, of course. All the buildings looked as if they had 
 been built and painted that morning, and could be taken 
 down on Monday with very little trouble. In the keen 
 evening air, every sharp outline looked a hundred times 
 sharper than ever. The clean cardboard colonnades had no 
 more perspective than a Chinese bridge on a teacup, and 
 appeared equally well calculated for use. The razor-like 
 edges of the detached cottages seemed to cut the very wind 
 as it whistled against them, and to send it smarting on its 
 way with a shriller cry than before. Those slightly-built 
 wooden dwellings behind which the sun was setting with a 
 brilliant lustre, could be so looked through and through, that 
 the idea of any inhabitant being able to hide himself from 
 the public gaze, or to have any secrets from the public eye, 
 was not entertainable for a moment. Even where a blazing 
 fire shone through the uncurtained windows of some distant 
 house, it had the air of being newly lighted, and of lacking 
 warmth; and instead of awakening thoughts of a snug 
 chamber, bright with faces that first saw the light round that 
 same hearth, and ruddy with warm hangings, it came upon 
 one suggestive of the smell of new mortar and damp walls. 
 
 So I thought, at least, that evening. Next morning when 
 the sun was shining brightly, and the clear church bells were 
 ringing, and sedate people in their best clothes enlivened the 
 pathway near at hand and dotted the distant thread of road, 
 there was a pleasant Sabbath peacefulness on everything, 
 which it was good to feel. It would have been the better 
 for an old church ; better still for some old graves ; but as it 
 was, a wholesome repose and tranquillity pervaded the scene, 
 which after the restless ocean and the hurried city, had a 
 doubly grateful influence on the spirits. 
 
 We went on next morning, still by railroad, to Springfield. 
 From that place to Hartford, whither we were bound, is a 
 distance of only five-and-twenty miles, but at that time of 
 the year the roads were so bad that the journey would 
 probably have occupied ten or twelve hours. Fortunately, 
 however, the winter having been unusually mild, the Con- 
 necticut River was “ open," or, in other words, not frozen. 
 
The Connecticut River 71 
 
 The captain of a small steamboat was going to make his 
 first trip for the season that day (the second February trip, 
 I believe, within the memory of man), and only waited for 
 us to go on board. Accordingly, we went on board, with as 
 little delay as might be. He was as good as his word, and 
 started directly. 
 
 It certainly was not called a small steamboat without 
 reason. I omitted to ask the question, but I should think it 
 must have been of about half a pony power. Mr. Paap, the 
 celebrated Dwarf, might have lived and died happily in 
 the cabin, which was fitted with common sash-windows like 
 an ordinary dwelling-house. These windows had bright-red 
 curtains, too, hung on slack strings across the lower panes; 
 so that it looked like the parlour of a Liliputian public-house, 
 which had got afloat in a flood or some other water accident, 
 and was drifting nobody knew where. But even in this 
 chamber there was a rocking-chair. It would be impossible 
 to get on anywhere, in America, without a rocking-chair. 
 
 I am afraid to tell how many feet short this vessel was, 
 or how many feet narrow: to apply the words length and 
 width to such measurement would be a contradiction in 
 terms. But I may state that we all kept the middle of the 
 deck, lest the boat should unexpectedly tip over; and that 
 the machinery, by some surprising process of condensation, 
 worked between it and the keel: the whole forming a warm 
 sandwich, about three feet thick. 
 
 It rained all day as I once thought it never did rain any- 
 where, but in the Highlands of Scotland. The river was full 
 of floating blocks of ice, which were constantly crunching and 
 cracking under us; and the depth of water, in the course 
 we took to avoid the larger masses, carried down the middle 
 of the river by the current, did not exceed a few inches. 
 Nevertheless, we moved onward, dexterously; and being 
 well wrapped up, bade defiance to the weather, and enjoyed 
 the journey. The Connecticut River is a fine stream; and 
 the banks in summer-time are, I have no doubt, beautiful: 
 at all events, I was told so by a young lady in the cabin ; and 
 she should be a judge of beauty, if the possession of a quality 
 include the appreciation of it, for a more beautiful creature 
 I never looked upon. 
 
 After two hours and a half of this odd travelling (includ- 
 ing a stoppage at a small town, where we were saluted by a 
 
72 American Notes 
 
 gun considerably bigger than our own chimney), we reached 
 Hartford, and straightway repaired to an extremely com- 
 fortable hotel: except, as usual, in the article of bedrooms, 
 which, in almost every place we visited, were very conducive 
 to early rising. 
 
 We tarried here, four days. The town is beautifully 
 situated in a basin of green hills; the soil is rich, well- 
 wooded, and carefully improved. It is the seat of the local 
 legislature of Connecticut, which sage body enacted, in by- 
 gone times, the renowned code of “ Blue Laws,” in virtue 
 whereof, among other enlightened provisions, any citizen 
 who could be proved to have kissed his wife on Sunday, was 
 punishable, I believe, with the stocks. Too much of the old 
 Puritan spirit exists in these parts to the present hour; but 
 its influence has not tended, that I know, to make the people 
 less hard in their bargains, or more equal in their dealings. 
 As I never heard of its working that effect anywhere else, 
 I infer that it never will, here. Indeed, I am accustomed, 
 with reference to great professions and severe faces, to judge 
 of the goods of the other world pretty much as I judge of the 
 goods of this; and whenever I see a dealer in such com- 
 modities with too great a display of them in his window, 
 I doubt the quality of the article within. 
 
 In Hartford stands the famous oak in which the charter 
 of King Charles was hidden. It is now enclosed in a gentle- 
 man's garden. In the State .House is the Charter itself. I 
 found the courts of law here, just the same as at Boston; 
 the public institutions almost as good. The Insane Asylum 
 is admirably conducted, and so is the Institution for the 
 Deaf and Dumb. 
 
 I very much questioned within myself, as I walked through 
 the Insane Asylum, whether I should have known the atten- 
 dants from the patients, but for the few words which passed 
 between the former and the Doctor, in reference to the 
 persons under their charge. Of course I limit this remark 
 merely to their looks ; for the conversation of the mad people 
 was mad enough. 
 
 There was one little prim old lady, of very smiling and 
 good-humoured appearance, who came sidling up to me 
 from the end of a long passage, and with a curtsey of in- 
 expressible condescension, propounded this unaccountable 
 inquiry: 
 
Amongst the Patients 73 
 
 “ Does Pontefract still flourish, Sir, upon the soil of 
 England ? ” 
 
 “ He does, ma’am,” I rejoined. 
 
 “ When you last saw him, Sir, he was ” 
 
 “ Well, ma’am/’ said I, “ extremely well. He begged me 
 to present his compliments. I never saw him looking 
 better.” 
 
 At this, the old lady was very much delighted. After 
 glancing at me for a moment, as if to be quite sure that I 
 was serious in my respectful air, she sidled back some paces ; 
 sidled forward again; made a sudden skip (at which I pre- 
 cipitately retreated a step or two); and said: 
 
 “ 1 am an antediluvian, Sir.” 
 
 I thought the best thing to say was, that I had suspected 
 as much from the first. Therefore I said so. 
 
 “ It is an extremely proud and pleasant thing, Sir, to be 
 an antediluvian,” said the old lady. 
 
 “ I should think it was, ma’am,” I rejoined. 
 
 The old lady kissed her hand, gave another skip, smirked 
 and sidled down the gallery in a most extraordinary manner, 
 and ambled gracefully into her own bedchamber. 
 
 In another part of the building, there was a male patient 
 in bed; very much flushed and heated. 
 
 “ Well,” said he, starting up, and pulling off his night-cap: 
 “ It’s all settled at last. I have arranged it with Queen 
 Victoria.” 
 
 “ Arranged what? ” asked the Doctor. 
 
 “ Why, that business,” passing his hand wearily across his 
 forehead, “ about the siege of New York.” 
 
 “ Oh!” said I, like a man suddenly enlightened. For he 
 looked at me for an answer. 
 
 “ Yes. Every house without a signal will be fired upon 
 by the British troops. No harm will be done to the others. 
 No harm at all. Those that want to be safe, must hoist 
 flags. That’s all they’ll have to do. They must hoist 
 flags.” 
 
 Even while he was speaking he seemed, I thought, to have 
 some faint idea that his talk was incoherent. Directly he 
 had said these words, he lay down again; gave a kind of a 
 groan; and covered his hot head with the blankets. 
 
 There was another: a young man, whose madness was 
 love and music. After playing on the accordion a march 
 
 D 
 
74 American Notes 
 
 he had composed, he was very anxious that I should walk 
 into his chamber, which I immediately did. 
 
 By way of being very knowing, and humouring him to 
 the top of his bent, I went to the window, which com- 
 manded a beautiful prospect, and remarked, with an address 
 upon which I greatly plumed myself : 
 
 “ What a delicious country you have about these lodgings 
 of yours ! ” 
 
 “ Poh ! ” said he, moving his fingers carelessly over the 
 notes of his instrument: “ Well enough for such an Institution 
 as this / ” 
 
 I don’t think I was ever so taken aback in all my life. 
 
 “ I come here just for a whim,” he said coolly. “ That’s 
 all.” 
 
 “Oh! That’s all!” said I. 
 
 “ Yes. That’s all. The Doctor’s a smart man. He 
 quite enters into it. It’s a joke of mine. I like it for a 
 time. You needn’t mention it, but I think I shall go out 
 next Tuesday ! ” 
 
 I assured him that I would consider our interview perfectly 
 confidential; and rejoined the Doctor. As we were passing 
 through a gallery on our way out, a well-dressed lady, of 
 quiet and composed manners, came up, and proffering a slip 
 of paper and a pen, begged that I would oblige her with an 
 autograph. I complied, and we parted. 
 
 “ I think I remember having had a few interviews like 
 that, with ladies out of doors. I hope she is not mad? ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ On what subject? Autographs?” 
 
 “ No. She hears voices in the air.” 
 
 “ Well ! ” thought I, “ it would be well if we could shut up 
 a few false prophets of these latter times, who have professed 
 to do the same ; and I should like to try the experiment on 
 a Mormonist or two to begin with.” 
 
 In this place, there is the best Jail for untried offenders in 
 the world. There is also a very well-ordered State prison, 
 arranged upon the same plan as that at Boston, except that 
 here, there is always a sentry on the wall with a loaded gun. 
 It contained at that time about two hundred prisoners. A 
 spot was shown me in the sleeping ward, where a watchman 
 was murdered some years since in the dead of night, in a 
 desperate attempt to escape, made by a prisoner who had 
 
The City of Elms 75 
 
 broken from his cell. A woman, too, was pointed out to 
 me, who, for the murder of her husband, had been a close 
 prisoner for sixteen years. 
 
 “ Do you think,” I asked of my conductor, “ that after so 
 very long an imprisonment, she has any thought or hope of 
 ever regaining her liberty ? ” 
 
 “ Oh dear yes,” he answered. “ To be sure she has.” 
 
 “ She has no chance of obtaining it, I suppose? ” 
 
 “Well, I don’t know:” which, by-the-by, is a national 
 answer. “ Her friends mistrust her.” 
 
 “ What have they to do with it? ” I naturally inquired. 
 
 “ Well, they won’t petition.” 
 
 “ But if they did, they couldn’t get her out, I suppose? ” 
 “ Well, not the first time, perhaps, nor yet the second, but 
 tiring and wearying for a few years might do it.” 
 
 “ Does that ever do it? ” 
 
 “ Why yes, that’ll do it sometimes. Political friends ’ll do 
 it sometimes. It’s pretty often done, one way or another.” 
 
 I shall always entertain a very pleasant and grateful recol- 
 lection of Hartford. It is a lovely place, and I had many 
 friends there, whom I can never remember with indifference. 
 We left it with no little regret on the evening of Friday the 
 nth, and travelled that night by railroad to New Haven. 
 Upon the way, the guard and I were formally introduced 
 to each other (as we usually were on such occasions), and 
 exchanged a variety of small-talk. We reached New Haven 
 at about eight o’clock, after a journey of three hours, and 
 put up for the night at the best inn. 
 
 New Haven, known also as the City of Elms, is a fine 
 town. Many of its streets (as its alias sufficiently imports) 
 are planted with rows of grand old elm-trees; and the same 
 natural ornaments surround Yale College, an establishment 
 of considerable eminence and reputation. The various de- 
 partments of this Institution are erected in a kind of park 
 or common in the middle of the town, where they are dimly 
 visible among the shadowing trees. The effect is very like 
 that of an old cathedral yard in England; and when their 
 branches are in full leaf, must be extremely picturesque. 
 Even in the winter time, these groups of well-grown trees, 
 clustering among the busy streets and houses of a thriving 
 city, have a very quaint appearance : seeming to bring about 
 a kind of compromise between town and country; as if each 
 
American Notes 
 
 76 
 
 had met the other half-way, and shaken hands upon it; 
 which is at once novel and pleasant. 
 
 After a night’s rest, we rose early, and in good time went 
 down to the wharf, and on board the packet “ New York ” 
 for New York. This was the first American steamboat of any 
 size that I had seen; and certainly to an English eye it was 
 infinitely less like a steamboat than a huge floating bath. I 
 could hardly persuade myself, indeed, but that the bathing 
 establishment off Westminster Bridge, which I left a baby, 
 had suddenly grown to an enormous size; run away from 
 home; and set up in foreign parts as a steamer. Being in 
 America, too, which our vagabonds do so particularly favour, 
 it seemed the more probable. 
 
 The great difference in appearance between these packets 
 and ours, is, that there is so much of them out of the water: 
 the rrrin-deck being enclosed on all sides, and filled with 
 casks and goods, like any second or third floor in a stack of 
 warehouses; and the promenade or hurricane-deck being 
 a-top of that again. A part of the machinery is always-above 
 this deck; where the connecting-rod, in a strong and lofty 
 frame, is seen working away like an iron top-sawyer. There 
 is seldom any mast or tackle: nothing aloft but two tall 
 black chimneys. The man at the helm is shut up in a little 
 house in the fore part of the boat (the wheel being connected 
 with the rudder by iron chains, working the whole length of 
 the deck); and the passengers, unless the weather be very 
 fine indeed, usually congregate below. Directly you have 
 left the wharf, all the life, and stir, and bustle of a packet 
 cease. You wonder for a long time how she goes on, for 
 there seems to be nobody in charge of her; and when another 
 of these dull machines comes splashing by, you feel quite 
 indignant with it, as a sullen, cumbrous, ungraceful, unship- 
 like leviathan: quite forgetting that the vessel you are on 
 board of, is its very counterpart. 
 
 There is always a clerk’s office on the lower deck, where 
 you pay your fare; a ladies’ cabin; baggage and stowage 
 rooms; engineer’s room; and in short a great variety of 
 perplexities which render the discovery of the gentlemen’s 
 cabin, a matter of some difficulty. It often occupies the 
 whole length of the boat (as it did in this case), and has 
 three or four tiers of berths on each side. When I first 
 descended into the cabin of the “ New York,” it looked, in 
 
The City in Sight 77 
 
 my unaccustomed eyes, about as long as the Burlington 
 Arcade. 
 
 The Sound which has to be crossed on this passage, is not 
 always a very safe or pleasant navigation, and has been the 
 scene of some unfortunate accidents. It was a wet morning, 
 and very misty, and we soon lost sight of land. The day 
 was calm, however, and brightened towards noon. After 
 exhausting (with good help from a friend) the larder, and 
 the stock of bottled beer, I lay down to sleep: being very 
 much tired with the fatigues of yesterday. But I woke 
 from my nap in time to hurry up, and see Hell Gate, the 
 Hog's Back, the Frying Pan, and other notorious localities, 
 attractive to all readers of famous Diedrich Knickerbocker's 
 History. We were now in a narrow channel, with sloping 
 banks on either side, besprinkled with pleasant villas, and 
 made refreshing to the sight by turf and trees. Soon we 
 shot in quick succession, past a lighthouse; a madhouse 
 (how the lunatics flung up their caps and roared in sympathy 
 with the headlong engine and the driving tide !); a jail; and 
 other buildings: and so emerged into a noble bay, whose 
 waters sparkled in the now cloudless sunshine like Nature's 
 eyes turned up to Heaven. 
 
 Then there lay stretched out before us, to the right, con- 
 fused heaps of buildings, with here and there a spire or 
 steeple, looking down upon the herd below; and here and 
 there, again, a cloud of lazy smoke; and in the foreground 
 a forest of ships' masts, cheery with flapping sails and waving 
 flags. Crossing from among them to the opposite shore, 
 were steam ferry-boats laden with people, coaches, horses, 
 waggons, baskets, boxes: crossed and recrossed by other 
 ferry-boats: all travelling to and fro: and never idle. 
 
 Stately among these restless Insects, were two or three 
 large ships, moving with slow majestic pace, as creatures of 
 a prouder kind, disdainful of their puny journeys, and 
 making for the broad sea. Beyond, were shining heights, 
 and islands in the glancing river, and a distance scarcely 
 less blue and bright than the sky it seemed to meet. The 
 city's hum and buzz, the clinking of capstans, the ringing of 
 bells, the barking of dogs, the clattering of wheels, tingled 
 in the listening ear. All of which life and stir, coming 
 across the stirring water, caught new life and animation 
 from its free companionship; and, sympathising with its 
 
7 8 American Notes 
 
 buoyant spirits, glistened as it seemed in sport upon its 
 surface, and hemmed the vessel round, and plashed the 
 water high about her sides, and, floating her gallantly into 
 the dock, flew off again to welcome other comers, and speed 
 before them to the busy port. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 The beautiful metropolis of America is by no means so clean 
 a city as Boston, but many of its streets have the same 
 characteristics ; except that the houses are not quite so fresh- 
 coloured, the sign-boards are not quite so gaudy, the gilded 
 letters not quite so golden, the bricks not quite so red, the 
 stone not quite so white, the blinds and area railings not 
 quite so green, the knobs and plates upon the street doors 
 not quite so bright and twinkling. There are many by- 
 streets, almost as neutral in clean colours, and positive in 
 dirty ones, as by-streets in London ; and there is one quarter, 
 commonly called the Five Points, which, in respect of filth 
 and wretchedness, may be safely backed against Seven Dials, 
 or any other part of famed St. Giles’s. 
 
 The great promenade and thoroughfare, as most people 
 know, is Broadway ; a wide and bustling street, which, from 
 the Battery Gardens to its opposite termination in a country 
 road, may be four miles long. Shall we sit down in an upper 
 floor of the Carlton House Hotel (situated in the best part 
 of this main artery of New York), and when we are tired of 
 looking down upon the life below, sally forth arm-in-arm 
 and mingle with the stream ? 
 
 Warm weather! The sun strikes upon our heads at this 
 open window, as though its rays were concentrated through 
 a burning-glass ; but the day is in its zenith, and the season 
 an unusual one. Was there ever such a sunny street as this 
 Broadway? The pavement stones are polished with the tread 
 of feet until they shine again; the red bricks of the houses 
 might be yet in the dry, hot kilns; and the roofs of those 
 omnibuses look as though, if water were poured on them, 
 
Broadway 79 
 
 they would hiss and smoke, and smell like half-quenched 
 fires. No stint of omnibuses here! Half-a-dozen have gone 
 by within as many minutes. Plenty of hackney cabs and 
 coaches too; gigs, phaetons, large-wheeled tilburies, and 
 private carriages — rather of a clumsy make, and not very 
 different from the public vehicles, but built for the heavy 
 roads beyond the city pavement. Negro coachmen and 
 white; in straw hats, black hats, white hats, glazed caps, fur 
 caps; in coats of drab, black, brown, green, blue, nankeen, 
 striped jean and linen; and there, in that one instance (look 
 while it passes, or it will be too late), in suits of livery. Some 
 southern republican that, who puts his blacks in uniform, and 
 swells with Sultan pomp and power. Yonder, where that 
 phaeton with the well-clipped pair of greys has stopped — 
 standing at their heads now — is a Yorkshire groom, who has 
 not been very long in these parts, and looks sorrowfully round 
 for a companion pair of top-boots, which he may traverse the 
 city half a year without meeting. Heaven save the ladies, 
 how they dress! We have seen more colours in these ten 
 minutes, than we should have seen elsewhere, in as many 
 days. What various parasols ! what rainbow silks and 
 satins ! what pinking of thin stockings, and pinching of thin 
 shoes, and fluttering of ribbons and silk tassels, and display 
 of rich cloaks with gaudy hoods and linings ! The young 
 gentlemen are fond, you see, of turning down their shirt- 
 collars and cultivating their whiskers, especially under the 
 chin; but they cannot approach the ladies in their dress or 
 bearing, being, to say the truth, humanity of quite another 
 sort. Byrons of the desk and counter, pass on, and let us 
 see what kind of men those are behind ye: those two 
 labourers in holiday clothes, of whom one carries in his hand 
 a crumpled scrap of paper from which he tries to spell out a 
 hard name, while the other looks about for it on all the 
 doors and windows. 
 
 Irishmen both! You might know them, if they were 
 masked, but their long-tailed blue coats and bright buttons, 
 and their drab trousers, which they wear like men well used 
 to working dresses, w r ho are easy in no others. It would be 
 hard to keep your model republics going, without the country- 
 men and countrywomen of those two labourers. For who 
 else would dig, and delve, and drudge, and do domestic work, 
 and make canals and roads, and execute great lines of Internal 
 
8o 
 
 American Notes 
 
 Improvement! Irishmen both, and sorely puzzled too, to 
 find out what they seek. Let us go down, and help them, 
 for the love of home, and that spirit of liberty which admits 
 of honest service to honest men, and honest work for honest 
 bread, no matter what it be. 
 
 That’s well! We have got at the right address at last, 
 though it is written in strange characters truly, and might 
 have been scrawled with the blunt handle of the spade the 
 writer better knows the use of, than a pen. Their way lies 
 yonder, but what business takes them there? They carry 
 savings: to hoard up? No. They are brothers, those men. 
 One crossed the sea alone, and working very hard for one 
 half year, and living harder, saved funds enough to bring the 
 other out. That done, they worked together side by side 
 contentedly sharing hard labour and hard living for another 
 term, and then their sisters came, and then another brother, 
 and lastly their old mother. And what now? Why, the 
 poor old crone is restless in a strange land, and yearns to 
 lay her bones, she says, among her people in the old grave- 
 yard at home : and so they go to pay her passage back : and 
 God help her and them, and every simple heart, and all who 
 turn to the Jerusalem of their younger days, and have an 
 altar-fire upon the cold hearth of their fathers. 
 
 This narrow thoroughfare, baking and blistering in the sun, 
 is Wall Street: the Stock Exchange and Lombard Street of 
 New York. Many a rapid fortune has been made in this 
 street, and many a no less rapid ruin. Some of these very 
 merchants whom you see hanging about here now, have 
 locked up money in their strong-boxes, like the man in the 
 Arabian Nights, and opening them again, have found but 
 withered leaves. Below, here by the water-side, where the 
 bowsprits of ships stretch across the footway, and almost 
 thrust themselves into the windows, lie the noble American 
 vessels which have made their Packet Service the finest in 
 the world. They have brought hither the foreigners who 
 abound in all the streets : not, perhaps, that there are more 
 here, than in other commercial cities; but elsewhere, they 
 have particular haunts, and you must find them out; here, 
 they pervade the town. 
 
 We must cross Broadway again; gaining some refresh- 
 ment from the heat, in the sight of the great blocks of clean 
 ice which are being carried into shops and bar-rooms; and 
 
The Bowery 8 1 
 
 the pine-apples and water-melons profusely displayed for sale. 
 Fine streets of spacious houses here, you see ! — Wall Street 
 has furnished and dismantled many of them very often — and 
 here a deep green leafy square. Be sure that is a hospitable 
 house with inmates to be affectionately remembered always, 
 where they have the open door and pretty show of plants 
 within, and where the child with laughing eyes is peeping 
 out of window at the little dog below. You wonder what 
 may be the use of this tall flagstaff in the by-street, with 
 something like Liberty’s head-dress on its top: so do I. 
 But there is a passion for tall flagstaffs hereabout, and you 
 may see its twin brother in five minutes, if you have a 
 mind. 
 
 Again across Broadway, and so — passing from the many- 
 coloured crowd and glittering shops — into another long main 
 street, the Bowery. A railroad yonder, see, where two stout 
 horses trot along, drawing a score or two of people and a 
 great wooden ark, with ease. The stores are poorer here; 
 the passengers less gay. Clothes ready-made, and meat 
 ready-cooked, are to be bought in these parts ; and the lively 
 whirl of carriages is exchanged for the deep rumble of carts 
 and waggons. These signs which are so plentiful, in shape 
 like river buoys, or small balloons, hoisted by cords to poles, 
 and dangling there, announce, as you may see by looking up, 
 “ Oysters in every Style.” They tempt the hungry most 
 at night, for then dull candles glimmering inside, illuminate 
 these dainty words, and make the mouths of idlers water, as 
 they read and linger. 
 
 What is this dismal-fronted pile of bastard Egyptian, like 
 an enchanter’s palace in a melodrama! — a famous prison 
 called The Tombs. Shall we go in? 
 
 So. A long narrow lofty building, stove heated as usual, 
 with four galleries, one above the other, going round it, and 
 communicating by stairs. Between the two sides of each 
 gallery, and in its centre, a bridge, for the greater con- 
 venience of crossing. On each side of these bridges sits a man ; 
 dozing or reading, or talking to an idle companion. On each 
 tier, are two opposite rows of small iron doors. They look 
 like furnace-doors, but are cold and black, as though the fires 
 within had all gone out. Some two or three are open, and 
 women, with drooping heads bent down, are talking to the 
 inmates. The whole is lighted by a skylight, but it is fast 
 
 *D 
 
82 
 
 American Notes 
 
 closed; and from the roof there dangle, limp and drooping, 
 two useless windsails. 
 
 A man with keys appears, to show us round. A good- 
 looking fellow, and, in his way, civil and obliging. 
 
 “ Are those black doors the cells? ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “Are they all full?” 
 
 “ Well, they’re pretty nigh full, and that’s a fact, an no 
 two ways about it.” 
 
 “ Those at the bottom are unwholesome, surely? ” 
 
 “ Why, we do only put coloured people in ’em. That’s 
 the truth.” 
 
 “ When do the prisoners take exercise? ” 
 
 “ Well, they do without it pretty much.” 
 
 “ Do they never walk in the yard? ” 
 
 “ Considerable seldom.” 
 
 “ Sometimes, I suppose? ” 
 
 “ Well, it’s rare they do. They keep pretty bright with- 
 out it.” 
 
 “ But suppose a man were here for a twelvemonth. I know 
 this is only a prison for criminals who are charged with grave 
 offences, while they are awaiting their trial, or under remand, 
 but the law here, affords criminals many means of delay. 
 What with motions for new trials, and in arrest of judgment, 
 and what not, a prisoner might be here for twelve months, 
 I take it, might he not? ” 
 
 “ Well, I guess he might.” 
 
 “ Do you mean to say that in all that time he would never 
 come out at that little iron door, for exercise ? ” 
 
 “ He might walk some, perhaps — not much.” 
 
 “ Will you open one of the doors ? ” 
 
 “ All, if you like.” 
 
 The fastenings jar and rattle, and one of the doors turns 
 slowly on its hinges. Let us look in. A small bare cell, 
 into which the light enters through a high chink in the wall. 
 There is a rude means of washing, a table, and a bedstead. 
 Upon the latter sits a man of sixty; reading. He looks 
 up for a moment; gives an impatient dogged shake; and 
 fixes his eyes upon his book again. As we withdraw our 
 heads, the door closes on him, and is fastened as before. 
 This man has murdered his wife, and will probably be 
 hanged. 
 
83 
 
 The Tombs 
 
 “ How long has he been here? ” 
 
 “ A month.” 
 
 “ When will he be tried ? ” 
 
 “ Next term.” 
 
 “ When is that? ” 
 
 “ Next month.” 
 
 “ In England, if a man be under sentence of death, even 
 he has air and exercise at certain periods of the day.” 
 
 “ Possible? ” 
 
 With what stupendous and untranslatable coolness he says 
 this, and how loungingly he leads on to the women’s side: 
 making, as he goes, a kind of iron castanet of the key and 
 the stair-rail ! 
 
 Each cell door on this side has a square aperture in it. 
 Some of the women peep anxiously through it at the sound 
 of footsteps; others shrink away in shame. — For what 
 offence can that lonely child, of ten or twelve years old, be 
 shut up here ? Oh ! that boy ? He is the son of the prisoner 
 we saw just now; is a witness against his father; and is 
 detained here for safe keeping, until the trial; that’s all. 
 
 But it is a dreadful place for the child to pass the long 
 days and nights in. This is rather hard treatment for a 
 young witness, is it not ? — What says our conductor ? 
 
 “ Well, it an’t a very rowdy life, and that's a fact ! ” 
 
 Again he clinks his metal castanet, and leads us leisurely 
 away. I have a question to ask him as we go. 
 
 “ Pray, why do they call this place The Tombs? ” 
 
 “ Well, it’s the cant name.” 
 
 “ I know it is. Why?” 
 
 u Some suicides happened here, when it was first built. I 
 expect it come about from that.” 
 
 “ I saw just now, that that man’s clothes were scattered 
 about the floor of his cell. Don’t you oblige the prisoners to 
 be orderly, and put such things away ? ” 
 
 “ Where should they put ’em? ” 
 
 “ Not on the ground surely. What do you say to hanging 
 them up? ” 
 
 He stops and looks round to emphasise his answer: 
 u Why, I say that’s just it. When they had hooks they 
 would hang themselves, so they’re taken out of every cell, 
 and there’s only the marks left where they used to be ! ” 
 
 The prison-yard in which he pauses now, has been the 
 
84 American Notes 
 
 scene of terrible performances. Into this narrow, grave-like 
 place, men are brought out to die. The wretched creature 
 stands beneath the gibbet on the ground; the rope about his 
 neck; and when the sign is given, a weight at its other end 
 comes running down, and swings him up into the air — a 
 corpse. 
 
 The law requires that there be present at this dismal spec- 
 tacle, the judge, the jury, and citizens to the amount of 
 twenty-five. From the community it is hidden. To the 
 dissolute and bad, the thing remains a frightful mystery. 
 Between the criminal and them, the prison-wall is interposed 
 as a thick gloomy veil. It is the curtain to his bed of death, 
 his winding-sheet, and grave. From him it shuts out life, 
 and all the motives to unrepenting hardihood in that last 
 hour, which its mere sight and presence is often’ all-sufficient 
 to sustain. There are no bold eyes to make him bold; no 
 ruffians to uphold a ruffian’s name before. All beyond the 
 pitiless stone wall, is unknown space. 
 
 Let us go forth again into the cheerful streets. 
 
 Once more in Broadway! Here are the same ladies in 
 bright colours, walking to and fro, in pairs and singly; 
 yonder the very same light blue parasol which passed and re- 
 passed the hotel-window twenty times while we were sitting 
 there. We are going to cross here. Take care of the pigs. 
 Two portly sows are trotting up behind this carriage, and a 
 select party of half-a-dozen gentlemen hogs have just now 
 turned the corner. 
 
 Here is a solitary swine lounging homeward by himself. 
 He has only one ear; having parted with the other to vagrant- 
 dogs in the course of his city rambles. But he gets on very 
 well without it; and leads a roving, gentlemanly, vagabond 
 kind of life, somewhat answering to that of our club-men at 
 home. He leaves his lodgings every morning at a certain 
 hour, throws himself upon the town, gets through his day 
 in some manner quite satisfactory to himself, and regularly 
 appears at the door of his own house again at night, like the 
 mysterious master of Gil Bias. He is a free-and-easy, care- 
 less, indifferent kind of pig, having a very large acquaintance 
 among other pigs of the same character, whom he rather 
 knows by sight than conversation, as he seldom troubles him- 
 self to stop and exchange civilities, but goes grunting down 
 the kennel, turning up the news and small-talk of the city in 
 
Pigs 8 5 
 
 the shape of cabbage-stalks and offal, and bearing no tails but 
 his own: which is a very short one, for his old enemies, the 
 dogs, have been at that too, and have left him hardly enough 
 to swear by. He is in every respect a republican pig, going 
 wherever he pleases, and mingling with the best society, on 
 an equal, if not superior footing, for every one makes way 
 when he appears, and the haughtiest give him the wall, if he 
 prefer it. He is a great philosopher, and seldom moved 
 unless by the dogs before mentioned. Sometimes, indeed, 
 you may see his small eye twinkling on a slaughtered friend, 
 whose carcase garnishes a butcher’s door-post, but he grunts 
 out “ Such is life: all flesh is pork! ” buries his nose in the 
 mire again, and waddles down the gutter: comforting him- 
 self with the reflection that there is one snout the less to 
 anticipate stray cabbage-stalks, at any rate. 
 
 They are the city scavengers, these pigs. Ugly brutes 
 they are; having, for the most part, scanty brown backs 
 like the lids of old horsehair trunks : spotted with unwhole- 
 some black blotches. They have long, gaunt legs, too, and 
 such peaked snouts, that if one of them could be persuaded 
 to sit for his profile, nobody would recognise it for a pig’s 
 likeness. They are never attended upon, or fed, or driven, 
 or caught, but are thrown upon their own resources in early 
 life, and become pretematurally knowing in consequence. 
 Every pig knows where he lives, much better than anybody 
 could tell him. At this hour, just as evening is closing in, 
 you will see them roaming towards bed by scores, eating 
 their way to the last. Occasionally, some youth among 
 them who has over-eaten himself, or has been worried by 
 dogs, trots shrinkingly homeward, like a prodigal son: but 
 this is a rare case: perfect self-possession and self-reliance 
 and immovable composure, being their foremost attributes. 
 
 The streets and shops are lighted now; and as the eye 
 travels down the long thoroughfare, dotted with bright jets 
 of gas, it is reminded of Oxford Street, or Piccadilly. Here 
 and there a flight of broad stone cellar-steps appears, and a 
 painted lamp directs you to the Bowling Saloon, or Ten- Pin 
 alley; Ten-Pins being a game of mingled chance and skill, 
 invented when the legislature passed an act forbidding Nine- 
 Pins. At other downward flights of steps, are other lamps 
 marking the whereabouts of oyster-cellars — pleasant retreats, 
 say I: not only by reason of their wonderful cookery of 
 
86 
 
 American Notes 
 
 oysters, pretty nigh as large as cheese-plates (or for thy dear 
 sake, heartiest of Greek Professors !), but because of all kinds 
 of eaters of fish, or flesh, or fowl, in these latitudes, the 
 swallowers of oysters alone are not gregarious ; but subduing 
 themselves, as it were, to the nature of what they work in, 
 and copying the coyness of the thing they eat, do sit apart in 
 curtained boxes, and consort by twos, not by two hundreds. 
 
 But how quiet the streets are! Are there no itinerant 
 bands; no wind or stringed instruments? No, not one. By 
 day, are there no Punches, Fantoccini, Dancing-dogs, 
 Jugglers, Conjurers, Orchestrinas, or even Barrel-organs? 
 No, not one. Yes, I remember one. One barrel-organ and 
 a dancing-monkey — sportive by nature, but fast fading into 
 a dull, lumpish monkey, of the Utilitarian school. Beyond 
 that, nothing lively; no, not so much as a white mouse in a 
 twirling cage. 
 
 Are there no amusements? Yes. There is a lecture-room 
 across the way, from which that glare of light proceeds, and 
 there may be evening service for the ladies thrice a week, or 
 oftener. For the young gentlemen, there is the counting- 
 house, the store, the bar-room: the latter, as you may see 
 through these windows, pretty full. Hark ! to the clinking 
 sound of hammers breaking lumps of ice, and to the cool 
 gurgling of the pounded bits, as, in the process of mixing, 
 they are poured from glass to glass! No amusements? 
 What are these suckers of cigars and swallowers of strong 
 drinks, whose hats and legs we see in every possible variety 
 of twist, doing, but amusing themselves? What are the 
 fifty newspapers, which those precocious urchins are bawling 
 down the street, and which are kept filed within, what are 
 they but amusements? Not vapid waterish amusements, 
 but good strong stuff; dealing in round abuse and black- 
 guard names ; pulling off the roofs of private houses, as the 
 Halting Devil did in Spain; pimping and pandering for all 
 degrees of vicious taste, and gorging with coined lies the most 
 voracious maw; imputing to every man in public life the 
 coarsest and the vilest motives; scaring away from the 
 stabbed and prostrate body-politic, every Samaritan of clear 
 conscience and good deeds; and setting on, with yell and 
 whistle and the clapping of foul hands, the vilest vermin and 
 worst birds of prey. — No amusements ! 
 
 Let us go on again ; and passing this wilderness of an hotel 
 
The Five Points 
 
 87 
 
 with stores about its base, like some Continental theatre, or 
 the London Opera House shorn of its colonnade, plunge into 
 the Five Points. But it is needful, first, that we take as our 
 escort these two heads of the police, whom you would know 
 for sharp and well-trained officers if you met them in the 
 Great Desert. So true it is, that certain pursuits, wherever 
 carried on, will stamp men with the same character. These 
 two might have been begotten, bom, and bred, in Bow 
 Street. 
 
 We have seen no beggars in the streets by night or day; 
 but of other kinds of strollers, plenty. Poverty, wretched- 
 ness, and vice, are rife enough where we are going now. 
 
 This is the place : these narrow ways, diverging to the right 
 and left, and reeking everywhere with dirt and filth. Such 
 lives as are led here, bear the same fruits here as elsewhere. 
 The coarse and bloated faces at the doors, have counterparts 
 at home, and all the wide world over. Debauchery has made 
 the very houses prematurely old. See how the rotten beams 
 are tumbling down, and how the patched and broken windows 
 seem to scowl dimly, like eyes that have been hurt in drunken 
 frays. Many of those pigs live here. Do they ever wonder 
 why their masters walk upright in lieu of going on all-fours ? 
 and why they talk instead of grunting? 
 
 So far, nearly every house is a low tavern ; and on the bar- 
 room walls, are coloured prints of Washington, and Queen 
 Victoria of England, and the American Eagle. Among the 
 pigeon-holes that hold the bottles, are pieces of plate-glass and 
 coloured paper, for there is, in some sort, a taste for decora- 
 tion, even here. And as seamen frequent these haunts, there 
 are maritime pictures by the dozen: of partings between 
 sailors and their lady-loves, portraits of William, of the ballad, 
 and his Black-Eyed Susan; of Will Watch, the Bold Smug- 
 gler; of Paul Jones the Pirate, and the like: on which the 
 painted eyes of Queen Victoria, and of Washington to boot, 
 rest in as strange companionship, as on most of the scenes 
 that are enacted in their wondering presence. 
 
 What place is this, to which the squalid street conducts 
 us ? A kind of square of leprous houses, some of which are 
 attainable only by crazy wooden stairs without. What lies 
 beyond this tottering flight of steps, that creak beneath our 
 tread? — a miserable room, lighted by one dim candle, and 
 destitute of all comfort, save that which may be hidden in a 
 
88 American Notes 
 
 wretched bed. Beside it, sits a man : his elbows on his knees : 
 his forehead hidden in his hands. “ What ails that man? ” 
 asks the foremost officer. “ Fever,” he sullenly replies, with- 
 out looking up. Conceive the fancies of a feverish brain, in 
 such a place as this ! 
 
 Ascend these pitch-dark stairs, heedful of a false footing on 
 the trembling boards, and grope your way with me into this 
 wolfish den, where neither ray of light nor breath of air, 
 appears to come. A negro lad, startled from his sleep by the 
 officer’s voice — he knows it well — but comforted by his assur- 
 ance that he has not come on business, officiously bestirs 
 himself to light a candle. The match flickers for a moment, 
 and shows great mounds of dusty rags upon the ground: 
 then dies away and leaves a denser darkness than before, if 
 there can be degrees in such extremes. He stumbles down 
 the stairs and presently comes back, shading a flaring taper 
 with his hand. Then the mounds of rags are seen to be astir, 
 and rise slowly up, and the floor is covered with heaps of negro 
 women, waking from their sleep : their white teeth chattering, 
 and their bright eyes glistening and winking on all sides 
 with surprise and fear, like the countless repetition of one 
 astonished African face in some strange mirror. 
 
 Mount up these other stairs with no less caution (there are 
 traps and pitfalls here, for those who are not so well escorted 
 as ourselves) into the housetop; where the bare beams and 
 rafters meet overhead, and calm night looks down through 
 the crevices in the roof. Open the door of one of these 
 cramped hutches full of sleeping negroes. Pah! They have 
 a charcoal fire within; there is a smell of singeing clothes, or 
 flesh, so close they gather round the brazier; and vapours 
 issue forth that blind and suffocate. From every corner, as 
 you glance about you in these dark retreats, some figure 
 crawls half-awakened, as if the judgment-hour were near at 
 hand, and every obscene grave were giving up its dead. 
 Where dogs would howl to lie, women, and men, and boys 
 slink off to sleep, forcing the dislodged rats to move away in 
 quest of better lodgings. 
 
 Here too are lanes and alleys, paved with mud knee-deep, 
 underground chambers, where they dance and game; the 
 walls bedecked with rough designs of ships, and forts, and 
 flags, and American eagles out of number: ruined houses, 
 open to the street, whence, through wide gaps in the walls, 
 
A Merry Dance 89 
 
 other ruins loom upon the eye, as though the world of vice and 
 misery had nothing else to show: hideous tenements which 
 take their name from robbery and murder: all that is loath- 
 some, drooping, and decayed is here. 
 
 Our leader has his hand upon the latch of “ Almack’s,” and 
 calls to us from the bottom of the steps; for the assembly- 
 room of the Five Point fashionables is approached by a 
 descent. Shall we go in? It is but a moment. 
 
 Heyday ! the landlady of Almack’s thrives ! A buxom fat 
 mulatto woman, with sparkling eyes, whose head is daintily 
 ornamented with a handkerchief of many colours. Nor is the 
 landlord much behind her in his finery, being attired in a 
 smart blue jacket, like a ship’s steward, with a thick gold 
 ring upon his little finger, and round his neck a gleaming 
 golden watch-guard. How glad he is to see us ! What will 
 we please to call for? A dance? It shall be done directly, 
 Sir: “ a regular break-down.” 
 
 The corpulent black fiddler, and his friend who plays the 
 tambourine, stamp upon the boarding of the small raised 
 orchestra in which they sit, and play a lively measure. Five 
 or six couple come upon the floor, marshalled by a lively 
 young negro, who is the wit of the assembly, and the greatest 
 dancer known. He never leaves off making queer faces, and 
 is the delight of all the rest, who grin from ear to ear inces- 
 santly. Among the dancers are two young mulatto girls, with 
 large, black, drooping eyes, and head-gear after the fashion of 
 the hostess, who are as shy, or feign to be, as though they 
 never danced before, and so look down before the visitors, that 
 their partners can see nothing but the long fringed lashes. 
 
 But the dance commences. Every gentleman sets as long 
 as he likes to the opposite lady, and the opposite lady to him, 
 and all are so long about it that the sport begins to languish, 
 when suddenly the lively hero dashes in to the rescue. In- 
 stantly the fiddler grins, and goes at it tooth and nail; there 
 is new energy in the tambourine ; new laughter in the dancers ; 
 new smiles in the landlady; new confidence in the landlord; 
 new brightness in the very candles. Single shuffle, double 
 shuffle, cut and cross-cut; snapping his fingers, rolling his 
 eyes, turning in his knees, presenting the backs of his legs in 
 front, spinning about on his toes and heels like nothing but 
 the man’s fingers on the tambourine ; dancing with two left 
 legs, two right legs, two wooden legs, two wire legs, two spring 
 
American Notes 
 
 90 
 
 legs — all sorts of legs and no legs — what is this to him? 
 And in what walk of life, or dance of life, does man ever get 
 such stimulating applause as thunders about him, when, 
 having danced his partner off her feet, and himself too, he 
 finishes by leaping gloriously on the bar-counter, and calling 
 for something to drink, with the chuckle of a million of 
 counterfeit Jim Crows, in one inimitable sound ! 
 
 The air, even in these distempered parts, is fresh after the 
 stifling atmosphere of the houses; and now, as we emerge 
 into a broader street, it blows upon us with a purer breath, 
 and the stars look bright again. Here are The Tombs once 
 more. The city watch-house is a part of the building. It 
 follows naturally on the sights we have just left. Let us see 
 that, and then to bed. 
 
 What ! do you thrust your common offenders against the 
 police discipline of the town, into such holes as these? Do 
 men and women, against whom no crime is proved, lie here 
 all night in perfect darkness, surrounded by the noisome 
 vapours which encircle that flagging lamp you light us with, 
 and breathing this filthy and offensive stench! Why, such 
 indecent and disgusting dungeons as these cells, would bring 
 disgrace upon the most despotic empire in the world ! Look 
 at them, man — you, who see them every night, and keep the 
 keys. Do you see what they are ? Do you know how drains 
 are made below the streets, and wherein these human sewers 
 differ, except in being always stagnant ? 
 
 Well, he don’t know. He has had five-and-twenty young 
 women locked up in this very cell at one time, and you’d 
 hardly realise what handsome faces there were among ’em. 
 
 In God’s name ! shut the door upon the wretched creature 
 who is in it now, and put its screen before a place, quite un- 
 surpassed in all the vice, neglect, and devilry, of the worst old 
 town in Europe. 
 
 Are people really left all night, untried, in those black 
 sties? — Every night. The watch is set at seven in the even- 
 ing. The magistrate opens his court at five in the morning. 
 That is the earliest hour at which the first prisoner can be 
 released ; and if an officer appear against him, he is not taken 
 out till nine o’clock or ten. — But if any one among them die 
 in the interval, as one man did, not long ago? Then he is 
 half-eaten by the rats in an hour’s time; as that man was; 
 and there an end. 
 
A Lunatic Asylum 91 
 
 What is this intolerable tolling of great bells, and crashing 
 of wheels, and shouting in the distance? A fire. And what 
 that deep red light in the opposite direction? Another fire. 
 And what these charred and blackened walls we stand before ? 
 A dwelling where a fire has been. It was more than hinted, 
 in an official report, not long ago, that some of these confla- 
 grations were not wholly accidental, and that speculation and 
 enterprise found a field of exertion, even in flames: but be 
 this as it may, there was a fire last night, there are two to- 
 * night, and you may lay an even wager there will be at least 
 one, to-morrow. So, carrying that with us for our comfort, 
 let us say, Good night, and climb upstairs to bed. 
 
 One day, during my stay in New York, I paid a visit to 
 the different public institutions on Long Island, or Rhode 
 Island: I forget which. One of them is a Lunatic Asylum. 
 The building is handsome; and is remarkable for a spacious 
 and elegant staircase. The whole structure is not yet finished, 
 but it is already one of considerable size and extent, and is 
 capable of accommodating a very large number of patients. 
 
 I cannot say that I derived much comfort from the inspec- 
 tion of this charity. The different wards might have been 
 cleaner and better ordered; I saw nothing of that salutary 
 system which had impressed me so favourably elsewhere ; and 
 everything had a lounging, listless, madhouse air, which was 
 very painful. The moping idiot, cowering down with long 
 dishevelled hair; the gibbering maniac, with his hideous 
 laugh and pointed finger; the vacant eye, the fierce wild 
 face, the gloomy picking of the hands and lips, and munch- 
 ing of the nails: there they were all, without disguise, in 
 naked ugliness and horror. In the dining-room, a bare, 
 dull, dreary place, with nothing for the eye to rest on but 
 the empty walls, a woman was locked up alone. She was 
 bent, they told me, on committing suicide. If anything 
 could have strengthened her in her resolution, it would cer- 
 tainly have been the insupportable monotony of such an 
 existence. 
 
 The terrible crowd with which these halls and galleries 
 were filled, so shocked me, that I abridged my stay within 
 the shortest limits, and declined to see that portion of the 
 building in which the refractory and violent were under 
 
American Notes 
 
 92 
 
 closer restraint. I have no doubt that the gentleman who 
 presided over this establishment at the time I write of, was 
 competent to manage it, and had done all in his power to 
 promote its usefulness: but will it be believed that the 
 miserable strife of Party feeling is carried even into this sad 
 refuge of afflicted and degraded humanity? Will it be be- 
 lieved that the eyes which are to watch over and control the 
 wanderings of minds on which the most dreadful visitation 
 to which our nature is exposed has fallen, must wear the 
 glasses of some wretched side in Politics ? Will it be believed 
 that the governor of such a house as this, is appointed, and 
 deposed, and changed perpetually, as Parties fluctuate and 
 vary, and as their despicable weathercocks are blown this 
 way or that? A hundred times in every week, some new 
 most paltry exhibition of that narrow-minded and injurious 
 Party Spirit, which is the Simoom of America, sickening 
 and blighting everything of wholesome life within its reach, 
 was forced upon my notice; but I never turned my back 
 upon it with feelings of such deep disgust and measureless 
 contempt, as when I crossed the threshold of this madhouse. 
 
 At a short distance from this building is another called 
 the Alms House, that is to say, the workhouse of New York. 
 This is a large Institution also: lodging, I believe, when I 
 was there, nearly a thousand poor. It was badly ventilated, 
 and badly lighted; was not too clean; and impressed me, on 
 the whole, very uncomfortably. But it must be remembered 
 that New York, as a great emporium of commerce, and as a 
 place of general resort, not only from all parts of the States, 
 but from most parts of the world, has always a large pauper 
 population to provide for; and labours, therefore, under 
 peculiar difficulties in this respect. Nor must it be for- 
 gotten that New York is a large town, and that in all large 
 towns a vast amount of good and evil is intermixed and 
 jumbled up together. 
 
 In the same neighbourhood is the Farm, where young 
 orphans are nursed and bred. I did not see it, but I believe 
 it is well conducted; and I can the more easily credit it, 
 from knowing how mindful they usually are, in America, 
 of that beautiful passage in the Litany which remembers all 
 sick persons and young children. 
 
 I was taken to these Institutions by water, in a boat 
 belonging to the Island Jail, and rowed by a crew of prisoners, 
 
A Refuge for the Destitute 93 
 
 who were dressed in a striped uniform of black and buff, in 
 which they looked like faded tigers. They took me, by the 
 same conveyance, to the Jail itself. 
 
 It is an old prison, and quite a pioneer establishment, on 
 the plan I have already described. I was glad to hear this, 
 for it is unquestionably a very indifferent one. The most is 
 made, however, of the means it possesses, and it is as well 
 regulated as such a place can be. 
 
 The women work in covered sheds, erected for that pur- 
 pose. If I remember right, there are no shops for the men, 
 but be that as it may, the greater part of them labour in 
 certain stone-quarries near at hand. The day being very 
 wet indeed, this labour was suspended, and the prisoners 
 were in their cells. Imagine these cells, some two or three 
 hundred in number, and in every one a man locked up; 
 this one at his door for air, with his hands thrust through 
 the grate ; this one in bed (in the middle of the day, remem- 
 ber); and this one flung down in a heap upon the ground, 
 with his head against the bars, like a wild beast. Make the 
 rain pour down, outside, in torrents. Put the everlasting 
 stove in the midst; hot, and suffocating, and vaporous, as 
 a witch’s cauldron. Add a collection of gentle odours, such 
 as would arise from a thousand mildewed umbrellas, wet 
 through, and a thousand buck-baskets, full of half-washed 
 linen — and there is the prison, as it was that day. 
 
 The prison for the State at Sing Sing, is, on the other 
 hand, a model jail. That, and Auburn, are, I believe, the 
 largest and best examples of the silent system. 
 
 In another part of the city, is the Refuge for the Desti- 
 tute: an Institution whose object is to reclaim youthful 
 offenders, male and female, black and white, without dis- 
 tinction; to teach them useful trades, apprentice them to 
 respectable masters, and make them worthy members of 
 society. Its design, it will be seen, is similar to that at 
 Boston ; and it is a no less meritorious and admirable estab- 
 lishment. A suspicion crossed my mind during my inspec- 
 tion of this noble charity, whether the superintendent had 
 quite sufficient knowledge of the world and worldly charac- 
 ters; and whether he did not commit a great mistake in 
 treating some young girls, who were to all intents and 
 purposes, by their years and their past lives, women, as 
 though they were little children; which certainly had a 
 
American Notes 
 
 94 
 
 ludicrous effect in my eyes, and, or I am much mistaken, in 
 theirs also. As the Institution, however, is always under a 
 vigilant examination of a body of gentlemen of great intelli- 
 gence and experience, it cannot fail to be well conducted; 
 and whether I am right or wrong in this slight particular, is 
 unimportant to its deserts and character, which it would 
 be difficult to estimate too highly. 
 
 In addition to these establishments, there are in New 
 York, excellent hospitals and schools, literary institutions 
 and libraries; an admirable fire department (as indeed it 
 should be, having constant practice), and charities of every 
 sort and kind. In the suburbs there is a spacious cemetery: 
 unfinished yet, but every day improving. The saddest tomb 
 I saw there was “ The Strangers* Grave. Dedicated to the 
 different hotels in this city.” 
 
 There are three principal theatres. Two of them, the Park 
 and the Bowery, are large, elegant, and handsome buildings, 
 and are, I grieve to write it, generally deserted. The third, 
 the Olympic, is a tiny show-box for vaudevilles and 
 burlesques. It is singularly well conducted by Mr. Mitchell, 
 a comic actor of great quiet humour and originality, who is 
 well remembered and esteemed by London playgoers. I am 
 happy to report of this deserving gentleman, that his benches 
 are usually well filled, and that his theatre rings with merri- 
 ment every night. I had almost forgotten a small summer 
 theatre, called Niblo’s, with gardens and open air amuse- 
 ments attached; but I believe it is not exempt from the 
 general depression under which Theatrical Property, or 
 what is humorously called by that name, unfortunately 
 labours. 
 
 The country round New York is surpassingly and exqui- 
 sitely picturesque. The climate, as I have already intimated, 
 is somewhat of the warmest. What it would be, without 
 the sea breezes which come from its beautiful Bay in the 
 evening time, I will not throw myself or my readers into a 
 fever by inquiring. 
 
 The tone of the best society in this city, is like that of 
 Boston ; here and there, it may be, with a greater infusion 
 of the mercantile spirit, but generally polished and refined, 
 and always most hospitable. The houses and tables are 
 elegant; the hours later and more rakish; and there is, 
 perhaps, a greater spirit of contention in reference to appear- 
 
Philadelphia 95 
 
 ances, and the display of wealth and costly living. The 
 ladies are singularly beautiful. 
 
 Before I left New York I made arrangements for securing 
 a passage home in the George Washington packet ship, which 
 was advertised to sail in June: that being the month in 
 which I had determined, if prevented by no accident in the 
 course of my ramblings, to leave America. 
 
 I never thought that going back to England, returning to 
 all who are dear to me, and to pursuits that have insensibly 
 grown to be a part of my nature, I could have felt so much 
 sorrow as I endured, when I parted at last, on board this 
 ship, with the friends who had accompanied me from this 
 city. I never thought the name of any place, so far away 
 and so lately known, could ever associate itself in my mind 
 with the crowd of affectionate remembrances that now cluster 
 about it. There are those in this city who would brighten, 
 to me, the darkest winter-day that ever glimmered and went 
 out in Lapland ; and before whose presence even Home grew 
 dim, when they and I exchanged that painful word which 
 mingles with our every thought and deed ; which haunts our 
 cradle-heads in infancy, and closes up the vista of our lives 
 in age. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, AND ITS SOLITARY PRISON 
 
 The journey from New York to Philadelphia, is made by 
 railroad, and two ferries; and usually occupies between five 
 and six hours. It was a fine evening when we were passen- 
 gers in the train: and watching a bright sunset from a 
 little window near the door by which we sat, my attention 
 was attracted to a remarkable appearance issuing from the 
 windows of the gentleman’s car immediately in front of us, 
 which I supposed for some time was occasioned by a number 
 of industrious persons inside, ripping open feather-beds, and 
 giving the feathers to the wind. At length it occurred to 
 me that they were only spitting, which was indeed the case ; 
 though how any number of passengers which it was possible 
 for that car to contain, could have maintained such a playful 
 
American Notes 
 
 96 
 
 and incessant shower of expectoration, I am still at a loss to 
 understand : notwithstanding the experience in all salivatory 
 phenomena which I afterwards acquired. 
 
 I made acquaintance, on this journey, with a mild and 
 modest young quaker, who opened the discourse by inform- 
 ing me in a grave whisper, that his grandfather was the 
 inventor of cold-drawn castor oil. I mention the circum- 
 stance here, thinking it probable that this is the first occasion 
 on which the valuable medicine in question was ever used as 
 a conversational aperient. 
 
 We reached the city, late that night. Looking out of my 
 chamber-window, before going to bed, I saw, on the opposite 
 side of the way, a handsome building of white marble, which 
 had a mournful ghost-like aspect, dreary to behold. I at- 
 tributed this to the sombre influence of the night, and on 
 rising in the morning looked out again, expecting to see its 
 steps and portico thronged with groups of people passing in 
 and out. The door was still tight shut, however; the same 
 cold cheerless air prevailed; and the building looked as if 
 the marble statue of Don Guzman could alone have any 
 business to transact within its gloomy walls. I hastened to 
 inquire its name and purpose, and then my surprise vanished. 
 It was the Tomb of many fortunes ; the Great Catacomb of 
 investment; the memorable United States Bank. 
 
 The stoppage of this bank, with all its ruinous conse- 
 quences, had cast (as I was told on every side) a gloom on 
 Philadelphia, under the depressing effect of which it yet 
 laboured. It certainly did seem rather dull and out of 
 spirits. 
 
 It is a handsome city, but distractingly regular. After 
 walking about it for an hour or two, I felt that I would 
 have given the world for a crooked street. The collar of my 
 coat appeared to stiffen, and the brim of my hat to expand, 
 beneath its quakery influence. My hair shrunk into a sleek 
 short crop, my hands folded themselves upon my breast of 
 their own calm accord, and thoughts of taking lodgings in 
 Mark Lane over against the Market Place, and of making 
 a large fortune by speculations in com, came over me in- 
 voluntarily. 
 
 Philadelphia is most bountifully provided with fresh water, 
 which is showered and jerked about, and turned on, and 
 poured off, everywhere. The Waterworks, which are on a 
 
The Eastern Penitentiary 97 
 
 height near the city, are no less ornamental than useful, 
 being tastefully laid out as a public garden, and kept in the 
 best and neatest order. The river is dammed at this point, 
 and forced by its own power into certain high tanks or 
 reservoirs, whence the whole city, to the top stories of the 
 houses, is supplied at a very trifling expense. 
 
 There are various public institutions. Among them a 
 most excellent Hospital — a quaker establishment, but not 
 sectarian in the great benefits it confers ; a quiet, quaint old 
 Library, named after Franklin; a handsome Exchange and 
 Post Office; and so forth. In connexion with the quaker 
 Hospital, there is a picture by West, which is exhibited for 
 the benefit of the funds of the institution. The subject is, 
 our Saviour healing the sick, and it is, perhaps, as favourable 
 a specimen of the master as can be seen anywhere. Whether 
 this be high or low praise, depends upon the reader's taste. 
 
 In the same room, there is a very characteristic and life- 
 like portrait by Mr. Sully, a distinguished American artist. 
 
 My stay in Philadelphia was very short, but what I saw of 
 its society, I greatly liked. Treating of its general character- 
 istics, I should be disposed to say that it is more provincial 
 than Boston or New York, and that there is afloat in the fair 
 city, an assumption of taste and criticism, savouring rather 
 of those genteel discussions upon the same themes, in con- 
 nexion with Shakspeare and the Musical Glasses, of which 
 we read in the Vicar of Wakefield. Near the city, is a most 
 splendid unfinished marble structure for the Girard College, 
 founded by a deceased gentleman of that name and of enor- 
 mous wealth, which, if completed according to the original 
 design, will be perhaps the richest edifice of modem times. 
 But the bequest is involved in legal disputes, and pending 
 them the work has stopped; so that like many other great 
 undertakings in America, even this is rather going to be done 
 one of these days, than doing now. 
 
 In the outskirts, stands a great prison, called the Eastern 
 Penitentiary; conducted on a plan peculiar to the state of 
 Pennsylvania. The system here, is rigid, strict, and hopeless 
 solitary confinement. I believe it, in its effects, to be cruel 
 and wrong. 
 
 In its intention, I am well convinced that it is kind, 
 humane, and meant for reformation; but I am persuaded 
 that those who devised this system of Prison Discipline, and 
 
American Notes 
 
 98 
 
 those benevolent gentlemen who carry it into execution, do 
 not know what it is that they are doing. I believe that very 
 few men are capable of estimating the immense amount of 
 torture and agony which this dreadful punishment, prolonged 
 for years, inflicts upon the sufferers; and in guessing at it 
 myself, and in reasoning from what I have seen written upon 
 their faces, and what to my certain knowledge they feel 
 within, I am only the more convinced that there is a depth 
 of terrible endurance in it which none but the sufferers them- 
 selves can fathom, and which no man has a right to inflict 
 upon his fellow-creature. I hold this slow and daily tamper- 
 ing with the mysteries of the brain, to be immeasurably 
 worse than any torture of the body: and because its ghastly 
 signs and tokens are not so palpable to the eye and sense of 
 touch as scars upon the flesh; because its wounds are not 
 upon the surface, and it extorts few cries that human ears 
 can hear; therefore I the more denounce it, as a secret 
 punishment which slumbering humanity is not roused up to 
 stay. I hesitated once, debating with myself, whether, if I 
 had the power of saying “ Yes ” or “ No,” I would allow it 
 to be tried in certain cases, where the terms of imprisonment 
 were short; but now, I solemnly declare, that with no re- 
 wards or honours could I walk a happy man beneath the open 
 sky by day, or lie me down upon my bed at night, with the 
 consciousness that one human creature, for any length of 
 time, no matter what, lay suffering this unknown punishment 
 in his silent cell, and I the cause, or I consenting to it in 
 the least degree. 
 
 I was accompanied to this prison by two gentlemen offi- 
 cially connected with its management, and passed the day in 
 going from cell to cell, and talking with the inmates. Every 
 facility was afforded me, that the utmost courtesy could 
 suggest. Nothing was concealed or hidden from my view, 
 and every piece of information that I sought, was openly and 
 frankly given, The perfect order of the building cannot be 
 praised too highly, and of the excellent motives of all who 
 are immediately concerned in the administration of the 
 system, there can be no kind of question. 
 
 Between the body of the prison and the outer wall, there 
 is a spacious garden. Entering it, by a wicket in the massive 
 gate, we pursued the path before us to its other termination, 
 and passed into a large chamber, from which seven long 
 
Buried Alive 
 
 99 
 
 passages radiate. On either side of each, is a long, long row 
 of low cell doors, with a certain number over every one. 
 Above, a gallery of cells like those below, except that they 
 have no narrow yard attached (as those in the ground tier 
 have), and are somewhat smaller. The possession of two of 
 these, is supposed to compensate for the absence of so much 
 air and exercise as can be had in the dull strip attached to 
 each of the others, in an hour’s time every day; and therefore 
 every prisoner in this upper story has two cells, adjoining and 
 communicating with, each other. 
 
 Standing at the central point, and looking down these 
 dreary passages, the dull repose and quiet that prevails, is 
 awful. Occasionally, there is a drowsy sound from some lone 
 weaver’s shuttle, or shoemaker’s last, but it is stifled by the 
 thick walls and heavy dungeon-door, and only serves to make 
 the general stillness more profound. Over the head and face 
 of every prisoner who comes into this melancholy house, a 
 black hood is drawn ; and in this dark shroud, an emblem of 
 the curtain dropped between him and the living world, he is 
 led to the cell from which he never again comes forth, until 
 his whole term of imprisonment has expired. He never hears 
 of wife and children ; home or friends ; the life or death of 
 any single creature. He sees the prison-officers, but with 
 that exception he never looks upon a human countenance, or 
 hears a human voice. He is a man buried alive; to be dug 
 out in the slow round of years; and in the meantime dead 
 to everything but torturing anxieties and horrible despair. 
 
 His name, and crime, and term of suffering, are unknown, 
 even to the officer who delivers him his daily food. There is 
 a number over his cell-door, and in a book of which the 
 governor of the prison has one copy, and the moral instructor 
 another: this is the index of his history. Beyond these pages 
 the prison has no record of his existence : and though he live 
 to be in the same cell ten weary years, he has no means of 
 knowing, down to the very last hour, in what part of the 
 building it is situated; what kind of men there are about 
 him; whether in the long winter nights there are living 
 people near, or he is in some lonely comer of the great jail, 
 with walls, and passages, and iron doors between him and the 
 nearest sharer in its solitary horrors. 
 
 Every cell has double doors : the outer one of sturdy oak 
 the other of grated iron, wherein there is a trap through 
 
IOO 
 
 American Notes 
 
 which his food is handed. He has a Bible, and a slate and 
 pencil, and, under certain restrictions, has sometimes other 
 books, provided for the purpose, and pen and ink and paper. 
 His razor, plate, and can, and basin, hang upon the wall, or 
 shine upon the little shelf. Fresh water is laid on in every 
 cell, and he can draw it at his pleasure. During the day, 
 his bedstead turns up against the wall, and leaves more space 
 for him to work in. His loom, or bench, or wheel, is there; 
 and there he labours, sleeps and wakes, and counts the 
 seasons as they change, and grows old. 
 
 The first man I saw, was seated at his loom, at work. He 
 had been there six years, and was to remain, I think, three 
 more. He had been convicted as a receiver of stolen goods, 
 but even after his long imprisonment, denied his guilt, and 
 said he had been hardly dealt by. It was his second 
 offence. 
 
 He stopped his work when we went in, took off his spec- 
 tacles, and answered freely to everything that was said to 
 him, but always with a strange kind of pause first, and in a 
 low, thoughtful voice. He wore a paper hat of his own 
 making, and was pleased to have it noticed and commended. 
 He had very ingeniously manufactured a sort of Dutch clock 
 from some disregarded odds and ends; and his vinegar- 
 bottle served for the pendulum. Seeing me interested in this 
 contrivance, he looked up at it with a great deal of pride, and 
 said that he had been thinking of improving it, and that he 
 hoped the hammer and a little piece of broken glass beside 
 it “ would play music before long.” He had extracted some 
 colours from the yarn with which he worked, and painted a 
 few poor figures on the wall. One, of a female, over the 
 door, he called “ The Lady of the Lake.” 
 
 He smiled as I looked at these contrivances to while away 
 the time; but when I looked from them to him, I saw that 
 his lip trembled, and could have counted the beating of his 
 heart. I forget how it came about, but some allusion was 
 made to his having a wife. He shook his head at the word, 
 turned aside, and covered his face with his hands. 
 
 “ But you are resigned now! ” said one of the gentlemen 
 after a short pause, during which he had resumed his former 
 manner. He answered with a sigh that seemed quite reckless 
 in its hopelessness, “ Oh yes, oh yes ! I am resigned to it.” 
 “ And are a better man, you think? ” “ Well, I hope so: 
 
The Prisoners 
 
 i oi 
 
 I’m sure I hope I may be.” “ And time goes pretty 
 quickly?” “Time is very long, gentlemen, within these 
 four walls ! ” 
 
 He gazed about him — Heaven only knows how wearily ! — 
 as he said these words ; and in the act of doing so, fell into 
 a strange stare as if he had forgotten something. A moment 
 afterwards he sighed heavily, put on his spectacles, and went 
 about his work again. 
 
 In another cell, there was a German, sentenced to five years* 
 imprisonment for larceny, two of which had just expired. 
 With colours procured in the same manner, he had painted 
 every inch of the walls and ceiling quite beautifully. He 
 had laid out the few feet of ground, behind, with exquisite 
 neatness, and had made a little bed in the centre, that looked 
 by-the-bye like a grave. The taste and ingenuity he had 
 displayed in everything were most extraordinary; and yet a 
 more dejected, heart-broken, wretched creature, it would be 
 difficult to imagine. I never saw such a picture of forlorn 
 affliction and distress of mind. My heart bled for him; and 
 when the tears ran down his cheeks, and he took one of the 
 visitors aside, to ask, with his trembling hands nervously 
 clutching at his coat to detain him, whether there was no 
 hope of his dismal sentence being commuted, the spectacle 
 was really too painful to witness. I never saw or heard of 
 any kind of misery that impressed me more than the wretched- 
 ness of this man. 
 
 In a third cell, was a tall strong black, a burglar, working 
 at his proper trade of making screws and the like. His time 
 was nearly out. He was not only a very dexterous thief, but 
 was notorious for his boldness and hardihood, and for the 
 number of his previous convictions. He entertained us with 
 a long account of his achievements, which he narrated with 
 such infinite relish, that he actually seemed to lick his lips 
 as he told us racy anecdotes of stolen plate, and of old ladies 
 whom he had watched as they sat at windows in silver 
 spectacles (he had plainly had an eye to their metal even 
 from the other side of the street) and had afterwards robbed. 
 This fellow, upon the slightest encouragement, would have 
 mingled with his professional recollections the most detest- 
 able cant; but I am very much mistaken if he could have 
 surpassed the unmitigated hypocrisy with which he declared 
 that he blessed the day on which he came into that prison. 
 
102 American Notes 
 
 and that he never would commit another robbery as long as 
 he lived. 
 
 There was one man who was allowed, as an indulgence, to 
 keep rabbits. His room having rather a close smell in con- 
 sequence, they called to him at the door to come out into 
 the passage. He complied of course, and stood shading his 
 haggard face in the unwonted sunlight of the great window, 
 loolang as wan and unearthly as if he had been summoned 
 from the grave. He had a white rabbit in his breast; and 
 when the little creature, getting down upon the ground, stole 
 back into the cell, and he, being dismissed, crept timidly after 
 it, I thought it would have been very hard to say in what 
 respect the man was the nobler animal of the two. 
 
 There was an English thief, who had been there but a few 
 days out of seven years : a villainous, low-browed, thin-lipped 
 fellow, with a white face ; who had as yet no relish for visitors, 
 and who, but for the additional penalty, would have gladly 
 stabbed me with his shoemaker’s knife. There was another 
 German who had entered the jail but yesterday, and who 
 started from his bed when we looked in, and pleaded, in his 
 broken English, very hard for work. There was a poet, who 
 after doing two days’ work in every four-and-twenty hours, 
 one for himself and one for the prison, wrote verses about 
 ships (he was by trade a mariner), and “ the maddening 
 wine-cup,” and his friends at home. There were very many 
 of them. Some reddened at the sight of visitors, and some 
 turned very pale. Some two or three had prisoner nurses 
 with them, for they were very sick; and one, a fat old negro 
 whose leg had been taken off within the jail, had for his 
 attendant a classical scholar and an accomplished surgeon, 
 himself a prisoner likewise. Sitting upon the stairs, engaged 
 in some slight work, was a pretty coloured boy. “ Is there 
 no refuge for young criminals in Philadelphia, then ? ” said 
 I. “ Yes, but only for white children.” Noble aristocracy 
 in crime ! 
 
 There was a sailor who had been there upwards of eleven 
 years, and who in a few months’ time would be free. Eleven 
 years of solitary confinement ! 
 
 “ I am very glad to hear your time is nearly out.” What 
 does he say? Nothing. Why does he stare at his hands 
 and pick the flesh upon his fingers, and raise his eyes 
 for an instant, every now and then, to those bare walls 
 
A Prisoner going to be Released 103 
 
 which have seen his head turn grey? It is a way he has 
 sometimes. 
 
 Does he never look men in the face, and does he always 
 pluck at those hands of his, as though he were bent on 
 parting skin and bone? It is his humour: nothing more. 
 
 It is his humour too, to say that he does not look forward 
 to going out; that he is not glad the time is drawing near; 
 that he did look forward to it once, but that was very long 
 ago; that he has lost all care for everything. It is his 
 humour to be a helpless, crushed, and broken man. And, 
 Heaven be his witness that he has his humour thoroughly 
 gratified ! 
 
 There were three young women in adjoining cells, all 
 convicted at the same time of a conspiracy to rob their 
 prosecutor. In the silence and solitude of their lives they 
 had grown to be quite beautiful. Their looks were very sad, 
 and might have moved the sternest visitor to tears, but not 
 to that kind of sorrow which the contemplation of the men 
 awakens. One was a young girl; not twenty, as I recollect; 
 whose snow-white room was hung with the work of some 
 former prisoner, and upon whose downcast face the sun in 
 all its splendour shone down through the high chink in the 
 wall, where one narrow strip of bright blue sky was visible. 
 She was very penitent and quiet; had come to be resigned, 
 she said (and I believe her); and had a mind at peace. “ In 
 a word, you are happy here? ” said one of my companions. 
 She struggled — she did struggle very hard — to answer, Yes ; 
 but raising her eyes, and meeting that glimpse of freedom 
 overhead, she burst into tears, and said, “ She tried to be; 
 she uttered no complaint ; but it was natural that she should 
 sometimes long to go out of that one cell; she could not 
 help that” she sobbed, poor thing ! 
 
 I went from cell to cell that day; and every face I saw, 
 or word I heard, or incident I noted, is present to my mind 
 in all its painfulness. But let me pass them by, for one, 
 more pleasant, glance of a prison on the same plan which I 
 afterwards saw at Pittsburg. 
 
 When I had gone over that, in the same manner, I asked 
 the governor if he had any person in his charge who was 
 shortly going out. He had one, he said, whose time was 
 up next day; but he had only been a prisoner two years. 
 
 Two years ! I looked back through two years of my own 
 
104 American Notes 
 
 life — out of jail, prosperous, happy, surrounded by blessings, 
 comforts, good fortune — and thought how wide a gap it 
 was, and how long those two years passed in solitary cap- 
 tivity would have been. I have the face of this man, who 
 was going to be released next day, before me now. It is 
 almost more memorable in its happiness than the other faces 
 in their misery. How easy and how natural it was for him 
 to say that the system was a good one; and that the time 
 went “ pretty quick — considering ”; and that when a man 
 once felt that he had offended the law, and must satisfy it, 
 “ he got along, somehow ” : and so forth ! 
 
 “ What did he call you back to say to you, in that strange 
 flutter? ” I asked of my conductor, when he had locked the 
 door and joined me in the passage. 
 
 “ Oh ! That he was afraid the soles of his boots were not 
 fit for walking, as they were a good deal worn when he came 
 in; and that he would thank me very much to have them 
 mended, ready.” 
 
 Those boots had been taken off his feet, and put away 
 with the rest of his clothes, two years before ! 
 
 I took that opportunity of inquiring how they conducted 
 themselves immediately after going out; adding that I 
 presumed they trembled very much. 
 
 “ Well, it’s not so much a trembling,” was the answer — 
 “ though they do quiver — as a complete derangement of the 
 nervous system. They can’t sign their names to the book; 
 sometimes can’t even hold the pen ; look about ’em without 
 appearing to know why, or where they are; and sometimes 
 get up and sit down again, twenty times in a minute. This 
 is when they’re in the office, where they are taken with the 
 hood on, as they were brought in. When they get outside 
 the gate, they stop, and look first one way and then the 
 other; not knowing which to take. Sometimes they stagger 
 as if they were drunk, and sometimes are forced to lean 
 against the fence, they’re so bad: — but they clear off in 
 course of time.” 
 
 As I walked among these solitary cells, and looked at the 
 faces of the men within them, I tried to picture to myself 
 the thoughts and feelings natural to their condition. I 
 imagined the hood just taken off, and the scene of their 
 captivity disclosed to them in all its dismal monotony. 
 
 At first, the man is stunned. His confinement is a hideous 
 
Terrors by Day and by Night 105 
 
 vision; and his old life a reality. He throws himself upon 
 his bed, and lies there abandoned to despair. By degrees 
 the insupportable solitude and barrenness of the place rouses 
 him from this stupor, and when the trap in his grated door 
 is opened, he humbly begs and prays for work. “ Give me 
 some work to do, or I shall go raving mad ! ” 
 
 He has it; and by fits and starts applies himself to labour; 
 but every now and then there comes upon him a burning 
 sense of the years that must be wasted in that stone coffin, 
 and an agony so piercing in the recollection of those who 
 are hidden from his view and knowledge, that he starts 
 from his seat, and striding up and down the narrow room 
 with both hands clasped on his uplifted head, hears spirits 
 tempting him to beat his brains out on the wall. 
 
 Again he falls upon his bed, and lies there, moaning. 
 Suddenly he starts up, wondering whether any other man 
 is near; whether there is another cell like that on either 
 side of him: and listens keenly. 
 
 There is no sound, but other prisoners may be near for 
 all that. He remembers to have heard once, when he little 
 thought of coming here himself, that the cells were so con- 
 structed that the prisoners could not hear each other, though 
 the officers could hear them. Where is the nearest man — 
 upon the right, or on the left ? or is there one in both direc- 
 tions ? Where is he sitting now — with his face to the light ? 
 or is he walking to and fro? How is he dressed? has he 
 been here long? Is he much worn away? Is he very white 
 and spectre-like ? Does he think of his neighbour too ? 
 
 Scarcely venturing to breathe, and listening while he 
 thinks, he conjures up a figure with his back towards him, 
 and imagines it moving about in this next cell. He has 
 no idea of the face, but he is certain of the dark form of 
 a stooping man. In the cell upon the other side, he puts 
 another figure, whose face is hidden from him also. Day 
 after day, and often when he wakes up in the middle of 
 the night, he thinks of these two men until he is almost 
 distracted. He never changes them. There they are always 
 as he first imagined them — an old man on the right; a 
 younger man upon the left — whose hidden features torture 
 him to death, and have a mystery that makes him tremble. 
 
 The weary days pass on with solemn pace, like mourners 
 at a funeral; and slowly he begins to feel that the white 
 
 E 
 
1 06 
 
 American Notes 
 
 walls of the cell have something dreadful in them: that 
 their colour is horrible: that their smooth surface chills 
 his blood: that there is one hateful comer which torments 
 him. Every morning when he wakes, he hides his head 
 beneath the coverlet, and shudders to see the ghastly ceiling 
 looking down upon him. The blessed light of day itself 
 peeps in, an ugly phantom face, through the unchangeable 
 crevice which is his prison window. 
 
 By slow but sure degrees, the terrors of that hateful comer 
 swell until they beset him at all times ; invade his rest, make 
 his dreams hideous, and his nights dreadful. At first, he 
 took a strange dislike to it; feeling as though it gave birth 
 in his brain to something of corresponding shape, which 
 ought not to be there, and racked his head with pains. 
 Then he began to fear it, then to dream of it, and of men 
 whispering its name and pointing to it. Then he could not 
 bear to look at it, nor yet to turn his back upon it. Now, 
 it is every night the lurking-place of a ghost: a shadow: — 
 a silent something, horrible to see, but whether bird, or 
 beast, or muffled human shape, he cannot tell. 
 
 When he is in his cell by day, he fears the little yard 
 without. When he is in the yard, he dreads to re-enter the 
 cell. When night comes, there stands the phantom in the 
 comer. If he have the courage to stand in its place, and 
 drive it out (he had once: being desperate), it broods upon 
 his bed. In the twilight, and always at the same hour, a 
 voice calls to him by name; as the darkness thickens, his 
 Loom begins to live; and even that, his comfort, is a hideous 
 figure, watching him till daybreak. 
 
 Again, by slow degrees, these horrible fancies depart from 
 him one by one : returning sometimes, unexpectedly, but at 
 longer intervals, and in less alarming shapes. He has talked 
 upon religious matters with the gentleman who visits him, 
 and has read his Bible, and has written a prayer upon his 
 slate, and hung it up as a kind of protection, and an assurance 
 of Heavenly companionship. He dreams now, sometimes, 
 of his children or his wife, but is sure that they are dead, or 
 have deserted him. He is easily moved to tears; is gentle, 
 submissive, and broken-spirited. Occasionally, the old agony 
 comes back: a very little thing will revive it; even a 
 familiar sound, or the scent of summer flowers in the air; 
 but it does not last long, now: for the world without, has 
 
The Prospect of Release 107 
 
 come to be the vision, and this solitary life, the sad 
 reality. 
 
 If his term of imprisonment be short — I mean compara- 
 tively, for short it cannot be — the last half year is almost 
 worse than all; for then he thinks the prison will take fire 
 and he be burnt in the ruins, or that he is doomed to die 
 within the walls, or that he will be detained on some false 
 charge and sentenced for another term: or that something, 
 no matter what, must happen to prevent his going at large. 
 And this is natural, and impossible to be reasoned against, 
 because, after his long separation from human life, and his 
 great suffering, any event will appear to him more probable 
 in the contemplation, than the being restored to liberty and 
 his fellow-creatures. 
 
 If his period of confinement has been very long, the 
 prospect of release bewilders and confuses him. His broken 
 heart may flutter for a moment, when he thinks of the world 
 outside, and what it might have been to him in all those 
 lonely years, but that is all. The cell-door has been closed 
 too long on all its hopes and cares. Better to have hanged 
 him in the beginning than bring him to this pass, and send 
 him forth to mingle with his kind, who are his kind no more. 
 
 On the haggard face of every man among these prisoners, 
 the same expression sat. I know not what to liken it to. 
 It had something of that strained attention which we see 
 upon the faces of the blind and deaf, mingled with a kind of 
 horror, as though they had all been secretly terrified. In 
 every little chamber that I entered, and at every grate 
 through which I looked, I seemed to see the same appalling 
 countenance. It lives in my memory, with the fascination 
 of a remarkable picture. Parade before my eyes, a hundred 
 men, with one among them newly released from this solitary 
 suffering, and I would point him out. 
 
 The faces of the women, as I have said, it humanises and 
 refines. Whether this be because of their better nature, 
 which is elicited in solitude, or because of their being gentler 
 creatures, of greater patience and longer suffering, I do not 
 know; but so it is. That the punishment is nevertheless, to 
 my thinking, fully as cruel and as wrong in their case, as in 
 that of the men, I need scarcely add. 
 
 My firm conviction is that, independent of the mental 
 anguish it occasions — an anguish so acute and so tremendous, 
 
io8 
 
 American Notes 
 
 that all imagination of it must fall far short of the reality — 
 it wears the mind into a morbid state, which renders it unfit 
 for the rough contact and busy action of the world. It is 
 my fixed opinion that those who have undergone this punish- 
 ment, must pass into society again morally unhealthy and 
 diseased. There are many instances on record, of men who 
 have chosen, or have been condemned, to lives of perfect 
 solitude, but I scarcely remember one, even among sages of 
 strong and vigorous intellect, where its effect has not become 
 apparent, in some disordered train of thought, or some 
 gloomy hallucination. What monstrous phantoms, bred of 
 despondency and doubt, and bom and reared in solitude, 
 have stalked upon the earth, making creation ugly, and 
 darkening the face of Heaven ! 
 
 Suicides are rare among these prisoners : are almost, in- 
 deed, unknown. But no argument in favour of the system, 
 can reasonably be deduced from this circumstance, although 
 it is very often urged. All men who have made diseases of 
 the mind their study, know perfectly well that such extreme 
 depression and despair as will change the whole character, 
 and beat down all its powers of elasticity and self-resistance, 
 may be at work within a man, and yet stop short of self- 
 destruction. This is a common case. 
 
 That it makes the senses dull, and by degrees impairs the 
 bodily faculties, I am quite sure. I remarked to those who 
 were with me in this very establishment at Philadelphia, 
 that the criminals who had been there long, were deaf. 
 They, who were in the habit of seeing these men constantly, 
 were perfectly amazed at the idea, which they regarded as 
 groundless and fanciful. And yet the very first prisoner to 
 whom they appealed — one of their own selection — confirmed 
 my impression (which was unknown to him) instantly, and 
 said, with a genuine air it was impossible to doubt, that he 
 couldn’t think how it happened, but he was growing very 
 dull of hearing. 
 
 That it is a singularly unequal punishment, and affects 
 the worst man least, there is no doubt. In its superior 
 efficiency as a means of reformation, compared with that other 
 code of regulations which allows the prisoners to work in 
 company without communicating together, I have not the 
 smallest faith. All the instances of reformation that were 
 mentioned to me, were of a kind that might have been — and 
 
A Curious Story 109 
 
 I have no doubt whatever, in my own mind, would have 
 been — equally well brought about by the Silent System. 
 With regard to such men as the negro burglar and the English 
 thief, even the most enthusiastic have scarcely any hope of 
 their conversion. 
 
 It seems to me that the objection that nothing wholesome 
 or good has ever had its growth in such unnatural solitude, 
 and that even a dog or any of the more intelligent among 
 beasts, would pine, and mope, and rust away, beneath its 
 influence, would be in itself a sufficient argument against 
 this system. But when we recollect, in addition, how very 
 cruel and severe it is, and that a solitary life is always liable 
 to peculiar and distinct objections of a most deplorable 
 nature, which have arisen here, and call to mind, moreover, 
 that the choice is not between this system, and a bad or ill- 
 considered one, but between it and another which has worked 
 well, and is, in its whole design and practice, excellent; 
 there is surely more than sufficient reason for abandoning 
 a mode of punishment attended by so little hope or promise, 
 and fraught, beyond dispute, with such a host of evils. 
 
 As a relief to its contemplation, I will close this chapter 
 with a curious story arising out of the same theme, which 
 was related to me, on the occasion of this visit, by some of 
 the gentlemen concerned. 
 
 At one of the periodical meetings of the inspectors of this 
 prison, a working man of Philadelphia presented himself 
 before the Board, and earnestly requested to be placed in 
 solitary confinement. On being asked what motive could 
 possibly prompt him to make this strange demand, he 
 answered that he had an irresistible propensity to get drunk; 
 that he was constantly indulging it, to his great misery and 
 ruin ; that he had no power of resistance ; that he wished to 
 be put beyond the reach of temptation; and that he could 
 think of no better way than this. It was pointed out to him, 
 in reply, that the prison was for criminals who had been 
 tried and sentenced by the law, and could not be made 
 available for any such fanciful purposes ; he was exhorted to 
 abstain from intoxicating drinks, as he surely migh if he 
 would ; and received other very good advice, with which he 
 retired, exceedingly dissatisfied with the result of his appli- 
 cation. 
 
 He came again, and again, and again, and was so very 
 
I IO 
 
 American Notes 
 
 earnest and importunate, that at last they took counsel 
 together, and said, “ He will certainly qualify himself for 
 admission, if we reject him any more. Let us shut him up. 
 He will soon be glad to go away, and then we shall get rid 
 of him.” So they made him sign a statement which would 
 prevent his ever sustaining an action for false imprison- 
 ment, to the effect that his incarceration was voluntary, and 
 of his own seeking; they requested him to take notice that 
 the officer in attendance had orders to release him at any 
 hour of the day or night, when he might knock upon his door 
 for that purpose; but desired him to understand, that once 
 going out, he would not be admitted any more. These con- 
 ditions agreed upon, and he still remaining in the same 
 mind, he was conducted to the prison, and shut up in one of 
 the cells. 
 
 In this cell, the man, who had not the firmness to leave a 
 glass of liquor standing untasted on a table before him — in 
 this cell, in solitary confinement, and working every day at 
 his trade of shoemaking, this man remained nearly two 
 years. His health beginning to fail at the expiration of 
 that time, the surgeon recommended that he should work 
 occasionally in the garden; and as he liked the notion 
 very much, he went about this new occupation with great 
 cheerfulness. 
 
 He was digging here, one summer day, very industriously, 
 when the wicket in the outer gate chanced to be left open: 
 showing, beyond, the well-remembered dusty road and sun- 
 burnt fields. The way was as free to him as to any man 
 living, but he no sooner raised his head and caught sight 
 of it, all shining in the light, than, with the involuntary 
 instinct of a prisoner, he cast away his spade, scampered off 
 as fast as his legs would carry him, and never once looked 
 back. 
 
A Nasty Custom 
 
 1 1 1 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 WASHINGTON. THE LEGISLATURE. AND THE PRESIDENT’S 
 HOUSE 
 
 We left Philadelphia by steamboat, at six o’clock one very 
 cold morning, and turned our faces towards Washington. 
 
 In the course of this day’s journey, as on subsequent 
 occasions, we encountered some Englishmen (small farmers, 
 perhaps, or country publicans at home) who were settled in 
 America, and were travelling on their own affairs. Of all 
 grades and kinds of men that jostle one in the public con- 
 veyances of the States, these are often the most intolerable 
 and the most insufferable companions. United to every 
 disagreeable characteristic that the worst kind of American 
 travellers possess, these countrymen of ours display an 
 amount of insolent conceit and cool assumption of superiority, 
 quite monstrous to behold. In the coarse familiarity of their 
 approach, and the effrontery of their inquisitiveness (which 
 they are in great haste to assert, as if they panted to revenge 
 themselves upon the decent old restraints of home), they 
 surpass any native specimens that came within my range 
 of observation: and I often grew so patriotic when I saw 
 and heard them, that I would cheerfully have submitted to 
 a reasonable fine, if I could have given any other country 
 in the whole world, the honour of claiming them for its 
 children. 
 
 As Washington may be called the head-quarters of tobacco- 
 tinctured saliva, the time is come when I must confess, 
 without any disguise, that the prevalence of those two odious 
 practices of chewing and expectorating began about this time 
 to be anything but agreeable, and soon became most offensive 
 and sickening. In all the public places of America, this filthy 
 custom is recognised. In the courts of law, the judge has 
 his spittoon, the crier his, the witness his, and the prisoner 
 his; while the jurymen and spectators are provided for, as 
 so many men who in the course of nature must desire to 
 spit incessantly. In the hospitals, the students of medicine 
 are requested, by notices upon the wall, to eject their tobacco 
 juice into the boxes provided for that purpose, and not to 
 
I 12 
 
 American Notes 
 
 discolour the stairs. In public buildings, visitors are im- 
 plored, through the same agency, to squirt the essence of 
 their quids, or “ plugs/’ as I have heard them called by 
 gentlemen learned in this kind of sweetmeat, into the national 
 spittoons, and not about the bases of the marble columns. 
 But in some parts, this custom is inseparably mixed up with 
 every meal and morning call, and with all the transactions 
 of social life. The stranger, who follows in the track I took 
 myself, will find it in its full bloom and glory, luxuriant in all 
 its alarming recklessness, at Washington. And let him not 
 persuade himself (as I once did, to my shame) that previous 
 tourists have exaggerated its extent. The thing itself is an 
 exaggeration of nastiness, which cannot be outdone. 
 
 On board this steamboat, there were two young gentlemen, 
 with shirt-collars reversed as usual, and armed with very 
 big walking-sticks; who planted two seats in the middle of 
 the deck, at a distance of some four paces apart; took out 
 their tobacco-boxes; and sat down opposite each other, to 
 chew. In less than a quarter of an hour’s time, these hope- 
 ful youths had shed about them on the clean boards, a 
 copious shower of yellow rain; clearing, by that means, a 
 kind of magic circle, within whose limits no intruders dared 
 to come, and which they never failed to refresh and re-refresh 
 before a spot was dry. This being before breakfast, rather 
 disposed me, I confess, to nausea; but looking attentively 
 at one of the expectorators, I plainly saw that he was young 
 in chewing, and felt inwardly uneasy, himself. A glow of 
 delight came over me at this discovery; and as I marked 
 his face turn paler and paler, and saw the ball of tobacco in 
 his left cheek, quiver with his suppressed agony, while yet 
 he spat, and chewed, and spat again, in emulation of his 
 older friend, I could have fallen on his neck and implored 
 him to go on for hours. 
 
 We all sat down to a comfortable breakfast in the cabin 
 below, where there was no more hurry or confusion than at 
 such a meal in England, and where there was certainly 
 greater politeness exhibited than at most of our stage-coach 
 banquets. At about nine o’clock we arrived at the railroad 
 station, and went on by the cars. At noon we turned out 
 again, to cross a wide river in another steamboat; landed 
 at a continuation of the railroad on the opposite shore; and 
 went on by other cars; in which, in the course of the next 
 
Waited on by Slaves 1 13 
 
 hour or so, we crossed by wooden bridges , each a mile in 
 length, two creeks, called respectively Great and Little 
 Gunpowder. The water in both was blackened with flights 
 of canvas-backed ducks, which are most delicious eating, and 
 abound hereabouts at that season of the year. 
 
 These bridges are of wood, have no parapet, and are only 
 just wide enough for the passage of the trains; which, in 
 the event of the smallest accident, would inevitably be 
 plunged into the river. They are startling contrivances, 
 and are most agreeable when passed. 
 
 We stopped to dine at Baltimore, and being now in Mary- 
 land, were waited on, for the first time, by slaves. The 
 sensation of exacting any service from human creatures who 
 are bought and sold, and being, for the time, a party as it 
 were to their condition, is not an enviable one. The institu- 
 tion exists, perhaps, in its least repulsive and most mitigated 
 form in such a town as this ; but it is slavery ; and though 
 I was, with respect to it, an innocent man, its presence filled 
 me with a sense of shame and self-reproach. 
 
 After dinner, we went down to the railroad again, and 
 took our seats in the cars for Washington. Being rather 
 early, those men and boys who happened to have nothing 
 particular to do, and were curious in foreigners, came 
 (according to custom) round the carriage in which I sat ; let 
 down all the windows ; thrust in their heads and shoulders ; 
 hooked themselves on conveniently, by their elbows; and 
 fell to comparing notes on the subject of my personal appear- 
 ance, with as much indifference as if I were a stuffed figure. 
 I never gained so much uncompromising information with 
 reference to my own nose and eyes, and various impressions 
 wTought by my mouth and chin on different minds, and how 
 my head looks when it is viewed from behind, as on these 
 occasions. Some gentlemen were only satisfied by exercising 
 their sense of touch; and the boys (who are surprisingly 
 precocious in America) were seldom satisfied, even by that, 
 but would return to the charge over and over again. Many 
 a budding president has walked into my room with his cap 
 on his head and his hands in his pockets, and stared at me 
 for two whole hours : occasionally refreshing himself with a 
 tweak of his nose, or a draught from the water-jug; or by 
 walking to the windows and inviting other boys in the street 
 below, to come up and do likewise: crying, “ Here he is ! ” 
 *e 
 
American Notes 
 
 1 14 
 
 “ Come on ! ” “ Bring all your brothers ! ” with other hos- 
 pitable entreaties of that nature. 
 
 We reached Washington at about half-past six that evening, 
 and had upon the way a beautiful view of the Capitol, which 
 is a fine building of the Corinthian order, placed upon a 
 noble and commanding eminence. Arrived at the hotel; I 
 saw no more of the place that night; being very tired, and 
 glad to get to bed. 
 
 Breakfast over next morning, I walk about the streets for 
 an hour or two, and, coming home, throw up the window in 
 the front and back, and look out. Here is Washington, 
 fresh in my mind and under my eye. 
 
 Take the worst parts of the City Road and Pentonville, 
 or the straggling outskirts of Paris, where the houses are 
 smallest, preserving all their oddities, but especially the 
 small shops and dwellings, occupied in Pentonville (but not 
 in Washington) by furniture-brokers, keepers of poor eating- 
 houses, and fanciers of birds. Bum the whole down; build 
 it up again in wood and plaster; widen it a little; throw in 
 part of St. John’s Wood; put green blinds outside all the 
 private houses, with a red curtain and a white one in every 
 window; plough up all the roads; plant a great deal of 
 coarse turf in every place where it ought not to be; erect 
 three handsome buildings in stone and marble, anywhere, 
 but the more entirely out of everybody’s way the better; call 
 one the Post Office, one the Patent Office, and one the 
 Treasury; make it scorching hot in the morning, and freez- 
 ing cold in the afternoon, with an occasional tornado of 
 wind and dust; leave a brick-field without the bricks, in 
 all central places where a street may naturally be expected ; 
 and that’s Washington. 
 
 The hotel in which we live, is a long row of small houses 
 fronting on the street, and opening at the back upon a 
 common yard, in which hangs a great triangle. Whenever 
 a servant is wanted, somebody beats on this triangle from 
 one stroke up to seven, according to the number of the house 
 in which his presence is required ; and as all the servants are 
 always being wanted, and none of them ever come, this en- 
 livening engine is in full performance the whole day through. 
 Clothes are drying in the same yard; female slaves, with 
 cotton handkerchiefs twisted round their heads, are running 
 to and fro on the hotel business; black waiters cross and 
 
Washington 115 
 
 recross with dishes in their hands; two great dogs are 
 playing upon a mound of loose bricks in the centre of the 
 little square; a pig is turning up his stomach to the sun, and 
 grunting “ that’s comfortable ! ” and neither the men, nor 
 the women, nor the dogs, nor the pig, nor any created 
 creature, takes the smallest notice of the triangle, which is 
 tingling madly all the time. 
 
 I walk to the front window, and look across the road upon 
 a long, straggling row of houses, one story high, terminating, 
 nearly opposite, but a little to the left, in a melancholy piece 
 of waste ground with frowzy grass, which looks like a small 
 piece of country that has taken to drinking, and has quite 
 lost itself. Standing anyhow and all wrong, upon this open 
 space, like something meteoric that has fallen down from the 
 moon, is an odd, lop-sided, one-eyed kind of wooden building, 
 that looks like a church, with a flag-staff as long as itself 
 sticking out of a steeple something larger than a tea-chest. 
 Under the window, is a small stand of coaches, whose slave- 
 drivers are sunning themselves on the steps of our door, and 
 talking idly together. The three most obtrusive houses near 
 at hand, are the three meanest. On one — a shop, which 
 never has anything in the window, and never has the door 
 open — is painted in large characters, “ The City Lunch.” 
 At another, which looks like a backway to somewhere else, 
 but is an independent building in itself, oysters are pro- 
 curable in every style. At the third, which is a very, very 
 little tailor’s shop, pants are fixed to order; or in other 
 words, pantaloons are made to measure. And that is our 
 street in Washington. 
 
 It is sometimes called the City of Magnificent Distances, 
 but it might with greater propriety be termed the City of 
 Magnificent Intentions ; for it is only on taking a bird’s-eye 
 view of it from the top of the Capitol, that one can at all 
 comprehend the vast designs of its projector, an aspiring 
 Frenchman. Spacious avenues, that begin in nothing, and 
 lead nowhere; streets, mile-long, that only want houses, 
 roads and inhabitants; public buildings that need but a 
 public to be complete ; and ornaments of great thoroughfares, 
 which only lack great thoroughfares to ornament — are its 
 leading features. One might fancy the season over, and 
 most of the houses gone out of town for ever with their 
 masters. To the admirers of cities it is a Barmecide Feast: 
 
American Notes 
 
 1 16 
 
 a pleasant field for the imagination to rove in ; a monument 
 raised to a deceased project, with not even a legible inscription 
 to record its departed greatness. 
 
 Such as it is, it is likely to remain. It was originally chosen 
 for the seat of Government, as a means of averting the con- 
 flicting jealousies and interests of the different States; and 
 very probably, too, as being remote from mobs ; a considera- 
 tion not to be slighted, even in America. It has no trade or 
 commerce of its own : having little or no population beyond 
 the President and his establishment; the members of the 
 legislature who reside there during the session ; the Govern- 
 ment clerks and officers employed in the various departments ; 
 the keepers of the hotels and boarding-houses; and the 
 tradesmen who supply their tables. It is very unhealthy. 
 Few people would live in Washington, I take it, who were 
 not obliged to reside there; and the tides of emigration and 
 speculation, those rapid and regardless currents, are little 
 likely to flow at any time towards such dull and sluggish 
 water. 
 
 The principal features of the Capitol, are, of course, the 
 two houses of Assembly. But there is, besides, in the 
 centre of the building, a fine rotunda, ninety-six feet in 
 diameter, and ninety-six high, whose circular wall is divided 
 into compartments, ornamented by historical pictures. Four 
 of these have for their subjects prominent events in the revolu- 
 tionary struggle. They were painted by Colonel Trumbull, 
 himself a member of Washington’s staff at the time of their 
 occurrence ; from which circumstance they derive a peculiar 
 interest of their own. In this same hall Mr. Greenough’s 
 large statue of Washington has been lately placed. It has 
 great merits of course, but it struck me as being rather 
 strained and violent for its subject. I could wish, however, 
 to have seen it in a better light than it can ever be viewed in, 
 where it stands. 
 
 There is a very pleasant and commodious library in the 
 Capitol ; and from a balcony in front, the bird’s-eye view, of 
 which I have just spoken, may be had, together with a 
 beautiful prospect of the adjacent country. In one of the 
 ornamented portions of the building, there is a figure of 
 Justice; whereunto the Guide Book says, “ the artist at first 
 contemplated giving more of nudity, but he was warned that 
 the public sentiment of this country would not admit of it, 
 
Impressions of the Legislature 1 1 7 
 
 and in his caution he has gone, perhaps, into the opposite 
 extreme.” Poor Justice! she has been made to wear much 
 stranger garments in America than those she pines in, in the 
 Capitol. Let us hope that she has changed her dressmaker 
 since they were fashioned, and that the public sentiment of 
 the country did not cut out the clothes she hides her lovely 
 figure in, just now. 
 
 The House of Representatives is a beautiful and spacious 
 hall, of semicircular shape, supported by handsome pillars. 
 One part of the gallery is appropriated to the ladies, and 
 there they sit in front rows, and come in, and go out, as at 
 a play or concert. The chair is canopied, and raised con- 
 siderably above the floor of the House; and every member 
 has an easy chair and a writing-desk to himself: which is 
 denounced by some people out of doors as a most unfortunate 
 and injudicious arrangement, tending to long sittings and 
 prosaic speeches. It is an elegant chamber to look at, but a 
 singularly bad one for all purposes of hearing. The Senate, 
 which is smaller, is free from this objection, and is exceed- 
 ingly well adapted to the uses for which it is designed. The 
 sittings, I need hardly add, take place in the day; and 
 the parliamentary forms are modelled on those of the old 
 country. 
 
 I was sometimes asked, in my progress through other 
 places, whether I had not been very much impressed by the 
 heads of the law-makers at Washington; meaning not their 
 chiefs and leaders, but literally their individual and personal 
 heads, whereon their hair grew, and whereby the phreno- 
 logical character of each legislator was expressed: and I 
 almost as often struck my questioner dumb with indignant 
 consternation by answering “ No, that I didn’t remember 
 being at all overcome.” As I must, at whatever hazard, 
 repeat the avowal here, I will follow it up by relating my 
 impressions on this subject in as few words as possible. 
 
 In the first place — it may be from some imperfect develop- 
 ment of my organ of veneration — I do not remember having 
 ever fainted away, or having even been moved to tears of 
 joyful pride, at sight of any legislative body. I have borne 
 the House of Commons like a man, and have yielded to no 
 weakness, but slumber, in the House of Lords. I have seen 
 elections for borough and county, and have never been 
 impelled (no matter which party won) to damage my hat by 
 
American Notes 
 
 1 1 8 
 
 throwing it up into the air in triumph, or to crack my voice 
 by shouting forth any reference to our Glorious Constitution, 
 to the noble purity of our independent voters, or, the un- 
 impeachable integrity of our independent members. Having 
 withstood such strong attacks upon my fortitude, it is 
 possible that I may be of a cold and insensible temperament, 
 amounting to iciness, in such matters; and therefore my 
 impressions of the live pillars of the Capitol at Washington 
 must be received with such grains of allowance as this free 
 confession may seem to demand. 
 
 Did I see in this public body an assemblage of men, bound 
 together in the sacred names of Liberty, and Freedom, and 
 so asserting the chaste dignity of those twin goddesses, in ail 
 their discussions, as to exalt at once the Eternal Principles 
 to which their names are given, and their own character and 
 the character of their countrymen, in the admiring eyes of 
 the whole world ? 
 
 It was but a week, since an aged, grey-haired man, a 
 lasting honour to the land that gave him birth, who has 
 done good service to his country, as his forefathers did, and 
 who will be remembered scores upon scores of years after 
 the worms bred in its corruption, are but so many grains of 
 dust — it was but a week, since this old man had stood for 
 days upon his trial before this very body, charged with 
 having dared to assert the infamy of that traffic, which has 
 for its accursed merchandise men and women, and their 
 unborn children. Yes. And publicly exhibited in the same 
 city all the w r hile; gilded, framed and glazed; hung up for 
 general admiration ; shown to strangers not with shame, but 
 pride; its face not turned towards the wall, itself not taken 
 down and burned; is the Unanimous Declaration of the 
 Thirteen United States of America, which solemnly declares 
 that All Men are created Equal; and are endowed by their 
 Creator with the Inalienable Rights of Life, Liberty, and the 
 Pursuit of Happiness ! 
 
 It was not a month, since this same body had sat calmly 
 by, and heard a man, one of themselves, with oaths which 
 beggars in their drink reject, threaten to cut another’s throat 
 from ear to ear. There he sat, among them; not crushed 
 by the general feeling of the assembly, but as good a man 
 as any. 
 
 There was but a week to come, and another of that body, 
 
Impressions of the Legislature 1 19 
 
 for doing his duty to those who sent him there ; for claiming 
 in a Republic the Liberty and Freedom of expressing their 
 sentiments, and making known their prayer; would be tried, 
 found guilty, and have strong censure passed upon him by 
 the rest. His was a grave offence indeed; for years before, 
 he had risen up and said, “ A gang of male and female slaves 
 for sale, warranted to breed like cattle, linked to each other 
 by iron fetters, are passing now along the open street beneath 
 the windows of your Temple of Equality ! Look ! ” But 
 there are many kinds of hunters engaged in the Pursuit of 
 Happiness, and they go variously armed. It is the Inalien- 
 able Right of some among them, to take the field after their 
 Happiness equipped with cat and cartwhip, stocks, and iron 
 collar, and to shout their view halloa! (always in praise of 
 Liberty) to the music of clanking chains and bloody stripes. 
 
 Where sat the many legislators of coarse threats ; of words 
 and blows such as coalheavers deal upon each other, when 
 they forget their breeding? On every side. Every session 
 had its anecdotes of that kind, and the actors were all there. 
 
 Did I recognise in this assembly, a body of men, who, 
 applying themselves in a new world to correct some of the 
 falsehoods and vices of the old, purified the avenues to Public 
 Life, paved the dirty ways to Place and Power, debated and 
 made laws for the Common Good, and had no party but 
 their Country ? 
 
 I saw in them, the wheels that move the meanest perversion 
 of virtuous Political Machinery that the worst tools ever 
 wrought. Despicable trickery at elections; under-handed 
 tamperings with public officers; cowardly attacks upon 
 opponents, with scurrilous newspapers for shields, and hired 
 pens for daggers ; shameful trucklings to mercenary knaves, 
 whose claim to be considered, is, that every day and week 
 they sow new crops of ruin with their venal types, which 
 are the dragon’s teeth of yore, in everything but sharpness; 
 aidings and abettings of every bad inclination in the popular 
 mind, and artful suppressions of all its good influences : such 
 things as these, and in a word, Dishonest Faction in its most 
 depraved and most unblushing form, stared out from every 
 comer of the crowded hall. 
 
 Did I see among them, the intelligence and refinement: 
 the true, honest, patriotic heart of America? Here and 
 there, were drops of its blood and life, but they scarcely 
 
I 20 
 
 American Notes 
 
 coloured the stream of desperate adventurers which sets that 
 way for profit and for pay. It is the game of these men, and 
 of their profligate organs, to make the strife of politics so 
 fierce and brutal, and so destructive of all self-respect in 
 worthy men, that sensitive and delicate-minded persons shall 
 be kept aloof, and they, and such as they, be left to battle 
 out their selfish views unchecked. And thus this lowest of 
 all scrambling fights goes on, and they who in other countries 
 would, from their intelligence and station, most aspire to make 
 the laws, do here recoil the farthest from that degradation. 
 
 That there are, among the representatives of the people 
 in both Houses, and among all parties, some men of high 
 character and great abilities, I need not say. The foremost 
 among those politicians who are known in Europe, have been 
 already described, and I see no reason to depart from the 
 rule I have laid down for my guidance, of abstaining from 
 all mention of individuals. It will be sufficient to add, that 
 to the most favourable accounts that have been written of 
 them, I more than fully and most heartily subscribe; and 
 that personal intercourse and free communication have bred 
 within me, not the result predicted in the very doubtful 
 proverb, but increased admiration and respect. They are 
 striking men to look at, hard to deceive, prompt to act, lions 
 in energy, Crichtons in varied accomplishments, Indians in 
 fire of eye and gesture, Americans in strong and generous 
 impulse ; and they as well represent the honour and wisdom 
 of their country at home, as the distinguished gentleman who 
 is now its Minister at the British Court sustains its highest 
 character abroad. 
 
 I visited both houses nearly every day, during my stay 
 in Washington. On my initiatory visit to the House of 
 Representatives, they divided against a decision of the chair; 
 but the chair won. The second time I went, the member 
 who was speaking, being interrupted by a laugh, mimicked 
 it, as one child would in quarrelling with another, and 
 added, “ that he would make honourable gentlemen opposite, 
 sing out a little more on the other side of their mouths 
 presen tly.” But interruptions are rare; the speaker being 
 usually heard in silence. There are more quarrels than 
 with us, and more threatenings than gentlemen are accus- 
 tomed to exchange in any civilised society of which we have 
 record: but farm-yard imitations have not as yet been im- 
 
The Senate 
 
 I 21 
 
 ported from the Parliament of the United Kingdom. The 
 feature in oratory which appears to be the most practised, 
 and most relished, is the constant repetition of the same 
 idea or shadow of an idea in fresh words; and the inquiry 
 out of doors is not, “ What did he say? ” but, “ Plow long 
 did he speak? ” These, however, are but enlargements of a 
 principle which prevails elsewhere. 
 
 The Senate is a dignified and decorous body, and its pro- 
 ceedings are conducted with much gravity and order. Both 
 houses are handsomely carpeted; but the state to which 
 these carpets are reduced by the universal disregard of the 
 spittoon with which every honourable member is accommo- 
 dated, and the extraordinary improvements on the pattern 
 which are squirted and dabbled upon it in every direction, 
 do not admit of being described. I will merely observe, 
 that I strongly recommend all strangers not to look at the 
 floor; and if they happen to drop anything, though it be 
 their purse, not to pick it up with an ungloved hand on any 
 account. 
 
 It is somewhat remarkable too, at first, to say the least, 
 to see so many honourable members with swelled faces ; and 
 it is scarcely less remarkable to discover that this appearance 
 is caused by the quantity of tobacco they contrive to stow 
 within the hollow of the cheek. It is strange enough too, to 
 see an honourable gentleman leaning back in his tilted chair 
 with his legs on the desk before him, shaping a convenient 
 “ plug ” with his penknife, and when it is quite ready for 
 use, shooting the old one from his mouth, as from a pop-gun, 
 and clapping the new one in its place. 
 
 I was surprised to observe that even steady old chewers of 
 great experience, are not always good marksmen, which has 
 rather inclined me to doubt that general proficiency with the 
 rifle, of which we have heard so much in England. Several 
 gentlemen called upon me who, in the course of conversation, 
 frequently missed the spittoon at five paces; and one (but he 
 was certainly short-sighted) mistook the closed sash for the 
 open window, at three. On another occasion, when I dined 
 out, and was sitting with two ladies and some gentlemen 
 round a fire before dinner, one of the company fell short of 
 the fireplace, six distinct times. I am disposed to think, 
 however, that this was occasioned by his not aiming at that 
 object; as there was a white marble hearth before the fender, 
 
122 American Notes 
 
 which was more convenient, and may have suited his purpose 
 better. 
 
 The Patent Office at Washington, furnishes an extraor- 
 dinary example of American enterprise and ingenuity; for 
 the immense number of models it contains, are the accumu- 
 lated inventions of only five years ; the whole of the previous 
 collection having been destroyed by fire. The elegant 
 structure in which they are arranged, is one of design rather 
 than execution, for there is but one side erected out of four, 
 though the works are stopped. The Post Office is a very 
 compact and very beautiful building. In one of the depart- 
 ments, among a collection of rare and curious articles, are 
 deposited the presents which have been made from time to 
 time to the American ambassadors at foreign courts by the 
 various potentates to whom they were the accredited agents 
 of the Republic ; gifts which by the law they are not permitted 
 to retain. I confess that I looked upon this as a very painful 
 exhibition, and one by no means flattering to the national 
 standard of honesty and honour. That can scarcely be a 
 high state of moral feeling which imagines a gentleman of 
 repute and station, likely to be corrupted, in the discharge of 
 his duty, by the present of a snuff-box, or a richly-mounted 
 sword, or an Eastern shawl; and surely the Nation who 
 reposes confidence in her appointed servants, is likely to be 
 better served, than she who makes them the subject of 
 such very mean and paltry suspicions. 
 
 At George Town, in the suburbs, there is a Jesuit College; 
 delightfully situated, and, so far as I had an opportunity of 
 seeing, well managed. Many persons who are not members 
 of the Romish Church, avail themselves, I believe, of these 
 institutions, and of the advantageous opportunities they 
 afford for the education of their children. The heights of 
 this neighbourhood, above the Potomac River, are very 
 picturesque: and are free, I should conceive, from some of 
 the insalubrities of Washington. The air, at that eleva- 
 tion, was quite cool and refreshing, when in the city it was 
 burning hot. 
 
 The President’s mansion is more like an English club- 
 house, both within and without, than any other kind of 
 establishment with which I can compare it. The ornamental 
 ground about it has been laid out in garden walks ; they are 
 pretty, and agreeable to the eye; though they have that 
 
The White House 
 
 123 
 
 uncomfortable air of having been made yesterday, which is 
 far from favourable to the display of such beauties. 
 
 My first visit to this house was on the morning after my 
 arrival, when I was carried thither by an official gentleman, 
 who was so kind as to charge himself with my presentation 
 to the President. 
 
 We entered a large hall, and having twice or thrice rung a 
 bell which nobody answered, walked without further cere- 
 mony through the rooms on the ground floor, as divers otheT 
 gentlemen (mostly with their hats on, and their hands in their 
 pockets) were doing very leisurely. Some of these had ladies 
 with them, to whom they were showing the premises ; others 
 were lounging on the chairs and sofas; others, in a perfect 
 state of exhaustion from listlessness, were yawning drearily. 
 The greater portion of this assemblage were rather asserting 
 their supremacy than doing anything else, as they had no 
 particular business there, that anybody knew of. A few 
 were closely eyeing the movables, as if to make quite sure 
 that the President (who was far from popular) had not made 
 away with any of the furniture, or sold the fixtures for his 
 private benefit. 
 
 After glancing at these loungers ; who were scattered over 
 a pretty drawing-room, opening upon a terrace which com- 
 manded a beautiful prospect of the river and the adjacent 
 country; and who were sauntering, too, about a larger state- 
 room called the Eastern Drawing-room; we went upstairs 
 into another chamber, where were certain visitors, waiting for 
 audiences. At sight of my conductor, a black in plain clothes 
 and yellow slippers who was gliding noiselessly about, and 
 whispering messages in the ears of the more impatient, made 
 a sign of recognition, and glided off to announce him. 
 
 We had previously looked into another chamber fitted all 
 round with a great bare wooden desk or counter, whereon lay 
 files of newspapers, to which sundry gentlemen were referring. 
 But there were no such means of beguiling the time in this 
 apartment, which was as unpromising and tiresome as any 
 waiting-room in one of our public establishments, or any 
 physician’s dining-room during his hours of consultation at 
 home. 
 
 There were some fifteen or twenty persons in the room. 
 One, a tall, wiry, muscular old man, from the west; sunburnt 
 and swarthy; with a brown white hat on his knees, and a 
 
American Notes 
 
 1 24 
 
 giant umbrella resting between his legs ; who sat bolt upright 
 in his chair, frowning steadily at the carpet, and twitching 
 the hard lines about his mouth, as if he had made up his 
 mind “ to fix ” the President on what he had to say, and 
 wouldn’t bate him a grain. Another, a Kentucky farmer, 
 six-feet-six in height, with his hat on, and his hands under his 
 coat-tails, who leaned against the wall and kicked the floor 
 with his heel, as though he had Time’s head under his shoe, 
 and were literally “ killing ” him. A third, an oval-faced, 
 bilious-looking man, with sleek black hair cropped close, and 
 whiskers and beard shaved down to blue dots, who sucked the 
 head of a thick stick, and from time to time took it out of his 
 mouth, to see how it was getting on. A fourth did nothing 
 but whistle. A fifth did nothing but spit. And indeed all 
 these gentlemen were so very persevering and energetic in this 
 latter particular, and bestowed their favours so abundantly 
 upon the carpet, that I take it for granted the Presidential 
 housemaids have high wages, or, to speak more genteelly, an 
 ample amount of “ compensation which is the American 
 word for salary, in the case of all public servants. 
 
 We had not waited in this room many minutes, before the 
 black messenger returned, and conducted us into another of 
 smaller dimensions, where, at a business-like table covered 
 with papers, sat the President himself. He looked somewhat 
 worn and anxious, and well he might; being at war with 
 everybody — but the expression of his face was mild and 
 pleasant, and his manner was remarkably unaffected, gentle- 
 manly, and agreeable. I thought that in his whole carriage 
 and demeanour, he became his station singularly well. 
 
 Being advised that the sensible etiquette of the republican 
 court, admitted of a traveller, like myself, declining, without 
 any impropriety, an invitation to dinner, which did not reach 
 me until I had concluded my arrangements for leaving 
 Washington some days before that to which it referred, I only 
 returned to this house once. It was on the occasion of one 
 of those general assemblies which are held on certain nights, 
 between the hours of nine and twelve o’clock, and are called, 
 rather oddly, Levees. 
 
 I went, with my wife, at about ten. There was a pretty 
 dense crowd of carriages and people in the court-yard, and so 
 far as I could make out, there were no very clear regulations 
 for the taking up or setting down of company. There were 
 
The President’s Levee 
 
 I2 S 
 
 certainly no policemen to soothe startled horses, either by 
 sawing at their bridles or flourishing truncheons in their eyes ; 
 and I am ready to make oath that no inoffensive persons were 
 knocked violently on the head, or poked acutely in their backs 
 or stomachs ; or brought to a stand-still by any such gentle 
 means, and then taken into custody for not moving on. But 
 there was no confusion or disorder. Our carriage reached the 
 porch in its turn, without any blustering, swearing, shouting, 
 backing, or other disturbance: and we dismounted with as 
 much ease and comfort as though we had been escorted by the 
 whole Metropolitan Force from A to Z inclusive. 
 
 The suite of rooms on the ground-floor, were lighted up; 
 and a military band was playing in the hall. In the smaller 
 drawing-room, the centre of a circle of company, were the 
 President and his daughter-in-law, who acted as the lady of 
 the mansion; and a very interesting, graceful, and accom- 
 plished lady too. One gentleman who stood among this 
 group, appeared to take upon himself the functions of a 
 master of the ceremonies. I saw no other officers or atten- 
 dants, and none were needed. 
 
 The great drawing-room, which I have already mentioned, 
 and the other chambers on the ground-floor, were crowded to 
 excess. The company was not, in our sense of the term, 
 select, for it comprehended persons of very many grades and 
 classes; nor was there any great display of costly attire: 
 indeed, some of the costumes may have been, for aught I 
 know, grotesque enough. But the decorum and propriety of 
 behaviour which prevailed, were unbroken by any rude or 
 disagreeable incident; and every man, even among the 
 miscellaneous crowd in the hall who were admitted without 
 any orders or tickets to look on, appeared to feel that he 
 was a part of the Institution, and was responsible for its 
 preserving a becoming character, and appearing to the best 
 advantage. 
 
 That these visitors, too, whatever their station, were not 
 without some refinement of taste and appreciation of intel- 
 lectual gifts, and gratitude to those men who, by the peaceful 
 exercise of great abilities, shed new charms and associations 
 upon the homes of their countrymen, and elevate their char- 
 acter in other lands, was most earnestly testified by their 
 reception of Washington Irving, my dear friend, who had 
 recently been appointed Minister at the court of Spain, and 
 
American Notes 
 
 i 26 
 
 who was among them that night, in his new character, for 
 the first and last time before going abroad. I sincerely 
 believe that in all the madness of American politics, few 
 public men would have been so earnestly, devotedly, and 
 affectionately caressed, as this most charming writer: and 
 I have seldom respected a public assembly more, than I did 
 this eager throng, when I saw them turning with one mind 
 from noisy orators and officers of state, and flocking with a 
 generous and honest impulse round the man of quiet pur- 
 suits: proud in his promotion as reflecting back upon their 
 country: and grateful to him with their whole hearts for the 
 store of graceful fancies he had poured out among them. 
 Long may he dispense such treasures with unsparing hand ; 
 and long may they remember him as worthily ! 
 
 The term we had assigned for the duration of our stay in 
 Washington, was now at an end, and we were to begin to 
 travel; for the railroad distances we had traversed yet, in 
 journeying among these older towns, are on that great 
 continent looked upon as nothing. 
 
 I had at first intended going South — to Charleston. But 
 when I came to consider the length of time which this journey 
 would occupy, and the premature heat of the season, which 
 even at Washington had been often very trying; and weighed 
 moreover, in my own mind, the pain of living in the constant 
 contemplation of slavery, against the more than doubtful 
 chances of my ever seeing it, in the time I had to spare, 
 stripped of the disguises in which it would certainly be 
 dressed, and so adding any item to the host of facts already 
 heaped together on the subject; I began to listen to old 
 whisperings which had often been present to me at home in 
 England, when I little thought of ever being here; and to 
 dream again of cities growing up, like palaces in fairy tales, 
 among the wilds and forests of the west. 
 
 The advice I received in most quarters when I began to 
 yield to my desire of travelling towards that point of the 
 compass was, according to custom, sufficiently cheerless: 
 my companion being threatened with more perils, dangers, 
 and discomforts, than I can remember or would catalogue 
 if I could ; but of which it will be sufficient to remark that 
 blowings-up in steamboats and breakings-down in coaches 
 
On the Potomac 
 
 127 
 
 were among the least. But, having a western route sketched 
 out for me by the best and kindest authority to which I could 
 have resorted, and putting no great faith in these discourage- 
 ments, I soon determined on my plan of action. 
 
 This was to travel south, only to Richmond in Virginia; 
 and then to turn, and shape our course for the Far West; 
 whither I beseech the reader’s company, in a new chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A NIGHT STEAMER ON THE POTOMAC RIVER. VIRGINIA ROAD, 
 AND A BLACK DRIVER. RICHMOND. BALTIMORE. THE 
 HARRISBURG MAIL, AND A GLIMPSE OF THE CITY. A 
 CANAL BOAT 
 
 We were to proceed in the first instance by steamboat; and 
 as it is usual to sleep on board, in consequence of the starting- 
 hour being four o’clock in the morning, we went down to 
 where she lay, at that very uncomfortable time for such 
 expeditions when slippers are most valuable, and a familiar 
 bed, in the perspective of an hour or two, looks uncommonly 
 pleasant. 
 
 It is ten o’clock at night: say half-past ten: moonlight, 
 warm, and dull enough. The steamer (not unlike a child’s 
 Noah’s ark in form, with the machinery on the top of the 
 roof) is riding lazily up and down, and bumping clumsily 
 against the wooden pier, as the ripple of the river trifles with 
 its unwieldy carcase. The wharf is some distance from the 
 city. There is nobody down here; and one or two dull lamps 
 upon the steamer’s decks are the only signs of life remaining, 
 when our coach has driven away. As soon as our footsteps 
 are heard upon the planks, a fat negress, particularly favoured 
 by nature in respect of bustle, emerges from some dark stairs, 
 and marshals my wife towards the ladies’ cabin, to which 
 retreat she goes, followed by a mighty bale of cloaks and 
 great-coats. I valiantly resolve not to go to bed at all, but 
 to walk up and down the pier till morning. 
 
 I begin my promenade — thinking of all kinds of distant 
 things and persons, and of nothing near — and pace up and 
 
American Notes 
 
 1 28 
 
 down for half-an-hour. Then I go on board again; and get- 
 ting into the light of one of the lamps, look at my watch and 
 think it must have stopped; and wonder what has become of 
 the faithful secretary whom I brought along with me from 
 Boston. He is supping with our late landlord (a Field Mar- 
 shal, at least, no doubt) in honour of our departure, and may 
 be two hours longer. I walk again, but it gets duller and 
 duller: the moon goes down: next June seems farther off in 
 the dark, and the echoes of my footsteps make me nervous. 
 It has turned cold too ; and walking up and down without my 
 companion in such lonely circumstances, is but poor amuse- 
 ment. So I break my staunch resolution, and think it may 
 be, perhaps, as well to go to bed. 
 
 I go on board again; open the door of the gentlemen’s 
 cabin; and walk in. Somehow or other — from its being so 
 quiet, I suppose — I have taken it into my head that there 
 is nobody there. To my horror and amazement it is full of 
 sleepers in every stage, shape, attitude, and variety of 
 slumber: in the berths, on the chairs, on the floors, on the 
 tables, and particularly round the stove, my detested enemy. 
 I take another step forward, and slip on the shining face of a 
 black steward, who lies rolled in a blanket on the floor. He 
 jumps up, grins, half in pain and half in hospitality; whispers 
 my own name in my ear; and groping among the sleepers, 
 leads me to my berth. Standing beside it, I count these 
 slumbering passengers, and get past forty. There is no use 
 in going further, so I begin to undress. As the chairs are 
 all occupied, and there is nothing else to put my clothes on, 
 I deposit them upon the ground: not without soiling my 
 hands, for it is in the same condition as the carpets in the 
 Capitol, and from the same cause. Having but partially 
 undressed, I clamber on my shelf, and hold the curtain open 
 for a few minutes while I look round on all my fellow- 
 travellers again. That done, I let it fall on them, and on the 
 world: turn round: and go to sleep. 
 
 I wake, of course, when we get under weigh, for there is a 
 good deal of noise. The day is then just breaking. Every- 
 body wakes at the same time. Some are self-possessed 
 directly, and some are much perplexed to make out where 
 they are until they have rubbed their eyes, and leaning on 
 one elbow, looked about them. Some yawn, some groan, 
 nearly all spit, and a few get up. I am among the risers : for 
 
A Night Steamer 129 
 
 it is easy to feel, without going into the fresh air, that the 
 atmosphere of the cabin is vile in the last degree. I huddle 
 on my clothes, go down into the fore-cabin, get shaved by 
 the barber, and wash myself. The washing and dressing 
 apparatus for the passengers generally, consists of two jack- 
 towels, three small wooden basins, a keg of water and a ladle 
 to serve it out with, six square inches of looking-glass, two 
 ditto ditto of yellow soap, a comb and brush for the head, 
 and nothing for the teeth. Everybody uses the comb and 
 brush, except myself. Everybody stares to see me using my 
 own; and two or three gentlemen are strongly disposed to 
 banter me on my prejudices, but don’t. When I have made 
 my toilet, I go upon the hurricane-deck, and set in for two 
 hours of hard walking up and down. The sun is rising bril- 
 liantly; we are passing Mount Vernon, where Washington 
 lies buried; the river is wide and rapid; and its banks are 
 beautiful. All the glory and splendour of the day are coming 
 on, and growing brighter every minute. 
 
 At eight o’clock, we breakfast in the cabin where I passed 
 the night, but the windows and doors are all thrown open, 
 and now it is fresh enough. There is no hurry or greediness 
 apparent in the dispatch of the meal. It is longer than a 
 travelling breakfast with us ; more orderly, and more polite. 
 
 Soon after nine o’clock we come to Potomac Creek, where 
 we are to land; and then comes the oddest part of the 
 journey. Seven stage-coaches are preparing to carry us on. 
 Some of them are ready, some of them are not ready. Some 
 of the drivers are blacks, some whites. There are four horses 
 to each coach, and all the horses, harnessed or unharnessed, 
 are there. The passengers are getting out of the steamboat 
 and into the coaches; the luggage is being transferred in 
 noisy wheelbarrows ; the horses are frightened, and impatient 
 to start; the black drivers are chattering to them like so 
 many monkeys ; and the white ones whooping like so many 
 drovers : for the main thing to be done in all kinds of hostler- 
 ing here, is to make as much noise as possible. The coaches 
 are something like the French coaches, but not nearly so 
 good. In lieu of springs, they are hung on bands of the 
 strongest leather. There is very little choice or difference 
 between them; and they may be likened to the car portion 
 of the swings at an English fair, roofed, put upon axle-trees 
 and wheels, and curtained with painted canvas. They are 
 
American Notes 
 
 13° 
 
 covered with mud from the roof to the wheel-tire, and have 
 never been cleaned since they were first built. 
 
 The tickets we have received on board the steamboat are 
 marked No. 1, so we belong to coach No. 1. I throw my 
 coat on the box, and hoist my wife and her maid into the 
 inside. It has only one step, and that being about a yard 
 from the ground, is usually approached by a chair: when 
 there is no chair, ladies trust in Providence. The coach 
 holds nine inside, having a seat across from door to door, 
 where we in England put our legs: so that there is only 
 one feat more difficult in the performance than getting in, 
 and that is, getting out again. There is only one outside 
 passenger, and he sits upon the box. As I am that one, I 
 climb up; and while they are strapping the luggage on the 
 roof, and heaping it into a kind of tray behind, have a good 
 opportunity of looking at the driver. 
 
 He is a negro — very black indeed. He is dressed in a 
 coarse pepper-and-salt suit excessively patched and darned 
 (particularly at the knees), grey stockings, enormous un- 
 blacked high-low shoes, and very short trousers. He has two 
 odd gloves : one of parti-coloured worsted, and one of leather. 
 He has a very short whip, broken in the middle and bandaged 
 up with string. And yet he wears a low-crowned, broad- 
 brimmed, black hat : faintly shadowing forth a kind of insane 
 imitation of an English coachman ! But somebody in 
 authority cries “ Go ahead! ” as I am making these observa- 
 tions. The mail takes the lead in a four-horse waggon, and 
 all the coaches follow in procession: headed by No. 1. 
 
 By-the-way, whenever an Englishman would cry “ All 
 right! ” an American cries “ Go ahead! ” which is somewhat 
 expressive of the national character of the two countries. 
 
 The first half-mile of the road is over bridges made of 
 loose planks laid across two parallel poles, which tilt up as 
 the wheels roll over them; and in the river. The river has 
 a clayey bottom and is full of holes, so that half a horse is 
 constantly disappearing unexpectedly, and can’t be found 
 again for some time. 
 
 But we get past even this, and come to the road itself, 
 which is a series of alternate swamps and gravel-pits. A 
 tremendous place is close before us, the black driver rolls 
 his eyes, screws his mouth up very round, and looks straight 
 between the two leaders, as if he were saying to himself. 
 
The Black Driver 
 
 1 3 1 
 
 “ We have done this often before, but now I think we shall 
 have a crash.” He takes a rein in each hand; jerks and 
 pulls at both; and dances on the splashboard w r ith both feet 
 (keeping his seat, of course) like the late lamented Ducrow 
 on two of his fiery coursers. We come to the spot, sink down 
 in the mire nearly to the coach windows, tilt on one side at 
 an angle of forty-five degrees, and stick there. The insides 
 scream dismally; the coach stops; the horses flounder; 
 all the other six coaches stop; and their four-and-twenty 
 horses flounder likewise: but merely for company, and in 
 sympathy with ours. Then the following circumstances 
 occur. 
 
 Black Driver (to the horses). “ Hi ! ” 
 
 Nothing happens. Insides scream again. 
 
 Black Driver (to the horses). “ Ho ! ” 
 
 Horses plunge, and splash the black driver. 
 
 Gentleman inside (looking out). “ Why, what on 
 airth ” 
 
 Gentleman receives a variety of splashes and draws his 
 head in again, without finishing his question or waiting for 
 an answer. 
 
 Black Driver (still to the horses). “ Jiddy ! Jiddy ! ” 
 
 Horses pull violently, drag the coach out of the hole, and 
 draw it up a bank; so steep, that the black drivers legs fly 
 up into the air, and he goes back among the luggage on the 
 roof. But he immediately recovers himself, and cries (still 
 to the horses), 
 
 “ Pill ! ” 
 
 No effect. On the contrary, the coach begins to roll back 
 upon No. 2, which rolls back upon No. 3, which rolls back 
 upon No. 4, and so on, until No. 7 is heard to curse and swear, 
 nearly a quarter of a mile behind. 
 
 Black Driver (louder than before). “ Pill! ” 
 
 Horses make another struggle to get up the bank, and 
 again the coach rolls backward. 
 
 Black Driver (louder than before). “ Pe-e-e-ill ! ” 
 
 Horses make a desperate struggle. 
 
 Black Driver (recovering spirits). “ Hi, Jiddv, Jiddy. 
 
 pai i” 
 
 Horses make another effort. 
 
 Black Driver (with great vigour). 
 
 Jiddy, Jiddy. Pill. Ally Loo !” 
 
 “ Ally Loo ! Hi. 
 
American Notes 
 
 132 
 
 Horses almost do it. 
 
 Black Driver (with his eyes starting out of his head). 
 “ Lee, den. Lee, dere. Hi. Jiddy, Jiddy. Pill. Ally Loo. 
 Lee-e-e-e-e ! ” 
 
 They run up the bank, and go down again on the other 
 side at a fearful pace. It is impossible to stop them, and at 
 the bottom there is a deep hollow, full of water. The coach 
 rolls frightfully. The insides scream. The mud and water 
 fly about us. The black driver dances like a madman. 
 Suddenly we are all right by some extraordinary means, and 
 stop to breathe. 
 
 A black friend of the black driver is sitting on a fence. 
 The black driver recognises him by twirling his head round 
 and round like a harlequin, rolling his eyes, shrugging his 
 shoulders, and grinning from ear to ear. He stops short, 
 turns to me, and says : 
 
 “ We shall get you through sa, like a fiddle, and hope a 
 please you when we get you through sa. Old ’ooman at 
 home sa: ” chuckling very much. “ Outside gentleman sa, 
 he often remember old ’ooman at home sa,” grinning again. 
 
 “ Ay, ay, we’ll take care of the old woman. Don’t be 
 afraid.” 
 
 The black driver grins again, but there is another hole, 
 and beyond that, another bank, close before us. So he stops 
 short: cries (to the horses again) “ Easy. Easy den. Ease. 
 Steady. Hi. Jiddy. Pill. Ally. Loo,” but never “ Lee ! ” 
 until we are reduced to the very last extremity, and are in the 
 midst of difficulties, extrication from which appears to be all 
 but impossible. 
 
 And so we do the ten miles or thereabouts in two hours 
 and a half; breaking no bones, though bruising a great 
 many; and in short getting through the distance, “ like a 
 fiddle.” 
 
 This singular kind of coaching terminates at Fredericks- 
 burgh, whence there is a railway to Richmond. The tract 
 of country through which it takes its course was once pro- 
 ductive; but the soil has been exhausted by the system of 
 employing a great amount of slave labour in forcing crops, 
 without strengthening the land: and it is now little better 
 than a sandy desert overgrown with trees. Dreary and 
 uninteresting as its aspect is, I was glad to the heart to find 
 anything on which one of the curses of this horrible institution 
 
The Results of Slavery 133 
 
 has fallen; and had greater pleasure in contemplating the 
 withered ground, than the richest and most thriving cultiva- 
 tion in the same place could possibly have afforded me. 
 
 In this district, as in all others where slavery sits brooding, 
 (I have frequently heard this admitted, even by those who 
 are its warmest advocates :) there is an air of ruin and decay 
 abroad, which is inseparable from the system. The bams 
 and outhouses are mouldering away; the sheds are patched 
 and half roofless; the log cabins (built in Virginia with 
 external chimneys made of clay or wood) are squalid in the 
 last degree. There is no look of decent comfort anywhere. 
 The miserable stations by the railway side; the great wild 
 wood-yards, whence the engine is supplied with fuel; the 
 negro children rolling on the ground before the cabin doors, 
 with dogs and pigs ; the biped beasts of burden slinking past : 
 gloom and dejection are upon them all. 
 
 In the negro car belonging to the train in which we made 
 this journey, were a mother and her children who had just 
 been purchased; the husband and father being left behind 
 with their old owner. The children cried the whole way, and 
 the mother was misery’s picture. The champion of Life, 
 Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness, who had bought them, 
 rode in the same train; and, every time we stopped, got 
 down to see that they were safe. The black in Sinbad’s 
 Travels with one eye in the middle of his forehead which 
 shone like a burning coal, was nature’s aristocrat compared 
 with this white gentleman. 
 
 It was between six and seven o’clock in the evening, when 
 we drove to the hotel : in front of which, and on the top of 
 the broad flight of steps leading to the door, two or three 
 citizens were balancing themselves on rocking-chairs, and 
 smoking cigars. We found it a very large and elegant 
 establishment, and were as well entertained as travellers need 
 desire to be. The climate being a thirsty one, there was 
 never, at any hour of the day, a scarcity of loungers in the 
 spacious bar, or a cessation of the mixing of cool liquors: 
 but they were a merrier people here, and had musical instru- 
 ments playing to them o’ nights, which it was a treat to 
 hear again. 
 
 The next day, and the next, we rode and walked about 
 the town, which is delightfully situated on eight hills, over- 
 hanging James River; a sparkling stream, studded here and 
 
134 American Notes 
 
 there with bright islands, or brawling over broken rocks. 
 Although it was yet but the middle March, the weather in 
 this southern temperature was extremely warm; the peach- 
 trees and magnolias were in full bloom; and the trees were 
 green. In a low ground among the hills, is a valley known 
 as “ Bloody Run,” from a terrible conflict with the Indians 
 which once occurred there. It is a good place for such a 
 struggle, and, like every other spot I saw associated with any 
 legend of that wild people now so rapidly fading from the 
 earth, interested me very much. 
 
 The city is the seat of the local parliament of Virginia; 
 and in its shady legislative halls, some orators were drowsily 
 holding forth to the hot noon day. By dint of constant 
 repetition, however, these constitutional sights had very little 
 more interest for me than so many parochial vestries ; and I 
 was glad to exchange this one for a lounge in a well-arranged 
 public library of some ten thousand volumes, and a visit to 
 a tobacco manufactory, where the workmen are all slaves. 
 
 I saw in this place the whole process of picking, rolling, 
 pressing, drying, packing in casks, and branding. All the 
 tobacco thus dealt with, was in course of manufacture for 
 chewing; and one would have supposed there was enough ijn 
 that one storehouse to have filled even the comprehensive 
 jaws of America. In this form, the weed looks like the oil- 
 cake on which we fatten cattle ; and even without reference 
 to its consequences, is sufficiently uninviting. 
 
 Many of the workmen appeared to be strong men, and it 
 is hardly necessary to add that they were all labouring 
 quietly, then. After two o’clock in the day, they are allowed 
 to sing, a certain number at a time. The hour striking 
 while I was there, some twenty sang a hymn in parts, and 
 sang it by no means ill; pursuing their work meanwhile. A 
 bell rang as I was about to leave, and they all poured forth 
 into a building on the opposite side of the street to dinner. 
 I said several times that I should like to see them at their 
 meal; but as the gentleman to whom I mentioned this desire 
 appeared to be suddenly taken rather deaf, I did not pursue 
 the request. Of their appearance I shall have something to 
 say, presently. 
 
 On the following day, I visited a plantation or farm, of 
 about twelve hundred acres, on the opposite bank of the 
 river. Here again, although I went down with the owner of 
 
Visit to a Plantation 
 
 1 35 
 
 the estate, to “ the quarter/’ as that part of it in which the 
 slaves live is called, I was not invited to enter into any of 
 their huts. All I saw of them, was, that they were very 
 crazy, wretched cabins, near to which groups of half-naked 
 children basked in the sun, or wallowed on the dusty ground. 
 But I believe that this gentleman is a considerate and 
 excellent master, who inherited his fifty slaves, and is neither 
 a buyer nor a seller of human stock; and I am sure, from 
 my own observation and conviction, that he is a kind-hearted, 
 worthy man. 
 
 The planter’s house was an airy rustic dwelling, that 
 brought Defoe’s description of such places strongly to my 
 recollection. The day was very warm, but the blinds being 
 all closed, and the windows and doors set wide open, a shady 
 coolness rustled through the rooms, which was exquisitely 
 refreshing after the glare and heat without. Before the 
 windows was an open piazza, where, in what they call the 
 hot weather — whatever that may be — they sling hammocks, 
 and drink and dose luxuriously. I do not know how their 
 cool refections may taste within the hammocks, but, having 
 experience, I can report that, out of them, the mounds of 
 ices and the bowls of mint-julep and sheery-cobbler they 
 make in these latitudes, are refreshments never to be thought 
 of afterwards, in summer, by those who would preserve 
 contented minds. 
 
 There are two bridges across the river: one belongs to 
 the railroad, and the other, which is a very crazy affair, 
 is the private property of some old lady in the neighbour- 
 hood, who levies tolls upon the townspeople. Crossing this 
 bridge, on my way back, I saw a notice painted on the gate, 
 cautioning all persons to drive slowly: under a penalty, if 
 the offender were a white man, of five dollars; if a negro, 
 fifteen stripes. 
 
 The same decay and gloom that overhang the way by 
 which it is approached, hover above the town of Richmond. 
 There are pretty villas and cheerful houses in its streets, and 
 Nature smiles upon the country round; but jostling its hand- 
 some residences, like slavery itself going hand in hand with 
 many lofty virtues, are deplorable tenements, fences unre- 
 paired, walls crumbling into ruinous heaps. Hinting gloomily 
 at things below the surface, these, and many other tokens of 
 the same description, force themselves upon the notice, and 
 
136 American Notes 
 
 are remembered with depressing influence, when livelier 
 features are forgotten. 
 
 To those who are happily unaccustomed to them, the 
 countenances in the streets and labouring-places, too, are 
 shocking. All men who know that there are laws against 
 instructing slaves, of which the pains and penalties greatly 
 exceed in their amount the fines imposed on those who maim 
 and torture them, must be prepared to find their faces very 
 low in the scale of intellectual expression. But the darkness 
 — not of skin, but mind — which meets the stranger’s eye at 
 every turn; the brutalizing and blotting out of all fairer 
 characters traced by Nature’s hand ; immeasurably outdo his 
 worst belief. That travelled creation of the great satirist’s 
 brain, who fresh from living among horses, peered from a 
 high casement down upon his own kind with trembling 
 horror, was scarcely more repelled and daunted by the sight, 
 than those who look upon some of these faces for the first time 
 must surely be. 
 
 I left the last of them behind me in the person of a wretched 
 drudge, who, after running to and fro all day till midnight, 
 and moping in his stealthy winks of sleep upon the stairs 
 betweenwhiles, was washing the dark passages at four o’clock 
 in the morning; and went upon my way with a grateful 
 heart that I was not doomed to live where slavery was, and 
 had never had my senses blunted to its wrongs and horrors 
 in a slave-rocked cradle. 
 
 It had been my intention to proceed by James River and 
 Chesapeake Bay to Baltimore; but one of the steamboats 
 being absent from her station through some accident, and the 
 means of conveyance being consequently rendered uncertain, 
 we returned to Washington by the way we had come (there 
 were two constables on board the steamboat, in pursuit of 
 runaway slaves), and halting there again for one night, went 
 on to Baltimore next afternoon. 
 
 The most comfortable of all the hotels of which I had 
 any experience in the United States, and they were not a 
 few, is Bamum’s, in that city: where the English traveller 
 will find curtains to his bed, for the first and probably the 
 last time in America (this is a disinterested remark/for I 
 never use them); and where he will be likely to have enough 
 water for washing himself, which is not at all a common case. 
 
 This capital of the state of Maryland is a bustling busy 
 
Baltimore 
 
 J 37 
 
 town, with a great deal of traffic of various kinds, and in 
 particular of water commerce. That portion of the town 
 which it most favours is none of the cleanest, it is true; but 
 the upper part is of a very different character, and has many 
 agreeable streets and public buildings. The Washington 
 Monument, which is a handsome pillar with a statue on its 
 summit; the Medical College; and the Battle Monument in 
 memory of an engagement with the British at North Point; 
 are the most conspicuous among them. 
 
 There is a very good prison in this city, and the State 
 Penitentiary is also among its institutions. In this latter 
 establishment there were two curious cases. 
 
 One, was that of a young man, who had been tried for 
 the murder of his father. The evidence was entirely circum- 
 stantial, and was very conflicting and doubtful; nor was it 
 possible to assign any motive which could have tempted him 
 to the commission of so tremendous a crime. He had been 
 tried twice; and on the second occasion the jury felt so much 
 hesitation in convicting him, that they found a verdict of 
 manslaughter, or murder in the second degree ; which it could 
 not possibly be, as there had, beyond all doubt, been no 
 quarrel or provocation, and if he were guilty at all, he was 
 unquestionably guilty of murder in its broadest and worst 
 signification. 
 
 The remarkable feature in the case was, that if the unfor- 
 tunate deceased were not really murdered by this own son of 
 his, he must have been murdered by his own brother. The 
 evidence lay in a most remarkable manner, between those 
 two. On all the suspicious points, the dead man's brother 
 was the witness: all the explanations for the prisoner (some 
 of them extremely plausible) went, by construction and 
 inference, to inculcate him as plotting to fix the guilt upon 
 his nephew. It must have been one of them: and the jury 
 had to decide between two sets of suspicions, almost equally 
 unnatural, unaccountable, and strange. 
 
 The other case, was that of a man who once w'ent to a 
 certain distiller's and stole a copper measure containing a 
 quantity of liquor. He was pursued and taken with the 
 property in his possession, and was sentenced to two years' 
 imprisonment. On coming out of the gaol, at the expiration 
 of that term, he went back to the same distiller's, and stole 
 the same copper measure containing the same quantity of 
 F 
 
138 American Notes 
 
 liquor. There was not the slightest reason to suppose that 
 the man wished to return to prison: indeed everything, but 
 the commission of the offence, made directly against that 
 assumption. There are only two ways of accounting for this 
 extraordinary proceeding. One is, that after undergoing so 
 much for this copper measure he conceived he had established 
 a sort of claim and right to it. The other that, by dint of 
 long thinking about, it had become a monomania with him, 
 and had acquired a fascination which he found it impossible 
 to resist; swelling from an Earthly Copper Gallon into an 
 Ethereal Golden Vat. 
 
 After remaining here a couple of days I bound myself to a 
 rigid adherence to the plan I had laid down so recently, and 
 resolved to set forward on our western journey without any 
 more delay. Accordingly, having reduced the luggage within 
 the smallest possible compass (by sending back to New York, 
 to be afterwards forwarded to us in Canada, so much of it as 
 was not absolutely wanted); and having procured the neces- 
 sary credentials to banking-houses on the way; and having 
 moreover looked for two evenings at the setting sun, with 
 as well-defined an idea of the country before us as if we had 
 been going to travel into the very centre of that planet; we 
 left Baltimore by another railway at half-past eight in the 
 morning, and reached the town of York, some sixty miles off, 
 by the early dinner-time of the Hotel which was the starting- 
 place of the four-horse coach, w r herein we were to proceed to 
 Harrisburg. 
 
 This conveyance, the box of which I was fortunate enough 
 to secure, had come down to meet us at the railroad station, 
 and was as muddy and cumbersome as usual. As more 
 passengers were waiting for us at the inn-door, the coach- 
 man observed under his breath, in the usual self-communica- 
 tive voice, looking the while at his mouldy harness as if it 
 were to that he was addressing himself, 
 
 “ I expect we shall want the big coach.” 
 
 I could not help wondering within myself what the size of 
 this big coach might be, and how many persons it might be 
 designed to hold; for the vehicle which was too small for our 
 purpose was something larger than two English heavy night 
 coaches, and might have been the twin-brother of a French 
 Diligence. My speculations were speedily set at rest, how- 
 ever, for as soon as we had dined, there came rumbling up 
 
The Harrisburg Mail 139 
 
 the street, shaking its sides like a corpulent giant, a kind of 
 barge on wheels. After much blundering and backing, it 
 stopped at the door: rolling heavily from side to side when 
 its other motion had ceased, as if it had taken cold in its 
 damp stable, and between that, and the having been required 
 in its dropsical old age to move at any faster pace than a 
 walk, were distressed by shortness of wind. 
 
 “ If here ain’t the Harrisburg mail at last, and dreadful 
 bright and smart to look at too,” cried an elderly gentleman 
 in some excitement, “ darn my mother! ” 
 
 I don’t know what the sensation of being darned may be, 
 or whether a man’s mother has a keener relish or disrelish of 
 the process than anybody else; but if the endurance of this 
 mysterious ceremony by the old lady in question had de- 
 pended on the accuracy of her son’s vision in respect to the 
 abstract brightness and smartness of the Harrisburg mail, 
 she would certainly have undergone its infliction. How- 
 ever, they booked twelve people inside ; and the luggage (in- 
 cluding such trifles as a large rocking-chair, and a good-sized 
 dining-table) being at length made fast upon the roof, we 
 started off in great state. 
 
 At the door of another hotel, there was another passenger 
 to be taken up. 
 
 “ Any room, Sir? ” cries the new passenger to the coachman. 
 
 “ Well there’s room enough,” replies the coachman, with- 
 out getting down, or even looking at him. 
 
 “ There an’t no room at all, Sir,” bawls a gentleman 
 inside. Which another gentleman (also inside) confirms, by 
 predicting that the attempt to introduce any more passengers 
 “ won’t fit nohow.” 
 
 The new passenger, without any expression of anxiety, 
 looks into the coach, and then looks up at the coachman: 
 “ Now, how do you mean to fix it? ” says he, after a pause: 
 “ for I must go.” 
 
 The coachman employs himself in twisting the lash of his 
 whip into a knot, and takes no more notice of the question : 
 clearly signifying that it is anybody’s business but his, 
 and that the passengers would do well to fix it, among 
 themselves. In this state of things, matters seem to be 
 approximating to a fix of another kind, when another inside 
 passenger in a corner, who is nearly suffocated, cries faintly, 
 “ I’ll get out.” 
 
American Notes 
 
 140 
 
 This is no matter of relief or self-congratulation to the 
 driver, for his immovable philosophy is perfectly undisturbed 
 by anything that happens in the coach. Of all things in 
 the world, the coach would seem to be the very last upon 
 his mind. The exchange is made, however, and then the 
 passenger who has given up his seat makes a third upon 
 the box, seating himself in what he calls the middle; that 
 is, with half his person on my legs, and the other half on 
 the driver’s. 
 
 “ Go ahead, cap’en,” cries the colonel, who directs. 
 
 “ Go-lang ! ” cries the cap’en to his company, the horses, 
 and away we go. 
 
 We took up at a rural bar-room, after we had gone a few 
 miles, an intoxicated gentleman who climbed upon the roof 
 among the luggage, and subsequently slipping off without 
 hurting himself, was seen in the distant perspective reeling 
 back to the grog-shop where we had found him. We also 
 parted with more of our freight at different times, so that 
 when we came to change horses, I w r as again alone outside. 
 
 The coachmen always change with the horses, and are 
 usually as dirty as the coach. The first was dressed like 
 a very shabby English baker; the second like a Russian 
 peasant: for he wore a loose purple camlet robe, with a fur 
 collar, tied round his waist with a parti-coloured worsted 
 sash; grey trousers; light blue gloves: and a cap of bear- 
 skin. It had by this time come on to rain very heavily, and 
 there was a cold damp mist besides, which penetrated to the 
 skin. I was glad to take advantage of a stoppage and get 
 down to stretch my legs, shake the water off my great-coat, 
 and swallow the usual anti-temperance recipe for keeping- 
 out the cold. 
 
 When I mounted to my seat again, I observed a new parcel 
 lying on the coach roof, which I took to be a rather large 
 fiddle in a brown bag. In the course of a few miles, however, 
 I discovered that it had a glazed cap at one end and a pair 
 of muddy shoes at the other ; and further observation demon- 
 strated it to be a small boy in a snuff-coloured coat, with his 
 arms quite pinioned to his sides, by deep forcing into his 
 pockets. He was, I presume, a relative or friend of the coach- 
 man’s, as he lay a-top of the luggage with his face towards 
 the rain; and except when a change of position brought his 
 shoes in contact with my hat, he appeared to be asleep. At 
 
Beautiful Scenery 141 
 
 last, on some occasion of our stopping, this thing slowly 
 upreared itself to the height of three feet six, and fixing its 
 eyes on me, observed in piping accents, with a complaisant 
 yawn, half quenched in an obliging air of friendly patronage, 
 “ Well now, stranger, I guess you find this a’most like an 
 English arternoon, hey? ” 
 
 The scenery which had been tame enough at first, was, 
 for the last ten or twelve miles, beautiful. Our road wound 
 through the pleasant valley of the Susquehanna; the river, 
 dotted with innumerable green islands, lay upon our right; 
 and on the left, a steep ascent, craggy with broken rock, 
 and dark with pine trees. The mist, wreathing itself into 
 a hundred fantastic shapes, moved solemnly upon the water ; 
 and the gloom of evening gave to all an air of mystery and 
 silence which greatly enhanced its natural interest. 
 
 We crossed this river by a wooden bridge, roofed and 
 covered in on all sides, and nearly a mile in length. It was 
 profoundly dark; perplexed, with great beams, crossing and 
 recrossing it at every possible angle ; and through the broad 
 chinks and crevices in the floor, the rapid river gleamed, far 
 down below, like a legion of eyes. We had no lamps; and 
 as the horses stumbled and floundered through this place, 
 towards the distant speck of dying light, it seemed inter- 
 minable. I really could not at first persuade myself as we 
 rumbled heavily on, filling the bridge with hollow noises, 
 and I held down my head to save it from the rafters above, 
 but that I was in a painful dream; for I had often dreamed 
 of toiling through such places, and as often argued, even at 
 the time, “ this cannot be reality.” 
 
 At length, however, we emerged upon the streets of Harris- 
 burg, whose feeble lights, reflected dismally from the wet 
 ground, did not shine out upon a very cheerful city. We 
 were soon established in a snug hotel, which though smaller 
 and far less splendid than many we put up at, is raised above 
 them all in my remembrance, by having for its landlord the 
 most obliging, considerate, and gentlemanly person I ever 
 had to deal with. 
 
 As we were not to proceed upon our journey until the 
 afternoon, I walked out, after breakfast the next morning, to 
 look about me; and was duly shown a model prison on the 
 solitary system, just erected, and as yet without an inmate; 
 the trunk of an old tree to which Harris, the first settler 
 
142 American Notes 
 
 here (afterwards buried under it), was tied by hostile Indians, 
 with his funeral pile about him, when he was saved by the 
 timely appearance of a friendly party on the opposite shore 
 of the river; the local legislature (for there was another of 
 those bodies here again, in full debate); and the other 
 curiosities of the town. 
 
 I was very much interested in looking over a number of 
 treaties made from time to time with the poor Indians, 
 signed by the different chiefs at the period of their ratifica- 
 tion, and preserved in the office of the Secretary to the 
 Commonwealth. These signatures, traced of course by their 
 own hands, are rough drawings of the creatures or weapons 
 they were called after. Thus, the Great Turtle makes a 
 crooked pen-and-ink outline of a great turtle; the Buffalo 
 sketches a buffalo; the War Hatchet sets a rough image of 
 that weapon for his mark. So with the Arrow, the Fish, 
 the Scalp, the Big Canoe, and all of them. 
 
 I could not but think — as I looked at these feeble and 
 tremulous productions of hands which could draw the longest 
 arrow to the head in a stout elk-horn bow, or split a bead 
 or feather with a rifle-ball — of Crabbe’s musings over the 
 Parish Register, and the irregular scratches made with a pen, 
 by men who would plough a lengthy furrow straight from 
 end to end. Nor could I help bestowing many sorrowful 
 thoughts upon the simple warriors whose hands and hearts 
 were set there, in all truth and honesty; and who only 
 learned in course of time from white men how to break their 
 faith, and quibble out of forms and bonds. I wonder, too, 
 how many times the credulous Big Turtle, or trusting Little 
 Hatchet, had put his mark to treaties which were falsely 
 read to him; and had signed away, he knew not what, until 
 it went and cast him loose upon the new possessors of the 
 land, a savage indeed. 
 
 Our host announced, before our early dinner, that some 
 members of the legislative body proposed to do us the honour 
 of calling. He had kindly yielded up to us his wife’s own 
 little parlour, and when I begged that he would show them 
 in, I saw him look with painful apprehension at its pretty 
 carpet; though, being otherwise occupied at the time, the 
 cause of his uneasiness did not occur to me. 
 
 It would certainly have been more pleasant to all parties 
 concerned, and would not, I think, have compromised their 
 
A Canal Boat 
 
 M-3 
 
 independence in any material degree, if some of these gentle- 
 men had not only yielded to the prejudice in favour of 
 spittoons, but had abandoned themselves, for the moment, 
 even to the conventional absurdity of pocket-handkerchiefs. 
 
 It still continued to rain heavily, and when we went down 
 to the canal boat (for that was the mode of conveyance by 
 which we were to proceed) after dinner, the weather was as 
 unpromising and obstinately wet as one would desire to see. 
 Nor was the sight of this canal boat, in which we were to 
 spend three or four days, by any means a cheerful one; as it 
 involved some uneasy speculations concerning the disposal of 
 the passengers at night, and opened a wide field of inquiry 
 touching the other domestic arrangements of the establish- 
 ment, which was sufficiently disconcerting. 
 
 However, there it was — a barge with a little house in it, 
 viewed from the outside; and a caravan at a fair, viewed 
 from within: the gentlemen being accommodated, as the 
 spectators usually are, in one of those locomotive museums 
 of penny wonders; and the ladies being partitioned off by a 
 red curtain, after the manner of the dwarfs and giants in 
 the same establishments, whose private lives are passed in 
 rather close exclusiveness. 
 
 We sat here, looking silently at the row of little tables, 
 which extended down both sides of the cabin, and listening 
 to the rain as it dripped and pattered on the boat, and splashed 
 with a dismal merriment in the water, until the arrival of 
 the railway train, for whose final contribution to our stock 
 of passengers, our departure was alone deferred. It brought 
 a great many boxes, which were bumped and tossed upon 
 the roof, almost as painfully as if they had been deposited 
 on one’s own head, without the intervention of a porter’s 
 knot; and several damp gentlemen, whose clothes, on their 
 drawing round the stove, began to steam again. No doubt 
 it would have been a thought more comfortable if the driving 
 rain, which now poured down more soakingly than ever, had 
 admitted of a window being opened, or if our number had 
 been something less than thirty; but there was scarcely 
 time to think as much, when a train of three horses was 
 attached to the tow-rope, the boy upon the leader smacked 
 his whip, the rudder creaked and groaned complainingly, 
 and we had begun our journey. 
 
1 44 
 
 American Notes 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 SOME FURTHER ACCOUNT OF THE CANAL BOAT, ITS DOMES- 
 TIC ECONOMY, AND ITS PASSENGERS. JOURNEY TO 
 PITTSBURG ACROSS THE ALLEGHANY MOUNTAINS. 
 PITTSBURG 
 
 As it continued to rain most perseveringly, we all remained 
 below: the damp gentlemen round the stove, gradually 
 
 becoming mildewed by the action of the fire; and the dry 
 gentlemen lying at full length upon the seats, or slumbering 
 uneasily with their faces on the tables, or walking up and 
 down the cabin, which it was barely possible for a man of the 
 middle height to do, without making bald places on his head 
 by scraping it against the roof. At about six o’clock, all 
 the small tables were put together to form one long table, 
 and everybody sat down to tea, coffee, bread, butter, salmon, 
 shad, liver, steaks, potatoes, pickles, ham, chops, black- 
 puddings, and sausages. 
 
 “ Will you try,” said my opposite neighbour, handing me 
 a dish of potatoes, broken up in milk and butter, “ will you 
 try some of these fixings ? ” 
 
 There are few words which perform such various duties 
 as this word “ fix.” It is the Caleb Quotem of the American 
 vocabulary. You call upon a gentleman in a country town, 
 and his help informs you that he is “ fixing himself ” just 
 now, but will be down directly: by which you are to under- 
 stand that he is dressing. You inquire, on board a steam- 
 boat, of a fellow-passenger, whether breakfast will be ready 
 soon, and he tells you he should think so, for when he was 
 last below, they were “ fixing the tables ” : in other words, 
 laying the cloth. You beg a porter to collect your luggage, 
 and he entreats you not to be uneasy, for he’ll “ fix it pre- 
 sently ” : and if you complain of indisposition, you are advised 
 to have recourse to Doctor So-and-so, who will “ fix you ” in 
 no time. 
 
 One night, I ordered a bottle of mulled wine at an hotel 
 where I was staying, and waited a long time for it; at length 
 it was put upon the table with an apology from the landlord 
 that he feared it wasn’t “ fixed properly.” And I recollect 
 
The Alleghany Mountains 145: 
 
 once, at a stage-coach dinner, overhearing a very stern gentle- 
 man demand of a waiter who presented him with a plate of 
 underdone roast-beef, “ whether he called that , fixing God- 
 Almighty’s vittles? ” 
 
 There is no doubt that the meal, at which the invitation 
 was tendered to me which has occasioned this digression, 
 was disposed of somewhat ravenously; and that the gentle- 
 men thrust the broad-bladed knives and the two-pronged 
 forks further down their throats than I ever saw the same 
 weapons go before, except in the hands of a skilful juggler: 
 but no man sat down until the ladies were seated ; or omitted 
 any little act of politeness which could contribute to their 
 comfort. Nor did I ever once, on any occasion, anywhere, 
 during my rambles in America, see a woman exposed to the 
 slightest act of rudeness, incivility, or even inattention. 
 
 By the time the meal was over, the rain, which seemed to 
 have worn itself out by coming down so fast, was nearly 
 over too; and it became feasible to go on deck: which was 
 a great relief, notwithstanding its being a very small deck, 
 and being rendered still smaller by the luggage, which was 
 heaped together in the middle under a tarpaulin covering; 
 leaving, on either side, a path so narrow, that it became a 
 science to walk to and fro without tumbling overboard into 
 the canal. It was somewhat embarrassing at first, too, to 
 have to duck nimbly every five minutes whenever the man 
 at the helm cried “ Bridge ! ” and sometimes, when the cry 
 was “ Low Bridge,” to lie down nearly flat. But custom 
 familiarises one to anything, and there were so many bridges 
 that it took a very short time to get used to this. 
 
 As night came on, and we drew in sight of the first range 
 of hills, which are the outposts of the Alleghany Mountains, 
 the scenery, which had been uninteresting hitherto, became 
 more bold and striking. The wet ground reeked and smoked, 
 after the heavy fall of rain; and the croaking of the frogs 
 (whose noise in these parts is almost incredible) sounded as 
 though a million of fairy teams with bells, were travelling 
 through the air, and keeping pace with us. The night was 
 cloudy yet, but moonlight too: and when we crossed the 
 Susquehanna river — over which there is an extraordinary 
 wooden bridge with two galleries, one above the other, so 
 that even there, two boat teams meeting, may pass without 
 confusion — it was wild and grand. 
 
American Notes 
 
 1 46 
 
 I have mentioned my having been in some uncertainty 
 and doubt, at first, relative to the sleeping arrangements on 
 board this boat. I remained in the same vague state of 
 mind until ten o’clock or thereabouts, when going below, I 
 found suspended on either side of the cabin, three long tiers 
 of hanging book-shelves, designed apparently for volumes 
 of the small octavo size. Looking with greater attention 
 at these contrivances (wondering to find such literary pre- 
 parations in such a place), I descried on each shelf a sort of 
 microscopic sheet and blanket; then I began dimly to com- 
 prehend that the passengers were the library, and that they 
 were to be arranged, edge-wise, on these shelves, till morning. 
 
 I was assisted to this conclusion by seeing some of them 
 gathered round the master of the boat, at one of the tables, 
 drawing lots with all the anxieties and passions of gamesters 
 depicted in their countenances; while others, with small 
 pieces of cardboard in their hands, were groping among the 
 shelves in search of numbers corresponding with those they 
 had drawn. As soon as any gentleman found his number, 
 he took possession of it by immediately undressing himself 
 and crawling into bed. The rapidity with which an agitated 
 gambler subsided into a snoring slumberer, was one of the 
 most singular effects I have ever witnessed. As to the 
 ladies, they were already abed, behind the red curtain, which 
 was carefully drawn and pinned up the centre; though as 
 every cough, or sneeze, or whisper, behind this curtain, was 
 perfectly audible before it, we had still a lively consciousness 
 of their society. 
 
 The politeness of the person in authority had secured to 
 me a shelf in a nook near this red curtain, in some degree 
 removed from the great body of sleepers: to which place I 
 retired, with many acknowledgments to him for his attention. 
 I found it, on after-measurement, just the width of an ordin- 
 ary sheet of Bath post letter-paper; and I was at first in 
 some uncertainty as to the best means of getting into it. 
 But the shelf being a bottom one, I finally determined on 
 lying upon the floor, rolling gently in, stopping immediately 
 I touched the mattress, and remaining for the night with that 
 side uppermost, whatever it might be. Luckily, I came 
 upon my back at exactly the right moment. I was much 
 alarmed on looking upward, to see, by the shape of his half- 
 yard of sacking (which his weight had bent into an exceed- 
 
Sleeping Accommodation 147 
 
 ingly tight bag), that there was a very heavy gentleman 
 above me, whom the slender cords seemed quite incapable 
 of holding; and I could not help reflecting upon the grief 
 of my wife and family in the event of his coming down in 
 the night. But as I could not have got up again without a 
 severe bodily struggle, which might have alarmed the ladies; 
 and as I had nowhere to go to, even if I had; I shut my eyes 
 upon the danger, and remained there. 
 
 One of two remarkable circumstances is indisputably a 
 fact, with reference to that class of society who travel in 
 these boats. Either they carry their restlessness to such a 
 pitch that they never sleep at all; or they expectorate in 
 dreams, which would be a remarkable mingling of the real 
 and ideal. All night long, and every night, on this canal, 
 there was a perfect storm and tempest of spitting ; and once 
 my coat, being in the very centre of the hurricane sustained 
 by five gentlemen (which moved vertically, strictly carrying 
 out Reid’s Theory of the Law of Storms), I was fain the next 
 morning to lay it on the deck, and rub it down with fair water 
 before it was in a condition to be worn again. 
 
 Between five and six o’clock in the morning we got up, 
 and some of us went on deck, to give them an opportunity 
 of taking the shelves down; while others, the morning being 
 very cold, crowded round the rusty stove, cherishing the 
 newly kindled fire, and filling the grate with those voluntary 
 contributions of which they had been so liberal all night. 
 The washing accommodations were primitive. There was 
 a tin ladle chained to the deck, with which every gentleman 
 who thought it necessary to cleanse himself (many were 
 superior to this weakness), fished the dirty water out of the 
 canal, and poured it into a tin basin, secured in like manner. 
 There was also a jack-towel. And, hanging up before a little 
 looking-glass in the bar, in the immediate vicinity of the bread 
 and cheese and biscuits, were a public comb and hair-brush. 
 
 At eight o’clock, the shelves being taken down and put 
 away and the tables joined together, everybody sat down to 
 the tea, coffee, bread, butter, salmon, shad, liver, steak, pota- 
 toes, pickles, ham, chops, black-puddings, and sausages, all 
 over again. Some were fond of compounding this variety, 
 and having it all on their plates at once. As each gentleman 
 got through his own personal amount of tea, coffee, bread, 
 butter, salmon, shad, liver, steak, potatoes, pickles, ham, 
 
American Notes 
 
 148 
 
 chops, black-puddings, and sausages, he rose up and walked 
 off. When everybody had done with everything, the frag- 
 ments were cleared away: and one of the waiters appearing 
 anew in the character of a barber, shaved such of the com- 
 pany as desired to be shaved; while the remainder looked 
 on, or yawned over their newspapers. Dinner was breakfast 
 again, without the tea and coffee; and supper and breakfast 
 were identical. 
 
 There was a man on board this boat, with a light fresh- 
 coloured face, and a pepper-and-salt suit of clothes, who was 
 the most inquisitive fellow that can possibly be imagined. 
 He never spoke otherwise than interrogatively. He was an 
 embodied inquiry. Sitting down or standing up, still or 
 moving, walking the deck or taking his meals, there he was, 
 with a great note of interrogation in each eye, two in his 
 cocked ears, two more in his tumed-up nose and chin, at 
 least half-a-dozen more about the comers of his mouth, and 
 the largest one of all in his hair, which was brushed pertly 
 off his forehead in a flaxen clump. Every button in his 
 clothes said, “ Eh? What’s that? Did you speak? Say 
 that again, will you? ” He was always wide awake, like the 
 enchanted bride who drove her husband frantic; always 
 restless; always thirsting for answers; perpetually seeking 
 and never finding. There never was such a curious man. 
 
 I wore a fur great-coat at that time, and before we were 
 well clear of the wharf, he questioned me concerning it, and 
 its price, and where I bought it, and when, and what fur it 
 was, and what it weighed, and what it cost. Then he took 
 notice of my watch, and asked me what that cost, and 
 whether it was a French watch, and where I got it, and 
 how I got it, and whether I bought it or had it given me, 
 and how it went, and where the key-hole was, and when 
 I wound it, every night or every morning, and whether 
 I ever forgot to wind it at all, and if I did, what then? 
 Where had I been to last, and where was I going next, and 
 where was I going after that, and had I seen the President, 
 and what did he say, and what did I say, and what did he 
 say when I had said that ? Eh ? Lor now ! do tell ! 
 
 Finding that nothing would satisfy him, I evaded his 
 questions after the first score or two, and in particular 
 pleaded ignorance respecting the name of the fur whereof the 
 coat was made. I am unable to say whether this was the 
 
A Brown Forester 149 
 
 reason, but that coat fascinated him afterwards; he usually 
 kept close behind me as I walked, and moved as I moved, 
 that he might look at it the better; and he frequently dived 
 into narrow places after me at the risk of his life, that he 
 might have the satisfaction of passing his hand up the back, 
 and rubbing it the wrong way. 
 
 We had another odd specimen on board, of a different 
 kind. This was a thin-faced, spare-figured man of middle 
 age and stature, dressed in a dusty drabbish-coloured suit, 
 such as I never saw before. He was perfectly quiet during 
 the first part of the journey: indeed I don’t remember having 
 so much as seen him until he was brought out by circum- 
 stances, as great men often are. The conjunction of events 
 which made him famous, happened, briefly, thus. 
 
 The canal extends to the foot of the mountain, and there, 
 of course, it stops; the passengers being conveyed across it 
 by land carriage, and taken on afterwards by another canal 
 boat, the counterpart of the first, which awaits them on the 
 other side. There are two canal lines of passage-boats; one 
 is called The Express, and one (a cheaper one) The Pioneer. 
 The Pioneer gets first to the mountain, and waits for the 
 Express people to come up; both sets of passengers being 
 conveyed across it at the same time. We were the Express 
 company; but when we had crossed the mountain, and had 
 come to the second boat, the proprietors took it into their 
 heads to draft all the Pioneers into it likewise, so that we 
 were five-and-forty at least, and the accession of passengers 
 w r as not at all of that kind which improved the prospect of 
 sleeping at night. Our people grumbled at this, as people 
 do in such cases ; but suffered the boat to be towed off with 
 the whole freight aboard nevertheless; and away we went 
 down the canal. At home, I should have protested lustily, 
 but being a foreigner here, I held my peace. Not so this 
 passenger. He cleft a path among the people on deck (we 
 were nearly all on deck), and without addressing anybody 
 whomsoever, soliloquised as follows: 
 
 “ This may suit you , this may, but it don’t suit me. This 
 may be all very well with Down Easters, and men of Boston 
 raising, but it won’t suit my figure nohow; and no two 
 ways about that; and so I tell you. Now! I’m from the 
 brown forests of the Mississippi, 1 am, and when the sun 
 shines on me, it does shine — a little. It don’t glimmer where 
 
American Notes 
 
 1 5 ° 
 
 I live, the sun don’t. No. I’m a brown forester, I am. I 
 an’t a Johnny Cake. There are no smooth skins where I 
 live. We’re rough men there. Rather. If Down Easters 
 and men of Boston raising like this, I’m glad of it, but I’m 
 none of that raising nor of that breed. No. This company 
 wants a little fixing, it does. I’m the wrong sort of man 
 for ’em, I am. They won’t like me, they won’t. This is 
 piling of it up, a little too mountainous, this is.” At the 
 end of every one of these short sentences he turned upon his 
 heel, and walked the other way; checking himself abruptly 
 when he had finished another short sentence, and turning 
 back again. 
 
 It is impossible for me to say what terrific meaning was 
 hidden in the words of this brown forester, but I know that 
 the other passengers looked on in a sort of admiring horror, 
 and that presently the boat was put back to the wharf, and 
 as many of the Pioneers as could be coaxed or bullied into 
 going away, were got rid of. 
 
 When we started again, some of the boldest spirits on 
 board, made bold to say to the obvious occasion of this 
 improvement in our prospects, “ Much obliged to you, Sir ”; 
 whereunto the brown forester (waving his hand, and still 
 walking up and down as before), replied, “ No you an’t. 
 You’re none o’ my raising. You may act for yourselves, you 
 may. I have pinted out the way. Down Easters and 
 Johnny Cakes can follow if they please. I an’t a Johnny 
 Cake, I an’t. I am from the brown forests of the Mississippi, 
 I am ” — and so on, as before. He was unanimously voted 
 one of the tables for his bed at night — there is a great contest 
 for the tables — in consideration for his public services : and he 
 had the warmest comer by the stove throughout the rest of 
 the journey. But I never could find out that he did any- 
 thing except sit there; nor did I hear him speak again until, 
 in the midst of the bustle and turmoil of getting the luggage 
 ashore in the dark at Pittsburg, I stumbled over him as he 
 sat smoking a cigar on the cabin steps, and heard him 
 muttering to himself, with a short laugh of defiance, “ I an’t 
 a Johnny Cake, I an’t. I’m from the brown forests of the 
 Mississippi, I am, damme ! ” I am inclined to argue from 
 this, that he had never left off saying so; but I could not 
 make an affidavit of that part of the story, if required to do 
 so by my Queen and Country. 
 
Enjoyable Travelling 15 1 
 
 As we have not reached Pittsburg yet, however, in the 
 order of our narrative, I may go on to remark that breakfast 
 was perhaps the least desirable meal of the day, as in addition 
 to the many savoury odours arising from the eatables already 
 mentioned, there were whiffs of gin, whiskey, brandy, and 
 rum, from the little bar hard by, and a decided seasoning of 
 stale tobacco. Many of the gentlemen passengers were far 
 from particular in respect of their linen, which was in some 
 cases as yellow as the little rivulets that had trickled from 
 the corners of their mouths in chewing, and dried there. Nor 
 was the atmosphere quite free from zephyr whisperings of the 
 thirty beds which had just been cleared away, and of which 
 we were further and more pressingly reminded by the 
 occasional appearance on the table-cloth of a kind of Game, 
 not mentioned in the Bill of Fare. 
 
 And yet despite these oddities — and even they had, for me 
 at least, a humour of their own — there was much in this 
 mode of travelling which I heartily enjoyed at the time, and 
 look back upon with great pleasure. Even the running up, 
 bare-necked, at five o’clock in the morning, from the tainted 
 cabin to the dirty deck ; scooping up the icy water, plunging 
 one’s head into it, and drawing it out, all fresh and glowing 
 with the cold; was a good thing. The fast, brisk walk upon 
 the towing-path, between that time and breakfast, when 
 every vein and artery seemed to tingle with health; the 
 exquisite beauty of the opening day, when light came gleam- 
 ing off from everything; the lazy motion of the boat, when 
 one lay idly on the deck, looking through, rather than at, 
 the deep blue sky; the gliding on at night, so noiselessly, 
 past frowning hills, sullen with dark trees, and sometimes 
 angry in one red burning spot high up, where unseen men 
 lay crouching round a fire ; the shining out of the bright stars 
 undisturbed by noise of wheels or steam, or any other sound 
 than the limpid rippling of the water as the boat went on: 
 all these were pure delights. 
 
 Then there were new settlements and detached log-cabins 
 and frame-houses, full of interest for strangers from an old 
 country: cabins with simple ovens, outside, made of clay; 
 and lodgings for the pigs nearly as good as many of the 
 human quarters; broken windows, patched with worn-out 
 hats, old clothes, old boards, fragments of blankets and 
 paper; and home-made dressers standing in the open air 
 
152 American Notes 
 
 without the door, whereon was ranged the household store, 
 not hard to count, of earthen jars and pots. The eye was 
 pained to see the stumps of great trees thickly strewn in 
 every field of wheat, and seldom to lose the eternal swamp 
 and dull morass, with hundreds of rotten trunks and twisted 
 branches steeped in its unwholesome water. It was quite 
 sad and oppressive, to come upon great tracks where settlers 
 had been burning down the trees, and where their wounded 
 bodies lay about, like those of murdered creatures, while here 
 and there some charred and blackened giant reared aloft tw T o 
 withered arms, and seemed to call down curses on his foes. 
 Sometimes, at night, the way wound through some lonely 
 gorge, like a mountain pass in Scotland, shining and coldly 
 glittering in the light of the moon, and so closed in by high 
 steep hills all round, that there seemed to be no egress save 
 through the narrower path by which we had come, until one 
 rugged hill-side seemed to open, and shutting out the moon- 
 light as we passed into its gloomy throat, wrapped our new 
 course in shade and darkness. 
 
 We had left Harrisburg on Friday. On Sunday morning 
 we arrived at the foot of the mountain, which is crossed by 
 railroad. There are ten inclined planes; five ascending, and 
 five descending; the carriages are dragged up the former, 
 and let slowly down the latter, by means of stationary 
 engines; the comparatively level spaces between, being 
 traversed, sometimes by horse, and sometimes by engine 
 power, as the case demands. Occasionally the rails are laid 
 upon the extreme verge of a giddy precipice; and looking 
 from the carriage window, the traveller gazes sheer down, 
 without a stone or scrap of fence between, into the mountain 
 depths below. The journey is very carefully made, however; 
 only two carriages travelling together; and while proper 
 precautions are taken, is not to be dreaded for its dangers. 
 
 It was very pretty travelling thus, at a rapid pace along 
 the heights of the mountain in a keen wind, to look down 
 into a valley full of light and softness; catching glimpses, 
 through the tree-tops, of scattered cabins; children running 
 to the doors; dogs bursting out to bark, whom we could 
 see without hearing; terrified pigs scampering homewards; 
 families sitting out in their rude gardens; cows gazing 
 upward with a stupid indifference; men in their shirt- 
 sleeves looking on at their unfinished houses, planning out 
 
Pittsburg 1 5 3 
 
 to-morrow’s work; and we riding onward, high above them, 
 like a whirlwind. It was amusing, too, when w T e had dined, 
 and rattled down a steep pass, having no other moving 
 power than the weight of the carriages themselves, to see 
 the engine released, long after us, come buzzing down alone, 
 like a great insect, its back of green and gold so shining in 
 the sun, that if it had spread a pair of wings and soared 
 away, no one would have had occasion, as I fancied, for the 
 least surprise. But it stopped short of us in a very business- 
 like manner when we reached the canal: and, before we left 
 the wharf, went panting up this hill again, with the pas- 
 sengers who had waited our arrival for the means of travers- 
 ing the road by which we had come. 
 
 On the Monday evening, furnace fires and clanking 
 hammers on the banks of the canal, warned us that we 
 approached the termination of this part of our journey. 
 After going through another dreamy place — a long aqueduct 
 across the Alleghany River, which was stranger than the 
 bridge at Harrisburg, being a vast low wooden chamber full 
 of water — we emerged upon that ugly confusion of backs of 
 buildings and crazy galleries and stairs, which always abuts 
 on water, whether it be river, sea, canal, or ditch : and were 
 at Pittsburg. 
 
 Pittsburg is like Birmingham in England; at least its 
 townspeople say so. Setting aside the streets, the shops, the 
 houses, waggons, factories, public buildings, and population, 
 perhaps it may be. It certainly has a great quantity of 
 smoke hanging about it, and is famous for its iron- works. 
 Besides the prison to which I have already referred, this 
 town contains a pretty arsenal and other institutions. It is 
 very beautifully situated on the Alleghany River, over which 
 there are two bridges ; and the villas of the wealthier 
 citizens sprinkled about the high grounds in the neighbour- 
 hood, are pretty enough. We lodged at a most excellent 
 hotel, and were admirably served. As usual it was full of 
 boarders, was very large, and had a broad colonnade to every 
 story of the house. 
 
 We tarried here, three days. Our next point was Cincin- 
 nati: and as this was a steamboat journey, and western 
 steamboats usually blow up one or two a week in the season, 
 it was advisable to collect opinions in reference to the com- 
 parative safety of the vessels bound that way, then lying in 
 
American Notes 
 
 1 54 
 
 the river. One called “ The Messenger ” was the best recom- 
 mended. She had been advertised to start positively, every 
 day for a fortnight or so, and had not gone yet, nor did her 
 captain seem to have any very fixed intention on the subject. 
 But this is the custom: for if the law were to bind down 
 a free and independent citizen to keep his word with the 
 public, what would become of the liberty of the subject? 
 Besides, it is in the way of trade. And if passengers be 
 decoyed in the way of trade, and people be inconvenienced 
 in the way of trade, what man, who is a sharp tradesman 
 himself, shall say, “ We must put a stop to this? ” 
 
 Impressed by the deep solemnity of the public announce- 
 ment, I (being then ignorant of these usages) was for hurry- 
 ing on board in a breathless state, immediately ; but receiving 
 private and confidential information that the boat would 
 certainly not start until Friday, April the First, we made 
 ourselves very comfortable in the meanw r hile, and went on 
 board at noon that day. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 FROM PITTSBURG TO CINCINNATI IN A WESTERN STEAMBOAT. 
 
 CINCINNATI 
 
 “ The Messenger,” was one among the crowd of high-pressure 
 steamboats, clustered together by a wharf-side, which, looked 
 down upon from the rising ground that forms the landing- 
 place, and backed by the lofty bank on the opposite side of 
 the river, appeared no larger than so many floating models. 
 She had some forty passengers on board, exclusive of the 
 poorer persons on the lower deck; and in half an hour, or 
 less, proceeded on her way. 
 
 We had, for ourselves, a tiny state-room with two berths in 
 it, opening out of the ladies’ cabin. There was, undoubtedly, 
 something satisfactory in this “ location,” inasmuch as it was 
 in the stern, and we had been a great many times very 
 gravely recommended to keep as far aft as possible, “ because 
 the steamboats generally blew up forward.” Nor was this 
 an unnecessary caution, as the occurrence and circumstances 
 
A Western Steamboat 155 
 
 of more than one such fatality during our stay sufficiently 
 testified. Apart from this source of self-congratulation, it 
 was an unspeakable relief to have any place, no matter how 
 confined, where one could be alone: and as the row of little 
 chambers of which this was one, had each a second glass 
 door besides that in the ladies’ cabin, which opened on a 
 narrow gallery outside the vessel, where the other passengers 
 seldom came, and where one could sit in peace and gaze 
 upon the shifting prospect, we took possession of our new 
 quarters with much pleasure. 
 
 If the native packets I have already described be unlike 
 anything we are in the habit of seeing on water, these western 
 vessels are still more foreign to all the ideas we are accustomed 
 to entertain of boats. I hardly know what to liken them to, 
 or how to describe them. 
 
 In the first place, they have no mast, cordage, tackle, 
 rigging, or other such boat-like gear; nor have they anything 
 in their shape at all calculated to remind one of a boat’s head, 
 stern, sides, or keel. Except that they are in the water, and 
 display a couple of paddle-boxes, they might be intended, for 
 anything that appears to the contrary, to perform some un- 
 known service, high and dry, upon a mountain top. There 
 is no visible deck, even : nothing but a long, black, ugly roof, 
 covered with burn-out feathery sparks; above which tower 
 two iron chimneys, and a hoarse escape valve, and a glass 
 steerage-house. Then, in order as the eye descends towards 
 the water, are the sides, and doors, and windows of the state- 
 rooms, jumbled as oddly together as though they formed 
 a small street, built by the varying tastes of a dozen men: 
 the whole is supported on beams and pillars resting on a 
 dirty barge, but a few inches above the water’s edge: and 
 in the narrow space between this upper structure and this 
 barge’s deck, are the furnace fires and machinery, open at 
 the sides to every wind that blows, and every storm of rain 
 it drives along its path. 
 
 Passing one of these boats at night, and seeing the great 
 body of fire, exposed as I have just described, that rages and 
 roars beneath the frail pile of painted wood: the machinery, 
 not warded off or guarded in any way, but doing its work in 
 the midst of the crowd of idlers and emigrants and children, 
 who throng the lower deck: under the management, too, of 
 reckless men whose acquaintance with its mysteries may have 
 
American Notes 
 
 * 5 6 
 
 been of six months’ standing: one feels directly that the 
 wonder is, not that there should be so many fatal accidents, 
 but that any journey should be safely made. 
 
 Within, there is one long narrow cabin, the whole length 
 of the boat; from which the state-rooms open, on both sides. 
 A small portion of it at the stern is partitioned off for the 
 ladies; and the bar is at the opposite extreme. There is a 
 long table down the centre, and at either end a stove. The 
 washing apparatus is forward, on the deck. It is a little 
 better than on board the canal boat, but not much. In all 
 modes of travelling, the American customs, with reference to 
 the means of personal cleanliness and wholesome ablution, 
 are extremely negligent and filthy; and I strongly incline to 
 the belief that a considerable amount of illness is referable 
 to this cause. 
 
 We are to be on board “The Messenger ” three days: 
 arriving at Cincinnati (barring accidents) on Monday morning. 
 There are three meals a day. Breakfast at seven, dinner at 
 half-past twelve, supper about six. At each, there are a 
 great many small dishes and plates upon the table, with very 
 little in them; so that although there is every appearance of 
 a mighty “ spread,” there is seldom really more than a joint: 
 except for those who fancy slices of beet-root, shreds of dried 
 beef, complicated entanglements of yellow pickle; maize, 
 Indian corn, apple-sauce, and pumpkin. 
 
 Some people fancy all these little dainties together (and 
 sweet preserves beside), by way of relish to their roast pig. 
 They are generally those dyspeptic ladies and gentlemen who 
 eat unheard-of quantities of hot com bread (almost as good 
 for the digestion as a kneaded pin-cushion), for breakfast, 
 and for supper. Those who do not observe this custom, and 
 who help themselves several times instead, usually suck their 
 knives and forks meditatively, until they have decided what 
 to take next : then pull them out of their mouths : put them 
 in the dish; help themselves; and fall to work again. At 
 dinner, there is nothing to drink upon the table, but great 
 jugs full of cold water. Nobody says anything, at any 
 meal, to anybody. All the passengers are very dismal, and 
 seem to have tremendous secrets weighing on their minds. 
 There is no conversation, no laughter, no cheerfulness, no 
 sociality, except in spitting; and that is done in silent 
 fellowship round the stove, when the meal is over. Every 
 
Deep Solitudes 157 
 
 man sits down, dull and languid; swallows his fare as if 
 breakfasts, dinners, and suppers, were necessities of nature 
 never to be coupled with recreation or enjoyment; and 
 having bolted his food in a gloomy silence, bolts himself, 
 in the same state. But for these animal observances, you 
 might suppose the whole male portion of the company to be 
 the melancholy ghosts of departed book-keepers, who had 
 fallen dead at the desk: such is their weary air of business 
 and calculation. Undertakers on duty would be sprightly 
 beside them ; and a collation of funeral baked-meats, in com- 
 parison with these meals, would be a sparkling festivity. 
 
 The people are all alike, too. There is no diversity of 
 character. They travel about on the same errands, say and 
 do the same things in exactly the same manner, and follow 
 in the same dull cheerless round. All down the long table, 
 there is scarcely a man who is in anything different from his 
 neighbour. It is quite a relief to have, sitting opposite, that 
 little girl of fifteen with the loquacious chin: who, to do her 
 justice, acts up to it, and fully identifies nature’s handwriting, 
 for of all the small chatterboxes that ever invaded the repose 
 of drowsy ladies’ cabin, she is the first and foremost. The 
 beautiful girl, who sits a little beyond her — farther down the 
 table there — married the young man with the dark whiskers, 
 who sists beyond her , only last month. They are going to 
 settle in the very Far West, where he has lived four years, 
 but where she has never been. They were both overturned 
 in a stage-coach the other day (a bad omen anywhere else, 
 where overturns are not so common), and his head, which 
 bears the marks of a recent wound, is bound up still. She 
 was hurt too, at the same time, and lay insensible for some 
 days; bright as her eyes are, now. 
 
 Further down still, sits a man who is going some miles 
 beyond their place of destination, to “ improve” a newly-dis- 
 covered copper mine. He carries the village — that is to be — 
 with him: a few frame-cottages, and an apparatus for smelt- 
 ing the copper. He carries its people too. They are partly 
 American and partly Irish, and herd together on the lower 
 deck; where they amused themselves last evening till the 
 night was pretty far advanced, by alternately firing off pistols 
 and singing hymns. 
 
 They, and the very few who have been left at table twenty 
 minutes, rise, and go away. We do so too; and passing 
 
158 American Notes 
 
 through our little state-room, resume our seats in the quiet 
 gallery without. 
 
 A fine broad river always, but in some parts much wider 
 than in others: and then there is usually a green island, 
 covered with trees, dividing it into two streams. Occasion- 
 ally, we stop for a few minutes, maybe to take in wood, 
 maybe for passengers, at some small town or village (I ought 
 to say city, every place is a city here); but the banks are for 
 the most part deep solitudes, overgrown with trees, which, 
 hereabouts, are already in leaf and very green. For miles, 
 and miles, and miles, these solitudes are unbroken by any 
 sign of human life or trace of human footstep ; nor is anything 
 seen to move about them but the blue jay, whose colour is so 
 bright, and yet so delicate, that it looks like a flying flower. 
 At lengthened intervals a log cabin, with its little space of 
 cleared land about it, nestles under a rising ground, and sends 
 its thread of blue smoke curling up into the sky. It stands 
 in the comer of the poor field of wheat, which is full of great 
 unsightly stumps, like earthy butchers’-blocks. Sometimes 
 the ground is only just now cleared: the felled trees lying yet 
 upon the soil: and the log-house only this morning begun. 
 As we pass this clearing, the settler leans upon his axe or 
 hammer, and looks wistfully at the people from the world. 
 The children creep out of the temporary hut, which is like a 
 gipsy tent upon the ground, and clap their hands and shout. 
 The dog only glances round at us, and then looks up into his 
 master’s face again, as if he were rendered uneasy by any 
 suspension of the common business, and had nothing more to 
 do with pleasurers. And still there is the same, eternal fore- 
 ground. The river has washed away its banks, and stately 
 trees have fallen down into the stream. Some have been 
 there so long, that they are mere dry grizzly skeletons. Some 
 have just toppled over, and having earth yet about their roots, 
 are bathing their green heads in the river, and putting forth 
 new shoots and branches. Some are almost sliding down, as 
 you look at them. And some were drowned so long ago, that 
 their bleached arms start out from the middle of the current, 
 and seem to try to grasp the boat, and drag it under water. 
 
 Through such a scene as this, the unwieldy machine takes 
 its hoarse sullen way: venting, at every revolution of the 
 paddles, a loud high-pressure blast; enough, one would think, 
 to waken up the host of Indians who lie buried in a great 
 
Emigrants 159 
 
 mound yonder: so old, that mighty oaks and other forest 
 trees have struck their roots into its earth ; and so high, that 
 it is a hill, even among the hills that Nature planted round it. 
 The very river, as though it shared one’s feelings of com- 
 passion for the extinct tribes who lived so pleasantly here, in 
 their blessed ignorance of white existence, hundreds of years 
 ago, steals out of its way to ripple near this mound: and 
 there are few places where the Ohio sparkles more brightly 
 than in the Big Grave Creek. 
 
 All this I see as I sit in the little stem-gallery mentioned 
 just now. Evening slowly steals upon the landscape and 
 changes it before me, when we stop to set some emigrants 
 ashore. 
 
 Five men, as many women, and a little girl. All their 
 worldly goods are a bag, a large chest and an old chair: one 
 old, high-backed, rush-bottomed chair: a solitary settler in 
 itself. They are rowed ashore in the boat, while the vessel 
 stands a little off awaiting its return, the water being shallow. 
 They are landed at the foot of a high bank, on the summit of 
 which are a few log cabins, attainable only by a long winding 
 path. It is growing dusk; but the sun is very red, and 
 shines in the water and on some of the tree-tops, like fire. 
 
 The men get out of the boat first; help out the women; 
 take out the bag, the chest, the chair; bid the rowers “ good- 
 bye ”; and shove the boat off for them. At the first plash of 
 the oars in the water, the oldest woman of the party sits down 
 in the old chair, close to the water’s edge, without speaking 
 a word. None of the others sit down, though the chest is 
 large enough for many seats. They all stand where they 
 landed, as if stricken into stone ; and look after the boat. So 
 they remain, quite still and silent: the old woman and her 
 old chair, in the centre; the bag and chest upon the shore, 
 without anybody heeding them : all eyes fixed upon the boat. 
 It comes alongside, is made fast, the men jump on board, the 
 engine is put in motion, and we go hoarsely on again. There 
 they stand yet, without the motion of a hand. I can see 
 them through my glass, when, in the distance and increasing 
 darkness, they are mere specks to the eye: lingering there 
 still: the old woman in the old chair, and all the rest about 
 her: not stirring in the least degree. And thus I slowly lose 
 them. 
 
 The night is dark, and we proceed within the shadow of 
 
160 American Notes 
 
 the wooded bank, which makes it darker. After gliding past 
 the sombre maze of boughs for a long time, we come upon an 
 open space where the tall trees are burning. The shape of 
 every branch and twig is expressed in a deep red glow, and 
 as the light wind stirs and ruffles it, they seem to vegetate in 
 fire. It is such a sight as we read of in legends of enchanted 
 forests: saving that it is sad to see these noble works wasting 
 away so awfully, alone; and to think how many years must 
 come and go before the magic that created them will rear 
 their like upon this ground again. But the time will come; 
 and when, in their changed ashes, the growth of centuries 
 unborn has struck its roots, the restless men of distant ages 
 will repair to these again unpeopled solitudes; and their 
 fellows, in cities far away, that slumber now, perhaps, beneath 
 the rolling sea, will read in language strange to any ears in 
 being now, but very old to them, of primeval forests where 
 the axe was never heard, and where the jungled ground was 
 never trodden by a human foot. 
 
 Midnight and sleep blot out these scenes and thoughts: 
 and when the morning shines again, it gilds the house-tops of 
 a lively city, before whose broad paved wharf the boat is 
 moored; with other boats, and flags, and moving wheels, and 
 hum of men around it; as though there were not a solitary 
 or silent rood of ground within the compass of a thousand 
 miles. 
 
 Cincinnati is a beautiful city; cheerful, thriving, and 
 animated. I have not often seen a place that commends 
 itself so favourably and pleasantly to a stranger at the first 
 glance as this does: with its clean houses of red and white, 
 its well-paved roads, and foot- ways of bright tile. Nor does 
 it become less prepossessing on a closer acquaintance. The 
 streets are broad and airy, the shops extremely good, the 
 private residences remarkable for their elegance and neatness. 
 There is something of invention and fancy in the varying 
 styles of these latter erections, which, after the dull company 
 of the steamboat, is perfectly delightful, as conveying an 
 assurance that there are such qualities still in existence. The 
 disposition to ornament these pretty villas and render them 
 attractive, leads to the culture of trees and flowers, and the 
 laying out of well-kept gardens, the sight of which, to those 
 who walk along the streets, is inexpressibly refreshing and 
 agreeable. I was quite charmed with the appearance of the 
 
A Temperance Demonstration 1 6 1 
 
 town, and its adjoining suburb of Mount Auburn: from 
 which the city, lying in an amphitheatre of hills, forms a 
 picture of remarkable beauty, and is seen to great advantage. 
 
 There happened to be a great Temperance Convention held 
 here on the day after our arrival ; and as the order of march 
 brought the procession under the windows of the hotel in 
 which we lodged, when they started in the morning, I had a 
 good opportunity of seeing it. It comprised several thousand 
 men; the members of various “ Washington Auxiliary Tem- 
 perance Societies ” ; and w r as marshalled by officers on horse- 
 back, who cantered briskly up and down the line, with scarves 
 and ribbons of bright colours fluttering out behind them 
 gaily. There were bands of music too, and banners out of 
 number: and it was a fresh, holiday-looking concourse 
 altogether. 
 
 I was particularly pleased to see the Irishmen, who formed 
 a distinct society among themselves, and mustered very 
 strong with their green scarves ; carrying their national Harp 
 and their Portrait of Father Mathew, high above the people’s 
 heads. They looked as jolly and good-humoured as ever; 
 and, working (here) the hardest for their living and doing any 
 kind of sturdy labour that came in their way, were the most 
 independent fellows there, I thought. 
 
 The banners were very well painted, and flaunted down the 
 street famously. There was the smiting of the rock, and the 
 gushing forth of the waters ; and there was a temperate man 
 with “ considerable of a hatchet ” (as the standard-bearer 
 would probably have said), aiming a deadly blow at a serpent 
 which was apparently about to spring upon him from the top 
 of a barrel of spirits. But the chief feature of this part of 
 the show was a huge allegorical device, borne among the ship* 
 carpenters, on one side whereof the steamboat Alcohol was 
 represented bursting her boiler and exploding with a great 
 crash, while upon the other, the good ship Temperance sailed 
 away with a fair wind, to the heart’s content of the captain, 
 crew, and passengers. 
 
 After going round the town, the procession repaired to a 
 certain appointed place, where, as the printed programme set 
 forth, it would be received by the children of the different free 
 schools, “ singing Temperance Songs.” I was prevented 
 from getting there, in time to hear these Little Warblers, or to 
 report upon this novel kind of vocal entertainment: novel, at 
 
i6z 
 
 American Notes 
 
 least, to me; but I found in a large open space, each society 
 gathered round its own banners, and listening in silent atten- 
 tion to its own orator. The speeches, judging from the little 
 I could hear of them, were certainly adapted to the occasion, 
 as having that degree of relationship to cold water which wet 
 blankets may claim: but the main thing was the conduct and 
 appearance of the audience throughout the day; and that 
 was admirable and full of promise. 
 
 Cincinnati is honourably famous for its free schools, of 
 which it has so many that no person’s child among its popula- 
 tion, can, by possibility, want the means of education, which 
 are extended, upon an average, to four thousand pupils, 
 annually. I was only present in one of these establishments 
 during the hours of instruction. In the boys’ department, 
 which was full of little urchins (varying in their ages, I should 
 say, from six years old to ten or twelve), the master offered 
 to institute an extemporary examination of the pupils in 
 algebra; a proposal, which, as I was by no means confident 
 of my ability to detect mistakes in that science, I declined 
 with some alarm. In the girls’ school, reading was proposed ; 
 and as I felt tolerably equal to that art, I expressed my 
 willingness to hear a class. Books were distributed accord- 
 ingly, and some half-dozen girls relieved each other in reading 
 paragraphs from English history. But it seemed to be a dry 
 compilation, infinitely above their powers; and when they 
 had blundered through three or four dreary passages con- 
 cerning the Treaty of Amiens, and other thrilling topics of 
 the same nature (obviously without comprehending ten 
 words), I expressed myself quite satisfied. It is very possible 
 that they only mounted to this exalted stave in the Ladder 
 of Learning for the astonishment of a visitor; and that at 
 other times they keep upon its lower rounds; but I should 
 have been much better pleased and satisfied if I had heard 
 them exercised in simpler lessons, which they understood. 
 
 As in every other place I visited, the Judges here were 
 gentlemen of high character and attainments. I was in one 
 of the courts for a few minutes, and found it like those to 
 w r hich I have already referred. A nuisance cause was trying; 
 there were not many spectators ; and the witnesses, counsel, 
 and jury, formed a sort of family circle, sufficiently jocose and 
 snug. 
 
 The society with which I mingled, was intelligent, cour- 
 
An Indian Chief 
 
 163 
 
 teous, and agreeable. The inhabitants of Cincinnati are 
 proud of their city as one of the most interesting in America : 
 and with good reason : for beautiful and thriving as it is now, 
 and containing, as it does, a population of fifty thousand 
 souls, but two-and-fifty years have passed away since the 
 ground on which it stands (bought at that time for a few 
 dollars) was a wild wood, and its citizens were but a handful 
 of dwellers in scattered log huts upon the river’s shore. 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 FROM CINCINNATI TO LOUISVILLE IN ANOTHER WESTERN 
 STEAMBOAT; AND FROM LOUISVILLE TO ST. LOUIS 
 IN ANOTHER. ST. LOUIS 
 
 Leaving Cincinnati at eleven o’clock in the forenoon, we 
 embarked for Louisville in “ The Pike ” steamboat, which, 
 carrying the mails, was a packet of a much better class than 
 that in which we had come from Pittsburg. As this passage 
 does not occupy more than twelve or thirteen hours, we 
 arranged to go ashore that night: not coveting the distinc- 
 tion of sleeping in a state-room, when it was possible to sleep 
 anywhere else. 
 
 There chanced to be on board this boat, in addition to the 
 usual dreary crowd of passengers, one Pitchlynn, a chief of 
 the Choctaw tribe of Indians, who sent in his card to me, and 
 with whom I had the pleasure of a long conversation. 
 
 He spoke English perfectly well, though he had not begun 
 to learn the language, he told me, until he was a young man 
 grown. He had read many books; and Scott’s poetry 
 appeared to have left a strong impression on his mind: 
 especially the opening of the Lady of the Lake, and the great 
 battle scene in Marmion, in which, no doubt from the con- 
 geniality of the subjects to his own pursuits and tastes, 
 he had great interest and delight. He appeared to under- 
 stand correctly all he had read; and whatever fiction had 
 enlisted his sympathy in its belief, had done so keenly and 
 earnestly. I might almost say fiercely. He was dressed in 
 our ordinary every-day costume, which hung about his fine 
 
American Notes 
 
 164 
 
 figure loosely, and with indifferent grace. On my telling 
 him that I regretted not to see him in his own attire, he 
 threw up his right arm, for a moment, as though he were 
 brandishing some heavy weapon, and answered, as he let it 
 fall again, that his race were losing many things besides 
 their dress, and would soon be seen upon the earth no more : 
 but he wore it at home, he added proudly. 
 
 He told me that he had been away from his home, west of 
 the Mississippi, seventeen months: and was now returning. 
 He had been chiefly at Washington on some negotiations 
 pending between his Tribe and the Government: which were 
 not settled yet (he said in a melancholy way), and he feared 
 never would be: for what could a few poor Indians do, 
 against such well-skilled men of business as the whites? 
 He had no love for Washington; tired of towns and cities 
 very soon; and longed for the Forest and the Prairie. 
 
 I asked him what he thought of Congress ? He answered, 
 with a smile, that it wanted dignity, in an Indian’s eyes. 
 
 He would very much like, he said, to see England before 
 he died; and spoke with much interest about the great 
 things to be seen there. When I told him of that chamber 
 in the British Museum wherein are preserved household 
 memorials of a race that ceased to be, thousands of years ago, 
 he was very attentive, and it was not hard to see that he had 
 a reference in his mind to the gradual fading away of his own 
 people. 
 
 This led us to speak of Mr. Catlin’s gallery, which he 
 praised highly: observing that his own portrait was among 
 the collection, and that all the likenesses were “ elegant.” 
 Mr. Cooper, he said, had painted the Red Man well; and so 
 would I, he knew, if I would go home with him and hunt 
 buffaloes, which he was quite anxious I should do. When I 
 told him that supposing I went, I should not be very likely 
 to damage the buffaloes much, he took it as a great joke and 
 laughed heartily. 
 
 He was a remarkably handsome man; some years past 
 forty, I should judge; with long black hair, an aquiline 
 nose, broad cheek-bones, a sunburnt complexion, and a very 
 bright, keen, dark, and piercing eye. There were but twenty 
 thousand of the Choctaws left, he said, and their number was 
 decreasing every day. A few of his brother chiefs had been 
 obliged to become civilised, and to make themselves ac- 
 
On the Way to Portland 165 
 
 quainted with what the whites knew, for it was their only 
 chance of existence. But they were not many; and the rest 
 were as they always had been. He dwelt on this: and said 
 several times that unless they tried to assimilate themselves 
 to their conquerors, they must be swept away before the 
 strides of civilised society. 
 
 When we shook hands at parting, I told him he must 
 come to England, as he longed to see the land so much : that 
 I should hope to see him there, one day: and that I could 
 promise him he would be well received and kindly treated. 
 He was evidently pleased by this assurance, though he 
 rejoined with a good-humoured smile and an arch shake of 
 his head, that the English used to be very fond of the Red 
 Men when they wanted their help, but had not cared much 
 for them, since. 
 
 He took his leave; as stately and complete a gentleman of 
 Nature’s making, as ever I beheld; and moved among the 
 people in the boat, another kind of being. He sent me a 
 lithographed portrait of himself soon afterwards; very like, 
 though scarcely handsome enough; which I have carefully 
 preserved in memory of our brief acquaintance. 
 
 There was nothing very interesting in the scenery of this 
 day’s journey, which brought us at midnight to Louisville. 
 We slept at the Galt House; a splendid hotel; and were as 
 handsomely lodged as though we had been in Paris, rather 
 than hundreds of miles beyond the Alleghanies. 
 
 The city presenting no objects of sufficient interest to 
 detain us on our way, we resolved to proceed next day by 
 another steamboat, “ The Fulton,” and to join it, about noon, 
 at a suburb called Portland, where it would be delayed some 
 time in passing through a canal. 
 
 The interval, after breakfast, we devoted to riding through 
 the town, which is regular and cheerful: the streets being 
 laid out at right angles, and planted with young trees. The 
 buildings are smoky and blackened, from the use of bitumin- 
 ous coal, but an Englishman is well used to that appearance, 
 and indisposed to quarrel with it. There did not appear to 
 be much business stirring; and some unfinished buildings 
 and improvements seemed to intimate that the city had been 
 overbuilt in the ardour of “ going-ahead,” and was suffering 
 under the reaction consequent upon such feverish forcing of 
 its powers. 
 
X 66 
 
 American Notes 
 
 On our way to Portland, we passed a “ magistrate’s office/’ 
 which amused me, as looking far more like a dame school 
 than any police establishment : for this awful Institution was 
 nothing but a little lazy, good-for-nothing front parlour, 
 open to the street; wherein two or three figures (I presume 
 the magistrate and his myrmidons) were basking in the sun- 
 shine, the very effigies of languor and repose. It was a 
 perfect picture of Justice retired from business for want of 
 customers; her sword and scales sold off; napping comfort- 
 ably with her legs upon the table. 
 
 Here, as elsewhere in these parts, the road was perfectly 
 alive with pigs of all ages; lying about in every direction, 
 fast asleep; or grunting along in quest of hidden dainties. 
 I had always a sneaking kindness for these odd animals, and 
 found a constant source of amusement, when all others failed, 
 in watching their proceedings. As we were riding along this 
 morning, I observed a little incident between two youthful 
 pigs, which was so very human as to be inexpressibly comical 
 and grotesque at the time, though I dare say, in telling, it is 
 tame enough. 
 
 One young gentleman (a very delicate porker with several 
 straws sticking about his nose, betokening recent investiga- 
 tions in a dunghill) was walking deliberately on, profoundly 
 thinking, when suddenly his brother, who was lying in a 
 miry hole unseen by him, rose up immediately before his 
 startled eyes, ghostly with damp mud. Never was pig’s 
 whole mass of blood so turned. He started back at least 
 three feet, gazed for a moment, and then shot off as hard as 
 he could go: his excessively little tail vibrating with speed 
 and terror like a distracted pendulum. But before he had 
 gone very far, he began to reason with himself as to the 
 nature of this frightful appearance; and as he reasoned, he 
 relaxed his speed by gradual degrees ; until at last he stopped, 
 and faced about. There was his brother, with the mud upon 
 him glazing in the sun, yet staring out of the very same hole, 
 perfectly amazed at his proceedings! He was no sooner 
 assured of this ; and he assured himself so carefully that one 
 may almost say he shaded his eyes with his hand to see the 
 better; then he came back at a round trot, pounced upon him, 
 and summarily took off a piece of his tail; as a caution to 
 him to be careful what he was about for the future, and never 
 to play tricks with his family any more. 
 
The Kentucky Giant 167 
 
 We found the steamboat in the canal, waiting for the 
 slow process of getting through the lock, and went on board, 
 where we shortly afterwards had a new kind of visitor in the 
 person of a certain Kentucky Giant whose name is Porter, 
 and who is of the moderate height of seven feet eight inches, 
 in his stockings. 
 
 There never was a race of people who so completely gave 
 the lie to history as these giants, or whom all the chroniclers 
 have so cruelly libelled. Instead of roaring and ravaging 
 about the world, constantly catering for their cannibal larders, 
 and perpetually going to market in an unlawful manner, they 
 are the meekest people in any man's acquaintance: rather 
 inclining to milk and vegetable diet, and bearing anything 
 for a quiet life. So decidedly are amiability and mildness 
 their characteristics, that I confess I look upon that youth 
 who distinguished himself by the slaughter of these inoffen- 
 sive persons, as a false-hearted brigand, who, pretending to 
 philanthropic motives, was secretly influenced only by the 
 wealth stored up within their castles, and the hope of plunder. 
 And I lean the more to this opinion from finding that even 
 the historian of those exploits, with all his partiality for his 
 hero, is fain to admit that the slaughtered monsters in 
 question were of a very innocent and simple turn ; extremely 
 guileless and ready of belief; lending a credulous ear to the 
 most improbable tales; suffering themselves to be easily 
 entrapped into pits; and even (as in the case of the Welsh 
 Giant) with an excess of the hospitable politeness of a land- 
 lord, ripping themselves open, rather than hint at the possi- 
 bility of their guests being versed in the vagabond arts of 
 sleight-of-hand and hocus-pocus. 
 
 The Kentucky Giant was but another illustration of the 
 truth of this position. He had a weakness in the region of 
 the knees, and a trustfulness in his long face, which appealed 
 even to five-feet nine for encouragement and support. He 
 was only twenty-five years old, he said, and had grown 
 recently, for it had been found necessary to make an addition 
 to the legs of his inexpressibles. At fifteen he was a short 
 boy, and in those days his English father and his Irish 
 mother had rather snubbed him, as being too small of stature 
 to sustain the credit of the family. He added that his health 
 had not been good, though it was better now; but short 
 people are not wanting who whisper that he drinks too hard. 
 
1 68 
 
 American Notes 
 
 I understand he drives a hackney-coach, though how he 
 does it, unless he stands on the footboard behind, and lies 
 along the roof upon his chest, with his chin in the box, it 
 would be difficult to comprehend. He brought his gun with 
 him, as a curiosity. Christened “ The Little Rifle,” and 
 displayed outside a shop-window, it would make the fortune 
 of any retail business in Holborn. When he had shown 
 himself and talked a little while, he withdrew with his pocket- 
 instrument, and went bobbing down the cabin, among men 
 of six feet high and upwards, like a lighthouse walking 
 among lamp-posts. 
 
 Within a few minutes afterwards, we were out of the canal, 
 and in the Ohio river again. 
 
 The arrangements of the boat were like those of “ The Mes- 
 senger, and the passengers were of the same order of people. 
 We fed at the same times, on the same kind of viands, in 
 the same dull manner, and with the same observances. The 
 company appeared to be oppressed by the same tremendous 
 concealments, and had as little capacity of enjoyment or 
 light-heartedness. I never in my life did see such listless, 
 heavy dulness as brooded over these meals : the very recollec- 
 tion of it weighs me down, and makes me, for the moment, 
 wretched. Reading and writing on my knee, in our little 
 cabin, I really dreaded the coming of the hour that summoned 
 us to table; and was as glad to escape from it again, as if it 
 had been a penance or a punishment. Healthy cheerfulness 
 and good spirits forming a part of the banquet, I could soak 
 my crusts in the fountain with Le Sage’s strolling player, 
 and revel in their glad enjoyment: but sitting down with 
 so many fellow-animals to ward off thirst and hunger as 
 a business; to empty, each creature, his Yahoo’s trough as 
 quickly as he can, and then slink sullenly away; to have 
 these social sacraments stripped of everything but the mere 
 greedy satisfaction of the natural cravings; goes so against 
 the grain with me, that I seriously believe the recollection 
 of these funeral feasts will be a waking nightmare to me 
 all my life. 
 
 There was some relief in this boat, too, which there had 
 not been in the other, for the captain (a blunt good-natured 
 fellow) had his handsome wife with him, who was disposed 
 to be lively and agreeable, as were a few other lady-passengers 
 who had their seats about us at the same end of the table. 
 
The Mississippi 169 
 
 But nothing could have made head against the depressing 
 influence of the general body. There was a magnetism of 
 dulness in them which would have beaten down the most 
 facetious companion that the earth ever knew. A jest would 
 have been a crime, and a smile would have faded into a 
 grinning horror. Such deadly leaden people ; such systematic 
 plodding weary insupportable heaviness; such a mass of 
 animated indigestion in respect of all that was genial, jovial, 
 frank, social, or hearty; never, sure, was brought together 
 elsewhere since the world began. 
 
 Nor was the scenery, as we approached the junction of the 
 Ohio and Mississippi rivers, at all inspiriting in its influence. 
 The trees were stunted in their growth; the banks were low 
 and flat; the settlements and log cabins fewer in number; 
 their inhabitants more wan and wretched than any we had 
 encountered yet. No songs of birds were in the air, no 
 pleasant scents, no moving lights and shadows from swift 
 passing clouds. Hour after hour, the changeless glare of the 
 hot, unwinking sky, shone upon the same monotonous objects. 
 Hour after hour, the river rolled along, as wearily and slowly 
 as the time itself. 
 
 At length, upon the morning of the third day, we arrived 
 at a spot so much more desolate than any we had yet beheld, 
 that the forlorn est places we had passed, were, in comparison 
 with it, full of interest. At the junction of the two rivers, 
 on ground so flat and low and marshy, that at certain seasons 
 of the year it is inundated to the house-tops, lies a breeding- 
 place of fever, ague, and death; vaunted in England as a 
 mine of Golden Hope, and speculated in, on the faith of 
 monstrous representations, to many people’s ruin. A dismal 
 swamp, on which the half-built houses rot away : cleared here 
 and there for the space of a few yards; and teeming, then, 
 with rank unwholesome vegetation, in whose baleful shade 
 the wretched wanderers who are tempted hither, droop, and 
 die, and lay their bones ; the hateful Mississippi circling and 
 eddying before it, and turning off upon its southern course 
 a slimy monster hideous to behold; a hotbed of disease, an 
 ugly sepulchre, a grave uncheered by any gleam of promise: 
 a place without one single quality, in earth or air or water, 
 to commend it: such is this dismal Cairo. 
 
 But what words shall describe the Mississippi, great father 
 of rivers, who (praise be to Heaven) has no young children 
 G 
 
American Notes 
 
 1 70 
 
 like him ! An enormous ditch, sometimes two or three miles 
 wide, running liquid mud, six miles an hour: its strong and 
 frothy current choked and obstructed everywhere by huge logs 
 and whole forest trees: now twining themselves together in 
 great rafts, from the interstices of which a sedgy lazy foam 
 works up, to float upon the water’s top ; now rolling past like 
 monstrous bodies, their tangled roots showing like matted 
 hair; now glancing singly by like giant leeches; and now 
 writhing round and round in the vortex of some small whirl- 
 pool, like wounded snakes. The banks low, the trees dwarfish, 
 the marshes swarming with frogs, the wretched cabins few 
 and far apart, their inmates hollow-cheeked and pale, the 
 weather very hot, mosquitoes penetrating into every crack 
 and crevice of the boat, mud and slime on everything: 
 nothing pleasant in its aspect, but the harmless lightning 
 which flickers every night upon the dark horizon. 
 
 For two days we toiled up this foul stream, striking con- 
 stantly against the floating timber, or stopping to avoid those 
 more dangerous obstacles, the snags, or sawyers, which are 
 the hidden trunks of trees that have their roots below the 
 tide. When the nights are very dark, the look-out stationed 
 in the head of the boat, knows by the ripple of the water if 
 any great impediment be near at hand, and rings a bell beside 
 him, which is the signal for the engine to be stopped: but 
 always in the night this bell has work to do, and after every 
 ring, there comes a blow which renders it no easy matter to 
 remain in bed. 
 
 The decline of the day here was very gorgeous ; tingeing the 
 firmament deeply with red and gold, up to the very keystone 
 of the arch above us. As the sun went down behind the 
 bank, the slightest blades of grass upon it seemed to become 
 as distinctly visible as the arteries in the skeleton of a leaf; 
 and when, as it slowly sank, the red and golden bars upon 
 the water grew dimmer, and dimmer yet, as if they were 
 sinking too; and all the glowing colours of departing day 
 paled, inch by inch, before the sombre night; the scene 
 became a thousand times more lonesome and more dreary 
 than before, and all its influences darkened with the sky. 
 
 We drank the muddy water of this river while we were 
 upon it. It is considered wholesome by the natives, and is 
 something more opaque than gruel. I have seen water like 
 it at the Filter-shops, but nowhere else. 
 
The Charming Little Woman 171 
 
 On the fourth night after leaving Louisville, we reached 
 St. Louis, and here I witnessed the conclusion of an incident, 
 trifling enough in itself, but very pleasant to see, which had 
 interested me during the whole journey. 
 
 There was a little woman on board, with a little baby; 
 and both little woman and little child were cheerful, good- 
 looking, bright-eyed, and fair to see. The little woman had 
 been passing a long time with her sick mother in New York, 
 and had left her home in St. Louis, in that condition in 
 which ladies who truly love their lords desire to be. The 
 baby was born in her mother’s house; and she had not seen 
 her husband (to whom she was now returning), for twelve 
 months : having left him a month or two after their 
 
 marriage. 
 
 Well, to be sure, there never was a little woman so full 
 of hope, and tenderness, and love, and anxiety, as this little 
 woman was: and all day long she wondered whether “ He ” 
 would be at the wharf; and whether “He” had got her 
 letter; and whether, if she sent the baby ashore by somebody 
 else, “ He ” would know it, meeting it in the street: which, 
 seeing that he had never set eyes upon it in his life, was not 
 very likely in the abstract, but was probable enough, to the 
 young mother. She was such an artless little creature ; and 
 was in such a sunny, beaming, hopeful state ; and let out all 
 this matter clinging close about her heart, so freely ; that all 
 the other lady passengers entered into the spirit of it as much 
 as she; and the captain (who heard all about it from his 
 wife) was wondrous sly, I promise you : inquiring, every time 
 we met at table, as in forgetfulness, whether she expected 
 anybody to meet her at St. Louis, and whether she would 
 want to go ashore the night we reached it (but he supposed 
 she wouldn’t), and cutting many other dry jokes of that 
 nature. There was one little weazen, dried-apple-faced old 
 woman, who took occasion to doubt the constancy of 
 husbands in such circumstances of bereavement; and there 
 was another lady (with a lap-dog) old enough to moralize 
 on the lightness of human affections, and yet not so old that 
 she could help nursing the baby, now and then, or laughing 
 with the rest, when the little woman called it by its father’s 
 name, and asked it all manner of fantastic questions con- 
 cerning him in the joy of her heart. 
 
 It was something of a blow to the little woman, that when 
 
American Notes 
 
 172 
 
 we were within twenty miles of our destination, it became 
 clearly necessary to put this baby to bed. But she got over 
 it with the same good humour; tied a handkerchief round 
 her head ; and came out into the little gallery with the rest. 
 Then, such an oracle as she became in reference to the 
 localities! and such facetiousness as was displayed by the 
 married ladies! and such sympathy as was shown by the 
 single ones ! and such peals of laughter as the little woman 
 herself (who would just as soon have cried) greeted every 
 jest with! 
 
 At last, there were the lights of St. Louis, and here was 
 the wharf, and those were the steps: and the little woman 
 covering her face with her hands, and laughing (or seeming 
 to laugh) more than ever, ran into her own cabin, and shut 
 herself up. I have no doubt that in the charming incon- 
 sistency of such excitement, she stopped her ears, lest she 
 should hear “ Him ” asking for her: but I did not see her 
 do it. 
 
 Then, a great crowd of people rushed on board, though 
 the boat was not yet made fast, but was wandering about, 
 among the other boats, to find a landing-place: and every- 
 body looked for the husband : and nobody saw him: when, 
 in the midst of us all — Heaven knows how she ever got there 
 — there was the little woman clinging with both arms tight 
 round the neck of a fine, good-looking, sturdy young fellow ! 
 and in a moment afterwards, there she was again, actually 
 clapping her little hands for joy, as she dragged him through 
 the small door of her small cabin, to look at the baby as he 
 lay asleep! 
 
 We went to a large hotel, called the Planter’s House: 
 built like an English hospital, with long passages and bare 
 walls, and skylights above the room-doors for the free circu- 
 lation of air. There were a great many boarders in it; and 
 as many lights sparkled and glistened from the windows 
 down into the street below, when we drove up, as if it had 
 been illuminated on some occasion of rejoicing. It is an 
 excellent house, and the proprietors have most bountiful 
 notions of providing the creature comforts. Dining alone 
 with my wife in our own room, one day, I counted fourteen 
 dishes on the table at once. 
 
 In the old French portion of the town, the thoroughfares 
 are narrow and crooked, and some of the houses are very 
 
St. Louis 
 
 *73 
 
 quaint and picturesque: being built of wood, with tumble- 
 down galleries before the windows, approachable by stairs or 
 rather ladders from the street. There are queer little barbers’ 
 shops and drinking-houses too, in this quarter; and abun- 
 dance of crazy old tenements with blinking casements, such 
 as may be seen in Flanders. Some of these ancient habita- 
 tions, with high garret gable-windows perking into the roofs, 
 have a kind of French shrug about them; and being lop- 
 sided with age, appear to hold their heads askew, besides, as 
 if they were grimacing in astonishment at the American 
 Improvements. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to say, that these consist of wharfs 
 and warehouses, and new buildings in all directions; and 
 of a great many vast plans which are still “progressing.” 
 AJready, hov/ever, some very good houses, broad streets, and 
 marble-fronted shops, have gone so far ahead as to be in 
 a state of completion; and the town bids fair in a few years 
 to improve considerably: though it is not likely ever to vie, 
 in point of elegance or beauty, with Cincinnati. 
 
 The Roman Catholic religion, introduced here by the early 
 French settlers, prevails extensively. Among the public 
 institutions are a Jesuit college; a convent for “ the Ladies 
 of the Sacred Heart”; and a large chapel attached to the 
 college, which was in course of erection at the time of my 
 visit, and was intended to be consecrated on the second of 
 December in the next year. The architect of this building, 
 is one of the reverend fathers of the school, and the works 
 proceed under his sole direction. The organ will be sent 
 from Belgium. 
 
 In addition to these establishments, there is a Roman 
 Catholic cathedral, dedicated to Saint Francis Xavier; and a 
 hospital, founded by the munificence of a deceased resident, 
 who was a member of that church. It also sends missionaries 
 from hence among the Indian tribes. 
 
 The Unitarian church is represented, in this remote place, 
 as in most other parts of America, by a gentleman of great 
 worth and excellence. The poor have good reason to remem- 
 ber and bless it; for it befriends them, and aids the cause of 
 rational education, without any sectarian or selfish views. It 
 is liberal in all its actions; of kind construction; and of 
 wide benevolence. 
 
 There are three free-schools already erected, and in full 
 
174 American Notes 
 
 operation in this city. A fourth is building, and will soon 
 be opened. 
 
 No man ever admits the unhealthiness of the place he 
 dwells in (unless he is going away from it), and I shall there- 
 fore, I have no doubt, be at issue with the inhabitants of 
 St. Louis, in questioning the perfect salubrity of its climate, 
 and in hinting that I think it must rather dispose to fever, 
 in the summer and autumnal seasons. Just adding, that it 
 is very hot, lies among great rivers, and has vast tracks of 
 undrained swampy land around it, I leave the reader to form 
 his own opinion. 
 
 As I had a great desire to see a Prairie before turning 
 back from the furthest point of my wanderings; and as 
 some gentlemen of the town had, in their hospitable con- 
 sideration, an equal desire to gratify me; a day was fixed, 
 before my departure, for an expedition to the Looking-Glass 
 Prairie, which is within thirty miles of the town. Deeming 
 it possible that my readers may not object to know what 
 kind of thing such a gipsy party may be at that distance 
 from home, and among what sort of objects it moves, I will 
 describe the jaunt in another chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A JAUNT TO THE LOOKING-GLASS PRAIRIE AND BACK 
 
 I may premise that the word Prairie is variously pronounced 
 paraaer , parearer, and paroarer. The latter mode of pro- 
 nunciation is perhaps the most in favour. 
 
 We were fourteen in all, and all young men: indeed it is 
 a singular though very natural feature in the society of these 
 distant settlements, that it is mainly composed of adventurous 
 persons in the prime of life, and has very few grey heads 
 among it. There were no ladies: the trip being a fatiguing 
 one: and we were to start at five o’clock in the morning 
 punctually. 
 
 I was called at four, that I might be certain of keeping 
 nobody waiting; and having got some bread and milk for 
 breakfast, threw up the window and looked down into the 
 
The American Bottom 
 
 J 75 
 
 street, expecting to see the whole party busily astir, and 
 great preparations going on below. But as everything was 
 very quiet, and the street presented that hopeless aspect with 
 which live o’clock in the morning is familiar elsewhere, I 
 deemed it as well to go to bed again, and went accordingly. 
 
 I woke again at seven o’clock, and by that time the party 
 had assembled, and were gathered round, one light carriage, 
 with a very stout axletree; one something on wheels like an 
 amateur carrier’s cart; one double phaeton of great antiquity 
 and unearthly construction; one gig with a great hole in its 
 back and a broken head; and one rider on horseback who 
 was to go on before. I got into the first coach with three 
 companions; the rest bestowed themselves in the other 
 vehicles; two large baskets were made fast to the lightest; 
 two large stone jars in wicker cases, technically known as 
 demi-johns, were consigned to the “ least rowdy ” of the 
 party for safe-keeping; and the procession moved off to the 
 ferry-boat, in which it was to cross the river bodily, men, 
 horses, carriages, and all, as the manner in these parts is. 
 
 We got over the river in due course, and mustered again 
 before a little wooden box on wheels, hove down all aslant in 
 a morass, with “ merchant tailor ” painted in very large 
 letters over the door. Having settled the order of proceed- 
 ing, and the road to be taken, we started off once more and 
 began to make our way through an ill-favoured Black Hollow, 
 called, less expressively, the American Bottom. 
 
 The previous day had been — not to say hot, for the term 
 is weak and lukewarm in its power of conveying an idea of 
 the temperature. The town had been on fire; in a blaze. 
 But at night it had come on to rain in torrents, and all 
 night long it had rained without cessation. We had a pair 
 of very strong horses, but travelled at the rate of little more 
 than a couple of miles an hour, through one unbroken slough 
 of black mud and water. It had no variety but in depth. 
 Now it was only half over the wheels, now it hid the axle- 
 tree, and now the coach sank down in it almost to the win- 
 dows. The air resounded in all directions with the loud 
 chirping of the frogs, who, with the pigs (a coarse, ugly breed, 
 as unwholesome-looking as though they were the spontaneous 
 growth of the country), had the whole scene to themselves. 
 Here and there we passed a log hut: but the wretched cabins 
 were wide apart and thinly scattered, for though the soil is 
 
American Notes 
 
 1 7 6 
 
 very rich in this place, few people can exist in such a deadly 
 atmosphere. On either side of the track, if it deserve the 
 name, was the thick “ bush ”; and everywhere was stagnant, 
 slimy, rotten, filthy water. 
 
 As it is the custom in these parts to give a horse a gallon 
 or so of cold water whenever he is in a foam with heat, we 
 halted for that purpose, at a log inn in the wood, far removed 
 from any other residence. It consisted of one room, bare- 
 roofed and bare-walled of course, with a loft above. The 
 ministering priest was a swarthy young savage, in a shirt of 
 cotton print like bed-furniture, and a pair of ragged trousers. 
 There were a couple of young boys, too, nearly naked, lying 
 idle by the well; and they, and he, and the traveller at the 
 inn, turned out to look at us. 
 
 The traveller was an old man with a grey grizzly beard 
 two inches long, a shaggy moustache of the same hue, and 
 enormous eyebrows; which almost obscured his lazy, semi- 
 drunken glance, as he stood regarding us with folded arms: 
 poising himself alternately upon his toes and heels. On being 
 addressed by one of the party, he drew nearer, and said, 
 rubbing his chin (which scraped under his horny hand like 
 fresh gravel beneath a nailed shoe), that he was from Dela- 
 ware, and had lately bought a farm “ down there,” pointing 
 into one of the marshes where the stunted trees were thickest. 
 He was “ going,” he added, to St. Louis, to fetch his family, 
 whom he had left behind ; but he seemed in no great hurry 
 to bring on these incumbrances, for when we moved away, 
 he loitered back into the cabin, and was plainly bent on 
 stopping there so long as his money lasted. He was a great 
 politician of course, and explained his opinions at some 
 length to one of our company; but I only remember that 
 he concluded with two sentiments, one of which was, Some- 
 body for ever; and the other, Blast everybody else! which 
 is by no means a bad abstract of the general creed in these 
 matters. 
 
 When the horses were swollen out to about twice their 
 natural dimensions (there seems to be an idea here, that this 
 kind of inflation improves their going), we went forward 
 again, through mud and mire, and damp, and festering heat, 
 and brake and bush, attended always by the music of the 
 frogs and pigs, until nearly noon, when we halted at a place 
 called Belleville. 
 
Belleville 
 
 177 
 
 Belleville was a small collection of wooden houses, huddled 
 together in the very heart of the bush and swamp. Many 
 of them had singularly bright doors of red and yellow; for 
 the place had been lately visited by a travelling painter, 
 “ who got along,” as I was told, “ by eating his way.” The 
 criminal court was sitting, and was at that moment trying 
 some criminals for horse-stealing: with whom it would most 
 likely go hard: for live stock of all kinds being necessarily 
 very much exposed in the woods, is held by the community 
 in rather higher value than human life; and for this reason, 
 juries generally make a point of finding all men indicted for 
 cattle-stealing, guilty, whether or no. 
 
 The horses belonging to the bar, the judge, and witnesses, 
 were tied to temporary racks set up roughly in the road; by 
 which is to be understood, a forest path, nearly knee-deep in 
 mud and slime. 
 
 There was an hotel in this place, which, like all hotels in 
 America, had its large dining-room for the public table. It 
 was an odd, shambling, low-roofed out-house, half-cowshed 
 and half-kitchen, with a coarse brown canvas table-cloth, and 
 tin sconces stuck against the walls, to hold candles at supper- 
 time. The horseman had gone forward to have coffee and 
 some eatables prepared, and they were by this time nearly 
 ready. He had ordered “ wheat-bread and chicken fixings,” 
 in preference to “ corn-bread and common doings.” The 
 latter kind of refection includes only pork and bacon. The 
 former comprehends broiled ham, sausages, veal cutlets, 
 steaks, and such other viands of that nature as may be sup- 
 posed, by a tolerably wide poetical construction, “ to fix ” a 
 chicken comfortably in the digestive organs of any lady or 
 gentleman. 
 
 On one of the door-posts at this inn, was a tin plate, 
 whereon was inscribed in characters of gold, “ Doctor Crocus”; 
 and on a sheet of paper, pasted up by the side of this plate, 
 was a written announcement that Dr. Crocus would that 
 evening deliver a lecture on Phrenology for the benefit of 
 the Belleville public; at a charge, for admission, of so much 
 a head. 
 
 Straying upstairs, during the preparation of the chicken 
 fixings, I happened to pass the doctor’s chamber; and as the 
 door stood wide open, and the room was empty, I made bold 
 to peep in. 
 
 *g * 
 
American Notes 
 
 178 
 
 It was a bare, unfurnished, comfortless room, with an un- 
 framed portrait hanging up at the head of the bed; a like- 
 ness, I take it, of the Doctor, for the forehead was fully dis- 
 played, and great stress was laid by the artist upon its 
 phrenological developments. The bed itself was covered 
 with an old patch-work counterpane. The room was desti- 
 tute of carpet or of curtain. There was a damp fireplace 
 without any stove, full of wood ashes; a chair, and a very 
 small table; and on the last-named piece of furniture was 
 displayed, in grand array, the doctor’s library, consisting of 
 some half-dozen greasy old books. 
 
 Now, it certainly looked about the last apartment on the 
 whole earth out of which any man would be likely to get 
 anything to do him good. But the door, as I have said, 
 stood coaxingly open, and plainly said in conjunction with 
 the chair, the portrait, the table, and the books, “ Walk in, 
 gentlemen, walk in! Don’t be ill, gentlemen, when you may 
 be well in no time. Doctor Crocus is here, gentlemen, the 
 celebrated Dr. Crocus ! Doctor Crocus has come all this way 
 to cure you, gentlemen. If you haven’t heard of Dr. Crocus, 
 it’s your fault, gentlemen, who live a little way out of the 
 world here : not Dr. Crocus’s. Walk in, gentlemen, 
 walk in ! ” 
 
 In the passage below, when I went downstairs again, was 
 Dr. Crocus himself. A crowd had flocked in from the Court 
 House, and a voice from among them called out to the land- 
 lord, “ Colonel! introduce Dr. Crocus.” 
 
 “ Mr. Dickens,” says the colonel, “ Doctor Crocus.” 
 
 Upon which Doctor Crocus, who is a tall, fine-looking 
 Scotchman, but rather fierce and warlike in appearance for 
 a professor of the peaceful art of healing, bursts out of the 
 concourse with his right arm extended, and his chest thrown 
 out as far as it will possibly come, and says : 
 
 “ Your countryman, Sir! ” 
 
 Whereupon Doctor Crocus and I shake hands ; and Doctor 
 Crocus looks as if I didn’t by any means realise his expecta- 
 tions, which, in a linen blouse, and a great straw hat, with 
 a green ribbon, and no gloves, and my face and nose pro- 
 fusely ornamented with the stings of mosquitoes and the 
 bites of bugs, it is very likely I did not. 
 
 “ Long in these parts, Sir? ” says I. 
 
 “ Three or four months, Sir,” says the Doctor. 
 
Doctor Crocus 179 
 
 “ Do you think of soon returning to the old country? ” 
 says I. 
 
 Doctor Crocus makes no verbal answer, but gives me an 
 imploring look, which says so plainly “ Will you ask me 
 that again, a little louder, if you please? ” that I repeat the 
 question. 
 
 “ Think of soon returning to the old country, Sir? ” repeats 
 the Doctor. 
 
 “ To the old country, Sir,” I rejoin. 
 
 Doctor Crocus looks round upon the crowd to observe the 
 effect he produces, rubs his hands, and says, in a very loud 
 voice : 
 
 “ Not yet awhile, Sir, not yet. You won’t catch me at 
 that just yet, Sir. I am a little too fond of freedom for that , 
 Sir. Ha, ha! It’s not so easy for a man to tear himself 
 from a free country such as this is, Sir. Ha, ha! No, no! 
 Ha. ha! None of that till one’s obliged to do it, Sir. No, 
 no! ” 
 
 As Doctor Crocus says these latter words, he shakes his 
 head, knowingly, and laughs again. Many of the bystanders 
 shake their heads in concert with the doctor, and laugh too, 
 and look at each other as much as to say, “ A pretty bright 
 and first-rate sort of chap is Crocus ! ” and unless I am very 
 much mistaken, a good many people went to the lecture that 
 night, who never thought about phrenology, or about Doctor 
 Crocus either, in all their lives before. 
 
 From Belleville, we went on, through the same desolate 
 kind of waste, and constantly attended, without the interval 
 of a moment, by the same music; until, at three o’clock in 
 the afternoon, we halted once more at a village called 
 Lebanon to inflate the horses again, and give them some corn 
 besides: of which they stood much in need. Pending this 
 ceremony, I walked into the village, where I met a full- 
 sized dwelling-house coming down-hill at a round trot, drawn 
 by a score or more of oxen. 
 
 The public-house was so very clean and good a one, that 
 the managers of the jaunt resolved to return to it and put 
 up there for the night, if possible. This course decided on, 
 and the horses being well refreshed, we again pushed for- 
 ward, and came upon the Prairie at sunset. 
 
 It would be difficult to say why, or how — though it was 
 possibly from having heard and read so much about it — but 
 
American Notes 
 
 1 80 
 
 the effect on me was disappointment. Looking towards the 
 setting sun, there lay, stretched out before my view, a vast 
 expanse of level ground ; unbroken, save by one thin line of 
 trees, which scarcely amounted to a scratch upon the great 
 blank; until it met the glowing sky, wherein it seemed to 
 dip: mingling with its rich colours, and mellowing in its 
 distant blue. There it lay, a tranquil sea or lake without 
 water, if such a simile be admissible, with the day going 
 down upon it: a few birds wheeling here and there: and 
 solitude and silence reigning paramount around. But the 
 grass was not yet high; there were bare black patches on 
 the ground; and the few wild flowers that the eye could see, 
 were poor and scanty. Great as the picture was, its very 
 flatness and extent, which left nothing to the imagination, 
 tamed it down and cramped its interest. I felt little of that 
 sense of freedom and exhilaration which a Scottish heath 
 inspires, or even our English downs awaken. It was lonely 
 and wild, but oppressive in its barren monotony. I felt that 
 in traversing the Prairies, I could never abandon myself to 
 the scene, forgetful of all else; as I should do instinctively, 
 were the heather underneath my feet, or an iron-bound coast 
 beyond; but should often glance towards the distant and 
 frequently-receding line of the horizon, and wish it gained 
 and passed. It is not a scene to be forgotten, but it is 
 scarcely one, I think (at all events, as I saw it), to remember 
 with much pleasure, or to covet the looking-on again, in 
 after-life. 
 
 We encamped near a solitary log-house, for the sake of 
 its water, and dined upon the plain. The baskets contained 
 roast fowls, buffalo’s tongue (an exquisite dainty, by-the- 
 way), ham, bread, cheese, and butter; biscuits, champagne, 
 sherry; lemons and sugar for punch; and abundance of 
 rough ice. The meal was delicious, and the entertainers 
 were the soul of kindness and good humour. I have often 
 recalled that cheerful party to my pleasant recollection since, 
 and shall not easily forget, in junketings nearer home with 
 friends of older date, my boon companions on the Prairie. 
 
 Returning to Lebanon that night, we lay at the little inn 
 at which we had halted in the afternoon. In point of clean- 
 liness and comfort it would have suffered by no comparison 
 with any English alehouse, of a homely kind, in England. 
 
 Rising at five o’clock next morning, I took a walk about 
 
The Monks’ Mound 
 
 1 8 1 
 
 the village: none of the houses were strolling about to-day, 
 but it was early for them yet, perhaps: and then amused 
 myself by lounging in a kind of farm-yard behind the tavern, 
 of which the leading features were, a strange jumble of rough 
 sheds for stables; a rude colonnade, built as a cool place of 
 summer resort; a deep well; a great earthen mound for 
 keeping vegetables in, in winter time; and a pigeon-house, 
 whose little apertures looked, as they do in all pigeon-houses, 
 very much too small for the admission of the plump and 
 swelling-breasted birds who were strutting about it, though 
 they tried to get in never so hard. That interest exhausted, 
 I took a survey of the inn’s two parlours, which were 
 decorated with coloured prints of Washington, and President 
 Madison, and of a white-faced young lady (much speckled by 
 the flies), who held up her gold neck-chain for the admiration 
 of the spectator, and informed all admiring comers that she 
 was “ Just Seventeen although I should have thought her 
 older. In the best room were two oil portraits of the kit-cat 
 size, representing the landlord and his infant son; both look- 
 ing as bold as lions, and staring out of the canvas with an 
 intensity that would have been cheap at any price. They 
 were painted, I think, by the artist who had touched up the 
 Belleville doors with red and gold; for I seemed to recognise 
 his style immediately. 
 
 After breakfast, we started to return by a different way 
 from that which we had taken yesterday, and coming up at 
 ten o’clock with an encampment of German emigrants carry- 
 ing their goods in carts, who had made a rousing fire which 
 they were just quitting, stopped there to refresh. And very 
 pleasant the fire was ; for, hot though it had been yesterday, 
 it was quite cold to-day, and the wind blew keenly. Looming 
 in the distance, as we rode along, was another of the ancient 
 Indian burial-places, called The Monks’ Mound; in memory 
 of a body of fanatics of the order of La Trappe, who founded 
 a desolate convent there, many years ago, when there were 
 no settlers within a thousand miles, and were all swept 
 off by the pernicious climate: in which lamentable fatality, 
 few rational people will suppose, perhaps, that society 
 experienced any very severe deprivation. 
 
 The track of to-day had the same features as the track of 
 yesterday. There was the swamp, the bush, and the perpetual 
 chorus of frogs, the rank unseemly growth, the unwholesome 
 
I 82 
 
 American Notes 
 
 steaming earth. Here and there, and frequently too, we 
 encountered a solitary broken-down waggon, full of some 
 new settler’s goods. It was a pitiful sight to see one of these 
 vehicles deep in the mire; the axletree broken; the wheel 
 lying idly by its side; the man gone miles away, to look for 
 assistance; the woman seated among their wandering house- 
 hold gods with a baby at her breast, a picture of forlorn, 
 dejected patience; the team of oxen crouching down mourn- 
 fully in the mud, and breathing forth such clouds of vapour 
 from their mouths and nostrils, that all the damp mist and 
 fog around seemed to have come direct from them. 
 
 In due time we mustered once again before the merchant 
 tailor’s, and having done so, crossed over to the city in the 
 ferry-boat : passing, on the way, a spot called Bloody Island, 
 the duelling-ground of St. Louis, and so designated in honour 
 of the last fatal combat fought there, which was with pistols, 
 breast to breast. Both combatants fell dead upon the 
 ground; and possibly some rational people may think of 
 them, as of the gloomy madmen on the Monks’ Mound, that 
 they were no great loss to the community. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 RETURN TO CINCINNATI. A STAGE-COACH RIDE FROM THAT 
 CITY TO COLUMBUS, AND THENCE TO SANDUSKY. SO, 
 BY LAKE ERIE, TO THE FALLS OF NIAGARA 
 
 As I had a desire to travel through the interior of the state 
 of Ohio, and to “ strike the lakes,” as the phrase is, at a 
 small town called Sandusky, to which that route would 
 conduct us on our way to Niagara, we had to return from 
 St. Louis by the way we had come, and to retrace our former 
 track as far as Cincinnati. 
 
 The day on which we were to take leave of St. Louis 
 being very fine; and the steamboat, which was to have 
 started I don’t know how early in the morning, postponing, 
 for the third or fourth time, her departure until the after- 
 noon : we rode forward to an old French village on the river. 
 
A Descendant of Cain 183 
 
 called properly Carondelet, and nicknamed Vide Poche, and 
 arranged that the packet should call for us there. 
 
 The place consisted of a few poor cottages, and two or 
 three public-houses; the state of whose larders certainly 
 seemed to justify the second designation of the village, for 
 there was nothing to eat in any of them. At length, how- 
 ever, by going back some half a mile or so, we found a solitary 
 house where ham and coffee were procurable; and there we 
 tarried to await the advent of the boat, which would come 
 in sight from the green before the door, a long way off. 
 
 It was a neat, unpretending village tavern, and we took 
 our repast in a quaint little room with a bed in it, decorated 
 with some old oil paintings, which in their time had probably 
 done duty in a Catholic chapel or monastery. The fare was 
 very good, and served with great cleanliness. The house was 
 kept by a characteristic old couple, with whom we had a long 
 talk, and who were perhaps a very good sample of that kind 
 of people in the West. 
 
 The landlord was a dry, tough, hard-faced old fellow (not 
 so very old either, for he was but just turned sixty, I should 
 think), who had been out with the militia in the last war 
 with England, and had seen all kinds of service, — except a 
 battle; and he had been very near seeing that, he added: 
 very near. He had all his life been restless and locomotive, 
 with an irresistible desire for change; and was still the son 
 of his old self: for if he had nothing to keep him at home, 
 he said (slightly jerking his hat and his thumb towards the 
 window of the room in which the old lady sat, as we stood 
 talking in front of the house), he would clean up his musket, 
 and be off to Texas to-morrow morning. He was one of 
 the very many descendants of Cain proper to this continent, 
 who seem destined from their birth to serve as pioneers in 
 the great human army : who gladly go on from year to year 
 extending its outposts, and leaving home after home behind 
 them ; and die at last, utterly regardless of their graves being 
 left thousands of miles behind, by the wandering generation 
 who succeed. 
 
 His wife was a domesticated kind-hearted old soul, who 
 had come with him, “ from the queen city of the world/’ 
 which, it seemed, was Philadelphia ; but had no love for this 
 Western country, and indeed had little reason to bear it 
 any ; having seen her children, one by one, die here of fever, 
 
American Notes 
 
 1 84 
 
 in the full prime and beauty of their youth. Her heart was 
 sore, she said, to think of them; and to talk on this theme, 
 even to strangers, in that blighted place, so far from her old 
 home, eased it somewhat, and became a melancholy pleasure. 
 
 The boat appearing towards evening, we bade adieu to 
 the poor old lady and her vagrant spouse, and making for 
 the nearest landing-place, were soon on board “ The Messen- 
 ger ” again, in our old cabin, and steaming down the Mis- 
 sissippi. 
 
 If the coming up this river, slowly making head against 
 the stream, be an irksome journey, the shooting down it 
 with the turbid current is almost worse; for then the boat, 
 proceeding at the rate of twelve or fifteen miles an hour, has 
 to force its passage through a labyrinth of floating logs, 
 which, in the dark, it is often impossible to see beforehand 
 or avoid. All that night, the bell was never silent for five 
 minutes at a time; and after every ring the vessel reeled 
 again, sometimes beneath a single blow, sometimes beneath a 
 dozen dealt in quick succession, the lightest of which seemed 
 more than enough to beat in her frail keel, as though it had 
 been pie-crust. Looking down upon the filthy river after 
 dark, it seemed to be alive with monsters, as these black 
 masses rolled upon the surface, or came starting up again, 
 head first, when the boat, in ploughing her way among a shoal 
 of such obstructions, drove a few among them for the moment 
 under water. Sometimes the engine stopped during a long 
 interval, and then before her and behind, and gathering 
 close about her on all sides, were so many of these ill-favoured 
 obstacles that she was fairly hemmed in; the centre of a 
 floating island; and was constrained to pause until they 
 parted, somewhere, as dark clouds will do before the wind, 
 and opened by degrees a channel out. 
 
 In good time next morning, however, we came again in 
 sight of the detestable morass called Cairo; and stopping 
 there to take in wood, lay alongside a barge, whose starting 
 timbers scarcely held together. It was moored to the bank, 
 and on its side was painted “ Coffee House ”; that being, I 
 suppose, the floating paradise to which the people fly for 
 shelter when they lose their houses for a month or two 
 beneath the hideous waters of the Mississippi. But looking 
 southward from this point, we had the satisfaction of seeing 
 that intolerable river dragging its slimy length and ugly 
 
The Mississippi Left Behind 1 8 5 
 
 freight abruptly off towards New Orleans; and passing a 
 yellow line which stretched across the current, were again 
 upon the clear Ohio, never, I trust, to see the Mississippi more, 
 saving in troubled dreams and nightmares. Leaving it for 
 the company of its sparkling neighbour, was like the transition 
 from pain to ease, or the awakening from a horrible vision to 
 cheerful realities. 
 
 We arrived at Louisville on the fourth night, and gladly 
 availed ourselves of its excellent hotel. Next day we went 
 on in the “ Ben Franklin/’ a beautiful mail steamboat, and 
 reached Cincinnati shortly after midnight. Being by this 
 time nearly tired of sleeping upon shelves, we had remained 
 awake to go ashore straightway ; and groping a passage across 
 the dark decks of other boats, and among labyrinths of 
 engine-machinery and leaking casks of molasses, we reached 
 the streets, knocked up the porter at the hotel where we 
 had stayed before, and were, to our great joy, safely housed 
 soon afterwards. 
 
 We rested but one day at Cincinnati, and then resumed 
 our journey to Sandusky. As it comprised two varieties of 
 stage-coach travelling, which, with those I have already 
 glanced at, comprehend the main characteristics of this mode 
 of transit in America, I will take the reader as our fellow- 
 passenger, and pledge myself to perform the distance with all 
 possible dispatch. 
 
 Our place of destination in the first instance is Columbus. 
 It is distant about a hundred and twenty miles from Cin- 
 cinnati, but there is a macadamised road (rare blessing !) the 
 whole way, and the rate of travelling upon it is six miles an 
 hour. 
 
 We start at eight o’clock in the morning, in a great mail- 
 coach, whose huge cheeks are so very ruddy and plethoric, 
 that it appears to be troubled with a tendency of blood to 
 the head. Dropsical it certainly is, for it will hold a dozen 
 passengers inside. But, wonderful to add, it is very clean 
 and bright, being nearly new; and rattles through the 
 streets of Cincinnati gaily. 
 
 Our way lies through a beautiful country, richly cultivated, 
 and luxuriant in its promise of an abundant harvest. Some- 
 times we pass a field where the strong bristling stalks of 
 Indian com look like a crop of walking-sticks, and sometimes 
 an enclosure where the green wheat is springing up among 
 
1 86 
 
 American Notes 
 
 a labyrinth of stumps ; the primitive worm-fence is universal, 
 and an ugly thing it is; but the farms are neatly kept, and, 
 save for these differences, one might be travelling just now 
 in Kent. 
 
 We often stop to water at a roadside inn, which is always 
 dull and silent. The coachman dismounts and fills his 
 bucket, and holds it to the horses’ heads. There is scarcely 
 ever any one to help him; there are seldom any loungers 
 standing round; and never any stable-company with jokes 
 to crack. Sometimes, when we have changed our team, 
 there is a difficulty in starting again, arising out of the 
 prevalent mode of breaking a young horse: which is to 
 catch him, harness him against his will, and put him in 
 a stage-coach without further notice: but we get on some- 
 how or other, after a great many kicks and a violent struggle; 
 and jog on as before again. 
 
 Occasionally, when we stop to change, some two or three 
 half-drunken loafers will come loitering out with their hands 
 in their pockets, or will be seen kicking their heels in rocking- 
 chairs, or lounging on the window-sill, or sitting on a rail 
 within the colonnade: they have not often anything to say 
 though, either to us or to each other, but sit there idly staring 
 at the coach and horses. The landlord of the inn is usually 
 among them, and seems, of all the party, to be the least 
 connected with the business of the house. Indeed he is with 
 reference to the tavern, what the driver is in relation to the 
 coach and passengers: whatever happens in his sphere of 
 action, he is quite indifferent, and perfectly easy in his mind. 
 
 The frequent change of coachmen works no change or 
 variety in the coachman’s character. He is always dirty, 
 sullen, and taciturn. If he be capable of smartness of any 
 kind, moral or physical, he has a faculty of concealing it 
 which is truly marvellous. He never speaks to you as you 
 sit beside him on the box, and if you speak to him, he 
 answers (if at all) in monosyllables. He points out nothing 
 on the road, and seldom looks at anything: being, to all 
 appearance, thoroughly weary of it and of existence generally. 
 As to doing the honours of his coach, his business, as I have 
 said, is with the horses. The coach follows because it is 
 attached to them and goes on wheels: not because you are 
 in it. Sometimes, towards the end of a long stage, he 
 suddenly breaks out into a discordant fragment of an election 
 
A Serviceable Phrase 
 
 1 87 
 
 song, but his face never sings along with him: it is only his 
 voice, and not often that. 
 
 He always chews and always spits, and never encumbers 
 himself with a pocket-handkerchief. The consequences to the 
 box passenger, especially when the wind blows towards him, 
 are not agreeable. 
 
 Whenever the coach stops, and you can hear the voices of 
 the inside passengers ; or whenever any bystander addresses 
 them, or any one among them; or they address each other; 
 you will hear one phrase repeated over and over and over 
 again to the most extraordinary extent. It is an ordinary and 
 unpromising phrase enough, being neither more nor less than 
 “ Yes, Sir ” ; but it is adapted to every variety of circum- 
 stance, and fills up every pause in the conversation. Thus : — 
 
 The time is one o’clock at noon. The scene, a place where 
 we are to stay and dine, on this journey. The coach drives 
 up to the door of an inn. The day is warm, and there are 
 several idlers lingering about the tavern, and waiting for the 
 public dinner. Among them, is a stout gentleman in a 
 brown hat, swinging himself to and fro in a rocking-chair 
 on the pavement. 
 
 As the coach stops, a gentleman in a straw hat looks out 
 of the window: 
 
 Straw Hat. (To the stout gentleman in the rocking- 
 chair.) I reckon that’s Judge Jefferson, an’t it? 
 
 Brown Hat. (Still swinging ; speaking very slowly ; and 
 without* any emotion whatever.) Yes, Sir. 
 
 Straw Hat. Warm weather, Judge. 
 
 Yes, Sir. 
 
 There was a snap of cold, last week. 
 
 Yes, Sir. 
 
 Yes, Sir. 
 
 A pause. They look at each other, very seriously. 
 
 Straw Hat. I calculate you’ll have got through that case 
 of the corporation, Judge, by this time, now? 
 
 Brown Hat. Yes, Sir. 
 
 How did the verdict go, Sir? 
 
 For the defendant, Sir. 
 
 (Interrogatively.) Yes, Sir? 
 
 (Affirmatively.) Yes, Sir. 
 
 Brown Hat. 
 Straw Hat. 
 Brown Hat. 
 Straw Hat. 
 
 Straw Hat. 
 Brown Hat. 
 Straw Hat. 
 Brown Hat. 
 
 Both. 
 
 Sir. 
 
 (Musingly, as each gazes down the street.) Yes, 
 
1 88 
 
 American Notes 
 
 Another pause. They look at each other again, still more 
 seriously than before. 
 
 Brown Hat. This coach is rather behind its time to-day, 
 
 I guess. 
 
 Straw Hat. (Doubtingly.) Yes, Sir. 
 
 Brown Hat. (Looking at his watch.) Yes, Sir; nigh 
 upon two hours. 
 
 Straw Hat. (Raising his eyebrows in very great surprise.) 
 Yes, Sir! 
 
 Brown Hat. (Decisively, as he puts up his watch.) Yes, 
 Sir. 
 
 All the other inside Passengers. (Among themselves.) 
 Yes, Sir. 
 
 Coachman. (In a very surly tone.) No it an’t. 
 
 Straw Hat. (To the coachman.) Well, I don’t know, 
 Sir. We were a pretty tall time coming that last fifteen 
 mile. That’s a fact. 
 
 The coachman making no reply, and plainly declining to 
 enter into any controversy on a subject so far removed from 
 his sympathies and feelings, another passenger says, “ Yes, 
 Sir ” ; and the gentleman in the straw hat in acknowledgment 
 of his courtesy, says “ Yes, Sir,” to him, in return. The 
 straw hat then inquires of the brown hat, whether that 
 coach in which he (the straw hat) then sits, is not a new one? 
 To which the brown hat makes answer, “ Yes, Sir.” 
 
 Straw Hat. I thought so. Pretty loud smell of varnish 
 Sir? 
 
 Brown Hat. Yes, Sir. 
 
 All the other inside Passengers. Yes, Sir. 
 
 Brown Hat. (To the company in general.) Yes, Sir. 
 
 The conversational powers of the company having been by 
 this time pretty heavily taxed, the straw hat opens the door 
 and gets out; and all the rest alight also. We dine soon 
 afterwards with the boarders in the house, and have nothing 
 to drink but tea and coffee. As they are both very bad and 
 the water is worse, I ask for brandy; but it is a Temperance 
 Hotel, and spirits are not to be had for love or money. This 
 preposterous forcing of unpleasant drinks down the reluctant 
 throats of travellers is not at all uncommon in America, but 
 I never discovered that the scruples of such wincing landlords 
 induced them to preserve any unusually nice balance between 
 the quality of their fare, and their scale of charges: on the 
 
Enforced Total Abstinence 189 
 
 contrary, I rather suspected them of diminishing the one and 
 exalting the other, by way of recompense for the loss of their 
 profit on the sale of spirituous liquors. After all, perhaps, 
 the plainest course for persons of such tender consciences, 
 would be, a total abstinence from tavern-keeping. 
 
 Dinner over, we get into another vehicle which is ready at 
 the door (for the coach has been changed in the interval), 
 and resume our journey; which continues through the same 
 kind of country until evening, when we come to the town 
 where we are to stop for tea and supper; and having delivered 
 the mail bags at the Post-office, ride through the usual wide 
 street, lined with the usual stores and houses (the drapers 
 always having hung up at their door, by way of sign, a piece 
 of bright red cloth), to the hotel where this meal is prepared. 
 There being many boarders here, we sit down, a large party, 
 and a very melancholy one as usual. But there is a buxom 
 hostess at the head of the table, and opposite, a simple Welsh 
 schoolmaster with his wife and child; who came here, on a 
 speculation of greater promise than performance, to teach 
 the classics: and they are sufficient subjects of interest until 
 the meal is over, and another coach is ready. In it we go on 
 once more, lighted by a bright moon, until midnight; when 
 we stop to change the coach again, and remain for half an 
 hour or so in a miserable room, with a blurred lithograph 
 of Washington over the smoky fireplace, and a mighty jug 
 of cold water on the table : to which refreshment the moody 
 passengers do so apply themselves that they would seem to 
 be, one and all, keen patients of Dr. Sangrado. Among 
 them is a very little boy, w T ho chews tobacco like a very big 
 one; and a droning gentleman, who talks arithmetically and 
 statistically on all subjects, from poetry downwards; and 
 who always speaks in the same key, with exactly the same 
 emphasis, and with very grave deliberation. He came out- 
 side just now, and told me how that the uncle of a certain 
 young lady who had been spirited away and married by a 
 certain captain, lived in these parts; and how this uncle was 
 so valiant and ferocious that he shouldn’t wonder if he were 
 to follow the said captain to England, “ and shoot him down 
 in the street wherever he found him”; in the feasibility of 
 which strong measure I, being for the moment rather prone 
 to contradiction, from feeling half asleep and very tired, 
 declined to acquiesce: assuring him that if the uncle did 
 
American Notes 
 
 1 90 
 
 resort to it, or gratified any other little whim of the like 
 nature, he would find himself one morning prematurely 
 throttled at the Old Bailey: and that he would do well to 
 make his will before he went, as he would certainly want it 
 before he had been in Britain very long. 
 
 On we go, all night, and by-and-by the day begins to 
 break, and presently the first cheerful rays of the warm sun 
 come slanting on us brightly. It sheds its light upon a 
 miserable waste of sodden grass, and dull trees, and squalid 
 huts, whose aspect is forlorn and grievous in the last degree. 
 A very desert in the wood, whose growth of green is dank 
 and noxious like that upon the top of standing water : where 
 poisonous fungus grows in the rare footprint on the oozy 
 ground, and sprouts like witches’ coral, from the crevices in 
 the cabin wall and floor; it is a hideous thing to lie upon the 
 very threshold of a city. But it was purchased years ago, 
 and as the owner cannot be discovered, the State has been 
 unable to reclaim it. So there it remains, in the midst of 
 cultivation and improvement, like ground accursed, and 
 made obscene and rank by some great crime. 
 
 We reached Columbus shortly before seven o’clock, and 
 stayed there, to refresh, that day and night : having excellent 
 apartments in a very large unfinished hotel called the Neill 
 House, which were richly fitted with the polished wood of 
 the black walnut, and opened on a handsome portico and 
 stone verandah, like rooms in some Italian mansion. The 
 town is clean and pretty, and of course is “ going to be ” 
 much larger. It is the seat of the State legislature of Ohio, 
 and lays claim, in consequence, to some consideration and 
 importance. 
 
 There being no stage-coach next day, upon the road w r e 
 wished to take, I hired “ an extra,” at a reasonable charge, 
 to carry us to Tiffin; a small town from whence there is a 
 railroad to Sandusky. This extra was an ordinary four- 
 horse stage-coach, such as I have described, changing horses 
 and drivers, as the stage-coach would, but was exclusively 
 our own for the journey. To ensure our having horses at 
 the proper stations, and being incommoded by no strangers, 
 the proprietors sent an agent on the box, who was to accom- 
 pany us the whole way through; and thus attended, and 
 bearing with us, besides, a hamper full of savoury cold meats, 
 and fruit, and wine, we started off again in high spirits, at 
 
Rough Travelling 191 
 
 half-past six o’clock next morning, very much delighted to 
 be by ourselves, and disposed to enjoy even the roughest 
 journey. 
 
 It was well for us, that we were in this humour, for the 
 road we went over that day, was certainly enough to have 
 shaken tempers that were not resolutely at Set Fair, down to 
 some inches below Stormy. At one time we were all flung 
 together in a heap at the bottom of the coach, and at another 
 we were crushing our heads against the roof. Now, one side 
 was down deep in the mire, and we were holding on to the 
 other. Now, the coach was lying on the tails of the two 
 wheelers; and now it was reeling up in the air, in a frantic 
 state, with all four horses standing on the top of an insur- 
 mountable eminence, looking coolly back at it, as though 
 they would say “ Unharness us. It can’t be done.” The 
 drivers on these roads, who certainly get over the ground in 
 a manner which is quite miraculous, so twist and turn the 
 team about in forcing a passage, corkscrew fashion, through 
 the bogs and swamps, that it was quite a common circum- 
 stance on looking out of the window, to see the coachman 
 with the ends of a pair of reins in his hands, apparently 
 driving nothing, or playing at horses, and the leaders staring 
 at one unexpectedly from the back of the coach, as if they 
 had some idea of getting up behind. A great portion of the 
 way was over what is called a corduroy road, which is made 
 by throwing trunks of trees into a marsh, and leaving them 
 to settle there. The very slightest of the jolts with which 
 the ponderous carriage fell from log to log, was enough, it 
 seemed, to have dislocated all the bones in the human body. 
 It would be impossible to experience a similar set of sensa- 
 tions, in any other circumstances, unless perhaps in attempt- 
 ing to go up to the top of St. Paul’s in an omnibus. Never, 
 never once, that day, was the coach in any position, attitude, 
 or kind of motion to which we are accustomed in coaches. 
 Never did it make the smallest approach to one’s experience 
 of the proceedings of any sort of vehicle that goes on wheels. 
 
 Still, it was a fine day, and the temperature was delicious, 
 and though we had left Summer behind us in the west, and 
 were fast leaving Spring, we were moving towards Niagara 
 and home. We alighted in a pleasant wood towards the 
 middle of the day, dined on a fallen tree, and leaving our 
 best fragments with a cottager, and our worst with the pigs 
 
American Notes 
 
 1 92 
 
 (who swarm in this part of the country like grains of sand 
 on the sea-shore, to the great comfort of our commissariat 
 in Canada), we went forward again, gaily. 
 
 As night came on, the track grew narrower and narrower, 
 until at last it so lost itself among the trees, that the driver 
 seemed to find his way by instinct. We had the comfort of 
 knowing, at least, that there was no danger of his falling 
 asleep, for every now and then a wheel would strike against 
 an unseen stump with such a jerk, that he was fain to hold 
 on pretty tight and pretty quick, to keep himself upon the 
 box. Nor was there any reason to dread the least danger 
 from furious driving, inasmuch as over that broken ground 
 the horses had enough to do to walk; as to shying, there was 
 no room for that; and a herd of wild elephants could not 
 have run away in such a wood, with such a coach at their 
 heels. So we stumbled along, quite satisfied. 
 
 These stumps of trees are a curious feature in American 
 travelling. The varying illusions they present to the unaccus- 
 tomed eye as it grows dark, are quite astonishing in their 
 number and reality. Now, there is a Grecian urn erected in 
 the centre of a lonely field; now there is a woman weeping 
 at a tomb; now a very commonplace old gentleman in a 
 white waistcoat, with a thumb thrust into each arm-hole of 
 his coat; now a student poring on a book; now a crouching 
 negro; now, a horse, a dog, a cannon, an armed man; a 
 hunchback throwing off his cloak and stepping forth into the 
 light. They were often as entertaining to me as so many 
 glasses in a magic lantern, and never took their shapes at my 
 bidding, but seemed to force themselves upon me, whether I 
 would or no; and strange to say, I sometimes recognised in 
 them counterparts of figures once familiar to me in pictures 
 attached to childish books, forgotten long ago. 
 
 It soon became too dark, however, even for this amusement, 
 and the trees were so close together that their dry branches 
 rattled against the coach on either side, and obliged us all 
 to keep our heads within. It lightened too, for three whole 
 hours; each flash being very bright, and blue, and long ; and 
 as the vivid streaks came darting in among the crowded 
 branches, and the thunder rolled gloomily above the tree tops, 
 one could scarcely help thinking that there were better neigh- 
 bourhoods at such a time than thick woods afforded. 
 
 At length, between ten and eleven o’clock at night, a few 
 
At an Indian Village 193 
 
 feeble lights appeared in the distance, and Upper Sandusky, 
 an Indian village, where we were to stay till morning, lay 
 before us. 
 
 They were gone to bed at the log Inn, which was the only 
 house of entertainment in the place, but soon answered to 
 our knocking, and got some tea for us in a sort of kitchen 
 or common room, tapestried with old newspapers, pasted 
 against the wall. The bedchamber to which my wife and I 
 were shown, was a large, low, ghostly room; with a quantity 
 of withered branches on the hearth, and two doors without 
 any fastening, opposite to each other, both opening on the 
 black night and wild country, and so contrived, that one of 
 them always blew the other open: a novelty in domestic 
 architecture, which I do not remember to have seen before, 
 and which I was somewhat disconcerted to have forced on my 
 attention after getting into bed, as I had a considerable sum 
 in gold for our travelling expenses, in my dressing-case. 
 Some of the luggage, however, piled against the panels, soon 
 settled this difficulty, and my sleep would not have been very 
 much affected that night, I believe, though it had failed to 
 do so. 
 
 My Boston friend climbed up to bed, somewhere in the 
 roof, where another guest was already snoring hugely. But 
 being bitten beyond his power of endurance, he turned out 
 again, and fled for shelter to the coach, which was airing 
 itself in front of the house. This was not a very politic step, 
 as it turned out; for the pigs scenting him, and looking 
 upon the coach as a kind of pie with some manner of meat 
 inside, grunted round it so hideously, that he was afraid to 
 come out again, and lay there shivering, till morning. Nor 
 was it possible to warm him, when he did come out, by means 
 of a glass of brandy: for in Indian villages, the legislature, 
 with a very good and wise intention, forbids the sale of spirits 
 by tavern keepers. The precaution, however, is quite ineffi- 
 cacious, for the Indians never fail to procure liquor of a 
 worse kind, at a dearer price, from travelling pedlars. 
 
 It is a settlement of the Wyandot Indians who inhabit 
 this place. Among the company at breakfast was a mild old 
 gentleman, who had been for many years employed by the 
 United States Government in conducting negotiations with 
 the Indians, and who had just concluded a treaty with these 
 people by which they bound themselves, in consideration of 
 
American Notes 
 
 194 
 
 a certain annual sum, to remove next year to some land 
 provided for them, west of the Mississippi, and a little way 
 beyond St. Louis. He gave me a moving account of their 
 strong attachment to the familiar scenes of their infancy, 
 and in particular to the burial-places of their kindred; and 
 of their great reluctance to leave them. He had witnessed 
 many such removals, and always with pain, though he knew 
 that they departed for their own good. The question whether 
 this tribe should go or stay, had been discussed among them 
 a day or two before, in a hut erected for the purpose, the logs 
 of which still lay upon the ground before the inn. When 
 the speaking was done, the ayes and noes were ranged on 
 opposite sides, and every male adult voted in his turn. The 
 moment the result was known, the minority (a large one) 
 cheerfully yielded to the rest, and withdrew all kind of 
 opposition. 
 
 We met some of these poor Indians afterwards, riding on 
 shaggy ponies. They were so like the meaner sort of gipsies, 
 that if I could have seen any of them in England, I should 
 have concluded, as a matter of course, that they belonged to 
 that wandering and restless people. 
 
 Leaving this town directly after breakfast, we pushed 
 forward again, over a rather worse road than yesterday, if 
 possible, and arrived about noon at Tiffin, where we parted 
 with the extra. At two o’clock we took the railroad; the 
 travelling on which was very slow, its construction being 
 indifferent, and the ground wet and marshy; and arrived at 
 Sandusky in time to dine that evening. We put up at a 
 comfortable little hotel on the brink of Lake Erie, lay there 
 that night, and had no choice but to wait there next day, 
 until a steamboat bound for Buffalo appeared. The town, 
 which was sluggish and uninteresting enough, was something 
 like the back of an English watering-place, out of the season. 
 
 Our host, who was very attentive and anxious to make us 
 comfortable, was a handsome middle-aged man, who had 
 come to this town from New England, in which part of the 
 country he was “raised.” When I say that he constantly 
 walked in and out of the room with his hat on; and stopped to 
 converse in the same free-and-easy state; and lay down on 
 our sofa, and pulled his newspaper out of his pocket, and read 
 it at his ease; I merely mention these traits as characteristic 
 of the country; not at all as being matter of complaint, or 
 
American Hospitality 195 
 
 as having been disagreeable to me. I should undoubtedly be 
 offended by such proceedings at home, because there they are 
 not the custom, and where they are not, they would be im- 
 pertinences ; but in America, the only desire of a good-natured 
 fellow of this kind, is to treat his guests hospitably and well ; 
 and I had no more right, and I can truly say no more dis- 
 position, to measure his conduct by our English rule and 
 standard, than I had to quarrel with him for not being of the 
 exact stature which would qualify him for admission into the 
 Queen’s Grenadier Guards. As little inclination had I to find 
 fault with a funny old lady who was an upper domestic in 
 this establishment, and who, when she came to wait upon us 
 at any meal, sat herself down comfortably in the most con- 
 venient chair, and producing a large pin to pick her teeth 
 with, remained performing that ceremony, and steadfastly 
 regarding us meanwhile with much gravity and composure 
 (now and then pressing us to eat a little more), until it was 
 time to clear away. It was enough for us, that whatever we 
 wished done was done with great civility and readiness, and 
 a desire to oblige, not only here, but everywhere else; and 
 that all our wants were, in general, zealously anticipated. 
 
 We were taking an early dinner at this house, on the day 
 after our arrival, which was Sunday, when a steamboat came 
 in sight, and presently touched at the wharf. As she proved 
 to be on her way to Buffalo, we hurried on board with all 
 speed, and soon left Sandusky far behind us. 
 
 She was a large vessel of five hundred tons, and handsomely 
 fitted up, though with high-pressure engines; which always 
 conveyed that kind of feeling to me, which I should be likely 
 to experience, I think, if I had lodgings on the first-floor 
 of a powder-mill. She was laden with flour, some casks of 
 which commodity were stored upon the deck. The captain 
 coming up to have a little conversation, and to introduce 
 a friend, seated himself astride of one of these barrels, like 
 a Bacchus of private life; and pulling a great clasp-knife out 
 of his pocket, began to “ whittle ” it as he talked, by paring 
 thin slices off the edges. And he whittled with such industry 
 and hearty good will, that but for his being called away very 
 soon, it must have disappeared bodily, and left nothing in its 
 place but grist and shavings. 
 
 After calling at one or two flat places, with low dams 
 stretching out into the lake, whereon were stumpy lighthouses, 
 
American Notes 
 
 196 
 
 like windmills without sails, the whole looking like a Dutch 
 vignette, we came at midnight to Cleveland, where we lay 
 all night, and until nine o’clock next morning. 
 
 I entertained quite a curiosity in reference to this place, 
 from having seen at Sandusky a specimen of its literature in 
 the shape of a newspaper, which was very strong indeed upon 
 the subject of Lord Ashburton’s recent arrival at Washington, 
 to adjust the points in dispute between the United States 
 Government and Great Britain: informing its readers that as 
 America had “ whipped ” England in her infancy, and whipped 
 her again in her youth, so it was clearly necessary that she 
 must whip her once again in her maturity; and pledging its 
 credit to all True Americans, that if Mr. Webster did his 
 duty in the approaching negotiations, and sent the English 
 Lord home again in double quick time, they should, within 
 two years, sing “ Yankee Doodle in Hyde Park, and Hail 
 Columbia in the scarlet courts of Westminster! ” I found it 
 a pretty town, and had the satisfaction of beholding the 
 outside of the office of the journal from which I have just 
 quoted. I did not enjoy the delight of seeing the wit who 
 indited the paragraph in question, but I have no doubt he 
 is a prodigious man in his way, and held in high repute by 
 a select circle. 
 
 There was a gentleman on board, to whom, as I uninten- 
 tionally learned through the thin partition which divided our 
 state-room from the cabin in which he and his wife conversed 
 together, I was unwittingly the occasion of very great uneasi- 
 ness. I don’t know why or wherefore, but I appeared to run 
 in his mind perpetually, and to dissatisfy him very much. 
 First of all I heard him say: and the most ludicrous part of 
 the business was, that he said it in my very ear, and could 
 not have communicated more directly with me, if he had 
 leaned upon my shoulder, and whispered me: “ Boz is on 
 board still, my dear.” After a considerable pause, he added, 
 complainingly, “ Boz keeps himself very close”; which was 
 true enough, for I was not very well, and was lying down, 
 with a book. I thought he had done with me after this, 
 but I was deceived; for a long interval having elapsed, 
 during which I imagine him to have been turning restlessly 
 from side to side, and trying to go to sleep; he broke out 
 again, with “ I suppose that Boz will be writing a book 
 by-and-by, and putting all our names in it ! ” at which 
 
Majesty of Niagara 197 
 
 imaginary consequence of being on board a boat with Boz, 
 he groaned, and became silent. 
 
 We called at the town of Erie, at eight o’clock that night, 
 and lay there an hour. Between five and six next morning, 
 we arrived at Buffalo, where we breakfasted; and being too 
 near the Great Falls to wait patiently anywhere else, we set 
 off by the train, the same morning at nine o’clock, to Niagara. 
 
 It was a miserable day; chilly and raw; a damp mist 
 falling; and the trees in that northern region quite bare and 
 wintry. Whenever the train halted, I listened for the roar; 
 and was constantly straining my eyes in the direction where 
 I knew the Falls must be, from seeing the river rolling on 
 towards them ; every moment expecting to behold the spray. 
 Within a few minutes of our stopping, not before, I saw 
 two great white clouds rising up slowly and majestically 
 from the depths of the earth. That was all. At length we 
 alighted : and then for the first time, I heard the mighty rush 
 of water, and felt the ground tremble underneath my feet. 
 
 The bank is very steep, and was slippery with rain, and 
 half-melted ice. I hardly know how I got down, but I was 
 soon at the bottom, and climbing, with two English officers 
 who were crossing and had joined me, over some broken 
 rocks, deafened by the noise, half-blinded by the spray, and 
 wet to the skin. We were at the foot of the American Fall. 
 I could see an immense torrent of water tearing headlong 
 down from some great height, but had no idea of shape, or 
 situation, or anything but vague immensity. 
 
 When we were seated in the little ferry-boat, and were 
 crossing the swollen river immediately before both cataracts, 
 I began to feel what it was : but I was in a manner stunned, 
 and unable to comprehend the vastness of the scene. It 
 was not until I came on Table Rock, and looked — Great 
 Heaven, on what a fall of bright-green water ! — that it came 
 upon me in its full might and majesty. 
 
 Then, when I felt how near to my Creator I was standing, 
 the first effect, and the enduring one — instant and lasting 
 — of the tremendous spectacle, was Peace. Peace of Mind, 
 tranquillity, calm recollections of the Dead, great thoughts 
 of Eternal Rest and Happiness; nothing of gloom or terror. 
 Niagara was at once stamped upon my heart, an Image of 
 Beauty; to remain there, changeless and indelible, until its 
 pulses cease to beat, for ever. 
 
American Notes 
 
 198 
 
 Oh, how the strife and trouble of daily life receded from 
 my view, and lessened in the distance, during the ten memor- 
 able days we passed on that Enchanted Ground! What 
 voices spoke from out the thundering water; what faces, 
 faded from the earth, looked out upon me from its gleaming 
 depths; what Heavenly promise glistened in those angels’ 
 tears, the drops of many hues, that showered around, and 
 twined themselves about the gorgeous arches which the 
 changing rainbows made! 
 
 I never stirred in all that time from the Canadian side, 
 whither I had gone at first. I never crossed the river again; 
 for I knew there were people on the other shore, and in 
 such a place it is natural to shun strange company. To 
 wander to and fro all day, and see the cataracts from all 
 points of view; to stand upon the edge of the great Horse- 
 Shoe Fall, marking the hurried water gathering strength as 
 it approached the verge, yet seeming, too, to pause before it 
 shot into the gulf below; to gaze from the river’s level up 
 at the torrent as it came streaming down; to climb the 
 neighbouring heights and watch it through the trees, and 
 see the wreathing water in the rapids hurrying on to take 
 its fearful plunge; to linger in the shadow of the solemn 
 rocks three miles below; watching the river as, stirred by 
 no visible cause, it heaved and eddied and awoke the echoes, 
 being troubled yet, far down beneath the surface, by its giant 
 leap; to have Niagara before me, lighted by the sun and by 
 the moon, red in the day’s decline, and grey as evening slowly 
 fell upon it; to look upon it every day, and wake up in the 
 night and hear its ceaseless voice: this was enough. 
 
 I think in every quiet season now, still do those waters 
 roll and leap, and roar and tumble, all day long; still are 
 the rainbows spanning them, a hundred feet below. Still, 
 when the sun is on them, do they shine and glow like molten 
 gold. Still, when the day is gloomy, do they fall like snow, 
 or seem to crumble away like the front of a great chalk cliff, 
 or roll down the rock like dense white smoke. But always 
 does the mighty stream appear to die as it comes down, and 
 always from its unfathomable grave arises that tremendous 
 ghost of spray and mist which is never laid : which has 
 haunted this place with the same dread solemnity since 
 Darkness brooded on the deep, and that first flood before the 
 Deluge — Light — came rushing on Creation at the w^ord of God. 
 
Table Rock 
 
 1 99 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 IN CANADA; TORONTO; KINGSTON; MONTREAL; QUEBEC; 
 
 st. John’s, in the united states again; Lebanon; 
 
 THE SHAKER VILLAGE; WEST POINT 
 
 I wish to abstain from instituting any comparison, or draw- 
 ing any parallel whatever, between the social features of the 
 United States and those of the British Possessions in Canada. 
 For this reason, I shall confine myself to a very brief account 
 of our joumeyings in the latter territory. 
 
 But before I leave Niagara, I must advert to one disgusting 
 circumstance which can hardly have escaped the observation 
 of any decent traveller who has visited the Falls. 
 
 On Table Rock, there is a cottage belonging to a Guide, 
 where little relics of the place are sold, and where visitors 
 register their names in a book kept for the purpose. On the 
 wall of the room in which a great many of these volumes are 
 preserved, the following request is posted: “ Visitors will 
 please not copy nor extract the remarks and poetical effusions 
 from the registers and albums kept here.” 
 
 But for this intimation, I should have let them lie upon 
 the tables on which they were strewn with careful negligence, 
 like books in a drawing-room : being quite satisfied with the 
 stupendous silliness of certain stanzas with an anti-climax 
 at the end of each, which were framed and hung up on the 
 wall. Curious, however, after reading this announcement, 
 to see what kind of morsels were so carefully preserved, I 
 turned a few leaves, and found them scrawled all over with 
 the vilest and the filthiest ribaldry that ever human hogs 
 delighted in. 
 
 It is humiliating enough to know that there are among 
 men, brutes so obscene and worthless, that they can delight 
 in laying their miserable profanations upon the very steps 
 of Nature’s greatest altar. But that these should be hoarded 
 up for the delight of their fellow-swine, and kept in a 
 public place where any eye may see them, is a disgrace 
 to the English language in which they are written (though 
 I hope few of these entries have been made by English- 
 
200 American Notes 
 
 men), and a reproach to the English side, on which they are 
 preserved. 
 
 The quarters of our soldiers at Niagara, are finely and 
 airily situated. Some of them are large detached houses on 
 the plain above the Falls, which were originally designed 
 for hotels; and in the evening time, when the women and 
 children were leaning over the balconies watching the men 
 as they played at ball and other games upon the grass before 
 the door, they often presented a little picture of cheerful- 
 ness and animation which made it quite a pleasure to pass 
 that way. 
 
 At any garrisoned point where the line of demarcation 
 between one country and another is so very narrow as at 
 Niagara, desertion from the ranks can scarcely fail to be of 
 frequent occurrence: and it may be reasonably supposed 
 that when the soldiers entertain the wildest and maddest 
 hopes of the fortune and independence that await them on 
 the other side, the impulse to play traitor, which such a 
 place suggests to dishonest minds, is not weakened. But it 
 very rarely happens that the men who do desert, are happy 
 or contented afterwards; and many instances have been 
 known in which they have confessed their grievous disap- 
 pointment, and their earnest desire to return to their old 
 service if they could but be assured of pardon, or lenient 
 treatment. Many of their comrades, notwithstanding, do 
 the like, from time to time; and instances of loss of life in 
 the effort to cross the river with this object, are far from 
 being uncommon. Several men were drowned in the attempt 
 to swim across, not long ago ; and one, who had the madness 
 to trust himself upon a table as a raft, was swept down to 
 the whirlpool, where his mangled body eddied round and 
 round some days. 
 
 I am inclined to think that the noise of the Falls is very 
 much exaggerated; and this will appear the more probable 
 when the depth of the great basin in which the water is 
 received, is taken into account. At no time during our stay 
 there, was the wind at all high or boisterous, but we never 
 heard them, three miles off, even at the very quiet time of 
 sunset, though we often tried. 
 
 Queenston, at which place the steamboats start for Toronto 
 (or I should rather say at which place they call, for their 
 wharf is at Lewiston, on the opposite shore), is situated in 
 
201 
 
 The English Recruit 
 
 a delicious valley, through which the Niagara river, in colour 
 a very deep green, pursues its course. It is approached by a 
 road that takes its winding way among the heights by which 
 the town is sheltered; and seen from this point is extremely 
 beautiful and picturesque. On the most conspicuous of these 
 heights stood a monument erected by the Provincial Legisla- 
 ture in memory of General Brock, who was slain in a battle 
 with the American forces, after having won the victory. 
 Some vagabond, supposed to be a fellow of the name of Lett, 
 who is now, or who lately was, in prison as a felon, blew up 
 this monument two years ago, and it is now a melancholy 
 ruin, with a long fragment of iron railing hanging dejectedly 
 from its top, and waving to and fro like a wild ivy branch 
 or broken vine stem. It is of much higher importance than 
 it may seem, that this statue should be repaired at the public 
 cost, as it ought to have been long ago. Firstly, because 
 it is beneath the dignity of England to allow a memorial 
 raised in honour of one of her defenders, to remain in this 
 condition, on the very spot where he died. Secondly, because 
 the sight of it in its present state, and the recollection of 
 the unpunished outrage which brought it to this pass, is 
 not very likely to soothe down border feelings among English 
 subjects here, or compose their border quarrels and dislikes. 
 
 I was standing on the wharf at this place, watching the 
 passengers embarking in a steamboat which preceded that 
 whose coming we awaited, and participating in the anxiety 
 with which a sergeant's wife was collecting her few goods 
 together — keeping one distracted eye hard upon the porters, 
 who were hurrying them on board, and the other on a 
 hoopless washing-tub for which, as being the most utterly 
 worthless of all her movables, she seemed to entertain par- 
 ticular affection — when three or four soldiers with a recruit 
 came up and went on board. 
 
 The recruit was a likely young fellow enough, strongly 
 built and well made, but by no means sober: indeed he had 
 all the air of a man who had been more or less drunk for 
 some days. He carried a small bundle over his shoulder, 
 slung at the end of a walking-stick, and had a short pipe in 
 his mouth. He was as dusty and dirty as recruits usually 
 are, and his shoes betokened that he had travelled on foot 
 some distance, but he was in a very jocose state, and shook 
 hands with this soldier, and clapped that one on the back, 
 
 H 
 
202 American Notes 
 
 and talked and laughed continually, like a roaring idle dog 
 as he was. 
 
 The soldiers rather laughed at this blade than with him: 
 seeming to say, as they stood straightening their canes in 
 their hands, and looking coolly at him over their glazed 
 stocks, “ Go on, my boy, while you may ! you’ll know better 
 by-and-by ” : when suddenly the novice, who had been 
 backing towards the gangway in his noisy merriment, fell 
 overboard before their eyes, and splashed heavily down into 
 the river between the vessel and the dock. 
 
 I never saw such a good thing as the change that came 
 over these soldiers in an instant. Almost before the man 
 was down, their professional manner, their stiffness and 
 constraint, were gone, and they were filled with the most 
 violent energy. In less time than is required to tell it, they 
 had him out again, feet first, with the tails of his coat flapping 
 over his eyes, everything about him hanging the wrong way, 
 and the water streaming off at every thread in his threadbare 
 dress. But the moment they set him upright and found that 
 he was none the worse, they were soldiers again, looking over 
 their glazed stocks more composedly than ever. 
 
 The half-sobered recruit glanced round for a moment, as if 
 his first impulse were to express some gratitude for his 
 preservation, but seeing them with this air of total uncon- 
 cern, and having his wet pipe presented to him with an oath 
 by the soldier who had been by far the most anxious of the 
 party, he stuck it in his mouth, thrust his hands into his 
 moist pockets, and without even shaking the water oil his 
 clothes, walked on board whistling; not to say as if nothing 
 had happened, but as if he had meant to do it, and it had 
 been a perfect success. 
 
 Our steamboat came up directly this had left the wharf, 
 and soon bore us to the mouth of the Niagara; where the 
 stars and stripes of America flutter on one side and the Union 
 Jack of England on the other: and so narrow is the space 
 between them that the sentinels in either fort can often hear 
 the watchword of the other country given. Thence we 
 emerged on Lake Ontario, an inland sea; and by half-past 
 six o’clock were at Toronto. 
 
 The country round this town being very flat, is bare of 
 scenic interest; but the town itself is full of life and motion, 
 bustle, business, and improvement. The streets are well 
 
Toronto 
 
 203 
 
 paved, and lighted with gas; the houses are large and good; 
 the shops excellent. Many of them have a display of goods in 
 their windows, such as may be seen in thriving county towns 
 in England ; and there are some which would do no discredit 
 to the metropolis itself. There is a good stone prison here; 
 and there are, besides, a handsome church, a court-house, 
 public offices, many commodious private residences, and 
 a government observatory for noting and recording the 
 magnetic variations. In the College of Upper Canada, which 
 is one of the public establishments of the city, a sound educa- 
 tion in every department of polite learning can be had, at a 
 very moderate expense : the annual charge for the instruction 
 of each pupil, not exceeding nine pounds sterling. It has 
 pretty good endowments in the way of land, and is a valuable 
 and useful institution. 
 
 The first stone of a new college had been laid but a few 
 days before, by the Governor-General. It will be a hand- 
 some, spacious edifice, approached by a long avenue, which is 
 already planted and made available as a public walk. The 
 town is well adapted for wholesome exercise at all seasons, 
 for the footways in the thoroughfares which lie beyond the 
 principal street, are planked like floors, and kept in very 
 good and clean repair. 
 
 It is a matter of deep regret that political differences 
 should have run high in this place, and led to most discredit- 
 able and disgraceful results. It is not long since guns were 
 discharged from a window in this town at the successful 
 candidates in an election, and the coachman of one of them 
 was actually shot in the body, though not dangerously 
 wounded. But one man was killed on the same occasion; 
 and from the very window whence he received his death, the 
 very flag which shielded his murderer (not only in the com- 
 mission of his crime, but from its consequences), was displayed 
 again on the occasion of the public ceremony performed by 
 the Governor-General, to which I have just adverted. Of all 
 the colours in the rainbow, there is but one which could be 
 so employed: I need not say that flag was orange. 
 
 The time of leaving Toronto for Kingston is noon. By 
 eight o’clock next morning, the traveller is at the end of his 
 journey, which is performed by steamboat upon Lake 
 Ontario, calling at Port Hope and Coburg, the latter a 
 cheerful thriving little town. Vast quantities of flour form 
 
American Notes 
 
 204 
 
 the chief item in the freight of these vessels. We had no 
 fewer than one thousand and eighty barrels on board, between 
 Coburg and Kingston. 
 
 The latter place, which is now the seat of government in 
 Canada, is a very poor town, rendered still poorer in the 
 appearance of its market-place by the ravages of a recent fire. 
 Indeed, it may be said of Kingston, that one half of it appears 
 to be burnt down, and the other half not to be built up. 
 The Government House is neither elegant nor commodious, 
 yet it is almost the only house of any importance in the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 There is an admirable jail here, well and wisely governed, 
 and excellently regulated, in every respect. The men were 
 employed as shoemakers, ropemakers, blacksmiths, tailors, 
 carpenters, and stonecutters; and in building a new prison, 
 which was pretty far advanced towards completion. The 
 female prisoners were occupied in needlework. Among them 
 was a beautiful girl of twenty, who had been there nearly 
 three years. She acted as bearer of secret dispatches for 
 the self-styled Patriots on Navy Island, during the Canadian 
 Insurrection : sometimes dressing as a girl, and carrying them 
 in her stays ; sometimes attiring herself as a boy, and secreting 
 them in the lining of her hat. In the latter character she 
 always rode as a boy would, which was nothing to her, for 
 she could govern any horse that any man could ride, and 
 could drive four-in-hand with the best whip in those parts. 
 Setting forth on one of her patriotic missions, she appro- 
 priated to herself the first horse she could lay her hands on; 
 and this offence had brought her where I saw her. She had 
 quite a lovely face, though, as the reader may suppose from 
 this sketch of her history, there was a lurking devil in her 
 bright eye, which looked out pretty sharply from between 
 her prison bars. 
 
 There is a bomb-proof fort here of great strength, which 
 occupies a bold position, and is capable, doubtless, of doing 
 good service; though the town is much too close upon the 
 frontier to be long held, I should imagine, for its present 
 purpose in troubled times. There is also a small navy-yard, 
 where a couple of Government steamboats were building, and 
 getting on vigorously. 
 
 We left Kingston for Montreal on the tenth of May, at 
 half-past nine in the morning, and proceeded in a steamboat 
 
The St. Lawrence River 205 
 
 down the St. Lawrence river. The beauty of this noble 
 stream at almost any point, but especially in the commence- 
 ment of this journey when it winds its way among the thou- 
 sand Islands, can hardly be imagined. The number and 
 constant successions of these islands, all green and richly 
 wooded; their fluctuating sizes, some so large that for half 
 an hour together one among them will appear as the opposite 
 bank of the river, and some so small that they are mere 
 dimples on its broad bosom; their infinite variety of shapes; 
 and the numberless combinations of beautiful forms which 
 the trees growing on them present: all form a picture fraught 
 with uncommon interest and pleasure. 
 
 In the afternoon we shot down some rapids where the 
 river boiled and bubbled strangely, and where the force and 
 headlong violence of the current were tremendous. At seven 
 o’clock we reached Dickenson’s Landing, whence travellers 
 proceed for two or three hours by stage-coach : the navigation 
 of the river being rendered so dangerous and difficult in the 
 interval, by rapids, that steamboats do not make the passage. 
 The number and length of those portages , over which the 
 roads are bad, and the travelling slow, render the way between 
 the towns of Montreal and Kingston, somewhat tedious. 
 
 Our course lay over a wide, uninclosed tract of country at 
 a little distance from the river-side, whence the bright warn- 
 ing lights on the dangerous parts of the St. Lawrence shone 
 vividly. The night was dark and raw, and the way dreary 
 enough. It was nearly ten o’clock when we reached the 
 wharf where the next steamboat lay; and went on board, 
 and to bed. 
 
 She lay there all night, and started as soon as it was day. 
 The morning was ushered in by a violent thunderstorm, and 
 was very wet, but gradually improved and brightened up. 
 Going on deck after breakfast, I was amazed to see floating 
 down with the stream, a most gigantic raft, with some thirty 
 or forty wooden houses upon it, and at least as many flag- 
 masts, so that it looked like a nautical street. I saw many 
 of these rafts afterwards, but never one so large. All the 
 timber, or “ lumber,” as it is called in America, which is 
 brought down the St. Lawrence, is floated down in this 
 manner. When the raft reaches its place of destination, 
 it is broken up; the materials are sold; and the boatmen 
 return for more. 
 
206 
 
 American Notes 
 
 At eight we landed again, and travelled by a stage-coach 
 for four hours through a pleasant and well-cultivated country, 
 perfectly French in every respect: in the appearance of 
 the cottages; the air, language, and dress of the peasantry; 
 the sign-boards on the shops and taverns : and the Virgin’s 
 shrines, and crosses, by the wayside. Nearly every common 
 labourer and boy, though he had no shoes to his feet, wore 
 round his waist a sash of some bright colour: generally red: 
 and the women, who were working in the fields and gardens, 
 and doing all kinds of husbandry, wore, one and all, great 
 flat straw hats with most capacious brims. There were 
 Catholic Priests and Sisters of Charity in the village streets; 
 and images of the Saviour at the comers of cross-roads, and 
 in other public places. 
 
 At noon we went on board another steamboat, and reached 
 the village of Lachine, nine miles from Montreal, by three 
 o’clock. There, we left the river, and went on by land. 
 
 Montreal is pleasantly situated on the margin of the St. 
 Lawrence, and is backed by some bold heights, about which 
 there are charming rides and drives. The streets are gener- 
 ally narrow and irregular, as in most French towns of any 
 age ; but in the more modern parts of the city, they are wide 
 and airy. They display a great variety of very good shops ; 
 and both in the town and suburbs there are many excellent 
 private dwellings. The granite quays are remarkable for 
 their beauty, solidity, and extent. 
 
 There is a very large Catholic cathedral here, recently 
 erected; with two tall spires, of which one is yet unfinished. 
 In the open space in front of this edifice, stands a solitary, 
 grim-looking, square brick tower, which has a quaint and 
 remarkable appearance, and which the wiseacres of the place 
 have consequently determined to pull down immediately. 
 The Government House is very superior to that at Kingston, 
 and the town is full of life and bustle. In one of the suburbs 
 is a plank road — not footpath — five or six miles long, and a 
 famous road it is too. All the rides in the vicinity were made 
 doubly interesting by the bursting out of spring, which is 
 here so rapid, that it is but a day’s leap from barren winter, 
 to the blooming youth of summer. 
 
 The steamboats to Quebec, perform the journey in the 
 night; that is to say, they leave Montreal at six in the 
 evening, and arrive at Quebec at six next morning. We made 
 
Quebec 
 
 207 
 
 this excursion during our stay in Montreal (which exceeded 
 a fortnight ), and were charmed by its interest and beauty. 
 
 The impression made upon the visitor by this Gibraltar of 
 America: its giddy heights ; its citadel suspended, as it were, 
 in the air; its picturesque steep streets and frowning gate- 
 ways; and the splended views which burst upon the eye at 
 every turn : is at once unique and lasting. 
 
 It is a place not to be forgotten or mixed up in the mind 
 with other places, or altered for a moment in the crowd of 
 scenes a traveller can recall. Apart from the realities of this 
 most picturesque city, there are associations clustering about 
 it which would make a desert rich in interest. The dangerous 
 precipice along whose rocky front, Wolfe and his brave com- 
 panions climbed to glory; the Plains of Abraham, where 
 he received his mortal wound; the fortress so chivalrously 
 defended by Montcalm; and his soldier’s grave, dug for him 
 while yet alive, by the bursting of a shell; are not the least 
 among them, or among the gallant incidents of history. 
 That is a noble Monument too, and worthy of two great 
 nations, which perpetuates the memory of both brave 
 generals, and on which their names are jointly written. 
 
 The city is rich in public institutions and in Catholic 
 churches and charities, but it is mainly in the prospect from 
 the site of the Old Government House, and from the Citadel, 
 that its surpassing beauty lies. The exquisite expanse of 
 country, rich in field and forest, mountain-height and water, 
 which lies stretched out before the view, with miles of 
 Canadian villages, glancing in long white streaks, like veins 
 along the landscape; the motley crowd of gables, roofs, and 
 chimney-tops in the old hilly town immediately at hand ; the 
 beautiful St. Lawrence sparkling and flashing in the sunlight; 
 and the tiny ships below the rock from which you gaze, 
 whose distant rigging looks like spiders’ webs against the 
 light, while casks and barrels on their decks dwindle into 
 toys, and busy mariners become so many puppets; all this, 
 framed by a sunken window in the fortress and looked at 
 from the shadowed room within, forms one of the brightest 
 and most enchanting pictures that the eye can rest upon. 
 
 In the spring of the year, vast numbers of emigrants who 
 have newly arrived from England or from Ireland, pass 
 between Quebec and Montreal on their way to the backwoods 
 and new settlements of Canada. If it be an entertaining 
 
2o8 
 
 American Notes 
 
 lounge (as I very often found it) to take a morning stroll 
 upon the quay at Montreal, and see them grouped in 
 hundreds on the public wharfs about their chests and 
 boxes, it is matter of deep interest to be their fellow- 
 passenger on one of these steamboats, and mingling with the 
 concourse, see and hear them unobserved. 
 
 The vessel in which we returned from Quebec to Montreal 
 was crowded with them, and at night they spread their beds 
 between decks (those who had beds, at least) and slept so 
 close and thick about our cabin door, that the passage to and 
 fro was quite blocked up. They were nearly all English; 
 from Gloucestershire the greater part; and had had a long 
 winter-passage out; but it was wonderful to see how clean 
 the children had been kept, and how untiring in their love 
 and self-denial all the poor parents were. 
 
 Cant as we may, and as we shall to the end of all things, 
 it is very much harder for the poor to be virtuous than it 
 is for the rich; and the good that is in them, shines the 
 brighter for it. In many a noble mansion lives a man, the 
 best of husbands and of fathers, whose private worth in both 
 capacities is justly lauded to the skies. But bring him here, 
 upon this crowded deck. Strip from his fair young wife her 
 silken dress and jewels, unbind her braided hair, stamp early 
 wrinkles on her brow, pinch her pale cheek with care and 
 much privation, array her faded form in coarsely patched 
 attire, let there be nothing but his love to set her forth 
 or deck her out, and you shall put it to the proof indeed. 
 So change his station in the world, that he shall see in those 
 young things who climb about his knee: not records of his 
 wealth and name : but little wrestlers with him for his daily 
 bread; so many poachers on his scanty meal ; so many units 
 to divide his every sum of comfort, and farther to reduce its 
 small amount. In lieu of the endearments of childhood in 
 its sweetest aspect, heap upon him all its pains and wants, 
 its sicknesses and ills, its fretfulness, caprice, and querulous 
 endurance: let its prattle be, not of engaging infant fancies, 
 but of cold, and thirst, and hunger: and if his fatherly affec- 
 tion outlive all this, and he be patient, watchful, tender; 
 careful of his children’s lives, and mindful always of their 
 joys and sorrows; then send him back to Parliament, and 
 Pulpit, and to Quarter Sessions, and when he hears fine talk 
 of the depravity of those who live from hand to mouth, and 
 
Farewell to Canada 
 
 209 
 
 labour hard to do it, let him speak up, as one who knows, 
 and tell those holders forth that they, by parallel with such 
 a class, should be High Angels in their daily lives, and lay 
 but humble siege to Heaven at last. 
 
 Which of us shall say what he would be, if such realities, 
 with small relief or change all through his days, were his! 
 Looking round upon these people: far from home, houseless, 
 indigent, wandering, weary with travel and hard living : and 
 seeing how patiently they nursed and tended their young 
 children : how they consulted ever their wants first, then half 
 supplied their own; what gentle ministers of hope and faith 
 the women were; how the men profited by their example; 
 and how very, very seldom even a moment’s petulance or 
 harsh complaint broke out among them: I felt a stronger 
 love and honour of my kind come glowing on my heart, and 
 wished to God there had been many Atheists in the better 
 part of human nature there, to read this simple lesson in 
 the book of Life. 
 
 We left Montreal for New York again, on the thirtieth 
 of May; crossing to La Prairie, on the opposite shore of the 
 St. Lawrence, in a steamboat; we then took the railroad to 
 St. John’s, which is on the brink of Lake Champlain. Our 
 last greeting in Canada was from the English officers in the 
 pleasant barracks at that place (a class of gentlemen who had 
 made every hour of our visit memorable by their hospitality 
 and friendship) ; and with “ Rule Britannia ” sounding in 
 our ears, soon left it far behind. 
 
 But Canada has held, and always will retain, a foremost 
 place in my remembrance. Few Englishmen are prepared 
 to find it what it is. Advancing quietly; old differences 
 settling down, and being fast forgotten; public feeling and 
 private enterprise alike in a sound and wholesome state; 
 nothing of flush or fever in its system, but health and vigour 
 throbbing in its steady pulse : it is full of hope and promise. 
 To me — who had been accustomed to think of it as some- 
 thing left behind in the strides of advancing society, as some- 
 thing neglected and forgotten, slumbering and wasting in its 
 sleep — the demand for labour and the rates of wages; the 
 busy quays of Montreal; the vessels taking in their cargoes, 
 and discharging them ; the amount of shipping in the different 
 
 *H 
 
210 
 
 American Notes 
 
 ports; the commerce, roads, and public works, all made to 
 last; the respectability and character of the public journals ; 
 and the amount of rational comfort and happiness which 
 honest industry may earn : were very great surprises. The 
 steamboats on the lakes, in their conveniences, cleanliness, 
 and safety; in the gentlemanly character and bearing of 
 their captains; and in the politeness and perfect comfort 
 of their social regulations; are unsurpassed even by the 
 famous Scotch vessels, deservedly so much esteemed at home. 
 The inns are usually bad; because the custom of boarding at 
 hotels is not so general here as in the States, and the British 
 officers, who form a large portion of the society of every town, 
 live chiefly at the regimental messes: but in every other 
 respect, the traveller in Canada will find as good provision 
 for his comfort as in any place I know. 
 
 There is one American boat — the vessel which carried us 
 on Lake Champlain, from St. John's to Whitehall — which 
 I praise very highly, but no more than it deserves, when I 
 say that it is superior even to that in which we went from 
 Queenston to Toronto, or to that in which we travelled from 
 the latter place to Kingston, or I have no doubt I may add 
 to any other in the world. This steamboat, which is called 
 “ The Burlington," is a perfectly exquisite achievement of 
 neatness, elegance, and order. The decks are drawing-rooms ; 
 the cabins are boudoirs, choicely furnished and adorned with 
 prints, pictures, and musical instruments; every nook and 
 corner in the vessel is a perfect curiosity of graceful comfort 
 and beautiful contrivance. Captain Sherman, her com- 
 mander, to whose ingenuity and excellent taste these results 
 are solely attributable, has bravely and worthily distinguished 
 himself on more than one trying occasion: not least among 
 them, in having the moral courage to carry British troops, at 
 a time (during the Canadian rebellion) when no other con- 
 veyance was open to them. He and his vessel are held in 
 universal respect, both by his own countrymen and ours ; and 
 no man ever enjoyed the popular esteem, who, in his sphere of 
 action, won and wore it better than this gentleman. 
 
 By means of this floating palace we were soon in the United 
 States again, and called that evening at Burlington ; a pretty 
 town, where we lay an hour or so. We reached Whitehall, 
 where we were to disembark, at six next morning ; and might 
 have done so earlier, but that these steamboats lie by for 
 
21 I 
 
 An Irish Colony 
 
 some hours in the night, in consequence of the lake becoming 
 very narrow at that part of the journey, and difficult of 
 navigation in the dark. Its width is so contracted at one 
 point, indeed, that they are obliged to warp round by means 
 of a rope. 
 
 After breakfasting at Whitehall, we took the stage-coach 
 for Albany : a large and busy town, where we arrived between 
 five and six o’clock that afternoon ; after a very hot day’s 
 journey, for we were now in the height of summer again. 
 At seven we started for New York on board a great North 
 River steamboat, which was so crowded with passengers that 
 the upper deck was like the box lobby of a theatre between 
 the pieces, and the lower one like Tottenham Court Road on 
 a Saturday night. But we slept soundly, notwithstanding, 
 and soon after five o’clock next morning reached New York. 
 
 Tarrying here, only that day and night, to recruit after 
 our late fatigues, we started off once more upon our last 
 journey in America. We had yet five days to spare before 
 embarking for England, and I had a great desire to see “ the 
 Shaker Village,” which is peopled by a religious sect from 
 whom it takes its name. 
 
 To this end, we went up the North River again, as far as 
 the town of Hudson, and there hired an extra to carry us to 
 Lebanon, thirty miles distant: and of course another and a 
 different Lebanon from that village where I slept on the 
 night of the Prairie trip. 
 
 The country through which the road meandered, was rich 
 and beautiful; the weather very fine ; and for many miles the 
 Kaatskill mountains, where Rip Van Winkle and the ghastly 
 Dutchmen played at ninepins one memorable gusty afternoon, 
 towered in the blue distance, like stately clouds. At one 
 point, as we ascended a steep hill, athwart whose base a 
 railroad, yet constructing, took its course, we come upon an 
 Irish colony. With means at hand of building decent cabins, 
 it was wonderful to see how clumsy, rough, and wretched, 
 its hovels were. The best were poor protection from the 
 weather; the worst let in the wind and rain through wide 
 breaches in the roofs of sodden grass, and in the walls of 
 mud; some had neither door nor window; some had nearly 
 fallen down, and were imperfectly propped up by stakes and 
 poles; all were ruinous and filthy. Hideously ugly old 
 women and very buxom young ones, pigs, dogs, men, children, 
 
2 I 2 
 
 American Notes 
 
 babies, pots, kettles, dunghills, vile refuse, rank straw, and 
 standing water, all wallowing together in an inseparable heap, 
 composed the furniture of every dark and dirty hut. 
 
 Between nine and ten o’clock at night, we arrived at 
 Lebanon : which is renowned for its warm baths, and for a 
 great hotel, well adapted, I have no doubt, to the gregarious 
 taste of those seekers after health or pleasure who repair here, 
 but inexpressibly comfortless to me. We were shown into 
 an immense apartment, lighted by two dim candles, called 
 the drawing-room: from which there was a descent by a 
 flight of steps, to another vast desert, called the dining-room : 
 our bedchambers were among certain long rows of little 
 whitewashed cells, which opened from either side of a dreary 
 passage; and were so like rooms in a prison that I half 
 expected to be locked up when I went to bed, and listened 
 involuntarily for the turning of the key on the outside. 
 There need be baths somewhere in the neighbourhood, for 
 the other washing arrangements were on as limited a scale 
 as I ever saw, even in America: indeed, these bedrooms were 
 so very bare of even such common luxuries as chairs, that I 
 should say they were not provided with enough of anything, 
 but that I bethink myself of our having been most bountifully 
 bitten all. night. 
 
 The house is very pleasantly situated, however, and we had 
 a good breakfast. That done, we went to visit our place of 
 destination, which was some two miles off, and the way to 
 which was soon indicated by a finger-post, whereon was 
 painted, “ To the Shaker Village.” 
 
 As we rode along, we passed a party of Shakers, who were 
 at work upon the road; who wore the broadest of all broad- 
 brimmed hats; and were in all visible respects such very 
 wooden men, that I felt about as much sympathy for them, 
 and as much interest in them, as if they had been so many 
 figure-heads of ships. Presently we came to the beginning 
 of the village, and alighting at the door of a house where 
 the Shaker manufactures are sold, and which is the head- 
 quarters of the elders, requested permission to see the Shaker 
 worship. 
 
 Pending the conveyance of this request to some person in 
 authority, we walked into a grim room, where several grim 
 hats were hanging on grim pegs, and the time was grimly 
 told by a grim clock which uttered every tick with a kind 
 
A Shaker Village 213 
 
 of struggle, as if it broke the grim silence reluctantly, and 
 under protest. Ranged against the wall were six or eight 
 stiff high-backed chairs, and they partook so strongly of the 
 general grimness that one would much rather have sat on 
 the floor than incurred the smallest obligation to any of 
 them. 
 
 Presently, there stalked into this apartment, a grim old 
 Shaker, with eyes as hard, and dull, and cold, as the great 
 round metal buttons on his coat and waistcoat; a sort of 
 calm goblin. Being informed of our desire, he produced a 
 newspaper wherein the body of elders, whereof he was a 
 member, had advertised but a few days before, that in conse- 
 quence of certain unseemly interruptions which their worship 
 had received from strangers, their chapel was closed to the 
 public for the space of one year. 
 
 As nothing was to be urged in opposition to this reason- 
 able arrangement, we requested leave to make some trifling 
 purchases of Shaker goods ; which was grimly conceded. We 
 accordingly repaired to a store in the same house and on the 
 opposite side of the passage, where the stock was presided 
 over by something alive in a russet case, which the elder said 
 was a woman; and which I suppose was a woman,, though 
 I should not have suspected it. 
 
 On the opposite side of the road was their place of worship : 
 a cool, clean edifice of wood, with large windows and green 
 blinds: like a spacious summer-house. As there was no 
 getting into this place, and nothing was to be done but walk 
 up and down, and look at it and the other buildings in the 
 village (which were chiefly of wood, painted a dark red like 
 English barns, and composed of many stories like English 
 factories), I have nothing to communicate to the reader, 
 beyond the scanty results I gleaned the while our purchases 
 were making. 
 
 These people are called Shakers from their peculiar form 
 of adoration, which consists of a dance, performed by the 
 men and women of all ages, who arrange themselves for that 
 purpose in opposite parties: the men first divesting them- 
 selves of their hats and coats, which they gravely hang 
 against the wall before they begin; and tying a ribbon 
 round their shirt-sleeves, as though they were going to be 
 bled. They accompany themselves with a droning, humming 
 noise, and dance until they are quite exhausted, alternately 
 
American Notes 
 
 214 
 
 advancing and retiring in a preposterous sort of trot. The 
 effect is said to be unspeakably absurd: and if I may judge 
 from a print of this ceremony which I have in my possession ; 
 and which I am informed by those who have visited the chapel 
 is perfectly accurate ; it must be infinitely grotesque. 
 
 They are governed by a woman, and her rule is understood 
 to be absolute, though she has the assistance of a council of 
 elders. She lives, it is said, in strict seclusion, in certain 
 rooms above the chapel, and is never shown to profane eyes. 
 If she at all resemble the lady who presided over the store, 
 it is a great charity to keep her as close as possible, and I 
 cannot too strongly express my perfect concurrence in this 
 benevolent proceeding. 
 
 All the possessions and revenues of the settlement are 
 throwm into a common stock, which is managed by the elders. 
 As they have made converts among people who were well to 
 do in the world, and are frugal and thrifty, it is understood 
 that this fund prospers: the more especially as they have 
 made large purchases of land. Nor is this at Lebanon the 
 only Shaker settlement: there are, I think, at least, three 
 others. 
 
 They are good farmers, and all their produce is eagerly 
 purchased and highly esteemed. “ Shaker seeds,” “ Shaker 
 herbs,” and “ Shaker distilled waters,” are commonly an- 
 nounced for sale in the shops of towns and cities. They are 
 good breeders of cattle, and are kind and merciful to the 
 brute creation. Consequently, Shaker beasts seldom fail 
 to find a ready market. 
 
 They eat and drink together, after the Spartan model, at 
 a great public table. There is no union of the sexes, and 
 every Shaker, male and female, is devoted to a life of celibacy. 
 Rumour has been busy upon this theme, but here again I 
 must refer to the lady of the store, and say, that if many of 
 the sister Shakers resemble her, I treat all such slander as 
 bearing on its face the strongest marks of wild improbability. 
 But that they take as proselytes, persons so young that they 
 cannot know their own minds, and cannot possess much 
 strength of resolution in this or any other respect, I can 
 assert from my own observation of the extreme juvenility of 
 certain youthful Shakers whom I saw at work among the 
 party on the road. 
 
 They are said to be good drivers of bargains, but to be 
 
Shaker Customs 
 
 21 5 
 
 honest and just in their transactions, and even in horse- 
 dealing to resist those thievish tendencies which would seem, 
 for some undiscovered reason, to be almost inseparable from 
 that branch of traffic. In all matters they hold their own 
 course quietly, live in their gloomy silent commonwealth, and 
 show little desire to interfere with other people. 
 
 This is well enough, but nevertheless I cannot, I confess, 
 incline towards the Shakers; view them with much favour, or 
 extend towards them any very lenient construction. I so 
 abhor, and from my soul detest that bad spirit, no matter 
 by what class or sect it may be entertained, which would 
 strip life of its healthful graces, rob youth of its innocent 
 pleasures, pluck from maturity and age their pleasant orna- 
 ments, and make existence but a narrow path towards the 
 grave: that odious spirit which, if it could have had full 
 scope and sway upon the earth, must have blasted and made 
 barren the imaginations of the greatest men, and left them, 
 in their power of raising up enduring images before their 
 fellow-creatures yet unborn, no better than the beasts : that, 
 in these very broad-brimmed hats and very sombre coats — in 
 stiff-necked solemn- visaged piety, in short, no matter what 
 its garb, whether it have cropped hair as in a Shaker village, 
 or long nails as in a Hindoo temple — I recognise the worst 
 among the enemies of Heaven and Earth, who turn the water 
 at the marriage-feasts of this poor world, not into wine, 
 but gall. And if there must be people vowed to crush 
 the harmless fancies and the love of innocent delights and 
 gaieties, which are a part of human nature: as much a 
 part of it as any other love or hope that is our common 
 portion : let them, for me, stand openly revealed among the 
 ribald and licentious; the very idiots know that they are not 
 on the Immortal road, and will despise them, and avoid 
 them readily. 
 
 Leaving the Shaker village with a hearty dislike of the old 
 Shakers, and a hearty pity for the young ones : tempered by 
 the strong probability of their running away as they grow 
 older and wiser, which they not uncommonly do : we returned 
 to Lebanon, and so to Hudson, by the way we had come 
 upon the previous day. There, we took the steamboat down 
 the North River towards New York, but stopped, some four 
 hours’ journey short of it, at West Point, where we remained 
 that night, and all next day, and next night too. 
 
2l6 
 
 American Notes 
 
 In this beautiful place: the fairest among the fair and 
 lovely Highlands of the North River: shut in by deep green 
 heights and ruined forts, and looking down upon the distant 
 town of Newburgh, along a glittering path of sunlit water, 
 with here and there a skiff, whose white sail often bends on 
 some new tack as sudden flaws of wind come down upon her 
 from the gullies in the hills: hemmed in, besides, all round 
 with memories of Washington, and events of the revolutionary 
 war: is the Military School of America. 
 
 It could not stand on more appropriate ground, and any 
 ground more beautiful can hardly be. The course of educa- 
 tion is severe, but well devised, and manly. Through June, 
 July, and August, the young men encamp upon the spacious 
 plain whereon the college stands; and all the year their 
 military exercises are performed there, daily. The term of 
 study at this institution, which the state requires from all 
 cadets, is four years ; but, whether it be from the rigid nature 
 of the discipline, or the national impatience of restraint, or 
 both causes combined, not more than half the number who 
 begin their studies here, ever remain to finish them. 
 
 The number of cadets being about equal to that of the 
 members of Congress, one is sent here from every Congres- 
 sional district: its member influencing the selection. Com- 
 missions in the service are distributed on the same principle. 
 The dwellings of the various Professors are beautifully situ- 
 ated ; and there is a most excellent hotel for strangers, though 
 it has the two drawbacks of being a total abstinence house 
 (wines and spirits being forbidden to the students), and of 
 serving the public meals at rather uncomfortable hours: to 
 wit, breakfast at seven, dinner at one, and supper at sunset. 
 
 The beauty and freshness of this calm retreat, in the very 
 dawn and greenness of summer — it was then the beginning 
 of June — were exquisite indeed. Leaving it upon the sixth, 
 and returning to New York, to embark for England on the 
 succeeding day, I was glad to think that among the last 
 memorable beauties which had glided past us, and softened 
 in the bright perspective, were those whose pictures, traced 
 by no common hand, are fresh in most men’s minds; not 
 easily to grow old, or fade beneath the dust of Time:, the 
 Kaatskill Mountains, Sleepy Hollow, and the Tappaan Zee. 
 
Favourable Weather 
 
 217 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE PASSAGE HOME 
 
 I never had so much interest before, and very likely I shall 
 never have so much interest again, in the state of the wind, 
 as on the long-looked-for morning of Tuesday the Seventh 
 of June. Some nautical authority had told me a day or two 
 previous, “ anything with west in it, will do”; so when I 
 darted out of bed at daylight, and throwing up the window, 
 was saluted by a lively breeze from the north-west which had 
 sprung up in the night, it came upon me so freshly, rustling 
 with so many happy associations, that I conceived upon the 
 spot a special regard for all airs blowing from that quarter 
 of the compass, which I shall cherish, I dare say, until my 
 own wind has breathed its last frail puff, and withdrawn itself 
 for ever from the mortal calendar. 
 
 The pilot had not been slow to take advantage of this 
 favourable weather, and the ship which yesterday had been 
 in such a crowded dock that she might have retired from 
 trade for good and all, for any chance she seemed to have of 
 going to sea, was now full sixteen miles away. A gallant 
 sight she was, when we, fast gaining on her in a steamboat, 
 saw her in the distance riding at anchor: her tall masts 
 pointing up in graceful lines against the sky, and every 
 rope and spar expressed in delicate and thread-like outline: 
 gallant, too, when, we being all aboard, the anchor came 
 up to the sturdy chorus “ Cheerily men, oh cheerily ! ” and 
 she followed proudly in the towing steamboat’s wake: but 
 bravest and most gallant of all, when the tow-rope being cast 
 adrift, the canvas fluttered from her masts, and spreading her 
 white wings she soared away upon her free and solitary course. 
 
 In the after-cabin we were only fifteen passengers in all, 
 and the greater part were from Canada, where some of us had 
 known each other. The night was rough and squally, so were 
 the next two days, but they flew by quickly, and we were 
 soon as cheerful and snug a party, with an honest, manly- 
 hearted captain at our head, as ever came to the resolution 
 of being mutually agreeable, on land or water. 
 
 We breakfasted at eight, lunched at twelve, dined at three, 
 
2i8 
 
 American Notes 
 
 and took our tea at half-past seven. We had abundance of 
 amusements, and dinner was not the least among them: 
 firstly, for its own sake; secondly, because of its extraor- 
 dinary length: its duration, inclusive of all the long pauses 
 between the courses, being seldom less than two hours and a 
 half; which was a subject of never-failing entertainment. 
 By way of beguiling the tediousness of these banquets, a 
 select association was formed at the lower end of the table 
 below the mast, to whose distinguished president modesty 
 forbids me to make any further allusion, which, being a very 
 hilarious and jovial institution, was (prejudice apart) in high 
 favour with the rest of the community, and particularly with 
 a black steward, who lived for three weeks in a broad grin at 
 the marvellous humour of these incorporated worthies. 
 
 Then, we had chess for those who played it, whist, cribbage, 
 books, backgammon, and shovelboard. In all weathers, fair 
 or foul, calm or windy, we were every one on deck, walking 
 up and down in pairs, lying in the boats, leaning over the 
 side, or chatting in a lazy group together. We had no lack 
 of music, for one played the accordion, another the violin, 
 and another (who usually began at six o’clock a.m.) the key- 
 bugle : the combined effect of which instruments, when they 
 all played different tunes in different parts of the ship, at the 
 same time, and within hearing of each other, as they some- 
 times did (everybody being intensely satisfied with his own 
 performance), was sublimely hideous. 
 
 When all these means of entertainment failed, a sail would 
 heave in sight : looming, perhaps, the very spirit of a ship, in 
 the misty distance, or passing us so close that through our 
 glasses we could see the people on her decks, and easily make 
 out her name, and whither she was bound. For hours 
 together we could watch the dolphins and porpoises as they 
 rolled and leaped and dived around the vessel; or those small 
 creatures ever on the wing, the Mother Carey’s chickens, 
 which had borne us company from New York bay, and for a 
 whole fortnight fluttered about the vessel’s stern. For some 
 days we had a dead calm, or very light winds, during which 
 the crew amused themselves with fishing, and hooked an 
 unlucky dolphin, who expired, in all his rainbow colours, on 
 the deck : an event of such importance in our barren calendar, 
 that afterwards we dated from the dolphin, and made the day 
 on which he died, an era. 
 
Sagacious Doubters 219 
 
 Besides all this, when we were five or six days out, there 
 began to be much talk of icebergs, of which wandering islands 
 an unusual number had been seen by the vessels that had 
 come into New York a day or two before we left that port, 
 and of whose dangerous neighbourhood we were warned by 
 the sudden coldness of the weather, and the sinking of the 
 mercury in the barometer. While these tokens lasted, a 
 double look-out was kept, and many dismal tales were 
 whispered after dark, of ships that had struck upon the ice 
 and gone down in the night; but the wind obliging us to 
 hold a southward course, we saw none of them, and the 
 weather soon grew bright and warm again. 
 
 The observation every day at noon, and the subsequent 
 working of the vessel’s course, was, as may be supposed, a 
 feature in our lives of paramount importance; nor were 
 there wanting (as there never are) sagacious doubters of the 
 captain’s calculations, who, so soon as his back was turned, 
 would, in the absence of compasses, measure the chart with 
 bits of string, and ends of pocket-handkerchiefs, and points 
 of snuffers, and clearly prove him to be wrong by an odd 
 thousand miles or so. It was very edifying to see these un- 
 believers shake their heads and frown, and hear them hold 
 forth strongly upon navigation : not that they knew anything 
 about it, but that they always mistrusted the captain in calm 
 weather, or when the wind was adverse. Indeed, the mer- 
 cury itself is not so variable as this class of passengers, whom 
 you will see, when the ship is going nobly through the water, 
 quite pale with admiration, swearing that the captain beats 
 all captains ever known, and even hinting at subscriptions 
 for a piece of plate; and who, next morning, when the breeze 
 has lulled, and all the sails hang useless in the idle air, shake 
 their despondent heads again, and say, with screwed-up lips, 
 they hope that captain is a sailor — but they shrewdly doubt 
 him. 
 
 It even became an occupation in the calm, to wonder when 
 the wind would spring up in the favourable quarter, where, 
 it was clearly shown by all the rules and precedents, it ought 
 to have sprung up long ago. The first mate, who whistled 
 for it zealously, was much respected for his perseverance, and 
 was regarded even by the unbelievers as a first-rate sailor. 
 Many gloomy looks would be cast upward through the cabin 
 skylights at the flapping sails while dinner was in progress; 
 
220 
 
 American Notes 
 
 and some, growing bold in ruefulness, predicted that we 
 should land about the middle of July. There are always on 
 board ship, a Sanguine One, and a Despondent One. The 
 latter character carried it hollow at this period of the voyage, 
 and triumphed over the Sanguine One at every meal, by 
 inquiring where he supposed the Great Western (which left 
 New York a week after us) was now : and where he supposed 
 the ‘ Cunard ’ steam-packet was now : and what he thought 
 of sailing vessels, as compared with steamships now: and 
 so beset his life with pestilent attacks of that kind, that he 
 too was obliged to affect despondency, for very peace and 
 quietude. 
 
 These were additions to the list of entertaining incidents, 
 but there was still another source of interest. We carried 
 in the steerage nearly a hundred passengers: a little world 
 of poverty : and as we came to know individuals among them 
 by sight, from looking down upon the deck where they took 
 the air in the daytime, and cooked their food, and very often 
 ate it too, we became curious to know their histories, and 
 with what expectations they had gone out to America, and 
 on what errands they were going home, and what their cir- 
 cumstances were. The information we got on these heads 
 from the carpenter, who had charge of these people, was 
 often of the strangest kind. Some of them had been in 
 America but three days, some but three months, and some 
 had gone out in the last voyage of that very ship in which 
 they were now returning home. Others had sold their 
 clothes to raise the passage-money, and had hardly rags to 
 cover them; others had no food, and lived upon the charity 
 of the rest : and one man, it was discovered nearly at the end 
 of the voyage, not before — for he kept his secret close, and 
 did not court compassion — had had no sustenance whatever 
 but the bones and scraps of fat he took from the plates used 
 in the after-cabin dinner, when they were put out to be 
 washed. 
 
 The whole system of shipping and conveying these un- 
 fortunate persons, is one that stands in need of thorough 
 revision. If any class deserve to be protected and assisted 
 by the Government, it is that class who are banished from 
 their native land in search of the bare means of subsistence. 
 All that could be done for these poor people by the great 
 compassion and humanity of the captain and officers was 
 
Disappointed Emigrants 221 
 
 done, but they require much more. The law is bound, at 
 least upon the English side, to see that too many of them 
 are not put on board one ship: and that their accommoda- 
 tions are decent; not demoralising and profligate. It is 
 bound, too, in common humanity, to declare that no man 
 shall be taken on board without his stock of provisions being 
 previously inspected by some proper officer, and pronounced 
 moderately sufficient for his support upon the voyage. It 
 is bound to provide, or to require that there be provided, a 
 medical attendant; whereas in these ships there are none, 
 though sickness of adults, and deaths of children, on the 
 passage, are matters of the very commonest occurrence. 
 Above all it is the duty of any Government, be it monarchy 
 or republic, to interpose and put an end to that system by 
 which a firm of traders in emigrants purchase of the owners 
 the whole ’tween-decks of a ship, and send on board as many 
 wretched people as they can lay hold of, on any terms they 
 can get, without the smallest reference to the conveniences 
 of the steerage, the number of berths, the slightest separa- 
 tion of the sexes, or anything but their own immediate profit. 
 Nor is even this the worst of the vicious system: for, certain 
 crimping agents of these houses, who have a percentage on 
 all the passengers they inveigle, are constantly travelling 
 about those districts where poverty and discontent are rife, 
 and tempting the credulous into more misery, by holding 
 out monstrous inducements to emigration which can never 
 be realised. 
 
 The history of every family we had on board was pretty 
 much the same. After hoarding up, and borrowing, and 
 begging, and selling everything to pay the passage, they had 
 gone out to New York, expecting to find its streets paved 
 with gold; and had found them paved with very hard and 
 very real stones. , Enterprise was dull ; labourers were not 
 wanted; jobs of work were to be got, but the payment was 
 not. They were coming back, even poorer than they went. 
 One of them was carrying an open letter from a young Eng- 
 lish artisan, who had been in New York a fortnight, to a 
 friend near Manchester, whom he strongly urged to follow 
 him. One of the officers brought it to me as a curiosity. 
 “ This is the country, Jem,” said the writer. “ I like 
 America. There is no despotism here; that’s the great 
 thing. Employment of all sorts is going a-begging, and 
 
222 American Notes 
 
 wages are capital. You have only to choose a trade, Jem, 
 and be it. I haven’t made choice of one yet, but I shall soon. 
 At present 1 haven't quite made up my mind whether to he a 
 carpenter — or a tailor .” 
 
 There was yet another kind of passenger, and but one 
 more, who, in the calm and the light winds, was a constant 
 theme of conversation and observation among us. This was 
 an English sailor, a smart, thorough-built, English man-of- 
 war’s-man from his hat to his shoes, who was serving in the 
 American navy, and having got leave of absence was on his 
 way home to see his friends. When he presented himself to 
 take and pay for his passage, it had been suggested to him 
 that being an able seaman he might as well work it and save 
 the money, but this piece of advice he very indignantly 
 rejected: saying, “ He’d be damned but for once he’d go 
 aboard ship, as a gentleman.” Accordingly, they took his 
 money, but he no sooner came aboard, than he stowed his kit 
 in the forecastle, arranged to mess with the crew, and the 
 very first time the hands were turned up, went aloft like 
 a cat, before anybody. And all through the passage there 
 he was, first at the braces, outermost on the yards, per- 
 petually lending a hand everywhere, but always with a sober 
 dignity in his manner, and a sober grin on his face, which 
 plainly said, “ I do it as a gentleman. For my own pleasure, 
 mind you ! ” 
 
 At length and at last, the promised wind came up in right 
 good earnest, and away we went before it, with every stitch 
 of canvas set, slashing through the water nobly. There was 
 a grandeur in the motion of the splendid ship, as over- 
 shadowed by her mass of sails, she rode at a furious pace 
 upon the waves, which filled one with an indescribable sense 
 of pride and exultation. As she plunged into a foaming 
 valley, how I loved to see the green waves, bordered deep 
 with white, come rushing on astern, to buoy her upward at 
 their pleasure, and curl about her as she stooped again, but 
 always own her for their haughty mistress still! On, on we 
 flew, with changing lights upon the water, being now in the 
 blessed region of fleecy skies; a bright sun lighting us by 
 day, and a bright moon by night; the vane pointing directly 
 homeward, alike the truthful index to the favouring wind 
 and to our cheerful hearts ; until at sunrise, one fair Monday 
 morning — the twenty-seventh of June, I shall not easily 
 
Home Again 223 
 
 forget the day — there lay before us, old Cape Clear, God 
 bless it, showing, in the mist of early morning, like a cloud : 
 the brightest and most welcome cloud, to us, that ever hid 
 the face of Heaven’s fallen sister — Home. 
 
 Dim speck as it was in the wide prospect, it made the 
 sunrise a more cheerful sight, and gave to it that sort of 
 human interest which it seems to want at sea. There, as 
 elsewhere, the return of day is inseparable from some sense 
 of renewed hope and gladness; but the light shining on the 
 dreary waste of water, and showing it in all its vast extent 
 of loneliness, presents a solemn spectacle, which even night, 
 veiling it in darkness and uncertainty, does not surpass. 
 The rising of the moon is more in keeping with the solitary 
 ocean; and has an air of melancholy grandeur, which in its 
 soft and gentle influence, seems to comfort while it saddens. 
 I recollect when I was a very young child having a fancy 
 that the reflection of the moon in water was a path to Heaven, 
 trodden by the spirits of good people on their way to God; 
 and this old feeling often came over me again, when I watched 
 it on a tranquil night at sea. 
 
 The wind was very light on this same Monday morning, 
 but it was still in the right quarter, and so, by slow degrees, 
 we left Cape Clear behind, and sailed along within sight of 
 the coast of Ireland. And how merry we all were, and how 
 loyal to the George Washington, and how full of mutual 
 congratulations, and how venturesome in predicting the 
 exact hour at which we should arrive at Liverpool, may be 
 easily imagined and readily understood. Also, how heartily 
 we drank the captain’s health that day at dinner; and how 
 restless we became about packing up : and how two or three 
 of the most sanguine spirits rejected the idea of going to bed 
 at all that night as something it was not worth while to do, 
 so near the shore, but went nevertheless, and slept soundly ; 
 and how to be so near our journey’s end, was like a pleasant 
 dream, from which one feared to wake. 
 
 The friendly breeze freshened again next day, and on we 
 went once more before it gallantly: descrying now and then 
 an English ship going homeward under shortened sail, while 
 we with every inch of canvas crowded on, dashed gaily past, 
 and left her far behind. Toward evening, the weather turned 
 hazy, with a drizzling rain; and soon became so thick, that 
 we sailed, as it were, in a cloud. Still we swept onward 
 
American Notes 
 
 224 
 
 like a phantom ship, and many an eager eye glanced up to 
 where the Look-out on the mast kept watch for Holyhead. 
 
 At length his long-expected cry was heard, and at the 
 same moment there shone out from the haze and mist ahead, 
 a gleaming light, which presently was gone, and soon 
 returned, and soon was gone again. Whenever it came 
 back, the eyes of all on board, brightened and sparkled like 
 itself: and there w r e all stood, watching this revolving light 
 upon the rock at Holyhead, and praising it for its brightness 
 and its friendly warning, and lauding it, in short, above all 
 other signal lights that ever were displayed, until it once 
 more glimmered faintly in the distance, far behind us. 
 
 Then, it was time to fire a gun, for a pilot; and almost 
 before its smoke had cleared away, a little boat with a light 
 at her mast-head came bearing down upon us, through the 
 darkness, swiftly. And presently, our sails being backed, 
 she ran alongside ; and the hoarse pilot, wrapped and muffled 
 in pea-coats and shawls to the very bridge of his weather- 
 ploughed-up nose, stood bodily among us on the deck. And 
 I think if that pilot had wanted to borrow fifty pounds for 
 an indefinite period on no security, we should have engaged 
 to lend it to him, among us, before his boat had dropped 
 astern, or (which is the same thing) before every scrap of 
 news in the paper he brought with him had become the 
 common property of all on board. 
 
 We turned in pretty late that night, and turned out pretty 
 early next morning. By six o’clock we clustered on the 
 deck, prepared to go ashore; and looked upon the spires, 
 and roofs, and smoke, of Liverpool. By eight we all sat 
 down in one of its Hotels, to eat and drink together for the 
 last time. And by nine we had shaken hands all round, 
 and broken up our social company for ever. 
 
 The country, by the railroad, seemed, as we rattled through 
 it, like a luxuriant garden. The beauty of the fields (so 
 small they looked !), the hedge-rows, and the trees ; the pretty 
 cottages, the beds of flowers, the old churchyards, the antique 
 houses, and every well-known object; the exquisite delights 
 of that one journey, crowding in the short compass of a 
 summer’s day, the joy of many years, with the winding up 
 with Home and all that makes it dear; no tongue can tell, 
 or pen of mine describe. 
 
The Upholders of Slavery 225 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 SLAVERY 
 
 The upholders of slavery in America — of the atrocities of 
 which system, I shall not write one word for which I have 
 not had ample proof and warrant — may be divided into three 
 great classes. 
 
 The first, are those more moderate and rational owners of 
 human cattle, who have come into the possession of them as 
 so many coins in their trading capital, but who admit the 
 frightful nature of the Institution in the abstract, and 
 perceive the dangers to society with which it is fraught: 
 dangers which however distant they may be, or howsoever 
 tardy in their coming on, are as certain to fall upon its guilty 
 head, as the Day of Judgment. 
 
 The second, consists of all those owners, breeders, users, 
 buyers and sellers of slaves, who will, until the bloody chapter 
 has a bloody end, own, breed, use, buy, and sell them at all 
 hazards ; who doggedly deny the horrors of the system in the 
 teeth of such a mass of evidence as never was brought to 
 bear on any other subject, and to which the experience of 
 every day contributes its immense amount; who would at 
 this or any other moment, gladly involve America in a war, 
 civil or foreign, provided that it had for its sole end and 
 object the assertion of their right to perpetuate slavery, and 
 to whip and work and torture slaves, unquestioned by any 
 human authority, and unassailed by any human power; who, 
 when they speak of Freedom, mean the Freedom to oppress 
 their kind, and to be savage, merciless, and cruel; and of 
 whom every man on his own ground, in republican America, 
 is a more exacting, and a sterner, and a less responsible 
 despot than the Caliph Haroun Alraschid in his angry robe 
 of scarlet. 
 
 The third, and not the least numerous or influential, is 
 composed of all that delicate gentility which cannot bear a 
 superior, and cannot brook an equal; of that class whose 
 Republicanism means, “ I will not tolerate a man above me: 
 and of those below, none must approach too near”; whose 
 pride, in a land where voluntary servitude is shunned as a 
 
226 
 
 American Notes 
 
 disgrace, must be ministered to by slaves ; and whose inalien- 
 able rights can only have their growth in negro wrongs. 
 
 It has been sometimes urged that, in the unavailing efforts 
 which have been made to advance the cause of Human 
 Freedom in the republic of America (strange cause for his- 
 tory to treat of!), sufficient regard has not been had to the 
 existence of the first class of persons; and it has been con- 
 tended that they are hardly used, in being confounded with 
 the second. This is, no doubt, the case; noble instances of 
 pecuniary and personal sacrifice have already had their 
 growth among them; and it is much to be regretted that the 
 gulf between them and the advocates of emancipation should 
 have been widened and deepened by any means: the rather, 
 as there are, beyond dispute, among these slave-owners, many 
 kind masters who are tender in the exercise of their unnatural 
 power. Still, it is to be feared that this injustice is insepar- 
 able from the state of things with which humanity and truth 
 are called upon to deal. Slavery is not a whit the more 
 endurable because some hearts are to be found which can 
 partially resist its hardening influences ; nor can the indignant 
 tide of honest wrath stand still, because in its onward course 
 it overwhelms a few who are comparatively innocent, among 
 a host of guilty. 
 
 The ground most commonly taken by these better men 
 among the advocates of slavery, is this: “ It is a bad system; 
 and for myself I would willingly get rid of it, if I could; 
 most willingly. But it is not so bad, as you in England 
 take it to be. You are deceived by the representations of 
 the emancipationists. The greater part of my slaves are 
 much attached to me. You will say that I do not allow 
 them to be severely treated ; but I will put it to you whether 
 you believe that it can be a general practice to treat them 
 inhumanly, when it would impair their value, and would be 
 obviously against the interests of their masters.” 
 
 Is it the interest of any man to steal, to game, to waste 
 his health and mental faculties by drunkenness, to lie, for- 
 swear himself, indulge hatred, seek desperate revenge, or do 
 murder? No. All these are roads to ruin. And why, then, 
 do men tread them? Because such inclinations are among 
 the vicious qualities of mankind. Blot out, ye friends of 
 slavery, from the catalogue of human passions, brutal lust, 
 cruelty, and the abuse of irresponsible power (of all earthly 
 
Public Opinion 227 
 
 temptations the most difficult to be resisted), and when ye 
 have done so, and not before, we will inquire whether it be 
 the interest of a master to lash and maim the slaves, over 
 whose lives and limbs he has an absolute control ! 
 
 But again: this class, together with that last one I have 
 named, the miserable aristocracy spawned of a false republic, 
 lift up their voices and exclaim “ Public opinion is all- 
 sufficient to prevent such cruelty as you denounce.” Public 
 opinion ! Why, public opinion in the slave States is slavery, 
 is it not? Public opinion, in the slave States, has delivered 
 the slaves over, to the gentle mercies of their masters. 
 Public opinion has made the laws, and denied the slaves 
 legislative protection. Public opinion has knotted the lash, 
 heated the branding-iron, loaded the rifle, and shielded the 
 murderer. Public opinion threatens the abolitionist with 
 death, if he venture to the South; and drags him with a 
 rope about his middle, in broad unblushing noon, through 
 the first city in the East. Public opinion has, within a few 
 years, burned a slave alive at a slow fire in the city of St. 
 Louis ; and public opinion has to this day maintained upon 
 the bench that estimable Judge who charged the Jury, 
 impanelled there to try his murderers, that their most horrid 
 deed was an act of public opinion, and being so, must not 
 be punished by the laws the public sentiment had made. 
 Public opinion hailed this doctrine with a howl of wild 
 applause, and set the prisoners free, to walk the city, men of 
 mark, and influence, and station, as they had been before. 
 
 Public opinion ! what class of men have an immense pre- 
 ponderance over the rest of the community, in their power 
 of representing public opinion in the legislature? the slave- 
 owners. They send from their tw r elve States one hundred 
 members, while the fourteen free States, with a free popula- 
 tion nearly double, return but a hundred and forty-two. 
 Before whom do the presidential candidates bow down the 
 most humbly, on whom do they fawn the most fondly, and 
 for whose tastes do they cater the most assiduously in their 
 servile protestations ? The slave-owners always. 
 
 Public opinion ! hear the public opinion of the free South, 
 as expressed by its own members in the House of Repre- 
 sentatives at Washington. “ I have a great respect for the 
 chair,” quoth North Carolina, “ I have a great respect for the 
 chair as an officer of the house, and a great respect for him 
 
228 
 
 American Notes 
 
 personally; nothing but that respect prevents me from rush- 
 ing to the table and tearing that petition which has just 
 been presented for the abolition of slavery in the district of 
 Columbia, to pieces.” — “ I warn the abolitionists,” says 
 South Carolina, “ ignorant, infuriated barbarians as they are, 
 that if chance shall throw any of them into our hands, he may 
 expect a felon’s death.” — “ Let an abolitionist come within 
 the borders of South Carolina,” cries a third; mild Caro- 
 lina’s colleague; “ and if we can catch him, we will try him, 
 and notwithstanding the interference of all the governments 
 on earth, including the Federal government, we will hang 
 him.” 
 
 Public opinion has made this law. — It has declared that 
 in Washington, in that city which takes its name from the 
 father of American liberty, any justice of the peace may bind 
 with fetters any negro passing down the street and thrust 
 him into jail: no offence on the black man’s part is neces- 
 sary. The justice says, “ I choose to think this man a run- 
 away”: and locks him up. Public opinion empowers the 
 man of law when this is done, to advertise the negro in the 
 newspapers, warning his owner to come and claim him, or he 
 will be sold to pay the jail fees. But supposing he is a free 
 black, and has no owmer, it may naturally be presumed that 
 he is set at liberty. No: he is sold to recompense his 
 jailer. This has been done again, and again, and again. 
 He has no means of proving his freedom; has no adviser, 
 messenger, or assistance of any sort or kind; no investigation 
 into his case is made, or inquiry instituted. He, a free man, 
 who may have served for years, and bought his liberty, is 
 thrown into jail on no process, for no crime, and on no pre- 
 tence of crime: and is sold to pay the jail fees. This seems 
 incredible, even of America, but it is the law. 
 
 Public opinion is deferred to, in such cases as the following: 
 which is headed in the newspapers: — 
 
 “ Interesting Law-Case . 
 
 “ An interesting case is now on trial in the Supreme Court, 
 arising out of the following facts. A gentleman residing in 
 Maryland had allowed an aged pair of his slaves, substantial 
 though not legal freedom for several years. While thus 
 living, a daughter was born to them, who grew up in the 
 
Specimens of Advertisements 229 
 
 same liberty, until she married a free negro, and went with 
 him to reside in Pennsylvania. They had several children, 
 and lived unmolested until the original owner died, when 
 his heir attempted to regain them; but the magistrate 
 before whom they were brought, decided that he had no juris- 
 diction in the case. The owner seized the woman and her 
 children in the night , and carried them to Maryland” 
 
 “ Cash for negroes,” “ cash for negroes,” “ cash for 
 negroes,” is the heading of advertisements in great capitals 
 down the long columns of the crowded journals. Woodcuts 
 of a runaway negro with manacled hands, crouching beneath 
 a bluff pursuer in top boots, who, having caught him, grasps 
 him by the throat, agreeably diversify the pleasant text. 
 The leading article protests against “ that abominable and 
 hellish doctrine of abolition, which is repugnant alike to 
 every law of God and nature.” The delicate mamma, who 
 smiles her acquiescence in this sprightly writing as she reads 
 the paper in her cool piazza, quiets her youngest child who 
 clings about her skirts, by promising the boy “ a whip to 
 beat the little niggers with.” — But the negroes, little and 
 big, are protected by public opinion. 
 
 Let us try this public opinion by another test, which is 
 important in three points of view: first, as showing how 
 desperately timid of the public opinion slave-owners are, in 
 their delicate descriptions of fugitive slaves in widely cir- 
 culated newspapers; secondly, as showing how perfectly 
 contented the slaves are, and how very seldom they run 
 away; thirdly, as exhibiting their entire freedom from scar, or 
 blemish, or any mark of cruel infliction, as their pictures 
 are drawn, not by lying abolitionists, but by their own truth- 
 ful masters. 
 
 The following are a few specimens of the advertisements 
 in the public papers. It is only four years since the oldest 
 among them appeared; and others of the same nature 
 continue to be published every day, in shoals. 
 
 “ Ran away, Negress Caroline. Had on a collar with one 
 prong turned down.” 
 
 “ Ran away, a black woman, Betsy. Had an iron bar on 
 her right leg.” 
 
 “ Ran away, the negro Manuel. Much marked with irons.” 
 
 “ Ran away, the negress Fanny. Had on an iron band 
 about her neck.” 
 
American Notes 
 
 230 
 
 “ Ran away, a negro boy about twelve years old. Had 
 round his neck a chain dog-collar with ‘ De Lampert ’ 
 engraved on it.” 
 
 “ Ran away, the negro Hown. Has a ring of iron on his 
 left foot. Also, Grise, his wife , having a ring and chain on 
 the left leg.” 
 
 “ Ran away, a negro boy named James. Said boy was 
 ironed when he left me.” 
 
 “ Committed to jail, a man who calls his name John. He 
 has a clog of iron on his right foot which will weigh four or 
 five pounds.” 
 
 “ Detained at the police jail, the negro wench, Myra. Has 
 several marks of lashing, and has irons on her feet.” 
 
 “ Ran away, a negro woman and two children. A few 
 days before she went off, I burnt her with a hot iron, on 
 the left side of her face. I tried to make the letter M.” 
 
 “ Ran away, a negro man named Henry; his left eye out, 
 some scars from a dirk on and under his left arm, and much 
 scarred with the whip.” 
 
 “ One hundred dollars reward, for a negro fellow, Pompey, 
 40 years old. He is branded on the left jaw.” 
 
 “ Committed to jail, a negro man. Has no toes on the 
 left foot.” 
 
 “ Ran away, a negro woman named Rachel. Has lost all 
 her toes except the large one.” 
 
 “ Ran away, Sam. He was shot a short time since 
 through the hand, and has several shots in his left arm 
 and side.” 
 
 “ Ran away, my negro man Dennis. Said negro has been 
 shot in the left arm between the shoulder and elbow, which 
 has paralysed the left hand.” 
 
 “ Ran away, my negro man named Simon. He has been 
 shot badly, in his back and right arm.” 
 
 “ Ran away, a negro named Arthur. Has a considerable 
 scar across his breast and each arm, made by a knife; loves 
 to talk much of the goodness of God.” 
 
 “ Twenty-five dollars reward for my man Isaac. He has 
 a scar on his forehead, caused by a blow; and one on his 
 back, made by a shot from a pistol.” 
 
 “ Ran away, a negro girl called Mary. Has a small scar 
 over her eye, a good many teeth missing, the letter A is 
 branded on her cheek and forehead.” 
 
A Repellent Catalogue 231 
 
 “ Ran away, negro Ben. Has a scar on his right hand; 
 his thumb and forefinger being injured by being shot last 
 fall. A part of the bone came out. He has also one or two 
 large scars on his back and hips.” 
 
 “ Detained at the jail, a mulatto, named Tom. Has a scar 
 on the right cheek, and appears to have been burned with 
 powder on the face.” 
 
 “ Ran away, a negro man named Ned. Three of his 
 fingers are drawn into the palm of his hand by a cut. Has 
 a scar on the back of his neck, nearly half round, done by 
 a knife.” 
 
 “ Was committed to jail, a negro man. Says his name is 
 Josiah. His back very much scarred by the whip; and 
 branded on the thigh and hips in three or four places, thus 
 ( J M). The rim of his right ear has been bit or cut off.” 
 
 “ Fifty dollars reward, for my fellow Edward. He has a 
 scar on the corner of his mouth, two cuts on and under his 
 arm, and the letter E on his arm.” 
 
 “ Ran away, negro boy Ellie. Has a scar on one of his 
 arms from the bite of a dog.” 
 
 “ Ran away, from the plantation of James Surge tte, the 
 following negroes: Randal, has one ear cropped; Bob, has 
 lost one eye; Kentucky Tom, has one jaw broken.” 
 
 “ Ran away, Anthony. One of his ears cut off, and his 
 left hand cut with an axe.” 
 
 “ Fifty dollars reward for the negro Jim Blake. Has a 
 piece cut out of each ear, and the middle finger of the left 
 hand cut off to the second joint.” 
 
 “ Ran away, a negro woman named Maria. Has a scar 
 on one side of her cheek, by a cut. Some scars on her 
 back.” 
 
 “ Ran away, the Mulatto wench Mary. Has a cut on the 
 left arm, a scar on the left shoulder, and two upper teeth 
 missing.” 
 
 I should say, perhaps, in explanation of this latter piece of 
 description, that among the other blessings which public 
 opinion secures to the negroes, is the common practice of 
 violently punching out their teeth. To make them wear 
 iron collars by day and night, and to worry them with dogs, 
 are practices almost too ordinary to deserve mention. 
 
 “ Ran away, my man Fountain. Has holes in his ears, 
 a scar on the right side of his forehead, has been shot in the 
 
232 American Notes 
 
 hind parts of his legs, and is marked on the back with the 
 whip/’ 
 
 “ Two hundred and fifty dollars reward for my negro man 
 Jim. He is much marked with shot in his right thigh. 
 The shot entered on the outside, halfway between the hip 
 and knee joints.” 
 
 “ Brought to jail, John. Left ear cropt.” 
 
 “ Taken up, a negro man. Is very much scarred about 
 the face and body, and has the left ear bit off.” 
 
 “ Ran away, a black girl, named Mary. Has a scar on her 
 cheek, and the end of one of her toes cut off.” 
 
 “ Ran away, my Mulatto woman, Judy. She has had her 
 right arm broke.” 
 
 “ Ran away, my negro man, Levi. His left hand has 
 been burnt, and I think the end of his forefinger is off.” 
 
 “ Ran away, a negro man, named Washington. Has 
 lost a part of his middle finger, and the end of his little 
 finger.” 
 
 “ Twenty-five dollars reward for my man John. The tip 
 of his nose is bit off.” 
 
 “ Twenty-five dollars reward for the negro slave, Sally. 
 Walks as though crippled in the back.” 
 
 “ Ran away, Joe Dennis. Has a small notch in one of his 
 ears.” 
 
 “ Ran away, negro boy, Jack. Has a small crop out of 
 his left ear.” 
 
 “ Ran away, a negro man, named Ivory. Has a small 
 piece cut out of the top of each ear.” 
 
 While upon the subject of ears, I may observe that a 
 distinguished abolitionist in New York once received a 
 negro’s ear, which had been cut off close to the head, in a 
 general post letter. It was forwarded by the free and 
 independent gentleman who had caused it to be amputated, 
 with a polite request that he would place the specimen in his 
 “ collection.” 
 
 I could enlarge this catalogue with broken arms, and 
 broken legs, and gashed flesh, and missing teeth, and lacer- 
 ated backs, and bites of dogs, and brands of red-hot irons 
 innumerable : but as my readers will be sufficiently sickened 
 and repelled already, I will turn to another branch of the 
 subject. 
 
 These advertisements, of which a similar collection might 
 
An Impartial Inquiry 233 
 
 be made for every year, and month, and week, and day; and 
 which are coolly read in families as things of course, and as 
 a part of the current news and small-talk; will serve to 
 show how very much the slaves profit by public opinion, and 
 how tender it is in their behalf. But it may be worth 
 while to inquire how the slave-owners, and the class of 
 society to which great numbers of them belong, defer to 
 public opinion in their conduct, not to their slaves but to 
 each other; how they are accustomed to restrain their 
 passions ; what their bearing is among themselves ; whether 
 they are fierce or gentle; whether their social customs be 
 brutal, sanguinary, and violent, or bear the impress of 
 civilisation and refinement. 
 
 That we may have no partial evidence from abolitionists 
 in this inquiry, either, I will once more turn to their own 
 newspapers, and I will confine myself, this time, to a selection 
 from paragraphs which appeared from day to day, during 
 my visit to America, and which refer to occurrences happen- 
 ing while I was there. The italics in these extracts, as in the 
 foregoing, are my own. 
 
 These cases did not all occur, it will be seen, in territory 
 actually belonging to legalised Slave States, though most, and 
 those the very worst among them did, as their counterparts 
 constantly do; but the position of the scenes of action in 
 reference to places immediately at hand, where slavery is 
 the law; and the strong resemblance between that class of 
 outrages and the rest; lead to the just presumption that the 
 character of the parties concerned was formed in slave dis- 
 tricts, and brutalised by slave customs. 
 
 “ Horrible Tragedy. 
 
 “ By a slip from The Southport Telegraph , Wisconsin, we 
 learn that the Hon. Charles C. P. Arndt, Member of the 
 Council for Brown county, was shot dead on the floor of the 
 Council chamber , by James R. Vinyard, Member from Grant 
 county. The affair grew out of a nomination for Sheriff of 
 Grant county. Mr. E. S. Baker was nominated and sup- 
 ported by Mr. Arndt. This nomination was opposed by 
 Vinyard, who wanted the appointment to vest in his own 
 brother. In the course of debate, the deceased made some 
 statements which Vinyard pronounced false, and made use of 
 1 
 
American Notes 
 
 2 34 
 
 violent and insulting language, dealing largely in personali- 
 ties, to which Mr. A. made no reply. After the adjournment, 
 Mr. A. stepped up to Vinyard, and requested him to retract, 
 which he refused to do, repeating the offensive words. Mr. 
 Arndt then made a blow at Vinyard, who stepped back a 
 pace, drew a pistol, and shot him dead. 
 
 “ The issue appears to have been provoked on the part of 
 Vinyard, who was determined at all hazards to defeat the 
 appointment of Baker, and who, himself defeated, turned his 
 ire and revenge upon the unfortunate Arndt.” 
 
 “ The Wisconsin Tragedy . 
 
 “ Public indignation runs high in the territory of Wiscon- 
 sin, in relation to the murder of C. C. P. Arndt, in the Legis- 
 lative Hall of the Territory. Meetings have been held in 
 different counties of Wisconsin, denouncing the practice of 
 secretly hearing arms in the Legislative chambers of the country . 
 We have seen the account of the expulsion of James R. Vin- 
 yard, the perpetrator of the bloody deed, and are amazed to 
 hear, that, after this expulsion by those who saw Vinyard 
 kill Mr. Arndt in the presence of his aged father, who was 
 on a visit to see his son, little dreaming that he was to witness 
 his murder, Judge Dunn has discharged Vinyard on hail . 
 The Miners’ Free Press speaks in terms of merited rebuke at 
 the outrage upon the feelings of the people of Wisconsin. 
 Vinyard was within arm’s length of Mr. Arndt, when he took 
 such deadly aim at him, that he never spoke. Vinyard 
 might at pleasure, being so near, have only wounded him, 
 but he chose to kill him.” 
 
 “ Murder. 
 
 “ By a letter in a St. Louis paper of the 14th, we notice 
 a terrible outrage at Burlington, Iowa. A Mr. Bridgman 
 having had a difficulty with a citizen of the place, Mr. Ross ; 
 a brother-in-law of the latter provided himself with one of 
 Colt’s revolving pistols, met Mr. B. in the street, and dis- 
 charged the contents of five of the barrels at him : each shot 
 taking effect . Mr. B., though horribly wounded, and dying, 
 returned the fire, and killed Ross on the spot.” 
 
Deeds of Violence 
 
 235 
 
 “ Terrible Death of Robert Potter . 
 
 “ From the ‘ Caddo Gazette/ of the 12th inst., we learn the 
 frightful death of Colonel Robert Potter. ... He was beset 
 in his house by an enemy, named Rose. He sprang from his 
 couch, seized his gun, and, in his night-clothes, rushed from 
 the house. For about two hundred yards his speed seemed 
 to defy his pursuers ; but, getting entangled in a thicket, he 
 was captured. Rose told him that he intended to act a generous 
 part, and give him a chance for his life. He then told Potter 
 he might run, and he should not be interrupted till he reached 
 a certain distance. Potter started at the word of command, 
 and before a gun was fired he had reached the lake. His first 
 impulse was to jump in the water and dive for it, which he 
 did. Rose was close behind him, and formed his men on the 
 bank ready to shoot him as he rose. In a few seconds he 
 came up to breathe; and scarce had his head reached the 
 surface of the water when it was completely riddled with the 
 shot of their guns, and he sunk, to rise no more 1 ” 
 
 “ Murder in Arkansas . 
 
 “ We understand that a severe rencontre came off & few days 
 since in the Seneca Nation, between Mr. Loose, the sub-agent 
 of the mixed band of the Senecas, Quapaw, and Shawnees, 
 and Mr. James Gillespie, of the mercantile firm of Thomas 
 G. Allison and Co., of Maysville, Benton County, Ark., in 
 which the latter was slain with a bowie-knife. Some diffi- 
 culty had for some time existed between the parties. It is 
 said that Major Gillespie brought on the attack with a cane. 
 A severe conflict ensued, during which two pistols were fired 
 by Gillespie and one by Loose. Loose then stabbed Gillespie 
 with one of those never-failing weapons, a bowie-knife. The 
 death of Major G. is much regretted, as he was a liberal- 
 minded and energetic man. Since the above was in type, we 
 have learned that Major Allison has stated to some of our 
 citizens in town that Mr. Loose gave the first blow. We 
 forbear to give any particulars, as the matter will be the subject 
 of j udicial investigati on .” 
 
23 6 
 
 American Notes 
 
 “ Foul Deed. 
 
 “ The steamer 4 Thames/ just from Missouri river, brought 
 us a handbill, offering a reward of 500 dollars, for the person 
 who assassinated Lilbum W. Baggs, late Governor of this 
 State, at Independence, on the night of the 6th inst. 
 Governor Baggs, it is stated in a written memorandum, was 
 not dead, but mortally wounded. 
 
 “ Since the above was written, we received a note from the 
 clerk of the 4 Thames/ giving the following particulars. Gov. 
 Baggs was shot by some villain on Friday, 6th inst., in the 
 evening, while sitting in a room in his own house in Indepen- 
 dence. His son, a boy, hearing a report, ran into the room, 
 and found the Governor sitting in his chair, with his jaw 
 fallen down, and his head leaning back; on discovering the 
 injury done to his father, he gave the alarm. Foot tracks 
 were found in the garden below the window, and a pistol 
 picked up supposed to have been overloaded, and thrown 
 from the hand of the scoundrel who fired it. Three buck 
 shots of a heavy load, took effect; one going through his 
 mouth, one into the brain, and another probably in or near 
 the brain; all going into the back part of the neck and head. 
 The Governor was still alive on the morning of the 7th ; but 
 no hopes for his recovery by his friends, and but slight hopes 
 from his physicians. 
 
 44 A man was suspected, and the Sheriff most probably has 
 possession of him by this time. 
 
 44 The pistol was one of a pair stolen some days previous 
 from a baker in Independence, and the legal authorities have 
 the description of the other.” 
 
 44 Rencontre. 
 
 44 An unfortunate affair took place on Friday evening in 
 Chatres Street, in which one of our most respectable citizens 
 received a dangerous wound, from a poignard, in the abdomen. 
 From 4 The Bee ’ (New Orleans) of yesterday, we learn the 
 following particulars. It appears that an article was pub- 
 lished in the French side of the paper on Monday last, con- 
 taining some strictures on the Artillery Battalion for firing 
 their guns on Sunday morning, in answer to those from the 
 
An Unfortunate “Affair” 237 
 
 * Ontario ’ and ‘ Woodbury/ and thereby much alarm was 
 caused to the families of those persons who were out all night 
 preserving the peace of the city. Major C. Gaily, Com- 
 mander of the battalion, resenting this, called at the office 
 and demanded the author's name; that of Mr. P. Arpin was 
 given to him, who was absent at the time. Some angry 
 words then passed with one of the proprietors, and a challenge 
 followed; the friends of both parties tried to arrange the 
 affair, but failed to do so. On Friday evening, about seven 
 o’clock, Major Gaily met Mr. P. Arpin in Chatres Street, and 
 accosted him. 4 Are you Mr. Arpin ? ’ 
 
 “ ‘ Yes, Sir.’ 
 
 “ ‘ Then I have to tell you that you are a ’ (applying an 
 
 appropriate epithet). 
 
 “ ‘ I shall remind you of your words, Sir.’ 
 
 “ ‘ But I have said I would break my cane on your 
 shoulders.’ 
 
 “ ‘ I know it, but I have not yet received the blow.’ 
 
 “ At these words, Major Gaily, having a cane in his hands, 
 struck Mr. Arpin across the face, and the latter drew a 
 poignard from his pocket and stabbed Major Gaily in the 
 abdomen. 
 
 “ Fears are entertained that the wound will be mortal. 
 We understand that Mr. Arpin has given security for his appear- 
 ance at the Criminal Court to answer the charge .” 
 
 “ Affray in Mississippi . 
 
 “ On the 27th ult., in an affray near Carthage, Leake county, 
 Mississippi, between James Cottingham and John Wilburn, 
 the latter was shot by the former, and so horribly wounded, 
 that there was no hope of his recovery. On the 2nd instant, 
 there was an affray at Carthage between A. C. Sharkey and 
 George Goff, in which the latter was shot, and thought 
 mortally wounded. Sharkey delivered himself up to the 
 authorities, hut changed his mind and escaped t ” 
 
 “ Personal Encounter . 
 
 “ An encounter took place in Sparta, a few days since, 
 between the barkeeper of an hotel, and a man named Bury. 
 It appears that Bury had become somewhat noisy, and that 
 
238 American Notes 
 
 the barkeeper , determined to preserve order, had threatened to 
 shoot Bury, whereupon Bury drew a pistol and shot the bar- 
 keeper down. He was not dead at the last accounts, but 
 slight hopes were entertained of his recovery .” 
 
 “ Duel. 
 
 “ The clerk of the steamboat ‘ Tribune 9 informs us that 
 another duel was fought on Tuesday last, by Mr. Robbins, a 
 bank officer in Vicksburg, and Mr. Fall, the editor of the 
 Vicksburg Sentinel. According to the arrangement, the 
 parties had six pistols each, which, after the word ‘ Fire ! 9 
 they were to discharge as fast as they pleased . Fall fired two 
 pistols without effect. Mr. Robbins’ first shot took effect 
 in Fall’s thigh, who fell, and was unable to continue the 
 combat.” 
 
 “ Affray in Clarke County . 
 
 “ An unfortunate affray occurred in Clarke county (Mo.), 
 near Waterloo, on Tuesday the 9th ult., which originated 
 in settling the partnership concerns of Messrs. M‘Kane and 
 McAllister, who had been engaged in the business of distilling, 
 and resulted in the death of the latter, who was shot down by 
 Mr. M‘Kane, because of his attempting to take possession of 
 seven barrels of whiskey, the property of M‘Kane, which had 
 been knocked off to M‘ Allister at a sheriff’s sale at one dollar 
 per barrel. M‘Kane immediately fled and at the latest dates 
 had not been taken . 
 
 “ This unfortunate affray caused considerable excitement 
 in the neighbourhood, as both the parties were men with 
 large families depending upon them and stood well in the 
 community.” 
 
 I will quote but one more paragraph, which, by reason of 
 its monstrous absurdity, may be a relief to these atrocious 
 deeds. 
 
 u Affair oj Honour. 
 
 “ We have just heard the particulars of a meeting which 
 took place on Six Mile Island, on Tuesday, between two 
 young bloods of our city: Samuel Thurston, aged fifteen, and 
 
An “ Affair of Honour” 239 
 
 William Hine, aged thirteen years. They were attended by 
 young gentlemen of the same age. The weapons used on the 
 occasion, were a couple of Dickson’s best rifles; the distance, 
 thirty yards. They took one fire, without any damage being 
 sustained by either party, except the ball of Thurston’s gun 
 passing through the crown of Hine’s hat. Through the inter- 
 cession of the Board of Honour , the challenge was withdrawn, 
 and the difference amicably adjusted.” 
 
 If the reader will picture to himself the kind of Board of 
 Honour which amicably adjusted the difference between these 
 two little boys, who in any other part of the world would 
 have been amicably adjusted on two porters’ backs and 
 soundly flogged with birchen rods, he will be possessed, no 
 doubt, with as strong a sense of its ludicrous character, as 
 that which sets me laughing whenever its image rises up 
 before me. 
 
 Now, I appeal to every human mind, imbued with the 
 commonest of common sense, and the commonest of common 
 humanity; to all dispassionate, reasoning creatures, of any 
 shade of opinion ; and ask, with these revolting evidences of 
 the state of society which exists in and about the slave 
 districts of America before them, can they have a doubt of the 
 real condition of the slave, or can they for a moment make 
 a compromise between the institution or any of its flagrant 
 fearful features, and their own just consciences ? Will they 
 say of any tale of cruelty and horror, however aggravated 
 in degree, that it is improbable, when they can turn to the 
 public prints, and, running, read such signs as these, laid 
 before them by the men who rule the slaves: in their own 
 acts and under their own hands ? 
 
 Do we not know that the worst deformity and ugliness of 
 slavery are at once the cause and the effect of the reckless 
 licence taken by these freeborn outlaws? Do we not know 
 that the man who has been bom and bred among its wrongs ; 
 who has seen in his childhood husbands obliged at the word 
 of command to flog their wives ; women, indecently compelled 
 to hold up their own garments that men might lay the heavier 
 stripes upon their legs, driven and harried by brutal overseers 
 in their time of travail, and becoming mothers on the field 
 of toil, under the very lash itself; who has read in youth, 
 and seen his virgin sisters read, descriptions of runaway men 
 
American Notes 
 
 240 
 
 and women, and their disfigured persons, which could not be 
 published elsewhere, of so much stock upon a farm, or at a 
 show of beasts : — do we not know that that man, whenever 
 his wrath is kindled up, will be a brutal savage? Do we 
 not know that as he is a coward in his domestic life, stalking 
 among his shrinking men and women slaves armed with his 
 heavy whip, so he will be a coward out of doors, and carrying 
 cowards’ weapons hidden in his breast, will shoot men down 
 and stab them when he quarrels? And if our reason did 
 not teach us this and much beyond; if we were such idiots 
 as to close our eyes to that fine mode of training which rears 
 up such men; should we not know that they who among 
 their equals stab and pistol in the legislative halls, and in the 
 counting-house, and on the market-place, and in all the else- 
 where peaceful pursuits of life, must be to their dependents, 
 even though they were free servants, so many merciless and 
 unrelenting tyrants ? 
 
 What ! shall we declaim against the ignorant peasantry of 
 Ireland, and mince the matter when these American task- 
 masters are in question ? Shall we cry shame on the brutality 
 of those who ham-string cattle: and spare the lights of 
 Freedom upon earth who notch the ears of men and women, 
 cut pleasant posies in the shrinking flesh, learn to write with 
 pens of red-hot iron on the human face, rack their poetic 
 fancies for liveries of mutilation which their slaves shall wear 
 for life and carry to the grave, breaking living limbs as did 
 the soldiery who mocked and slew the Saviour of the world, 
 and set defenceless creatures up for targets ! Shall we whimper 
 over legends of the tortures practised on each other by the 
 Pagan Indians, and smile upon the cruelties of Christian 
 men ! Shall we, so long as these things last, exult above the 
 scattered remnants of that race, and triumph in the white 
 enjoyment of their possessions? Rather, for me, restore the 
 forest and the Indian village; in lieu of stars and stripes, 
 let some poor feather flutter in the breeze; replace the 
 streets and squares by wigwams; and though the death-song 
 of a hundred haughty warriors fill the air, it will be music 
 to the shriek of one unhappy slave. 
 
 On one theme, which is commonly before our eyes, and in 
 respect of which our national character is changing fast, let 
 the plain Truth be spoken, and let us not, like dastards, beat 
 about the bush by hinting at the Spaniard and the fierce 
 
Concluding Remarks 241 
 
 Italian. When knives are drawn by Englishmen in conflict 
 let it be said and known: “ We owe this change to Re- 
 publican Slavery. These are the weapons of Freedom. With 
 sharp points and edges such as these, Liberty in America 
 hews and hacks her slaves; or, failing that pursuit, her sons 
 devote them to a better use, and turn them on each other.” 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 CONCLUDING REMARKS 
 
 There are many passages in this book, where I have been at 
 some pains to resist the temptation of troubling my readers 
 with my own deductions and conclusions: preferring that 
 they should judge for themselves, from such premises as I 
 have laid before them. My only object in the outset, was, 
 to carry them with me faithfully wheresoever I went: and 
 that task I have discharged. 
 
 But I may be pardoned, if on such a theme as the general 
 character of the American people, and the general character 
 of their social system, as presented to a stranger’s eyes, I 
 desire to express my own opinions in a few words, before I 
 bring these volumes to a close. 
 
 They are, by nature, frank, brave, cordial, hospitable, and 
 affectionate. Cultivation and refinement seem but to enhance 
 their warmth of heart and ardent enthusiasm ; and it is the 
 possession of these latter qualities in a most remarkable 
 degree, which renders an educated American one of the most 
 endearing and most generous of friends. I never was so won 
 upon, as by this class; never yielded up my full confidence 
 and esteem so readily and pleasurably, as to them; never 
 can make again, in half a year, so many friends for whom I 
 seem to entertain the regard of half a life. 
 
 These qualities are natural, I implicitly believe, to the 
 whole people. That they are, however, sadly sapped and 
 blighted in their growth among the mass; and that there 
 are influences at work which endanger them still more, and 
 give but little present promise of their healthy restoration; 
 is a truth that ought to be told. 
 
 *1 
 
American Notes 
 
 242 
 
 It is an essential part of every national character to pique 
 itself mightily upon its faults, and to deduce tokens of its 
 virtue or its wisdom from their very exaggeration. One great 
 blemish in the popular mind of America, and the prolific 
 parent of an innumerable brood of evils, is Universal Distrust. 
 Yet the American citizen plumes himself upon this spirit, 
 even when he is sufficiently dispassionate to perceive the ruin 
 it works ; and will often adduce it, in spite of his own reason, 
 as an instance of the great sagacity and acuteness of the 
 people, and their superior shrewdness and independence. 
 
 “ You carry/' says the stranger, “ this jealousy and distrust 
 into every transaction of public life. By repelling worthy 
 men from your legislative assemblies, it has bred up a class 
 of candidates for the suffrage, who, in their every act, disgrace 
 your Institutions and your people's choice. It has rendered 
 you so fickle, and so given to change, that your inconstancy 
 has passed into a proverb; for you no sooner set up an idol 
 firmly, than you are sure to pull it down and dash it into 
 fragments: and this, because directly you reward a bene- 
 factor, or a public servant, you distrust him, merely because he 
 is rewarded; and immediately apply yourselves to find out, 
 either that you have been too bountiful in your acknowledg- 
 ments, or he remiss in his deserts. Any man who attains a 
 high place among you, from the President downwards, may 
 date his downfall from that moment; for any printed lie 
 that any notorious villain pens, although it militate directly 
 against the character and conduct of a life, appeals at once 
 to your distrust, and is believed. You will strain at a gnat 
 in the way of trustfulness and confidence, however fairly won 
 and well deserved ; but you will swallow a whole caravan of 
 camels, if they be laden with unworthy doubts and mean 
 suspicions. Is this well, think you, or likely to elevate the 
 character of the governors or the governed, among you ? " 
 
 The answer is invariably the same: “ There's freedom of 
 opinion here, you know. Every man thinks for himself, and 
 we are not to be easily overreached. That's how our people 
 come to be suspicious." 
 
 Another prominent feature is the love of “ smart " dealing: 
 which gilds over many a swindle and gross breach of trust; 
 many a defalcation, public and private; and enables many a 
 knave to hold his head up with the best, who well deserves 
 a halter; though it has not been without its retributive 
 
Universal Distrust 
 
 243 
 
 operation, for this smartness has done more in a few years to 
 impair the public credit, and to cripple the public resources, 
 than dull honesty, however rash, could have effected in a 
 century. The merits of a broken speculation, or a bank- 
 ruptcy, or of a successful scoundrel, are not gauged by its or 
 his observance of the golden rule, “ Do as you would be done 
 by,” but are considered with reference to their smartness. I 
 recollect, on both occasions of our passing that ill-fated Cairo 
 on the Mississippi, remarking on the bad effects such gross 
 deceits must have when they exploded, in generating a want 
 of confidence abroad, and discouraging foreign investment: 
 but I was given to understand that this was a very smart 
 scheme by which a deal of money had been made : and that 
 its smartest feature was, that they forgot these things abroad, 
 in a very short time, and speculated again, as freely as ever. 
 The following dialogue I have held a hundred times : “ Is 
 it not a very disgraceful circumstance that such a man as 
 So-and-so should be acquiring a large property by the most 
 infamous and odious means, and notwithstanding all the 
 crimes of which he has been guilty, should be tolerated and 
 abetted by your Citizens ? He is a public nuisance, is he not ? ” 
 “ Yes, Sir.” “ A convicted liar? ” “ Yes, Sir.” “ He has 
 been kicked, and cuffed, and caned? ” “ Yes, Sir.” “ And 
 he is utterly dishonourable, debased, and profligate ? ” “ Yes, 
 Sir.” “ In the name of wonder, then, what is his merit? ” 
 “ Well, Sir, he is a smart man.” 
 
 In like manner, all kinds of deficient and impolitic usages 
 are referred to the national love of trade; though, oddly 
 enough, it would be a weighty charge against a foreigner that 
 he regarded the Americans as a trading people. The love 
 of trade is assigned as a reason for that comfortless custom, 
 so very prevalent in country towns, of married persons living 
 in hotels, having no fireside of their own, and seldom meeting 
 from early morning until late at night, but at the hasty public 
 meals. The love of trade is a reason why the literature of 
 America is to remain for ever unprotected: “ For we are a 
 trading people, and don’t care for poetry : ” though we 
 do, by the way, profess to be very proud of our poets : while 
 healthful amusements, cheerful means of recreation, and 
 wholesome fancies, must fade before the stem utilitarian joys 
 of trade. 
 
 These three characteristics are strongly presented at every 
 
American Notes 
 
 244 
 
 turn, full in the stranger’s view. But, the foul growth of 
 America has a more tangled root than this ; and it strikes its 
 fibres, deep in its licentious Press. 
 
 Schools may be erected, East, West, North, and South; 
 pupils be taught, and masters reared, by scores upon scores 
 of thousands ; colleges may thrive, churches may be crammed, 
 temperance may be diffused, and advancing knowledge in all 
 other forms walk through the land with giant strides: but 
 while the newspaper press of America is in, or near, its 
 present abject state, high moral improvement in that country 
 is hopeless. Year by year, it must and will go back; year 
 by year, the tone of public feeling must sink lower down; 
 year by year, the Congress and the Senate must become of 
 less account before all decent men; and year by year, the 
 memory of the Great Fathers of the Revolution must be out- 
 raged more and more, in the bad life of their degenerate 
 child. 
 
 Among the herd of journals which are published in the 
 States, there are some, the reader scarcely need be told, of 
 character and credit. From personal intercourse with ac- 
 complished gentlemen connected with publications of this 
 class, I have derived both pleasure and profit. But the name 
 of these is Few, and of the others Legion; and the influence 
 of the good, is powerless to counteract the moral poison 
 of the bad. 
 
 Among the gentry of America; among the well-informed 
 and moderate : in the learned professions ; at the bar and on 
 the bench: there is, as there can be, but one opinion, in 
 reference to the vicious character of these infamous journals. 
 It is sometimes contended — I will not say strangely, for it is 
 natural to seek excuses for such a disgrace — that their in- 
 fluence is not so great as a visitor would suppose. I must 
 be pardoned for saying that there is no warrant for this 
 plea, and that every fact and circumstance tends directly 
 to the opposite conclusion. 
 
 When any man, of any grade of desert in intellect or 
 character, can climb to any public distinction, no matter 
 what, in America, without first grovelling down upon the 
 earth, and bending the knee before this monster of depravity; 
 when any private excellence is safe from its attacks; when 
 any social confidence is left unbroken by it, or any tie of 
 social decency and honour is held in the least regard; when 
 
Evil Influence of the Journals 245 
 
 any man in that free country has freedom of opinion, and 
 presumes to think for himself, and speak for himself, without 
 humble reference to a censorship which, for its rampant 
 ignorance and base dishonesty, he utterly loathes and despises 
 in his heart; when those who most acutely feel its infamy 
 and the reproach it casts upon the nation, and who most 
 denounce it to each other, dare to set their heels upon, and 
 crush it openly, in the sight of all men: then, I will believe 
 that its influence is lessening, and men are returning to their 
 manly senses. But while that Press has its evil eye in every 
 house, and its black hand in every appointment in the state, 
 from a president to a postman; while, with ribald slander 
 for its only stock-in-trade, it is the standard literature of an 
 enormous class, who must find their reading in a newspaper, 
 or they will not read at all ; so long must its odium be upon 
 the country's head, and so long must the evil it works, be 
 plainly visible in the Republic. 
 
 To those who are accustomed to the leading English 
 journals, or to the respectable journals of the Continent of 
 Europe; to those who are accustomed to anything else in 
 print and paper; it would be impossible, without an amount 
 of extract for which I have neither space nor inclination, to 
 convey an adequate idea of this frightful engine in America. 
 But if any man desire confirmation of my statement on this 
 head, let him repair to any place in this city of London, 
 where scattered numbers of these publications are to be 
 found; and there, let him form his own opinion . 1 
 
 It would be well, there can be no doubt, for the American 
 people as a whole, if they loved the Real less, and the Ideal 
 somewhat more. It would be well, if there were greater 
 encouragement to lightness of heart and gaiety, and a wider 
 cultivation of what is beautiful, without being eminently and 
 directly useful. But here, I think the general remonstrance, 
 “ we are a new country," which is so often advanced as an 
 excuse for defects which are quite unjustifiable, as being, of 
 right, only the slow growth of an old one, may be very 
 reasonably urged: and I yet hope to hear of there being 
 
 1 Note to the Original Edition. — Or let him refer to an able, and 
 perfectly truthful article, in Tine Foreign Quarterly Review , published in 
 the present month of October [1842] ; to which my attention has been 
 attracted, since these sheets have been passing through the press. He 
 will find some specimens there, by no means remarkable to any man 
 who has been in America, but sufficiently striking to one who has not. 
 
246 American Notes 
 
 some other national amusement in the United States, besides 
 newspaper politics. 
 
 They certainly are not a humorous people, and their 
 temperament always impressed me as being of a dull and 
 gloomy character. In shrewdness of remark, and a certain 
 cast-iron quaintness, the Yankees, or people of New England, 
 unquestionably take the lead; as they do in most other 
 evidences of intelligence. But in travelling about, out of 
 the large cities — as I have remarked in former parts of these 
 volumes — I was quite oppressed by the prevailing seriousness 
 and melancholy air of business: which was so general and 
 unvarying, that at every new town I came to, I seemed to 
 meet the very same people whom I had left behind me, at 
 the last. Such defects as are perceptible in the national 
 manners, seem, to me, to be referable, in a great degree, to 
 this cause: which has generated a dull, sullen persistence in 
 coarse usages, and rejected the graces of life as undeserving 
 of attention. There is no doubt that Washington, who was 
 always most scrupulous and exact on points of ceremony, 
 perceived the tendency towards this mistake, even in his 
 time, and did his utmost to correct it. 
 
 I cannot hold with other writers on these subjects that 
 the prevalence of various forms of dissent in America, is 
 in any way attributable to the non-existence there of an 
 established church : indeed, I think the temper of the people, 
 if it admitted of such an Institution being founded amongst 
 them, would lead them to desert it, as a matter of course, 
 merely because it was established. But, supposing it to exist, 
 I doubt its probable efficacy in summoning the wandering 
 sheep to one great fold, simply because of the immense 
 amount of dissent which prevails at home; and because 
 I do not find in America any one form of religion with which 
 we in Europe, or even in England, are unacquainted. Dissen- 
 ters resort thither in great numbers, as other people do, 
 simply because it is a land of resort; and great settlements 
 of them are founded, because ground can be purchased, and 
 towns and villages reared, where there were none of the 
 human creation before. But even the Shakers emigrated from 
 England; our country is not unknown to Mr. Joseph Smith, 
 the apostle of Mormonism, or to his benighted disciples; 
 I have beheld religious scenes myself in some of our populous 
 towns which can hardly be surpassed by an American camp- 
 
Results of Republican Institutions 247 
 
 meeting ; and I am not aware that any instance of supersti- 
 tious imposture on the one hand, and superstitious credulity 
 on the other, has had its origin in the United States, which 
 we cannot more than parallel by the precedents of Mrs. 
 Southcote, Mary Tofts the rabbit-breeder, or even Mr. Thom 
 of Canterbury: which latter case arose, some time after the 
 dark ages had passed away. 
 
 The Republican Institutions of America undoubtedly lead 
 the people to assert their self-respect and their equality ; but 
 a traveller is bound to bear those Institutions in his mind, 
 and not hastily to resent the near approach of a class of 
 strangers, who, at home, would keep aloof. This charac- 
 teristic, when it was tinctured with no foolish pride, and 
 stopped short of no honest service, never offended me; and 
 I very seldom, if ever, experienced its rude or unbecoming 
 display. Once or twice it was comically developed, as in 
 the following case; but this was an amusing incident, and 
 not the rule, or near it. 
 
 I wanted a pair of boots at a certain town, for I had none 
 to travel in, but those with the memorable cork soles, which 
 were much too hot for the fiery decks of a steamboat. I 
 therefore sent a message to an artist in boots, importing, 
 with my compliments, that I should be happy to see him, 
 if he would do me the polite favour to call. He very kindly 
 returned for answer, that he would “ look round ” at six 
 o’clock that evening. 
 
 I was lying on the sofa, with a book and a wine-glass, at 
 about that time, when the door opened, and a gentleman in 
 a stiff cravat, within a year or two on either side of thirty, 
 entered, in his hat and gloves; walked up to the looking- 
 glass; arranged his hair; took off his gloves; slowly pro- 
 duced a measure from the uttermost depths of his coat- 
 pocket; and requested me, in a languid tone, to “ unfix ” my 
 straps. I complied, but looked with some curiosity at his 
 hat, which was still upon his head. It might have been that, 
 or it might have been the heat — but he took it off. Then, he 
 sat himself down on a chair opposite to me; rested an arm 
 on each knee; and, leaning forward very much, took from 
 the ground, by a great effort, the specimen of metropolitan 
 workmanship which I had just pulled off: whistling, 
 
 pleasantly, as he did so. He turned it over and over; sur- 
 veyed it with a contempt no language can express; and 
 
American Notes 
 
 248 
 
 inquired if I wished him to fix me a boot like that ? I 
 courteously replied, that provided the boots were large 
 enough, I would leave the rest to him; that if convenient 
 and practicable, I should not object to their bearing some 
 resemblance to the model then before him; but that I would 
 be entirely guided by, and would beg to leave the whole 
 subject to, his judgment and discretion. “ You an’t par- 
 tickler, about this scoop in the heel, I suppose then ? ” says 
 he: “ we don’t foller that, here.” I repeated my last obser- 
 vation. He looked at himself in the glass again; went 
 closer to it to dash a grain or two of dust out of the comer 
 of his eye; and settled his cravat. All this time, my leg 
 and foot were in the air. “ Nearly ready, Sir?” I inquired. 
 “ Well, pretty nigh,” he said; “ keep steady.” I kept as 
 steady as I could, both in foot and face ; and having by this 
 time got the dust out, and found his pencil-case, he measured 
 me, and made the necessary notes. When he had finished, 
 he fell into his old attitude, and taking up the boot again, 
 mused for some time. “ And this,” he said, at last, “ is an 
 English boot, is it? This is a London boot, eh? ” “ That, 
 Sir,” I replied, “ is a London boot.” He mused over it again, 
 after the manner of Hamlet with Yorick’s skull; nodded his 
 head, as who should say, “ I pity the Institutions that led to 
 the production of this boot ” ; rose ; put up his pencil, notes, 
 and paper — glancing at himself in the glass, all the time — 
 put on his hat; drew on his gloves very slowly; and finally 
 walked out. When he had been gone about a minute, the 
 door reopened, and his hat and his head reappeared. He 
 looked round the room, and at the boot again, which was 
 still lying on the floor; appeared thoughtful for a minute; 
 and then said “ Well, good arternoon.” “ Good afternoon, 
 Sir,” said I: and that was the end of the interview. 
 
 There is but one other head on which I wish to offer a 
 remark; and that has reference to the public health. In so 
 vast a country, where there are thousands of millions of 
 acres of land yet unsettled and uncleared, and on every rood 
 of which, vegetable decomposition is annually taking place 
 where there are so many great rivers, and such opposite 
 varieties of climate; there cannot fail to be a great amount 
 of sickness at certain seasons. But I may venture to say, 
 after conversing with many members of the medical profes- 
 sion in America, that I am not singular in the opinion that 
 
The Public Health 
 
 249 
 
 much of the disease which does prevail, might be avoided, if 
 a few common precautions were observed. Greater means 
 of personal cleanliness, are indispensable to this end; the 
 custom of hastily swallowing large quantities of animal food, 
 three times a-day, and rushing back to sedentary pursuits 
 after each meal, must be changed; the gentler sex must go 
 more wisely clad, and take more healthful exercise; and in 
 the latter clause, the males must be included also. Above 
 all, in public institutions, and throughout the whole of every 
 town and city, the system of ventilation, and drainage, and 
 removal of impurities requires to be thoroughly revised. 
 There is no local Legislature in America which may not study 
 Mr. Chadwick’s excellent Report upon the Sanitary Condition 
 of our Labouring Classes, with immense advantage. 
 
 I have now arrived at the close of this book. I have little 
 reason to believe, from certain warnings I have had since I 
 returned to England, that it will be tenderly or favourably 
 received by the American people ; and as I have written the 
 Truth in relation to the mass of those who form their judg- 
 ments and express their opinions, it will be seen that I have 
 no desire to court, by any adventitious means, the popular 
 applause. 
 
 It is enough for me, to know, that w T hat I have set down in 
 these pages, cannot cost me a single friend on the other side 
 of the Atlantic, who is, in anything, deserving of the name. 
 For the rest, I put my trust, implicitly, in the spirit in which 
 they have been conceived and penned; and I can bide my 
 time. 
 
 I have made no reference to my reception, nor have I 
 suffered it to influence me in what I have written; for, in 
 either case, I should have offered but a sorry acknowledg- 
 ment, compared with that I bear within my breast, towards 
 those partial readers of my former books, across the Water, 
 who met me with an open hand, and not with one that closed 
 upon an iron muzzle. 
 
 THE END 
 
POSTSCRIPT 
 
 At a Public Dinner given to me on Saturday the 18th of 
 April, 1868, in the City of New York, by two hundred repre- 
 sentatives of the Press of the United States of America, I 
 made the following observations among others : 
 
 “ So much of my voice has lately been heard in the land, 
 that I might have been contented with troubling you no 
 further from my present standing-point, were it not a duty 
 with which I henceforth charge myself, not only here but 
 on every suitable occasion, whatsoever and wheresoever, to 
 express my high and grateful sense of my second reception in 
 America, and to bear my honest testimony to the national 
 generosity and magnanimity. Also, to declare how astounded 
 I have been by the amazing changes I have seen around me on 
 every side, — changes moral, changes physical, changes in the 
 amount of land subdued and peopled, changes in the rise of 
 vast new cities, changes in the growth of older cities almost 
 out of recognition, changes in the graces and amenities of 
 life, changes in the Press, without whose advancement no 
 advancement can take place anywhere. Nor am I, believe 
 me, so arrogant as to suppose that in five-and-twenty years 
 there have been no changes in me, and that I had nothing to 
 learn and no extreme impressions to correct when I was here 
 first. And this brings me to a point on which I have, ever 
 since I landed in the United States last November, observed 
 a strict silence, though sometimes tempted to break it, but in 
 reference to which I will, with your good leave, take you 
 into my confidence now. Even the Press, being human, may 
 be sometimes mistaken or misinformed, and I rather think 
 that I have in one or two rare instances observed its infor- 
 mation to be not strictly accurate with reference to myself. 
 Indeed, I have, now and again, been more surprised by 
 printed news that I have read of myself, than by any printed 
 news that I have ever read in my present state of existence. 
 Thus, the vigour and perseverance with which I have for some 
 
 250 
 
Postscript 2 5 1 
 
 months past been collecting materials for, and hammering 
 away at, a new book on America has much astonished me; 
 seeing that all that time my declaration has been perfectly 
 well known to my publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, 
 that no consideration on earth would induce me to write 
 one. But what I have intended, what I have resolved upon 
 (and this is the confidence I seek to place in you) is, on my 
 return to England, in my own person, in my own Journal, 
 to bear, for the behoof of my countrymen, such testimony 
 to the gigantic changes in this country as I have hinted at 
 to-night. Also, to record that wherever I have been, in the 
 smallest places equally with the largest, I have been received 
 with unsurpassable politeness, delicacy, sweet temper, hospi- 
 tality, consideration, and with unsurpassable respect for the 
 privacy daily enforced upon me by the nature of my avoca- 
 tion here and the state of my health. This testimony, so 
 long as I live, and so long as my descendants have any legal 
 right in my books, I shall cause to be republished, as an 
 appendix to every copy of those two books of mine in which 
 I have referred to America. And this I will do and cause 
 to be done, not in mere love and thankfulness, but because 
 I regard it as an act of plain justice and honour. ,, 
 
 I said these words with the greatest earnestness that I 
 could lay upon them, and I repeat them in print here with 
 equal earnestness. So long as this book shall last, I hope 
 that they will form a part of it, and will be fairly read as 
 inseparable from my experiences and impressions of America. 
 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 May , i868 g 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY 
 
/ 
 
 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY 
 
 THE READER’S PASSPORT 
 
 If the readers of this volume will be so kind as to take their 
 credentials for the different places which are the subject of 
 its author’s reminiscences, from the Author himself, perhaps 
 they may visit them, in fancy, the more agreeably, and with 
 a better understanding of what they are to expect. 
 
 Many books have been written upon Italy, affording many 
 means of studying the history of that interesting country, 
 and the innumerable associations entwined about it. I make 
 but little reference to that stock of information; not at all 
 regarding it as a necessary consequence of my having had 
 recourse to the storehouse for my own benefit, that I should 
 reproduce its easily accessible contents before the eyes of my 
 readers. 
 
 Neither will there be found, in these pages, any grave 
 examination into the government or misgovemment of any 
 portion of the country. No visitor of that beautiful land can 
 fail to have a strong conviction on the subject; but as I chose 
 when residing there, a Foreigner, to abstain from the dis- 
 cussion of any such questions with any order of Italians, so I 
 would rather not enter on the inquiry now. During my 
 twelve months’ occupation of a house at Genoa, I never found 
 that authorities constitutionally jealous were distrustful of 
 me; and I should be sorry to give them occasion to regret 
 their free courtesy, either to myself or any of my country- 
 men. 
 
 There is, probably, not a famous Picture or Statue in all 
 Italy, but could be easily buried under a mountain of printed 
 paper devoted to dissertations on it. I do not, therefore, 
 though an earnest admirer of Painting and Sculpture, ex- 
 patiate at any length on famous Pictures and Statues. 
 
 This Book is a series of faint reflections — mere shadows in 
 255 
 
256 Pictures from Italy 
 
 the water — of places to which the imaginations of most people 
 are attracted in a greater or less degree, on which mine had 
 dwelt for years, and which have some interest for all. The 
 greater part of the descriptions were written on the spot, and 
 sent home, from time to time, in private letters. I do not 
 mention the circumstance as an excuse for any defects they 
 may present, for it would be none; but as a guarantee to 
 the Reader that they were at least penned in the fulness of 
 the subject, and with the liveliest impressions of novelty 
 and freshness. 
 
 If they have ever a fanciful and idle air, perhaps the reader 
 will suppose them written in the shade of a Sunny Day, in 
 the midst of the objects of which they treat, and will like 
 them none the worse for having such influences of the country 
 upon them. 
 
 I hope I am not likely to be misunderstood by Professors 
 of the Roman Catholic faith, on account of anything con- 
 tained in these pages. I have done my best, in one of my 
 former productions, to do justice to them; and I trust, in 
 this, they will do justice to me. When I mention any exhibi- 
 tion that impressed me as absurd or disagreeable, I do not 
 seek to connect it, or recognise it as necessarily connected 
 with, any essentials of their creed. When I treat of the 
 ceremonies of the Holy Week, I merely treat of their effect, 
 and do not challenge the good and learned Dr. Wiseman’s 
 interpretation of their meaning. When I hint a dislike of 
 nunneries for young girls who abjure the world before they 
 have ever proved or known it ; or doubt the ex officio sanctity 
 of all Priests and Friars ; I do no more than many conscien- 
 tious Catholics both abroad and at home. 
 
 I have likened these Pictures to shadows in the water, and 
 would fain hope that I have, nowhere, stirred the water so 
 roughly, as to mar the shadows. I could never desire to be 
 on better terms with all my friends than now, when distant 
 mountains rise, once more, in my path. For I need not 
 hesitate to avow, that, bent on correcting a brief mistake I 
 made, not long ago, in disturbing the old relations between 
 myself and my readers, and departing for a moment from 
 my old pursuits, I am about to resume them, joyfully, in 
 Switzerland; where during another year of absence, I can at 
 once work out the themes I have now in my mind, without 
 interruption : and while I keep my English audience within 
 
The Reader’s Portrait 
 
 2 57 
 
 speaking distance, extend my knowledge of a noble country, 
 inexpressibly attractive to me . 1 
 
 This book is made as accessible as possible, because it would 
 be a great pleasure to me if I could hope, through its means, 
 to compare impressions with some among the multitudes who 
 will hereafter visit the scenes described with interest and 
 delight. 
 
 And I have only now, in passport wise, to sketch my 
 reader's portrait, which I hope may be thus supposititiously 
 traced for either sex: 
 
 Complexion . 
 
 Eyes 
 
 Nose 
 
 Mouth . 
 
 Visage . 
 
 General Expression 
 
 . Fair. 
 
 . Very cheerful. 
 
 . Not supercilious. 
 
 . Smiling. 
 
 . Beaming. 
 
 . Extremely agreeable. 
 
 GOING THROUGH FRANCE 
 
 On a fine Sunday morning in the Midsummer time and 
 weather of eighteen hundred and forty-four, it was, my good 
 friend, when — don't be alarmed; not when two travellers 
 might have been observed slowly making their way over that 
 picturesque and broken ground by which the first chapter of a 
 Middle-Aged novel is usually attained — but when an English 
 travelling-carriage of considerable proportions, fresh from 
 the shady halls of the Pantechnicon near Belgrave Square, 
 London, was observed (by a very small French soldier; for 
 I saw him look at it) to issue from the gate of the Hotel 
 Meurice in the Rue Rivoli at Paris. 
 
 I am no more bound to explain why the English family 
 travelling by this carriage, inside and out, should be starting 
 for Italy on a Sunday morning, of all good days in the 
 week, than I am to assign a reason for all the little men in 
 France being soldiers, and all the big men postillions; which 
 is the invariable rule. But, they had some sort of reason 
 1 This was written in 1846. 
 
258 Pictures from Italy 
 
 for what they did, I have no doubt; and their reason for 
 being there at all, was, as you know, that they were going 
 to live in fair Genoa for a year; and that the head of the 
 family purposed, in that space of time, to stroll about, 
 wherever his restless humour carried him. 
 
 And it would have been small comfort to me to have 
 explained to the population of Paris generally, that I was 
 that Head and Chief; and not the radiant embodiment of 
 good humour who sat beside me in the person of a French 
 Courier — best of servants and most beaming of men ! Truth 
 to say, he looked a great deal more patriarchal than I, who, 
 in the shadow of his portly presence, dwindled down to no 
 account at all. 
 
 There was, of course, very little in the aspect of Paris — 
 as we rattled near the dismal Morgue and over the Pont 
 Neuf — to reproach us for our Sunday travelling. The wine- 
 shops (every second house) were driving a roaring trade; 
 awnings were spreading, and chairs and tables arranging, 
 outside the cafes, preparatory to the eating of ices, and 
 drinking of cool liquids, later in the day; shoeblacks were 
 busy on the bridges; shops were open; carts and waggons 
 clattered to and fro; the narrow, up-hill, funnel-like streets 
 across the River, were so many dense perspectives of crowd 
 and bustle, parti-coloured nightcaps, tobacco-pipes, blouses, 
 large boots, and shaggy heads of hair; nothing at that hour 
 denoted a day of rest, unless it were the appearance, here 
 and there, of a family pleasure-party, crammed into a bulky 
 old lumbering cab; or of some contemplative holiday-maker 
 in the freest and easiest dishabille, leaning out of a low 
 garret window, watching the drying of his newly polished 
 shoes on the little parapet outside (if a gentleman), or the 
 airing of her stockings in the sun (if a lady), with calm 
 anticipation. 
 
 Once clear of the never-to-be-forgotten-or-forgiven pave- 
 ment which surrounds Paris, the first three days of travelling 
 towards Marseilles are quiet and monotonous enough. To 
 Sens. To Avallon. To Chalons. A sketch of one day’s 
 proceedings is a sketch of all three; and here it is. 
 
 We have four horses, and one postillion, who has a very 
 long whip, and drives his team, something like the Courier 
 of Saint Petersburg in the circle at Astley’s or Franconi’s: 
 only he sits his own horse instead of standing on him. The 
 
French Posting 259 
 
 immense jack-boots worn by these postillions, are sometimes 
 a century or two old ; and are so ludicrously disproportionate 
 to the wearer’s foot, that the spur, which is put where his 
 own heel comes, is generally half-way up the leg of the boots. 
 The man often comes out of the stable-yard, with his whip 
 in his hand and his shoes on, and brings out, in both hands, 
 one boot at a time, which he plants on the ground by the 
 side of his horse, with great gravity, until everything is ready. 
 When it is — and oh Heaven ! the noise they make about it ! 
 — he gets into the boots, shoes and all, or is hoisted into 
 them by a couple of friends; adjusts the rope harness, 
 embossed by the labours of innumerable pigeons in the 
 stables; makes all the horses kick and plunge; cracks his 
 whip like a madman; shouts “ En route — Hi!” and away 
 we go. He is sure to have a contest with his horse before 
 we have gone very far; and then he calls him a Thief, and 
 a Brigand, and a Pig, and what not; and beats him about 
 the head as if he were made of wood. 
 
 There is little more than one variety in the appearance of 
 the country, for the first two days. From a dreary plain, 
 to an interminable avenue, and from an interminable avenue 
 to a dreary plain again. Plenty of vines there are in the 
 open fields, but of a short low kind, and not trained in 
 festoons, but about straight sticks. Beggars innumerable 
 there are, everywhere; but an extraordinarily scanty popula- 
 tion, and fewer children than I ever encountered. I don’t 
 believe we saw a hundred children between Paris and Chalons. 
 Queer old towns, drawbridged and walled: with odd little 
 towers at the angles, like grotesque faces, as if the wall had 
 put a mask on, and were staring down into the moat ; other 
 strange little towers, in gardens and fields, and down lanes, 
 and in farm-yards: all alone, and always round, with a 
 peaked roof, and never used for any purpose at all ; ruinous 
 buildings of all sorts ; sometimes an hotel de ville, sometimes 
 a guard-house, sometimes a dwelling-house, sometimes a 
 chateau with a rank garden, prolific in dandelion, and watched 
 over by extinguisher-topped turrets, and blink-eyed little 
 casements; are the standard objects, repeated over and over 
 again. Sometimes we pass a village inn, with a crumbling 
 wall belonging to it, and a perfect town of out-houses; and 
 painted over the gateway, “ Stabling for Sixty Horses ” ; as 
 indeed there might be stabling for sixty score, were there 
 
260 
 
 Pictures from Italy 
 
 any horses to be stabled there, or anybody resting there, or 
 anything stirring about the place but a dangling bush, 
 indicative of the wine inside: which flutters idly in the wind, 
 in lazy keeping with everything else, and certainly is never in 
 a green old age, though always so old as to be dropping to 
 pieces. And all day long, strange little narrow waggons, in 
 strings of six or eight, bringing cheese from Switzerland, and 
 frequently in charge, the whole line, of one man, or even 
 boy — and he very often asleep in the foremost cart — come 
 jingling past: the horses drowsily ringing the bells upon their 
 harness, and looking as if they thought (no doubt they do) 
 their great blue woolly furniture, of immense weight and 
 thickness, with a pair of grotesque horns growing out of the 
 collar, very much too warm for the Midsummer weather. 
 
 Then, there is the Diligence, twice or thrice a-day; with 
 the dusty outsides in blue frocks, like butchers; and the 
 insides in white nightcaps; and its cabriolet head on the 
 roof, nodding and shaking, like an idiot’s head; and its 
 Young-France passengers staring out of window, with beards 
 down to their waists, and blue spectacles awfully shading 
 their warlike eyes, and very big sticks clenched in their 
 National grasp. Also the Malle Poste, with only a couple 
 of passengers, tearing along at a real good dare-devil pace, 
 and out of sight in no time. Steady old Cures come jolting 
 past, now and then, in such ramshackle, rusty, musty, clatter- 
 ing coaches as no Englishman would believe in; and bony 
 women dawdle about in solitary places, holding cows by ropes 
 while they feed, or digging and hoeing or doing field-work of 
 a more laborious kind, or representing real shepherdesses with 
 their flocks — to obtain an adequate idea of which pursuit and 
 its followers, in any country, it is only necessary to take any 
 pastoral poem, or picture, and imagine to yourself whatever 
 is most exquisitely and widely unlike the descriptions therein 
 contained. 
 
 You have been travelling along, stupidly enough, as you 
 generally do in the last stage of the day; and the ninety-six 
 bells upon the horses — twenty-four apiece — have been ring- 
 ing sleepily in your ears for half an hour or so; and it has 
 become a very jog-trot, monotonous, tiresome sort of business ; 
 and you have been thinking deeply about the dinner you will 
 have at the next stage ; when, down at the end of the long 
 avenue of trees through which you are travelling, the first 
 
Rattling into a Town 261 
 
 indication of a town appears, in the shape of some straggling 
 cottages: and the carriage begins to rattle and roll over a 
 horribly uneven pavement. As if the equipage were a great 
 firework, and the mere sight of a smoking cottage chimney 
 had lighted it, instantly it begins to crack and splutter, as 
 if the very devil were in it. Crack, crack, crack, crack. 
 Crack-crack-crack. Crick-crack. Crick-crack. Helo ! Hola ! 
 Vite! Voleur! Brigand! Hi hi hi! En r-r-r-r-r-route ! 
 Whip, wheels, driver, stones, beggars, children, crack, crack, 
 crack; helo! hola! charite pour l’amour de Dieu! crick- 
 crack-crick-crack; crick, crick, crick; bump, jolt, crack, 
 bump, crick-crack; round the comer, up the narrow street, 
 down the paved hill on the other side ; in the gutter ; bump, 
 bump; jolt, jog, crick, crick, crick; crack, crack, crack ; into 
 the shop-windows on the left-hand side of the street, pre- 
 liminary to a sweeping turn into the wooden archway on the 
 right; rumble, rumble, rumble ; clatter, clatter, clatter; crick, 
 crick, crick; and here we are in the yard of the Hotel de 
 l’Ecu d’Or; used up, gone out, smoking, spent, exhausted; 
 but sometimes making a false start unexpectedly, with 
 nothing coming of it — like a firework to the last ! 
 
 The landlady of the Hotel de l’Ecu d’Or is here; and the 
 landlord of the Hotel de l’Ecu d’Or is here; and the femme 
 de chambre of the Hotel de l’Ecu d’Or is here; and a gentle- 
 man in a glazed cap, with a red beard like a bosom friend, 
 who is staying at the Hotel de l’Ecu d’Or, is here; and 
 Monsieur le Cure is walking up and down in a comer of the 
 yard by himself, with a shovel hat upon his head, and a black 
 gown on his back, and a book in one hand, and an umbrella 
 in the other; and everybody, except Monsieur le Cure, is 
 open-mouthed and open-eyed, for the opening of the carriage- 
 door. The landlord of the Hotel de l’Ecu d’Or, dotes to 
 that extent upon the Courier, that he can hardly wait for 
 his coming down from the box, but embraces his very legs 
 and boot-heels as he descends. “My Courier! My brave 
 Courier! My friend! My brother!” The landlady loves 
 him, the femme de chambre blesses him, the gargon worships 
 him. The Courier asks if his letter has been received? It 
 has, it has. Are the rooms prepared? They are, they are. 
 The best rooms for my noble Courier. The rooms of state 
 for my gallant Courier; the whole house is at the service of 
 my best of friends ! He keeps his hand upon the carriage- 
 
262 
 
 Pictures from Italy 
 
 door, and asks some other question to enhance the expecta- 
 tion. He carries a green leathern purse outside his coat, 
 suspended by a belt. The idlers look at it; one touches 
 it. It is full of five-franc pieces. Murmurs of admiration 
 are heard among the boys. The landlord falls upon the 
 Courier’s neck, and folds him to his breast. He is so much 
 fatter than he was, he says! He looks so rosy and so 
 well ! 
 
 The door is opened. Breathless expectation. The lady 
 of the family gets out. Ah sweet lady! Beautiful lady! 
 The sister of the lady of the family gets out. Great Heaven, 
 Ma’amselle is charming! First little boy gets out. Ah, 
 what a beautiful little boy! First little girl gets out. Oh, 
 but this is an enchanting child ! Second little girl gets out. 
 The landlady, yielding to the finest impulse of our common 
 nature, catches her up in her arms ! Second little boy gets 
 out. Oh, the sweet boy ! Oh, the tender little family ! The 
 baby is handed out. Angelic baby! The baby has topped 
 everything. All the rapture is expended on the baby ! Then 
 the two nurses tumble out; and the enthusiasm swelling 
 into madness, the whole family are swept upstairs as on a 
 cloud; while the idlers press about the carriage, and look 
 into it, and walk round it, and touch it. For it is something 
 to touch a carriage that has held so many people. It is a 
 legacy to leave one’s children. 
 
 The rooms are on the first floor, except the nursery for 
 the night, which is a great rambling chamber, with four or 
 five beds in it: through a dark passage, up two steps, down 
 four, past a pump, across a balcony, and next door to the 
 stable. The other sleeping apartments are large and lofty; 
 each with two small bedsteads, tastefully hung, like the 
 windows, with red and white drapery. The sitting-room is 
 famous. Dinner is already laid in it for three; and the 
 napkins are folded in a cocked-hat fashion. The floors are of 
 red tile. There are no carpets, and not much furniture to 
 speak of; but there is abundance of looking-glass, and there 
 are large vases under glass shades, filled with artificial flowers ; 
 and there are plenty of clocks. The whole party are in 
 motion. The brave Courier, in particular, is everywhere: 
 looking after the beds, having wine poured down his throat 
 by his dear brother the landlord, and picking up green 
 cucumbers — always cucumbers; Heaven knows where he 
 
At the Hotel de 1 ’Ecu d’Or 263 
 
 gets them — with which he walks about, one in each hand, 
 like truncheons. 
 
 Dinner is announced. There is very thin soup; there are 
 very large loaves — one apiece ; a fish ; four dishes afterwards ; 
 some poultry afterwards ; a dessert afterwards ; and no lack 
 of wine. There is not much in the dishes; but they are 
 very good, and always ready instantly. When it is nearly 
 dark, the brave Courier, having eaten the two cucumbers, 
 sliced up in the contents of a pretty large decanter of oil, 
 and another of vinegar, emerges from his retreat below, and 
 proposes a visit to the Cathedral, whose massive tower 
 frowns down upon the court-yard of the inn. Off we go; 
 and very solemn and grand it is, in the dim light: so dim at 
 last, that the polite, old, lantern-jawed Sacristan has a feeble 
 little bit of candle in his hand, to grope among the tombs 
 with — and looks among the grim columns, very like a lost 
 ghost who is searching for his own. 
 
 Underneath the balcony, when we return, the inferior 
 servants of the inn are supping in the open air, at a great 
 table ; the dish, a stew of meat and vegetables, smoking hot, 
 and served in the iron cauldron it was boiled in. They 
 have a pitcher of thin wine, and are very merry; merrier 
 than the gentleman with the red beard, who is playing 
 billiards in the light room on the left of the yard, where 
 shadows, with cues in their hands, and cigars in their mouths, 
 cross and recross the window, constantly. Still the thin 
 Cure walks up and down alone, with his book and umbrella. 
 And there he walks, and there the billiard-balls rattle, long 
 after we are fast asleep. 
 
 We are astir at six next morning. It is a delightful day, 
 shaming yesterday's mud upon the carriage, if anything 
 could shame a carriage, in a land where carriages are never 
 cleaned. Everybody is brisk; and as we finish breakfast, 
 the horses come jingling into the yard from the Post-house. 
 Everything taken out of the carriage is put back again. The 
 brave Courier announces that all is ready, after walking into 
 every room, and looking all round it, to be certain that 
 nothing is left behind. Everybody gets in. Everybody 
 connected with the Hotel de 1’Ecu d’Or is again enchanted. 
 The brave Courier runs into the house for a parcel contain- 
 ing cold fowl, sliced ham, bread, and biscuits, for lunch; 
 hands it into the coach; and runs back again. 
 
264 Pictures from Italy 
 
 What has he got in his hand now? More cucumbers? 
 No. A long strip of paper. It's the bill. 
 
 The brave Courier has two belts on, this morning: one 
 supporting the purse: another, a mighty good sort of 
 leathern bottle, filled to the throat with the best light Bor- 
 deaux wine in the house. He never pays the bill till this 
 bottle is full. Then he disputes it. 
 
 He disputes it now, violently. He is still the landlord's 
 brother, but by another father or mother. He is not so 
 nearly related to him as he was last night. The landlord 
 scratches his head. The brave Courier points to certain 
 figures in the bill, and intimates that if they remain there, 
 the Hotel de l’Ecu d’Or is thenceforth and for ever an hotel 
 de TEai de cuivre. The landlord goes into a little counting- 
 house. The brave Courier follows, forces the bill and a 
 pen into his hand, and talks more rapidly than ever. The 
 landlord takes the pen. The Courier smiles. The landlord 
 makes an alteration. The Courier cuts a joke. The land- 
 lord is affectionate, but not weakly so. He bears it like a 
 man. He shakes hands with his brave brother; but he don't 
 hug him. Still, he loves his brother; for he knows that he 
 will be returning that way, one of these fine days, with another 
 family, and he foresees that his heart will yearn towards 
 him again. The brave Courier traverses all round the 
 carriage once, looks at the drag, inspects the wheels, jumps 
 up, gives the word, and away we go ! 
 
 It is market morning. The market is held in the little 
 square outside in front of the cathedral. It is crowded with 
 men and women, in blue, in red, in green, in white; with 
 canvased stalls; and fluttering merchandise. The country 
 people are grouped about, with their clean baskets before 
 them. Here, the lace-sellers; there, the butter and egg- 
 sellers; there, the fruit-sellers; there the shoemakers. The 
 whole place looks as if it were the stage of some great theatre, 
 and the curtain had just run up, for a picturesque ballet. 
 And there is the cathedral to boot : scene-like : all grim, and 
 swarthy, and mouldering, and cold; just splashing the pave- 
 ment in one place with faint purple drops, as the morning 
 sun, entering by a little window on the eastern side, struggles 
 through some stained glass panes, on the western. 
 
 In five minutes we have passed the iron cross, with a little 
 ragged kneeling-place of turf before it, in the outskirts of 
 the town; and are again upon the road. 
 
Lyons 
 
 265 
 
 LYONS, THE RHONE, AND THE GOBLIN 
 OF AVIGNON 
 
 Chalons is a fair resting-place, in right of its good inn on 
 the bank of the river, and the little steamboats, gay with 
 green and red paint, that come and go upon it: which make 
 up a pleasant and refreshing scene, after the dusty roads. 
 But, unless you would like to dwell on an enormous plain, 
 with jagged rows of irregular poplars on it, that look in the 
 distance like so many combs with broken teeth: and unless 
 you would like to pass your life without the possibility of 
 going up-hill, or going up anything but stairs: you would 
 hardly approve of Chalons as a place of residence. 
 
 You would probably like it better, however, than Lyons: 
 which you may reach, if you will, in one of the before- 
 mentioned steamboats, in eight hours. 
 
 What a city Lyons is! Talk about people feeling, at 
 certain unlucky times, as if they had tumbled from the 
 clouds ! Here is a whole town that is tumbled, anyhow, out 
 of the sky; having been first caught up, like other stones 
 that tumble down from that region, out of fens and barren 
 places, dismal to behold! The two great streets through 
 which the two great rivers dash, and all the little streets 
 whose name is Legion, were scorching, blistering, and swelter- 
 ing. The houses, high and vast, dirty to excess, rotten as old 
 cheeses, and as thickly peopled. All up the hills that hem 
 the city in, these houses swarm; and the mites inside were 
 lolling out of the windows, and drying their ragged clothes 
 on poles, and crawling in and out at the doors, and coming 
 out to pant and gasp upon the pavement, and creeping in 
 and out among huge piles and bales of fusty, musty, stifling 
 goods ; and living, or rather not dying till their time should 
 come, in an exhausted receiver. Every manufacturing town, 
 melted into one, would hardly convey an impression of Lyons 
 as it presented itself to me: for all the undrained, un- 
 scavengered qualities of a foreign town, seemed grafted, 
 there, upon the native miseries of a manufacturing one; and 
 it bears such fruit as I would go some miles out of my way 
 to avoid encountering again. 
 
 K 
 
266 
 
 Pictures from Italy 
 
 In the cool of the evening: or rather in the faded heat of 
 the day: we went to see the Cathedral, where divers old 
 women, and a few dogs, were engaged in contemplation. 
 There was no difference, in point of cleanliness, between its 
 stone pavement and that of the streets ; and there was a wax 
 saint, in a little box like a berth aboard ship, with a glass 
 front to it, whom Madame Tussaud would have nothing to 
 say to, on any terms, and which even Westminster Abbey 
 might be ashamed of. If you would know all about the 
 architecture of this church, or any other, its dates, dimensions, 
 endowments, and history, is it not written in Mr. Murray’s 
 Guide-Book, and may you not read it there, with thanks to 
 him, as I did ? 
 
 For this reason, I should abstain from mentioning the 
 curious clock in Lyons Cathedral, if it were not for a small 
 mistake I made, in connection with that piece of mechanism. 
 The keeper of the church was very anxious it should be 
 shown; partly for the honour of the establishment and the 
 town ; and partly, perhaps, because of his deriving a percent- 
 age from the additional consideration. However that may 
 be, it was set in motion, and thereupon a host of little doors 
 flew open, and innumerable little figures staggered out of 
 them, and jerked themselves back again, with that special 
 unsteadiness of purpose, and hitching in the gait, which 
 usually attaches to figures that are moved by clockwork. 
 Meanwhile, the Sacristan stood explaining these wonders, 
 and pointing them out, severally, with a wand. There was 
 a centre puppet of the Virgin Mary; and close to her, a small 
 pigeon hole, out of which another and a very ill-looking 
 puppet made one of the most sudden plunges I ever saw 
 accomplished : instantly flopping back again at sight of her, 
 and banging his little door violently after him. Taking this 
 to be emblematic of the victory over Sin and Death, and 
 not at all unwilling to show that I perfectly understood the 
 subject, in anticipation of the showman, I rashly said, “ Aha ! 
 The Evil Spirit. To be sure. He is very soon disposed of.” 
 “ Pardon, Monsieur,” said the Sacristan, with a polite motion 
 of his hand towards the little door, as if introducing some- 
 body — “ The Angel Gabriel 1 ” 
 
 Soon after daybreak next morning, we were steaming 
 down the Arrowy Rhone, at the rate of twenty miles an hour, 
 in a very dirty vessel full of merchandise, and with only 
 
Avignon 267 
 
 three or four other passengers for our companions: among 
 whom, the most remarkable was a silly, old, meek-faced, 
 garlic-eating, immeasurably polite Chevalier, with a dirty 
 scrap of red ribbon hanging at his button-hole, as if he had 
 tied it there to remind himself of something; as Tom Noddy, 
 in the farce, ties knots in his pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 For the last two days, we had seen great sullen hills, the 
 first indications of the Alps, lowering in the distance. Now, 
 we were rushing on beside them: sometimes close beside 
 them: sometimes with an intervening slope, covered with 
 vineyards. Villages and small towns hanging in mid-air, 
 with great woods of olives seen through the light open towers 
 of their churches, and clouds moving slowly on, upon the 
 steep acclivity behind them ; ruined castles perched on every 
 eminence; and scattered houses in the clefts and gullies of 
 the hills ; made it very beautiful. The great height of these, 
 too, making the buildings look so tiny, that they had all the 
 charm of elegant models; their excessive whiteness, as con- 
 trasted with the brown rocks, or the sombre, deep, dull, 
 heavy green of the olive-tree; and the puny size, and little 
 slow walk of the Liliputian men and women on the bank; 
 made a charming picture. There were ferries out of number, 
 too ; bridges ; the famous Pont d’Esprit, with I don’t know 
 how many arches; towns where memorable wines are made; 
 Valence, where Napoleon studied; and the noble river, 
 bringing at every winding turn, new beauties into view. 
 
 There lay before us, that same afternoon, the broken 
 bridge of Avignon, and all the city baking in the sun; yet 
 with an under-done-pie-crust, battlemented wall, that never 
 will be brown, though it bake for centuries. 
 
 The grapes w r ere hanging in clusters in the streets, and 
 the brilliant Oleander was in full bloom everywhere. The 
 streets are old and very narrow, but tolerably clean, and 
 shaded by awnings stretched from house to house. Bright 
 stuffs and handkerchiefs, curiosities, ancient frames of carved 
 wood, old chairs, ghostly tables, saints, virgins, angels, and 
 staring daubs of portraits, being exposed for sale beneath, it 
 w^as very quaint and lively. All this was much set off, too, 
 by the glimpses one caught, through a rusty gate standing 
 ajar, of quiet sleepy court-yards, having stately old houses 
 within, as silent as tombs. It w r as all very like one of the 
 descriptions in the Arabian Nights. The three one-eyed 
 
268 
 
 Pictures from Italy 
 
 Calendars might have knocked at any one of those doors till 
 the street rang again, and the porter who persisted in asking 
 questions — the man who had the delicious purchases put 
 into his basket in the morning — might have opened it quite 
 naturally. 
 
 After breakfast next morning, we sallied forth to see the 
 lions. Such a delicious breeze was blowing in, from the 
 north, as made the walk delightful: though the pavement- 
 stones, and stones of the walls and houses, were far too hot 
 to have a hand laid on them comfortably. 
 
 We went, first of all, up a rocky height, to the cathedral: 
 where Mass was performing to an auditory very like that of 
 Lyons, namely, several old women, a baby, and a very self- 
 possessed dog, who had marked out for himself a little course 
 or platform for exercise, beginning at the altar-rails, and end- 
 ing at the door, up and down which constitutional walk he 
 trotted, during the service, as methodically and calmly, as 
 any old gentleman out of doors. It is a bare old church, and 
 the paintings in the roof are sadly defaced by time and damp 
 weather; but the sun was shining in, splendidly, through 
 the red curtains of the windows, and glittering on the altar 
 furniture; and it looked as bright and cheerful as need be. 
 
 Going apart, in this church, to see some painting which 
 was being executed in fresco by a French artist and his pupil, 
 I was led to observe more closely than I might otherwise 
 have done, a great number of votive offerings with which the 
 walls of the different chapels were profusely hung. I will not 
 say decorated, for they were very roughly and comically got 
 up; most likely by poor sign-painters, who eke out their 
 living in that way. They were all little pictures: each 
 representing some sickness or calamity from which the person 
 placing it there, had escaped, through the interposition of 
 his or her patron saint, or of the Madonna; and I may refer 
 to them as good specimens of the class generally. They are 
 abundant in Italy. 
 
 In a grotesque squareness of outline, an impossibility of 
 perspective, they are not unlike the woodcuts in old books ; 
 but they were oil-paintings, and the artist, like the painter 
 of the Primrose family, had not been sparing of his colours. 
 In one, a lady was having a toe amputated — an operation 
 which a saintly personage had sailed into the room, upon a 
 couch, to superintend. In another, a lady was lying in bed, 
 
In the Church at Avignon 269 
 
 tucked up very tight and prim, and staring with much com- 
 posure at a tripod, with a slop-basin on it; the usual form 
 of washing-stand, and the only piece of furniture, besides 
 the bedstead, in her chamber. One would never have sup- 
 posed her to be labouring under any complaint, beyond the 
 inconvenience of being miraculously wide awake, if the 
 painter had not hit upon the idea of putting all her family on 
 their knees in one comer, with their legs sticking out behind 
 them on the floor, like boot-trees. Above whom, the Virgin, 
 on a kind of blue divan, promised to restore the patient. In 
 another case, a lady was in the very act of being run over, 
 immediately outside the city walls, by a sort of pianoforte 
 van. But the Madonna was there again. Whether the 
 supernatural appearance had startled the horse (a bay griffin), 
 or whether it was invisible to him, I don’t know; but he 
 was galloping away, ding dong, without the smallest reverence 
 or compunction. On every picture “ Ex voto ” was painted 
 in yellow capitals in the sky. 
 
 Though votive offerings were not unknown in Pagan 
 Temples, and are evidently among the many compromises 
 made between the false religion and the true, when the true 
 was in its infancy, I could wish that all the other com- 
 promises were as harmless. Gratitude and Devotion are 
 Christian qualities ; and a grateful, humble, Christian spirit 
 may dictate the observance. 
 
 Hard by the cathedral stands the ancient Palace of the 
 Popes, of which one portion is now a common jail, and 
 another a noisy barrack : while gloomy suites of state apart- 
 ments, shut up and deserted, mock their own old state and 
 glory, like the embalmed bodies of kings. But we neither 
 went there, to see state rooms, nor soldiers’ quarters, nor a 
 common jail, though we dropped some money into a prisoners’ 
 box outside, whilst the prisoners, themselves, looked through 
 the iron bars, high up, and watched us eagerly. We went to 
 see the ruins of the dreadful rooms in which the Inquisition 
 used to sit. 
 
 A little, old, swarthy woman, with a pair of flashing black 
 eyes, — proof that the world hadn’t conjured down the devil 
 within her, though it had had between sixty and seventy 
 years to do it in, — came out of the Barrack Cabaret, of which 
 she was the keeper, with some large keys in her hands, and 
 marshalled us the way that we should go. How she told us, 
 
2jo Pictures from Italy 
 
 on the way, that she was a Government Officer ( concierge dn 
 palais apostolique), and had been, for I don’t know how many 
 years; and how she had shown these dungeons to princes"; 
 and how she was the best of dungeon demonstrators; and 
 how she had resided in the palace from an infant, — had been 
 bom there, if I recollect right, — I needn’t relate. But such 
 a fierce, little, rapid, sparkling, energetic she-devil I never 
 beheld. She was alight and flaming, ail the time. Her 
 action was violent in the extreme. She never spoke, with- 
 out stopping expressly for the purpose. She stamped her 
 feet, clutched us by the arms, flung herself into attitudes, 
 hammered against walls with her keys, for mere emphasis: 
 now whispered as if the Inquisition were there still: now 
 shrieked as if she were on the rack herself; and had a mys- 
 terious, hag-like way with her forefinger, when approaching 
 the remains of some new horror — looking back and walking 
 stealthily, and making horrible grimaces — that might alone 
 have qualified her to walk up and down a sick man’s counter- 
 pane, to the exclusion of all other figures, through a whole 
 fever. 
 
 Passing through the court-yard, among groups of idle 
 soldiers, we turned off by a gate, which this She-Goblin 
 unlocked for our admission, and locked again behind us : and 
 entered a narrow court, rendered narrower by fallen stones 
 and heaps of rubbish; part of it choking up the mouth of a 
 ruined subterranean passage, that once communicated (or is 
 said to have done so) with another castle on the opposite 
 bank of the river. Close to this court-yard is a dungeon — 
 we stood within it, in another minute — in the dismal tower 
 des oubliettes , where Rienzi was imprisoned, fastened by an 
 iron chain to the very wall that stands there now, but shut 
 out from the sky which now looks down into it. A few steps 
 brought us to the Cachots, in which the prisoners of the 
 Inquisition were confined for forty-eight hours after their 
 capture, without food or drink, that their constancy might 
 be shaken, even before they were confronted with their 
 gloomy judges. The day has not got in there yet. They 
 are still small cells, shut in by four unyielding, close, hard 
 w r alls; still profoundly dark; still massively doored and 
 fastened, as of old. 
 
 Goblin, looking back as I have described, went softly on, 
 into a vaulted chamber, now used as a store-room: once the 
 
The Chamber of Torture 
 
 271 
 
 chapel of the Holy Office. The place where the tribunal sat, 
 was plain. The platform might have been removed but 
 yesterday. Conceive the parable of the Good Samaritan 
 having been painted on the wall of one of these Inquisition 
 chambers ! But it was, and may be traced there yet. 
 
 High up in the jealous wall, are niches where the faltering 
 replies of the accused were heard and noted down. Many 
 of them had been brought out of the very cell we had just 
 looked into, so awfully; along the same stone passage. We 
 had trodden in their very footsteps. 
 
 I am gazing round me, with the horror that the place 
 inspires, when Goblin clutches me by the wrist, and lays, 
 not her skinny finger, but the handle of a key, upon her 
 lip. She invites me, with a jerk, to follow her. I do so. 
 She leads me out into a room adjoining — a rugged room, 
 with a funnel-shaped, contracting roof, open at the top, to 
 the bright day. I ask her what it is. She folds her arms, 
 leers hideously, and stares. I ask again. She glances round, 
 to see that all the little company are there; sits down upon 
 a mound of stones; throws up her arms, and yells out, like 
 a fiend, “ La Salle de la Question ! ” 
 
 The Chamber of Torture ! And the roof was made of that 
 shape to stifle the victim’s cries ! Oh Goblin, Goblin, let us 
 think of this awhile, in silence. Peace, Goblin! Sit with 
 your short arms crossed on your short legs, upon that heap 
 of stones, for only five minutes, and then flame out 
 again. 
 
 Minutes ! Seconds are not marked upon the Palace clock, 
 when, with her eyes flashing fire, Goblin is up, in the middle 
 of the chamber, describing, with her sunburnt arms, a wheel 
 of heavy blows. Thus it ran round! cries Goblin. Mash, 
 mash, mash! An endless routine of heavy hammers. Mash, 
 mash, mash ! upon the sufferer’s limbs. See the stone trough ! 
 says Goblin. For the water torture! Gurgle, swill, bloat, 
 burst, for the Redeemer’s honour! Suck the bloody rag, 
 deep down into your unbelieving body, Heretic, at every 
 breath you draw ! And when the executioner plucks it out, 
 reeking with the smaller mysteries of God’s own Image, know 
 us for His chosen servants, true believers in the Sermon on 
 the Mount, elect disciples of Him who never did a miracle 
 but to heal : who never struck a man with palsy, blindness, 
 deafness, dumbness, madness, any one affliction of mankind; 
 
2 72 Pictures from Italy 
 
 and never stretched His blessed hand out, but to give relief 
 and ease ! 
 
 See! cries Goblin. There the furnace was. There they 
 made the irons red-hot. Those holes supported the sharp 
 stake, on which the tortured persons hung poised: dangling 
 with their whole weight from the roof. “ But; ” and Goblin 
 whispers this; “Monsieur has heard of this tower? Yes? 
 Let Monsieur look down, then ! ” 
 
 A cold air, laden with an earthy smell, falls upon the face 
 of Monsieur; for she has opened, while speaking, a trap-door 
 in the wall. Monsieur looks in. Downward to the bottom, 
 upward to the top, of a steep, dark, lofty tower: very dismal, 
 very dark, very cold. The Executioner of the Inquisition, 
 says Goblin, edging in her head to look down also, flung 
 those who were past all further torturing, down here. 
 “ But look ! does Monsieur see the black stains on the 
 wall ? ” A glance, over his shoulder, at Goblin’s keen 
 eye, shows Monsieur — and would without the aid of the 
 directing-key — where they are. “What are they?” 
 “ Blood ! ” 
 
 In October, 1791, when the Revolution was at its height 
 here, sixty persons: men and women (“and priests,” says 
 Goblin, “ priests ”): were murdered, and hurled, the dying 
 and the dead, into this dreadful pit, where a quantity of 
 quick-lime was tumbled down upon their bodies. Those 
 ghastly tokens of the massacre were soon no more ; but while 
 one stone of the strong building in which the deed was done, 
 remains upon another, there they will lie in the memories of 
 men, as plain to see as the splashing of their blood upon the 
 wall is now. 
 
 Was it a portion of the great scheme of Retribution, that 
 the cruel deed should be committed in this place! That a 
 part of the atrocities and monstrous institutions, which had 
 been, for scores of years, at work, to change men’s nature, 
 should in its last service, tempt them with the ready means 
 of gratifying their furious and beastly rage! Should enable 
 them to show themselves, in the height of their frenzy, no 
 worse than a great, solemn, legal establishment, in the height 
 of its power! No worse! Much better. They used the 
 Tower of the Forgotten, in the name of Liberty — their 
 liberty; an earth-born creature, nursed in the black mud of 
 the Bastille moats and dungeons, and necessarily betraying 
 
Les Oubliettes 
 
 273 
 
 many evidences of its unwholesome bringing-up — but the 
 Inquisition used it in the name of Heaven. 
 
 Goblin’s finger is lifted ; and she steals out again, into the 
 Chapel of the Holy Office. She stops at a certain part of 
 the flooring. Her great effect is at hand. She waits for the 
 rest. She darts at the brave Courier, who is explaining some- 
 thing; hits him a sounding rap on the hat with the largest 
 key; and bids him be silent. She assembles us all, round a 
 little trap-door in the floor, as round a grave. 
 
 “ Voila ! ” she darts down at the ring, and flings the door 
 open with a crash, in her goblin energy, though it is no 
 light weight. “ Voila les oubliettes ! Voila les oubliettes ! 
 Subterranean 1 Frightful ! Black ! Terrible ! Deadly ! Les 
 oubliettes de lTnquisition ! ” 
 
 My blood ran cold, as I looked from Goblin, down into 
 the vaults, where these forgotten creatures, with recollections 
 of the world outside: of wives, friends, children, brothers: 
 starved to death, and made the stones ring with their unavail- 
 ing groans. But, the thrill I felt on seeing the accursed wall 
 below, decayed and broken through, and the sun shining in 
 through its gaping wounds, was like a sense of victory and 
 triumph. I felt exalted with the proud delight of living in 
 these degenerate times, to see it. As if I were the hero of 
 some high achievement ! The light in the doleful vaults was 
 typical of the light that has streamed in, on all persecution 
 in God’s name, but which is not yet at its noon ! It cannot 
 look more lovely to a blind man newly restored to sight, than 
 to a traveller who sees it, calmly and majestically, treading 
 down the darkness of that Infernal Well. 
 
 AVIGNON TO GENOA 
 
 Goblin, having shown les oubliettes , felt that her great coup 
 was struck. She let the door fall with a crash, and stood 
 upon it with her arms akimbo, sniffing prodigiously. 
 
 When we left the place, I accompanied her into her house, 
 under the outer gateway of the fortress, to buy a little history 
 of the building. Her cabaret, a dark low room, lighted 
 
274 Pictures from Italy 
 
 by small windows, sunk in the thick wall — in the softened 
 light, and with its forge-like chimney; its little counter by 
 the door, with bottles, jars, and glasses on it; its household 
 implements and scraps of dress against the wall ; and a sober- 
 looking woman (she must have a congenial life of it, with 
 Goblin) knitting at the door — looked exactly like a picture 
 by Ostade. 
 
 I walked round the building on the outside, in a sort of 
 dream, and yet with the delightful sense of having awakened 
 from it, of which the light, down in the vaults, had given 
 me the assurance. The immense thickness and giddy height 
 of the walls, the enormous strength of the massive towers, 
 the great extent of the building, its gigantic proportions, 
 frowning aspect, and barbarous irregularity, awaken awe and 
 wonder. The recollection of its opposite old uses: an im- 
 pregnable fortress, a luxurious palace, a horrible prison, a 
 place of torture, the court of the Inquisition: at one and the 
 same time, a house of feasting, fighting, religion, and blood : 
 gives to every stone in its huge form a fearful interest, and 
 imparts new meaning to its incongruities. I could think of 
 little, however, then, or long afterwards, but the sun in the 
 dungeons. The palace coming down to be the lounging- 
 place of noisy soldiers, and being forced to echo their rough 
 talk, and common oaths, and to have their garments flutter- 
 ing from its dirty windows, w^as some reduction of its state, 
 and something to rejoice at; but the day in its cells, and the 
 sky for the roof of its chambers of cruelty — that was its 
 desolation and defeat ! If I had seen it in a blaze from ditch 
 to rampart, I should have felt that not that light, nor all the 
 light in all the fire that burns, could waste it, like the sun- 
 beams in its secret council-chamber, and its prisons. 
 
 Before I quit this Palace of the Popes, let me translate 
 from the little history I mentioned just now, a short anecdote 
 quite appropriate to itself, connected wdth its adventures. 
 
 “ An ancient tradition relates, that in 1441, a nephew of 
 Pierre de Lude, the Pope’s legate, seriously insulted some 
 distinguished ladies of Avignon, whose relations, in revenge, 
 seized the young man, and horribly mutilated him. For 
 several years the legate kept his revenge within his own 
 breast, but he was not the less resolved upon its gratifica- 
 tion at last. He even made, in the fulness of time, advances 
 towards a complete reconciliation ; and when their apparent 
 
Marseilles 
 
 2 75 
 
 sincerity had prevailed, he invited to a splendid banquet, in 
 this palace, certain families, whole families, whom he sought 
 to exterminate. The utmost gaiety animated the repast; 
 but the measures of the legate were well taken. When the 
 dessert was on the board, a Swiss presented himself, with 
 the announcement that a strange ambassador solicited an 
 extraordinary audience. The legate, excusing himself, for 
 the moment, to his guests, retired, followed by his officers. 
 Within a few minutes afterwards, five hundred persons were 
 reduced to ashes: the whole of that wing of the building 
 having been blown into the air with a terrible explosion ! ” 
 
 After seeing the churches (I will not trouble you with 
 churches just now), we left Avignon that afternoon. The 
 heat being very great, the roads outside the walls were strewn 
 with people fast asleep in every little slip of shade, and with 
 lazy groups, half asleep and half awake, who were waiting 
 until the sun should be low enough to admit of their playing 
 bowls among the bumt-up trees, and on the dusty road. 
 The harvest, here, was already gathered in, and mules and 
 horses were treading out the corn in the fields. We came, 
 at dusk, upon a wild and hilly country, once famous for 
 brigands; and travelled slowly up a steep ascent. So we 
 went on, until eleven at night, when we halted at the town 
 of Aix (within two stages of Marseilles) to sleep. 
 
 The hotel, with all the blinds and shutters closed to keep 
 the light and heat out, was comfortable and arry next morn- 
 ing, and the town was very clean; but so hot, and so in- 
 tensely light, that when I walked out at noon it was like 
 coming suddenly from the darkened room into crisp blue 
 fire. The air was so very clear, that distant hills and rocky 
 points appeared within an hour’s walk; while the town im- 
 mediately at hand — with a kind of blue wind between me 
 and it — seemed to be white hot, and to be throwing off' a 
 fiery air from the surface. 
 
 We left this town towards evening, and took the road to 
 Marseilles. A dusty road it was; the houses shut up close; 
 and the vines powdered white. At nearly all the cottage 
 doors, women were peeling and slicing onions into earthen 
 bowls for supper. So they had been doing last night all the 
 way from Avignon. We passed one or two shady dark 
 chateaux, surrounded by trees, and embellished with cool 
 basins of water: which were the more refreshing to behold, 
 
2j6 Pictures from Italy 
 
 from the great scarcity of such residences on the road we had 
 travelled. As we approached Marseilles, the road began to 
 be covered with holiday people. Outside the public-houses 
 were parties smoking, drinking, playing draughts and cards, 
 and (once) dancing. But dust, dust, dust, everywhere. We 
 went on, through a long, straggling, dirty suburb, thronged 
 with people; having on our left a dreary slope of land, on 
 which the country-houses of the Marseilles merchants, always 
 staring white, are jumbled and heaped without the slightest 
 order: backs, fronts, sides, and gables towards all points of 
 the compass; until, at last, we entered the town. 
 
 I was there, twice or thrice afterwards, in fair weather and 
 foul; and I am afraid there is no doubt that it is a dirty and 
 disagreeable place. But the prospect, from the fortified 
 heights, of the beautiful Mediterranean, with its lovely rocks 
 and islands, is most delightful. These heights are a desirable 
 retreat, for less picturesque reasons — as an escape from a 
 compound of vile smells perpetually arising from a great 
 harbour full of stagnant water, and befouled by the refuse of 
 innumerable ships with all sorts of cargoes: which, in hot 
 weather, is dreadful in the last degree. 
 
 There were foreign sailors, of all nations, in the streets; 
 with red shirts, blue shirts, buff shirts, tawny shirts, and 
 shirts of orange colour; with red caps, blue caps, green caps, 
 great beards, and no beards; in Turkish turbans, glazed 
 English hats, and Neapolitan head-dresses. There were the 
 townspeople sitting in clusters on the pavement, or airing 
 themselves on the tops of their houses, or walking up and 
 down the closest and least airy of Boulevards; and there 
 were crowds of fierce-looking people of the lower sort, block- 
 ing up the way, constantly. In the very heart of all this 
 stir and uproar, was the common madhouse; a low, con- 
 tracted, miserable building, looking straight upon the street, 
 without the smallest screen or court-yard ; where chattering 
 madmen and madwomen were peeping out, through rusty 
 bars, at the staring faces below, while the sun, darting fiercely 
 aslant into their little cells, seemed to dry up their brains, 
 and worry them, as if they were baited by a pack of dogs. 
 
 We were pretty well accommodated at the Hotel du 
 Paradis, situated in a narrow street of very high houses, with 
 a hairdresser’s shop opposite, exhibiting in one of its windows 
 two full-length waxen ladies, twirling round and round: 
 
First Impressions of Genoa 277 
 
 which so enchanted the hairdresser himself, that he and his 
 family sat in arm-chairs, and in cool undresses, on the pave- 
 ment outside, enjoying the gratification of the passers-by, 
 with lazy dignity. The family had retired to rest when we 
 went to bed, at midnight; but the hairdresser (a corpulent 
 man, in drab slippers) was still sitting there, with his legs 
 stretched out before him, and evidently couldn’t bear to 
 have the shutters put up. 
 
 Next day we went down to the harbour, where the sailors 
 of all nations were discharging and taking in cargoes of all 
 kinds: fruits, wines, oils, silks, stuffs, velvets, and every 
 manner of merchandise. Taking one of a great number of 
 lively little boats with gay-striped awnings, we rowed away, 
 under the stems of great ships, under tow-ropes and cables, 
 against and among other boats, and very much too near the 
 sides of vessels that were faint with oranges, to the “ Marie 
 Antoinette,” a handsome steamer bound for Genoa, lying near 
 the mouth of the harbour. By-and-by, the carriage, that 
 unwieldy “ trifle from the Pantechnicon,” on a flat barge, 
 bumping against everything, and giving occasion for a pro- 
 digious quantity of oaths and grimaces, came stupidly along- 
 side; and by five o’clock we were steaming out in the open 
 sea. The vessel was beautifully clean; the meals were served 
 under an awning on deck; the night was calm and clear ; the 
 quiet beauty of the sea and sky unspeakable. 
 
 We were off Nice, early next morning, and coasted along, 
 within a few miles of the Comice road (of which more in its 
 place) nearly all day. We could see Genoa before three; 
 and watching it as it gradually developed its splendid amphi- 
 theatre, terrace rising above terrace, garden above garden, 
 palace above palace, height upon height, was ample occupa- 
 # tion for us, till we ran into the stately harbour. Having 
 been duly astonished, here, by the sight of a few Cappuccinf 
 monks, who were watching the fair-weighing of some wood 
 upon the wharf, we drove off to Albaro, two miles distant, 
 where we had engaged a house. 
 
 The way lay through the main streets, but not through 
 the Strada Nuova, or the Strada Balbi, which are the famous 
 streets of palaces. I never in my life was so dismayed! 
 The wonderful novelty of everything, the unusual smells, 
 the unaccountable filth (though it is reckoned the cleanest of 
 Italian towns), the disorderly jumbling of dirty houses, one 
 
278 Pictures from Italy 
 
 upon the roof of another; the passages more squalid and 
 more dose than any in St. Giles’s or old Paris; in and out 
 of which, not vagabonds , but well-dressed women, with white 
 veils and great fans, were passing and repassing; the perfect 
 absence of resemblance in any dwelling-house, or shop, or 
 wall, or post, or pillar, to anything one had ever seen before ; 
 and the disheartening dirt, discomfort, and decay; perfectly 
 confounded me. I fell into a dismal reverie. I am con- 
 scious of a feverish and bewildered vision of saints’ and 
 virgins’ shrines at the street corners — of great numbers of 
 friars, monks, and soldiers — of vast red curtains, waving in 
 the doorways of the churches — of always going up hill, and 
 yet seeing every other street and passage going higher up — of 
 fruit-stalls, with fresh lemons and oranges hanging in gar- 
 lands made of vine-leaves — of a guard-house, and a draw- 
 bridge — and some gateways — and vendors of iced water, 
 sitting with little trays upon the margin of the kennel — and 
 this is all the consciousness I had, until I was set down in 
 a rank, dull, weedy court-yard, attached to a kind of pink 
 jail; and was told I lived there. 
 
 I little thought, that day, that I should ever come to have 
 an attachment for the very stones in the streets of Genoa, 
 and to look back upon the city with affection as connected 
 with many hours of happiness and quiet ! But these are my 
 first impressions honestly set down ; and how they changed, 
 I will set down too. At present, let us breathe after this 
 long-winded journey. 
 
 GENOA AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD 
 
 The first impressions of such a place as Albaro, the suburb 
 of Genoa, where I am now, as my American friends would 
 say, “ located,” can hardly fail, I should imagine, to be 
 mournful and disappointing. It requires a little time and 
 use to overcome the feeling of depression consequent, at 
 first, on so much ruin and neglect. Novelty, pleasant to 
 most people, is particularly delightful, I think, to me. I am 
 not easily dispirited when I have the means of pursuing my 
 
First Experiences at Genoa 279 
 
 own fancies and occupations; and I believe I have some 
 natural aptitude for accommodating myself to circumstances. 
 But, as yet, I stroll about here, in all the holes and comers of 
 the neighbourhood, in a perpetual state of forlorn surprise; 
 and returning to my villa: the Villa Bagnerello (it sounds 
 romantic, but Signor Bagnerello is a butcher hard by): have 
 sufficient occupation in pondering over my new experiences, 
 and comparing them, very much to my own amusement, 
 with my expectations, until I wander out again. 
 
 The Villa Bagnerello: or the Pink Jail, a far more expres- 
 sive name for the mansion: is in one of the most splendid 
 situations imaginable. The noble bay of Genoa, with the 
 deep blue Mediterranean, lies stretched out near at hand; 
 monstrous old desolate houses and palaces are dotted all 
 about; lofty hills, with their tops often hidden in the clouds, 
 and with strong forts perched high up on their craggy sides, 
 are close upon the left; and in front, stretching from the 
 walls of the house, down to a ruined chapel which stands 
 upon the bold and picturesque rocks on the sea-shore, are 
 green vineyards, where you may wander all day long in 
 partial shade, through interminable vistas of grapes, trained 
 on a rough trellis-work across the narrow paths. 
 
 This sequestered spot is approached by lanes so very 
 narrow, that when we arrived at the Custom-house, we found 
 the people here had taken the measure of the narrowest 
 among them, and were awaiting to apply it to the carriage; 
 which ceremony was gravely performed in the street, while 
 we all stood by in breathless suspense. It was found to be 
 a very tight fit, but just a possibility, and no more — as I am 
 reminded every day, by the sight of various large holes which 
 it punched in the walls on either side as it came along. 
 We are more fortunate, I am told, than an old lady, who 
 took a house in these parts not long ago, and who stuck fast 
 in her carriage in a lane; and as it was impossible to open 
 one of the doors, she was obliged to submit to the indignity 
 of being hauled through one of the little front windows, like 
 a harlequin. 
 
 When you have got through these narrow lanes, you come 
 to an archway, imperfectly stopped up by a rusty old gate — 
 my gate. The rusty old gate has a bell to correspond, which 
 you ring as long as you like, and which nobody answers, as 
 it has no connexion whatever with the house. But there is 
 
280 
 
 Pictures from Italy 
 
 a rusty old knocker, too — very loose, so that it slides round 
 when you touch it — and if you learn the trick of it, and 
 knock long enough, somebody comes. The brave Courier 
 comes, and gives you admittance. You walk into a seedy 
 little garden, all wild and weedy, from which the vineyard 
 opens; cross it, enter a square hall like a cellar, walk up 
 a cracked marble staircase, and pass into a most enormous 
 room with a vaulted roof and whitewashed walls : not unlike 
 a great Methodist chapel. This is the sala. It has five 
 windows and five doors, and is decorated with pictures which 
 would gladden the heart of one of those picture-cleaners in 
 London who hang up, as a sign, a picture divided, like death 
 and the lady, at the top of the old ballad: which always 
 leaves you in a state of uncertainty whether the ingenious 
 professor has cleaned one half, or dirtied the other. The 
 furniture of this sala is a sort of red brocade. All the chairs 
 are immovable, and the sofa v/eighs several tons. 
 
 On the same floor, and opening out of this same chamber, 
 are dining-room, drawing-room, and divers bed-rooms : each 
 with a multiplicity of doors and windows. Upstairs are 
 divers other gaunt chambers, and a kitchen : and downstairs 
 is another kitchen, which, with all sorts of strange contriv- 
 ances for burning charcoal, looks like an alchemical labora- 
 tory. There are also some half-dozen small sitting-rooms, 
 where the servants in this hot July, may escape from the 
 heat of the fire, and where the brave Courier plays all sorts 
 of musical instruments of his own manufacture, all the even- 
 ing long. A mighty old, wandering, ghostly, echoing, grim, 
 bare house it is, as ever I beheld or thought of. 
 
 There is a little vine-covered terrace, opening from the 
 drawing-room ; and under this terrace, and forming one side 
 of the little garden, is what used to be the stable. It is now 
 a cow-house, and has three cows in it, so that we get new 
 milk by the bucketful. There is no pasturage near, and 
 they never go out, but are constantly lying down, and 
 surfeiting themselves with vine-leaves — perfect Italian cows 
 enjoying the dolce far ’ niente all day long. They are pre- 
 sided over, and slept with, by an old man named Antonio, 
 and his son; two bumt-sienna natives with naked legs and 
 feet, who wear, each, a shirt, a pair of trousers, and a red 
 sash, with a relic, or some sacred charm like the bonbon off 
 a twelfth-cake, hanging round the neck. The old man is 
 
Legend of St. John the Baptist 281 
 
 very anxious to convert me to the Catholic faith, and exhorts 
 me frequently. We sit upon a stone by the door, some- 
 times in the evening, like Robinson Crusoe and Friday 
 reversed; and he generally relates, towards my conversion, 
 an abridgment of the History of Saint Peter — chiefly, I 
 believe, from the unspeakable delight he has in his imitation 
 of the cock. 
 
 The view, as I have said, is charming; but in the day you 
 must keep the lattice-blinds close shut, or the sun would drive 
 you mad; and when the sun goes down you must shut up all 
 the windows, or the mosquitoes would tempt you to commit 
 suicide. So at this time of the year, you don't see much of 
 the prospect within doors. As for the flies, you don't mind 
 them. Nor the fleas, whose size is prodigious, and whose 
 name is Legion, and who populate the coach-house to that 
 extent that I daily expect to see the carriage going off 
 bodily, drawn by myriads of industrious fleas in harness. 
 The rats are kept away, quite comfortable, by scores of lean 
 cats, who roam about the garden for that purpose. The 
 lizards, of course, nobody cares for; they play in the sun, 
 and don't bite. The little scorpions are merely curious. The 
 beetles are rather late, and have not appeared yet. The 
 frogs are company. There is a preserve of them in the 
 grounds of the next villa; and after nightfall, one would 
 think that scores upon scores of women in pattens were 
 going up and down a wet stone pavement without a moment's 
 cessation. That is exactly the noise they make. 
 
 The ruined chapel, on the picturesque and beautiful sea- 
 shore, was dedicated, once upon a time, to Saint John the 
 Baptist. I believe there is a legend that Saint John's bones 
 were received there, with various solemnities, when they were 
 first brought to Genoa; for Genoa possesses them to this 
 day. When there is any uncommon tempest at sea, they 
 are brought out and exhibited to the raging weather, which 
 they never fail to calm. In consequence of this connexion 
 of Saint John with the city, great numbers of the common 
 people are christened Giovanni Baptista, which latter name 
 is pronounced in the Genoese patois “ Batcheetcha," like a 
 sneeze. To hear everybody calling everybody else Bat- 
 cheetcha, on a Sunday, or festa-day, when there are crowds 
 in the streets, is not a little singular and amusing to a 
 stranger. 
 
282 
 
 Pictures from Italy 
 
 The narrow lanes have great villas opening into them, 
 whose walls (outside walls, I mean) are profusely painted 
 with all sorts of subjects, grim and holy. But time and the 
 sea-air have nearly obliterated them; and they look like the 
 entrance to Vauxhall Gardens on a sunny day. The court- 
 yards of these houses are overgrown with grass and weeds; 
 all sorts of hideous patches cover the bases of the statues, as 
 if they were afflicted with a cutaneous disorder; the outer 
 gates are rusty; and the iron bars outside the lower windows 
 are all tumbling down. Firewood is kept in halls where 
 costly treasures might be heaped up, mountains high ; water- 
 falls are dry and choked; fountains, too dull to play, and 
 too lazy to work, have just enough recollection of their 
 identity, in their sleep, to make the neighbourhood damp; 
 and the sirocco wind is often blowing over all these things 
 for days together, like a gigantic oven out for a holiday. 
 
 Not long ago, there was a festa-day, in honour of the 
 Virgin's mother , when the young men of the neighbourhood, 
 having worn green wreaths of the vine in some procession 
 or other, bathed in them, by scores. It looked very odd and 
 pretty. Though I am bound to confess (not knowing of the 
 festa at that time), that I thought, and was quite satisfied, 
 they wore them as horses do — to keep the flies off. 
 
 Soon afterwards, there was another festa-day, in honour 
 of St. Nazaro. One of the Albaro young men brought two 
 large bouquets soon after breakfast, and coming upstairs into 
 the great sala , presented them himself. This was a polite 
 way of begging for a contribution towards the expenses of 
 some music in the Saint’s honour, so we gave him whatever 
 it may have been, and his messenger departed: well satisfied. 
 At six o’clock in the evening we went to the church — close 
 at hand — a very gaudy place, hung all over with festoons and 
 bright draperies, and filled, from the altar to the main door, 
 with women, all seated. They wear no bonnets here, simply 
 a long white veil — the “mezzero”; and it was the most 
 gauzy, ethereal-looking audience I ever saw. The young 
 women are not generally pretty, but they walk remarkably 
 well, and in their personal carriage and the management of 
 their veils, display much innate grace and elegance. There 
 were some men present : not very many : and a few of these 
 were kneeling about the aisles, while everybody else tumbled 
 over them. Innumerable tapers were burning in the church; 
 
The National Game of Mora 283 
 
 the bits of silver and tin about the saints (especially in the 
 Virgin’s necklace) sparkled brilliantly; the priests were 
 seated about the chief altar; the organ played away, lustily, 
 and a full band did the like; while a conductor, in a little 
 gallery opposite to the band, hammered away on the desk 
 before him, with a scroll; and a tenor, without any voice, 
 sang. The band played one way, the organ played another, 
 the singer went a third, and the unfortunate conductor 
 banged and banged, and flourished his scroll on some prin- 
 ciple of his own: apparently well satisfied with the whole 
 performance. I never did hear such a discordant din. The 
 heat was intense all the time. 
 
 The men, in red caps, and with loose coats hanging on 
 their shoulders (they never put them on), were playing bowls, 
 and buying sweetmeats, immediately outside the church. 
 When half-a-dozen of them finished a game, they came into 
 the aisle, crossed themselves with the holy water, knelt on 
 one knee for an instant, and walked off again to play another 
 game at bowls. They are remarkably expert at this diver- 
 sion, and will play in the stony lanes and streets, and on the 
 most uneven and disastrous ground for such a purpose, with 
 as much nicety as on a billiard-table. But the most favourite 
 game is the national one of Mora, which they pursue with 
 surprising ardour, and at which they will stake everything 
 they possess. It is a destructive kind of gambling, requiring 
 no accessories but the ten fingers, which are always — I 
 intend no pun — at hand. Two men play together. One 
 calls a number — say the extreme one, ten. He marks what 
 portion of it he pleases by throwing out three, or four, or five 
 fingers ; and his adversary has, in the same instant, at hazard, 
 and without seeing his hand, to throw out as many fingers, 
 as will make the exact balance. Their eyes and hands 
 become so used to this, and act with such astonishing 
 rapidity, that an uninitiated bystander would find it very 
 difficult, if not impossible, to follow the progress of the 
 game. The initiated, however, of whom there is always an 
 eager group looking on, devour it with the most intense 
 avidity; and as they are always ready to champion one 
 side or the other in case of a dispute, and are frequently 
 divided in their partisanship, it is often a very noisy proceed- 
 ing. It is never the quietest game in the world; for the 
 numbers are always called in a loud sharp voice, and follow 
 
284 Pictures from Italy 
 
 as close upon each other as they can be counted. On a 
 holiday evening, standing at a window, or walking in a 
 garden, or passing through the streets, or sauntering in any 
 quiet place about the town, you will hear this game in pro- 
 gress in a score of wine-shops at once ; and looking over any 
 vineyard walk, or turning almost any comer, will come upon 
 a knot of players in full cry. It is observable that most men 
 have a propensity to throw out some particular number 
 oftener than another; and the vigilance with which two 
 sharp-eyed players will mutually endeavour to detect this 
 weakness, and adapt their game to it, is very curious and 
 entertaining. The effect is greatly heightened by the uni- 
 versal suddenness and vehemence of gesture ; two men play- 
 ing for half a farthing with an intensity as all-absorbing as if 
 the stake were life. 
 
 Hard by here is a large Palazzo, formerly belonging to 
 some member of the Brignole family, but just now hired by 
 a school of Jesuits for their summer quarters. I walked 
 into its dismantled precincts the other evening about sunset, 
 and couldn't help pacing up and down for a little time 
 drowsily taking in the aspect of the place : which is repeated 
 hereabouts in all directions. 
 
 I loitered to and fro, under a colonnade, forming two sides 
 of a weedy, grass-grown court-yard, whereof the house 
 formed a third side, and a low terrace-walk, overlooking the 
 garden and the neighbouring hills, the fourth. I don't 
 believe there was an uncracked stone in the whole pavement. 
 In the centre was a melancholy statue, so piebald in its decay, 
 that it looked exactly as if it had been covered with stick- 
 ing-plaster, and afterwards powdered. The stables, coach- 
 houses, offices, were all empty, all ruinous, all utterly deserted. 
 
 Doors had lost their hinges, and were holding on by their 
 latches; windows were broken, painted plaster had peeled 
 off, and was lying about in clods ; fowls and cats had so taken 
 possession of the out-buildings, that I couldn't help thinking 
 of the fairy tales, and eyeing them with suspicion, as trans- 
 formed retainers, waiting to be changed back again. One 
 old Tom in particular: a scraggy brute, with a hungry green 
 eye (a poor relation, in reality, I am inclined to think): came 
 prowling round and round me, as if he half believed, for the 
 moment, that I might be the hero come to marry the lady, 
 and set all to-rights ; but discovering his mistake, he suddenly 
 
A Place that “ Grows upon You ” 285 
 
 gave a grim snarl, and walked away with such a tremendous 
 tail, that he couldn’t get into the little hole where he lived, 
 but was obliged to wait outside, until his indignation and his 
 tail had gone down together. 
 
 In a sort of summer-house, or whatever it may be, in this 
 colonnade, some Englishmen had been living, like grubs in 
 a nut; but the Jesuits had given them notice to go, and 
 they had gone, and that was shut up too. The house: a 
 wandering, echoing, thundering barrack of a place, with the 
 lower windows barred up, as usual, was wide open at the 
 door: and I have no doubt I might have gone in, and gone 
 to bed, and gone dead, and nobody a bit the wiser. Only 
 one suite of rooms on an upper floor was tenanted ; and from 
 one of these, the voice of a young-lady vocalist, practising 
 bravura lustily, came flaunting out upon the silent evening. 
 
 I went down into the garden, intended to be prim and 
 quaint, with avenues, and terraces, and orange-trees, and 
 statues, and water in stone basins; and everything was 
 green, gaunt, weedy, straggling, under-grown or over-grown, 
 mildewy, damp, redolent of all sorts of slabby clammy, 
 creeping, and uncomfortable life. There was nothing bright 
 in the whole scene but a firefly — one solitary firefly — showing 
 against the dark bushes like the last little speck of the 
 departed Glory of the house; and even it went flitting up 
 and down at sudden angles, and leaving a place with a jerk, 
 and describing an irregular circle, and returning to the same 
 place with a twitch that startled one: as if it were looking 
 for the rest of the Glory, and wondering (Heaven knows it 
 might !) what had become of it. 
 
 In the course of two months, the flitting shapes and 
 shadows of my dismal entering reverie gradually resolved 
 themselves into familiar forms and substances ; and I already 
 began to think that when the time should come, a year 
 hence, for closing the long holiday and turning back to 
 England, I might part from Genoa with anything but a glad 
 heart. 
 
 It is a place that “ grows upon you ” every day. There 
 seems to be always something to find out in it. There are 
 the most extraordinary alleys and by-ways to walk about in. 
 You can lose your way (what a comfort that is, when you 
 are idle !) twenty times a day, if you like; and turn up again, 
 
286 
 
 Pictures from Italy 
 
 under the most unexpected and surprising difficulties. It 
 abounds in the strangest contrasts; things that are pic- 
 turesque, ugly, mean, magnificent, delightful, and offensive, 
 break upon the view at every turn. 
 
 They who would know how beautiful the country imme- 
 diately surrounding Genoa is, should climb (in clear weather) 
 to the top of Monte Faccio, or, at least, ride round the city 
 walls: a feat more easily performed. No prospect can be 
 more diversified and lovely than the changing views of the 
 harbour, and the valleys of the two rivers, the Polcevera and 
 the Bizagno, from the heights along which the strongly 
 fortified walls are carried, like the great wall of China in 
 little. In not the least picturesque part of this ride, there 
 is a fair specimen of a real Genoese tavern, where the visitor 
 may derive good entertainment from real Genoese dishes, 
 such as Tagliarini; Ravioli; German sausages, strong of 
 garlic, sliced and eaten with fresh green figs; cocks’ combs 
 and sheep-kidneys, chopped up with mutton chops and liver; 
 small pieces of some unknown part of a calf, twisted into 
 small shreds, fried, and served up in a great dish like white- 
 bait; and other curiosities of that kind. They often get 
 wine at these suburban Trattorie, from France and Spain 
 and Portugal, which is brought over by small captains in 
 little trading-vessels. They buy it at so much a bottle, 
 without asking what it is, or caring to remember if anybody 
 tells them, and usually divide it into two heaps; of which 
 they label one Champagne, and the other Madeira. The vari- 
 ous opposite flavours, qualities, countries, ages, and vintages 
 that are comprised under these two general heads is quite 
 extraordinary. The most limited range is probably from 
 cool Gruel up to old Marsala, and down again to apple Tea. 
 
 The great majority of the streets are as narrow as any 
 thoroughfare can well be, where people (even Italian people) 
 are supposed to live and walk about; being mere lanes, with 
 here and there a kind of well, or breathing-place. The 
 houses are immensely high, painted in all sorts of colours, 
 and are in every stage and state of damage, dirt, and lack of 
 repair. They are commonly let off in floors, or flats, like 
 the houses in the old town of Edinburgh, or many houses in 
 Paris. There are few street doors; the entrance halls are, 
 for the most part, looked upon as public property; and any 
 moderately enterprising scavenger might make a fine fortune 
 
The Streets of Palaces 
 
 287 
 
 by now and then clearing them out. As it is impossible for 
 coaches to penetrate into these streets, there are sedan chairs, 
 gilded and otherwise, for hire in divers places. A great 
 many private chairs are also kept among the nobility and 
 gentry; and at night these are trotted to and fro in all 
 directions, preceded by bearers of great lanterns, made of 
 linen stretched upon a frame. The sedans and lanterns are 
 the legitimate successors of the long strings of patient and 
 much-abused mules, that go jingling their little bells through 
 these confined streets all day long. They follow them, as 
 regularly as the stars the sun. 
 
 When shall I forget the Streets of Palaces: the Strada 
 Nuova and the Strada Balbi ! or how the former looked one 
 summer day, when I first saw it underneath the brightest 
 and most intensely blue of summer skies : which its narrow 
 perspective of immense mansions reduced to a tapering and 
 most precious strip of brightness, looking down upon the 
 heavy shade below ! A brightness not too common, even in 
 July and August, to be well esteemed: for, if the Truth 
 must out, there were not eight blue skies in as many mid- 
 summer weeks, saving, sometimes, early in the morning; 
 when, looking out to sea, the water and the firmament were 
 one world of deep and brilliant blue. At other times, there 
 were clouds and haze enough to make an Englishman 
 grumble in his own climate. 
 
 The endless details of these rich Palaces: the walls of 
 some of them, within, alive with masterpieces by Vandyke ! 
 The great, heavy, stone balconies, one above another, and tier 
 over tier: with here and there, one larger than the rest, 
 towering high up — a huge marble platform; the doorless 
 vestibules, massively barred lower windows, immense public 
 staircases, thick marble pillars, strong dungeon-like arches, 
 and dreary, dreaming, echoing vaulted chambers: among 
 which the eye wanders again, and again, and again, as every 
 palace is succeeded by another — the terrace gardens between 
 house and house, with green arches of the vine, and groves 
 of orange-trees, and blushing oleander in full bloom, twenty, 
 thirty, forty feet above the street — the painted halls, moulder- 
 ing, and blotting, and rotting in the damp corners, and still 
 shining out in beautiful colours and voluptuous designs, where 
 the walls are dry — the faded figures on the outsides of the 
 houses, holding wreaths, and crowns, and flying upward, and 
 
288 
 
 Pictures from Italy 
 
 downward, and standing in niches, and here and there looking 
 fainter and more feeble than elsewhere, by contrast with 
 some fresh little Cupids, who on a more recently decorated 
 portion of the front, are stretching out what seems to be the 
 semblance of a blanket, but is, indeed, a sun-dial — the steep, 
 steep, up-hill streets of small palaces (but very large palaces 
 for all that), with marble terraces looking down into close 
 by-ways — the magnificent and innumerable Churches; and 
 the rapid passage from a street of stately edifices, into a 
 maze of the vilest squalor, steaming with unwholesome 
 stenches, and swarming with half-naked children and whole 
 worlds of dirty people — make up, altogether, such a scene of 
 wonder: so lively, and yet so dead: so noisy, and yet so 
 quiet: so obtrusive, and yet so shy and lowering: so wide 
 awake, and yet so fast asleep: that it is a sort of intoxication 
 to a stranger to walk on, and on, and on, and look about 
 him. A bewildering phantasmagoria, with all the inconsis- 
 tency of a dream, and all the pain and all the pleasure of an 
 extravagant reality 1 
 
 The different uses to which some of these Palaces are ap- 
 plied, all at once, is characteristic. For instance, the English 
 Banker (my excellent and hospitable friend) has his office in 
 a good-sized Palazzo in the Strada Nuova. In the hall (every 
 inch of which is elaborately painted, but which is as dirty 
 as a police-station in London), a hook-nosed Saracen’s Head 
 with an immense quantity of black hair (there is a man 
 attached to it) sells walking-sticks. On the other side of 
 the doorway, a lady with a showy handkerchief for head-dress 
 (wife to the Saracen’s Head, I believe) sells articles of her 
 own knitting; and sometimes flowers. A little further in, 
 two or three blind men occasionally beg. Sometimes, they 
 are visited by a man without legs, on a little go-cart, but 
 who has such a fresh-coloured, lively face, and such a respect- 
 able, well-conditioned body, that he looks as if he had sunk 
 into the ground up to his middle, or had come, but partially, 
 up a flight of cellar-steps to speak to somebody. A little 
 further in, a few men, perhaps, lie asleep in the middle of 
 the day; or they may be chairmen waiting for their absent 
 freight. If so, they have brought their chairs in with them, 
 and there they stand also. On the left of the hall is a little 
 room: a hatter’s shop. On the first floor, is the English 
 bank. On the first floor also, is a whole house, and a good 
 
Internal Economy of a Palazzo 289 
 
 large residence too. Heaven knows what there may be above 
 that; but when you are there, you have only just begun to 
 go upstairs. And yet, coming downstairs again, thinking 
 of this ; and passing out at a great crazy door in the back 
 of the hall, instead of turning the other way, to get into the 
 street again ; it bangs behind you, making the dismallest and 
 most lonesome echoes, and you stand in a yard (the yard of 
 the same house) which seems to have been unvisited by human 
 foot, for a hundred years. Not a sound disturbs its repose. 
 Not a head, thrust out of any of the grim, dark, jealous 
 windows, within sight, makes the weeds in the cracked pave- 
 ment faint of heart, by suggesting the possibility of there 
 being hands to grub them up. Opposite to you, is a giant 
 figure carved in stone, reclining, with an urn, upon a lofty 
 piece of artificial rockwork; and out of the urn, dangles the 
 fag end of a leaden pipe, which, once upon a time, poured 
 a small torrent down the rocks. But the eye-sockets of the 
 giant are not drier than this channel is now. He seems to 
 have given his urn, which is nearly upside down, a final tilt ; 
 and after crying, like a sepulchral child, “ All gone ! ” to 
 have lapsed into a stony silence. 
 
 In the streets of shops, the houses are much smaller, but 
 of great size notwithstanding, and extremely high. They are 
 very dirty: quite undrained, if my nose be at all reliable: 
 and emit a peculiar fragrance, like the smell of very bad 
 cheese, kept in very hot blankets. Notwithstanding the 
 height of the houses, there would seem to have been a lack 
 of room in the City, for new houses are thrust in everywhere. 
 Wherever it has been possible to cram a tumble-down tene- 
 ment into a crack or corner, in it has gone. If there be a 
 nook or angle in the wall of a church, or a crevice in any 
 other dead wall, of any sort, there you are sure to find some 
 kind of habitation: looking as if it had grown there, like 
 a fungus. Against the Government House, against the old 
 Senate House, round about any large building, little shops 
 stick so close, like parasite vermin to the great carcase. And 
 for all this, look where you may : up steps, down steps, any- 
 where, everywhere: there are irregular houses, receding, 
 starting forward, tumbling down, leaning against their neigh- 
 bours, crippling themselves or their friends by some means or 
 other, until one, more irregular than the rest, chokes up the 
 way, and you can’t see any further. 
 
290 Pictures from Italy 
 
 One of the rottenest-looking parts of the town, I think, is 
 down by the landing-wharf : though it may be, that its being 
 associated with a great deal of rottenness on the evening of 
 our arrival, has stamped it deeper in my mind. Here, again, 
 the houses are very high, and are of an infinite variety of 
 deformed shapes, and have (as most of the houses have) some- 
 thing hanging out of a great many windows, and wafting its 
 frowzy fragrance on the breeze. Sometimes, it is a curtain; 
 sometimes, it is a carpet; sometimes, it is a bed; sometimes, 
 a whole lineful of clothes ; but there is almost always some- 
 thing. Before the basement of these houses, is an arcade 
 over the pavement: very massive, dark, and low, like an old 
 crypt. The stone, or plaster, of which it is made, has turned 
 quite black; and against every one of these black piles, all 
 sorts of filth and garbage seem to accumulate spontaneously. 
 Beneath some of the arches, the sellers of maccaroni and 
 polenta establish their stalls, which are by no means inviting. 
 The offal of a fish-market, near at hand — that is to say, of a 
 back lane, where people sit upon the ground and on various 
 old bulkheads and sheds, and sell fish when they have any 
 to dispose of — and of a vegetable market, constructed on the 
 same principle — are contributed to the decoration of this 
 quarter ; and as all the mercantile business is transacted here, 
 and it is crowded all day, it has a very decided flavour about 
 it. The Porto Franco, or Free Port (where goods brought 
 in from foreign countries pay no duty until they are sold and 
 taken out, as in a bonded warehouse in England), is down 
 here also ; and two portentous officials, in cocked hats, stand 
 at the gate to search you, if they choose, and to keep out 
 Monks and Ladies. For, Sanctity as well as Beauty has been 
 known to yield to the temptation of smuggling, and in the 
 same way: that is to say, by concealing the smuggled pro- 
 perty beneath the loose folds of its dress. So Sanctity and 
 Beauty may, by no means, enter. 
 
 The streets of Genoa would be all the better for the 
 importation of a few Priests of prepossessing appearance. 
 Every fourth or fifth man in the streets is a Priest or a Monk; 
 and there is pretty sure to be at least one itinerant ecclesiastic 
 inside or outside every hackney carriage on the neighbouring 
 roads. I have no knowledge, elsewhere, of more repulsive 
 countenances than are to be found among these gentry. If 
 Nature’s handwriting be at all legible, greater varieties of 
 
Priests and Monks 
 
 29 1 
 
 sloths deceit, and intellectual torpor; could hardly be observed 
 among any class of men in the world. 
 
 Mr. Pepys once heard a clergyman assert in his sermon, 
 in illustration of his respect for the Priestly office, that if he 
 could meet a Priest and angel together, he would salute the 
 Priest first. I am rather of the opinion of Petrarch, who, 
 when his pupil Boccaccio wrote to him in great tribulation, 
 that he had been visited and admonished for his writings by 
 a Carthusian Friar who claimed to be a messenger imme- 
 diately commissioned by Heaven for that purpose, replied, 
 that for his own part, he would take the liberty of testing 
 the reality of the commission by personal observation of the 
 Messenger’s face, eyes, forehead, behaviour, and discourse. I 
 cannot but believe myself, from similar observation, that 
 many unaccredited celestial messengers may be seen skulking 
 through the streets of Genoa, or droning away their lives in 
 other Italian towns. 
 
 Perhaps the Cappuccmi, though not a learned body, are, 
 as an order, the best friends of the people. They seem to 
 mingle with them more immediately, as their counsellors and 
 comforters ; and to go among them more, when they are sick ; 
 and to pry less than some other orders, into the secrets of 
 families, for the purpose of establishing a baleful ascendency 
 over their weaker members; and to be influenced by a less 
 fierce desire to make converts, and once made, to let them 
 go to ruin, soul and body. They may be seen, in their coarse 
 dress, in all parts of the town at all times, and begging in 
 the markets early in the morning. The Jesuits too, muster 
 strong in the streets, and go slinking noiselessly about, in 
 pairs, like black cats. 
 
 In some of the narrow passages, distinct trades congregate. 
 There is a street of jewellers, and there is a row of book- 
 sellers ; but even down in places where nobody ever can, or 
 ever could, penetrate in a carriage, there are mighty old 
 palaces shut in among the gloomiest and closest walls, and 
 almost shut out from the sun. Very few of the tradesmen 
 have any idea of setting forth their goods, or disposing them 
 for show. If you, a stranger, want to buy anything, you 
 usually look round the shop till you see it; then clutch it, 
 if it be within reach, and inquire how much. Everything is 
 sold at the most unlikely place. If you want coffee, you go to 
 a sweetmeat shop; and if you want meat, you will probably 
 
292 Pictures from Italy 
 
 find it behind an old checked curtain, down half-a-dozen 
 steps, in some sequestered nook as hard to find as if the 
 commodity were poison, and Genoa's law were death to any 
 that uttered it. 
 
 Most of the apothecaries' shops are great lounging-places. 
 Here, grave men with sticks, sit down in the shade for hours 
 together, passing a meagre Genoa paper from hand to hand, 
 and talking, drowsily and sparingly, about the News. Two 
 or three of these are poor physicians, ready to proclaim them- 
 selves on an emergency, and tear off with any messenger who 
 may arrive. You may know them by the way in which they 
 stretch their necks to listen, when you enter; and by the 
 sigh with which they fall back again into their dull corners, 
 on finding that you only want medicine. Few people lounge 
 in the barbers' shops; though they are very numerous, as 
 hardly any man shaves himself. But the apothecary's has 
 its group of loungers, who sit back among the bottles, with 
 their hands folded over the tops of their sticks. So still and 
 quiet, that either you don't see them in the darkened shop, 
 or mistake them — as I did one ghostly man in bottle-green, 
 one day, with a hat like a stopper — for Horse Medicine. 
 
 On a summer evening the Genoese are as fond of putting 
 themselves, as their ancestors were of putting houses, in every 
 available inch of space in and about the town. In all the 
 lanes and alleys, and up every little ascent, and on every 
 dwarf wall, and on every flight of steps, they cluster like 
 bees. Meanwhile (and especially on festa-days) the bells of 
 the churches ring incessantly; not in peals, or any known 
 form of sound, but in a horrible, irregular, jerking, dingle, 
 dingle, dingle: with a sudden stop at every fifteenth dingle 
 or so, which is maddening. This performance is usually 
 achieved by a boy up in the steeple, who takes hold of the 
 clapper, or a little rope attached to it, and tries to dingle 
 louder than every other boy similarly employed. The noise 
 is supposed to be particularly obnoxious to Evil Spirits ; but 
 looking up into the steeples, and seeing (and hearing) these 
 young Christians thus engaged, one might very naturally 
 mistake them for the Enemy. 
 
 Festa-days, early in the autumn, are very numerous. All 
 the shops were shut up, twice within a week, for these holi- 
 days ; and one night, all the houses in the neighbourhood of 
 
Festa-Day Illuminations 293 
 
 a particular church were illuminated, while the church itself 
 was lighted, outside, with torches; and a grove of blazing 
 links was erected, in an open space outside one of the city 
 gates. This part of the ceremony is prettier and more 
 singular a little way in the country, where you can trace 
 the illuminated cottages all the way up a steep hill-side ; and 
 where you pass festoons of tapers, wasting away in the star- 
 light night, before some lonely little house upon the road. 
 
 On these days, they always dress the church of the saint 
 in whose honour the festa is holden, very gaily. Gold- 
 embroidered festoons of different colours, hang from the 
 arches; the altar furniture is set forth ; and sometimes, even 
 the lofty pillars are swathed from top to bottom in tight- 
 fitting draperies. The cathedral is dedicated to St. Lorenzo. 
 On St. Lorenzo's day, we went into it, just as the sun was 
 setting. Although these decorations are usually in very 
 indifferent taste, the effect, just then, was very superb in- 
 deed. For the whole building was dressed in red; and the 
 sinking sun, streaming in, through a great red curtain in the 
 chief doorway, made all the gorgeousness its own. When 
 the sun went down, and it gradually grew quite dark inside, 
 except for a few twinkling tapers on the principal altar, and 
 some small dangling silver lamps, it was very mysterious 
 and effective. But, sitting in any of the churches towards 
 evening, is like a mild dose of opium. 
 
 With the money collected at a festa, they usually pay for 
 the dressing of the church, and for the hiring of the band, 
 and for the tapers. If there be any left (which seldom 
 happens, I believe), the souls in Purgatory get the benefit 
 of it. They are also supposed to have the benefit of the 
 exertions of certain small boys, who shake money-boxes 
 before some mysterious little buildings like rural turnpikes, 
 which (usually shut up close) fly open on Red-letter days, 
 and disclose an image and some flowers inside. 
 
 Just without the city gate, on the Albaro road, is a small 
 house, with an altar in it, and a stationary money-box: also 
 for the benefit of the souls in Purgatory. Still further to 
 stimulate the charitable, there is a monstrous painting on 
 the plaster, on either side of the grated door, representing 
 a select party of souls, frying. One of them has a grey 
 moustache, and an elaborate head of grey hair: as if he had 
 been taken out of a hairdresser's window and cast into the 
 
294 Pictures from Italy 
 
 furnace. There he is: a most grotesque and hideously comic 
 old soul: for ever blistering in the real sun, and melting in 
 the mimic fire, for the gratification and improvement (and 
 the contributions) of the poor Genoese. 
 
 They are not a very joyous people, and are seldom seen to 
 dance on their holidays : the staple places of entertainment 
 among the women, being the churches and the public walks. 
 They are very good-tempered, obliging, and industrious. 
 Industry has not made them clean, for their habitations are 
 extremely filthy, and their usual occupation on a fine Sunday 
 morning, is to sit at their doors, hunting in each other’s 
 heads. But their dwellings are so close and confined that 
 if those parts of the city had been beaten down by Massena 
 in the time of the terrible Blockade, it would have at least 
 occasioned one public benefit among many misfortunes. 
 
 The Peasant Women, with naked feet and legs, are so 
 constantly washing clothes, in the public tanks, and in every 
 stream and ditch, that one cannot help wondering, in the 
 midst of all this dirt, who wears them when they are clean. 
 The custom is to lay the wet linen which is being operated 
 upon, on a smooth stone, and hammer away at it, with a flat 
 wooden mallet. This they do, as furiously as if they were 
 revenging themselves on dress in general for being connected 
 with the Fall of Mankind. 
 
 It is not unusual to see, lying on the edge of the tank at 
 these times, or on another flat stone, an unfortunate baby, 
 tightly swathed up, arms and legs and all, in an enormous 
 quantity of wrapper, so that it is unable to move a toe or 
 finger. This custom (which we often see represented in old 
 pictures) is universal among the common people. A child is 
 left anywhere, without the possibility of crawling away, or 
 is accidently knocked off a shelf, or tumbled out of bed, or 
 is hung up to a hook now and then, and left dangling like 
 a doll at an English rag-shop, without the least inconvenience 
 to anybody. 
 
 I was sitting, one Sunday, soon after my arrival, in the 
 little country church of San Martino, a couple of miles from 
 the city, while a baptism took place. I saw the priest, and 
 an attendant with a large taper, and a man, and a woman, 
 and some others ; but I had no more idea, until the ceremony 
 was all over, that it was a baptism, or that the curious little 
 slid instrument, that was passed from one to another, in the 
 
Legend of the Madonna della Guardia 295 
 
 course of the ceremony, by the handle — like a short poker — 
 was a child, than I had that it was my own christening. 
 I borrowed the child afterwards, for a minute or two (it was 
 lying across the font then), and found it very red in the face 
 but perfectly quiet, and not to be bent on any terms. The 
 number of cripples in the streets, soon ceased to surprise me. 
 
 There are plenty of Saints' and Virgins' Shrines, of course; 
 generally at the comers of streets. The favourite memento 
 to the Faithful, about Genoa, is a painting, representing 
 a peasant on his knees, with a spade and some other agri- 
 cultural implements beside him; and the Madonna, with 
 the Infant Saviour in her arms, appearing to him in a cloud. 
 This is the legend of the Madonna della Guardia: a chapel 
 on a mountain within a few miles, which is in high repute. 
 It seems that this peasant lived all alone by himself, tilling 
 some land atop of the mountain, where, being a devout man, 
 he daily said his prayers to the Virgin in the open air; for 
 his hut was a very poor one. Upon a certain day, the 
 Virgin appeared to him, as in the picture, and said, “ Why 
 do you pray in the open air, and without a priest ? ” The 
 peasant explained because there was neither priest nor 
 church at hand — a very uncommon complaint indeed in 
 Italy. “ I should wish, then," said the Celestial Visitor, 
 “ to have a chapel built here, in which the prayers of the 
 Faithful may be offered up." “ But, Santissima Madonna," 
 said the peasant, “ I am a poor man; and chapels cannot be 
 built without money. They must be supported, too, San- 
 tissima; for to have a chapel and not support it liberally, is 
 a wickedness — a deadly sin." This sentiment gave great 
 satisfaction to the visitor. “ Go ! " said she. “ There is 
 such a village in the valley on the left, and such another 
 village in the valley on the right, and such another village 
 elsewhere, that will gladly contribute to the building of 
 a chapel. Go to them ! Relate what you have seen; and do 
 not doubt that sufficient money will be forthcoming to erect 
 my chapel, or that it will, afterwards, be handsomely main- 
 tained." All of which (miraculously) turned out to be quite 
 true. And in proof of this prediction and revelation, there 
 is the chapel of the Madonna della Guardia, rich and flourish- 
 ing at this day. 
 
 The splendour and variety of the Genoese churches, can 
 hardly be exaggerated. The church of the Annunciata 
 
296 Pictures from ]>aly 
 
 especially: built, like many of the others, at the cost of one 
 noble family, and now in slow progress of repair: from the 
 outer door to the utmost height of the high cupola, is so 
 elaborately painted and set in gold, that it looks (as Simond 
 describes it, in his charming book on Italy) like a great 
 enamelled snuff-box. Most of the richer churches contain 
 some beautiful pictures, or other embellishments of great 
 price, almost universally set, side by side, with sprawling 
 effigies of maudlin monks, and the veriest trash and tinsel 
 ever seen. 
 
 It may be a consequence of the frequent direction of the 
 popular mind, and pocket, to the souls in Purgatory, but 
 there is very little tenderness for the bodies of the dead here. 
 For the very poor, there are, immediately outside one angle 
 of the walls, and behind a jutting point of the fortification, 
 near the sea, certain common pits — one for every day in the 
 year — which all remain closed up, until the turn of each 
 comes for its daily reception of dead bodies. Among the 
 troops in the town, there are usually some Swiss: more or 
 less. When any of these die, they are buried out of a fund 
 maintained by such of their countrymen as are resident in 
 Genoa. Their providing coffins for these men is matter of 
 great astonishment to the authorities. 
 
 Certainly, the effect of this promiscuous and indecent 
 splashing down of dead people in so many wells, is bad. It 
 surrounds Death with revolting associations, that insensibly 
 become connected with those whom Death is approaching. 
 Indifference and avoidance are the natural result; and all 
 the softening influences of the great sorrow are harshly 
 disturbed. 
 
 There is a ceremony when an old Cavaliere or the like, 
 expires, of erecting a pile of benches in the cathedral, to 
 represent his bier; covering them over with a pall of black 
 velvet; putting his hat and sword on the top; making 
 a little square of seats about the whole; and sending out 
 formal invitations to his friends and acquaintances to come 
 and sit there, and hear Mass: which is performed at the 
 principal Altar, decorated with an infinity of candles for 
 that purpose. 
 
 When the better kind of people die, or are at the point 
 of death, their nearest relations generally walk off: retiring 
 into the country for a little change, and leaving the body 
 
Funeral Customs 
 
 297 
 
 to be disposed of, without any superintendence from them. 
 The procession is usually formed, and the coffin borne, and 
 the funeral conducted, by a body of persons called a Con- 
 fraternita, who, as a kind of voluntary penance, undertake 
 to perform these offices, in regular rotation, for the dead; 
 but who, mingling something of pride with their humility, 
 are dressed in a loose garment covering their whole person, 
 and wear a hood concealing the face; with breathing-holes 
 and apertures for the eyes. The effect of this costume is 
 very ghastly: especially in the case of a certain Blue Con- 
 fraternita belonging to Genoa, who, to say the least of them, 
 are very ugly customers, and who look — suddenly encoun- 
 tered in their pious ministration in the streets — as if they 
 were Ghoules or Demons, bearing off the body for them- 
 selves. 
 
 Although such a custom may be liable to the abuse 
 attendant on many Italian customs, of being recognised as 
 a means of establishing a current account with Heaven, on 
 which to draw, too easily, for future bad actions, or as an 
 expiation for past misdeeds, it must be admitted to be a good 
 one, and a practical one, and one involving unquestionably 
 good works. A voluntary service like this, is surely better 
 than the imposed penance (not at all an infrequent one) 
 of giving so many licks to such and such a stone in the 
 pavement of the cathedral; or than a vow to the Madonna 
 to wear nothing but blue for a year or two. This is sup- 
 posed to give great delight above; blue being (as is well 
 known) the Madonna’s favourite colour. Women who have 
 devoted themselves to this act of Faith, are very commonly 
 seen walking in the streets. 
 
 There are three theatres in the city, besides an old one 
 now rarely opened. The most important — the Carlo Felice: 
 the opera-house of Genoa — is a very splendid, commodious, 
 and beautiful theatre. A company of comedians were 
 acting there, when we arrived: and soon after their depar- 
 ture, a second-rate opera company came. The great season 
 is not until the carnival time — in the spring. Nothing 
 impressed me, so much, in my visits here (which were pretty 
 numerous) as the uncommonly hard and cruel character of 
 the audience, who resent the slightest defect, take nothing 
 good-humouredly, seem to be always lying in wait for an 
 opportunity to hiss, and spare the actresses as little as the 
 
 L 
 
298 Pictures from Italy 
 
 actors. But, as there is nothing else of a public nature at 
 which they are allowed to express the least disapprobation, 
 perhaps they are resolved to make the most of this oppor- 
 tunity. 
 
 There are a great number of Piedmontese officers too, who 
 are allowed the privilege of kicking their heels in the pit, 
 for next to nothing: gratuitous, or cheap accommodation for 
 these gentlemen being insisted on, by the Governor, in all 
 public or semi-public entertainments. They are lofty critics 
 in consequence, and infinitely more exacting than if they 
 made the unhappy manager’s fortune. 
 
 The Teatro Diurno, or Day Theatre, is a covered stage 
 in the open air, where the performances take place by day- 
 light, in the cool of the afternoon; commencing at four or 
 five o’clock, and lasting some three hours. It is curious, 
 sitting among the audience, to have a fine view of the 
 neighbouring hills and houses, and to see the neighbours 
 at their windows looking on, and to hear the bells of the 
 churches and convents ringing at most complete cross- 
 purposes with the scene. Beyond this, and the novelty of 
 seeing a play in the fresh pleasant air, with the darkening 
 evening closing in, there is nothing very exciting or charac- 
 teristic in the performances. The actors are indifferent; 
 and though they sometimes represent one of Goldoni’s 
 comedies, the staple of the Drama is French. Anything like 
 nationality is dangerous to despotic governments, and Jesuit- 
 beleaguered kings. 
 
 The Theatre of Puppets, or Marionetti — a famous company 
 from Milan — is, without any exception, the drollest exhibi- 
 tion I ever beheld in my life. I never saw anything so 
 exquisitely ridiculous. They look between four and five feet 
 high, but are really much smaller; for when a musician in 
 the orchestra happens to put his hat on the stage, it becomes 
 alarmingly gigantic, and almost blots out an actor. They 
 usually play a comedy, and a ballet. The comic man in the 
 comedy I saw one summer night, is a waiter in an hotel. 
 There never was such a locomotive actor, since the world 
 began. Great pains are taken with him. He has extra 
 joints in his legs: and a practical eye, with which he winks 
 at the pit, in a manner that is absolutely insupportable to a 
 stranger, but which the initiated audience, mainly composed of 
 the common people, receive (so they do everything else) quite 
 
Marionetti 
 
 299 
 
 as a matter of course, and as if he were a man. His spirits 
 are prodigious. He continually shakes his legs, and winks his 
 eye. And there is a heavy father with grey hair, who sits 
 down on the regular conventional stage-bank, and blesses 
 his daughter in the regular conventional way, who is tre- 
 mendous. No one would suppose it possible that anything 
 short of a real man could be so tedious. It is the triumph 
 of art. 
 
 In the ballet, an Enchanter runs away with the Bride, in 
 the very hour of her nuptials. He brings her to his cave, 
 and tries to soothe her. They sit down on a sofa (the 
 regular sofa ! in the regular place, 0. P. Second Entrance !) 
 and a procession of musicians enters; one creature playing 
 a drum, and knocking himself off his legs at every blow. 
 These failing to delight her, dancers appear. Four first; 
 then two; the two; the flesh-coloured two. The way in 
 which they dance; the height to which they spring; the 
 impossible and inhuman extent to which they pirouette ; the 
 revelation of their preposterous legs ; the coming down with 
 a pause, on the very tips of their toes, when the music 
 requires it ; the gentleman’s retiring up, when it is the lady’s 
 turn; and the lady’s retiring up, when it is the gentleman’s 
 turn; the final passion of a pas-de-deux; and the going off 
 with a bound ! — I shall never see a real ballet, with a com- 
 posed countenance again. 
 
 I went, another night, to see these Puppets act a play 
 called “ St. Helena, or the Death of Napoleon.” It began by 
 the disclosure of Napoleon, with an immense head, seated on 
 a sofa in his chamber at St. Helena; to whom his valet 
 entered with this obscure announcement: 
 
 “ Sir Yew ud se on Low? ” (the ow , as in cow). 
 
 Sir Hudson (that you could have seen his regimentals!) 
 was a perfect mammoth of a man, to Napoleon; hideously 
 ugly; with a monstrously disproportionate face, and a great 
 clump for the lower jaw, to express his tyrannical and 
 obdurate nature. He began his system of persecution, by 
 calling his prisoner “ General Buonaparte”; to which the 
 latter replied, with the deepest tragedy, “ Sir Yew ud se on 
 Low, call me not thus. Repeat that phrase and leave me ! 
 I am Napoleon, Emperor of France ! ” Sir Yew ud se on, 
 nothing daunted, proceeded to entertain him with an ordi- 
 nance of the British Government, regulating the state he 
 
300 Pictures from Italy 
 
 should preserve, and the furniture of his rooms : and limiting 
 his attendants to four or five persons. “ Four or five for 
 me / ” said Napoleon. “ Me ! One hundred thousand men 
 were lately at my sole command; and this English officer 
 talks of four or five for me I ” Throughout the piece, 
 Napoleon (who talked very like the real Napoleon, and was, 
 for ever, having small soliloquies by himself) was very bitter 
 on “ these English officers,” and “ these English soldiers 
 to the great satisfaction of the audience, who were perfectly 
 delighted to have Low bullied; and who, whenever Low 
 said “ General Buonaparte ” (which he always did: always 
 receiving the same correction), quite execrated him. It 
 would be hard to say why; for Italians have little cause to 
 sympathise with Napoleon, Heaven knows. 
 
 There was no plot at all, except that a French officer, dis- 
 guised as an Englishman, came to propound a plan of escape ; 
 and being discovered, but not before Napoleon had magnani- 
 mously refused to steal his freedom, was immediately ordered 
 off by Low to be hanged. In two very long speeches, which 
 Low made memorable, by winding up with “ Yas ! ” — to 
 show that he was English — which brought down thunders 
 of applause. Napoleon was so affected by this catastrophe, 
 that he fainted away on the spot, and was carried out by 
 two other puppets. Judging from what followed, it would 
 appear that he never recovered the shock; for the next 
 act showed him, in clean shirt, in his bed (curtains crimson 
 and white), where a lady, prematurely dressed in mourning, 
 brought two little children, who kneeled down by the bed- 
 side, while he made a decent end; the last word on his lips 
 being “ Vatterlo.” 
 
 It was unspeakably ludicrous. Buonaparte’s boots were 
 so wonderfully beyond control, and did such marvellous 
 things of their own accord: doubling themselves up, and 
 getting under tables, and dangling in the air, and sometimes 
 skating away with him, out of all human knowledge, when 
 he was in full speech — mischances which were not rendered 
 the less absurd, by a settled melancholy depicted in his face. 
 To put an end to one conference with Low, he had to go to 
 a table, and read a book: when it was the finest spectacle I 
 ever beheld, to see his body bending over the volume, like a 
 boot-jack, and his sentimental eyes glaring obstinately into 
 the pit. He was prodigiously good, in bed, with an immense 
 
“The Death of Napoleon ” 301 
 
 collar to his shirt, and his little hands outside the coverlet. 
 So was Dr. Antommarchi, represented by a puppet with long 
 lank hair, like Mawworm’s, who, in consequence of some 
 derangement of his wires, hovered about the couch like a 
 vulture, and gave medical opinions in the air. He was 
 almost as good as Low, though the latter was great at all 
 times — a decided brute and villain, beyond all possibility of 
 mistake. Low was especially fine at the last, when, hearing 
 the doctor and the valet say, “ The Emperor is dead ! ” he 
 pulled out his watch, and wound up the piece (not the watch) 
 by exclaiming, with characteristic brutality, “ Ha ! ha ! 
 Eleven minutes to six! The General dead! and the spy 
 hanged ! ” This brought the curtain down, triumphantly. 
 
 There is not in Italy, they say (and I believe them), a 
 lovelier residence than the Palazzo Peschiere, or Palace of 
 the Fishponds, whither we removed as soon as our three 
 months’ tenancy of the Pink Jail at Albaro had ceased and 
 determined. 
 
 It stands on a height within the walls of Genoa, but aloof 
 from the town : surrounded by beautiful gardens of its own, 
 adorned with statues, vases, fountains, marble basins, ter- 
 races, walks of orange-trees and lemon-trees, groves of roses 
 and camellias. All its apartments are beautiful in their pro- 
 portions and decorations ; but the great hall, some fifty feet 
 in height, with three large windows at the end, overlooking 
 the whole town of Genoa, the harbour, and the neighbouring 
 sea, affords one of the most fascinating and delightful pros- 
 pects in the world. Any house more cheerful and habitable 
 than the great rooms are, within, it would be difficult to 
 conceive: and certainly nothing more delicious than the 
 scene without, in sunshine or in moonlight, could be imagined. 
 It is more like an enchanted place in an Eastern story than 
 a grave and sober lodging. 
 
 Plow you may wander on, from room to room, and never 
 tire of the wild fancies on the walls and ceilings, as bright 
 in their fresh colouring as if they had been painted yesterday; 
 or how one floor, or even the great hall which opens on eight 
 other rooms, is a spacious promenade; or how there are 
 corridors and bedchambers above, which we never use and 
 rarely visit, and scarcely know the way through; or how 
 there is a view of a perfectly different character on each of 
 
302 Pictures from Italy 
 
 the four sides of the building; matters little. But that 
 prospect from the hall is like a vision to me. I go back to 
 it, in fancy, as I have done in calm reality a hundred times 
 a day; and stand there, looking out, with the sweet scents 
 from the garden rising up about me, in a perfect dream of 
 happiness. 
 
 There lies all Genoa, in beautiful confusion, with its many 
 churches, monasteries, and convents, pointing up into the 
 sunny sky; and down below me, just where the roofs begin, 
 a solitary convent parapet, fashioned like a gallery, with an 
 iron across at the end, where sometimes early in the morning, 
 I have seen a little group of dark-veiled nuns gliding sorrow- 
 fully to and fro, and stopping now and then to peep down 
 upon the waking world in which they have no part. Old 
 Monte Faccio, brightest of hills in good weather, but sulkiest 
 when storms are coming on, is here, upon the left. The Fort 
 within the walls (the good King built it to command the 
 town, and beat the houses of the Genoese about their ears, 
 in case they should be discontented) commands that height 
 upon the right. The broad sea lies beyond, in front there; 
 and that line of coast, beginning by the lighthouse, and 
 tapering away, a mere speck in the rosy distance, is the 
 beautiful coast road that leads to Nice. The garden near at 
 hand, among the roofs and houses : all red with roses and fresh 
 with little fountains : is the Acqua Sola — a public promenade, 
 where the military band plays gaily, and the white veils 
 cluster thick, and the Genoese nobility ride round, and 
 round, and round, in state-clothes and coaches at least, if 
 not in absolute wisdom. Within a stone’s-throw, as it seems, 
 the audience of the Day Theatre sit: their faces turned this 
 way. But as the stage is hidden, it is very odd, without a 
 knowledge of the cause, to see their faces changed so suddenly 
 from earnestness to laughter; and odder still, to hear the 
 rounds upon rounds of applause, rattling in the evening air, 
 to which the curtain falls. But, being Sunday night, they 
 act their best and most attractive play. And now, the sun is 
 going down, in such magnificent array of red, and green, and 
 golden light, as neither pen nor pencil could depict; and to 
 the ringing of the vesper bells, darkness sets in at once, 
 without a twilight. Then, lights begin to shine in Genoa, 
 and on the country road; and the revolving lantern out at 
 sea there, flashing, for an instant, on this palace front and 
 
A Run to Nice 
 
 3°3 
 
 portico, illuminates it as if there were a bright moon burst- 
 ing from behind a cloud ; then, merges it in deep obscurity. 
 And this, so far as I know, is the only reason why the 
 Genoese avoid it after dark, and think it haunted. 
 
 My memory will haunt it, many nights, in time to come; 
 but nothing worse, I will engage. The same Ghost will 
 occasionally sail away, as I did one pleasant autumn even- 
 ing, into the bright prospect, and snuff the morning air at 
 Marseilles. 
 
 The corpulent hairdresser was still sitting in his slippers 
 outside his shop-door there, but the twirling ladies in the 
 window, with the natural inconstancy of their sex, had ceased 
 to twirl, and were languishing, stock still, with their beauti- 
 ful faces addressed to blind comers of the establishment, 
 where it was impossible for admirers to penetrate. 
 
 The steamer had come from Genoa in a delicious run of 
 eighteen hours, and we were going to run back again by the 
 Cornice road from Nice: not being satisfied to have seen 
 only the outsides of the beautiful towns that rise in pic- 
 turesque white clusters from among the olive woods, and 
 rocks, and hills, upon the margin of the Sea. 
 
 The Boat which started for Nice that night, at eight 
 o’clock, was very small, and so crowded with goods that there 
 was scarcely room to move; neither was there anything to 
 eat on board, except bread; nor to drink, except coffee. But 
 being due at Nice at about eight or so in the morning, this 
 was of no consequence: so when we began to wink at the 
 bright stars, in involuntary acknowledgment of their wink- 
 ing at us, we turned into our berths, in a crowded, but cool 
 little cabin, and slept soundly till morning. 
 
 The Boat being as dull and dogged a little boat as ever 
 was built, it was within an hour of noon when we turned 
 into Nice Harbour, where we very little expected anything 
 but breakfast. But we were laden with wool. Wool must 
 not remain in the Custom-house at Marseilles more than 
 twelve months at a stretch, without paying duty. It is the 
 custom to take fictitious removals of unsold wool to evade 
 this law ; to take it somewhere when the twelve months are 
 nearly out; bring it straight back again ; and warehouse it, 
 as a new cargo, for nearly twelve months longer. This wool 
 of ours, had come originally from some place in the East. 
 It was recognised as Eastern produce, the moment we entered 
 
304 Pictures from Italy 
 
 the harbour. Accordingly, the gay little Sunday boats, full 
 of holiday people, which had come off to greet us, were 
 warned away by the authorities ; we were declared in quaran- 
 tine; and a great flag was solemnly run up to the mast-head 
 on the wharf, to make it known to all the town. 
 
 It was a very hot day indeed. We were unshaved, un- 
 washed, undressed, unfed, and could hardly enjoy the 
 absurdity of lying blistering in a lazy harbour, with the 
 town looking on from a respectful distance, all manner of 
 whiskered men in cocked hats discussing our fate at a remote 
 guard-house, with gestures (we looked very hard at them 
 through telescopes) expressive of a week’s detention at least: 
 and nothing whatever the matter all the time. But even in 
 this crisis the brave Courier achieved a triumph. He tele- 
 graphed somebody (7 saw nobody) either naturally connected 
 with the hotel, or put en rapport with the establishment for 
 that occasion only. The telegraph was answered, and in 
 half an hour or less, there came a loud shout from the 
 guard-house. The captain was wanted. Everybody helped 
 the captain into his boat. Everybody got his luggage, and 
 said we were going. The captain rowed away, and dis- 
 appeared behind a little jutting comer of the Galley-slaves’ 
 Prison: and presently came back with something, very 
 sulkily. The brave Courier met him at the side, and received 
 the something as its rightful owner. It was a wicker basket, 
 folded in a linen cloth; and in it were two great bottles of 
 wine, a roast fowl, some salt fish chopped with garlic, a great 
 loaf of bread, a dozen or so of peaches, and a few other 
 trifles. When we had selected our own breakfast, the brave 
 Courier invited a chosen party to partake of these refresh- 
 ments, and assured them that they need not be deterred by 
 motives of delicacy, as he would order a second basket to be 
 furnished at their expense. Which he did — no one knew 
 how — and by-and-by, the captain being again summoned, 
 again sulkily returned with another something; over which 
 my popular attendant presided as before: carving with a 
 clasp-knife, his own personal property, something smaller 
 than a P^oman sword. 
 
 The whole party on board were made merry by these un- 
 expected supplies ; but none more so than a loquacious little 
 Frenchman, who got drunk in five minutes, and a sturdy 
 Cappuccino Friar, who had taken everybody’s fancy mightily. 
 
In Quarantine 305 
 
 and was one of the best friars in the world, I verily 
 believe. 
 
 He had a free, open countenance; and a rich brown, 
 flowing beard; and was a remarkably handsome man, of 
 about fifty. He had come up to us, early in the morning, 
 and inquired whether we were sure to be at Nice by eleven; 
 saying that he particularly wanted to know, because if we 
 reached it by that time he would have to perform Mass, and 
 must deal with the consecrated wafer fasting; whereas, if 
 there were no chance of his being in time, he would imme- 
 diately breakfast. He made this communication, under the 
 idea that the brave Courier was the captain ; and indeed he 
 looked much more like it than anybody else on board. Being 
 assured that we should arrive in good time, he fasted, and 
 talked, fasting, to everybody, with the most charming good 
 humour; answering jokes at the expense of friars, with other 
 jokes at the expense of laymen, and saying that, friar as he 
 was, he would engage to take up the two strongest men on 
 board, one after the other, with his teeth, and carry them 
 along the deck. Nobody gave him the opportunity, but I 
 dare say he could have done it; for he was a gallant, noble 
 figure of a man, even in the Cappuccino dress, which is the 
 ugliest and most ungainly that can well be. 
 
 All this had given great delight to the loquacious French- 
 man, who gradually patronised the Friar very much, and 
 seemed to commiserate him as one who might have been 
 bom a Frenchman himself, but for an unfortunate destiny. 
 Although his patronage was such as a mouse might bestow 
 upon a lion, he had a vast opinion of its condescension; and 
 in the warmth of that sentiment, occasionally rose on tiptoe, 
 to slap the Friar on the back. 
 
 When the baskets arrived : it being then too late for Mass : 
 the Friar went to work bravely: eating prodigiously of the 
 cold meat and bread, drinking deep draughts of the wine, 
 smoking cigars, taking snuff, sustaining an uninterrupted 
 conversation with all hands, and occasionally running to the 
 boat’s side and hailing somebody on shore with the intelli- 
 gence that we must be got out of this quarantine somehow or 
 other, as he had to take part in a great religious procession 
 in the afternoon. After this, he would come back, laughing 
 lustily from pure good humour: while the Frenchman 
 
 wrinkled his small face into ten thousand creases, and said 
 
 *L 
 
306 Pictures from Italy 
 
 how droll it was, and what a brave boy was that Friar! At 
 length the heat of the sun without, and the wine within, 
 made the Frenchman sleepy. So, in the noontide of his 
 patronage of his gigantic protege, he lay down among the 
 wool, and began to snore. 
 
 It was four o’clock before we were released; and the 
 Frenchman, dirty and woolly, and snuffy, was still sleeping 
 when the Friar went ashore. As soon as we were free, we all 
 hurried away, to wash and dress, that we might make a 
 decent appearance at the procession; and I saw no more of 
 the Frenchman until we took up our station in the main 
 street to see it pass, when he squeezed himself into a front 
 place, elaborately renovated; threw back his little coat, to 
 show a broad-barred velvet waistcoat, sprinkled all over with 
 stars; then adjusted himself and his cane so as utterly 
 to bewilder and transfix the Friar, when he should 
 appear. 
 
 The procession was a very long one, and included an 
 immense number of people divided into small parties ; each 
 party chanting nasally, on its own account, without reference 
 to any other, and producing a most dismal result. There 
 were angels, crosses, Virgins carried on flat boards surrounded 
 by Cupids, crowns, saints, missals, infantry, tapers, monks, 
 nuns, relics, dignitaries of the church in green hats, walk- 
 ing under crimson parasols : and, here and there, a species 
 of sacred street-lamp hoisted on a pole. We looked out 
 anxiously for the Cappuccini, and presently their brown 
 robes and corded girdles were seen coming on, in a 
 body. 
 
 I observed the little Frenchman chuckle over the idea that 
 when the Friar saw him in the broad-barred waistcoat, he 
 would mentally exclaim, “ Is that my Patron ! That dis- 
 tinguished man ! ” and would be covered with confusion. Ah ! 
 never was the Frenchman so deceived. As our friend the 
 Cappuccino advanced, with folded arms, he looked straight 
 into the visage of the little Frenchman, with a bland, serene, 
 composed abstraction, not to be described. There was 
 not the faintest trace of recognition or amusement on his 
 features ; not the smallest consciousness of bread and meat, 
 wine, snuff, or cigars. “ C’est lui-meme,” I heard the little 
 Frenchman say, in some doubt. Oh yes, it was himself. It 
 was not his brother or his nephew, very like him. It was he. 
 
A Great Religious Procession 307 
 
 He walked in great state; being one of the Superiors of the 
 Order: and looked his part to admiration. There never was 
 anything so perfect of its kind as the contemplative w r ay in 
 which he allowed his placid gaze to rest on us, his late 
 companions, as if he had never seen us in his life and didn’t 
 see us then. The Frenchman, quite humbled, took off his 
 hat at last, but the Friar still passed on, with the same 
 imperturbable serenity; and the broad-barred waistcoat, 
 fading into the crowd, was seen no more. 
 
 The procession wound up with a discharge of musketry 
 that shook all the windows in the town. Next afternoon 
 we started for Genoa, by the famed Cornice road. 
 
 The half-French, half-Italian Vetturino, who undertook, 
 with his little rattling carriage and pair, to convey us thither 
 in three days, was a careless, good-looking fellow, whose light- 
 heartedness and singing propensities knew no bounds as long 
 as we went on smoothly. So long, he had a word and a smile, 
 and a flick of his whip, for all the peasant girls, and odds and 
 ends of the Sonnambula for all the echoes. So long, he went 
 jingling through every little village, with bells on his horses 
 and rings in his ears : a very meteor of gallantry and cheer- 
 fulness. But, it was highly characteristic to see him under 
 a slight reverse of circumstances, when, in one part of the 
 journey, we came to a narrow place where a waggon had 
 broken down and stopped up the road. His hands were 
 twined in his hair immediately, as if a combination of all the 
 direst accidents in life had suddenly fallen on his devoted 
 head. He swore in French, prayed in Italian, and went 
 up and down, beating his feet on the ground in a very ecstasy 
 of despair. There were various carters and mule-drivers 
 assembled round the broken waggon, and at last some man 
 of an original turn of mind, proposed that a general and 
 joint effort should be made to get things to rights again, and 
 clear the way — an idea which I verily believe would never 
 have presented itself to our friend, though we had remained 
 there until now. It was done at no great cost of labour; 
 but at every pause in the doing, his hands were wound in 
 his hair again, as if there were no ray of hope to lighten 
 his misery. The moment he was on his box once more, and 
 clattering briskly down hill, he returned to the Sonnambula 
 and the peasant girls, as if it were not in the power of mis- 
 fortune to depress him. 
 
308 Pictures from Italy 
 
 Much of the romance of the beautiful towns and villages 
 on this beautiful road, disappears when they are entered, for 
 many of them are very miserable. The streets are narrow, 
 dark, and dirty; the inhabitants lean and squalid; and the 
 withered old women, with their wiry grey hair twisted up 
 into a knot on the top of the head, like a pad to carry loads 
 on, are so intensely ugly, both along the Riviera, and in 
 Genoa, too, that, seen straggling about in dim doorways 
 with their spindles, or crooning together in by-corners, they 
 are like a population of Witches — except that they certainly 
 are not to be suspected of brooms or any other instrument 
 of cleanliness. Neither are the pig-skins, in common use to 
 hold wine, and hung out in the sun in all directions, by any 
 means ornamental, as they always preserve the form of very 
 bloated pigs, with their heads and legs cut off, dangling 
 upside-down by their own tails. 
 
 These towns, as they are seen in the approach, however: 
 nestling, with their clustering roofs and towers, among trees 
 on steep hill-sides, or built upon the brink of noble bays: 
 are charming. The vegetation is, everywhere, luxuriant and 
 beautiful, and the Palm-tree makes a novel feature in the 
 novel scenery. In one town, San Remo — a most extra- 
 ordinary place, built on gloomy open arches, so that one 
 might ramble underneath the whole town — there are pretty 
 terrace gardens; in other towns, there is the clang of ship- 
 wrights’ hammers, and the building of small vessels on the 
 beach. In some of the broad bays, the fleets of Europe might 
 ride at anchor. In every case, each little group of houses 
 presents, in the distance, some enchanting confusion of 
 picturesque and fanciful shapes. 
 
 The road itself — now high above the glittering sea, which 
 breaks against the foot of the precipice: now turning inland 
 to sweep the shore of a bay: now crossing the stony bed 
 of a mountain stream: now low down on the beach: now 
 winding among riven rocks of many forms and colours : now 
 chequered by a solitary ruined tower, one of a chain of 
 towers built, in old time, to protect the coast from the inva- 
 sions of the Barbary Corsairs — presents new beauties every 
 moment. When its own striking scenery is passed, and it 
 trails on through a long line of suburb, lying on the flat sea- 
 shore, to Genoa, then, the changing glimpses of that noble 
 city and its harbour, awaken a new source of interest; fresh- 
 
Travelling Companions 309 
 
 ened by every huge, unwieldy, half-inhabited old house in its 
 outskirts: and coming to its climax when the city gate is 
 reached, and all Genoa with its beautiful harbour, and neigh- 
 bouring hills, bursts proudly on the view. 
 
 TO PARMA, MODENA, AND BOLOGNA 
 
 I strolled away from Genoa on the 6th of November, bound 
 for a good many places (England among them), but first for 
 Piacenza ; for which town I started in the coupe of a machine 
 something like a travelling caravan, in company with the 
 brave Courier, and a lady with a large dog, who howled dole- 
 fully, at intervals, all night. It was very wet, and very cold; 
 very dark, and very dismal; we travelled at the rate of 
 barely four miles an hour, and stopped nowhere for refresh- 
 ment. At ten o’clock next morning, we changed coaches at 
 Alessandria, where we were packed up in another coach (the 
 body whereof would have been small for a fly), in company 
 with a very old priest ; a young Jesuit, his companion — who 
 carried their breviaries and other books, and who, in the 
 exertion of getting into the coach, had made a gash of pink 
 leg between his black stocking and his black knee-shorts, 
 that reminded one of Hamlet in Ophelia’s closet, only it was 
 visible on both legs — a provincial Avvocato; and a gentle- 
 man with a red nose that had an uncommon and singular 
 sheen upon it, which I never observed in the human subject 
 before. In this way we travelled on, until four o’clock in 
 the afternoon; the roads being still very heavy, and the 
 coach very slow. To mend the matter, the old priest was 
 troubled with cramps in his legs, so that he had to give a 
 terrible yell every ten minutes or so, and be hoisted out by 
 the united efforts of the company ; the coach always stopping 
 for him, with great gravity. This disorder, and the roads, 
 formed the main subject of conversation. Finding, in the 
 afternoon, that the coupe had discharged two people, and 
 had only one passenger inside — a monstrous ugly Tuscan, 
 with a great purple moustache, of which no man could see 
 the ends when he had his hat on — I took advantage of its 
 
3 1 o Pictures from Italy 
 
 better accommodation, and in company with this gentleman 
 (who was very conversational and good-humoured) travelled 
 on, until nearly eleven o’clock at night, when the driver 
 reported that he couldn’t think of going any farther, and 
 we accordingly made a halt at a place called Stradella. 
 
 The inn was a series of strange galleries surrounding a 
 yard; where our coach, and a waggon or two, and a lot of 
 fowls, and firewood, were all heaped up together, higgledy- 
 piggledy; so that you didn’t know, and couldn’t have taken 
 your oath, which was a fowl and which was a cart. We 
 followed a sleepy man with a flaring torch, into a great, 
 cold room, where there were two immensely broad beds, on 
 what looked like two immensely broad deal dining-tables; 
 another deal table of similar dimensions in the middle of the 
 bare floor; four windows; and two chairs. Somebody said 
 it was my room; and I walked mp and down it, for half an 
 hour or so, staring at the Tuscan, the old priest, the young 
 priest, and the Avvocato (Red-Nose lived in the town, and 
 had gone home), who sat upon their beds, and stared at me 
 in return. 
 
 The rather dreary whimsicality of this stage of the proceed- 
 ings, is interrupted by an announcement from the Brave (he 
 has been cooking) that supper is ready; and to the priest’s 
 chamber (the next room and the counterpart of mine) we all 
 adjourn. The first dish is a cabbage, boiled with a great 
 quantity of rice in a tureen full of water, and flavoured with 
 cheese. It is so hot, and we are so cold, that it appears 
 almost jolly. The second dish is some little bits of pork, 
 fried with pigs’ kidneys. The third, two red fowls. The 
 fourth, two little red turkeys. The fifth, a huge stew of 
 garlic and truffles, and I don’t know what else; and this 
 concludes the entertainment. 
 
 Before I can sit down in my own chamber, and think it of 
 the dampest, the door opens, and the Brave comes moving in, 
 in the middle of such a quantity of fuel that he looks like 
 Bimam Wood taking a winter walk. He kindles this heap 
 in a twinkling, and produces a jorum of hot brandy and 
 water; for that bottle of his keeps company with the seasons, 
 and now holds nothing but the purest eau de vie . When he 
 has accomplished this feat, he retires for the night; and I 
 hear him, for an hour afterwards, and indeed until I fall 
 asleep, making jokes in some outhouse (apparently under the 
 
Stradella 
 
 3 1 1 
 
 pillow), where he is smoking cigars with a party of confiden- 
 tial friends. He never was in the house in his life before; 
 but he knows everybody everywhere, before he has been 
 anywhere five minutes; and is certain to have attracted to 
 himself, in the meantime, the enthusiastic devotion of the 
 whole establishment. 
 
 This is at twelve o'clock at night. At four o'clock next 
 morning, he is up again, fresher than a new-blown rose; 
 making blazing fires without the least authority from the 
 landlord; producing mugs of scalding coffee when nobody 
 else can get anything but cold water; and going out into 
 the dark streets, and roaring for fresh milk, on the chance 
 of somebody with a cow getting up to supply it. While the 
 horses are “ coming," I stumble out into the town too. It 
 seems to be all one little Piazza, with a cold damp wind 
 blowing in and out of the arches, alternately, in a sort of 
 pattern. But it is profoundly dark, and raining heavily; 
 and I shouldn't know it to-morrow, if I were taken there 
 to try. Which Heaven forbid. 
 
 The horses arrive in about an hour. In the interval, the 
 driver swears ; sometimes Christian oaths, sometimes Pagan 
 oaths. Sometimes, when it is a long, compound oath, he 
 begins with Christianity and merges into Paganism. Various 
 messengers are dispatched; not so much after the horses, 
 as after each other; for the first messenger never comes 
 back, and all the rest imitate him. At length the horses 
 appear, surrounded by all the messengers; some kicking 
 them, and some dragging them, and all shouting abuse to 
 them. Then, the old priest, the young priest, the Avvocato, 
 the Tuscan, and all of us, take our places ; and sleepy voices 
 proceeding from the doors of extraordinary hutches in divers 
 parts of the yard, cry out “ Addio corriere mio ! Buon' 
 viaggio, corriere ! " Salutations which the courier, with his 
 face one monstrous grin, returns in like manner as we go 
 jolting and wallowing away, through the mud. 
 
 At Piacenza, which was four or five hours' journey from 
 the inn at Stradella, we broke up our little company before 
 the hotel door, with divers manifestations of friendly feeling 
 on all sides. The old priest was taken with the cramp again, 
 before he had got half-way down the street; and the young 
 priest laid the bundle of books on a doorstep, while he duti- 
 fully rubbed the old gentleman's legs. The client of the 
 
312 Pictures from Italy 
 
 Avvocato was waiting for him at the yard-gate, and kissed 
 him on each cheek, with such a resounding smack, that I am 
 afraid he had either a very bad case, or a scantily-furnished 
 purse. The Tuscan, with a cigar in his mouth, went loitering 
 off, carrying his hat in his hand that he might the better 
 trail up the ends of his dishevelled moustache. And the 
 brave Courier, as he and I strolled away to look about us, 
 began immediately to entertain me with the private histories 
 and family affairs of the whole party. 
 
 A brown, decayed, old town, Piacenza is. A deserted, 
 solitary, grass-grown place, with ruined ramparts; half- 
 filled-up trenches, which afford a frowzy pasturage to the 
 lean kine that wander about them; and streets of stern 
 houses, moodily frowning at the other houses over the way. 
 The sleepiest and shabbiest of soldiery go wandering about 
 with the double curse of laziness and poverty, uncouthly 
 wrinkling their misfitting regimentals ; the dirtiest of children 
 play with their impromptu toys (pigs and mud) in the feeblest 
 of gutters; and the gauntest of dogs trot in and out of the 
 dullest of archways, in perpetual search of something to eat, 
 which they never seem to find. A mysterious and solemn 
 Palace, guarded by two colossal statues, twin Genii of the 
 place, stands gravely in the midst of the idle town ; and the 
 king with the marble legs, who flourished in the time of the 
 thousand and one Nights, might live contentedly inside of 
 it, and never have the energy, in his upper half of flesh and 
 blood, to want to come out. 
 
 What a strange, half-sorrowful and half-delicious doze it 
 is, to ramble through these places gone to sleep and basking 
 in the sun! Each, in its turn, appears to be, of all the 
 mouldy, dreary, God-forgotten towns in the wide world, the 
 chief. Sitting on this hillock where a bastion used to be, 
 and where a noisy fortress was, in the time of the old Roman 
 station here, I became aware that I have never known till 
 now, what it is to be lazy. A dormouse must surely be in 
 very much the same condition before he retires under the 
 wool in his cage; or a tortoise before he buries himself. I 
 feel that I am getting rusty. That any attempt to think, 
 would be accompanied with a creaking noise. That there is 
 nothing, anywhere, to be done, or needing to be done. That 
 there is no more human progress, motion, effort, or advance- 
 ment, of any kind beyond this. That the whole scheme 
 
Parma 
 
 3 1 3 
 
 stopped here centuries ago, and laid down to rest until the 
 Day of Judgment. 
 
 Never while the brave Courier lives! Behold him jing- 
 ling out of Piacenza, and staggering this way, in the tallest 
 posting-chaise ever seen, so that he looks out of the front 
 window as if he were peeping over a garden wall ; while the 
 postillion, concentrated essence of all the shabbiness of Italy, 
 pauses for a moment in his animated conversation, to touch 
 his hat to a blunt-nosed little Virgin, hardly less shabby 
 than himself, enshrined in a plaster Punches show outside 
 the town. 
 
 In Genoa, and thereabouts, they train the vines on trellis- 
 work, supported on square clumsy pillars, which, in them- 
 selves, are anything but picturesque. But, here, they twine 
 them around trees, and let them trail among the hedges ; and 
 the vineyards are full of trees, regularly planted for this 
 purpose, each with its own vine twining and clustering about 
 it. Their leaves are now of the brightest gold and deepest 
 red; and never was anything so enchantingly graceful and 
 full of beauty. Through miles of these delightful forms and 
 colours, the road winds its way. The wild festoons, the 
 elegant wreaths, and crowns, and garlands of all shapes ; the 
 fairy nets flung over great trees, and making them prisoners 
 in sport ; the tumbled heaps and mounds of exquisite shapes 
 upon the ground; how rich and beautiful they are! And 
 every now and then, a long, long line of trees will be all 
 bound and garlanded together: as if they had taken hold 
 of one another, and were coming dancing down the field ! 
 
 Parma has cheerful, stirring streets, for an Italian town; 
 and consequently is not so characteristic as many places of 
 less note. Always excepting the retired Piazza, where the 
 Cathedral, Baptistery, and Campanile — ancient buildings, of 
 a sombre brown, embellished with innumerable grotesque 
 monsters and dreamy-looking creatures carved in marble and 
 red stone — are clustered in a noble and magnificent repose. 
 Their silent presence was only invaded, when I saw them, by 
 the twittering of the many birds that were flying in and out 
 of the crevices in the stones and little nooks in the architec- 
 ture, where they had made their nests. They were busy, 
 rising from the cold shade of Temples made with hands, into 
 the sunny air of Heaven. Not so the worshippers within, 
 who were listening to the same drowsy chaunt, or kneeling 
 
314 Pictures from Italy 
 
 before the same kinds of images and tapers, or whispering, 
 with their heads bowed down, in the selfsame dark confes- 
 sionals, as I had left in Genoa and everywhere else. 
 
 The decayed and mutilated paintings with which this 
 church is covered, have, to my thinking, a remarkably 
 mournful and depressing influence. It is miserable to see 
 great works of art — something of the Souls of Painters — 
 perishing and fading away, like human forms. This cathe- 
 dral is odorous with the rotting of Correggio’s frescoes in 
 the Cupola. Heaven knows how beautiful they may have 
 been at one time. Connoisseurs fall into raptures with them 
 now; but such a labyrinth of arms and legs: such heaps of 
 foreshortened limbs, entangled and involved and jumbled 
 together: no operative surgeon, gone mad, could imagine 
 in his wildest delirium. 
 
 There is a very interesting subterranean church here : the 
 roof supported by marble pillars, behind each of which there 
 seemed to be at least one beggar in ambush : to say nothing 
 of the tombs and secluded altars. From every one of these 
 lurking-places, such crowds of phantom-looking men and 
 women, leading other men and women with twisted limbs, 
 or chattering jaws, or paralytic gestures, or idiotic heads, or 
 some other sad infirmity, came hobbling out to beg, that if 
 the ruined frescoes in the cathedral above, had been suddenly 
 animated, and had retired to this lower church, they could 
 hardly have made a greater confusion, or exhibited a more 
 confounding display of arms and legs. 
 
 There is Petrarch’s Monument, too; and there is the 
 Baptistery, with its beautiful arches and immense font; and 
 there is a gallery containing some very remarkable pictures, 
 whereof a few were being copied by hairy-faced artists, with 
 little velvet caps more off their heads than on. There is the 
 Famese Palace, too ; and in it one of the dreariest spectacles 
 of decay that ever was seen — a grand, old, gloomy theatre, 
 mouldering away. 
 
 It is a large wooden structure, of the horse-shoe shape; 
 the lower seats arranged upon the Roman plan, but above 
 them, great heavy chambers, rather than boxes, where the 
 Nobles sat, remote in their proud state. Such desolation as 
 has fallen on this theatre, enhanced in the spectator’s fancy 
 by its gay intention and design, none but worms can be 
 familiar with. A hundred and ten years have passed, since 
 
Modena 3 1 5 
 
 any play was acted here. The sky shines in through the 
 gashes in the roof; the boxes are dropping down, wasting 
 away, and only tenanted by rats; damp and mildew smear 
 the faded colours, and make spectral maps upon the panels ; 
 lean rags are dangling down where there were gay festoons 
 on the Proscenium; the stage has rotted so, that a narrow 
 wooden gallery is thrown across it, or it would sink beneath 
 the tread, and bury the visitor in the gloomy depth beneath. 
 The desolation and decay impress themselves on all the 
 senses. The air has a mouldering smell, and an earthy taste; 
 any stray outer sounds that straggle in with some lost sun- 
 beam, are muffled and heavy; and the worm, the maggot, 
 and the rot have changed the surface of the wood beneath 
 the touch, as time will seam and roughen a smooth hand. If 
 ever Ghosts act plays, they act them on this ghostly stage. 
 
 It was most delicious weather, when we came into Modena, 
 where the darkness of the sombre colonnades over the foot- 
 ways skirting the main street on either side, was made re- 
 freshing and agreeable by the bright sky, so wonderfully 
 blue. I passed from all the glory of the day, into a dim 
 cathedral, where High Mass was performing, feeble tapers 
 were burning, people were kneeling in all directions before 
 all manner of shrines, and officiating priests were crooning 
 the usual chant, in the usual, low, dull, drawling, melan- 
 choly tone. 
 
 Thinking how strange it was, to find, in every stagnant 
 town, this same Heart beating with the same monotonous 
 pulsation, the centre of the same torpid, listless system, I 
 came out by another door, and was suddenly scared to death 
 by a blast from the shrillest trumpet that ever was blown. 
 Immediately, came tearing round the comer, an equestrian 
 company from Paris : marshalling themselves under the walls 
 of the church, and flouting, with their horses’ heels, the 
 griffins, lions, tigers, and other monsters in stone and marble, 
 decorating its exterior. First, there came a stately nobleman 
 with a great deal of hair, and no hat, bearing an enormous 
 banner, on which was inscribed, Mazeppa ! to-night ! 
 Then, a Mexican chief, with a great pear-shaped club on 
 his shoulder, like Hercules. Then six or eight Roman 
 chariots: each with a beautiful lady in extremely short 
 petticoats, and unnaturally pink tights, erect within: 
 shedding beaming looks upon the crowd, in which there was 
 
3 1 6 Pictures from Italy 
 
 a latent expression of discomposure and anxiety, for which 
 I couldn’t account, until, as the open back of each chariot 
 presented itself, I saw the immense difficulty with which the 
 pink legs maintained their perpendicular, over the uneven 
 pavement of the town: which gave me quite a new idea 
 of the ancient Romans and Britons. The procession was 
 brought to a close, by some dozen indomitable warriors of 
 different nations, riding two and two, and haughtily survey- 
 ing the tame population of Modena: among whom, however, 
 they occasionally condescended to scatter largesse in the 
 form of a few handbills. After caracolling among the lions 
 and tigers, and proclaiming that evening’s entertainments 
 with blast of trumpet, it then filed off, by the other end of 
 the square, and left a new and greatly increased dulness 
 behind. 
 
 When the procession had so entirely passed away, that the 
 shrill trumpet was mild in the distance, and the tail of the 
 last horse was hopelessly round the comer, the people who 
 had come out of the church to stare at it, went back again. 
 But one old lady, kneeling on the pavement within, near the 
 door, had seen it all, and had been immensely interested, 
 without getting up; and this old lady’s eye, at that juncture, 
 I happened to catch: to our mutual confusion. She cut our 
 embarrassment very short, however, by crossing herself 
 devoutly, and going down, at full length, on her face, before 
 a figure in a fancy petticoat and a gilt crown; which was so 
 like one of the procession-figures, that perhaps at this hour 
 she may think the whole appearance a celestial vision. 
 Anyhow, I must certainly have forgiven her her interest in 
 the Circus, though I had been her Father Confessor. 
 
 There was a little fiery-eyed old man with a crooked 
 shoulder, in the cathedral, who took it very ill that I made 
 no effort to see the bucket (kept in an old tower) which the 
 people of Modena took away from the people of Bologna in 
 the fourteenth century, and about which there was war 
 made and a mock-heroic poem by Tassone, too. Being quite 
 content, however, to look at the outside of the tower, and 
 feast, in imagination, on the bucket within; and preferring 
 to loiter in the shade of the tall Campanile, and about the 
 cathedral ; I have no personal knowledge of this bucket, even 
 at the present time. 
 
 Indeed, we were at Bologna, before the little old man (or 
 
The Cemetery at Bologna 3 1 7 
 
 the Guide-Book, would have considered that we had half 
 done justice to the wonders of Modena. But it is such a 
 delight to me to leave new scenes behind, and still go on, 
 encountering newer scenes — and, moreover, I have such a 
 perverse disposition in respect of sights that are cut, and 
 dried, and dictated — that I fear I sin against similar authori- 
 ties in every place I visit. 
 
 Be this as it may, in the pleasant Cemetery at Bologna, 
 I found myself walking next Sunday morning, among the 
 stately marble tombs and colonnades, in company with a 
 crowd of Peasants, and escorted by a little Cicerone of that 
 town, who was excessively anxious for the honour of the 
 place, and most solicitous to divert my attention from the 
 bad monuments: whereas he was never tired of extolling 
 the good ones. Seeing this little man (a good-humoured 
 little man he was, who seemed to have nothing in his face 
 but shining teeth and eyes) looking wistfully at a certain 
 plot of grass, I asked him who was buried there. “ The 
 poor people, Signore,” he said, with a shrug and a smile, and 
 stopping to look back at me — for he always went on a little 
 before, and took off his hat to introduce every new monu- 
 ment. “ Only the poor, Signore ! It’s very cheerful. It's 
 very lively. How green it is, how cool! It’s like a meadow! 
 There are five,” — holding up all the fingers of his right hand 
 to express the number, which an Italian peasant will always 
 do, if it be within the compass of his ten fingers, “ there 
 are five of my little children buried there, Signore; just 
 there; a little to the right. Well! Thanks to God! IPs 
 very cheerful. How green it is, how cool it is ! It’s quite 
 a meadow ! ” 
 
 He looked me very hard in the face, and seeing I was 
 sorry for him, took a pinch of snuff (every Cicerone takes 
 snuff), and made a little bow; partly in deprecation of his 
 having alluded to such a subject, and partly in memory of 
 the children and of his favourite saint. It was as unaffected 
 and as perfectly natural a little bow, as ever man made. 
 Immediately afterwards, he took his hat off altogether, and 
 begged to introduce me to the next monument; and his eyes 
 and his teeth shone brighter than before. 
 
Pictures from Italy 
 
 3i8 
 
 THROUGH BOLOGNA AND FERRARA 
 
 There was such a very smart official in attendance at the 
 Cemetery where the little Cicerone had buried his children, 
 that when the little Cicerone suggested to me, in a whisper, 
 that there would be no offence in presenting this officer, in 
 return for some slight extra service, with a couple of pauls 
 (about tenpence, English money), I looked incredulously at 
 his cocked hat, wash-leather gloves, well-made uniform, and 
 dazzling buttons, and rebuked the little Cicerone with a 
 grave shake of the head. For, in splendour of appearance, 
 he was at least equal to the Deputy Usher of the Black 
 Rod; and the idea of his carrying, as Jeremy Diddler would 
 say, “ such a thing as tenpence ” away with him, seemed 
 monstrous. He took it in excellent part, however, when 
 I made bold to give it him, and pulled off his cocked hat 
 with a flourish that would have been a bargain at double 
 the money. 
 
 It seemed to be his duty to describe the monuments to the 
 people — at all events he was doing so ; and when I compared 
 him, like Gulliver in Brobdingnag, “ with the Institutions of 
 my own beloved country, I could not refrain from tears of 
 pride and exultation.” He had no pace at all; no more than 
 a tortoise. He loitered as the people loitered, that they 
 might gratify their curiosity; and positively allowed them, 
 now and then, to read the inscriptions on the tombs. He 
 was neither shabby, nor insolent, nor churlish, nor ignorant. 
 He spoke his own language with perfect propriety, and 
 seemed to consider himself, in his way, a kind of teacher 
 of the people, and to entertain a just respect both for himself 
 and them. They would no more have such a man for a 
 Verger in Westminster Abbey, than they would let the 
 people in (as they do at Bologna) to see the monuments for 
 nothing . 1 
 
 Again, an ancient sombre town, under the brilliant sky; 
 with heavy arcades over the footways of the older streets, 
 and lighter and more cheerful archways in the newer por- 
 
 1 A far more liberal and just recognition of the public has arisen in 
 Westminster Abbey since this was written. 
 
Bologna 3 1 9 
 
 tions of the town. Again, brown piles of sacred buildings, 
 with more birds flying in and out of chinks in the stones; 
 and more snarling monsters for the bases of the pillars. 
 Again, rich churches, drowsy Masses, curling incense, tink- 
 ling bells, priests in bright vestments : pictures, tapers, laced 
 altar cloths, crosses, images, and artificial flowers. 
 
 There is a grave and learned air about the city, and a 
 pleasant gloom upon it, that would leave it, a distinct and 
 separate impression in the mind, among a crowd of cities, 
 though it were not still further marked in the traveller’s 
 remembrance by the two brick leaning towers (sufficiently 
 unsightly in themselves, it must be acknowledged), inclining 
 cross-wise as if they were bowing stiffly to each other — 
 a most extraordinary termination to the perspective of some 
 of the narrow streets. The colleges, and churches too, and 
 palaces: and above all the academy of Fine Arts, where 
 there are a host of interesting pictures, especially by Guido, 
 Domenichino, and Ludovico CaraccI: give it a place 
 of its own in the memory. Even though these were 
 not, and there were nothing else to remember it by, the 
 great Meridian on the pavement of the church of San 
 Petronio, where the sunbeams mark the time among the 
 kneeling people, would give it a fanciful and pleasant 
 interest. 
 
 Bologna being very full of tourists, detained there by an 
 inundation which rendered the road to Florence impassable, 
 I was quartered up at the top of an hotel, in an out-of-the- 
 way room which I never could find: containing a bed, big 
 enough for a boarding-school, which I couldn’t fall asleep in. 
 The chief among the waiters who visited this lonely retreat, 
 where there was no other company but the swallows in the 
 broad eaves over the window, was a man of one idea in con- 
 nexion with the English; and the subject of this harmless 
 monomania, was Lord Byron. I made the discovery by acci- 
 dentally remarking to him, at breakfast, that the matting 
 with which the floor was covered, was very comfortable at 
 that season, when he immediately replied that Milor Beeron 
 had been much attached to that kind of matting. Observing, 
 at the same moment, that I took no milk, he exclaimed with 
 enthusiasm, that Milor Beeron had never touched it. At 
 first, I took it for granted, in my innocence, that he had 
 been one of the Beeron servants ; but no, he said, no, he was 
 
320 Pictures from Italy 
 
 in the habit of speaking about my Lord, to English gentle- 
 men; that was all. He knew all about him, he said. In 
 proof of it, he connected him with every possible topic, from 
 the Monte Pulciano wine at dinner (which was grown on 
 an estate he had owned), to the big bed itself, which was 
 the very model of his. When I left the inn, he coupled with 
 his final bow in the yard, a parting assurance that the road 
 by which I was going, had been Milor Beeron’s favourite 
 ride; and before the horses’ feet had well begun to clatter 
 on the pavement, he ran briskly upstairs again, I dare say 
 to tell some other Englishman in some other solitary room 
 that the guest who had just departed was Lord Beeron’s 
 living image. 
 
 I had entered Bologna by night — almost midnight — and 
 all along the road thither, after our entrance into the Papal 
 territory: which is not, in any part, supremely well governed, 
 Saint Peter’s keys being rather rusty now; the driver had so 
 worried about the danger of robbers in travelling after dark, 
 and had so infected the brave Courier, and the two had been 
 so constantly stopping and getting up and down to look after 
 a portmanteau which was tied on behind, that I should have 
 felt almost obliged to any one who would have had the good- 
 ness to take it away. Hence it was stipulated, that, when- 
 ever we left Bologna, we should start so as not to arrive at 
 Ferrara later than eight at night; and a delightful afternoon 
 and evening journey it was, albeit through a flat district 
 which gradually became more marshy from the overflow of 
 brooks and rivers in the recent heavy rains. 
 
 At sunset, when I was walking on alone, while the horses 
 rested, I arrived upon a little scene, which, by one of those 
 singular mental operations of which we are all conscious, 
 seemed perfectly familiar to me, and which I see distinctly 
 now. There was not much in it. In the blood red light, 
 there was a mournful sheet of water, just stirred by the 
 evening wind; upon its margin a few trees. In the fore- 
 ground was a group of silent peasant girls leaning over the 
 parapet of a little bridge, and looking, now up at the sky, 
 now down into the water; in the distance, a deep bell; the 
 shade of approaching night on everything. If I had been 
 murdered there, in some former life, I could not have seemed 
 to remember the place more thoroughly, or with a more 
 emphatic chilling of the blood; and the mere remembrance 
 
Ferrara 
 
 3 21 
 
 of it acquired in that minute, is so strengthened by the 
 imaginary recollection, that I hardly think I could forget it. 
 
 More solitary, more depopulated, more deserted, old 
 Ferrara, than any city of the solemn brotherhood! The 
 grass so grows up in the silent streets, that any one might 
 make hay there, literally, while the sun shines. But the 
 sun shines with diminished cheerfulness in grim Ferrara; 
 and the people are so few who pass and repass through the 
 places, that the flesh of its inhabitants might be grass indeed, 
 and growing in the squares. 
 
 I wonder why the head coppersmith in an Italian town 
 always lives next door to the Hotel, or opposite : making the 
 visitor feel as if the beating hammers were his own heart, 
 palpitating with a deadly energy! I wonder why jealous 
 corridors surround the bedroom on all sides, and fill it with 
 unnecessary doors that can’t be shut, and will not open, and 
 abut on pitchy darkness! I wonder why it is not enough 
 that these distrustful genii stand agape at one’s dreams all 
 night, but there must also be round open portholes, high in 
 the wall, suggestive, when a mouse or rat is heard behind 
 the wainscot, of a somebody scraping the wall with his toes, 
 in his endeavours to reach one of these portholes, and look 
 in ! I wonder why the faggots are so constructed, as to know 
 of no effect but an agony of heat when they are lighted and 
 replenished, and an agony of cold and suffocation at all 
 other times ! I wonder, above all, why it is the great feature 
 of domestic architecture in Italian inns, that all the fire goes 
 up the chimney, except the smoke ! 
 
 The answer matters little. Coppersmiths, doors, port- 
 holes, smoke, and faggots, are welcome to me. Give me 
 the smiling face of the attendant, man or woman; the 
 courteous manner; the amiable desire to please and to 
 N be pleased; the lighthearted, pleasant, simple air — so many 
 jewels set in dirt — and I am theirs again to-morrow ! 
 
 Ariosto’s house, Tasso’s prison, a rare old Gothic cathe- x 
 dral, and more churches of course, are the sights of Ferrara. 
 But the long silent streets, and the dismantled palaces, 
 where ivy waves in lieu of banners, and where rank weeds 
 are slowly creeping up the long-untrodden stairs, are the 
 best sights of all. 
 
 The aspect of this dreary town, half an hour before sunrise 
 one fine morning, when I left it, was as picturesque as it 
 
322 Pictures from Italy 
 
 seemed unreal and spectral. It was no matter that the 
 people were not yet out of bed ; for if they had all been up 
 and busy, they would have made but little difference in that 
 desert of a place. It was best to see it, without a single 
 figure in the picture; a city of the dead, without one solitary 
 survivor. Pestilence might have ravaged streets, squares, 
 and market-places ; and sack and siege have ruined the old 
 houses, battered down their doors and windows, and made 
 breaches in their roofs. In one part, a great tower rose into 
 the air; the only landmark in the melancholy view. In 
 another, a prodigious castle, with a moat about it, stood 
 aloof: a sullen city in itself. In the black dungeons of this 
 castle, Parisina and her lover were beheaded in the dead of 
 night. The red light, beginning to shine when I looked 
 back upon it, stained its walls without, as they have, many 
 a time, been stained within, in old days; but for any sign 
 of life they gave, the castle and the city might have been 
 avoided by all human creatures, from the moment when the 
 axe went down upon the last of the two lovers: and might 
 have never vibrated to another sound 
 
 Beyond the blow that to the block 
 
 Pierced through with forced and sullen shock. 
 
 Coming to the Po, which was greatly swollen, and running 
 fiercely, we crossed it by a floating bridge of boats, and so 
 came into the Austrian territory, and resumed our journey: 
 through a country of which, for some miles, a great part 
 was under water. The brave Courier and the soldiery had 
 first quarrelled, for half an hour or more, over our eternal 
 passport. But this was a daily relaxation with the Brave, 
 who was always stricken deaf when shabby functionaries in 
 uniform came, as they constantly did come, plunging out of 
 wooden boxes to look at it — or in other words to beg — 
 and who, stone deaf to my entreaties that the man might 
 have a trifle given him, and we resume our journey in peace, 
 was wont to sit reviling the functionary in broken English: 
 while the unfortunate man’s face was a portrait of mental 
 agony framed in the coach window, from his perfect ignor- 
 ance of what was being said to his disparagement. 
 
 There was a postillion, in the course of this day’s journey, 
 as wild and savagely good-looking a vagabond as you would 
 desire to see. He was a tall, stout-made, dark-complexioned 
 
In Austrian Territory 323 
 
 fellow, with a profusion of shaggy black hair hanging all 
 over his face, and great black whiskers stretching down his 
 throat. His dress was a tom suit of rifle green, garnished 
 here and there with red; a steeple-crowned hat, innocent 
 of nap, with a broken and bedraggled feather stuck in the 
 band ; and a flaming red neckerchief hanging on his shoulders. 
 He was not in the saddle, but reposed, quite at his ease, on 
 a sort of low foot-board in front of the postchaise, down 
 amongst the horses’ tails — convenient for having his brains 
 kicked out, at any moment. To this Brigand, the brave 
 Courier, when we were at a reasonable trot, happened to 
 suggest the practicability of going faster. He received the 
 proposal with a perfect yell of derision ; brandished his whip 
 about his head (such a whip ! it was more like a home-made 
 bow); flung up his heels, much higher than the horses; and 
 disappeared, in a paroxysm, somewhere in the neighbour- 
 hood of the axletree. I fully expected to see him lying in 
 the road, a hundred yards behind, but up came the steeple- 
 crowned hat again, next minute, and he was seen reposing, 
 as on a sofa, entertaining himself with the idea, and cry- 
 ing, “ Ha ha! what next! Oh the devil! Faster too! Shoo 
 — hoo — 0 — 0 ! ” (This last ejaculation, an inexpressibly 
 
 defiant hoot.) Being anxious to reach our immediate des- 
 tination that night, I ventured, by-and-by, to repeat the 
 experiment on my own account. It produced exactly the 
 same effect. Round flew the whip with the same scornful 
 flourish, up came the heels, down went the steeple-crowned 
 hat, and presently he reappeared, reposing as before and 
 saying to himself, “ Ha ha ! what next ! Faster too ! Oh 
 the devil ! Shoo — hoo — o — o ! ” 
 
 AN ITALIAN DREAM 
 
 I had been travelling, for some days; resting very little in 
 the night, and never in the day. The rapid and unbroken 
 succession of novelties that had passed before me, came back 
 like half-formed dreams; and a crowd of objects wandered 
 in the greatest confusion through my mind, as I travelled 
 on, by a solitary road. At intervals, some one among them 
 
324 Pictures from Italy 
 
 would stop, as it were, in its restless flitting to and fro, and 
 enable me to look at it, quite steadily, and behold it in full 
 distinctness. After a few moments, it would dissolve, like a 
 view in a magic-lantern; and while I saw some part of it 
 quite plainly, and some faintly, and some not at all, would 
 show me another of the many places I had lately seen, linger- 
 ing behind it, and coming through it. This was no sooner 
 visible than, in its turn, it melted into something else. 
 
 At one moment, I was standing again, before the brown 
 old rugged churches of Modena. As I recognised the curious 
 pillars with grim monsters for their bases, I seemed to see 
 them, standing by themselves in the quiet square at Padua, 
 where there were the staid old University, and the figures, 
 demurely gowned, grouped here and there in the open space 
 about it. Then, I was strolling in the outskirts of that 
 pleasant city, admiring the unusual neatness of the dwelling- 
 houses, gardens, and orchards, as I had seen them a few hours 
 before. In their stead arose, immediately, the two towers of 
 Bologna; and the most obstinate of all these objects, failed 
 to hold its ground, a minute, before the monstrous moated 
 castle of Ferrara, which, like an illustration to a wild 
 romance, came back again in the red sunrise, lording it over 
 the solitary, grass-grown, withered town. In short, I had 
 that incoherent but delightful jumble in my brain, which 
 travellers are apt to have, and are indolently willing to 
 encourage. Every shake of the coach in which I sat, half 
 dozing in the dark, appeared to jerk some new recollection 
 out of its place, and to jerk some other new recollection into 
 it; and in this state I fell asleep. 
 
 I was awakened after some time (as I thought) by the 
 stopping of the coach. It was now quite night, and we were 
 at the water-side. There lay here, a black boat, with a little 
 house or cabin in it of the same mournful colour. When I 
 had taken my seat in this, the boat was paddled, by two 
 men, towards a great light, lying in the distance on the sea. 
 
 Ever and again, there was a dismal sigh of wind. It 
 ruffled the water, and rocked the boat, and sent the dark 
 clouds flying before the stars. I could not but think how 
 strange it was, to be floating away at that hour: leaving the 
 land behind, and going on, towards this light upon the sea. 
 It soon began to bum brighter; and from being one light 
 became a cluster of tapers, twinkling and shining out of the 
 
A Ghostly City 325 
 
 water, as the boat approached towards them by a dreamy 
 kind of track, marked out upon the sea by posts and piles. 
 
 We had floated on, five miles or so, over the dark water, 
 when I heard it rippling in my dream, against some obstruc- 
 tion near at hand. Looking out attentively, I saw, through 
 the gloom, a something black and massive — like a shore, but 
 lying close and flat upon the water, like a raft — which we 
 were gliding past. The chief of the two rowers said it was 
 a burial-place. 
 
 Full of the interest and wonder which a cemetery lying 
 out there, in the lonely sea, inspired, I turned to gaze upon 
 it as it should recede in our path, when it was quickly shut 
 out from my view. Before I knew by what, or how, I found 
 that we were gliding up a street — a phantom street; the 
 houses rising on both sides, from the water, and the black 
 boat gliding on beneath their windows. Lights were shining 
 from some of these casements, plumbing the depth of the 
 black stream with their reflected rays, but all was profoundly 
 silent. 
 
 So we advanced into this ghostly city, continuing to hold 
 our course through narrow streets and lanes, all filled and 
 flowing with water. Some of the comers where our way 
 branched off, were so acute and narrow, that it seemed 
 impossible for the long slender boat to turn them; but the 
 rowers, with a low melodious cry of warning, sent it skim 
 ming on without a pause. Sometimes, the rowers of another 
 black boat like our own, echoed the cry, and slackening their 
 speed (as I thought we did ours) would come flitting past us 
 like a dark shadow. Other boats, of the same sombre hue, 
 were lying moored, I thought, to painted pillars, near to 
 dark mysterious doors that opened straight upon the water. 
 Some of these were empty; in some, the rowers lay asleep; 
 towards one, I saw some figures coming down a gloomy arch- 
 way from the interior of a palace : gaily dressed, and attended 
 by torch-bearers. It was but a glimpse I had of them; for a 
 bridge, so low and close upon the boat that it seemed ready 
 to fall down and crush us: one of the many bridges that 
 perplexed the Dream: blotted them out, instantly. On we 
 went, floating towards the heart of this strange place — with 
 water all about us where never water was elsewhere — 
 clusters of houses, churches, heaps of stately buildings grow- 
 ing out of it — and, everywhere, the same extraordinary 
 
326 Pictures from Italy 
 
 silence. Presently, we shot across a broad and open stream; 
 and passing, as I thought, before a spacious paved quay, 
 where the bright lamps with which it was illuminated showed 
 long rows of arches and pillars, of ponderous construction 
 and great strength, but as light to the eye as garlands of hoar- 
 frost or gossamer — and where, for the first time, I saw people 
 walking — arrived at a flight of steps leading from the water 
 to a large mansion, where, having passed through corridors 
 and galleries innumerable, I lay down to rest ; listening to the 
 black boats stealing up and down the window on the rippling 
 water, till I fell asleep. 
 
 The glory of the day that broke upon me in this Dream; 
 its freshness, motion, buoyancy; its sparkles of the sun in 
 water; its clear blue sky and rustling air; no waking words 
 can tell. But, from my window, I looked down on boats and 
 barks; on masts, sails, cordage, flags; on groups of busy 
 sailors, working at the cargoes of these vessels; on wide 
 quays, strewn with bales, casks, merchandise of many kinds; 
 on great ships, lying near at hand in stately indolence; on 
 islands, crowned with gorgeous domes and turrets: and 
 where golden crosses glittered in the light, atop of wondrous 
 churches, springing from the sea! Going down upon the 
 margin of the green sea, rolling on before the door, and 
 filling all the streets, I came upon a place of such surpassing 
 beauty, and such grandeur, that all the rest was poor and 
 faded, in comparison with its absorbing loveliness. 
 
 It was a great Piazza, as I thought ; anchored, like all the 
 rest, in the deep ocean. On its broad bosom, was a Palace, 
 more majestic and magnificent in its old age, than all the 
 buildings of the earth, in the high prime and fulness of their 
 youth. Cloisters and galleries: so light, they might have 
 been the work of fairy hands : so strong that centuries had 
 battered them in vain: wound round and round this palace, 
 and enfolded it with a Cathedral, gorgeous in the wild 
 luxuriant fancies of the East. At no great distance from its 
 porch, a lofty tower, standing by itself, and rearing its proud 
 head, alone, into the sky, looked out upon the Adriatic Sea. 
 Near to the margin of the stream, were two ill-omened pillars 
 of red granite ; one having on its top, a figure with a sword 
 and shield; the other, a winged lion. Not far from these 
 again, a second tower: richest of the rich in all its decora- 
 tions : even here, where all was rich : sustained aloft, a great 
 
A Magnetic Palace 327 
 
 orb, gleaming with gold and deepest blue : the Twelve Signs 
 painted on it, and a mimic sun revolving in its course around 
 them: while above, two bronze giants hammered out the 
 hours upon a sounding bell. An oblong square of lofty 
 houses of the whitest stone, surrounded by a light and 
 beautiful arcade, formed part of this enchanted scene; and 
 here and there, gay masts for flags rose, tapering, from the 
 pavement of the unsubstantial ground. 
 
 I thought I entered the Cathedral, and went in and out 
 among its many arches: traversing its whole extent. A 
 grand and dreamy structure, of immense proportions ; golden 
 with old mosaics ; redolent of perfumes ; dim with the smoke 
 of incense; costly in treasure of precious stones and metals, 
 glittering through iron bars ; holy with the bodies of deceased 
 saints; rainbow-hued with windows of stained glass; dark 
 with carved woods and coloured marbles; obscure in its 
 vast heights, and lengthened distances; shining with silver 
 lamps and winking lights; unreal, fantastic, solemn, incon- 
 ceivable throughout. I thought I entered the old palace; 
 pacing silent galleries and council-chambers, where the old 
 rulers of this mistress of the waters looked sternly out, in 
 pictures, from the walls, and where her high-pro wed galleys, 
 still victorious on canvas, fought and conquered as of old. 
 I thought I wandered through its halls of state and triumph 
 — bare and empty now — and musing on its pride and might, 
 extinct: for that was past; all past: heard a voice say, 
 “ Some tokens of its ancient rule and some consoling reasons 
 for its downfall, may be traced here, yet ! ” 
 
 I dreamed that I was led on, then, into some jealous rooms, 
 communicating with a prison near the palace ; separated from 
 it by a lofty bridge crossing a narrow street; and called, I 
 dreamed, The Bridge of Sighs. 
 
 But first I passed two jagged slits in a stone wall; the 
 lions’ mouths — now toothless — where, in the distempered 
 horror of my sleep, I thought denunciations of innocent men 
 to the old wicked Council, had been dropped through, many a 
 time, when the night was dark. So, when I saw the council- 
 room to which such prisoners were taken for examination, 
 and the door by which they passed out, when they were con- 
 demned — a door that never closed upon a man with life and 
 hope before him — my heart appeared to die within me. 
 
 I was smitten harder though, when, torch in hand, I 
 
328 Pictures from Italy 
 
 descended from the cheerful day into two ranges, one below 
 another, of dismal, awful, horrible stone cells. They were 
 quite dark. Each had a loop-hole in its massive wall, where, 
 in the old time, every day, a torch was placed — I dreamed — 
 to light the prisoner within, for half an hour. The captives, 
 by the glimmering of these brief rays, had scratched and cut 
 inscriptions in the blackened vaults. I saw them. For their 
 labour with a rusty nail’s point, had outlived their agony and 
 them, through many generations. 
 
 One cell, I saw, in which no man remained for more than 
 four-and-twenty hours; being marked for dead before he 
 entered it. Hard by, another, and a dismal one, whereto, 
 at midnight, the confessor came — a monk brown-robed, and 
 hooded — ghastly in the day, and free bright air, but in the 
 midnight of that murky prison, Hope’s extinguisher, and 
 Murder’s herald. I had my foot upon the spot, where, at 
 the same dread hour, the shriven prisoner was strangled; 
 and struck my hand upon the guilty door — low-browed and 
 stealthy — through which the lumpish sack was carried out 
 into a boat, and rowed away, and drowned where it was 
 death to cast a net. 
 
 Around this dungeon stronghold, and above some part of 
 it: licking the rough walls without, and smearing them with 
 damp and slime within : stuffing dank weeds and refuse into 
 chinks and crevices, as if the very stones and bars had mouths 
 to stop: furnishing a smooth road for the removal of the 
 bodies of the secret victims of the State — a road so ready 
 that it went along with them, and ran before them, like a 
 cruel officer — flowed the same water that filled this Dream 
 of mine, and made it seem one, even at the time. 
 
 Descending from the palace by a staircase, called, I thought, 
 the Giant’s — I had some imaginary recollection of an old 
 man abdicating, coming, more slowly and more feebly, down 
 it, when he heard the bell, proclaiming his successor — I 
 glided off, in one of the dark boats, until we came to an 
 old arsenal guarded by four marble lions. To make my 
 Dream more monstrous and unlikely, one of these had words 
 and sentences upon its body, inscribed there, at an unknown 
 time, and in an unknown language; so that their purport 
 was a mystery to all men. 
 
 There was little sound of hammers in this place for 
 building ships, and little work in progress ; for the greatness 
 
An Armoury 329 
 
 of the city was no more, as I have said. Indeed, it seemed 
 a very wreck found drifting on the sea; a strange flag 
 hoisted in its honourable stations, and strangers standing at 
 its helm. A splendid barge in which its ancient chief had 
 gone forth, pompously, at certain periods, to wed the ocean, 
 lay here, I thought, no more; but, in its place, there was a 
 tiny model, made from recollection like the city’s greatness; 
 and it told of what had been (so are the strong and weak 
 confounded in the dust) almost as eloquently as the massive 
 pillars, arches, roofs, reared to overshadow stately ships that 
 had no other shadow now, upon the water or the earth. 
 
 An armoury was there yet. Plundered and despoiled ; but 
 an armoury. With a fierce standard taken from the Turks, 
 drooping in the dull air of its cage. Rich suits of mail worn 
 by great warriors were hoarded there ; crossbows and bolts ; 
 quivers full of arrows; spears; swords, daggers, maces, 
 shields, and heavy-headed axes. Plates of wrought steel 
 and iron, to make the gallant horse a monster cased in 
 metal scales; and one spring-weapon (easy to be carried 
 in the breast) designed to do its office noiselessly, and made 
 for shooting men with poisoned darts. 
 
 One press or case I saw, full of accursed instruments of 
 torture: horribly contrived to cramp, and pinch, and grind 
 and crush men’s bones, and tear and twist them with the 
 torment of a thousand deaths. Before it, were two iron 
 helmets, with breast-pieces: made to close up tight and 
 smooth upon the heads of living sufferers; and fastened on 
 to each, was a small knob or anvil, where the directing devil 
 could repose his elbow at his ease, and listen, near the 
 walled-up ear, to the lamentations and confessions of the 
 wretch within. There was that grim resemblance in them 
 to the human shape — they were such moulds of sweating 
 faces, pained and cramped — that it was difficult to think 
 them empty; and terrible distortions lingering within them, 
 seemed to follow me, when, taking to my boat again, I 
 rowed off to a kind of garden or public walk in the sea, 
 where there were grass and trees. But I forgot them when 
 I stood upon its farthest brink — I stood there, in my dream 
 — and looked, along the ripple, to the setting sun; before 
 me, in the sky and on the deep, a crimson flush; and behind 
 me the whole city resolving into streaks of red and purple, 
 on the water. 
 
 M 
 
33° Pictures from Italy 
 
 In the luxurious wonder of so rare a dream, I took but 
 little heed of time, and had but little understanding of its 
 flight. But there were days and nights in it; and when the 
 sun was high, and when the rays of lamps were crooked in 
 the running water, I was still afloat, I thought: plashing 
 the slippery walls and houses with the cleavings of the tide, 
 as my black boat, borne upon it, skimmed along the streets. 
 
 Sometimes, alighting at the doors of churches and vast 
 palaces, I wandered on, from room to room, from aisle to 
 aisle, through labyrinths of rich altars, ancient monuments; 
 decayed apartments where the furniture, half awful, half 
 grotesque, was mouldering away. Pictures were there, 
 replete with such enduring beauty and expression: with 
 such passion, truth and power: that they seemed so many 
 young and fresh realities among a host of spectres. I 
 thought these, often intermingled with the old days of the 
 city: with its beauties, tyrants, captains, patriots, merchants, 
 courtiers, priests; nay, with its very stones, and bricks, and 
 public places, all of which lived again, about me, on the 
 walls. Then, coming down some marble staircase where the 
 water lapped and oozed against the lower steps, I passed 
 into my boat again, and went on in my dream. 
 
 Floating down narrow lanes, where carpenters, at work 
 with plane and chisel in their shops, tossed the light shaving 
 straight upon the water, where it lay like weed, or ebbed 
 away before me in a tangled heap. Past open doors, de- 
 cayed and rotten from long steeping in the wet, through 
 which some scanty patch of vine shone green and bright, 
 making unusual shadows on the pavement with its trembling 
 leaves. Past quays and terraces, where women, gracefully 
 veiled, were passing and repassing, and where idlers were 
 reclining in the sunshine, on flag-stones and on flights of 
 steps. Past bridges, where there were idlers too; loitering 
 and looking over. Below stone balconies, erected at a giddy 
 height, before the loftiest windows of the loftiest houses. 
 Past plots of garden, theatres, shrines, prodigious piles of arch- 
 tecture — Gothic — Saracenic — fanciful with all the fancies 
 of all times and countries. Past buildings that were high, 
 and low, and black, and white, and straight, and crooked; 
 mean and grand, crazy and strong. Twining among a 
 tangled lot of boats and barges, and shooting out at last 
 into a Grand Canal ! There, in the errant fancy of my dreams, 
 
A Dream upon the Water 331 
 
 I saw old Shylock passing to and fro upon a bridge, all built 
 upon with shops and humming with the tongues of men; 
 a form I seemed to know for Desdemona’s, leaned down 
 through a latticed blind to pluck a flower. And, in the 
 dream, I thought that Shakespeare’s spirit was abroad upon 
 the water somewhere : stealing through the city. 
 
 At night, when two votive lamps burnt before an image 
 of the Virgin, in a gallery outside the great cathedral, near 
 the roof, I fancied that the great piazza of the Winged Lion 
 was a blaze of cheerful light, and that its whole arcade was 
 thronged with people; while crowds were diverting them- 
 selves in splendid coffee-houses opening from it — which 
 were never shut, I thought, but open all night long. When 
 the bronze giants struck the hour of midnight on the bell, 
 I thought the life and animation of the city were all centred 
 here; and as I rowed away, abreast the silent quays, I only 
 saw them dotted, here and there, with sleeping boatmen 
 wrapped up in their cloaks, and lying at full length upon 
 the stones. 
 
 But close about the quays and churches, palaces and 
 prisons: sucking at their walls, and welling up into the 
 secret places of the town: crept the water always. Noiseless 
 and watchful: coiled round and round it, in its many folds, 
 like an old serpent: waiting for the time, I thought, when 
 people should look down into its depths for any stone of 
 the old city that had claimed to be its mistress. 
 
 Thus it floated me away, until I awoke in the old market- 
 place at Verona. I have, many and many a time, thought 
 since, of this strange Dream upon the water: half -wondering 
 if it lie there yet, and if its name be Venice* 
 
33 2 
 
 Pictures from Italy 
 
 BY VERONA, MANTUA, AND MILAN, ACROSS 
 THE PASS OF THE SIMPLON INTO 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 I had been half afraid to go to Verona, lest it should at all put 
 me out of conceit with Romeo and Juliet. But, I was no 
 sooner come into the old market-place, than the misgiving 
 vanished. It is so fanciful, quaint, and picturesque a place, 
 formed by such an extraordinary and rich variety of fantastic 
 buildings, that there could be nothing better at the core of 
 even this romantic town : scene of one of the most romantic 
 and beautiful of stories. 
 
 It was natural enough, to go straight from the Market- 
 place, to the House of the Capulets, now degenerated into 
 a most miserable little inn. Noisy vetturmi and muddy 
 market-carts were disputing possession of the yard, which 
 was ankle-deep in dirt, with a brood of splashed and be- 
 spattered geese ; and there was a grim-visaged dog, viciously 
 panting in a doorway, who would certainly have had Romeo 
 by the leg, the moment he put it over the wall, if he had 
 existed and been at large in those times. The orchard fell 
 into other hands, and was parted off many years ago; but 
 there used to be one attached to the house — or at all events 
 there may have been, — and the hat (Cappello), the ancient 
 cognizance of the family, may still be seen, carved in stone, 
 over the gateway of the yard. The geese, the market-carts, 
 their drivers, and the dog, were somewhat in the way of 
 the story, it must be confessed; and it would have been 
 pleasanter to have found the house empty, and to have been 
 able to walk through the disused rooms. But the hat was 
 unspeakably comfortable; and the place where the garden 
 used to be, hardly less so. Besides, the house is a distrustful, 
 jealous-looking house as one would desire to see, though of a 
 very moderate size. So I was quite satisfied with it, as the 
 veritable mansion of old Capulet, and was correspondingly 
 grateful in my acknowledgments to an extremely unsenti- 
 mental middle-aged lady, the Padrona of the Hotel, who 
 was lounging on the threshold looking at the geese ; and 
 
Pleasant Verona 
 
 333 
 
 who at least resembled the Capulets in the one particular of 
 being very great indeed in the “ Family ” way. 
 
 From Juliet’s home, to Juliet’s tomb, is a transition as 
 natural to the visitor, as to fair Juliet herself, or to the 
 proudest Juliet that ever has taught the torches to bum 
 bright in any time. So, I went off, with a guide, to an old, 
 old garden, once belonging to an old, old convent, I suppose; 
 and being admitted, at a shattered gate, by a bright-eyed 
 woman who was washing clothes, went down some walks 
 where fresh plants and young flowers were prettily growing 
 among fragments of old wall, and ivy-coloured mounds; 
 and was shown a little tank, or water-trough, which the 
 bright-eyed woman — drying her arms upon her ’kerchief, 
 called “ La tomba di Giulietta la sfortunata.” With the best 
 disposition in the w^orld to believe, I could do no more than 
 believe that the bright-eyed woman believed; so I gave her 
 that much credit, and her customary fee in ready money. It 
 was a pleasure, rather than a disappointment, that Juliet’s 
 resting-place was forgotten. However consolatory it may 
 have been to Yorick’s Ghost, to hear the feet upon the pave- 
 ment overhead, and, twenty times a day, the repetition of his 
 name, it is better for Juliet to lie out of the track of tourists, 
 and to have no visitors but such as come to graves in spring- 
 rain, and sweet air, and sunshine. 
 
 Pleasant Verona! With its beautiful old palaces, and 
 charming country in the distance, seen from terrace walks, 
 and stately, baiustraded galleries. With its Roman gates, 
 still spanning the fair street, and casting, on the sunlight of 
 to-day, the shade of fifteen hundred years ago. With its 
 marble-fitted churches, lofty towers, rich architecture, and 
 quaint old quiet thoroughfares, where shouts of Montagues 
 and Capulets once resounded, 
 
 And made Verona’s ancient citizens 
 Cast by their grave, beseeming ornaments, 
 
 To wield old partizans. 
 
 With its fast-rushing river, picturesque old bridge, great 
 castle, waving cypresses, and prospect so delightful, and so 
 cheerful ! Pleasant Verona ! 
 
 In the midst of it, in the Piazza di Bra — a spirit of old 
 time among the familiar realities of the passing hour — is the 
 great Roman Amphitheatre. So well preserved, and care- 
 
334 Pictures from Italy 
 
 fully maintained, that every row of seats is there, unbroken. 
 Over certain of the arches, the old Roman numerals may 
 yet be seen; and there are corridors, and staircases, and 
 subterranean passages for beasts, and winding ways, above 
 ground and below, as when the fierce thousands hurried in 
 and out, intent upon the bloody shows of the arena. Nest- 
 ling in some of the shadows and hollow places of the walls, 
 now, are smiths with their forges, and a few small dealers 
 of one kind or other; and there are green weeds, and leaves, 
 and grass, upon the parapet. But little else is greatly 
 changed. 
 
 When I had traversed all about it, with great interest, and 
 had gone up to the topmost round of seats, and turning from 
 the lovely panorama closed in by the distant Alps, looked 
 down into the building, it seemed to lie before me like the 
 inside of a prodigious hat of plaited straw, with an enor- 
 mously broad brim and a shallow crown ; the plaits being 
 represented by the four-and-forty rows of seats. The com- 
 parison is a homely and fantastic one, in sober remembrance 
 and on paper, but it was irresistibly suggested at the moment, 
 nevertheless. 
 
 An equestrian troop had been there, a short time before — 
 the same troop, I dare say, that appeared to the old lady in 
 the church at Modena — and had scooped out a little ring at 
 one end of the area; where their performances had taken 
 place, and where the marks of their horses’ feet were still 
 fresh. I could not but picture to myself, a handful of spec- 
 tators gathered together on one or two of the old stone seats, 
 and a spangled Cavalier being gallant, or a Policinello funny, 
 with the grim walls looking on. Above all, I thought how 
 strangely those Roman mutes would gaze upon the favourite 
 comic scene of the travelling English, where a British noble- 
 man (Lord John), with a very loose stomach: dressed in a 
 blue-tailed coat down to his heels, bright yellow breeches, 
 and a white hat: comes abroad, riding double on a rearing 
 horse, with an English lady (Lady Betsy) in a straw bonnet 
 and green veil, and a red spencer; and who always carries 
 a gigantic reticule, and a put-up parasol. 
 
 I walked through and through the town all the rest of the 
 day, and could have walked there until now, I think. In 
 one place, there was a very pretty modem theatre, where 
 they had just performed the opera (always popular in Verona) 
 
Mantua 
 
 335 
 
 of Romeo and Juliet. In another there was a collection, 
 under a colonnade, of Greek, Roman, and Etruscan remains, 
 presided over by an ancient man who might have been an 
 Etruscan relic himself; for he was not strong enough to 
 open the iron gate, when he had unlocked it, and had 
 neither voice enough to be audible when he described the 
 curiosities, nor sight enough to see them: he was so very old. 
 In another place, there was a gallery of pictures : so abomin- 
 ably bad, that it was quite delightful to see them mouldering 
 away. But anywhere: in the churches, among the palaces, 
 in the streets, on the bridge, or down beside the river: 
 it was always pleasant Verona, and in my remembrance 
 always will be. 
 
 I read Romeo and Juliet in my own room at the inn that 
 night — of course, no Englishman had ever read it there, 
 before — and set out for Mantua next day at sunrise, repeat- 
 ing to myself (in the coupe of an omnibus, and next to the 
 conductor, who was reading the Mysteries of Paris), 
 
 There is no world without Verona’s walls, 
 
 But purgatory, torture, hell itself. 
 
 Hence-banished is banished from the world. 
 
 And world’s exile is death 
 
 which reminded me that Romeo was only banished five-and- 
 twenty miles after all, and rather disturbed my confidence 
 in his energy and boldness. 
 
 Was the way to Mantua as beautiful, in his time, I wonder ! 
 Did it wind through pasture land as green, bright with 
 the same glancing streams, and dotted with fresh clumps of 
 graceful trees ! Those purple mountains lay on the horizon, 
 then, for certain; and the dresses of these peasant girls, 
 who wear a great, knobbed, silver pin like an English “ life- 
 preserver ” through their hair behind, can hardly be much 
 changed. The hopeful feeling of so bright a morning, and 
 so exquisite a sunrise, can have been no stranger, even to an 
 exiled loveris breast; and Mantua itself must have broken 
 on him in the prospect, with its towers, and walls, and 
 water, pretty much as on a common-place and matrimonial 
 omnibus. He made the same sharp twists and turns, per- 
 haps, over two rumbling drawbridges; passed through the 
 like long, covered, wooden bridge; and leaving the marshy 
 water behind, approached the rusty gate of stagnant Mantua. 
 
 If ever a man were suited to his place of residence, and his 
 
336 Pictures from Italy 
 
 place of residence to him, the lean Apothecary and Mantua 
 came together in a perfect fitness of things. It may have 
 been more stirring then, perhaps. If so, the Apothecary 
 was a man in advance of his time, and knew what Mantua 
 would be, in eighteen hundred and forty-four. He fasted 
 much, and that assisted him in his foreknowledge. 
 
 I put up at the Hotel of the Golden Lion, and was in my 
 own room arranging plans with the brave Courier, when 
 there came a modest little tap at the door, which opened on 
 an outer gallery surrounding a court-yard ; and an intensely 
 shabby little man looked in, to inquire if the gentleman 
 would have a Cicerone to show the town. His face was so 
 very wistful and anxious, in the half-opened doorway, and 
 there was so much poverty expressed in his faded suit and 
 little pinched hat, and in the threadbare worsted glove with 
 which he held it — not expressed the less, because these were 
 evidently his genteel clothes, hastily slipped on — that I 
 would as soon have trodden on him as dismissed him. I 
 engaged him on the instant, and he stepped in directly. 
 
 While I finished the discussion in which I was engaged, 
 he stood, beaming by himself in a comer, making a feint of 
 brushing my hat with his arm. If his fee had been as many 
 napoleons as it was francs, there could not have shot over 
 the twilight of his shabbiness such a gleam of sun, as lighted 
 up the whole man, now that he was hired. 
 
 “ Well ! ” said I, when I was ready, “ shall we go out 
 now? ” 
 
 “ If the gentleman pleases. It is a beautiful day. A 
 little fresh, but charming; altogether charming. The gentle- 
 man will allow me to open the door. This is the Inn Yard. 
 The court-yard of the Golden Lion! The gentleman will 
 please to mind his footing on the stairs.” 
 
 We were now in the street. 
 
 “ This is the street of the Golden Lion. This, the outside 
 of the Golden Lion. The interesting window up there, on 
 the first piano , where the pane of glass is broken, is the 
 window of the gentleman’s chamber! ” 
 
 Having viewed all these remarkable objects, I inquired if 
 there were much to see in Mantua. 
 
 “ Well! Truly, no. Not much! So, so,” he said, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders apologetically. 
 
 “ Many churches? ” 
 
A Dull Place 
 
 337 
 
 “ No. Nearly all suppressed by the French.” 
 
 “ Monasteries or convents ? ” 
 
 “ No. The French again! Nearly all suppressed by 
 Napoleon.” 
 
 “ Much business? ” 
 
 “ Very little business.” 
 
 “ Many strangers ? ” 
 
 “ Ah Heaven ! ” 
 
 I thought he would have fainted. 
 
 “ Then, when we have seen the two large churches yonder, 
 what shall we do next ? ” said I. 
 
 He looked up the street, and down the street, and rubbed 
 his chin timidly; and then said, glancing in my face as if a 
 light had broken on his mind, yet with a humble appeal to 
 my forbearance that was perfectly irresistible: 
 
 “ We can take a little turn about the town, Signore!” 
 (Si pud far’ un piccolo giro della citta). 
 
 It was impossible to be anything but delighted with the 
 proposal, so we set off together in great good-humour. In 
 the relief of his mind, he opened his heart, and gave up as 
 much of Mantua as a Cicerone could. 
 
 “ One must eat,” he said; “ but, bah ! it was a dull place, 
 without doubt ! ” 
 
 He made as much as possible of the Basilica of Santa 
 Andrea — a noble church — and of an inclosed portion of the 
 pavement, about which tapers were burning, and a few people 
 kneeling, and under which is said to be preserved the San- 
 greal of the old Romances. This church disposed of, and 
 another after it (the cathedral of San Pietro), we went to the 
 Museum, which was shut up. “ It was all the same,” he 
 said, “ Bah ! There was not much inside ! ” Then, we 
 went to see the Piazza del Diavolo, built by the Devil (for no 
 particular purpose) in a single night; then, the Piazza Vir- 
 giliana; then, the statue of Virgil — our Poet, my little friend 
 said, plucking up a spirit, for the moment, and putting his 
 hat a little on one side. Then, we went to a dismal sort 
 of farm-yard, by which a picture-gallery was approached. 
 The moment the gate of this retreat was opened, some five 
 hundred geese came waddling round us, stretching out their 
 necks, and clamouring in the most hideous manner, as if 
 they were ejaculating, “ Oh ! here’s somebody come to see 
 the Pictures! Don’t go up! Don’t go up!” While we 
 
338 Pictures from Italy 
 
 went up, they waited very quietly about the door in a crowd, 
 cackling to one another occasionally, in a subdued tone ; but 
 the instant we appeared again, their necks came out like 
 telescopes, and setting up a great noise, which meant, I have 
 no doubt, “ What, you would go, would you ? What do you 
 think of it? How do you like it? ” they attended us to the 
 outer gate, and cast us forth, derisively, into Mantua. 
 
 The geese who saved the Capitol, were, as compared to 
 these, Pork to the learned Pig. What a gallery it was ! I 
 would take their opinion on a question of art, in preference 
 to the discourses of Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 Now that we were standing in the street, after being thus 
 ignominiously escorted thither, my little friend was plainly 
 reduced to the “ piccolo giro,” or little circuit of the town, he 
 had formerly proposed. But my suggestion that we should 
 visit the Palazzo Te (of which I had heard a great deal, as a 
 strange wild place) imparted new life to him, and away we 
 went. 
 
 The secret of the length of Midas’s ears, would have been 
 more extensively known, if that servant of his, who whis- 
 pered it to the reeds, had lived in Mantua, where there are 
 reeds and rushes enough to have published it to all the world. 
 The Palazzo Te stands in a swamp, among this sort of vegeta- 
 tion; and is, indeed, as singular a place as I ever saw. 
 
 Not for its dreariness, though it is very dreary. Nor for 
 its dampness, though it is very damp. Nor for its desolate 
 condition, though it is as desolate and neglected as house 
 can be. But chiefly for the unaccountable nightmares with 
 which its interior has been decorated (among other subjects 
 of more delicate execution), by Giulio Romano. There is a 
 leering Giant over a certain chimneypiece, and there are 
 dozens of Giants (Titans warring with Jove) on the walls of 
 another room, so inconceivably ugly and grotesque, that it 
 is marvellous how any man can have imagined such creatures. 
 In the chamber in which they abound, these monsters, with 
 swollen faces and cracked cheeks, and every kind of distor- 
 tion of look and limb, are depicted as staggering under the 
 weight of falling buildings, and being overwhelmed in the 
 ruins; upheaving masses of rock, and burying themselves 
 beneath; vainly striving to sustain the pillars of heavy roofs 
 that topple down upon their heads ; and, in a word, under- 
 going and doing every kind of mad and demoniacal destruc- 
 
The Palazzo Te 
 
 339 
 
 tion. The figures are immensely large, and exaggerated to 
 the utmost pitch of uncouthness ; the colouring is harsh and 
 disagreeable; and the whole effect more like (I should 
 imagine) a violent rush of blood to the head of the spectator, 
 than any real picture set before him by the hand of an artist. 
 This apoplectic performance was shown by a sickly-looking 
 woman, whose appearance was referable, I dare say, to the 
 bad air of the marshes ; but it was difficult to help feeling as 
 if she were too much haunted by the Giants, and they were 
 frightening her to death, all alone in that exhausted cistern 
 of a Palace, among the reeds and rushes, with the mists 
 hovering about outside, and stalking round and round it 
 continually. 
 
 Our walk through Mantua showed us, in almost every 
 street, some suppressed church: now used for a warehouse, 
 now for nothing at all : all as crazy and dismantled as they 
 could be, short of tumbling down bodily. The marshy town 
 was so intensely dull and flat, that the dirt upon it seemed 
 not to have come there in the ordinary course, but to have 
 settled and mantled on its surface as on standing water. And 
 yet there were some business-dealings going on, and some 
 profits realising; for there were arcades full of Jews, where 
 those extraordinary people were sitting outside their shops, 
 contemplating their stores of stuffs, and woollens, and bright 
 handkerchiefs, and trinkets : and looking, in all respects, as 
 wary and business-like, as their brethren in Houndsditch, 
 London. 
 
 Having selected a Vetturino from among the neighbouring 
 Christians, who agreed to carry us to Milan in two days and 
 a half, and to start, next morning, as soon as the gates were 
 opened, I returned to the Golden Lion, and dined luxuriously 
 in my own room, in a narrow passage between two bedsteads : 
 confronted by a smoky fire, and backed up by a chest of 
 drawers. At six o’clock next morning, we were jingling in 
 the dark through the wet cold mist that enshrouded the 
 town; and, before noon, the driver (a native of Mantua, and 
 sixty years of age or thereabouts) began to ask the way to 
 Milan. 
 
 It lay through Bozzolo; formerly a little republic, and 
 now one of the most deserted and poverty-stricken of towns : 
 where the landlord of the miserable inn (God bless him ! it 
 was his weekly custom) was distributing infinitesimal coins 
 
34° Pictures from Italy 
 
 among a clamorous herd of women and children, whose rags 
 were fluttering in the wind and rain outside his door, where 
 they were gathered to receive his charity. It lay through 
 mist, and mud, and rain, and vines trained low upon the 
 ground, all that day and the next; the first sleeping-place 
 being Cremona, memorable for its dark brick churches, and 
 immensely high tower, the Torrazzo — to say nothing of its 
 violins, of which it certainly produces none in these degenerate 
 days; and the second, Lodi. Then we went on, through 
 more mud, mist, and rain, and marshy ground: and through 
 such a fog, as Englishmen, strong in the faith of their own 
 grievances, are apt to believe is nowhere to be found but in 
 their own country, until we entered the paved streets of Milan. 
 
 The fog was so dense here, that the spire of the far-famed 
 Cathedral might as well have been at Bombay, for anything 
 that could be seen of it at that time. But as we halted to 
 refresh, for a few days then, and returned to Milan again 
 next summer, I had ample opportunities of seeing the 
 glorious structure in all its majesty and beauty. 
 
 All Christian homage to the saint who lies within it! 
 There are many good and true saints in the calendar, but 
 San Carlo Borromeo has — if I may quote Mrs. Primrose on 
 such a subject — “ my warm heart.” A charitable doctor to 
 the sick, a munificent friend to the poor, and this, not in 
 any spirit of blind bigotry, but as the bold opponent of 
 enormous abuses in the Romish church, I honour his memory. 
 I honour it none the less, because he was nearly slain by a 
 priest, suborned, by priests, to murder him at the altar: in 
 acknowledgment of his endeavours to reform a false and 
 hypocritical brotherhood of monks. Pleaven shield all 
 imitators of San Carlo Borromeo as it shielded him! A 
 reforming Pope would need a little shielding, even now. 
 
 The subterranean chapel in which the body of San Carlo 
 Borromeo is preserved, presents as striking and as ghastly a 
 contrast, perhaps, as any place can show. The tapers which 
 are lighted down there, flash and gleam on alti-rilievi in gold 
 and silver, delicately wrought by skilful hands, and represent- 
 ing the principal events in the life of the saint. Jewels, and 
 precious metals, shine and sparkle on every side. A windlass 
 slowly removes the front of the altar; and, within it, in a 
 gorgeous shrine of gold and silver, is seen, through alabaster, 
 the shrivelled mummy of a man: the pontifical robes with 
 
Milan Cathedral 
 
 34i 
 
 which it is adorned, radiant with diamonds, emeralds, rubies: 
 every costly and magnificent gem. The shrunken heap of 
 poor earth in the midst of this great glitter, is more pitiful 
 than if it lay upon a dunghill. There is not a ray of im- 
 prisoned light in all the flash and fire of jewels, but seems 
 to mock the dusty holes where eyes were, once. Every 
 thread of silk in the rich vestments seems only a provision 
 from the worms that spin, for the behoof of worms that 
 propagate in sepulchres. 
 
 In the old refectory of the dilapidated Convent of Santa 
 Maria delle Grazie, is the work of art, perhaps, better known 
 than any other in the world : the Last Supper, by Leonardo 
 da Vinci — with a door cut through it by the intelligent 
 Dominican friars, to facilitate their operations at dinner- 
 time. 
 
 I am not mechanically acquainted with the art of painting, 
 and have no other means of judging of a picture than as I 
 see it resembling and refining upon nature, and presenting 
 graceful combinations of forms and colours. I am, therefore, 
 no authority whatever, in reference to the “ touch ” of this or 
 that master; though I know very well (as anybody may, who 
 chooses to think about the matter) that few very great 
 masters can possibly have painted, in the compass of their 
 lives, one-half of the pictures that bear their names, and that 
 are recognised by many aspirants to a reputation for taste, as 
 undoubted originals. But this, by the way. Of the Last 
 Supper, I would simply observe, that in its beautiful com- 
 position and arrangement, there it is, at Milan, a wonderful 
 picture ; and that, in its original colouring, or in its original 
 expression of any single face or feature, there it is not. Apart 
 from the damage it has sustained from damp, decay, or 
 neglect, it has been (as Barry shows) so retouched upon, and 
 repainted, and that so clumsily, that many of the heads are, 
 now, positive deformities, with patches of paint and plaster 
 sticking upon them like wens, and utterly distorting the 
 expression. Where the original artist set that impress of 
 his genius on a face, which, almost in a line or touch, sepa- 
 rated him from meaner painters and made him what he was, 
 succeeding bunglers, filling up, or painting across seams and 
 cracks, have been quite unable to imitate his hand; and 
 putting in some scowls, or frowns, or wrinkles, of their own, 
 have blotched and spoiled the work. This is so well estab- 
 
342 Pictures from Italy 
 
 lished as an historical fact, that I should not repeat it, at the 
 risk of being tedious, but for having observed an English 
 gentleman before the picture, who was at great pains to fall 
 into what I may describe as mild convulsions, at certain 
 minute details of expression which are not left in it. 
 Whereas, it would be comfortable and rational for travellers 
 and critics to arrive at a general understanding that it cannot 
 fail to have been a work of extraordinary merit, once : when, 
 with so few of its original beauties remaining, the grandeur 
 of the general design is yet sufficient to sustain it, as a piece 
 replete with interest and dignity. 
 
 We achieved the other sights of Milan, in due course, and 
 a fine city it is, though not so unmistakably Italian as to 
 possess the characteristic qualities of many towns far less 
 important in themselves. The Corso, where the Milanese 
 gentry ride up and down in carriages, and rather than not 
 do which, they would half starve themselves at home, is a 
 most noble public promenade, shaded by long avenues of 
 trees. In the splendid theatre of La Scala, there was a 
 ballet of action performed after the opera, under the title of 
 Prometheus: in the beginning of which, some hundred or 
 two of men and women represented our mortal race before 
 the refinements of the arts and sciences, and loves and graces, 
 came on earth to soften them. I never saw anything more 
 effective. Generally speaking, the pantomimic action of the 
 Italians is more remarkable for its sudden and impetuous 
 character than for its delicate expression ; but, in this case, 
 the drooping monotony: the weary, miserable, listless, 
 
 moping life: the sordid passions and desires of human 
 creatures, destitute of those elevating influences to which we 
 owe so much, and to whose promoters we render so little : 
 were expressed in a manner really powerful and affecting. 
 I should have thought it almost impossible to present such 
 an idea so strongly on the stage, without the aid of speech. 
 
 Milan soon lay behind us, at five o'clock in the morning; 
 and before the golden statue on the summit of the cathedral 
 spire was lost in the blue sky, the Alps, stupendously con- 
 fused in lofty peaks and ridges, clouds and snow, were tower- 
 ing in our path. 
 
 Still, we continued to advance toward them until nightfall ; 
 and, all day long, the mountain tops presented strangely 
 shifting shapes, as the road displayed them in different points 
 
At the Foot of the Simplon 343 
 
 of view. The beautiful day was just declining, when we 
 came upon the Lago Maggiore, with its lovely islands. For 
 however fanciful and fantastic the Isola Bella may be, and 
 is, it still is beautiful. Anything springing out of that blue 
 water, with that scenery around it, must be. 
 
 It was ten o’clock at night when we got to Domo d’Ossola, 
 at the foot of the Pass of the Simplon. But as the moon 
 was shining brightly, and there was not a cloud in the starlit 
 sky, it was no time for going to bed, or going anywhere but 
 on. So, we got a little carriage, after some delay, and began 
 the ascent. 
 
 It was late in November; and the snow lying four or five 
 feet thick in the beaten road on the summit (in other parts 
 the new drift was already deep), the air was piercing cold. 
 But, the serenity of the night, and the grandeur of the road, 
 with its impenetrable shadows, and deep glooms, and its 
 sudden turns into the shining of the moon and its incessant 
 roar of falling water, rendered the journey more and more 
 sublime at every step. 
 
 Soon leaving the calm Italian villages below us, sleeping 
 in the moonlight, the road began to wind among dark trees, 
 and after a time emerged upon a barer region, very steep 
 and toilsome, where the moon shone bright and high. By 
 degrees, the roar of water grew louder; and the stupendous 
 track, after crossing the torrent by a bridge, struck in 
 between two massive perpendicular walls of rock that quite 
 shut out the moonlight, and only left a few stars shining in the 
 narrow strip of sky above. Then, even this was lost, in the 
 thick darkness of a cavern in the rock, through which the 
 way was pierced; the terrible cataract thundering and roar- 
 ing close below it, and its foam and spray hanging, in a mist, 
 about the entrance. Emerging from this cave, and coming 
 again into the moonlight, and across a dizzy bridge, it crept 
 and twisted upward, through the Gorge of Gondo, savage 
 and grand beyond description, with smooth-fronted pre- 
 cipices, rising up on either hand, and almost meeting over- 
 head. Thus we went, climbing on our rugged way, higher 
 and higher all night, without a moment’s weariness : lost in 
 the contemplation of the black rocks, the tremendous heights 
 and depths, the fields of smooth snow lying, in the clefts and 
 hollows, and the fierce torrents thundering headlong down 
 the deep abyss. 
 
344 Pictures from Italy 
 
 Towards daybreak, we came among the snow, where a 
 keen wind was blowing fiercely. Having, with some trouble, 
 awakened the inmates of a wooden house in this solitude: 
 round which the wind was howling dismally, catching up the 
 snow in wreaths and hurling it away : we got some breakfast 
 in a room built of rough timbers, but well warmed by a stove, 
 and well contrived (as it had need to be) for keeping out the 
 bitter storms. A sledge being then made ready, and four 
 horses harnessed to it, we went, ploughing, through the 
 snow. Still upward, but now in the cold light of morning, 
 and with the great white desert on which we travelled, plain 
 and clear. 
 
 We were well upon the summit of the mountain: and had 
 before us the rude cross of wood, denoting its greatest altitude 
 above the sea: when the light of the rising sun, struck, all at 
 once, upon the waste of snow, and turned it a deep red. 
 The lonely grandeur of the scene, was then at its height. 
 
 As we went sledging on, there came out of the Hospice 
 founded by Napoleon, a group of Peasant travellers, with 
 staves and knapsacks, who had rested there last night: 
 attended by a Monk or two, their hospitable entertainers, 
 trudging slowly forward with them, for company’s sake. 
 It was pleasant to give them good morning, and pretty, look- 
 ing back a long way after them, to see them looking back at 
 us, and hesitating presently, when one of our horses stumbled 
 and fell, whether or no they should return and help us. But 
 he was soon up again, with the assistance of a rough waggoner 
 whose team had stuck fast there too; and when we had 
 helped him out of his difficulty, in return, we left him slowly 
 ploughing towards them, and went softly and swiftly forward, 
 on the brink of a steep precipice, among the mountain pines. 
 
 Taking to our wheels again, soon afterwards, we began 
 rapidly to descend; passing under everlasting glaciers, by 
 means of arched galleries, hung with clusters of dripping 
 icicles; under and over foaming waterfalls; near places of 
 refuge, and galleries of shelter against sudden danger; 
 through caverns over whose arched roofs the avalanches slide, 
 in spring, and bury themselves in the unknown gulf beneath. 
 Down, over lofty bridges, and through horrible ravines: a 
 little shifting speck in the vast desolation of ice and snow, 
 and monstrous granite rocks ; down through the deep 
 Gorge of the Saltine, and deafened by the torrent plunging 
 
Passing On 345 
 
 madly down, among the riven blocks of rock, into the level 
 country, far below. Gradually down, by zig-zag roads, lying 
 between an upward and a downward precipice, into warmer 
 weather, calmer air, and softer scenery, until there lay before 
 us, glittering like gold or silver in the thaw and sunshine, 
 the metal-covered, red, green, yellow, domes and church- 
 spires of a Swiss town. 
 
 The business of these recollections being with Italy, and 
 my business, consequently, being to scamper back thither as 
 fast as possible, I will not recall (though I am sorely tempted) 
 how the Swiss villages, clustered at the feet of Giant moun- 
 tains, looked like playthings ; or how confusedly the houses 
 were heaped and piled together; or how there were very 
 narrow streets to shut the howling winds out in the winter- 
 time; and broken bridges, which the impetuous torrents, 
 suddenly released in spring, had swept away. Or how 
 there were peasant women here, with great round fur caps: 
 looking, when they peeped out of casements and only their 
 heads were seen, like a population of Sword-bearers to the 
 Lord Mayor of London; or how the town of Vevay, lying 
 on the smooth lake of Geneva, was beautiful to see; or 
 how the statue of Saint Peter in the street at Fribourg, 
 grasps the largest key that ever was beheld; or how Fribourg 
 is illustrious for its two suspension bridges, and its grand 
 cathedral organ. 
 
 Or how, between that town and Bale, the road meandered 
 among thriving villages of wooden cottages, with overhang- 
 ing thatched roofs, and low protruding windows, glazed 
 with small round panes of glass like crown-pieces; or how, 
 in every little Swiss homestead, with its cart or waggon care- 
 fully stowed away beside the house, its little garden, stock 
 of poultry, and groups of red-cheeked children, there was an 
 air of comfort, very new and very pleasant after Italy; or 
 how the dresses of the women changed again, and there were 
 no more sword-bearers to be seen; and fair white stomachers, 
 and great black, fan-shaped, gauzy-looking caps, prevailed 
 instead. 
 
 Or how the country by the Jura mountains, sprinkled 
 with snow, and lighted by the moon, and musical with 
 falling water, was delightful ; or how, below the windows of 
 the great hotel of the Three Kings at Bale, the swollen Rhine 
 ran fast and green; or how, at Strasbourg, it was quite as 
 
346 Pictures from Italy 
 
 fast but not as green: and was said to be foggy lower down: 
 and, at that late time of the year, was a far less certain means 
 of progress, than the highway road to Paris. 
 
 Or how Strasbourg itself, in its magnificent old Gothic 
 Cathedral, and its ancient houses with their peaked roofs and 
 gables, made a little gallery of quaint and interesting views; 
 or how a crowd was gathered inside the cathedral at noon, 
 to see the famous mechanical clock in motion, striking twelve. 
 How, when it struck twelve, a whole army of puppets went 
 through many ingenious evolutions; and, among them, a 
 huge puppet-cock, perched on the top, crowed twelve times, 
 loud and clear. Or how it was wonderful to see this cock at 
 great pains to clap its wings, and strain its throat; but obvi- 
 ously having no connexion whatever with its own voice; 
 which was deep within the clock, a long way down. 
 
 Or how the road to Paris, was one sea of mud, and thence 
 to the coast, a little better for a hard frost. Or how the 
 cliffs of Dover were a pleasant sight, and England was so 
 wonderfully neat — though dark, and lacking colour on a 
 winter’s day, it must be conceded. 
 
 Or how, a few days afterwards, it was cool, re-crossing the 
 channel, with ice upon the decks, and snow lying pretty deep 
 in France. Or how the Malle Poste scrambled through the 
 snow, headlong, drawn in the hilly parts by any number of 
 stout horses at a canter; or how there were, outside the 
 Post-office Yard in Paris, before daybreak, extraordinary 
 adventurers in heaps of rags, groping in the snowy streets 
 with little rakes, in search of odds and ends. 
 
 Or how, between Paris and Marseilles, the snow being then 
 exceeding deep, a thaw came on, and the mail waded rather 
 than rolled for the next three hundred miles or so ; breaking 
 springs on Sunday nights, and putting out its two passengers 
 to warm and refresh themselves pending the repairs, in miser- 
 able billiard-rooms, where hairy company, collected about 
 stoves, were playing cards ; the cards being very like them- 
 selves — extremely limp and dirty. 
 
 Or how there was detention at Marseilles from stress of 
 weather; and steamers were advertised to go, which did 
 not go; or how the good Steam-packet Charlemagne at length 
 put out, and met such weather that now she threatened to 
 run into Toulon, and now into Nice, but, the wind moderat- 
 ing, did neither, but ran on into Genoa harbour instead. 
 
The Coast-Road 
 
 347 
 
 where the familiar Bells rang sweetly in my ear. Or how 
 there was a travelling party on board, of whom one member 
 was very ill in the cabin next to mine, and being ill was 
 cross, and therefore declined to give up the Dictionary, which 
 he kept under his pillow; thereby obliging his companions 
 to come down to him, constantly, to ask what was the Italian 
 for a lump of sugar — a glass of brandy and water — what’s 
 o’clock? and so forth: which he always insisted on looking 
 out, with his own sea-sick eyes, declining to entrust the book 
 to any man alive. 
 
 Like Grumio, I might have told you, in detail, all this 
 and something more — but to as little purpose — were I not 
 deterred by the remembrance that my business is with Italy. 
 Therefore, like Grumio’s story, “ it shall die in oblivion.” 
 
 TO ROME BY PISA AND SIENA 
 
 There is nothing in Italy, more beautiful to me, than the 
 coast-road between Genoa and Spezzia. On one side: some- 
 times far below, sometimes nearly on a level with the road, 
 and often skirted by broken rocks of many shapes : there is 
 the free blue sea, with here and there a picturesque felucca 
 gliding slowly on; on the other side are lofty hills, ravines 
 besprinkled with white cottages, patches of dark olive woods, 
 country churches with their light open towers, and country 
 houses gaily painted. On every bank and knoll by the 
 wayside, the wild cactus and aloe flourish in exuberant pro- 
 fusion ; and the gardens of the bright villages along the road, 
 are seen, all blushing in the summer-time with clusters of the 
 Belladonna, and are fragrant in the autumn and winter with 
 golden oranges and lemons. 
 
 Some of the villages are inhabited, almost exclusively, by 
 fishermen ; and it is pleasant to see their great boats hauled 
 up on the beach, making little patches of shade, where they 
 lie asleep, or where the women and children sit romping and 
 looking out to sea, while they mend their nets upon the 
 shore. There is one town, Camoglia, with its little harbour 
 on the sea, hundreds of feet below the road; where families 
 
348 Pictures from Italy 
 
 of mariners live, who, time out of mind, have owned coasting- 
 vessels in that place, and have traded to Spain and elsewhere. 
 Seen from the road above, it is like a tiny model on the 
 margin of the dimpled water, shining in the sun. Descended 
 into, by the winding mule-tracks, it is a perfect miniature 
 of a primitive seafaring town; the saltest, roughest, most 
 piratical little place that ever was seen. Great rusty iron 
 rings and mooring-chains, capstans, and fragments of old 
 masts and spars, choke up the way; hardy rough-weather 
 boats, and seamen’s clothing, flutter in the little harbour or 
 are drawn out on the sunny stones to dry ; on the parapet of 
 the rude pier, a few amphibious-looking fellows lie asleep, 
 with their legs dangling over the wall, as though earth or 
 water were all one to them, and if they slipped in, they 
 would float away, dozing comfortably among the fishes ; the 
 church is bright with trophies of the sea, and votive offer- 
 ings, in commemoration of escape from storm and shipwreck. 
 The dwellings not immediately abutting on the harbour are 
 approached by blind low archways, and by crooked steps, as 
 if in darkness and in difficulty of access they should be like 
 holds of ships, or inconvenient cabins under water; and 
 everywhere, there is a smell of fish, and sea-weed, and old 
 rope. 
 
 The coast-road whence Camoglia is descried so far below, 
 is famous, in the warm season, especially in some parts near 
 Genoa, for fire-flies. Walking there on a dark night, I have 
 seen it made one sparkling firmament by these beautiful 
 insects : so that the distant stars were pale against the flash 
 and glitter that spangled every olive wood and hill-side, and 
 pervaded the whole air. 
 
 It was not in such a season, however, that we traversed 
 this road on our way to Rome. The middle of January was 
 only just past, and it was very gloomy and dark weather; 
 very wet besides. In crossing the fine pass of Bracco, we 
 encountered such a storm of mist and rain, that we travelled 
 in a cloud the whole way. There might have been no 
 Mediterranean in the world, for anything that we saw of it 
 there, except when a sudden gust of wind, clearing the mist 
 before it, for a moment, showed the agitated sea at a great 
 depth below, lashing the distant rocks, and spouting up its 
 foam furiously. The rain was incessant; every brook and 
 torrent was greatly swollen ; and such a deafening leaping, 
 
The Quarries at Carrara 349 
 
 and roaring, and thundering of water, I never heard the like 
 of in my life. 
 
 Hence, when we came to Spezzia, we found that the Magra, 
 an unbridged river on the high-road to Pisa, was too high 
 to be safely crossed in the Ferry Boat, and were fain to wait 
 until the afternoon of next day, when it had, in some 
 degree, subsided. Spezzia, however, is a good place to tarry 
 at; by reason, firstly, of its beautiful bay; secondly, of its 
 ghostly Inn; thirdly, of the head-dress of the women, who 
 wear, on one side of their head, a small doll’s straw hat, 
 stuck on to the hair; which is certainly the oddest and most 
 roguish head-gear that ever was invented. 
 
 The Magra safely crossed in the Ferry Boat — the passage 
 is not by any means agreeable, when the current is swollen 
 and strong — we arrived at Carrara, within a few hours. In 
 good time next morning, we got some ponies, and went out 
 to see the marble quarries. 
 
 They are four or five great glens, running up into a range 
 of lofty hills, until they can run no longer, and are stopped 
 by being abruptly strangled by Nature. The quarries, “ or 
 caves,” as they call them there, are so many openings, high 
 up in the hills, on either side of these passes, where they 
 blast and excavate for marble : which may turn out good or 
 bad: may make a man’s fortune very quickly, or ruin him 
 by the great expense of working what is worth nothing. 
 Some of these caves were opened by the ancient Romans, 
 and remain as they left them to this hour. Many others 
 are being worked at this moment ; others are to be begun 
 to-morrow, next week, next month; others are unbought, 
 unthought of ; and marble enough for more ages than have 
 passed since the place was resorted to, lies hidden every- 
 where : patiently awaiting its time of discovery. 
 
 As you toil and clamber up one of these steep gorges 
 (having left your pony soddening his girths in water, a mile 
 or two lower down) you hear, every now and then, echoing 
 among the hills, in a low tone, more silent than the previous 
 silence, a melancholy warning bugle, — a signal to the miners 
 to withdraw. Then, there is a thundering, and echoing from 
 hill to hill, and perhaps a splashing up of great fragments 
 of rock into the air; and on you toil again until some other 
 bugle sounds, in a new direction, and you stop directly, lest 
 you should come within the range of the new explosion. 
 
35° Pictures from Italy 
 
 There were numbers of men, working high up in these 
 hills — on the side — clearing away, and sending down the 
 broken masses of stone and earth, to make way for the blocks 
 of marble that had been discovered. As these came rolling 
 down from unseen hands into the narrow valley, I could 
 not help thinking of the deep glen (just the same sort of 
 glen) where the Roc left Sindbad the Sailor; and where the 
 merchants from the heights above, flung down great pieces 
 of meat for the diamonds to stick to. There were no eagles 
 here, to darken the sun in their swoop, and pounce upon 
 them; but it was as wild and fierce as if there had been 
 hundreds. 
 
 But the road, the road down which the marble comes, 
 however immense the blocks! The Genius of the country, 
 and the spirit of its institutions, pave that road: repair it, 
 watch it, keep it going! Conceive a channel of water run- 
 ning over a rocky bed, beset with great heaps of stone of all 
 shapes and sizes, winding down the middle of this valley; 
 and that being the road — because it was the road five hundred 
 years ago ! Imagine the clumsy carts of five hundred years 
 ago, being used to this hour, and drawn, as they used to be, 
 five hundred years ago, by oxen, whose ancestors were worn 
 to death five hundred years ago, as their unhappy descend- 
 ants are now, in twelve months, by the suffering and agony 
 of this cruel work! Two pair, four pair, ten pair, twenty 
 pair, to one block, according to its size ; down it must come, 
 this way. In their struggling from stone to stone, with their 
 enormous loads behind them, they die frequently upon the 
 spot; and not they alone; for their passionate drivers, 
 sometimes tumbling down in their energy, are crushed to 
 death beneath the wheels. But it was good five hundred 
 years ago, and it must be good now: and a railroad down 
 one of these steeps (the easiest thing in the world) would be 
 flat blasphemy. 
 
 When we stood aside, to see one of these cars drawn by 
 only a pair of oxen (for it had but one small block of marble 
 on it), coming down, I hailed, in my heart, the man who sat 
 upon the heavy yoke, to keep it on the neck of the poor 
 beasts — and who faced backwards: not before him — as the 
 very Devil of true despotism. He had a great rod in his 
 hand, with an iron point; and when they could plough and 
 force their way through the loose bed of the torrent no 
 
 
A Survival of Old Methods 351 
 
 longer, and came to a stop, he poked it into their bodies, 
 beat it on their heads, screwed it round and round in their 
 nostrils, got them on a yard or two, in the madness of intense 
 pain ; repeated all these persuasions with increased intensity 
 of purpose, when they stopped again; got them on, once 
 more; forced and goaded them to an abrupter point of the 
 descent; and when their writhing and smarting, and the 
 weight behind them, bore them plunging down the precipice 
 in a cloud of scattered water, whirled his rod above his head, 
 and gave a great whoop and hallo, as if he had achieved 
 something, and had no idea that they might shake him off, 
 and blindly mash his brains upon the road, in the noon-tide 
 of his triumph. 
 
 Standing in one of the many studii of Carrara, that after- 
 noon — for it is a great workshop, full of beautifully-finished 
 copies in marble, of almost every figure, group, and bust, 
 we know — it seemed, at first, so strange to me that those 
 exquisite shapes, replete with grace, and thought, and deli- 
 cate repose, should grow out of all this toil, and sweat, and 
 torture ! But I soon found a parallel to it, and an explana- 
 tion of it, in every virtue that springs up in miserable ground, 
 and every good thing that has its birth in sorrow and dis- 
 tress. And, looking out of the sculptor’s great window, upon 
 the marble mountains, all red and gloving in the decline of 
 day, but stem and solemn to the last, I thought, my God ! 
 how many quarries of human hearts and souls, capable of 
 far more beautiful results, are left shut up and mouldering 
 away : while pleasure-travellers through life, avert their faces, 
 as they pass, and shudder at the gloom and ruggedness that 
 conceal them ! 
 
 The then reigning Duke of Modena, to whom this territory 
 in part belonged, claimed the proud distinction of being the 
 only sovereign in Europe who had not recognised Louis- 
 Philippe as King of the French! He was not a wag, but 
 quite in earnest. He was also much opposed to railroads; 
 and if certain lines in contemplation by other potentates, on 
 either side of him, had been executed, would have probably 
 enjoyed the satisfaction of having an omnibus plying to and 
 fro across his not very vast dominions, to forward travellers 
 from one terminus to another. 
 
 Carrara, shut in by great hills, is very picturesque and 
 bold. Few tourists stay there; and the people are nearly all 
 
35 2 Pictures from Italy 
 
 connected, in one way or other, with the working of marble. 
 There are also villages among the caves, where the workmen 
 live. It contains a beautiful little Theatre, newly built; 
 and it is an interesting custom there, to form the chorus of 
 labourers in the marble quarries, who are self-taught and 
 sing by ear. I heard them in a comic opera, and in an act 
 of “ Norma ”; and they acquitted themselves very well; 
 unlike the common people of Italy generally, who (with some 
 exceptions among the Neapolitans) sing vilely out of tune, 
 and have very disagreeable singing voices. 
 
 From the summit of a lofty hill beyond Carrara, the first 
 view of the fertile plain in which the town of Pisa lies — with 
 Leghorn, a purple spot in the flat distance — is enchanting. 
 Nor is it only distance that lends enchantment to the view; 
 for the fruitful country, and rich woods of olive-trees through 
 which the road subsequently passes, render it delightful. 
 
 The moon was shining when we approached Pisa, and for 
 a long time we could see, behind the wall, the leaning Tower, 
 all awry in the uncertain light; the shadowy original of the 
 old pictures in school-books, setting forth “ The Wonders of 
 the World.” Like most things connected in their first 
 associations with school-books and school-times, it was too 
 small. I felt it keenly. It was nothing like so high above 
 the wall as I had hoped. It was another of the many decep- 
 tions practised by Mr. Harris, Bookseller, at the comer of St. 
 Paul’s Churchyard, London. His Tower was a fiction, but 
 this was a reality — and, by comparison, a short reality. Still, 
 it looked very well, and very strange, and was quite as much 
 out of the perpendicular as Harris had represented it to be. 
 The quiet air of Pisa too; the big guard-house at the gate, 
 with only two little soldiers in it; the streets with scarcely 
 any show of people in them ; and the Arno, flowing quaintly 
 through the centre of the town; were excellent. So, I bore 
 no malice in my heart against Mr. Harris (remembering his 
 good intentions), but forgave him before dinner, and went 
 out, full of confidence, to see the Tower next morning. 
 
 I might have known better; but, somehow, I had expected 
 to see it, casting its long shadow on a public street where 
 people came and went all day. It was a surprise to me to 
 find it in a grave retired place, apart from the general resort, 
 and carpeted with smooth green turf. But, the group of 
 buildings, clustered on and about this verdant carpet : com 
 
The Leaning Tower of Pisa 353 
 
 prising the Tower, the Baptistery, the Cathedral, and the 
 Church of the Campo Santo : is perhaps the most remarkable 
 and beautiful in the whole world ; and from being clustered 
 there, together, away from the ordinary transactions and 
 details of the town, they have a singularly venerable and 
 impressive character. It is the architectural essence of a 
 rich old city, with all its common life and common habita- 
 tions pressed out, and filtered away. 
 
 Simond compares the Tower to the usual pictorial repre- 
 sentations in children’s books of the Tower of Babel. It is 
 a happy simile, and conveys a better idea of the building 
 than chapters of laboured description. Nothing can exceed 
 the grace and lightness of the structure; nothing can be 
 more remarkable than its general appearance. In the course 
 of the ascent to the top (which is bv an easy staircase), the 
 inclination is not very apparent; but, at the summit, it 
 becomes so, and gives one the sensation of being in a ship 
 that has heeled over, through the action of an ebb-tide. The 
 effect upon the low side , so to speak — looking over from the 
 gallery, and seeing the shaft recede to its base — is very start- 
 ling; and I saw a nervous traveller hold on to the Tower 
 involuntarily, after glancing down, as if he had some idea of 
 propping it up. The view within, from the ground — looking 
 up, as through a slanted tube — is also very curious. It 
 certainly inclines as much as the most sanguine tourist could 
 desire. The natural impulse of ninety-nine people out of a 
 hundred, who were about to recline upon the grass below 
 it, to rest, and contemplate the adjacent buildings, would 
 probably be, not to take up their position under the leaning 
 side; it is so very much aslant. 
 
 The manifold beauties of the Cathedral and Baptistery 
 need no recapitulation from me ; though in this case, as in a 
 hundred others, I find it difficult to separate my own delight 
 in recalling them, from your weariness in having them 
 recalled. There is a picture of St. Agnes, by Andrea del 
 Sarto, in the former, and there are a variety of rich columns 
 in the latter, that tempt me strongly. 
 
 It is, I hope, no breach of my resolution not to be tempted 
 into elaborate descriptions, to remember the Campo Santo; 
 where grass -grown graves are dug in earth brought more 
 than six hundred years ago, from the Holy Land; and where 
 there are, surrounding them, such cloisters, with such playing 
 
354 Pictures from Italy 
 
 lights and shadows falling through their delicate tracery on 
 the stone pavement, as surely the dullest memory could 
 never forget. On the walls of this solemn and lovely place, 
 are ancient frescoes, very much obliterated and decayed, but 
 very curious. As usually happens in almost any collection 
 of paintings, of any sort, in Italy, where there are many 
 heads, there is, in one of them, a striking accidental likeness 
 of Napoleon. At one time, I used to please my fancy with 
 the speculation whether these old painters, at their work, 
 had a foreboding knowledge of the man who would one day 
 arise to wreak such destruction upon art: whose soldiers 
 would make targets of great pictures, and stable their 
 horses among triumphs of architecture. But the same 
 Corsican face is so plentiful in some parts of Italy at this 
 day, that a more commonplace solution of the coincidence 
 is unavoidable. 
 
 If Pisa be the seventh wonder of the world in right of its 
 Tower, it may claim to be, at least, the second or third in 
 right of its beggars. They waylay the unhappy visitor at 
 every turn, escort him to every door he enters at, and lie in 
 wait for him, with strong reinforcements, at every door by 
 which they know he must come out. The grating of the 
 portal on its hinges is the signal for a general shout, and 
 the moment he appears, he is hemmed in, and fallen on, by 
 heaps of rags and personal distortions. The beggars seem 
 to embody all the trade and enterprise of Pisa. Nothing 
 else is stirring, but warm air. Going through the streets, 
 the fronts of the sleepy houses look like backs. They are all 
 so still and quiet, and unlike houses with people in them, 
 that the greater part of the city has the appearance of a city 
 at daybreak, or during a general siesta of the population. 
 Or it is yet more like those backgrounds of houses in 
 common prints, or old engravings, where windows and doors 
 are squarely indicated, and one figure (a beggar of course) is 
 seen walking off by itself into illimitable perspective. 
 
 Not so Leghorn (made illustrious by Smollett’s grave), 
 which is a thriving, business-like, matter-of-fact place, where 
 idleness is shouldered out of the way by commerce. The 
 regulations observed there, in reference to trade and mer- 
 chants, are very liberal and free; and the town, of course, 
 benefits by them. Leghorn had a bad name in connexion 
 with stabbers, and with some justice it must be allowed; 
 
Leghorn 355 
 
 for, not many years ago, there was an assassination club 
 there, the members of which bore no ill-will to anybody in 
 particular, but stabbed people (quite strangers to them) in 
 the streets at night, for the pleasure and excitement of the 
 recreation. I think the president of this amiable society 
 was a shoemaker. He was taken, however, and the club was 
 broken up. It would, probably, have disappeared in the 
 natural course of events, before the railroad between Leghorn 
 and Pisa, which is a good one, and has already begun to 
 astonish Italy with a precedent of punctuality, order, plain 
 dealing, and improvement — the most dangerous and heretical 
 astonisher of all. There must have been a slight sensation, 
 as of earthquake, surely, in the Vatican, when the first 
 Italian railroad was thrown open. 
 
 Returning to Pisa, and hiring a good-tempered Vetturino, 
 and his four horses, to take us on to Rome, we travelled 
 through pleasant Tuscan villages and cheerful scenery all 
 day. The roadside crosses in this part of Italy are numerous 
 and curious. There is seldom a figure on the cross, though 
 there is sometimes a face; but they are remarkable for being 
 garnished with little models in wood, of every possible object 
 that can be connected with the Saviour’s death. The cock 
 that crowed when Peter had denied his Master thrice, is 
 usually perched on the tip-top; and an ornithological 
 phenomenon he generally is. Under him, is the inscription. 
 Then, hung on to the cross-beam, are the spear, the reed 
 with the sponge of vinegar and water at the end, the coat 
 without seam for wdiich the soldiers cast lots, the dice-box 
 with which they threw for it, the hammer that drove in the 
 nails, the pincers that pulled them out, the ladder which was 
 set against the cross, the crowm of thorns, the instrument of 
 flagellation, the lantern with wdiich Mary went to the tomb 
 (I suppose), and the sword with w T hich Peter smote the 
 servant of the high priest. — a perfect toy-shop of little objects, 
 repeated at every four or five miles, all along the highway. 
 
 On the evening of the second day from Pisa, we reached 
 the beautiful old city of Siena. There was what they called 
 a Carnival, in progress; but, as its secret lay in a score or 
 two of melancholy people walking up and down the principal 
 street in common toy-shop masks, and being more melan- 
 choly, if possible, than the same sort of people in England, I 
 say no more of it. We went off, betimes next morning, to see 
 
35 6 Pictures from Italy 
 
 the Cathedral, which is wonderfully picturesque inside and 
 out, especially the latter — also the market-place, or great 
 Piazza, which is a large square, with a great broken-nosed 
 fountain in it: some quaint Gothic houses : and a high square 
 brick tower; outside the top of which — a curious feature in 
 such views in Italy — hangs an enormous bell. It is like 
 a bit of Venice, without the water. There are some curious 
 old Palazzi in the town, which is very ancient; and without 
 having (for me) the interest of Verona, or Genoa, it is very 
 dreamy and fantastic, and most interesting. 
 
 We went on again, as soon as we had seen these things, 
 and going over a rather bleak country (there had been nothing 
 but vines until now: mere walking-sticks at that season of 
 the year), stopped, as usual, between one and two hours in 
 the middle of the day, to rest the horses; that being a part 
 of every Vetturino contract. We then went on again* 
 through a region gradually becoming bleaker and wilder, until 
 it became as bare and desolate as any Scottish moors. Soon 
 after dark, we halted for the night, at the osteria of La 
 Scala : a perfectly lone house, where the family were sitting 
 round a great fire in the kitchen, raised on a stone platform 
 three or four feet high, and big enough for the roasting of 
 an ox. On the upper, and only other floor of this hotel, 
 there was a great wild rambling sala, with one very little 
 window in a by-comer, and four black doors opening into 
 four black bedrooms in various directions. To say nothing 
 of another large black door, opening into another large black 
 sala, with the staircase coming abruptly through a kind 
 of trap-door in the floor, and the rafters of the roof looming 
 above: a suspicious little press skulking in one obscure 
 comer: and all the knives in the house lying about in various 
 directions. The fireplace was of the purest Italian architec- 
 ture, so that it was perfectly impossible to see it for the smoke. 
 The waitress was like a dramatic brigand’s wife, and wore 
 the same style of dress upon her head. The dogs barked like 
 mad; the echoes returned the compliments bestowed upon 
 them; there was not another house within twelve miles; 
 and things had a dreary, and rather a cut-throat, appear- 
 ance. 
 
 They were not improved by rumours of robbers having 
 come out, strong and boldly, within a few nights; and of 
 their having stopped the mail very near that place. They 
 
Accommodation for Travellers 357 
 
 were known to have waylaid some travellers not long before, 
 on Mount Vesuvius itself, and were the talk at all the road- 
 side inns. As they were no business of ours, however (for 
 we had very little with us to lose), we made ourselves merry 
 on the subject, and were very soon as comfortable as need 
 be. We had the usual dinner in this solitary house; and 
 a very good dinner it is, when you are used to it. There 
 is something with a vegetable or some rice in it, which is a 
 sort of shorthand or arbitrary character for soup, and which 
 tastes very well, when you have flavoured it with plenty of 
 grated cheese, lots of salt, and abundance of pepper. There 
 is the half fowl of which this soup has been made. There 
 is a stewed pigeon, with the gizzards and livers of himself 
 and other birds stuck all round him. There is a bit of roast 
 beef, the size of a small French roll. There are a scrap of 
 Parmesan cheese, and five little withered apples, all huddled 
 together on a small plate, and crowding one upon the other, 
 as if each were trying to save itself from the chance of being 
 eaten. Then there is coffee; and then there is bed. You 
 don't mind brick floors; you don't mind yawning doors, nor 
 banging windows; you don't mind your own horses being 
 stabled under the bed : and so close, that every time a horse 
 coughs or sneezes, he wakes you. If you are good-humoured 
 to the people about you, and speak pleasantly, and look 
 cheerful, take my word for it you may be well entertained in 
 the very worst Italian Inn, and always in the most obliging 
 manner, and may go from one end of the country to the 
 other (despite all stories to the contrary) without any great 
 trial of your patience anywhere. Especially, when you get 
 such wine in flasks, as the Orvieto, and the Monte Pulciano. 
 
 It was a bad morning when we left this place; and we 
 went, for twelve miles, over a country as barren, as stony, 
 and as wild, as Cornwall in England, until we came to 
 Radicofani, where there is a ghostly, goblin inn: once a 
 hunting-seat, belonging to the Dukes of Tuscany. It is full 
 of such rambling corridors, and gaunt rooms, that all the 
 murdering and phantom tales that ever were written might 
 have originated in that one house. There are some horrible 
 old Palazzi in Genoa: one in particular, not unlike it, outside: 
 but -there is a winding, creaking, wormy, rustling, door- 
 opening, foot-on-staircase-falling character about this Radi- 
 cofani Hotel, such as I never saw, anywhere else. The 
 
35 8 Pictures from Italy 
 
 town, such as it is, hangs on a hill-side above the house, 
 and in front of it. The inhabitants are all beggars; and as 
 soon as they see a carriage coming, they swoop down upon 
 it, like so many birds of prey. 
 
 When we got on the mountain pass, which lies beyond 
 this place, the wind (as they had forewarned us at the inn) 
 was so terrific, that we were obliged to take my other half 
 out of the carriage, lest she should be blown over, carriage 
 and all, and to hang to it, on the windy side (as well as we 
 could for laughing), to prevent its going, Heaven knows 
 where. For mere force of wind, this land-storm might have 
 competed with an Atlantic gale, and had a reasonable chance 
 of coming off victorious. The blast came sweeping down 
 great gullies in a range of mountains on the right: so that 
 we looked with positive awe at a great morass on the left, 
 and saw that there was not a bush or twig to hold by. It 
 seemed as if, once blown from our feet, we must be swept 
 out to sea, or away into space. There was snow, and hail, 
 and rain, and lightning, and thunder; and there were rolling 
 mists, travelling with incredible velocity. It was dark, awful, 
 and solitary to the last degree ; there were mountains above , 
 mountains, veiled in angry clouds; and there was such a 
 wrathful, rapid, violent, tumultuous hurry, everywhere, as 
 rendered the scene unspeakably exciting and grand. 
 
 It was a relief to get out of it, notwithstanding; and to 
 cross even the dismal dirty Papal Frontier. After passing 
 through two little towns; in one of which, Acquapendente, 
 there was also a “ Carnival ” in progress: consisting of one 
 man dressed and masked as a woman, and one woman dressed 
 and masked as a man, walking ankle-deep, through the 
 muddy streets, in a very melancholy manner: we came, at 
 dusk, within sight of the Lake of Bolsena, on whose bank 
 there is a little town of the same name, much celebrated for 
 malaria. With the exception of this poor place, there is not 
 a cottage on the banks of the lake, or near it (for nobody 
 dare sleep there); not a boat upon its waters; not a stick 
 or stake to break the dismal monotony of seven-and-twenty 
 watery miles. We were late in getting in, the roads being 
 very bad from heavy rains; and, after dark, the dulriess of 
 the scene was quite intolerable. 
 
 We entered on a very different, and a finer scene of 
 desolation, next night, at sunset. We had passed through 
 
A Vanished City 359 
 
 Montefiaschone (famous for its wine) and Viterbo (for its 
 fountains): and after climbing up a long hill of eight or ten 
 miles’ extent, came suddenly upon the margin of a solitary 
 lake : in one part very beautiful, with a luxuriant wood ; in 
 another, very barren, and shut in by bleak volcanic hills. 
 Where this lake flows, there stood, of old, a city. It was 
 swallowed up one day; and in its stead, this water rose. 
 There are ancient traditions (common to many parts of the 
 world) of the ruined city having been seen below, when the 
 water was clear; but however that may be, from this spot 
 of earth it vanished. The ground came bubbling up above 
 it; and the water too; and here they stand, like ghosts on 
 whom the other world closed suddenly, and who have no 
 means of getting back again. They seem to be waiting the 
 course of ages, for the next earthquake in that place; when 
 they will plunge below the ground, at its first yawning, and 
 be seen no more. The unhappy city below, is not more lost 
 and dreary, than these fire-charred hills and the stagnant 
 water, above. The red sun looked strangely on them, as 
 with the knowledge that they were made for caverns and 
 darkness; and the melancholy water oozed and sucked the 
 mud, and crept quietly among the marshy grass and reeds, 
 as if the overthrow of all the ancient towers and house- 
 tops, and the death of all the ancient people born and bred 
 there, were yet heavy on its conscience. 
 
 A short ride from this lake, brought us to Ronciglione; a 
 little town like a large pig-sty, where we passed the night. 
 Next morning at seven o’clock, we started for Rome. 
 
 As soon as we were out of the pig-sty, we entered on the 
 Campagne Romana; an undulating flat (as you know), where 
 few people can live; and where, for miles and miles, there is 
 nothing to relieve the terrible monotony and gloom. Of all 
 kinds of country that could, by possibility, lie outside the 
 gates of Rome, this is the aptest and fittest burial-ground for 
 the Dead City. So sad, so quiet, so sullen; so secret in its 
 covering up of great masses of ruin, and hiding them; so 
 like the waste places into which the men possessed with devils 
 used to go and howl, and rend themselves, in the old days 
 of Jerusalem. We had to traverse thirty miles of this 
 Campagna; and for two-and-twenty we went on and on, 
 seeing nothing but now and then a lonely house, or a villain- 
 ous-looking shepherd: with matted hair all over his face, 
 
360 Pictures frcm Italy 
 
 and himself wrapped to the chin in a frowzy brown mantle, 
 tending his sheep. At the end of that distance, we stopped 
 to refresh the horses, and to get some lunch, in a common 
 malaria-shaken, despondent little public-house, whose every 
 inch of wall and beam, inside, was (according to custom) 
 painted and decorated in a way so miserable that every room 
 looked like the wrong side of another room, and, with its 
 wretched imitation of drapery, and lop-sided little daubs of 
 lyres, seemed to have been plundered from behind the scenes 
 of some travelling circus. 
 
 When we were fairly going off again, we began, in a perfect 
 fever, to strain our eyes for Rome ; and when, after another 
 mile or two, the Eternal City appeared, at length, in the 
 distance; it looked like — I am half afraid to write the word 
 — like LONDON ! ! ! There it lay, under a thick cloud, with 
 innumerable towers, and steeples, and roofs of houses, rising 
 up into the sky, and high above them all, one Dome. I 
 swear, that keenly as I felt the seeming absurdity of the 
 comparison, it was so like London, at that distance, that if 
 you could have shown it me, in a glass, I should have taken 
 it for nothing else. 
 
 ROME 
 
 We entered the Eternal City, at about four o’clock in the 
 afternoon, on the thirtieth of January, by the Porta del 
 Popolo, and came immediately — it was a dark, muddy day, 
 and there had been heavy rain — on the skirts of the Carnival. 
 We did not, then, know that we were only looking at the 
 fag end of the masks, who were driving slowly round and 
 round the Piazza until they could find a promising oppor- 
 tunity for falling into the stream of carriages, and getting, 
 in good time, into the thick of the festivity; and coming 
 among them so abruptly, all travel-stained and weary, was 
 not coming very well prepared to enjoy the scene. 
 
 We had crossed the Tiber by the Ponte Molle two or three 
 miles before. It had looked as yellow as it ought to look, 
 and hurrying on between its wom-away and miry banks, had 
 a promising aspect of desolation and ruin. The masquerade 
 
St. Peter’s 
 
 3 61 
 
 dresses on the fringe of the Carnival, did great violence to 
 this promise. There were no great ruins, no solemn tokens 
 of antiquity, to be seen; — they all lie on the other side of 
 the city. There seemed to be long streets of commonplace 
 shops and houses, such as are to be found in any European 
 town; there were busy people, equipages, ordinary walkers 
 to and fro; a multitude of chattering strangers. It was no 
 more my Rome: the Rome of anybody’s fancy, man or boy; 
 degraded and fallen and lying asleep in the sun among a 
 heap of ruins: than the Place de la Concorde in Paris is. 
 A cloudy sky, a dull cold rain, and muddy streets, I was 
 prepared for, but not for this : and I confess to having gone 
 to bed, that night, in a very indifferent humour, and with a 
 very considerably quenched enthusiasm. 
 
 Immediately on going out next day, we hurried off to 
 St. Peter’s. It looked immense in the distance, but distinctly 
 and decidedly small, by comparison, on a near approach. 
 The beauty of the Piazza, on which it stands, with its clusters 
 of exquisite columns, and its gushing fountains — so fresh, so 
 broad, and free, and beautiful — nothing can exaggerate. The 
 first burst of the interior, in all its expansive majesty and 
 glory : and, most of all, the looking up into the Dome : is a 
 sensation never to be forgotten. But, there were prepara- 
 tions for a Festa; the pillars of stately marble were swathed in 
 some impertinent frippery of red and yellow; the altar, and 
 entrance to the subterranean chapel: which is before it: in 
 the centre of the church: were like a goldsmith’s shop, or 
 one of the opening scenes in a very lavish pantomime. And 
 though I had as high a sense of the beauty of the building 
 (I hope) as it is possible to entertain, I felt no very strong 
 emotion. I have been infinitely more affected in many 
 English cathedrals when the organ has been playing, and in 
 many English country churches when the congregation have 
 been singing. I had a much greater sense of mystery and 
 wonder, in the Cathedral of San Mark at Venice. 
 
 When we came out of the church again (we stood nearly 
 an hour staring up into the dome : and would not have “ gone 
 over ” the Cathedral then, for any money), we said to the 
 coachman, “ Go to the Coliseum.” In a quarter of an hour 
 or so, he stopped at the gate, and we went in. 
 
 It is no fiction, but plain, sober, honest Truth, to say: so 
 suggestive and distinct is it at this hour : that, for a moment 
 N 
 
362 Pictures from Italy 
 
 — actually in passing by — they who will, may have the whole 
 great pile before them, as it used to be, with thousands of 
 eager faces staring down into the arena, and such a whirl of 
 strife, and blood, and dust going on there, as no language 
 can describe. Its solitude, its awful beauty, and its utter 
 desolation, strike upon the stranger the next moment, like a 
 softened sorrow; and never in his life, perhaps, will he be so 
 moved and overcome by any sight, not immediately connected 
 with his own affections and afflictions. 
 
 To see it crumbling there, an inch a year; its walls and 
 arches overgrown with green; its corridors open to the day; 
 the long grass growing in its porches ; young trees of yesterday 
 springing up on its ragged parapets, and bearing fruit: 
 chance produce of the seeds dropped there by the birds 
 who build their nests within its chinks and crannies ; to see 
 its Pit of Fight filled up with earth, and the peaceful Cross 
 planted in the centre; to climb into its upper halls, and look 
 down on ruin, ruin, ruin, all about it; the triumphal arches 
 of Constantine, Septimus Severus, and Titus; the Roman 
 Forum; the Palace of the Caesars; the temples of the old 
 religion, fallen down and gone; is to see the ghost of old 
 Rome, wicked wonderful old city, haunting the very ground 
 on which its people trod. It is the most impressive, the 
 most stately, the most solemn, grand, majestic, mournful 
 sight, conceivable. Never, in its bloodiest prime, can the 
 sight of the gigantic Coliseum, full and running over with 
 the lustiest life, have moved one heart, as it must move all 
 who look upon it now, a ruin. God be thanked: a ruin ! 
 
 As it tops the other ruins: standing there, a mountain 
 among graves: so do its ancient influences outlive all other 
 remnants of the old mythology and old butchery of Rome, in 
 the nature of the fierce and cruel Roman people. The Italian 
 face changes as the visitor approaches the city; its beauty 
 becomes devilish; and there is scarcely one countenance in 
 a hundred, among the common people in the streets, that 
 would not be at home and happy in a renovated Coliseum 
 to-morrow. 
 
 Here was Rome indeed at last; and such a Rome as no 
 one can imagine in its full and awful grandeur ! We wandered 
 out upon the Appian Way, and then went on, through miles 
 of ruined tombs and broken walls, with here and there a 
 desolate and uninhabited house: past the Circus of Romulus, 
 
A Desert of Decay 363 
 
 where the course of the chariots, the stations of the judges, 
 competitors, and spectators, are yet as plainly to be seen 
 as in old time: past the tomb of Cecilia Metella: past all 
 inclosure, hedge, or stake, wall or fence : away upon the open 
 Campagna, where on that side of Rome, nothing is to be 
 beheld but Ruin. Except where the distant Apennines 
 bound the view upon the left, the whole wide prospect is one 
 field of ruin. Broken aqueducts, left in the most picturesque 
 and beautiful clusters of arches; broken temples; broken 
 tombs. A desert of decay, sombre and desolate beyond all 
 expression ; and with a history in every stone that strews the 
 ground. 
 
 On Sunday, the Pope assisted in the performance of High 
 Mass at St. Peter’s. The effect of the Cathedral on my mind, 
 on that second visit, was exactly what it was at first, and what 
 it remains after many visits. It is not religiously impressive 
 or affecting. It is an immense edifice, with no one point for 
 the mind to rest upon; and it tires itself with wandering 
 round and round. The very purpose of the place, is not 
 expressed in anything you see there, unless you examine its 
 details — and all examination of details is incompatible with 
 the place itself. It might be a Pantheon, or a Senate House, 
 or a great architectural trophy, having no other object than 
 an architectural triumph. There is a black statue of St. 
 Peter, to be sure, under a red canopy; which is larger than 
 life, and which is constantly having its great toe kissed by 
 good Catholics. You cannot help seeing that: it is so very 
 prominent and popular. But it does not heighten the effect 
 of the temple, as a work or art ; and it is not expressive — to 
 me at least — of its high purpose. 
 
 A large space behind the altar, was fitted up with boxes, 
 shaped like those at the Italian Opera in England, but in 
 their decoration much more gaudy. In the centre of the kind 
 of theatre thus railed off, was a canopied dais with the Pope’s 
 chair upon it. The pavement was covered with a carpet of 
 the brightest green; and what with this green, and the in- 
 tolerable reds and crimsons, and gold borders of the hangings, 
 the whole concern looked like a stupendous Bonbon. On 
 either side of the altar, was a large box for lady strangers. 
 These were filled with ladies in black dresses and black veils. 
 The gentlemen of the Pope’s guard, in red coats, leather 
 
364 Pictures from Italy 
 
 breeches, and jack-boots, guarded all this reserved space, with 
 drawn swords that were very flashy in every sense ; and from 
 the altar all down the nave, a broad lane was kept clear by 
 the Pope’s Swiss guard, who wear a quaint striped surcoat, 
 and striped tight legs, and carry halberds like those which are 
 usually shouldered by those theatrical supernumeraries, who 
 never can get off the stage fast enough, and who may be 
 generally observed to linger in the enemy’s camp after the 
 open country, held by the opposite forces, has been split up 
 the middle by a convulsion of Nature. 
 
 I got upon the border of the green carpet, in company with 
 a great many other gentlemen, attired in black (no other 
 passport is necessary), and stood there at my ease, during the 
 performance of Mass. The singers were in a crib of wirework 
 (like a large meat-safe or bird-cage) in one comer; and sang 
 most atrociously. All about the green carpet, there was a 
 slowly moving crowd of people : talking to each other : staring 
 at the Pope through eye-glasses ; defrauding one another, in 
 moments of partial curiosity, out of precarious seats on the 
 bases of pillars : and grinning hideously at the ladies. Dotted 
 here and there, were little knots of friars (Francescani, or 
 Cappuccini, in their coarse brown dresses and peaked hoods) 
 malang a strange contrast to the gaudy ecclesiastics of higher 
 degree, and having their humility gratified to the utmost, by 
 being shouldered about, and elbowed right and left, on all 
 sides. Some of these had muddy sandals and umbrellas, and 
 stained garments : having trudged in from the country. The 
 faces of the greater part were as coarse and heavy as their 
 dress ; their dogged, stupid, monotonous stare at all the glory 
 and splendour, having something in it, half miserable, and 
 half ridiculous. 
 
 Upon the green carpet itself, and gathered round the altar, 
 was a perfect army of cardinals and priests, in red, gold, 
 purple, violet, white, and fine linen. Stragglers from these, 
 went to and fro among the crowd, conversing two and 
 two, or giving and receiving introductions, and exchanging 
 salutations; other functionaries in black gowns, and other 
 functionaries in court-dresses, were similarly engaged. In the 
 midst of all these, and stealthy Jesuits creeping in and out, 
 and the extreme restlessness of the Youth of England, who 
 were perpetually wandering about, some few steady persons in 
 black cassocks, who had knelt down with their faces to the 
 
High Mass 365 
 
 wall, and were poring over their missals, became, uninten- 
 tionally, a sort of humane man-traps, and with their own 
 devout legs, tripped up other people’s by the dozen. 
 
 There was a great pile of candles lying down on the floor 
 near me, which a very old man in a rusty black gown with 
 an open-work tippet, like a summer ornament for a fireplace 
 in tissue-paper, made himself very busy in dispensing to all 
 the ecclesiastics: one a-piece. They loitered about with these 
 for some time, under their arms like walking-sticks, or in 
 their hands like truncheons. At a certain period of the 
 ceremony, however, each carried his candle up to the Pope, 
 laid it across his two knees to be blessed, took it back again, 
 and filed off. This was done in a very attenuated procession, 
 as you may suppose, and occupied a long time. Not because 
 it takes long to bless a candle through and through, but be- 
 cause there were so many candles to be blessed. At last they 
 were all blessed ; and then they were all lighted ; and then the 
 Pope was taken up, chair and all, and carried round the church. 
 
 I must say, that I never saw anything, out of November, so 
 like the popular English commemoration of the fifth of that 
 month. A bundle of matches and a lantern, would have made 
 it perfect. Nor did the Pope, himself, at all mar the resem- 
 blance, though he has a pleasant and venerable face ; for, as 
 this part of the ceremony makes him giddy and sick, he shuts 
 his eyes when it is performed : and having his eyes shut and 
 a great mitre on his head, and his head itself wagging to 
 and fro as they shook him in carrying, he looked as if his 
 mask were going to tumble off. The two immense fans which 
 are alway borne, one on either side of him, accompanied 
 him, of course, on this occasion. As they carried him along, 
 he blessed the people with the mystic sign ; and as he passed 
 them, they kneeled down. When he had made the round 
 of the church, he was brought back again, and if I am not 
 mistaken, this performance was repeated, in the whole, three 
 times. There was, certainly, nothing solemn or effective in 
 it ; and certainly very much that was droll and tawdry. But 
 this remark applies to the whole ceremony, except the raising 
 of the Host, when every man in the guard dropped on one 
 knee instantly, and dashed his naked sword on the ground; 
 which had a fine effect. 
 
 The next time I saw the cathedral, was some two or three 
 weeks afterwards, when I climbed up into the ball; and 
 
366 Pictures from Italy 
 
 then, the hangings being taken down, and the carpet taken 
 up, but all the framework left, the remnants of these decora- 
 tions looked like an exploded cracker. 
 
 The Friday and Saturday having been solemn Festa days, 
 and Sunday being always a dies non in carnival proceedings, 
 we had looked forward, with some impatience and curiosity, to 
 the beginning of the new week : Monday and Tuesday being 
 the two last and best days of the Carnival. 
 
 On the Monday afternoon at one or two o’clock, there 
 began to be a great rattling of carriages into the court-yard 
 of the hotel; a hurrying to and fro of all the servants in it; 
 and, now and then, a swift shooting across some doorway or 
 balcony, of a straggling stranger in a fancy dress: not yet 
 sufficiently well used to the same, to wear it with confidence, 
 and defy public opinion. All the carriages were open, and 
 had the linings carefully covered with white cotton or calico, 
 to prevent their proper decorations from being spoiled by 
 the incessant pelting of sugar-plums ; and people were pack- 
 ing and cramming into every vehicle as it waited for its 
 occupants, enormous sacks and baskets full of these confetti, 
 together with such heaps of flowers, tied up in little nosegays, 
 that some carriages were not only brimful of flowers, but 
 literally running over: scattering, at every shake and jerk 
 of the springs, some of their abundance on the ground. Not 
 to be behindhand in these essential particulars, we caused 
 two very respectable sacks of sugar-plums (each about three 
 feet high) and a large clothes-basket full of flowers to be con- 
 veyed into our hired barouche, with all speed. And from 
 our place of observation, in one of the upper balconies of the 
 hotel, we contemplated these arrangements with the liveliest 
 satisfaction. The carriages now beginning to take up their 
 company, and move away, we got into ours, and drove off 
 too, armed with little wire masks for our faces; the sugar- 
 plums, like Falstaff’s adulterated sack, having lime in their 
 composition. 
 
 The Corso is a street a mile long; a street of shops, and 
 palaces, and private houses, sometimes opening into a broad 
 piazza. There are verandahs and balconies, of all shapes and 
 sizes, to almost every house — not on one story alone, but 
 often to one room or another on every story — put there in 
 general with so little order or regularity, that if, year after 
 
Doing as Rome Does 367 
 
 year, and season after season, it had rained balconies, hailed 
 balconies, snowed balconies, blown balconies, they could 
 scarcely have come into existence in a more disorderly 
 manner. 
 
 This is the great fountain-head and focus of tne Carnival. 
 But all the streets in which the Carnival is held, being 
 vigilantly kept by dragoons, it is necessary for carriages, in 
 the first instance, to pass, in line, down another thoroughfare, 
 and so come into the Corso at the end remote from the 
 Piazza del Popolo ; which is one of its terminations. Accord- 
 ingly, we fell into the string of coaches, and, for some time, 
 jogged on quietly enough; now crawling on at a very slow 
 walk; now trotting half-a-dozen yards; now backing fifty; 
 and now stopping altogether: as the pressure in front obliged 
 us. If any impetuous carriage dashed out of the rank and 
 clattered forward, with the wild idea of getting on faster, it 
 was suddenly met, or overtaken, by a trooper on horseback, 
 who, deaf as his own drawn sword to all remonstrances, 
 immediately escorted it back to the very end of the row, and 
 made it a dim speck in the remotest perspective. Occasion- 
 ally, we interchanged a volley of confetti with the carriage 
 next in front, or the carriage next behind; but as yet, this 
 capturing of stray and errant coaches by the military, was 
 the chief amusement. 
 
 Presently, we came into a narrow street, where, besides one 
 line of carriages going, there was another line of carriages 
 returning. Here the sugar-plums and the nosegays began to 
 fly about, pretty smartly; and I was fortunate enough to 
 observe one gentleman attired as a Greek warrior, catch a 
 light-whiskered brigand on the nose (he was in the very act 
 of tossing up a bouquet to a young lady in a first-floor 
 window) with a precision that was much applauded by the 
 bystanders. As this victorious Greek was exchanging a 
 facetious remark with a stout gentleman in a doorway — one- 
 half black and one-half white, as if he had been peeled up 
 the middle — who had offered him his congratulations on this 
 achievement, he received an orange from a house-top, full 
 on his left ear, and was much surprised, not to say discom- 
 fited. Especially, as he was standing up at the time; and in 
 consequence of the carriage moving on suddenly, at the same 
 moment, staggered ignominiously, and buried himself among 
 his flowers. 
 
368 Pictures from Italy 
 
 Some quarter of an hour of this sort of progress, brought 
 us to the Corso; and anything so gay, so bright, and lively 
 at the whole scene there, it would be difficult to imagine. 
 From all the innumerable balconies: from the remotest and 
 highest, no less than from the lowest and nearest : hangings 
 of bright red, bright green, bright blue, white and gold, were 
 fluttering in the brilliant sunlight. From windows, and 
 from parapets, and tops of houses, streamers of the richest 
 colours, and draperies of the gaudiest and most sparkling 
 hues, were floating out upon the street. The buildings 
 seemed to have been literally turned inside out, and to have 
 all their gaiety towards the highway. Shop-fronts were 
 taken down, and the windows filled with company, like boxes 
 at a shining theatre; doors were carried off their hinges, and 
 long tapestried groves, hung with garlands of flowers and 
 evergreens, displayed within; builder’s scaffoldings were 
 gorgeous temples, radiant in silver, gold, and crimson; and 
 in every nook and corner, from the pavement to the chimney- 
 tops, where women’s eyes could glisten, there they danced, 
 and laughed, and sparkled, like the light in water. Every 
 sort of bewitching madness of dress was there. Little pre- 
 posterous scarlet jackets; quaint old stomachers, more 
 wicked than the smartest bodices; Polish pelisses, strained 
 and tight as ripe gooseberries; tiny Greek caps, all awry, 
 and clinging to the dark hair, Heaven knows how T ; every 
 wild, quaint, bold, shy, pettish, madcap fancy had its illustra- 
 tion in a dress; and every fancy was as dead forgotten by its 
 owner, in the tumult of merriment, as if the three old aque- 
 ducts that still remain entire had brought Lethe into Rome, 
 upon their sturdy arches, that morning. 
 
 The carriages were now three abreast; in broader places 
 four; often stationary for a long time together; always one 
 close mass of variegated brightness; showing, the whole 
 streetful, through the storm of flowers, like flowers of a 
 larger growth themselves. In some, the horses were richly 
 caparisoned in magnificent trappings; in others they were 
 decked from head to tail, with flowing ribbons. Some were 
 driven by coachmen with enormous double faces: one face 
 leering at the horses: the other cocking its extraordinary 
 eyes into the carriage : and both rattling again, under the hail 
 of sugar-plums. Other drivers were attired as women, wear- 
 ing long ringlets and no bonnets, and looking more ridiculous 
 
The Carnival 
 
 3 6 9 
 
 in any real difficulty with the horses (of which, in such a con- 
 course, there were a great many) than tongue can tell, or pen 
 describe. Instead of sitting in the carriages, upon the seats, 
 the handsome Roman women, to see and to be seen the 
 better, sit in the heads of the barouches, at this time of 
 general licence, with their feet upon the cushions — and oh 
 the flowing skirts and dainty waists, the blessed shapes and 
 laughing faces, the free, good-humoured, gallant figures that 
 they make! There were great vans, too, full of handsome 
 girls — thirty, or more together, perhaps — and the broadsides 
 that were poured into, and poured out of, these fairy fire- 
 shops, splashed the air with flowers and bon-bons for ten 
 minutes at a time. Carriages, delayed long in one place, 
 would begin a deliberate engagement with other carriages, 
 or with people at the lower windows ; and the spectators at 
 some upper balcony or window, joining in the fray, and 
 attacking both parties, would empty down great bags of 
 confetti, that descended like a cloud, and in an instant made 
 them white as millers. Still, carriages on carriages, dresses 
 on dresses, colours on colours, crowds upon crowds, without 
 end. Men and boys clinging to the wheels of coaches, and 
 holding on behind, and following in their wake, and diving 
 in among the horses’ feet to pick up scattered flowers to sell 
 again; maskers on foot (the drollest generally) in fantastic 
 exaggerations of court-dresses, surveying the throng through 
 enormous eye-glasses, and always transported with an 
 ecstasy of love, on the discovery of any particularly old lady 
 at a window; long strings of Policinelli, laying about them 
 with blown bladders at the ends of sticks; a waggonful of 
 madmen, screaming and tearing to the life; a coachful of 
 grave Mamelukes, with their horse-tail standard set up in 
 the midst; a party of gipsy-women engaged in terrific con- 
 flict with a shipful of sailors ; a man-monkey on a pole, sur- 
 rounded by strange animals with pigs’ faces, and lions’ tails, 
 carried under their arms, or worn gracefully over their 
 shoulders; carriages on carriages, dresses on dresses, colours 
 on colours, crowds upon crowds, without end. Not many 
 actual characters sustained, or represented, perhaps, con- 
 sidering the number dressed, but the main pleasure of the 
 scene consisting in its perfect good temper; in its bright, 
 and infinite, and flashing variety; and in its entire abandon- 
 ment to the mad humour of the time — an abandonment so 
 *N 
 
37° Pictures from Italy 
 
 perfect, so contagious, so irresistible, that the steadiest 
 foreigner fights up to his middle in flowers and sugar-plums, 
 like the wildest Roman of them all, and thinks of nothing 
 else till half-past four o’clock, when he is suddenly reminded 
 (to his great regret) that this is not the whole business of his 
 existence, by hearing the trumpets sound, and seeing the 
 dragoons begin to clear the street. 
 
 How it ever is cleared for the race that takes place at five, 
 or how the horses ever go through the race, without going 
 over the people, is more than I can say. But the carriages 
 get out into the by-streets, or up into the Piazza del Popolo, 
 and some people sit in temporary galleries in the latter place, 
 and tens of thousands line the Corso on both sides, when the 
 horses are brought out into the Piazza — to the foot of that 
 same column which, for centuries, looked down upon the 
 games and chariot-races in the Circus Maximus. 
 
 At a given signal they are started off. Down the live lane, 
 the whole length of the Corso, they fly like the wind : rider- 
 less, as all the world knows: with shining ornaments upon 
 their backs, and twisted in their plaited manes: and with 
 heavy little balls stuck full of spikes, dangling at their sides, 
 to goad them on. The jingling of these trappings, and the 
 rattling of their hoofs upon the hard stones; the dash and 
 fury of their speed along the echoing street; nay, the very 
 cannon that are fired — these noises are nothing to the roaring 
 of the multitude: their shouts: the clapping of their hands. 
 But it is soon over — almost instantaneously. More cannon 
 shake the town. The horses have plunged into the carpets 
 put across the street to stop them ; the goal is reached ; the 
 prizes are won (they are given, in part, by the poor Jews, as a 
 compromise for not running foot-races themselves); and there 
 is an end to that day’s sport. 
 
 But if the scene be bright, and gay, and crowded, on the 
 last day but one, it attains, on the concluding day, to such a 
 height of glittering colour, swarming life, and frolicsome up- 
 roar, that the bare recollection of it makes me giddy at this 
 moment. The same diversions, greatly heightened and 
 intensified in the ardour with which they are pursued, . go on 
 until the same hour. The race is repeated; the cannon are 
 fired ; the shouting and clapping of hands are renewed ; the 
 cannon are fired again; the race is over; and the prizes 
 are won. But the carriages: ankle-deep with sugar-plums 
 
The Corso 
 
 37 1 
 
 within, and so be-flowered and dusty without, as to be hardly 
 recognisable for the same vehicles that they were, three 
 hours ago: instead of scampering off in all directions, throng 
 into the Corso, w r here they are soon wedged together in a 
 scarcely moving mass. For the diversion of the Moccoletti, 
 the last gay madness of the Carnival, is now at hand; and 
 sellers of little tapers like what are called Christmas candles 
 in England, are shouting lustily on every side, “ Moccoli, 
 Moccoli! Ecco Moccoli !” — a new item in the tumult; 
 quite abolishing that other item of “ Ecco Fiori ! Ecco 
 Fior — r — r ! ” which has been making itself audible over all 
 the rest, at intervals, the whole day through. 
 
 As the bright hangings and dresses are all fading into one 
 dull, heavy, uniform colour in the decline of the day, lights 
 begin flashing, here and there : in the windows, on the house- 
 tops, in the balconies, in the carriages, in the hands of the 
 foot-passengers, little by little: gradually, gradually: more 
 and more : until the whole long street is one great glare and 
 blaze of fire. Then, everybody present has but one engross- 
 ing object; that is, to extinguish other people’s candles, and 
 to keep his own alight; and everybody: man, woman, or 
 child, gentleman or lady, prince or peasant, native or 
 foreigner: yells and screams, and roars incessantly, as a 
 taunt to the subdued, “ Senza Moccolo, Senza Moccolo!” 
 (Without a light! Without a light!) until nothing is heard 
 but a gigantic chorus of those two w r ords, mingled with peals 
 of laughter. 
 
 The spectacle, at this time, is one of the most extraordin- 
 ary that can be imagined. Carriages coming slowly by, with 
 everybody standing on the seats or on the box, holding up 
 their lights at arms’ length, for greater safety; some in paper 
 shades; some with a bunch of undefended little tapers, 
 kindled altogether; some with blazing torches; some with 
 feeble little candles; men on foot, creeping along, among 
 the wheels, watching their opportunity, to make a spring at 
 some particular light, and dash it out ; other people climbing 
 up into carriages, to get hold of them by main force; others, 
 chasing some unlucky wanderer, round and round his own 
 coach, to blow out the light he has begged or stolen some- 
 where, before he can ascend to his own company, and enable 
 them to light their extinguished tapers; others, with their 
 hats off, at a carriage-door, humbly beseeching some kind- 
 
372 Pictures from Italy 
 
 hearted lady to oblige them with a light for a cigar, and when 
 she is in the fulness of doubt whether to comply or no, blow- 
 ing out the candle she is guarding so tenderly with her little 
 hand ; other people at the windows, fishing for candles with 
 lines and hooks, or letting down long willow-wands with 
 handkerchiefs at the end, and flapping them out, dexter- 
 ously, when the bearer is at the height of his triumph ; others, 
 biding their time in comers, with immense extinguishers 
 like halberds, and suddenly coming down upon glorious 
 torches ; others, gathered round one coach, and sticking to it; 
 others, raining oranges and nosegays at the obdurate little 
 lantern, or regularly storming a pyramid of men, holding up 
 one man among them, who carries one feeble little wick above 
 his head, with which he defies them all! Senza Moccolo! 
 Senza Moccolo! Beautiful women, standing up in coaches, 
 pointing in derision at extinguished lights, and clapping 
 their hands, as they pass on crying, “ Senza Moccolo ! Senza 
 Moccolo ! ” low balconies full of lovely faces and gay dresses, 
 struggling with assailants in the streets; some repressing 
 them as they climb up, some bending down, some leaning 
 over, some shrinking back — delicate arms and bosoms — 
 graceful figures — glowing lights, fluttering dresses, Senza 
 Moccolo, Senza Moccoli, Senza Mocco-lo-o-o-o ! — when in 
 the wildest enthusiasm of the cry, and fullest ecstasy of the 
 sport, the Ave Maria rings from the church steeples, and the 
 Carnival is over in an instant — put out like a taper, with a 
 breath ! 
 
 There was a masquerade at the theatre at night, as dull 
 and senseless as a London one, and only remarkable for the 
 summary way in which the house was cleared at eleven 
 o’clock: which was done by a line of soldiers forming along 
 the wall, at the back of the stage, and sweeping the whole 
 company out before them, like a broad broom. The game 
 of the Moccoletti (the word, in the singular, Moccoletto, is the 
 diminutive of Moccolo, and means a little lamp or candle- 
 snuff) is supposed by some to be a ceremony of burlesque 
 mourning for the death of the Carnival: candles being indis- 
 pensable to Catholic grief. But whether it be so, or be a 
 remnant of the ancient Saturnalia, or an incorporation of 
 both, or have its origin in anything else, I shall always re- 
 member it, and the frolic, as a brilliant and most captivating 
 sight: no less remarkable for the unbroken good-humour of 
 
English Tourists 373 
 
 all concerned, down to the very lowest (and among those who 
 scaled the carriages, were many of the commonest men and 
 boys), than for its innocent vivacity. For, odd as it may 
 seem to say so, of a sport so full of thoughtlessness and per- 
 sonal display, it is as free from any taint of immodesty as any 
 general mingling of the two sexes can possibly be; and there 
 seems to prevail, during its progress, a feeling of general, 
 almost childish, simplicity and confidence, which one thinks 
 of with a pang, when the Ave Maria has rung it away, for a 
 whole year. 
 
 Availing ourselves of a part of the quiet interval between 
 the termination of the Carnival and the beginning of the 
 Holy Week: when everybody had run away from the one, 
 and few people had yet begun to run back again for the other : 
 we went conscientiously to work, to see Rome. And, by dint 
 of going out early every morning, and coming back late every 
 evening, and labouring hard all day, I believe we made 
 acquaintance with every post and pillar in the city, and the 
 country round ; and, in particular, explored so many churches, 
 that I abandoned that part of the enterprise at last, before it 
 was half finished, lest I should never, of my own accord, go 
 to church again, as long as I lived. But, I managed, almost 
 every day, at one time or other, to get back to the Coliseum, 
 and out upon the open Campagna, beyond the Tomb of 
 Cecilia Metella. 
 
 We often encountered, in these expeditions, a company of 
 English Tourists, with whom I had an ardent, but ungratified 
 longing, to establish a speaking acquaintance. They were 
 one Mr. Davis, and a small circle of friends. It was impos- 
 sible not to know Mrs. Davis’s name, from her being always 
 in great .request among her party, and her party being every- 
 where. During the Holy Week, they were in every part of 
 every scene of every ceremony. For a fortnight or three 
 weeks before it, they were in every tomb, and every church, 
 and every ruin, and every Picture Gallery; and I hardly ever 
 observed Mrs. Davis to be silent for a moment. Deep under- 
 ground, high up in St. Peter’s, out on the Campagna, and 
 stifling in the Jews’ quarter, Mrs. Davis turned up, all the 
 same. I don’t think she ever saw anything, or ever looked 
 at anything; and she had always lost something out of a 
 straw hand-basket, and was trying to find it, with all her 
 
374 Pictures from Italy 
 
 might and main, among an immense quantity of English 
 halfpence, which lay, like sands upon the sea-shore, at the 
 bottom of it. There was a professional Cicerone always 
 attached to the party (which had been brought over from 
 London, fifteen or twenty strong, by contract), and if he so 
 much as looked at Mrs. Davis, she invariably cut him short 
 by saying, “ There, God bless the man, don’t worrit me ! I 
 don’t understand a word you say, and shouldn’t if you was 
 to talk till you was black in the face ! ” Mr. Davis always 
 had a snuff-coloured great-coat on, and carried a great green 
 umbrella in his hand, and had a slow curiosity constantly 
 devouring him, which prompted him to do extraordinary 
 things, such as taking the covers off urns in tombs, and look- 
 ing at the ashes as if they were pickles — and tracing out 
 inscriptions with the ferrule of his umbrella, and saying, 
 with intense thoughtfulness, “ Here’s a B you see, and there’s 
 a R, and this is the way we goes on in; is it? ” His anti- 
 quarian habits occasioned his being frequently in the rear of 
 the rest; and one of the agonies of Mrs. Davis, and the 
 party in general, was an ever-present fear that Davis would 
 be lost. This caused them to scream for him, in the strangest 
 places, and at the most improper seasons. And when he 
 came, slowly emerging out of some sepulchre or other, like a 
 peaceful Ghoul, saying “ Here I am! ” Mrs. Davis invariably 
 replied, “ You’ll be buried alive in a foreign country, Davis, 
 and it’s no use trying to prevent you ! ” 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Davis, and their party, had, probably, been 
 brought from London in about nine or ten days. Eighteen 
 hundred years ago, the Roman legions under Claudius, pro- 
 tested against being led into Mr. and Mrs. Davis’s country, 
 urging that it lay beyond the limits of the world. 
 
 Among what may be called the Cubs or minor Lions of 
 Rome, there was one that amused me mightily. It is always 
 to be found there ; and its den is on the great flight of steps 
 that lead from the Piazza di Spagna, to the church of Trinita 
 del Monte. In plainer words, these steps are the great place 
 of resort for the artists’ “ Models,” and there they are con- 
 stantly waiting to be hired. The first time I went up there, 
 I could not conceive why the faces seemed familiar to me; 
 why they appeared to have beset me, for years, in every 
 possible variety of action and costume ; and how it came to 
 pass that they started up before me, in Rome, in the broad 
 
Artists’ Models 375 
 
 day, like so many saddled and bridled nightmares. I soon 
 found that we had made acquaintance, and improved it, for 
 several years, on the walls of various Exhibition Galleries. 
 There is one old gentleman, with long white hair and an 
 immense beard, who, to my knowledge, has gone half through 
 the catalogue of the Royal Academy. This is the venerable, 
 or patriarchal model. He carries a long staff; and every 
 knot and twist in that staff I have seen, faithfully delineated, 
 innumerable times. There is another man in a blue cloak, 
 who always pretends to be asleep in the sun (when there is 
 any), and who, I need but say, is always very wide awake, 
 and very attentive to the disposition of his legs. This is the 
 dolce jar ’ niente model. There is another man in a brown 
 cloak, who leans against a wall, with his arms folded in his 
 mantle, and looks out of the comers of his eyes ; which are 
 just visible beneath his broad slouched hat. This is the 
 assassin model. There is another man, who constantly looks 
 over his own shoulder, and is always going away, but never 
 does. This is the haughty, or scornful model. As to 
 Domestic Happiness, and Holy Families, they should come 
 very cheap, for there are lumps of them, all up the steps; 
 and the cream of the thing is, that they are all the falsest 
 vagabonds in the world, especially made up for the purpose, 
 and having no counterparts in Rome or any other part of 
 the habitable globe. 
 
 My recent mention of the Carnival, reminds me of its 
 being said to be a mock mourning (in the ceremony with 
 which it closes), for the gaieties and merry-makings before 
 Lent; and this again reminds me of the real funerals and 
 mourning processions of Rome, which, like those in most 
 other parts of Italy, are rendered chiefly remarkable to a 
 Foreigner, by the indifference wdth which the mere clay is 
 universally regarded, after life has left it. And this is not 
 from the survivors having had time to dissociate the memory 
 of the dead from their well-remembered appearance and form 
 on earth; for the interment follows too speedily after death, 
 for that : almost always taking place within four-and-twentv 
 hours, and, sometimes, within twelve. 
 
 At Rome there is the same arrangement of Pits in a great, 
 bleak, open, dreary space, that I have already described as 
 existing in Genoa. When I visited it, at noonday, I saw a 
 solitary coffin of plain deal : uncovered by any shroud or pall. 
 
376 Pictures from Italy 
 
 and so slightly made, that the hoof of any wandering mule 
 would have crushed it in : carelessly tumbled down, all on one 
 side, on the door of one of the pits — and there left, by itself, 
 in the wind and sunshine. “ How does it come to be left 
 here? ” I asked the man who showed me the place. “ It was 
 brought here half an hour ago, Signore/ 1 ’ he said. I remem- 
 bered to have met the procession, on its return: straggling 
 away at a good round pace. “ When will it be put in the 
 pit? ” I asked him. “ When the cart comes, and it is opened 
 to-night/’ he said. “ How much does it cost to be brought 
 here in this way, instead of coming in the cart? ” I asked him, 
 “ Ten scudi,” he said (about two pounds, two-and-sixpence, 
 English). “ The other bodies, for whom nothing is paid, are 
 taken to the church of the Santa Maria della Consolazione,” • 
 he continued, “ and brought here altogether, in the cart at 
 night.” I stood, a moment, looking at the coffin, which had 
 two initial letters scrawled upon the top; and turned away, 
 with an expression in my face, I suppose, of not much liking 
 its exposure in that manner: for he said, shrugging his 
 shoulders with great vivacity, and giving a pleasant smile, 
 “ But he’s dead, Signore, he’s dead. Why not? ” 
 
 Among the innumerable churches, there is one I must select 
 for separate mention. It is the church of the Ara Cceli, 
 supposed to be built on the site of the old Temple of Jupiter 
 Feretrius; and approached, on one side, by a long steep 
 flight of steps, which seem incomplete without some group 
 of bearded soothsayers on the top. It is remarkable for the 
 possession of a miraculous Bambino, or wooden doll, repre- 
 senting the Infant Saviour; and I first saw this miraculous 
 Bambino, in legal phrase, in manner following, that is to say : 
 
 We had strolled into the church one afternoon, and were 
 looking down its long vista of gloomy pillars (for all these 
 ancient churches built upon the ruins of old temples, are 
 dark and sad), when the Brave came running in, with a grin 
 upon his face that stretched it from ear to ear, and implored 
 us to follow him, without a moment’s delay, as they were 
 going to show the Bambino to a select party. We accord- 
 ingly hurried off to a sort of chapel, or sacristy, hard by the 
 chief altar, but not in the church itself, where the select 
 party, consisting of two or three Catholic gentlemen and 
 ladies (not Italians), were already assembled: and where one 
 
The Popular Bambino 377 
 
 hollow-cheeked young monk was lighting up divers candles, 
 while another was putting on some clerical robes over his 
 coarse brown habit. The candles were on a kind of altar, 
 and above it were two delectable figures, such as you would 
 see at any English fair, representing the Holy Virgin, and 
 Saint Joseph, as I suppose, bending in devotion over a wooden 
 box, or coffer; which was shut. 
 
 The hollow-cheeked monk, number One, having finished 
 lighting the candles, went down on his knees, in a comer, 
 before this set-piece; and the monk number Two, having 
 put on a pair of highly ornamented and gold-bespattered 
 gloves, lifted down the coffer, with great reverence, and set it 
 on the altar. Then, with many genuflexions, and muttering 
 certain prayers, he opened it, and let down the front, and took 
 off sundry coverings of satin and lace from the inside. The 
 ladies had been on their knees from the commencement ; and 
 the gentlemen now dropped down devoutly, as he exposed 
 to view a little wooden doll, in face very like General Tom 
 Thumb, the American Dwarf: gorgeously dressed in satin 
 and gold lace, and actually blazing with rich jewels. There 
 was scarcely a spot upon its little breast, or neck, or stomach, 
 but was sparkling with the costly offerings of the Faithful. 
 Presently, he lifted it out of the box, and carrying it round 
 among the kneelers, set its face against the forehead of every 
 one, and tendered its clumsy foot to them to kiss — a ceremony 
 which they all performed down to a dirty little ragamuffin of 
 a boy who had walked in from the street. When this was 
 done, he laid it in the box again : and the company, rising, 
 drew near, and commended the jewels in whispers. In good 
 time, he replaced the coverings, shut up the box, put it back 
 in its place, locked up the whole concern (Holy Family and 
 all) behind a pair of folding-doors ; took off his priestly vest- 
 ments; and recei ved the customary “ small charge,” while his 
 companion, by means of an extinguisher fastened to the end 
 of a long stick, put out the lights, one after another. The 
 candles being all extinguished, and the money all collected, 
 they retired, and so did the spectators. 
 
 I met this same Bambino, in the street a short time after- 
 wards, going, in great state, to the house of some sick person. 
 It is taken to all parts of Rome for this purpose, constantly; 
 but, I understand that it is not always as successful as could 
 be wished ; for, making its appearance at the bedside of weak 
 
378 Pictures from Italy 
 
 and nervous people in extremity , accompanied by a numerous 
 escort, it not unfrequently frightens them to death. It is 
 most popular in cases of childbirth, where it has done such 
 wonders, that if a lady be longer than usual in getting 
 through her difficulties, a messenger is dispatched, with all 
 speed, to solicit the immediate attendance of the Bambino. 
 It is a very valuable property, and much confided in — 
 especially by the religious body to whom it belongs. 
 
 I am happy to know that it is not considered immaculate, 
 by some who are good Catholics, and who are behind the 
 scenes, from what was told me by the near relation of a 
 Priest, himself a Catholic, and a gentleman of learning and 
 intelligence. This Priest made my informant promise that 
 he would, on no account, allow the Bambino to be borne 
 into the bedroom of a sick lady, in whom they were both 
 interested. “ For,” said he, “ if they (the monks) trouble 
 her with it, and intrude themselves into her room, it will 
 certainly kill her.” My informant accordingly looked out of 
 the window when it came; and, with many thanks, declined 
 to open the door. He endeavoured, in another case of 
 which he had no other knowledge than such as he gained as a 
 passer-by at the moment, to prevent its being carried into a 
 small unwholesome chamber, where a poor girl was dying. 
 But, he strove against it unsuccessfully, and she expired 
 while the crowd were pressing round her bed. 
 
 Among the people who drop into St. Peter’s at their 
 leisure, to kneel on the pavement, and say a quiet prayer, 
 there are certain schools and seminaries, priestly and other- 
 wise, that come in, twenty or thirty strong. These boys 
 always kneel down in single file, one behind the other, with 
 a tall grim master in a black gown, bringing up the rear: 
 like a pack of cards arranged to be tumbled down at a touch, 
 with a disproportionately large Knave of clubs at the end. 
 When they have had a minute or so at the chief altar, they 
 scramble up, and filing off to the chapel of the Madonna, or 
 the sacrament, flop down again in the same order; so that 
 if anybody did stumble against the master, a general and 
 sudden overthrow of the whole line must inevitably ensue. 
 
 The scene in all the churches is the strangest possible. 
 The same monotonous, heartless, drowsy chaunting, always 
 going on ; the same dark building, darker from the brightness 
 of the street without; the same lamps dimly burning; the 
 
Unceasing Devotions 379 
 
 self-same people kneeling here and there; turned towards 
 you, from one altar or other, the same priest’s back, with 
 the same large cross embroidered on it ; however different in 
 size, in shape, in wealth, in architecture, this church is from 
 that, it is the same thing still. There are the same dirty 
 beggars stopping in their muttered prayers to beg ; the same 
 miserable cripples exhibiting their deformity at the doors; 
 the same blind men, rattling little pots like kitchen pepper- 
 castors : their depositories for alms ; the same preposterous 
 crowns of silver stuck upon the painted heads of single saints 
 and Virgins in crowded pictures, so that a little figure on a 
 mountain has a head-dress bigger than the temple in the fore- 
 ground, or adjacent miles of landscape; the same favourite 
 shrine or figure, smothered with little silver hearts and 
 crosses, and the like: the staple trade and show of all the 
 jewellers; the same odd mixture of respect and indecorum, 
 faith and phlegm: kneeling on the stones, and spitting on 
 them, loudly; getting up from prayers to beg a little, or to 
 pursue some other worldly matter : and then kneeling down 
 again, to resume the contrite supplication at the point where 
 it was interrupted. In one church, a kneeling lady got up 
 from her prayer, for a moment, to offer us her card, as a 
 teacher of Music; and in another, a sedate gentleman with 
 a very thick walking-staff, arose from his devotions to 
 belabour his dog, who was growling at another dog: and 
 whose yelps and howls resounded through the church, as his 
 master quietly relapsed into his former train of meditation — 
 keeping his eye upon the dog, at the same time, nevertheless* 
 Above all, there is always a receptacle for the contributions 
 of the Faithful, in some form or other. Sometimes, it is a 
 money-box, set up between the worshipper, and the w T ooden 
 life-size figure of the Redeemer; sometimes, it is a little chest 
 for the maintenance of the Virgin ; sometimes, an appeal on 
 behalf of a popular Bambino; sometimes, a bag at the end of 
 a long stick, thrust among the people here and there, and 
 vigilantly jingled by an active Sacristan, but there it always 
 is, and, very often, in many shapes in the same church, and 
 doing pretty well in all. Nor, is it wanting in the open air 
 — the streets and roads — for, often as you are walking along, 
 thinking about anything rather than a tin canister, that object 
 pounces out upon you from a little house by the wayside; 
 and on its top is painted, “ For the Souls in Purgatory ”; an 
 
3 Bo Pictures from Italy 
 
 appeal which the bearer repeats a great many times, as he 
 rattles it before you, much as Punch rattles the cracked bell 
 which his sanguine disposition makes an organ of. 
 
 And this reminds me that some Roman altars of peculiar 
 sanctity, bear the inscription, “ Every Mass performed at this 
 altar frees a soul from Purgatory.” I have never been able 
 to find out the charge for one of these services, but they 
 should needs be expensive. There are several Crosses in 
 Rome too, the kissing of which, confers indulgences for 
 varying terms. That in the centre of the Coliseum, is worth 
 a hundred days; and people may be seen kissing it from 
 morning to night. It is curious that some of these crosses 
 seem to acquire an arbitrary popularity: this very one among 
 them. In another part of the Coliseum there is a cross upon 
 a marble slab, with the inscription, “ Who kisses this cross 
 shall be entitled to Two hundred and forty days’ indulgence.” 
 But I saw no other person kiss it, though, day after day, I sat 
 in the arena, and saw scores upon scores of peasants pass it, 
 on their way to kiss the other. 
 
 To single out details from the great dream of Roman 
 Churches, would be the wildest occupation in the world. 
 But St. Stefano Rotondo, a damp, mildewed vault of an old 
 church in the outskirts of Rome, will always struggle upper- 
 most in my mind, by reason of the hideous paintings with 
 which its walls are covered. These represent the martyrdoms 
 of saints and early Christians; and such a panorama of 
 horror and butchery no man could imagine in his sleep, 
 though he were to eat a whole pig raw, for supper. Grey- 
 bearded men being boiled, fried, grilled, crimped, singed, 
 eaten by wild beasts, worried by dogs, buried alive, tom 
 asunder by horses, chopped up small with hatchets : women 
 having their breasts tom with iron pinchers, their tongues 
 cut out, their ears screwed off, their jaws broken, their bodies 
 stretched upon the rack, or skinned upon the stake, or 
 crackled up and melted in the fire: these are among the 
 mildest subjects. So insisted on, and laboured at, besides, 
 that every sufferer gives you the same occasion for wonder 
 as poor old Duncan awoke, in Lady Macbeth, when she 
 marvelled at his having so much blood in him. 
 
 There is an upper chamber in the Mamertine prisons, over 
 what is said to have been — and very possibly may have been 
 — the dungeon of St. Peter. This chamber is now fitted up 
 
An Enormous Range of Caverns 381 
 
 as an oratory, dedicated to that saint; and it lives as a 
 distinct and separate place, in my recollection, too. It is 
 very small and low-roofed; and the dread and gloom of the 
 ponderous, obdurate old prison are on it, as if they had come 
 up in a dark mist through the floor. Hanging on the walls, 
 among the clustered votive offerings, are objects, at once 
 strangely in keeping, and strangely at variance, with the 
 place — rusty daggers, knives, pistols, clubs, divers instru- 
 ments of violence and murder, brought here, fresh from use, 
 and hung up to propitiate offended Heaven : as if the blood 
 upon them would drain off in consecrated air, and have no 
 voice to cry with. It is all so silent and so close, and tomb- 
 like ; and the dungeons below are so black and stealthy, and 
 stagnant, and naked; that this little dark spot becomes 
 a dream within a dream : and in the vision of great churches 
 which come rolling past me like a sea, it is a small wave by 
 itself, that melts into no other wave, and does not flow on 
 with the rest. 
 
 It is an awful thing to think of the enormous caverns that 
 are entered from some Roman churches, and undermine the 
 city. Many churches have crypts and subterranean chapels 
 of great size, which, in the ancient time, were baths, and 
 secret chambers of temples, and what not; but I do not 
 speak of them. Beneath the church of St. Giovanni and St. 
 Paolo, there are the jaws of a terrific range of caverns, hewn 
 • out of the rock, and said to have another outlet underneath 
 the Coliseum — tremendous darknesses of vast extent, half- 
 buried in the earth and unexplorable, where the dull torches, 
 flashed by the attendants, glimmer down long ranges of 
 distant vaults branching to the right and left, like streets in a 
 city of the dead; and show the cold damp stealing down the 
 walls, drip-drop, drip-drop, to join the pools of water that 
 lie here and there, and never saw, or never will see, one ray of 
 the sun. Some accounts make these the prisons of the wild 
 beasts destined for the amphitheatre; some the prisons of 
 the condemned gladiators; some, both. But the legend 
 most appalling to the fancy is, that in the upper range (for 
 there are two stories of these caves) the Early Christians 
 destined to be eaten at the Coliseum Shows, heard the wild 
 beasts, hungry for them, roaring down below; until, upon 
 the night and solitude of their captivity, there burst the 
 sudden noon and life of the vast theatre crowded to the 
 
382 Pictures from Italy 
 
 parapet, and of these, their dreaded neighbours, bounding 
 in ! 
 
 Below the church of San Sebastiano, two miles beyond the 
 gate of San Sebastiano, on the Appian Way, is the entrance 
 to the catacombs of Rome — quarries in the old time, but 
 afterwards the hiding-places of the Christians. These ghastly 
 passages have been explored for twenty miles; and form a 
 chain of labyrinths, sixty miles in circumference. 
 
 A gaunt Franciscan friar, with a wild bright eye, was our 
 only guide, down into this profound and dreadful place. The 
 narrow ways and openings hither and thither, coupled with 
 the dead and heavy air, soon blotted out, in all of us, any 
 recollection of the track by which we had come : and I could 
 not help thinking “ Good Heaven, if, in a sudden fit of 
 madness, he should dash the torches out, or if he should 
 be seized with a fit, what would become of us ! ” On we 
 wandered, among martyrs’ graves: passing great subter- 
 ranean vaulted roads, diverging in all directions, and choked 
 up with heaps of stones, that thieves and murderers may not 
 take refuge there, and form a population under Rome, even 
 worse than that which lives between it and the sun. Graves, 
 graves, graves ; Graves of men, of women, of their little child- 
 ren, who ran crying to the persecutors, “ We are Christians ! 
 We are Christians ! ” that they might be murdered with their 
 parents ; Graves with the palm of martyrdom roughly cut into 
 their stone boundaries, and little niches, made to hold a vessel 
 of the martyrs’ blood ; Graves of some who lived down here, 
 for years together, ministering to the rest, and preaching 
 truth, and hope, and comfort, from the rude altars, that bear 
 witness to their fortitude at this hour; more roomy graves, 
 but far more terrible, where hundreds, being surprised, were 
 hemmed in and walled up: buried before Death, and killed 
 by slow starvation. 
 
 “ The Triumphs of the Faith are not above ground in our 
 splendid churches,” said the friar, looking round upon us, as 
 we stopped to rest in one of the low passages, with bones 
 and dust surrounding us on every side. “ They are here ! 
 Among the Martyrs’ Graves ! ” He was a gentle, earnest 
 man, and said it from his heart; but when I thought how 
 Christian men have dealt with one another; how, perverting 
 our most merciful religion, they have hunted down and 
 tortured, burnt and beheaded, strangled, slaughtered, and 
 
Relics and Ruins 
 
 3 8 3 
 
 oppressed each other; I pictured to myself an agony surpass- 
 ing any that this Dust had suffered with the breath of life 
 yet lingering in it, and how these great and constant hearts 
 would have been shaken — how they would have quailed and 
 drooped — if a foreknowledge of the deeds that professing 
 Christians would commit in the Great Name for which they 
 died, could have rent them with its own unutterable anguish, 
 on the cruel wheel, and bitter cross, and in the fearful fire. 
 
 Such are the spots and patches in my dream of churches, 
 that remain apart, and keep their separate identity. I have 
 a fainter recollection, sometimes of the relics; of the frag- 
 ments, of the pillar of the Temple that was rent in twain; of 
 the portion of the table that was spread for the Last Supper; 
 of the well at which the woman of Samaria gave water to 
 Our Saviour; of two columns from the house of Pontius 
 Pilate; of the stone to which the Sacred hands were bound, 
 when the scourging was performed; of the gridiron of Saint 
 Lawrence, and the stone below it, marked with the frying of 
 his fat and blood ; these set a shadowy mark on some cathe- 
 drals, as an old story, or a fable might, and stop them for an 
 instant, as they flit before me. The rest is a vast wilderness 
 of consecrated buildings of all shapes and fancies, blending 
 one with another; of battered pillars of old Pagan temples, 
 dug up from the ground, and forced, like giant captives, to 
 support the roofs of Christian churches; of pictures, bad, and 
 wonderful, and impious, and ridiculous; of kneeling people, 
 curling incense, tinkling bells, and sometimes (but not often) 
 of a swelling organ: of Madonne, with their breasts stuck 
 full of swords, arranged in a half-circle like a modern fan ; of 
 actual skeletons of dead saints, hideously attired in gaudy 
 satins, silks, and velvets trimmed with gold : their withered 
 crust of skull adorned with precious jewels, or with chaplets 
 of crushed flowers ; sometimes, of people gathered round the 
 pulpit, and a monk within it stretching out the crucifix, and 
 preaching fiercely: the sun just streaming down through 
 some high window on the sail-cloth stretched above him and 
 across the church, to keep his high-pitched voice from being 
 lost among the echoes of the roof. Then my tired memory 
 comes out upon a flight of steps, where knots of people are 
 asleep, or basking in the light; and strolls away, among the 
 rags, and smells, and palaces, and hovels, of an old Italian 
 street. 
 
384 Pictures from Italy 
 
 On one Saturday morning (the eighth of March), a man 
 was beheaded here. Nine or ten months before, he had way- 
 laid a Bavarian countess, travelling as a pilgrim to Rome — 
 alone and on foot, of course — and performing, it is said, that 
 act of piety for the fourth time. He saw her change a piece 
 of gold at Viterbo, where he lived; followed her; bore her 
 company on her journey for some forty miles or more, on the 
 treacherous pretext of protecting her; attacked her, in the 
 fulfilment of his unrelenting purpose, on the Campagna, 
 within a very short distance of Rome, near to what is called 
 (but what is not), the Tomb of Nero; robbed her; and beat 
 her to death with her own pilgrim’s staff. He was newly 
 married, and gave some of her apparel to his wife: saying 
 that he had bought it at a fair. She, however, who had 
 seen the pilgrim-countess passing through their town, recog- 
 nised some trifle as having belonged to her. Her husband 
 then told her what he had done. She, in confession, told 
 a priest; and the man was taken, within four days after the 
 commission of the murder. 
 
 There are no fixed times for the administration of justice, 
 or its execution, in this unaccountable country; and he had 
 been in prison ever since. On the Friday, as he was dining 
 with the other prisoners, they came and told him he was to 
 be beheaded next morning, and took him away. It is very 
 unusual to execute in Lent; but his crime being a very bad 
 one, it was deemed advisable to make an example of him at 
 that time, when great numbers of pilgrims were coming 
 towards Rome, from all parts, for the Holy Week. I heard 
 of this on the Friday evening, and saw the bills up at the 
 churches, calling on the people to pray for the criminal’s soul. 
 So, I determined to go, and see him executed. 
 
 The beheading was appointed for fourteen and a-half 
 o’clock, Roman time: or a quarter before nine in the fore- 
 noon. I had two friends with me; and as we did not know 
 but that the crowd might be very great, we were on the 
 spot by half-past seven. The place of execution was near the 
 church of San Giovanni decollato (a doubtful compliment to 
 Saint John the Baptist) in one of the impassable backstreets 
 without any footway, of which a great part of Rome is com- 
 posed — a street of rotten houses, which do not seem to belong 
 to anybody, and do not seem to have ever been inhabited, 
 and certainly were never built on any plan, or for any par- 
 
Waiting for the Criminal 385 
 
 ticular purpose, and have no window-sashes, and are a little 
 like deserted breweries, and might be warehouses but for 
 having nothing in them. Opposite to one of these, a white 
 house, the scaffold was built. An untidy, unpainted, uncouth, 
 crazy-looking thing of course : some seven feet high, perhaps : 
 with a tall, gallows-shaped frame rising above it, in which 
 was the knife, charged with a ponderous mass of iron, all 
 ready to descend, and glittering brightly in the morning sun, 
 whenever it looked out, now and then, from behind a cloud. 
 
 There were not many people lingering about; and these 
 were kept at a considerable distance from the scaffold, by 
 parties of the Pope’s dragoons. Two or three hundred foot- 
 soldiers were under arms, standing at ease in clusters here 
 and there; and the officers were walking up and down in 
 twos and threes, chatting together, and smoking cigars. 
 
 At the end of the street, was an open space, where there 
 would be a dust-heap, and piles of broken crockery, and 
 mounds of vegetable refuse, but for such things being thrown 
 anywhere and everywhere in Rome, and favouring no par- 
 ticular sort of locality. We got into a kind of wash-house, 
 belonging to a dwelling-house on this spot; and standing 
 there in an old cart, and on a heap of cart-wheels piled 
 against the wall, looked, through a large grated window, at 
 the scaffold, and straight down the street beyond it, until, in 
 consequence of its turning off abruptly to the left, our per- 
 spective was brought to a sudden termination, and had a 
 corpulent officer, in a cocked hat, for its crowning feature. 
 
 Nine o’clock struck, and ten o’clock struck, and nothing 
 happened. All the bells of all the churches rang as usual. 
 A little parliament of dogs assembled in the open space, and 
 chased each other, in and out among the soldiers. Fierce- 
 looking Romans of the lowest class, in blue cloaks, russet 
 cloaks, and rags uncloaked, came and went, and talked 
 together. Women and children fluttered, on the skirts of 
 the scanty crowd. One large muddy spot was left quite bare, 
 like a bald place on a man’s head. A cigar-merchant, with 
 an earthen pot of charcoal ashes in one hand, went up and 
 down, crying his wares. A pastry-merchant divided his 
 attention between the scaffold and his customers. Boys tried 
 to climb up walls, and tumbled down again. Priests and 
 monks elbowed a passage for themselves among the people, 
 and stood on tiptoe for a sight of the knife: then went 
 
386 Pictures from Italy 
 
 away. Artists, in inconceivable hats of the middle-ages, and 
 beards (thank Heaven !) of no age at all, flashed picturesque 
 scowls about them from their stations in the throng. One 
 gentleman (connected with the fine arts, I presume) went up 
 and down in a pair of Hessian-boots, with a red beard hang- 
 ing down on his breast, and his long and bright red hair, 
 plaited into two tails, one on either side of his head, which 
 fell over his shoulders in front of him, very nearly to his 
 w r aist, and were carefully entwined and braided ! 
 
 Eleven o’clock struck; and still nothing happened. A 
 rumour got about, among the crowd, that the criminal would 
 not confess ; in which case, the priests would keep him until 
 the Ave Maria (sunset); for it is their merciful custom never 
 finally to turn the crucifix away from a man at that pass, 
 as one refusing to be shriven, and consequently a sinner 
 abandoned of the Saviour, until then. People began to drop 
 off. The officers shrugged their shoulders and looked doubt- 
 ful. The dragoons, who came riding up below our window, 
 eveiy now and then, to order an unlucky hackney-coach or 
 cart away, as soon as it had comfortably established itself, and 
 was covered with exulting people (but never before), became 
 imperious, and quick-tempered. The bald place hadn’t a 
 straggling hair upon it; and the corpulent officer, crowning 
 the perspective, took a world of snuff. 
 
 Suddenly, there was a noise of trumpets. “ Attention! ” 
 was among the foot-soldiers instantly. They were marched 
 up to the scaffold and formed round it. The dragoons 
 galloped to their nearer stations too. The guillotine became 
 the centre of a wood of bristling bayonets and shining sabres. 
 The people closed round nearer, on the flank of the soldiery. 
 A long straggling stream of men and boys, who had accom- 
 panied the procession from the prison, came pouring into 
 the open space. The bald spot was scarcely distinguishable 
 from the rest. The cigar and pastry-merchants resigned all 
 thoughts of business, for the moment, and abandoning them- 
 selves wholly to pleasure, got good situations in the crowd. 
 The perspective ended, now, in a troop of dragoons. And 
 the corpulent officer, sword in hand, looked hard at a church 
 close to him, which he could see, but we, the crowd, could not. 
 
 After a short delay, some monks were seen approaching to 
 the scaffold from this church; and above their heads, coming 
 on slowly and gloomily, the effigy of Christ upon the cross, 
 
The Execution 
 
 3 8 7 
 
 canopied with black. This was carried round the foot of the 
 scaffold, to the front, and turned towards the criminal, that 
 he might see it to the last. It was hardly in its place, when 
 he appeared on the platform, bare-footed; his hands bound; 
 and with the collar and neck of his shirt cut away, almost to 
 the shoulder. A young man — six-and-twenty — vigorously 
 made, and well-shaped. Face pale; small dark moustache; 
 and dark brown hair. 
 
 He had refused to confess, it seemed, without first having 
 his wife brought to see him; and they had sent an escort for 
 her, which had occasioned the delay. 
 
 He immediately kneeled down below the knife. His neck 
 fitting into a hole, made for the purpose, in a cross plank, was 
 shut down, by another plank above; exactly like the pillory. 
 Immediately below him was a leathern bag. And into it his 
 head rolled instantly. 
 
 The executioner was holding it by the hair, and walking 
 with it round the scaffold, showing it to the people, before 
 one quite knew that the knife had fallen heavily, and with a 
 rattling sound. 
 
 When it had travelled round the four sides of the scaffold, 
 it was set upon a pole in front — a little patch of black and 
 white, for the long street to stare at, and the flies to settle on. 
 The eyes were turned upward, as if he had avoided the sight 
 of the leathern bag, and looked to the crucifix. Every tinge 
 and hue of life had left it in that instant. It was dull, cold, 
 livid, wax. The body also. 
 
 There was a great deal of blood. When we left the 
 window, and went close up to the scaffold, it was very dirty; 
 one of the two men who were throwing water over it, turning 
 to help the other lift the body into a shell, picked his way 
 as through mire. A strange appearance was the apparent 
 annihilation of the neck. The head was taken off so close, 
 that it seemed as if the knife had narrowly escaped crushing 
 the jaw, or shaving off the ear; and the body looked as 
 if there was nothing left above the shoulder. 
 
 Nobody cared, or was at all affected. There was no 
 manifestation of disgust, or pity, or indignation, or sorrow. 
 My empty pockets were tried, several times, in the crowd 
 immediately below the scaffold, as the corpse was being put 
 into its coffin. It was an ugly, filthy, careless, sickening 
 spectacle ; meaning nothing but butchery beyond the momen- 
 
388 Pictures from Italy 
 
 tary interest, to the one wretched actor. Yes! Such a sight 
 has one meaning and one warning. Let me not forget it. 
 The speculators in the lottery, station themselves at favour- 
 able points for counting the gouts of blood that spirt out, 
 here or there; and buy that number. It is pretty sure to 
 have a run upon it. 
 
 The body was carted away in due time, the knife cleansed, 
 the scaffold taken down, and all the hideous apparatus 
 removed. The executioner: an outlaw ex officio (what a 
 satire on the Punishment !) who dare not, for his life, cross 
 the Bridge of St. Angelo but to do his work: retreated to 
 his lair, and the show was over. 
 
 At the head of the collections in the palaces of Rome, the 
 Vatican, of course, with its treasures of art, its enormous 
 galleries, and staircases, and suites upon suites of immense 
 chambers, ranks highest and stands foremost. Many most 
 noble statues, and wonderful pictures, are there; nor is it 
 heresy to say that there is a considerable amount of rubbish 
 there, too. When any old piece of sculpture dug out of the 
 ground, finds a place in a gallery because it is old, and 
 without any reference to its intrinsic merits: and finds 
 admirers by the hundred, because it is there, and for no other 
 reason on earth: there will be no lack of objects, very in- 
 different in the plain eyesight of any one who employs so 
 vulgar a property, when he may wear the spectacles of Cant 
 for less than nothing, and establish himself as a man of taste 
 for the mere trouble of putting them on. 
 
 I unreservedly confess, for myself, that I cannot leave my 
 natural perception of what is natural and true, at a palace- 
 door, in Italy or elsewhere, as I should leave my shoes if 
 I were travelling in the East. I cannot forget that there are 
 certain expressions of face, natural to certain passions, and 
 as unchangeable in their nature as the gait of a lion, or the 
 flight of an eagle. I cannot dismiss from my certain know- 
 ledge, such commonplace facts as the ordinary proportion 
 of men's arms, and legs, and heads; and when I meet with 
 performances that do violence to these experiences and 
 recollections, no matter where they may be, I cannot honestly 
 admire them, and think it best to say so; in spite of high 
 critical advice that we should sometimes feign an admiration, 
 though we have it not. 
 
Notes for Connoisseurs 389 
 
 Therefore, I freely acknowledge that when I see a Jolly 
 young Waterman representing a cherubim, or a Barclay and 
 Perkins’s Drayman depicted as an Evangelist, I see nothing 
 to commend or admire in the performance, however great its 
 reputed Painter. Neither am I partial to libellous Angels, 
 who play on fiddles and bassoons, for the edification of 
 sprawling monks apparently in liquor. Nor to those Mon- 
 sieur Tonsons of galleries, Saint Francis and Saint Sebastian; 
 both of whom I submit should have very uncommon and 
 rare merits, as works of art, to justify their compound 
 multiplication by Italian Painters. 
 
 It seems to me, too, that the indiscriminate and deter- 
 mined raptures in which some critics indulge, is incom- 
 patible with the true appreciation of the really great and 
 transcendent works. I cannot imagine, for example, how 
 the resolute champion of undeserving pictures can soar to 
 the amazing beauty of Titian’s great picture of the Assump- 
 tion of the Virgin at Venice; or how the man who is truly 
 affected by the sublimity of that exquisite production, or who 
 is truly sensible of the beauty of Tintoretto’s great picture of 
 the Assembly of the Blessed in the same place, can discern in 
 Michael Angelo’s Last Judgment, in the Sistine chapel, any 
 general idea, or one pervading thought, in harmony with 
 the stupendous subject. He who will contemplate Raphael’s 
 masterpiece, the Transfiguration, and will go away into 
 another chamber of that same Vatican, and. contemplate 
 another design of Raphael, representing (in incredible cari- 
 cature) the miraculous stopping of a great fire by Leo the 
 Fourth — and who will say that he admires them both, as 
 works of extraordinary genius — must, as I think, be wanting 
 in his powers of perception in one of the two instances, and, 
 probably, in the high and lofty one. 
 
 It is easy to suggest a doubt, but I have a great doubt 
 whether, sometimes, the rules of art are not too strictly 
 observed, and whether it is quite well or agreeable that we 
 should know beforehand, where this figure will be turning 
 round, and where that figure will be lying down, and where 
 there will be drapery in folds, and so forth. When I observe 
 heads inferior to the subject, in pictures of merit, in Italian 
 galleries, I do not attach that reproach to the Painter, for I 
 have a suspicion that these great men, who were, of necessity, 
 very much in the hands of monks and priests, painted monks 
 
39° Pictures from Italy 
 
 and priests a great deal too often. I frequently see, in pic- 
 tures of real power, heads quite below the story and the 
 painter: and I invariably observe that those heads are of 
 the Convent stamp, and have their counterparts among the 
 Convent inmates of this hour; so, I have settled with myself 
 that, in such cases, the lameness was not with the painter, 
 but with the vanity and ignorance of certain of his employers, 
 who would be apostles — on canvas, at all events. 
 
 The exquisite grace and beauty of Canova’s statues ; the 
 wonderful gravity and repose of many of the ancient works 
 in sculpture, both in the Capitol and the Vatican; and the 
 strength and fire of many others ; are, in their different ways, 
 beyond all reach of words. They are especially impressive 
 and delightful, after the works of Bernini and his disciples, 
 in which the churches of Rome, from St. Peter’s downward, 
 abound; and which are, I verily believe, the most detestable 
 class of productions in the wide world. I would infinitely 
 rather (as mere works of art) look upon the three deities of 
 the Past, the Present, and the Future, in the Chinese Collec- 
 tion, than upon the best of these breezy maniacs; whose 
 every fold of drapery is blown inside-out; whose smallest 
 vein, or artery, is as big as an ordinary forefinger; whose 
 hair is like a nest of lively snakes; and whose attitudes put 
 all other extravagance to shame. Insomuch that I do 
 honestly believe, there can be no place in the world, where 
 such intolerable abortions, begotten of the sculptor’s chisel, 
 are to be found in such profusion, as in Rome. 
 
 There is a fine collection of Egyptian antiquities, in the 
 Vatican ; and the ceilings of the rooms in which they are 
 arranged, are painted to represent a starlight sky in the 
 Desert. It may seem an odd idea, but it is very effective. 
 The grim, half-human monsters from the temples, look more 
 grim and monstrous underneath the deep dark blue ; it sheds 
 a strange uncertain gloomy air on everything — a mystery 
 adapted to the objects; and you leave them, as you find 
 them, shrouded in a solemn night. 
 
 In the private places, pictures are seen to the best advan- 
 tage. There are seldom so many in one place that the atten- 
 tion need become distracted, or the eye confused. You see 
 them very leisurely; and are rarely interrupted by a crowd of 
 people. There are portraits innumerable, by Titian, and 
 Rembrandt, and Vandyke; heads by Guido, and Domeni- 
 
Portrait of Beatrice di Cenci 391 
 
 chino, and Carlo Dolci; various subjects by Correggio, and 
 Murillo, and Raphael, and Salvator Rosa, and Spagnoletto — 
 many of which it would be difficult, indeed, to praise too 
 highly, or to praise enough; such is their tenderness and 
 grace; their noble elevation, purity, and beauty. 
 
 The portrait of Beatrice di Cenci, in the Palazzo Berberini, 
 is a picture almost impossible to be forgotten. Through the 
 transcendent sweetness and beauty of the face, there is a 
 something shining out, that haunts me. I see it now, as I 
 see this paper, or my pen. The head is loosely draped in 
 white; the light hair falling down below the linen folds. She 
 has turned suddenly towards you ; and there is an expression 
 in the eyes — although they are very tender and gentle — as if 
 the wildness of a momentary terror, or distraction, had been 
 struggled with and overcome, that instant; and nothing but 
 a celestial hope, and a beautiful sorrow, and a desolate earthly 
 helplessness remained. Some stories say that Guido painted 
 it, the night before her execution; some other stories, that 
 he painted it from memory, after having seen her, on her 
 way to the scaffold. I am willing to believe that, as you see 
 her on his canvas, so she turned towards him, in the crowd, 
 from the first sight of the axe, and stamped upon his mind 
 a look which he has stamped on mine as though I had stood 
 beside him in the concourse. The guilty palace of the Cenci: 
 blighting a whole quarter of the town, as it stands withering 
 away by grains: had that face, to my fancy, in its dismal 
 porch, and at its black blind windows, and flitting up and 
 down its dreary stairs, and growing out of the darkness of 
 the ghostly galleries. The History is written in the Paint- 
 ing; written, in the dying girl’s face, by Nature’s own hand. 
 And oh ! how in that one touch she puts to flight (instead of 
 making kin) the puny world that claim to be related to her, 
 in right of poor conventional forgeries ! 
 
 I saw in the Palazzo Spada, the statue of Pompey; the 
 statue at whose base Caesar fell. A stem, tremendous figure ! 
 I imagined one of greater finish : of the last refinement : full 
 of delicate touches : losing its distinctness, in the giddy eyes 
 of one whose blood was ebbing before it, and settling into 
 some such rigid majesty as this, as Death came creeping 
 over the upturned face. 
 
 The excursions in the neighbourhood of Rome are charm- 
 ing, and would be full of interest were it only for the chang- 
 
392 Pictures from Italy 
 
 ing views they afford, of the wild Campagna. But, every 
 inch of ground, in every direction, is rich in associations, and 
 in natural beauties. There is Albano, with its lovely lake 
 and wooded shore, and with its wine, that certainly has 
 not improved since the days of Horace, and in these times 
 hardly justifies his panegyric. There is squalid Tivoli, with 
 the river Anio, diverted from its course, and plunging 
 down, headlong, some eighty feet in search of it. With its 
 picturesque Temple of the Sibyl, perched high on a crag; 
 its minor waterfalls glancing and sparkling in the sun; and 
 one good cavern yawning darkly, where the river takes a 
 fearful plunge and shoots on, low down under beetling rocks. 
 There, too, is the Villa d’Este, deserted and decaying among 
 groves of melancholy pine and cypress trees, where it seems 
 to lie in state. Then, there is Frascati, and, on the steep 
 above it, the ruins of Tusculum, where Cicero lived, and 
 wrote, and adorned his favourite house (some fragments of ! 
 it may yet be seen there), and where Cato was born. We 
 saw its ruined amphitheatre on a grey dull day, when a shrill 
 March wind was blowing, and when the scattered stones of 
 the old city lay strewn about the lonely eminence, as desolate 
 and dead as the ashes of a long-extinguished fire. 
 
 One day we walked out, a little party of three, to Albano, 
 fourteen miles distant; possessed by a great desire to go 
 there by the ancient Appian way, long since ruined and over- 
 grown. We started at half -past seven in the morning, and 
 within an hour or so were out upon the open Campagna. 
 For twelve miles we went climbing on, over an unbroken 
 succession of mounds, and heaps, and hills, of ruin. Tombs 
 and temples, overthrown and prostrate; small fragments of 
 columns, friezes, pediments; great blocks of granite and 
 marble; mouldering arches, grass-grown and decayed; ruin 
 enough to build a spacious city from; lay strewn about us. j 
 Sometimes, loose walls, built up from these fragments by j 
 the shepherds, came across our path; sometimes, a ditch 
 between two mounds of broken stones, obstructed our pro- j 
 gress; sometimes, the fragments themselves, rolling from 
 beneath our feet, made it a toilsome matter to advance; but 
 it was always ruin. Now, we tracked a piece of the old road, 
 above the ground ; now traced it, underneath a grassy cover- 
 ing, as if that were its grave; but all the way was ruin. In 
 the distance, ruined aqueducts went stalking on their giant 
 
Rome by Moonlight 393 
 
 course along the plain; and every breath of wind that swept 
 towards us, stirred early flowers and grasses, springing up, 
 spontaneously, on miles of ruin. The unseen larks above 
 us, who alone disturbed the awful silence, had their nests in 
 ruin; and the fierce herdsmen, clad in sheepskins, who now 
 and then scowled out upon us from their sleeping nooks, 
 were housed in ruin. The aspect of the desolate Campagna 
 in one direction, where it was most level, reminded me of 
 an American prairie; but what is the solitude of a region 
 where men have never dwelt, to that of a Desert, where a 
 mighty race have left their footprints in the earth from which 
 they have vanished; where the resting-places of their Dead, 
 have fallen like their Dead; and the broken hour-glass of 
 Time is but a heap of idle dust! Returning, by the road, 
 at sunset! and looking, from the distance, on the course we 
 had taken in the morning, I almost feel (as I had felt when 
 I first saw it, at that hour) as if the sun would never rise 
 again, but looked its last, that night, upon a ruined world. 
 
 To come again on Rome, by moonlight, after such an 
 expedition, is a fitting close to such a day. The narrow 
 streets, devoid of footways, and choked, in every obscure 
 comer, by heaps of dunghill-rubbish, contrast so strongly, 
 in their cramped dimensions, and their filth, and darkness, 
 with the broad square before some haughty church: in the 
 centre of which, a hieroglyphic-covered obelisk, brought from 
 Egypt in the days of the Emperors, looks strangely on the 
 foreign scene about it; or perhaps an ancient pillar, with its 
 honoured statue overthrown, supports a Christian saint: 
 Marcus Aurelius giving place to Paul, and Trajan to St. 
 Peter. Then, there are the ponderous buildings reared from 
 the spoliation of the Coliseum, shutting out the moon, like 
 mountains : where here and there, are broken arches and rent 
 walls, through which it gushes freely, as the life comes pouring 
 from a wound. The little town of miserable houses, walled, 
 and shut in by barred gates, is the quarter where the Jews 
 are locked up nightly, when the clock strikes eight — a 
 miserable place, densely populated, and reeking with bad 
 odours, but where the people are industrious and money- 
 getting. In the daytime, as you make your way along the 
 narrow streets, you see them all at work; upon the pavement, 
 oftener than in their dark and frowzy shops: furbishing old 
 clothes, and driving bargains, 
 o 
 
394 Pictures from Italy 
 
 Crossing from these patches of thick darkness, out into 
 the moon once more, the fountain of Trevi, welling from a 
 hundred jets, and rolling over mimic rocks, is silvery to the 
 eye and, ear. In the narrow little throat of street, beyond, 
 a booth, dressed out with flaring lamps, and boughs of trees, 
 attracts a group of sulky Romans round its smoky coppers 
 of hot broth, and cauliflower stew; its trays of fried fish, and 
 its flasks of wine. As you rattle round the sharply-twisting 
 comer, a lumbering sound is heard. The coachman stops 
 abruptly, and uncovers, as a van comes slowly by, preceded 
 by a man who bears a large cross; by a torch-bearer; and 
 a priest: the latter chaunting as he goes. It is the Dead 
 Cart, with the bodies of the poor, on their way to burial in 
 the Sacred Field outside the walls, where they will be thrown 
 into the pit that will be covered with a stone to-night, and 
 sealed up for a year. 
 
 But whether, in this ride, you pass by obelisks, or columns : 
 ancient temples, theatres, houses, porticoes, or forums: it is 
 strange to see, how every fragment, whenever it is possible, 
 has been blended into some modern structure, and made 
 to serve some modern purpose — a wall, a dwelling-place, a 
 granary, a stable — some use for which it never was designed, 
 and associated with which it cannot otherwise than lamely 
 assort. It is stranger still, to see how many mins of the old 
 mythology: how many fragments of obsolete legend and 
 observance: have been incorporated into the worship of 
 Christian altars here; and how, in numberless respects, the 
 false faith and the true are fused into a monstrous union. 
 
 From one part of the city, looking out beyond the walls, 
 a squat and stunted pyramid (the burial-place of Caius 
 Cestius) makes an opaque triangle in the moonlight. But, 
 to an English traveller, it serves to mark the grave of Shelley 
 too, whose ashes he beneath a little garden near it. Nearer 
 still, almost within its shadow, lie the bones of Keats, “ whose 
 name is writ in water,” that shines brightly in the landscape 
 of a calm Italian night. 
 
 The Holy Week in Rome is supposed to offer great attrac- 
 tions to all visitors; but, saving for the sights of Easter 
 Sunday, I would counsel those who go to Rome for its own 
 interest, to avoid it at that time. The ceremonies, in general, 
 are of the most tedious and wearisome kind ; the heat and 
 
Exhibition of Relics 395 
 
 crowd at every one of them, painfully oppressive ; the noise, 
 hubbub, and confusion, quite distracting. We abandoned 
 the pursuit of these shows, very early in the proceedings, 
 and betook ourselves to the Ruins again. But, we plunged 
 into the crowd for a share of the best of the sights; and 
 what we saw, I will describe to you. 
 
 At the Sistine chapel, on the Wednesday, we saw very 
 little, for by the time we reached it (though we were early) 
 •the besieging crowd had filled it to the door, and overflowed 
 into the adjoining hall, where they were struggling, and 
 squeezing, and mutually expostulating, and making great 
 rushes every time a lady was brought out faint, as if at least 
 fifty people could be accommodated in her vacant standing- 
 room. Hanging in the doorway of the chapel, was a heavy 
 curtain, and this curtain, some twenty people nearest to it, 
 in their anxiety to hear the chaunting of the Miserere, were 
 continually plucking at, in opposition to each other, that it 
 might not fall down and stifle the sound of the voices. The 
 consequence was, that it occasioned the most extraordinary 
 confusion, and seemed to wind itself about the unwary, like 
 a Serpent. Now, a lady was wrapped up in it, and couldn’t 
 be unwound. Now, the voice of a stifling gentleman was 
 heard inside it, beseeching to be let out. Now, two muflled 
 arms, no man could say of which sex, struggled in it as in 
 a sack. Now, it was carried by a rush, bodily overhead into 
 the chapel, like an awning. Now, it came out the other way, 
 and blinded one of the Pope’s Swiss Guard, who had arrived, 
 that moment, to set things to rights. 
 
 Being seated at a little distance, among two or three of 
 the Pope’s gentlemen, who were very weary and counting 
 the minutes — as perhaps his Holiness was too — we had better 
 opportunities of observing this eccentric entertainment, than 
 of hearing the Miserere. Sometimes, there was a swell of 
 mournful voices that sounded very pathetic and sad, and died 
 away, into a low strain again; but that was all we heard. 
 
 At another time, there was the Exhibition of Relics in 
 St. Peter’s, which took place at between six and seven 
 o’clock in the evening, and was striking from the cathedral 
 being dark and gloomy, and having a great many people in 
 it. The place into which the relics were brought, one by 
 one, by a party of three priests, was a high balcony near the 
 chief altar. This was the only lighted part of the church. 
 
396 Pictures from Italy 
 
 There are always a hundred and twelve lamps burning near 
 the altar, and there were two tall tapers, besides, near the 
 black statue of St. Peter ; but these were nothing in such an 
 immense edifice. The gloom, and the general upturning of 
 faces to the balcony, and the prostration of true believers on 
 the pavement, as shining objects, like pictures or looking- 
 glasses, were brought out and shown, had something effective 
 in it, despite the very preposterous manner in which they 
 were held up for the general edification, and the great eleva- 
 tion at which they were displayed; which one would think 
 rather calculated to diminish the comfort derivable from 
 a full conviction of their being genuine. 
 
 On the Thursday, we went to see the Pope convey the 
 Sacrament from the Sistine chapel, to deposit it in the 
 Capella Paolina, another chapel in the Vatican ; — a ceremony 
 emblematical of the entombment of the Saviour before His 
 Resurrection. We waited in a great gallery with a great 
 crowd of people (three-fourths of them English) for an hour 
 or so, while they were chaunting the Miserere, in the Sistine 
 chapel again. Both chapels opened out of the gallery ; and 
 the general attention was concentrated on the occasional 
 opening and shutting of the door of the one for which the 
 Pope was ultimately bound. None of these openings dis- 
 closed anything more tremendous than a man on a ladder, 
 lighting a great quantity of candles; but at each and every 
 opening, there was a terrific rush made at this ladder and 
 this man, something like (I should think) a charge of the 
 heavy British cavalry at Waterloo. The man was never 
 brought down, however, nor the ladder; for it performed the 
 strangest antics in the world among the crowd — where it 
 was carried by the man, when the candles were all lighted; 
 and finally it was stuck up against the gallery wall, in a very 
 disorderly manner, just before the opening of the other 
 chapel, and the commencement of a new chaunt, announced 
 the approach of his Holiness. At this crisis, the soldiers of 
 the guard, who had been poking the crowd into all sorts 
 of shapes, formed down the gallery: and the procession 
 came up, between the two lines they made. 
 
 There were a few choristers, and then a great many priests, 
 walking two and two, and carrying — the good-looking priests 
 at least — their lighted tapers, so as to throw the light with 
 a good effect upon their faces: for the room was darkened 
 
Washing of Feet by the Pope 397 
 
 Those who were not handsome, or who had not long beards, 
 carried their tapers anyhow, and abandoned themselves to 
 spiritual contemplation. Meanwhile, the chaunting was very 
 monotonous and dreary. The procession passed on, slowly, 
 into the chapel, and the drone of voices went on, and came 
 on, with it, until the Pope himself appeared, walking under 
 a white satin canopy, and bearing the covered Sacrament 
 in both hands; cardinals and canons clustered round him, 
 making a brilliant show. The soldiers of the guard knelt 
 down as he passed; all the bystanders bowed; and so he 
 passed on into the chapel: the white satin canopy being 
 removed from over him at the door, and a white satin parasol 
 hoisted over his poor old head, in place of it. A few more 
 couples brought up the rear, and passed into the chapel 
 also. Then, the chapel door was shut; and it was all over; 
 and everybody hurried off headlong, as for life or death, 
 to see something else, and say it wasn’t worth' the trouble. 
 
 I think the most popular and most crowded sight (except- 
 ing those of Easter Sunday and Monday, which are open 
 to all classes of people) was the Pope washing the feet of 
 Thirteen men, representing the twelve apostles, and Judas 
 Iscariot. The place in which this pious office is performed, 
 is one of the chapels of St. Peter’s, which is gaily decorated 
 for the occasion; the thirteen sitting, “ all of a row,” on 
 a very high bench, and looking particularly uncomfortable, 
 with the eyes of Heaven knows how many English, French, 
 Americans, Swiss, Germans, Russians, Swedes, Norwegians, 
 and other foreigners, nailed to their faces all the time. They 
 are robed in white; and on their heads they wear a stiff 
 white cap, like a large English porter-pot, without a handle. 
 Each carries in his hand, a nosegay, of the size of a fine cauli- 
 flower; and two of them, on this occasion, wore spectacles; 
 which, remembering the characters they sustained, I thought 
 a droll appendage to the costume. There w^as a great eye 
 to character. St. John was represented by a good-looking 
 young man. St. Peter, by a grave-looking old gentleman, 
 with a flowing brown beard; and Judas Iscariot by such an 
 enormous hypocrite (I could not make out, though, whether 
 the expression of his face was real or assumed) that if he had 
 acted the part to the death and had gone away and hanged 
 himself, he would have left nothing to be desired. 
 
 As the two large boxes, appropriated to ladies at this 
 
398 Pictures from Italy 
 
 sight, were full to the throat, and getting near was hopeless, 
 we posted off, along with a great crowd, to be in time at the 
 Table, where the Pope, in person, waits on these Thirteen; 
 and after a prodigious struggle at the Vatican staircase, and 
 several personal conflicts with the Swiss guard, the whole 
 crowd swept into the room. It was a long gallery hung 
 with drapery of white and red, with another great box for 
 ladies (who are obliged to dress in black at these ceremonies, 
 and to wear black veils), a royal box for the King of Naples 
 and his party; and the table itself, which, set out like a 
 ball supper, and ornamented with golden figures of the real 
 apostles, was arranged on an elevated platform on one side 
 of the gallery. The counterfeit apostles’ knives and forks 
 were laid out on that side of the table which was nearest to 
 the wall, so that they might be stared at again, without let or 
 hindrance. 
 
 The body of the room was full of male strangers; the 
 crowd immense; the heat very great; and the pressure 
 sometimes frightful. It was at its height, when the stream 
 came pouring in, from the feet- washing ; and then there were 
 such shrieks and outcries, that a party of Piedmontese 
 dragoons went to the rescue of the Swiss guard, and helped 
 them to calm the tumult. 
 
 The ladies were particularly ferocious, in their struggles 
 for places. One lady of my acquaintance was seized round 
 the waist, in the ladies’ box, by a strong matron, and hoisted 
 out of her place; and there was another lady (in a back row 
 in the same box) who improved her position by sticking 
 a large pin into the ladies before her. 
 
 The gentlemen about me were remarkably anxious to see 
 what was on the table; and one Englishman seemed to have 
 embarked the whole energy of his nature in the determina- 
 tion to discover whether there was any mustard. “ By 
 Jupiter there’s vinegar!” I heard him say to his friend, 
 after he had stood on tiptoe an immense time, and had been 
 crushed and beaten on all sides. “ And there’s oil ! I saw 
 them distinctly, in cruets! Can any gentleman, in front 
 there, see mustard on the table? Sir, will you oblige me? 
 Do you see a Mustard-Pot? ” 
 
 The apostles and Judas appearing on the platform, after 
 much expectation, were marshalled, in line, in front of the 
 table, with Peter at the top; and a good long stare was 
 
The Holy Staircase 399 
 
 taken at them by the company, while twelve of them took 
 a long smell at their nosegays, and Judas — moving his lips 
 very obtrusively — engaged in inward prayer. Then, the 
 Pope, clad in a scarlet robe, and wearing on his head a 
 skull-cap of white satin, appeared in the midst of a crowd 
 of Cardinals and other dignitaries, and took in his hand 
 a little golden ewer, from which he poured a little water 
 over one of Peter's hands, while one attendant held a golden 
 basin; a second, a fine cloth; a third, Peter's nosegay, which 
 was taken from him during the operation. This his Holi- 
 ness performed, with considerable expedition, on every man 
 in the line (Judas, I observed to be particularly overcome 
 by his condescension); and then the whole Thirteen sat 
 down to dinner. Grace said by the Pope. Peter in the 
 chair. 
 
 There was white wine, and red wine: and the dinner looked 
 very good. The courses appeared in portions, one for each 
 apostle : and these being presented to the Pope, by Cardinals 
 upon their knees, were by him handed to the Thirteen. The 
 manner in which Judas grew more white-livered over his 
 victuals, and languished, with his head on one side, as if he 
 had no appetite, defies all description. Peter was a good, 
 sound, old man, and went in, as the saying is, “ to win ”; 
 eating everything that was given him (he got the best : being 
 first in the row) and saying nothing to anybody. The dishes 
 appeared to be chiefly composed of fish and vegetables. The 
 Pope helped the Thirteen to wine also ; and, during the whole 
 dinner, somebody read something aloud, out of a large book 
 — the Bible, I presume — which nobody could hear, and to 
 which nobody paid the least attention. The Cardinals, and 
 other attendants, smiled to each other, from time to time, 
 as if the thing were a great farce; and if they thought so, 
 there is little doubt they were perfectly right. His Holiness 
 did what he had to do, as a sensible man gets through a 
 troublesome ceremony, and seemed very glad when it was 
 all over. 
 
 The Pilgrims' Suppers: where lords and ladies waited on 
 the Pilgrims, in token of humility, and dried their feet when 
 they had been well washed by deputy : were very attractive. 
 But, of all the many spectacles of dangerous reliance on 
 outward observances, in themselves mere empty forms, none 
 struck me half so much as the Scala Santa, or Holy Staircase, 
 
400 Pictures from Italy 
 
 V 
 
 which I saw several times, but to the greatest advantage, 05 
 disadvantage, on Good Friday. 
 
 This holy staircase is composed of eight-and-twenty steps, 
 said to have belonged to Pontius Pilate’s house, and to be 
 the identical stairs on which Our Saviour trod, in coming 
 down from the judgment-seat. Pilgrims ascend it, only on 
 their knees. It is steep; and, at the summit, is a chapel, 
 reported to be full of relics; into which they peep through 
 some iron bars, and then come down again, by one of two side 
 staircases, which are not sacred, and may be walked on. 
 
 On Good Friday, there were, on a moderate computation, 
 a hundred people, slowly shuffling up these stairs, on then- 
 knees, at one time; while others, who were going up, or had 
 come down — and a few who had done both, and were going 
 up again for the second time — stood loitering in the porch 
 below, where an old gentleman in a sort of watch-box, rattled 
 a tin canister, with a slit in the top, incessantly, to remind 
 them that he took the money. The majority were country- 
 people, male and female. There were four or five Jesuit 
 priests, however, and some half-dozen well-dressed women. 
 A whole school of boys, twenty at least, were about half-way 
 up — evidently enjoying it very much. They were all wedged 
 together, pretty closely; but the rest of the company gave 
 the boys as wide a berth as possible, in consequence of their 
 betraying some recklessness in the management of their 
 boots. 
 
 I never, in my life, saw anything at once so ridiculous, 
 and so unpleasant, as this sight — ridiculous in the absurd 
 incidents inseparable from it ; and unpleasant in its senseless 
 and unmeaning degradation. There are two steps to begin 
 with, and then a rather broad landing. The more rigid 
 climbers went along this landing on their knees, as well as 
 up the stairs; and the figures they cut, in their shuffling 
 progress over the level surface, no description can paint. 
 Then, to see them watch their opportunity from the porch, 
 and cut in where there was a place next the wall ! And to 
 see one man with an umbrella (brought on purpose, for it 
 was a fine day) hoisting himself, unlawfully, from stair to 
 stair! And to observe a demure lady of fifty-five or so, 
 looking back, every now and then, to assure herself that her 
 legs were properly disposed! 
 
 There were such odd differences in the speed of different 
 
The Pope’s Benediction 401 
 
 people, too. Some got on as if they were doing a match 
 against time; others stopped to say a prayer on every step. 
 This man touched every stair with his forehead, and kissed 
 it; that man scratched his head all the way. The boys got 
 on brilliantly, and were up and down again before the old 
 lady had accomplished her half-dozen stairs. But most of 
 the penitents came down, very sprightly and fresh, as having 
 done a real good substantial deed which it would take a good 
 deal of sin to counterbalance; and the old gentleman in the 
 watch-box was down upon them with his canister while they 
 were in this humour, I promise you. 
 
 As if such a progress were not in its nature inevitably droll 
 enough, there lay, on the top of the stairs, a wooden figure 
 on a crucifix, resting on a sort of great iron saucer: so rickety 
 and unsteady, that whenever an enthusiastic person kissed 
 the figure, with more than usual devotion, or threw a coin 
 into the saucer, with more than common readiness (for it 
 served in this respect as a second or supplementary canister), 
 it gave a great leap and rattle, and nearly shook the attendant 
 lamp out: horribly frightening the people further down, and 
 throwing the guilty party into unspeakable embarrassment. 
 
 On Easter Sunday, as well as on the preceding Thursday, 
 the Pope bestows his benediction on the people, from the 
 balcony in front of St. Peter’s. This Easter Sunday was a 
 day so bright and blue : so cloudless, balmy, wonderfully 
 bright : that all the previous bad weather vanished from 
 the recollection in a moment. I had seen the Thursday ‘s 
 Benediction dropping damply on some hundreds of um- 
 brellas, but there was not a sparkle then, in all the hundred 
 fountains of Rome — such fountains as they are ! — and on this 
 Sunday morning they were running diamonds. The miles 
 of miserable streets through which we drove (compelled to 
 a certain course by the Pope’s dragoons: the Roman police 
 on such occasions) were so full of colour, that nothing in them 
 was capable of wearing a faded aspect. The common people 
 came out in their gayest dresses; the richer people in their 
 smartest vehicles; Cardinals rattled to the church of the 
 Poor Fishermen in their state carriages; shabby magnificence 
 flaunted its threadbare liveries and tarnished cocked hats, in 
 the sun; and every coach in Rome was put in requisition for 
 the Great Piazza of St. Peter’s. 
 
 One hundred and fifty thousand people were there at least ! 
 *0 
 
402 Pictures from Italy 
 
 Yet there was ample room. How many carriages were there, 
 I don’t know; yet there was room for them too, and to spare. 
 The great steps of the church were densely crowded. There 
 were many of the Contadini, from Albano (who delight in 
 red), in that part of the square, and the mingling of bright 
 colours in the crowd was beautiful. Below the steps the 
 troops were ranged. In the magnificent proportions of the 
 place they looked like a bed of flowers. Sulky Romans, lively 
 peasants from the neighbouring country, groups of pilgrims 
 from distant parts of Italy, sight-seeing foreigners of all 
 nations, made a murmur in the clear air, like so many insects; 
 and high above them all, plashing and bubbling, and making 
 rainbow colours in the light, the two delicious fountains 
 welled and tumbled bountifully. 
 
 A kind of bright carpet was hung over the front of the 
 balcony; and the sides of the great window were bedecked 
 with crimson drapery. An awning was stretched, too, over 
 the top, to screen the old man from the hot rays of the sun. 
 As noon approached, all eyes were turned up to this window. 
 In due time, the chair was seen approaching to the front, 
 with the gigantic fans of peacock’s feathers, close behind. 
 The doll within it (for the balcony is very high) then rose up, 
 and stretched out its tiny arms, while all the male spectators 
 in the square uncovered, and some, but not by any means 
 the greater part, kneeled down. The guns upon the ramparts 
 of the Castle of St. Angelo proclaimed, next moment, that 
 the benediction was given; drums beat; trumpets sounded; 
 arms clashed; and the great mass below, suddenly breaking 
 into smaller heaps, and scattering here and there in rills, was 
 stirred like parti-coloured sand. 
 
 What a bright noon it was, as we rode away ! V The Tiber 
 was no longer yellow, but blue. There was a blush on the 
 old bridges, that made them fresh and hale again. The 
 Pantheon, with its majestic front, all seamed and furrowed 
 like an old face, had summer light upon its battered walls. 
 Every squalid and desolate hut in the Eternal City (bear 
 witness every grim old palace, to the filth and misery of the 
 plebeian neighbour that elbows it, as certain as Time has laid 
 its grip on its patrician head !) was fresh and new with some 
 ray of the sun. The very prison in the crowded street, a 
 whirl of carriages and people, had some stray sense of the 
 day, dropping through its chinks and crevices: and dismal 
 
A Great Display of Fireworks 403 
 
 prisoners who could not wind their faces round the barricad- 
 ing of the blocked-up windows, stretched out their hands, 
 and clinging to the rusty bars, turned them towards the over- 
 flowing street: as if it were a cheerful fire, and could be shared 
 in that way. 
 
 But, when the night came on, without a cloud to dim the 
 full moon, what a sight it was to see the Great Square full 
 once more, and the whole church, from the cross to the 
 ground, lighted with innumerable lanterns, tracing out the 
 architecture, and winking and shining all round the colonnade 
 of the piazza ! And what a sense of exultation, joy, delight, 
 it was, when the great bell struck half-past seven — on the 
 instant — to behold one bright red mass of fire, soar gallantly 
 from the top of the cupola to the extremest summit of the 
 cross, and the moment it leaped into its place, become the 
 signal of a bursting out of countless lights, as great, and red, 
 and blazing as itself, from every part of the gigantic church; 
 so that every cornice, capital, and smallest ornament of stone, 
 expressed itself in fire: and the black solid groundwork of 
 the enormous dome seemed to grow transparent as an egg- 
 shell! 
 
 A train of gunpowder, an electric chain — nothing could be 
 fired, more suddenly and swiftly, than this second illumina- 
 tion; and when we had got away, and gone upon a distant 
 height, and looked towards it two hours afterwards, there it 
 still stood, shining and glittering in the calm night like a 
 jewel! Not a line of its proportions wanting; not an angle 
 blunted ; not an atom of its radiance lost. 
 
 The next night — Easter Monday — there was a great display 
 of fireworks from the Castle of St. Angelo. We hired a room 
 in an opposite house, and made our way, to our places, in 
 good time, through a dense mob of people choking up the 
 square in front, and all the avenues leading to it; and so 
 loading the bridge by which the castle is approached, that 
 it seemed ready to sink into the rapid Tiber below. There 
 are statues on this bridge (execrable works), and, among 
 them, great vessels full of burning tow were placed: glaring 
 strangely on the faces of the crowd, and not less strangely 
 on the stone counterfeits above them. 
 
 The show began with a tremendous discharge of cannon ; 
 and then, for twenty minutes or half an hour, the whole 
 castle was one incessant sheet of fire, and labyrinth of blazing 
 
404 Pictures from Italy 
 
 wheels of every colour, size, and speed : while rockets 
 
 streamed into the sky, not by ones or twos, or scores, but 
 hundreds at a time. The concluding burst — the Girandola — 
 was like the blowing up into the air of the whole massive^ 
 castle, without smoke or dust. 
 
 In half an hour afterwards, the immense concourse had; 
 dispersed; the moon was looking calmly down upon her 
 wrinkled image in the river; and half-a-dozen men and boys, 
 with bits of lighted candle in their hands: moving here and 
 there, in search of anything worth having, that might have 
 been dropped in the press : had the whole scene to themselves. 
 
 By way of contrast we rode out into old ruined Rome, 
 after all this firing and booming, to take our leave of the 
 Coliseum. I had seen it by moonlight before (I could 
 never get through a day without going back to it), but its 
 tremendous solitude that night is past all telling. The 
 ghostly pillars in the Forum; the Triumphal Arches of Old 
 Emperors; those enormous masses of ruins which were once 
 their palaces ; the grass-grown mounds that mark the graves 
 of ruined temples; the stones of the Via Sacra, smooth with 
 the tread of feet in ancient Rome ; even these were dimmed* 
 in their transcendent melancholy, by the dark ghost of its 
 bloody holidays, erect and grim; haunting the old scene; 
 despoiled by pillaging Popes and fighting Princes, but not 
 laid; wringing wild hands of weed, and grass, and bramble;, 
 and lamenting to the night in every gap and broken arch — 
 the shadow of its awful self, immovable ! 
 
 As we lay down on the grass of the Campagna, next day, 
 on our way to Florence, hearing the larks sing, we saw that 
 a little wooden cross had been erected on the spot where the 
 poor Pilgrim Countess was murdered. So, we piled some 
 loose stones about it, as the beginning of a mound to her 
 memory, and wondered if we should ever rest there again, 
 and look back at Rome. 
 
Bound for Naples 
 
 4°5 
 
 A RAPID DIORAMA 
 
 We are bound for Naples! And we cross the threshold of 
 the Eternal City at yonder gate, the Gate of San Giovanni 
 Laterano, where the two last objects that attract the notice 
 of a departing visitor, and the two first objects that attract 
 the notice of an arriving one, are a proud church and a 
 decaying ruin — good emblems of Rome. 
 
 Our way lies over the Campagna, which looks more solemn 
 on a bright blue day like this, than beneath a darker sky; 
 the great extent of ruin being plainer to the eye: and the 
 sunshine through the arches of the broken aqueducts, showing 
 other broken arches shining through them in the melancholy 
 distance. When we have traversed it, and look back from 
 lAlbano, its dark undulating surface lies below us like a 
 stagnant lake, or like a broad dull Lethe flowing round the 
 walls of Rome, and separating it from all the world! How 
 often have the Legions, in triumphant march, gone glittering 
 across that purple waste, so silent and unpeopled now ! How 
 often has the train of captives looked, with sinking hearts, 
 upon the distant city, and beheld its population pouring out, 
 to hail the return of their conqueror! What riot, sensuality 
 and murder, have run mad in the vast palaces now heaps of 
 brick and shattered marble! What glare of fires, and roar 
 of popular tumult, and wail of pestilence and famine, have 
 come sweeping over the wild plain where nothing is now 
 heard but the wind, and where the solitary lizards gambol 
 unmolested in the sun ! 
 
 The train of wine-carts going into Rome, each driven by 
 a shaggy peasant reclining beneath a little gipsy-fashioned 
 canopy of sheepskin, is ended now, and we go toiling up into 
 a higher country where there are trees. The next day brings 
 us on the Pontine Marshes, wearily flat and lonesome, and 
 overgrown with brushwood, and swamped with water, but 
 v/ith a fine road made across them, shaded by a long, long 
 avenue. Here and there, we pass a solitary • guard-house ; 
 here and there a hovel, deserted, and walled up. Some 
 herdsmen loiter on the banks of the stream beside the road, 
 and sometimes a flat-bottomed boat, towed by a man, comes 
 
406 Pictures from Italy 
 
 rippling idly along it. A horseman passes occasionally, 
 carrying a long gun cross-wise on the saddle before him, 
 and attended by fierce dogs; but there is nothing else astir 
 save the wind and the shadows, until we come in sight of 
 Terracina. 
 
 How blue and bright the sea, rolling below the windows 
 of the inn so famous in robber stories! How picturesque 
 the great crags and points of rock overhanging to-morrow’s 
 narrow road, where galley-slaves are working in the quarries 
 above, and the sentinels who guard them lounge on the sea- 
 shore! All night there is the murmur of the sea beneath 
 the stars; and, in the morning, just at daybreak, the pros- 
 pect suddenly becoming expanded, as if by a miracle, reveals 
 — in the far distance, across the sea there ! — Naples with its 
 islands, and Vesuvius spouting fire! Within a quarter of an 
 hour, the whole is gone as if it were a vision in the clouds, 
 and there is nothing but the sea and sky. 
 
 The Neapolitan frontier crossed, after two hours’ travelling; 
 and the hungriest of soldiers and custom-house officers with 
 difficulty appeased; we enter, by a gateless portal, into 
 the first Neapolitan town — Fondi. Take note of Fondi, in 
 the name of all that is wretched and beggarly. 
 
 A filthy channel of mud and refuse meanders down the 
 centre of the miserable streets, fed by obscene rivulets that 
 trickle from the abject houses. There is not a door, a win- 
 dow, or a shutter; not a roof, a wall, a post, or a pillar, in 
 all Fondi, but is decayed, and crazy, and rotting away. The 
 wretched history of the town, with all its sieges and pillages 
 by Barbarossa and the rest, might have been acted last year. 
 How the gaunt dogs that sneak about the miserable streets, 
 come to be alive, and undevoured by the people, is one of 
 the enigmas of the world. 
 
 A hollow-cheeked and scowling people they are ! All 
 beggars; but that’s nothing. Look at them as they gather 
 round. Some, are too indolent to come downstairs, or are 
 too wisely mistrustful of the stairs, perhaps, to venture: so 
 stretch out their lean hands from upper win<lows, and howl ; 
 others, come flocking about us, fighting and jostling one 
 another, and demanding, incessantly, charity for the love of 
 God, charity for the love of the Blessed Virgin, charity for 
 the love of all the Saints. A group of miserable children, 
 almost naked, screaming forth the same petition, discover 
 
Fondi 
 
 407 
 
 that they can see themselves reflected in the varnish of the 
 carriage, and begin to dance and make grimaces, that they 
 may have the pleasure of seeing their antics repeated in this 
 mirror. A crippled idiot, in the act of striking one of them 
 who drowns his clamorous demand for charity, observes his 
 angry counterpart in the panel, stops short, and thrusting 
 out his tongue, begins to wag his head and chatter. The 
 shrill cry raised at this, awakens half-a-dozen wild creatures 
 wrapped in frowzy brown cloaks, who are lying on the 
 church-steps with pots and pans for sale. These, scrambling 
 up, approach, and beg defiantly. “ I am hungry. Give me 
 something. Listen to me, Signor. I am hungry ! ” Then, 
 a ghastly old woman, fearful of being too late, comes hob- 
 bling down the street, stretching out one hand, and scratch- 
 ing herself all the way with the other, and screaming, long 
 before she can be heard, “ Charity, charity ! I’ll go and pray 
 for you directly, beautiful lady, if you’ll give me charity ! ” 
 Lastly, the members of a brotherhood for burying the dead: 
 hideously masked, and attired in shabby black robes, white 
 at the skirts, with the splashes of many muddy winters: 
 escorted by a dirty priest, and a congenial cross-bearer: 
 come hurrying past. Surrounded by this motley concourse, 
 we move out of Fondi: bad bright eyes glaring at us, out 
 of the darkness of every crazy tenement, like glistening frag- 
 ments of its filth and putrefaction. 
 
 A noble mountain-pass, with the ruins of a fort on a 
 strong eminence, traditionally called the Fort of Fra Diavolo; 
 the old town of Itri, like a device in pastry, built up, almost 
 perpendicularly, on a hill, and approached by long steep 
 flights of steps; beautiful Mola di Gaeta, whose wines, like 
 those of Albano, have degenerated since the days of Horace, 
 or his taste for wine was bad : which is not likely of one who 
 enjoyed it so much, and extolled it so well; another night 
 upon the road at St. Agatha; a rest next day at Capua, 
 which is picturesque, but hardly so seductive to a traveller 
 now, as the soldiers of Pnetorian Rome were wont to find 
 the ancient city of that name; a flat road among vines 
 festooned and looped from tree to tree; and Mount Vesuvius 
 close at hand at last! — its cone and summit whitened with 
 snow; and its smoke hanging over it, in the heavy atmo- 
 sphere of the day, like a dense cloud. So we go, rattling 
 down hill, into Naples. 
 
40 8 Pictures from Italy 
 
 A funeral is coming up the street, towards us. The body, 
 on an open bier, borne on a land of palanquin, covered with 
 a gay cloth of crimson and gold. The mourners, in white 
 gowns and masks. If there be death abroad, life is well 
 represented too, for all Naples would seem to be out of 
 doors, and tearing to and fro in carriages. Some of these, 
 the common Vetturino vehicles, are drawn by three horses 
 abreast, decked with smart trappings and great abundance of 
 brazen ornament, and always going very fast. Not that then- 
 loads are light; for the smallest of them has at least six 
 people inside, four in front, four or five more hanging on 
 behind, and two or three more, in a net or bag below the 
 axle-tree, where they lie half-suffocated with mud and dust. 
 Exhibitors of Punch, buffo singers with guitars, reciters of 
 poetry, reciters of stories, a row of cheap exhibitions with 
 clowns and showmen, drums, and trumpets, painted cloths 
 representing the wonders within, and admiring crowds 
 assembled without, assist the whirl and bustle. Ragged 
 lazzaroni lie asleep in doorways, archways, and kennels; the 
 gentry, gaily dressed, are dashing up and down in carriages 
 on the Chiaja, or walking in the Public Gardens; and quiet 
 letter-writers, perched behind their little desks and inkstands 
 under the Portico of the Great Theatre of San Carlo, in the 
 public street, are waiting for clients. 
 
 Here is a galley-slave in chains, who wants a letter written 
 to a friend. He approaches a clerkly-looking man, sitting- 
 under the comer arch, a.nd makes his bargain. He has 
 obtained permission of the sentinel who guards him: who 
 stands near, leaning against the wall and cracking nuts. The 
 galley-slave dictates in the ear of the letter-writer, what he 
 desires to say; and as he can’t read writing, looks intently 
 in his face, to read there whether he sets down faithfully 
 what he is told. After a time, the galley-slave becomes dis- 
 cursive — incoherent. The secretary pauses and rubs his chin. 
 The galley-slave is voluble and energetic. The secretary, at 
 length, catches the idea, and with the air of a man who 
 knows how to word it, sets it down ; stopping, now and then, 
 to glance back at his text admiringly. The galley-slave is 
 silent. The soldier stoically cracks his nuts. Is there any- 
 thing more to say? inquires the letter- writer. No more. 
 Then listen, friend of mine. He reads it through. The 
 galley-slave is quite enchanted. It is folded, and addressed. 
 
Naples 409 
 
 and given to him, and he pays the fee. The secretary falls 
 back indolently in his chair, and takes a book. The galley- 
 slave gathers up an empty sack. The sentinel throws away 
 a handful of nut-shells, shoulders his musket, and away they 
 go together. 
 
 Why do the beggars rap their chins constantly, with their 
 right hands, when you look at them? Everything is done 
 in pantomime in Naples, and that is the conventional sign 
 for hunger. A man who is quarrelling with another, yonder, 
 lays the palm of his right hand on the bade of his left, 
 and shakes the two thumbs — expressive of a donkey’s ears — 
 whereat his adversary is goaded to desperation. Two people 
 bargaining for fish, the buyer empties an imaginary waist- 
 coat pocket when he is told the price, and walks away with- 
 out a word: having thoroughly conveyed to the seller that 
 he considers it too dear. Two people in carriages, meeting, 
 one touches his lips, twice or thrice, holding up the five 
 fingers of his right hand, and gives a horizontal cut in the 
 air with the palm. The other nods briskly, and goes his 
 way. He has been invited to a friendly dinner at half-past 
 five o’clock, and will certainly come. 
 
 All over Italy, a peculiar shake of the right hand from 
 the wrist, with the forefinger stretched out, expresses a 
 negative — the only negative beggars will ever understand. 
 But, in Naples, those five fingers are a copious lan- 
 guage. 
 
 All this, and every other kind of out-door life and stir, 
 and maccaroni-eating at sunset, and flower-selling all day 
 long, and begging and stealing everywhere and at all hours, 
 you see upon the bright sea-shore, where the waves of 
 the bay sparkle merrily. But, lovers and hunters of the 
 picturesque, let us not keep too studiously out of view the 
 miserable depravity, degradation, and wretchedness, with 
 which this gay Neapolitan life is inseparably associated ! It 
 is not well to find Saint Giles’s so repulsive, and the Porta 
 Capuana so attractive. A pair of naked legs and a ragged 
 red scarf, do not make all the difference between what is 
 interesting and what is coarse and odious? Painting and 
 poetising for ever, if you will, the beauties of this most 
 beautiful and lovely spot of earth, let us, as our duty, try 
 to associate a new picturesque with some faint recognition 
 of man’s destiny and capabilities; more hopeful, I believe, 
 
410 Pictures from Italy 
 
 among the ice and snow of the North Pole, than in the sun 
 and bloom of Naples. 
 
 Capri — once made odious by the deified beast Tiberius — 
 Ischia, Procida, and the thousand distant beauties of the Bay, 
 lie in the blue sea yonder, changing in the mist and sunshine 
 twenty times a-day: now close at hand, now far off, now 
 unseen. The fairest country in the world, is spread about 
 us. Whether we turn towards the Miseno shore of the 
 splendid watery amphitheatre, and go by the Grotto of 
 Posilipo to the Grotto del Cane and away to Bake: or take 
 the other way, towards Vesuvius and Sorrento, it is one 
 succession of delights. In the last-named direction, where, 
 over doors and archways, there are countless little images of 
 San Gennaro, with his Canute’s hand stretched out, to check 
 the fury of the Burning Mountain, we are carried pleasantly, 
 by a railroad on the beautiful Sea Beach, past the town of 
 Torre del Greco, built upon the ashes of the former town 
 destroyed by an eruption of Vesuvius, within a hundred 
 years; and past the flat -roofed houses, granaries, and 
 maccaroni manufactories; to Castel-a-Mare, with its ruined 
 castle, now inhabited by fishermen, standing in the sea upon 
 a heap of rocks. Here, the railroad terminates ; but, hence 
 we may ride on, by an unbroken succession of enchanting 
 bays, and beautiful scenery, doping from the highest summit 
 of Saint Angelo, the highest neighbouring mountain, down 
 to the water’s edge — among vineyards, olive-trees, gardens of 
 oranges and lemons, orchards, heaped-up rocks, green gorges 
 in the hills — and by the bases of snow-covered heights, and 
 through small towns with handsome, dark-haired women at 
 the doors — and past delicious summer villas — to Sorrento, 
 where the Poet Tasso drew his inspiration from the beauty 
 surrounding him. Returning, we may cKmb the heights 
 above Castel-a-Mare, and looking down among the boughs 
 and leaves, see the crisp water gEstenmg in the sun; and 
 clusters of white houses in distant Naples, dwindling, in the 
 great extent of prospect, down to dice. The coming back to 
 the city, by the beach again, at sunset: with the glowing 
 sea on one side, and the darkening mountain, with its smoke 
 and flame, upon the other: is a sublime conclusion to the 
 glory of the day. 
 
 That church by the Porto Capuana — near the old fisher- 
 rnarket in the dirtiest quarter of dirty Naples, where the 
 
Sacred Blood of St. Januarius 41 1 
 
 revolt of Masaniello began — is memorable for having been 
 the scene of one of his earliest proclamations to the people, 
 and is particularly remarkable for nothing else, unless it be 
 its waxen and bejewelled Saint in a glass case, with two odd 
 hands; or the enormous number of beggars who are constantly 
 rapping their chins there, like a battery of castanets. The 
 cathedral with the beautiful door, and the columns of African 
 and Egyptian granite that once ornamented the temple of 
 Apollo, contains the famous sacred blood of San Gennaro 
 or Januarius: which is preserved in two phials in a silver 
 tabernacle, and miraculously liquefies three times a-year, to 
 the great admiration of the people. At the same moment, 
 the stone (distant some miles) where the Saint suffered 
 martyrdom, becomes faintly red. It is said that the 
 officiating priests turn faintly red also, sometimes, when 
 these miracles occur. 
 
 The old, old men who live in hovels at the entrance of 
 these ancient catacombs, and who, in their age and infirmity, 
 seem waiting here, to be buried themselves, are members 
 of a curious body, called the Royal Hospital, who are the 
 official attendants at funerals. Two of these old spectres 
 totter away, with lighted tapers, to show the caverns of 
 death — as unconcerned as if they were immortal. They were 
 used as burying-places for three hundred years; and, in one 
 part, is a large pit full of skulls and bones, said to be the 
 sad remains of a great mortality occasioned by a plague. In 
 the rest there is nothing but dust. They consist, chiefly, of 
 great wide corridors and labyrinths, hewn out of the rock. 
 At the end of some of these long passages, are unexpected 
 glimpses of the daylight, shining down from above. It looks 
 as ghastly and as strange: among the torches, and the dust, 
 and the dark vaults : as if it, too, were dead and buried. 
 
 The present burial-place lies out yonder, on a hill between 
 the city and Vesuvius. The old Campo Santo with its three 
 hundred and sixty-five pits, is only used for those who die in 
 hospitals, and prisons, and are unclaimed by their friends. 
 The graceful new cemetery, at no great distance from it, 
 though yet unfinished, has already many graves among its 
 shrubs and flowers, and airy colonnades. It might be 
 reasonably objected elsewhere, that some of the tombs are 
 meretricious and too fanciful; but the general brightness 
 seems to justify it here; and Mount Vesuvius, separated from 
 
4 1 2 Pictures from Italy 
 
 them by a lovely slope of ground, exalts and saddens the 
 scene. 
 
 If it be solemn to behold from this new City of the Dead, 
 with its dark smoke hanging in the clear sky, how much 
 more awful and impressive is it, viewed from the ghostly 
 ruins of Herculaneum and Pompeii! 
 
 Stand at the bottom of the great market-place of Pompeii, 
 and look up the silent streets, through the ruined temples of 
 Jupiter and Isis, over the broken houses with their inmost 
 sanctuaries open to the day, away to Mount Vesuvius, bright 
 and snowy in the peaceful distance; and lose all count of time, 
 and heed of other things, in the strange and melancholy 
 sensation of seeing the Destroyed and the Destroyer making 
 this quiet picture in the sun. Then, ramble on, and see, at 
 every turn, the little familiar tokens of human habitation 
 and every-day pursuits ; the chafing of the bucket-rope in the 
 stone rim of the exhausted well ; the track of carriage- wheels 
 in the pavement of the street; the marks of drinking-vessels 
 on the stone counter of the wine-shop; the amphorae in 
 private cellars, stored away so many hundred years ago, and 
 undisturbed to this hour — all rendering the solitude and 
 deadly lonesomeness of the place, ten thousand times more 
 solemn, than if the volcano, in its fury, had swept the city 
 from the earth, and sunk it in the bottom of the sea. 
 
 After it was shaken by the earthquake which preceded the 
 eruption, workmen were employed in shaping out, in stone, 
 new ornaments for temples and other buildings that had 
 suffered. Here lies their work, outside the city gate, as if 
 they would return to-morrow. 
 
 In the cellar of Diomede’s house, where certain skeletons 
 were found huddled together, close to the door, the impres- 
 sion of their bodies on the ashes, hardened with the ashes, and 
 became stamped and fixed there, after they had shrunk, 
 inside, to scanty bones. So, in the theatre of Herculaneum, 
 a comic mask, floating on the stream when it was hot and 
 liquid, stamped its mimic features in it as it hardened into 
 stone; and now, it turns upon the stranger the fantastic 
 look it turned upon the audiences in that same theatre two 
 thousand years ago. 
 
 Next to the wonder of going up and down the streets, and 
 in and out of the houses, and traversing the secret chambers 
 of the temples of a religion that has vanished from the earth, 
 
The Buried City 413 
 
 and finding so many fresh traces of remote antiquity: as if 
 the course of Time had been stopped after this desolation, 
 and there had been no nights and days, months, years, and 
 centuries, since: nothing is more impressive and terrible than 
 the many evidences of the searching nature of the ashes, as 
 bespeaking their irresistible power, and the impossibility of 
 escaping them. In the wine-cellars, they forced their way 
 into the earthen vessels: displacing the wine and choking 
 them, to the brim, with dust. In the tombs, they forced the 
 ashes of the dead from the funeral urns, and rained new 
 ruin even into them. The mouths, and eyes, and skulls of 
 all the skeletons, were stuffed with this terrible hail. In 
 Herculaneum, where the flood was of a different and a 
 heavier kind, it rolled in, like a sea. Imagine a deluge of 
 water turned to marble, at its height — and that is what is 
 called “ the lava ” here. 
 
 Some workmen were digging the gloomy well on the brink 
 of which we now stand, looking down, when they came on 
 some of the stone benches of the theatre — those steps (for 
 such they seem) at the bottom of the excavation — and found 
 the buried city of Herculaneum. Presently going down, with 
 lighted torches, we are perplexed by great walls of monstrous 
 thickness, rising up between the benches, shutting out the 
 stage, obtruding their shapeless forms in absurd places, 
 confusing the whole plan, and making it a disordered dream. 
 We cannot, at first, believe, or picture to ourselves, that This 
 came rolling in, and drowned the city; and that all that is 
 not here, has been cut away, by the axe, like solid stone. 
 But this perceived and understood, the horror and oppression 
 of its presence are indescribable. 
 
 Many of the paintings on the walls in the roofless chambers 
 of both cities, or carefully removed to the museum at Naples, 
 are as fresh and plain, as if they had been executed yester- 
 day. Here are subjects of still life, as provisions, dead game, 
 bottles, glasses, and the like; familiar classical stories, or 
 mythological fables, always forcibly and plainly told ; conceits 
 of cupids, quarrelling, sporting, working at trades; theatrical 
 rehearsals ; poets reading their productions to their friends ; 
 inscriptions chalked upon the walls; political squibs, adver- 
 tisements, rough drawings by schoolboys; everything to 
 people and restore the ancient cities, in the fancy of their 
 wondering visitor. Furniture, too, you see, of every kind — 
 
414 Pictures from Italy 
 
 lamps, tables, couches; vessels for eating, drinking, and 
 cooking; workmen’s tools, surgical instruments, tickets for 
 the theatre, pieces of money, personal ornaments, bunches 
 of keys found clenched in the grasp of skeletons, helmets of 
 guards and warriors ;| little household bells, yet musical with 
 their old domestic tones. 
 
 The least among these objects, lends its aid to swell the 
 interest of Vesuvius, and invest it with a perfect fascination. 
 The looking, from either ruined city, into the neighbouring 
 grounds overgrown with beautiful vines and luxuriant trees; 
 and remembering that house upon house, temple on temple, 
 building after building, and street after street, are still lying 
 underneath the roots of all the quiet cultivation, waiting to 
 be turned up to the light of day ; is something so wonderful, 
 so full of mystery, so captivating to the imagination, that one 
 would think it would be paramount, and yield to nothing 
 else. To nothing but Vesuvius; but the mountain is the 
 genius of the scene. From every indication of the ruin it has 
 worked, we look, again, with an absorbing interest to where 
 its smoke is rising up into the sky. It is beyond us, as we 
 thread the ruined streets: above us, as we stand upon the 
 ruined walls; we follow it through every vista of broken 
 columns, as we wander through the empty court-yards of the 
 houses; and through the garlandings and interfacings of 
 every wanton vine. Turning away to Paestum yonder, to 
 see the awful structures built, the least aged of them, hun- 
 dreds of years before the birth of Christ, and standing yet, 
 erect in lonely majesty, upon the wild, malaria-blighted 
 plain — we watch Vesuvius as it disappears from the pros- 
 pect, and watch for it again, on our return, with the same 
 thrill of interest: as the doom and destiny of all this beauti- 
 ful country, biding its terrible time. 
 
 It is very warm in the sun, on this early spring-day, vrfien 
 we return from Paestum, but very cold in the shade: inso- 
 much, that although we may lunch, pleasantly, at noon, in 
 the open air, by the gate of Pompeii, the neighbouring 
 rivulet supplies thick ice for our wine. But, the sun is 
 shining brightly; there is not a cloud or speck of vapour in 
 the whole blue sky, looking down upon the bay of Naples; 
 and the moon will be at the full to-night. No matter that 
 the snow and ice lie thick upon the summit of Vesuvius, or 
 that we have been on foot all day at Pompeii, or that croakers 
 
Ascending Mount Vesuvius 41 5 
 
 maintain that strangers should not be on the mountain by 
 night, in such an unusual season. Let us take advantage of 
 the fine weather; make the best of our way to Resina, the 
 little village at the foot of the mountain; prepare ourselves, 
 as well as we can, on so short a notice, at the guide’s house ; 
 ascend at once, and have sunset half-way up, moon-light at 
 the top, and midnight to come down in ! 
 
 At four o’clock in the afternoon, there is a terrible uproar 
 in the little stable-yard of Signor Salvatore, the recognised 
 head-guide, with the gold band round his cap; and thirty 
 under-guides who are all scuffling and screaming at once, 
 are preparing half-a-dozen saddled ponies, three litters, and 
 some stout staves, for the journey. Every one of the thirty, 
 quarrels with the other twenty-nine, and frightens the six 
 ponies; and as much of the village as can possibly squeeze 
 itself into the little stable-yard, participates in the tumult, 
 and gets trodden on by the cattle. 
 
 After much violent skirmishing, and more noise than 
 would suffice for the storming of Naples, the procession starts. 
 The head-guide, who is liberally paid for all the attendants, 
 rides a little in advance of the party; the other thirty guides 
 proceed on foot. Eight go forward with the litters that are 
 to be used by-and-by; and the remaining two-and-twenty 
 beg. 
 
 We ascend, gradually, by stony lanes like rough broad 
 flights of stairs, for some time. At length, we leave these, 
 and the vineyards on either side of them, and emerge upon 
 a bleak bare region where the lava lies confusedly, in enor- 
 mous rusty masses : as if the earth had been ploughed up by 
 burning thunderbolts. And now, we halt to see the sun set. 
 The change that falls upon the dreary region, and on the 
 whole mountain, as its red light fades, and the night comes 
 on — and the unutterable solemnity and dreariness that reign 
 around, who that has witnessed it, can ever forget ! 
 
 It is dark, when after winding, for some time, over the 
 broken ground, we arrive at the foot of the cone: which is 
 extremely steep, and seems to rise, almost perpendicularly, 
 from the spot where we dismount. The only light is reflected 
 from the snow, deep, hard, and white, with which the cone is 
 covered. It is now intensely cold, and the air is piercing. 
 The thirty-one have brought no torches, knowing that the 
 moon will rise before we reach the top. Two of the litters 
 
41 6 Pictures from Italy 
 
 are devoted to the two ladies; the third, to a rather heavy 
 gentleman from Naples, whose hospitality and good-nature 
 have attached him to the expedition, and determined him to 
 assist in doing the honours of the mountain. The rather 
 heavy gentleman is carried by fifteen men ; each of the ladies 
 by half-a-dozen. We who walk, make the best use of our 
 staves; and so the whole party begin to labour upward over 
 the snow, — as if they were toiling to the summit of an ante- 
 diluvian Twelfth-cake. 
 
 We are a long time toiling up; and the head-guide looks 
 oddly about him when one of the company — not an Italian,' 
 though an habitue of the mountain for many years: whom 
 we will call, for our present purpose, Mr. Pickle of Portici — 
 suggests that, as it is freezing hard, and the usual footing of 
 ashes is covered by the snow and ice, it will surely be diffi- 
 cult to descend. But the sight of the litters above, tilting up 
 and down, and jerking from this side to that, as the bearers 
 continually slip and tumble, diverts our attention; more 
 especially as the whole length of the rather heavy gentleman 
 is, at that moment, presented to us alarmingly foreshortened, 
 with his head downwards. 
 
 The rising of the moon soon afterwards, revives the 
 flagging spirits of the bearers. Stimulating each other with 
 their usual watchword, “ Courage, friend ! It is to eat 
 maccaroni! ” they press on, gallantly, for the summit. 
 
 From tingeing the top of the snow above us, with a band 
 of light, and pouring it in a stream through the valley below, 
 while we have been ascending in the dark, the moon soon 
 lights the whole white mountain-side, and the broad sea down 
 below, and tiny Naples in the distance, and every village in 
 the country round. The whole prospect is in this lovely state, 
 when we come upon the platform on the mountain-top — the 
 region of Fire — an exhausted crater formed of great masses of 
 gigantic cinders, like blocks of stone from some tremendous 
 waterfall, burnt up ; from every chink and crevice of which, 
 hot, sulphurous smoke is pouring out: while, from another 
 conical-shaped hill, the present crater, rising abruptly from 
 this platform at the end, great sheets of fire are streaming 
 forth: reddening the night with flame, blackening it with 
 smoke, and spotting it with red-hot stones and cinders, that 
 fly up into the air like feathers, and fall down like lead. 
 What words can paint the gloom and grandeur of this scene ! 
 
The Descent 
 
 4 1 ? 
 
 The broken ground; the smoke; the sense of suffocation 
 from the sulphur; the fear of falling down through the 
 crevices in the yawning ground ; the stopping, every now and 
 then, for somebody who is missing in the dark (for the dense 
 smoke now obscures the moon); the intolerable noise of the 
 thirty; and the hoarse roaring of the mountain; make it a 
 scene of such confusion, at the same time, that we reel again. 
 But, dragging the ladies through it, and across another 
 exhausted crater to the foot of the present Volcano, we 
 approach close to it on the windy side, and then sit down 
 among the hot ashes at its foot, and look up in silence; 
 faintly estimating the action that is going on within, from 
 its being full a hundred feet higher, at this minute, than it 
 was six weeks ago. 
 
 There is something in the fire and roar, that generates an 
 irresistible desire to get nearer to it. We cannot rest long, 
 without starting off, two of us, on our hands and knees, 
 accompanied by the head-guide, to climb to the brim of the 
 flaming crater, and try to look in. Meanwhile, the thirty 
 yell, as with one voice, that it is a dangerous proceeding, and 
 call to us to come back; frightening the rest of the party 
 out of their wits. 
 
 What with their noise, and what with the trembling of the 
 thin crust of ground, that seems about to open underneath 
 our feet and plunge us in the burning gulf below (which is 
 the real danger, if there be any); and what with the flashing 
 of the fire in our faces, and the shower of red-hot ashes that 
 is raining down, and the choking smoke and sulphur; we 
 may well feel giddy and irrational, like drunken men. But, 
 we contrive to climb up to the brim, and look down, for a 
 moment, into the Hell of boiling fire below. Then, we all 
 three come rolling down; blackened, and singed, and 
 scorched, and hot, and giddy: and each with his dress alight 
 in half-a-dozen places. 
 
 You have read, a thousand times, that the usual way of 
 descending, is, by sliding down the ashes: which, forming a 
 gradually-increasing ledge below the feet, prevent too rapid 
 a descent. But, when we have crossed the two exhausted 
 craters on our way back, and are come to this precipitous 
 place, there is (as Mr. Pickle has foretold) no vestige of ashes 
 to be seen; the whole being a smooth sheet of ice. 
 
 In this dilemma, ten or a dozen of the guides cautiously 
 
4i 8 Pictures from Italy 
 
 join hands, and make a chain of men; of whom the foremost 
 beat, as well as they can, a rough track with their sticks, 
 down which we prepare to follow. The way being fearfully 
 steep, and none of the party: even of the thirty: being able 
 to keep their feet for six paces together, the ladies are taken 
 out of their litters, and placed, each between two careful 
 persons; while others of the thirty hold by their skirts, to 
 prevent their falling forward — a necessary precaution, tending 
 to the immediate and hopeless dilapidation of their apparel. 
 The rather heavy gentleman is adjured to leave his litter 
 too, and be escorted in a similar manner; but he resolves to 
 be brought down as he was brought up, on the principle 
 that his fifteen bearers are not likely to tumble all at once, 
 and that he is safer so, than trusting to his own legs. 
 
 In this order, we begin the descent: sometimes on foot, 
 sometimes shuffling on the ice: always proceeding much more 
 quietly and slowly, than on our upward way : and constantly 
 alarmed by the falling among us of somebody from behind, 
 who endangers the footing of the whole party, and clings 
 pertinaciously to anybody^ ankles. It is impossible for the 
 litter to be in advance, too, as the track has to be made; 
 and its appearance behind us, overhead — with some one or 
 other of the bearers always down, and the rather heavy 
 gentleman with his legs always in the air — is very threatening 
 and frightful. We have gone on thus, a very little way, 
 painfully and anxiously, but quite merrily, and regarding it 
 as a great success — and have all fallen several times, and 
 have all been stopped, somehow or other, as we were sliding 
 away — when Mr. Pickle of Portici, in the act of remarking on 
 these uncommon circumstances as quite beyond his experi- 
 ence, stumbles, falls, disengages himself, with quick presence 
 of mind, from those about him, plunges away head foremost, 
 and rolls, over and over, down the whole surface of the cone ! 
 
 Sickening as it is to look, and be so powerless to help him, 
 I see him there, in the moonlight — I have had such a dream 
 often — skimming over the white ice, like a cannon-ball. 
 Almost at the same moment, there is a cry from behind; 
 and a man who has carried a light basket of spare cloaks 
 on his head, comes rolling past, at the same frightful speed, 
 closely followed by a boy. At this climax of the chapter of 
 accidents, the remaining eight-and-twenty vociferate to that 
 degree, that a pack of wolves would be music to them ! 
 
The Descent Safely Accomplished 419 
 
 Giddy, and bloody, and a mere bundle of rags, is Pickle 
 of Portici when we reach the place where we dismounted, 
 and where the horses are waiting; but, thank God, sound 
 in limb! And never are we likely to be more glad to see a 
 man alive and on his feet, than to see him now — making light 
 of it too, though sorely bruised and in great pain. The boy 
 is brought into the Hermitage on the Mountain, while we 
 are at supper, with his head tied up; and the man is heard 
 of, some hours afterwards. He too is bruised and stunned, 
 but has broken no bones; the snow having, fortunately, 
 covered all the larger blocks of rock and stone, and rendered 
 them harmless. 
 
 After a cheerful meal, and a good rest before a blazing 
 fire, we again take horse, and continue our descent to Salva- 
 tore’s house — very slowly, by reason of our bruised friend 
 being hardly able to keep the saddle, or endure the pain of 
 motion. Though it is so late at night, or early in the morn- 
 ing, all the people of the village are waiting about the little 
 stable-yard when we arrive, and looking up the road by which 
 we are expected. Our appearance is hailed with a great 
 clamour of tongues, and a general sensation for which in our 
 modesty we are somewhat at a loss to account, until, turning 
 into the yard, we find that one of a party of French gentle- 
 men who were on the mountain at the same time is lying 
 on some straw in the stable, with a broken limb : looking 
 like Death, and suffering great torture; and that we were 
 confidently supposed to have encountered some worse 
 accident. 
 
 So “ well returned, and Heaven be praised ! ” as the cheerful 
 Vetturino, who has borne us company all the way from Pisa, 
 says, with all his heart! And away with his ready horses, 
 into sleeping Naples ! 
 
 It wakes again to Policinelli and pickpockets, buffo singers 
 and beggars, rags, puppets, flowers, brightness, dirt, and 
 universal degradation; airing its Harlequin suit in the sun- 
 shine, next day and every day; singing, starving, dancing, 
 gaming, on the sea-shore; and leaving all labour to the 
 burning mountain, which is ever at its work. 
 
 Our English dilettanti would be very pathetic on the 
 subject of the national taste, if they could hear an Italian 
 opera half as badly sung in England as we may hear the 
 Foscari performed, to-night, in the splendid theatre of San 
 
420 Pictures from Italy 
 
 Carlo. But, for astonishing truth and spirit in seizing and 
 embodying the real life about it, the shabby little San Carlino 
 Theatre — the rickety house one story high, with a staring 
 picture outside: down among the drums and trumpets, and 
 the tumblers, and the lady conjurer — is without a rival any- 
 where. 
 
 There is one extraordinary feature in the real life of Naples, 
 at which we may take a glance before we go — the Lotteries. 
 
 They prevail in most parts of Italy, but are particularly 
 obvious, in their effects and influences, here. They are drawn 
 every Saturday. They bring an immense revenue to the 
 Government; and diffuse a taste for gambling among the 
 poorest of the poor, which is very comfortable to the coffers 
 of the State, and very ruinous to themselves. The lowest 
 stake is one grain; less than a farthing. One hundred 
 numbers — from one to a hundred, inclusive — are put into 
 a box. Five are drawn. Those are the prizes. I buy three 
 numbers. If one of them come up, I win a small prize. If 
 two, some hundreds of times my stake. If three, three 
 thousand five hundred times my stake. I stake (or play as 
 they call it) what I can upon my numbers, and buy what 
 numbers I please. The amount I play, I pay at the lottery 
 office, where I purchase the ticket; and it is stated on the 
 ticket itself. 
 
 Every lottery office keeps a printed book, an Universal 
 Lottery Diviner, where every possible accident and circum- 
 stance is provided for, and has a number against it. For 
 instance, let us take two carlini — about sevenpence. On our 
 way to the lottery office, we run against a black man. When 
 we get there, we say gravely, “ The Diviner/’ It is handed 
 over the counter, as a serious matter of business. We look 
 at black man. Such a number. “ Give us that.” We look 
 at running against a person in the street. “ Give us that.” 
 We look at the name of the street itself. “ Give us that.” 
 Now, we have our three numbers. 
 
 If the roof of the theatre of San Carlo were to fall in, so 
 many people would play upon the numbers attached to such 
 an accident in the Diviner, that the Government would soon 
 close those numbers, and decline to run the risk of losing 
 any more upon them. This often happens. Not long ago, 
 when there was a fire in the King’s Palace, there was such 
 a desperate run on fire, and king, and palace, that further 
 
Neapolitan Lotteries 421 
 
 stakes on the numbers attached to those words in the Golden 
 Book were forbidden. Every accident or event, is supposed, 
 by the ignorant populace, to be a revelation to the beholder, 
 or party concerned, in connexion with the lottery. Certain 
 people who have a talent for dreaming fortunately, are 
 much sought after; and there are some priests who are 
 constantly favoured with visions of the lucky numbers. 
 
 I heard of a horse running away with a man, and dashing 
 him down, dead, at the corner of a street. Pursuing the 
 horse with incredible speed, was another man, who ran so 
 fast, that he came up, immediately after the accident. He 
 threw himself upon his knees beside the unfortunate rider, 
 and clasped his hand with an expression of the wildest grief. 
 “ If you have life,” he said, “ speak one word to me! If you 
 have one gasp of breath left, mention your age for Heaven’s 
 sake, that I may play that number in the lottery.” 
 
 It is four o’clock in the afternoon, and we may go to see 
 our lottery drawn. The ceremony takes place every Saturday, 
 in the Tribunale, or Court of Justice — this singular, earthy- 
 smelling room, or gallery, as mouldy as an old cellar, and as 
 damp as a dungeon. At the upper end is a platform, with a 
 large horse-shoe table upon it; and a President and Council 
 sitting round — all Judges of the Law. The man on the 
 little stool behind the President, is the Capo Lazzarone, 
 a kind of tribune of the people, appointed on their behalf to 
 see that all is fairly conducted: attended by a few personal 
 friends. A ragged, swarthy fellow he is: with long matted 
 hair hanging down all over his face : and covered, from head 
 to foot, with most unquestionably genuine dirt. All the 
 body of the room is filled with the commonest of the 
 Neapolitan people: and between them and the platform, 
 guarding the steps leading to the latter, is a small body of 
 soldiers. 
 
 There is some delay in the arrival of the necessary number 
 of judges; during winch, the box, in which the numbers are 
 being placed, is a source of the deepest interest. When the 
 box is full, the boy who is to draw the numbers out of it 
 becomes the prominent feature of the proceedings. He is 
 already dressed for his part, in a tight brown Holland coat, 
 with only one (the left) sleeve to it, which leaves his right 
 arm bared to the shoulder, ready for plunging down into the 
 mysterious chest. 
 
422 Pictures from Italy 
 
 During the hush and whisper that pervade the room, all 
 eyes are turned on this young minister of fortune. People 
 begin to inquire his age, with a view to the next lottery; 
 and the number of his brothers and sisters; and the age of 
 his father and mother; and whether he has any moles or 
 pimples upon him; and where, and how many; when the 
 arrival of the last judge but one (a little old man, universally 
 dreaded as possessing the Evil Eye) makes a slight diversion, 
 and would occasion a greater one, but that he is immediately 
 deposed, as a source of interest, by the officiating priest, w r ho 
 advances gravely to his place, followed by a very dirty little 
 boy, carrying his sacred vestments, and a pot of Holy Water. 
 
 Here is the last judge come at last, and now he takes his 
 place at the horse-shoe table. 
 
 There is a murmur of irrepressible agitation. In the midst 
 of it, the priest puts his head into the sacred vestments, and 
 pulls the same over his shoulders. Then he says a silent 
 prayer; and dipping a brush into the pot of Holy Water, 
 sprinkles it over the box and over the boy, and gives them 
 a double-barrelled blessing, which the box and the boy are 
 both hoisted on the table to receive. The boy remaining on 
 the table, the box is now carried round the front of the 
 platform, by an attendant, who holds it up and shakes it 
 lustily all the time; seeming to say, like the conjurer, 
 “ There is no deception, ladies and gentlemen; keep your 
 eyes upon me, if you please ! ” 
 
 At last, the box is set before the boy; and the boy, first 
 holding up his naked arm and open hand, dives down into 
 the hole (it is made like a ballot-box) and pulls out a number, 
 which is rolled up, round something hard, like a bonbon. 
 This he hands to the judge next him, who unrolls a little bit, 
 and hands it to the President, next to whom he sits. The 
 President unrolls it, very slowly. The Capo Lazzarone leans 
 over his shoulder. The President holds it up, unrolled, 
 to the Capo Lazzarone. The Capo Lazzarone, looking at 
 it eagerly, cries out, in a shrill loud voice, “ Sessantadue ! ” 
 (sixty-two), expressing the two upon his fingers, as he calls 
 it out. Alas ! the Capo Lazzarone himself has not staked on 
 sixty-two. His face is very long, and his eyes roll wildly. 
 
 As it happens to be a favourite number, however, it is 
 pretty well received, which is not always the case. They are 
 all drawn with the same ceremony, omitting the blessing. 
 
The Monastery of Monte Cassino 423 
 
 One blessing is enough for the whole multiplication-table. 
 The only new incident in the proceedings, is the gradually 
 deepening intensity of the change in the Capo Lazzarone, 
 who has, evidently, speculated to the very utmost extent of 
 his means ; and who, when he sees the last number, and finds 
 that it is not one of his, clasps his hands, and raises his eyes 
 to the ceiling before proclaiming it, as though remonstrating, 
 in a secret agony, with his patron saint, for having com- 
 mitted so gross a breach of confidence. I hope the Capo 
 Lazzarone may not desert him for some other member of the 
 Calendar, but he seems to threaten it. 
 
 Where the winners may be, nobody knows. They cer- 
 tainly are not present; the general disappointment filling 
 one with pity for the poor people. They look: when we 
 stand aside, observing them in their passage through the 
 court-yard down below: as miserable as the prisoners in the 
 jail (it forms a part of the building), who are peeping down 
 upon them, from between their bars ; or, as the fragments of 
 human heads which are still dangling in chains outside, in 
 memory of the good old times, when their owners were 
 strung up there, for the popular edification. 
 
 Away from Naples in a glorious sunrise, by the road to 
 Capua, and then on a three days’ journey along by-roads, 
 that we may see, on the way, the monastery of Monte Cassino, 
 which is perched on the steep and lofty hill above the little 
 town of San Germano, and is lost on a misty morning in the 
 clouds. 
 
 So much the better, for the deep sounding of its bell, 
 which, as we go winding up, on mules, towards the convent, 
 is heard mysteriously in the still air, while nothing is seen 
 but the grey mist, moving solemnly and slowly, like a funeral 
 procession. Behold, at length the shadowy pile of building 
 close before us : its grey walls and towers dimly seen, though 
 so near and so vast: and the raw vapour rolling through its 
 cloisters heavily. 
 
 There are two black shadows walking to and fro in the 
 quadrangle, near the statues of the Patron Saint and his 
 sister; and hopping on behind them, in and out of the old 
 arches, is a raven, croaking in answer to the bell, and utter- 
 ing, at intervals, the purest Tuscan. How like a Jesuit he 
 looks ! There never was a sly and stealthy fellow so at home 
 as is this raven, standing now at the refectory door, with his 
 
424 Pictures from Italy 
 
 head on one side, and pretending to glance another way, 
 while he is scrutinizing the visitors keenly, and listening 
 with fixed attention. What a dull-headed monk the porter 
 becomes in comparison! 
 
 “ lie speaks like us ! ” says the porter : 44 quite as plainly.’’ 
 Quite as plainly, Porter. Nothing could be more expressive 
 than his reception of the peasants who are entering the gate 
 with baskets and burdens. There is a roll in his eye, and 
 a chuckle in his throat, which should qualify him to be 
 chosen Superior of an Order of Ravens. He knows all about 
 it. “ It’s all right,” he says. “ We know what we know. 
 Come along, good people. Glad to see you ! ” 
 
 How was this extraordinary structure ever built in such 
 a situation, where the labour of conveying the stone and 
 iron, and marble, so great a height, must have been pro- 
 digious? “ Caw! ” says the raven, welcoming the peasants. 
 How, being despoiled by plunder, fire and earthquake, has 
 it risen from its ruins, and been again made what we now 
 see it, with its church so sumptuous and magnificent? 
 4 4 Caw!” says the raven, welcoming the peasants. These 
 people have a miserable appearance, and (as usual) are 
 densely ignorant, and all beg, while the monks are chaunting 
 in the chapel. 44 Caw ! ” says the raven, 44 Cuckoo ! ” 
 
 So we leave him, chuckling and rolling his eye at the con- 
 vent gate, and wind slowly down again through the cloud. 
 At last emerging from it, we come in sight of the village far 
 below, and the flat green country intersected by rivulets; 
 which is pleasant and fresh to see after the obscurity and 
 haze of the convent — no disrespect to the raven, or the holy 
 friars. 
 
 Away we go again, by muddy roads, and through the most 
 shattered and tattered of villages, where there is not a whole 
 window among all the houses, or a whole garment among all 
 the peasants, or the least appearance of anything to eat, in 
 any of the wretched hucksters’ shops. The women wear a 
 bright red bodice laced before and behind, a white skirt, and 
 the Neapolitan head-dress of square folds of linen, primitively 
 meant to carry loads on. The men and children wear any- 
 thing they can get. The soldiers are as dirty and rapacious 
 as the dogs. The inns are such hobgoblin places, that they 
 are infinitely more attractive and amusing than the best 
 hotels in Paris. Here is one near Valmontone (that is Val- 
 
On the Road to Florence 425 
 
 montone, the round, walled town on the mount opposite), 
 which is approached by a quagmire almost knee-deep. There 
 is a wild colonnade below, and a dark yard full of empty 
 stables and lofts, and a great long kitchen with a great long 
 bench and a great long form, where a party of travellers, 
 with two priests among them, are crowding round the fire 
 while their supper is cooking. Above stairs, is a rough brick 
 gallery to sit in, with very little windows with very small 
 patches of knotty glass in them, and all the doors that open 
 from it (a dozen or two) off their hinges, and a bare board on 
 trestles for a table, at which thirty people might dine easily, 
 and a fireplace large enough in itself for a breakfast-parlour, 
 where, as the faggots blaze and crackle, they illuminate the 
 ugliest and grimmest of faces, drawn in charcoal on the 
 whitewashed chimney-sides by previous travellers. There 
 is a flaring country lamp on the table; and, hovering about 
 it, scratching her thick black hair continually, a yellow dwarf 
 of a woman, who stands on tiptoe to arrange the hatchet 
 knives, and takes a flying leap to look into the water-jug. The 
 beds in the adjoining rooms are of the liveliest kind. There 
 is not a solitary scrap of looking-glass in the house, and the 
 washing apparatus is identical with the cooking utensils. But 
 the yellow dwarf sets on the table a good flask of excellent 
 wine, holding a quart at least; and produces, among half-a- 
 dozen other dishes, two-thirds of a roasted kid, smolnng hot. 
 She is as good-humoured, too, as dirty, which is saying a 
 great deal. So here’s long life to her, in the flask of wine, 
 and prosperity to the establishment. 
 
 Rome gained and left behind, and with it the Pilgrims 
 who are now repairing to their own homes again — each 
 with his scallop shell and staff, and soliciting alms for the 
 love of God — we come, by a fair country, to the Falls of 
 Temi, where the whole Velino river dashes, headlong, from a 
 rocky height, amidst shining spray and rainbows. Perugia, 
 strongly fortified by art and nature, on a lofty eminence, 
 rising abruptly from the plain where purple mountains 
 mingle with the distant sky, is glowing, on its market-day, 
 with radiant colours. They set off its sombre but rich Gothic 
 buildings admirably. The pavement of its market-place is 
 strewn with country goods. All along the steep hill leading 
 from the town, under the town wall, there is a noisy fair of 
 calves, lambs, pigs, horses, mules, and oxen. Fowls, geese, 
 
 p 
 
426 Pictures from Italy 
 
 and turkeys, flutter vigorously among their very hoofs ; and 
 buyers, sellers, and spectators, clustering everywhere, block 
 up the road as we come shouting down upon them. 
 
 Suddenly, there is a ringing sound among our horses. The 
 driver stops them. Sinking in his saddle, and casting up 
 his eyes to Heaven, he delivers this apostrophe, “ Oh Jove 
 Omnipotent I here is a horse has lost his shoe ! ” 
 
 Notwithstanding the tremendous nature of this accident, 
 and the utterly forlorn look and gesture (impossible in any 
 one but an Italian Vetturino) with which it is announced, it 
 is not long in being repaired by a mortal Farrier, by whose 
 assistance we reach Castiglione the same night, and Arezzo 
 next day. Mass is, of course, performing in its fine cathedral, 
 where the sun shines in among the clustered pillars, through 
 rich stained-glass windows: half revealing, half concealing 
 the kneeling figures on the pavement, and striking out paths 
 of spotted light in the long aisles. 
 
 But, how much beauty of another kind is here, when, on 
 a fair clear morning, we look, from the summit of a hill, on 
 Florence ! See where it lies before us in a sun-lighted valley, 
 bright with the winding Amo, and shut in by swelling hills ; 
 its domes, and towers, and palaces, rising from the rich 
 country in a glittering heap, and shining in the sun like 
 gold! 
 
 Magnificently stem and sombre are the streets of beautiful 
 Florence; and the strong old piles of building make such 
 heaps of shadow, on the ground and in the river, that there 
 is another and a different city of rich forms and fancies, 
 always lying at our feet. Prodigious palaces, constructed for 
 defence, with small distrustful windows heavily barred, and 
 walls of great thickness formed of huge masses of rough stone, 
 frown, in their old sulky state, on every street. In the midst 
 of the city — in the Piazza of the Grand Duke, adorned with 
 beautiful statues and the Fountain of Neptune — rises the 
 Palazzo Vecchio, with its enormous overhanging battlements, 
 and the Great Tower that watches over the whole town. 
 In its court-yard — worthy of the Castle of Otranto in its 
 ponderous gloom — is a massive staircase that the heaviest 
 waggon and the stoutest team of horses might be driven up. 
 Within it, is a Great Saloon, faded and tarnished in its 
 stately decorations, and mouldering by grains, but recording 
 
Beautiful Florence 
 
 427 
 
 yet, in pictures on its walls, the triumphs of the Medici and 
 the wars of the old Florentine people. The prison is hard 
 by, in an adjacent court-yard of the building — a foul and 
 dismal place, where some men are shut up close, in small cells 
 like ovens; and where others look through bars and beg; 
 where some are playing draughts, and some are talking to 
 their friends, who smoke, the while, to purify the air; and 
 some are buying wine and fruit of women-vendors ; and all 
 are squalid, dirty, and vile to look at. “ They are merry 
 enough, Signor,” says the Jailer. “ They are all blood- 
 stained here,” he adds, indicating, with his hand, three-fourths 
 of the whole building. Before the hour is out, an old man, 
 eighty years of age, quarrelling over a bargain with a young 
 girl of seventeen, stabs her dead, in the market-place full of 
 bright flowers; and is brought in prisoner, to swell the 
 number. 
 
 Among the four old bridges that span the river, the Ponte 
 Vecchio — that bridge which is covered with the shops of 
 Jewellers and Goldsmiths — is a most enchanting feature in 
 the scene. The space of one house, in the centre, being left 
 open, the view beyond is shown as in a frame; and that 
 precious glimpse of sky, and water, and rich buildings, shining 
 so quietly among the huddled roofs and gables on the bridge, 
 is exquisite. Above it, the Gallery of the Grand Duke crosses 
 the river. It was built to connect the two Great Palaces by 
 a secret passage; and it takes its jealous course among the 
 streets and houses, with true despotism : going where it lists, 
 and spurning every obstacle away, before it. 
 
 The Grand Duke has a worthier secret passage through 
 the streets, in his black robe and hood, as a member of the 
 Compagnia della Misericordia, which brotherhood includes 
 all ranks of men. If an accident take place, their office is, 
 to raise the sufferer, and bear him tenderly to the Hospital. 
 If a fire break out, it is one of their functions to repair to the 
 spot, and render their assistance and protection. It is, also, 
 among their commonest offices, to attend and console the 
 sick; and they neither receive money, nor eat, nor drink, 
 in any house they visit for this purpose. Those who are on 
 duty for the time, are all called together, on a moment’s 
 notice, by the tolling of the great bell of the Tower; and it 
 is said that the Grand Duke has been seen, at this sound, 
 
428 Pictures from Italy 
 
 to rise from his seat at table, and quietly withdraw to attend 
 the summons. 
 
 In this other large Piazza, where an irregular kind of 
 market is held, and stores of old iron and other small mer- 
 chandise are set out on stalls, or scattered on the pavement, 
 are grouped together the Cathedral with its great Dome, the 
 beautiful Italian Gothic Tower the Campanile, and the 
 Baptistery with its wrought bronze doors. And here, a small 
 untrodden square in the pavement, is “ the Stone of Dante,” 
 where (so runs the story) he was used to bring his stool, and 
 sit in contemplation. I wonder was he ever, in his bitter 
 exile, withheld from cursing the very stones in the streets of 
 Florence the ungrateful, by any kind remembrance of this 
 old musing-place, and its association with gentle thoughts of 
 little Beatrice? 
 
 The chapel of the Medici, the Good and Bad Angels of 
 Florence; the church of Santa Croce where Michael Angelo 
 lies buried, and where every stone in the cloisters is eloquent 
 on great men’s deaths; innumerable churches, often masses 
 of unfinished heavy brickwork externally, but solemn and 
 serene within; arrest our lingering steps, in strolling through 
 the city. 
 
 In keeping with the tombs among the cloisters, is the 
 Museum of Natural History, famous through the world for 
 its preparations in wax; beginning with models of leaves, 
 seeds, plants, inferior animals; and gradually ascending, 
 through separate organs of the human frame, up to the whole 
 structure of that wonderful creation, exquisitely presented, as 
 in recent death. Few admonitions of our frail mortality can 
 be more solemn and more sad, or strike so home upon the 
 heart, as the counterfeits of Youth and Beauty that are lying 
 there, upon their beds, in their last sleep. 
 
 Beyond the walls, the whole sweet Valley of the Amo, the 
 convent at Fiesole, the Tower of Galileo, Boccaccio’s house, 
 old villas and retreats; innumerable spots of interest, all 
 glowing in a landscape of surpassing beauty steeped in the 
 richest light; are spread before us. Returning from so much 
 brightness, how solemn and how grand the streets again, with 
 their great, dark, mournful palaces, and many legends: not 
 of siege, and war, and might, and Iron Hand alone, but of 
 the triumphant growth of peaceful Arts and Sciences. 
 
An Affectionate Farewell 429 
 
 What light is shed upon the world, at this day, from amidst 
 these rugged Palaces of Florence 1 Here, open to all comers, 
 in their beautiful and calm retreats, the ancient Sculptors 
 are immortal, side by side with Michael Angelo, Canova, 
 Titian, Rembrandt, Raphael, Poets, Historians, Philosophers 
 — those illustrious men of history, beside whom its crowned 
 heads and harnessed warriors show so poor and small, and are 
 so soon forgotten. Here, the imperishable part of noble 
 minds survives, placid and equal, when strongholds of assault 
 and defence are overthrown; v/hen the tyranny of the many, 
 or the few, or both, is but a tale; when Pride and Power 
 are so much cloistered dust. The fire within the stern streets, 
 and among the massive Palaces and Towers, kindled by rays 
 from Heaven, is still burning brightly, when the flickering of 
 war is extinguished and the household fires of generations 
 have decayed; as thousands upon thousands of faces, rigid 
 with the strife and passion of the hour, have faded out of 
 the old Squares and public haunts, while the nameless Floren- 
 tine Lady, preserved from oblivion by a Painter’s hand, yet 
 lives on, in enduring grace and youth. 
 
 Let us look back on Florence while we may, and when its 
 shining Dome is seen no more, go travelling through cheerful 
 Tuscany, with a bright remembrance of it; for Italy will be 
 the fairer for the recollection. The summer-time being come : 
 and Genoa, and Milan, and the Lake of Como lying far 
 behind us: and we resting at Faido, a Swiss village, near the 
 awful rocks and mountains, the everlasting snows and roaring 
 cataracts, of the Great Saint Gothard: hearing the Italian 
 tongue for the last time on this journey: let us part from 
 Italy, with all its miseries and wrongs, affectionately, in our 
 admiration of the beauties, natural and artificial, of which it 
 is full to overflowing, and in our tenderness towards a people, 
 naturally well-disposed, and patient, and sweet-tempered. 
 Years of neglect, oppression, and misrule, have been at work, 
 to change their nature and reduce their spirit; miserable 
 jealousies, fomented by petty Princes to whom union was 
 destruction, and division strength, have been a canker at 
 their root of nationality, and have barbarized their language ; 
 but the good that was in them ever, is in them yet, and a 
 noble people may be, one day, raised up from these ashes. 
 Let us entertain that hope ! And let us not remember Italy 
 
43 ° 
 
 Pictures from Italy 
 
 the less regardfully, because, in every fragment of her fallen 
 Temples, and every stone of her deserted palaces and prisons, 
 she helps to inculcate the lesson that the wheel of Time 
 is rolling for an end, and that the world is, in all great 
 essentials, better, gentler, more forbearing, and more hope- 
 ful, as it rolls I 
 
 THE END 
 
 Lgtchwostm 
 S>in Great Brjtajt* 
 
EVERYMAN’S LIBRARY 
 
 By ERNEST RHYS 
 
 " A good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit 
 
 Milton 
 
 V ICTOR HUGO said a Library was “an act of faith,” 
 and another writer spoke of one so beautiful, so perfect, 
 so harmonious in all its parts, that he who made it was 
 smitten with a passion. In that faith Everyman’s Library was 
 planned out originally on a large scale ; and the idea was to make 
 it conform as far as possible to a perfect scheme. However, 
 perfection is a thing to be aimed at and not to be achieved in 
 this difficult world; and since the first volumes appeared some 
 years ago, there have been many interruptions, chief among 
 them the Great War of 1914-18, during which even the City 
 of Books felt a world commotion. But the series is now getting 
 back into its old stride and looking forward to complete its 
 scheme of a Thousand Volumes. 
 
 One of the practical expedients in the original plan was 
 to divide the volumes into separate sections, as Biography, 
 Fiction, History, Belles-lettres, Poetry, Philosophy, Romance, 
 and so forth; with a shelf for Young People. Last, and 
 not least, there was one of Reference Books, in which, beside 
 the dictionaries and encyclopaedias to be expected, there 
 was a special set of literary and historical atlases, which have 
 been revised from time to time, so as to chart the New Europe 
 
2 
 
 and the New World at large, which we hope will preserve Kant’s 
 “ Perpetual Peace ” under the auspices of the League of Nations. 
 
 That is only one small item, however, in a library list which 
 is running on to the final centuries of its Thousand. The largest 
 slice of this huge provision is, as a matter of course, given to the 
 tyrannous demands of fiction. But in carrying out the scheme, 
 publishers and editors contrived to keep in mind that books, 
 like men and women, have their elective affinities. The present 
 volume, for instance, will be found to have its companion books, 
 both in the same section and just as significantly in other 
 sections. With that idea too, novels like Waiter Scott’s Ivanhoe 
 and Fortunes of Nigel , Lytton’s Harold , and Dickens’s Tale of 
 Two Cities , have been used as pioneers of history and treated as 
 a sort of holiday history books. 
 
 The poets next, and we may turn to the finest critic of 
 Victorian times, Matthew Arnold, as their showman, and find 
 in his essay on Maurice de Guerin a clue to the “ magical power 
 of poetry.” 
 
 William Hazlitt’s “Table Talk” may help again to show the 
 relationship of one author to another, which is another form 
 of the Friendship of Books. His incomparable essay, “On 
 Going a Journey,” forms a capital prelude to Coleridge’s “Bio- 
 graphia Literaria”; and so throughout the long labyrinth of 
 the Library shelves, one can follow the magic clue in prose or 
 verse that leads to the hidden treasury. In that way every 
 reader becomes his own critic and Doctor of Letters. 
 
EVERYMAN’S LIBRARY 
 
 A LIST OF THE 905 VOLUMES 
 ARRANGED UNDER AUTHORS 
 
 Anonymous works are given under titles . 
 
 Anthologies , Dictionaries , etc. are arranged at the end of the list . 
 
 Abbott’s Rollo at Work, etc., 275 
 Addison’s Spectator, 164-7 
 jEschylus’s Lyrical Dramas, 62 
 iEsop’s and Other Fables, 657 
 Aimard’s The Indian Scout, 4 28 
 Ainsworth’s Tower of London, 400 
 „ Old St. Paul’s. 522 
 „ Windsor Castle. 709 
 „ Rookwood, 870 
 „ The Admirable Crichton, 894 
 A Kempis’s Imitation of Christ, 484 
 Alcott’s Little Women, and Good 
 Wives, 248 
 „ Little Men, 512 
 Alpine Club : Peaks, Passes and 
 Glaciers, 778 
 
 Andersen’s Fairy Tales, 4 
 
 , , More Fairy Tales, 822 
 
 Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, 624 
 Anson’s Voyages, 510 
 Aristophanes’ Acharnians, etc., 344 
 „ Frogs, etc., 516 
 
 Aristotle’s Nicomachaen Ethics, 547 
 „ Politics, 605 
 
 ,, Poetics, and Demetrius 
 
 on Style, etc., 901 
 Armour’s Fall of the Nibelungs, 
 
 „ Gudrun, 880 [312 
 
 Arnold’s (Matthew) Essays, 115 
 „ Poems, 334 
 
 „ Study of Celtic Literature, 
 etc., 458 
 
 Aucassin and Nicolette, 497 
 Augustine’s (Saint) Confessions, 
 200 
 
 Aurelius’s (Marcus) Meditations, 9 
 Austen’s (Jane) Sense and Sensi- 
 bility, 21 
 
 „ Pride and Prejudice, 22 
 
 „ Mansfield Park, 23 
 „ Emma, 24 
 „ Northanger Abbey, and 
 Persuasion, 25 
 
 Bacon’s Essays, 10 
 
 „ Advancement of Learning. 
 719 
 
 Bagehot’s Literary Studies, 520, 521 
 Baker’s (Sir S. W.) Cast up by the 
 Sea, 539 
 
 Ballantyne’s Coral Island, 245 
 
 „ Martin Rattler, 246 
 
 „ Ungava, 276 
 
 Balzac’s Wild Ass’s Skin, 26 
 „ Eugenie Grandet, 169 
 
 „ Old Goriot, 170 
 
 „ Atheist’s Mass, etc., 229 
 
 „ Christ in Flanders, etc., 28 1 
 „ The Chouans, 285 
 
 „ Quest of the Absolute, 283 
 
 „ Cat and Rachet, etc., 349 
 „ Catherine de Medici, 419 
 
 „ Cousin Pons, 463 
 
 „ The Country Doctor, 530 
 
 „ Rise and Fall of Cesar 
 
 Birotteau, 596 
 „ Lost Illusions, 656 
 
 „ The Country Parson, 683 
 
 ,, Ursule Mirouet, 733 
 
 Barbusse’s Under Fire, 798 
 Barca’s (Mme C. de la) Life in 
 
 Mexico, 664 
 
 Bates’s Naturalist on the Amazon, 
 446 
 
 Baxter’s (Richard) Autobiography, 
 
 868 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher’s Selected 
 Plays, 506 
 
 Beaumont’s (Mary) J oan Seaton, 597 
 Bede’s Ecclesiastical History, 479 
 Belt’s Naturalist in Nicaragua, 561 
 Berkeley’s (Bishop) Principles of 
 Human Knowledge, New Theory 
 of Vision, etc., 483 
 Berlioz (Hector), Life of, 602 
 Binns’s Life of Abraham Lincoln. 
 783 
 
2 
 
 Bjornson’s Plays, 625, 696 
 Blackmore’s Lorna Doone, 304 
 ,, Springhaven, 350 
 Blackwell’s Pioneer Work for 
 Women, 667 
 
 Blake’s Poems and Prophecies, 792 
 Boccaccio’s Decameron, 845, 846 
 Boehme’s The Signature of All 
 Things, etc., 569 
 
 Bonaventura’s The Little Flowers, 
 The Life of St. Francis, etc., 485 
 Borrow’s Wild Wales, 49 
 ., Lavengro, 119 
 ., Romany Rye, 120 
 „ Bible in Spain, 151 
 ,, Gypsies in Spain, 697 
 Boswell’s Life of Johnson, 1, 2 
 
 ,, Tour to the Hebrides, 387 
 Boult’s Asgard and Norse Heroes, 
 689 
 
 Boyle’s The Sceptical Chymist, 559 
 Bright’s (John) Speeches, 252 
 Bronte’s (A.) The Tenant of Wild- 
 fell Hall, and Agnes Grey, 685 
 Bronte’s (C.) Jane Eyre, 287 
 ,, Shirley, 288 
 
 „ Villette, 351 
 
 ,, The Professor, 417 
 
 Bronte’s (E.) Wuthering Heights, 
 243 
 
 Brown’s (Dr. John) Rab and His 
 Friends, etc., 116 
 
 Browne’s (Frances) Grannie’s Won- 
 derful Chair, 112 
 
 Browne’s (Sir Thos.) Religio Medici, 
 etc., 92 
 
 Browning’s Poems, 1833-44, 41 
 „ „ 1844-64, 42 
 
 The Ring and the Book, 
 502 
 
 Buchanan’s Life and Adventures 
 of Audubon, 601 
 
 Bulfinch’s The Age of Fable, 472 
 , Legends of Charlemagne, 
 556 
 
 Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, 204 
 „ Grace Abounding, and 
 Mr. B adman. 815 
 
 Burke’s American Speeches and 
 Letters, 340 
 
 „ Reflections on the French 
 Revolution, etc., 460 
 Burnet’s History of His Own Times, 
 Burney’s Evelina, 352 [85 
 
 Burns’s Poems and Songs, 94 
 Burton’s East Africa, 500 
 Burton’s (Robert) Anatomy of 
 Melancholy, 886-8 
 Butler’s Analogy of Religion, 90 
 Butler’s (Samuel) Erewhon and 
 Erewhon Revisited, 881 
 Butler’s The Way of All Flesh, 895 
 Buxton’s Memoirs, 773 
 Byron’s Complete Poetical and 
 Dramatic Works. 486-8 
 
 Caesar’s Gallic War, etc., 702 
 Calderon’s Plays, 819 
 Canton’s Child’s Book of Saints, 61 
 ,, InvisiblePlaymate,etc.,566 
 Carlyle’s French Revolution, 31, 32 
 „ Letters, etc., of Crom- 
 well, 266-8 
 
 „ Sartor Resartus, 278 
 ,, Past and Present, 608 
 ,, Essays, 703. 704 
 ,, Reminiscences, 875 
 Carroll’s (Lewis) Alice in Wonder- 
 land, etc., 836 
 
 Castiglione’s The Courtier, 807 
 Cellini’s Autobiography, 51 
 Cervantes’ Don Quixote, 385, 386 
 Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, 307 
 Chesterfield’s Letters to his Son, 823 
 Chretien de Troyes’s Arthurian 
 Romances, 698 
 
 Cibber’s Apology for his Life, 668 
 Cicero’s Select Letters and Ora- 
 tions, 345 
 
 Clarke’s Tales from Chaucer, 537 
 „ Shakespeare’s Heroines, 109-11 
 Cobbett’s Rural Rides, 638, 639 
 Coleridge’s Biographia, 11 
 ,, Golden Book of Poetry, 43 
 „ Lectures on Shakspeare, 162 
 Collins’s Woman in White, 461 
 Collodi’s Pinocchio, 538 
 Converse’s Long Will, 328 
 Cook’s (Captain) Voyages, 99 
 Cooper’s The Deerslayer, 77 
 „ The Pathfinder, 7 8 
 „ Last of the Mohicans, 7 9 
 „ The Pioneer, 171 
 
 ,, The Prairie, 172 
 
 Cowper’s Letters. 774 
 
 ,, Poems, 872 
 
 Cox’s Tales of Ancient Greece. 721 
 Craik’s Manual of English Litera- 
 ture, 346 
 
 Craik (Mrs.). See Mulock. 
 
 Creasy’s Fifteen Decisive Battles, 300 
 Cr^vecoeur’s Letters from an Amer- 
 ican Farmer, 640 
 
 Curtis’s Prue and I, and Lotus, 418 
 
 Dana’s Two Years Before the 
 Mast, 588 
 
 Dante’s Divine Comedy, 308 
 Darwin’s Origin of Species, 811 
 „ Voyage of the Beagle, 104 
 Dasent’s Story of Burnt Njal, 558 
 Daudet’s Tartarin of Tarascon, 423 
 Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe, 59 
 
 „ Captain Singleton, 7 4 
 
 „ Memoirs of a Cavalier, 283 
 
 „ Journal of Plague, 289 
 
 „ Tour through England and 
 
 Wales, 820, 821 
 ,, Moll Flanders, 837 
 De Join villa’s Memoirs of the 
 Crusades, 333 
 
3 
 
 Demosthenes* Select Orations, 546 
 Dennis’s Cities and Cemeteries of 
 Etruria, 183. 184 
 De Quincey’s Lake Poets, 163 
 „ Opium-Eater, 223 
 
 ,, English Mail Coach, 
 
 etc., 609 
 
 De Retz (Cardinal), Memoirs of, 
 735, 736 
 
 Descartes* Discourse on | Method, 
 570 
 
 Dickens’s Barnaby Rudge, 76 
 
 Tale of Two Cities, 102 
 Old Curiosity Shop, 173 
 Oliver Twist, 233 
 Great Expectations, 234 
 Pickwick Papers, 235 
 Bleak House, 236 
 Sketches by Boz, 237 
 Nicholas Nickleby, 238 
 Christmas Books, 239 
 Dombey and Son, 240 
 Martin Chuzzlewit, 241 
 David Copperfleld, 242 
 American Notes, 290 
 Child’s History of Eng- 
 land, 291 
 Hard Times, 292 
 Little Dorrit, 293 
 Our Mutual Friend, 294 
 Christmas Stories, 414 
 Uncommercial Traveller, 
 Edwin Drood, 725 [536 
 
 Reprinted Pieces, 744 
 Disraeli’s Coningsby, 535 
 Dodge’s Hans Brinker, 620 
 Donne’s Poems, 867 
 Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punish- 
 ment, 501 
 
 „ The House of the Dead, 533 
 „ Letters from the Underworld, 
 etc., 654 
 „ The Idiot, 682 
 
 „ Poor Folk, and the Gambler, 711 
 ,, The Brothers Karamazov, 802, 
 803 
 
 „ The Possessed, 861, 862 
 Dowden’s Life of R. Browning, 701 
 Dryden’s Dramatic Essays, 568 
 Dufferin’s Letters from High Lati- 
 tudes, 499 
 
 Dumas’ The Three Musketeers, 81 
 „ The Black Tulip, 174 
 „ Twenty Years After, 175 
 „ Marguerite de Valois, 326 
 „ The Count of Monte Cristo, 
 
 QQQ QQ1 
 
 „ The Forty -Five, 420 
 „ Chicot the Jester, 421 
 „ Vicomte de Bragelonne, 593-5 
 „ Le Chevalier de Maison 
 ^ Rouge, 614 
 
 Du Maurier’s Trilby, 863 
 Duruy’s Heroes of England, 471 
 „ History of France, 737, 738 
 
 Edgar’s Creasy and Poictiers, 17 
 
 „ Runnymede and Lincoln 
 Fair, 320 [410 
 
 Edgeworth’s Castle Rackrent, ebo., 
 Eighteenth-Century Plays, 818 
 Eliot’s Adam Bede, 27 
 „ Silas Marner, 121 
 
 „ Romola, 231 
 
 ,, Mill on the Floss, 325 
 
 ,, Felix Holt, 353 
 
 „ Scenes of Clerical Life, 468 
 
 ,, Middlemarch, 2 vols., 854-5 
 
 Elyot*s Gouernour, 227 
 Emerson’s Essays, 12 
 ,, Representative Men, 279 
 „ Nature, Conduct of Life, etc., 
 322 
 
 „ Society and Solitude, etc., 567 
 ,, Poems, 715 
 
 Epictbtus’s Moral Discourses, 404 
 Erckmann-Chatrian’s The Con- 
 script and Water- 
 loo, 354 
 
 „ Story of a Peasant, 
 
 706, 707 
 
 Euclid’s Elements, 891 
 Euripides * Plays, 63, 271 
 Evans’s Holy Graal, 445 
 Evelyn’s Diary, 220, 221 
 Everyman and other Interludes, 
 381 
 
 Ewing’s (Mrs.) Mrs. Overtheway’s 
 Remembrances, etc., 730 
 „ Jackanapes, Daddy Darwin’s 
 Dovecot, and The Story of a 
 Short Life, 731 
 
 Faraday’s Experimental Researches 
 in Electricity, 576 
 Ferrier’s (Susan) Marriage, 816 
 Fielding’s Tom Jones, 355, 356 
 „ Amelia, 2 vols., 352-3 
 „ Joseph Andrews, 467 
 „ Jonathan Wild and the 
 Journal of a Voyage to 
 Lisbon, 877 
 
 Finlay’s Byzantine Empire. 33 
 
 „ Greece under the Romans, 
 185 
 
 Flaubert’s Madame Bovary, 808 
 „ Salammbo, 869 
 Fletcher’s (Beaumont and) Selected 
 Plays, 506 
 
 Ford’s Gatherings from Spain, 152 
 Forster’s Life of Dickens, 781, 782 
 Fox’s (George) Journal, 754 
 Fox’s (Charles James) Selected 
 Speeches, 759 
 
 Francis’s (Saint), The Little Flowers, 
 etc., 485 
 
 Franklin’s Journey to the Polar 
 Sea, 447 
 
 Freeman’s Old English History 
 for Children, 540 
 
 French Mediaeval Romances, 557 
 
4 
 
 Froissart’s Chronicles, 57 
 Froude’s Short Studies, 13, 705 
 „ Henry VIII. 372-1 
 
 „ Edward VI, 375 
 
 „ Mary Tudor, 477 
 
 „ History of Queen Eliza- 
 
 beth’s Reign, 583-7 
 „ Life of Benjamin Disraeli, 
 
 Lord Beaconsfield, 666 
 Galt’s Annals of the Parish, 427 
 Galton’s Inquiries into Human 
 Faculty, 263 
 Gaskell’s Cranford, 83 
 
 „ Life of Charlotte Bronte, 
 
 318 
 
 ,, Sylvia’s Lovers, 524 
 
 „ Mary Barton, 598 
 
 ,, Cousin Phillis, etc., 615 
 
 ,, North and South, 680 
 
 Gatty’s Parables from Nature, 158 
 Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Histories 
 of the Kings of Britain, 577 
 George’s Progress and Poverty, 560 
 Gibbon’s Roman Empire, 434-6, 
 474-6 
 
 „ Autobiography, 511 
 Gilfillan’s Literary Portraits, 348 
 Giraldus Cambrensis, Wales, 272 
 Gleig’s Life of Wellington, 341 
 ., The Subaltern, 708 
 Goethe’s Faust, 335 
 
 ,, Conversations with Ecker- 
 mann. 851 
 
 „ Wilhelm Meister, 599, 600 
 Gogol’s Dead Souls, 726 
 „ Taras Bulba, 740 
 Goldsmith’s Vicar of Wakefield, 295 
 ,, Poems and Plays, 415 
 ,, Citizen of the World, 
 etc., 902 
 
 Goncharov’s Oblomov, 878 
 Gorki’s Through Russia, 741 
 Gotthelf’s Ulric the Farm Servant, 
 228 
 
 Gray’s Poems and Letters, 628 
 Green’s Short History of the Eng- 
 lish People, 727, 728. The cloth 
 edition is in 2 vols. All other 
 editions are in 1 vol. 
 
 Grettir Saga, 699 
 Grimm’s Fairy Tales, 56 
 G rote’s History of Greece, 186-197 
 Guest’s (Lady) Mabinogion, 97 
 Hahnemann’s The Organon of the 
 Rational Art of Healing, 663 
 Hakluyt’s Voyages, 264, 265, 313, 
 314, 338, 339, 388, 389 
 Hallam’s Constitutional History, 
 621-3 
 
 Hamilton’s The Federalist, 519 
 Harte’s Luck of Roaring Camp, 681 
 Harvey’s Circulation of Blood, 262 
 Hawthorne’s Wonder Book, 5 
 
 The Scarlet Letter, 122 
 
 Hawthorne s House of Seven Gables, 
 176 
 
 „ The Marble Faun, 424 
 
 „ Twice Told Tales, 531 
 
 ,, Blithedale Romance, 592 
 
 Hazlitt’sCharacters of Shakespeare’s 
 Plays, 65 
 
 „ Table Talk, 321 
 „ Lectures, 411 
 „ Spirit of the Age and Lec- 
 tures on English Poets, 459 
 ,, Plain Speaker, 814 
 Hebbel’s Plays, 694 
 Heimskringla : the Olaf Sagas, 717 
 „ Sagas of the Norse 
 
 Kings, 847 
 
 Helps’ (Sir Arthur) Life of Colum- 
 bus, 332 
 
 Herbert’s Temple, 309 
 Herodotus, 405, 406 
 Herrick’s Hesperides, 310 
 Hobbes’s Leviathan, 691 
 Holinshed’s Chronicle, 800 
 Holmes’s Life of Mozart, 564 
 Holmes’s (O. W.) Autocrat, 66 
 „ Professor, 67 
 
 ,, Poet, 68 
 
 Homer’s Hiad, 453 
 ,, Odyssey, 454 
 Hooker’s Ecclesiastical Polity, 201, 
 202 
 
 Horace’s Complete Poetical Works, 
 515 
 
 Houghton’s Life and Letters of 
 Keats, 801 
 
 Howard’s (E.) Rattlin the Reefer, 
 857 
 
 Howard’s (John) State of the 
 Prisons, 835 
 
 Hughes’s Tom Brown’s Schooldays, 
 58 
 
 Hugo’s (Victor) Les Mis6rables. 363, 
 364 
 
 ,, Notre Dame, 422 
 
 ,, Toilers of the Sea, 509 
 
 Hume’s Treatise of Human Nature, 
 etc., 548, 549 
 
 Hunt’s (Leigh) Selected Essays, 829 
 Hutchinson’s (Col.) Memoirs, 317 
 Huxley’s Man’s Place in Nature, 47 
 Select Lectures and Lay 
 Sermons, 498 
 
 Ibsen’s The Doll’s House, etc., 494 
 Ghosts, etc.. 552 
 „ Pretender, Pillars of Society, 
 Rosmersholm, 659 
 „ Brand, 716 
 „ Lady Inger, etc., 729. 
 
 ,, Peer Gynt, 747 
 Ingelow’s Mopsa the Fairy, 619 
 Irving’s Sketch Book, 117 
 
 „ Conquest of Granada, 478 
 „ Life of Mahomet, 513 
 Italian Short Stories, 876 
 
5 
 
 James’s (G. P. R.) Richelieu, 357 
 James (Wm.), Selections from, 739 
 Jefferies’ (Richard) Bevis, 850 
 Johnson’s (Dr.; Lives of the Poets, 
 770-1 
 
 JoDson’s (Ben) Plays, 489, 490 
 Josephus’s Wars of the Jews, 712 
 
 Kalidasa’s Shakuntaia, 629 
 Keats’s Poems, 101 
 Keble’s Christian Year, 690 
 King’s Life of Mazzini, 562 
 Kinglake’s Eothen, 337 
 Kingsley’s (Chas.j Westward Ho! 
 „ Heroes. 113 [20 
 
 „ Here ward, the Wake, 206 
 ,, Hypatia, 230 
 
 „ Water Babies, and. Glaucus, 277 
 „ Alton Locke, 462 
 „ Yeast, 611 
 
 „ Madam How and Lady Why, 777 
 ,, Poems, 793 
 
 Kingsley’s (Henry) Ravenshoe, 28 
 
 ,, Geoffrey Hamlyn, 416 
 Kingston’s Peter the Whaler, 6 
 ,, Three Midshipmen, 7 
 Kirby’s Kalevala, 259-60 
 Koran, 380 
 
 Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare, 8 
 „ Essays of Elia, 14 
 ,, Letters, 342, 343 
 Landor’s Imaginary Conversations 
 and Poems, 890 
 Lane’s Modern Egyptians, 315 
 Langland’s Piers Plowman, 571 
 Latimer’s Sermons, 40 
 Law’s Serious Call, 91 
 Layamon’s (Wace and) Arthurian 
 Chronicles, 578 
 
 Lear (Edward). See under Antho- 
 logies 
 
 Leibniz’ Philosophical Writings, 
 905 
 
 Le Sage’s Gil Bias, 437, 438 
 Leslie’s Memoirs of John Constable, 
 563 
 
 Lessing’s Laocoon, etc., 843 
 Lever’s Harry Lorrequer, 177 
 Lewes’ Life of Goethe, 269 
 Lincoln’s Speeches, etc., 206 
 Livy’s History of Rome, 603, 609, 
 670, 749, 755, 756 
 Locke’s Civil Government, 751 
 Lockhart’s Life of Napoleon, 3 
 „ Life of Scott, 55 
 ,, Life of Burns, 156 
 Longfellow’s Poems, 382 
 Lonnrott’s Kalevala, 259, 260 
 Lover’s Handy Andy, 178 
 Lowell’s Among My Books, 607 
 Lucretius’s Of the Nature of Things, 
 750 
 
 Liitzow’s History of Bohemia, 432 
 Lyeli’s Antiquity of Man, 700 
 
 Lytton’s Harold, 15 
 
 ,, Last of the Barons, 18 
 „ Last Days of Pompeii, 80 
 ,, Pilgrims of the Rhine, 390 
 Rienzi, 532 
 
 Macaulay’s England, 34-6 
 „ Essays, 225, 226 
 
 „ Speeches on Politics, etc., 399 
 ,, Miscellaneous Essays, 439 
 MacDonald’s Sir Gibbie, 678 
 Phan tastes, 732 
 Machiavelli’s Prince, 280 
 
 ,, Florence, 376 
 Maine’s Ancient Law, 734 
 Malory’s Le Morte D ’Arthur. 45, 
 46 
 
 Malthus on the Principles of 
 Population, 692, 693 
 Mandeville’s Travels, 812 
 Manning’s Sir Thomas More, 19 
 
 ,, Mary Powell, and De- 
 borah’s Diary, 324 
 Marlowe’s Plays and Poems, 383 
 Marryat’s Mr. Midshipman Easy, 82 
 ,, Little Savage, 159 
 „ Masterman Ready, 160 
 „ Peter Simple, 232 
 „ Children of New Forest, 
 247 
 
 „ Percival Keene, 358 
 „ Settlers in Canada, 370 
 „ King’s Own, 580 
 ,, Jacob Faithful, 618 
 Martineau’s Feats on the Fjords, 
 429 
 
 Martinengo-Cesaresco’s Folk-Lors 
 and other Essays, 673 
 Marx’s Capital, 848, 849 
 Maurice’s Kingdom of Christ, 146-7 
 Mazzini’s Duties of Man, etc., 224 
 Melville’s Moby Dick, 179 
 ,, Typee, 180 
 ,, Omoo, 297 
 M6rim6e’s Carmen, etc., 834 
 Merivale’s History of Rome, 433 
 Mickiewicz’s Pan Tadeusz, 842 
 Mignet’s French Revolution, 713 
 Mill’s Utilitarianism, Liberty, Re- 
 presentative Government, 
 482 
 
 „ Rights of Woman, 825 
 Miller’s Old Red Sandstone, 103 
 Milman’s History of the Jews, 377, 
 378 
 
 Milton’s Areopagitica and other 
 Prose Works, 795 
 ,, Poems, 384 
 Moltere’s Comedies, 830-1 
 Mommsen’s History of Rome, 542-5 
 Montagu’s (Lady) Letters, 69 
 Montaigne’s Essays, 440-2 
 More’s Utopia, and Dialogue of 
 Comfort against Tribulation, 431 
 
6 
 
 Morier’s Hajji Baba, 679 
 Morris’s (Wm.) Early Romances, 261 
 „ Life and Death of Jason, 575 
 Morte D ’Arthur Romances, 634 
 Motley’s Dutch Republic, 86-8 
 Mulock’s John Halifax, 123 
 
 Neale’s Fall of Constantinople, 655 
 Newcastle’s (Margaret, Duchess of) 
 Life of the First Duke of New- 
 castle, etc., 722 
 
 Newman’s Apologia Pro Vita Sua, 
 
 636 
 
 „ On the Scope and Nature 
 of University Education, and a 
 Paper on Christianity and Scien- 
 tific Investigation, 723 
 Nietzsche’s Thus Spake Zarathustra, 
 892 
 
 Oliphant’s Salem Chapel, 244 
 Omar Khayyam, 819 
 Osborne (Dorothy), Letters of, 674 
 Owen’s (Robert) A New View of 
 Society, etc., 799 
 
 Paine’s Rights of Man, 718 
 Palgrave’s Golden Treasury, 96 
 Paltock’s Peter Wilkins, 676 
 Park’s (Mungo) Travels, 205 
 Parkman’s Conspiracy of Pontiac, 
 302, 303 
 
 Pascall’s Pensees, 874 
 Paston Letters, 752. 753 
 Pater’s Marius the Epicurean, 903 
 Peacock’s Headlong Hall, 327 
 Penn’s The Peace of Europe, Some 
 Fruits of Solitude, etc., 7 24 
 Pepys’s Diary, 53, 54 
 Percy’s Reliques, 148, 149 
 Pitt’s Orations, 145 
 Plato’s Republic, 64 
 
 ., Dialogues, 456, 457 
 Plutarch’s Lives, 407-409 
 „ Moralia, 565 
 Poe’s Tales of Mystery and Imag- 
 ination, 336 
 
 ,, Poems and Essays, 791 
 Polo’s (Marco) Travels, 306 
 Pope’s Complete Poetical Works, 7 60 
 Prescott’s Conquest of Peru, 301 
 ,, Conquest of Mexico, 397, 398 
 Prevost’s Manon Lescaut, etc., 834 
 Procter’s Legends and Lyrics, 150 
 Pushkin’s The Captain’s Daughter, 
 etc., 898 
 
 Quiller-Couch’s Hetty Wesley, 864 
 
 Rabelais’s Gargantua and Panta- 
 gruel, 826, 827 
 
 Radcliffe’s (Mrs. Ann) The Mysteries 
 of Udolpho, 865, 866 
 Ramayana and Mahabharata. 403 
 Reade’s The Cloister and the 
 Hearth, 29 
 
 Reade’s Peg Woffington, 299 
 Reid’s (Mayne) Boy Hunters of the 
 Mississippi, 582 
 „ The Boy Slaves, 797 
 Renan’s Life of Jesus, 805 
 Reynold’s Discourses, 118 
 Ricardo’s Principles of Political 
 Economy and Taxation, 590 
 Richardson’s Pamela, 683, 684 
 ,, Clarissa, 882-5 
 Roberts’ (Morley) Western Avernus, 
 762 
 
 Robertson’s Religion and Life, 37 
 
 „ Christian Doctrine, 38 
 „ Bible Subjects, 39 
 
 Robinson’s (Wade) Sermons, 637 
 Roget’s Thesaurus, 630, 631 
 Rossetti’s (D. G.) Poems, 627 
 Rousseau’s Emile, 518 
 
 „ Social Contract and 
 
 other Essays, 660 
 ,, Confessions, 859, 860 
 Ruskin’s Seven Lamps of Archi- 
 tecture, 207 
 
 „ Modern Painters, 208-212 
 „ Stones of Venice, 213-215 
 „ Unto this Last, etc., 216 
 „ Elements of Drawing, etc., 
 217 
 
 „ Pre-Raphaelitism, etc., 218 
 ,, Sesame and Lilies. 219 
 „ Ethics of the Dust, 282 
 „ Crown of Wild Olive, and 
 Cestus of Aglaia, 323 
 „ Time and Tide, etc., 450 
 „ The Two Boyhoods, 683 
 Russell’s Life of Gladstone, 661 
 
 Sand’s (George) The Devil’s Pool, 
 and Francois the Waif, 534 
 Scheffel’s Ekkehard, 529 [710 
 
 Scott’s (M.) Tom Cringle’s Log, 
 Scott’s (Sir W.) Ivanhoe, 16 
 „ Fortunes of Nigel, 71 
 „ Woodstock, 72 
 ,, Waverley, 75 
 „ The Abbot, 124 
 „ Anne of Geierstein, 125 
 „ The Antiquary, 126 
 „ Highland Widow, and Be- 
 trothed, 127 
 
 „ Black Dwarf, Legend of Mont- 
 rose, 128 
 
 „ Bride of Lammermoor, 129 
 „ Castle Dangerous, Surgeon’s 
 Daughter, 130 
 „ Robert of Paris, 131 
 ,, Fair Maid of Perth, 132 
 „ Guy Mannering, 133 
 „ Heart of Midlothian, 134 
 „ Kenilworth, 135 
 „ The Monastery, 136 
 „ Old Mortality, 137 
 „ Peveril of the Peak, 138 
 „ The Pirate. 139 
 
7 
 
 Scott’s(SirW.) Quentin Durward,140 
 „ Redgauntlet, 141 
 „ Rob Roy, 142 
 „ St. Ronan’s Well, 143 
 „ The Talisman, 144 
 „ Lives of the Novelists, 331 
 ,, Poems and Plays, 550, 551 
 Seebohm’s Oxford Reformers, 665 
 Seeley’s Ecce Homo. 305 
 Sewell’s (Anna) Black Beauty, 748 
 Shakespeare’s Comedies, 153 
 
 „ Histories, etc., 154 
 ,, Tragedies, 155 
 Shelley’s Poetical Works, 257, 258 
 Shelley’s (Mrs.) Frankenstein, 616 
 „ Rights of Women, 825 
 Sheppard’s Charles Auchester, 505 
 Sheridan’s Plays, 95 
 Sienkiewicz’s Tales, 871 
 Sismondi’s Italian Republics, 250 
 Smeaton’s Life of Shakespeare, 514 
 Smith’s Wealth of Nations, 412, 413 
 Smith’s (George) Life of Wm. 
 Carey, 395 
 
 Smollett’s Roderick Random, 790 
 , , Peregrine Pickle, 838,839 
 
 Sophocles’ Dramas, 114 
 Southey’s Life of Nelson, 52 
 Spectator, 164-7 
 Speke’s Source of the Nile, 50 
 Spencer’s (Herbert) Essays on Edu- 
 cation, 503 
 
 Spenser’s Faerie Queene, 443, 444 
 „ The Shepherd’s Calendar, 
 879 
 
 Spinoza’s Ethics, etc., 481 
 Spyri’s Heidi, 4311 
 
 Stanley’s Memorials of Canterbury, 
 89 
 
 „ Eastern Church, 251 
 Steele’s The Spectator, 164-7 
 Sterne’s Tristram Shandy, 617 
 
 „ Sentimental Journey and 
 Journal to Eliza, 796 
 Stevenson’s Treasure Island and 
 Kidnapped, 763 
 
 „ Master of Ballantrae and the 
 the Black Arrow, 764 
 „ Virginibus Puerisque and 
 Familiar Studies of Men 
 and Books, 765 
 
 „ An Inland Voyage, Travels 
 with a Donkey, and Silver- 
 ado Squatters, 766 
 „ Dr. J ekyll and Mr. Hyde, The 
 Merry Men, etc., 767 
 „ Poems, 768 
 
 „ In the South Seas and Island 
 „ Nights’ Entertainments, 7 69 
 „ St. Ives, 904 
 
 St. Francis, The Little Flowers of, 
 etc., 485 
 
 Stow’s Survey of London, 589 
 Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin, 371 
 Strickland’s Queen Elizabeth, 100 
 
 Surtees’ Jorrocks’ Jaunts, 817 
 Swedenborg’s Heaven and Hell, 379 
 „ Divine Love and 
 
 Wisdom, 635 [658 
 
 ,, Divine Providence, 
 
 „ The True Christian 
 
 ,, Religion, 893 
 
 Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, 60 
 „ Tale of a Tub, etc., 347 
 „ Journal to Stella, 757 
 Swiss Family Robinson, 430 
 Tacitus’s Annals, 273 
 
 „ Agricola and Germania, 274 
 Taylor’s Words and Places, 517 
 Tennyson’s Poems, 44, 626 
 Thackeray’s Esmond, 73 
 „ Vanity Fair, 298 
 
 „ Christmas Books, 359 
 
 „ Pendennis, 425, 426 
 
 „ Newcomes, 465, 466 
 
 „ The Virginians, 507, 508 
 
 „ English Humorists, and 
 The Four Georges, 610 
 „ Roundabout Papers, 687 
 Thierry’s Norman Conquest, 198, 
 199 
 
 Thoreau’s Walden, 281 
 Thucydides’ Peloponnesian War, 455 
 Tolstoy’s Master and Man, and 
 Other Parables and Tales, 469 
 „ War and Peace, 525-7 
 „ Childhood, Boyhood and Youth, 
 591 
 
 „ Anna Karenina, 612, 613 
 Trench’s On the Study of Words and 
 English Past and Present, 788 
 Trollope’s Barchester Towers, 30 
 „ Framley Parsonage, 181 
 ,, The Warden, 182 
 „ Dr. Thorne, 360 
 
 „ Small House at Allington, 
 
 36] 
 
 „ Last Chronicles of Barset, 
 391, 392 
 
 „ Golden Lion of Granpere, 
 761 
 
 „ Phineas Finn, 832-3 
 Trotter’s The Bayard of India, 396 
 „ Hodson of Hodson’a 
 Horse, 401 
 
 ,, Warren Hastings, 452 
 Turgenev’s Virgin Soil, 528 
 „ Liza, 677 
 
 ,, Fathers and Sons, 742 
 Tyndall’s Glaciers of the Alp3, 98 
 Tytler’s Principles of Translation, 
 168 
 
 Vasari’s Lives of the Painters, 
 7 84— 7 
 
 Verne’s (Jules) Twenty Thousand 
 Leagues under the Sea, 319 
 „ Dropped from the Clouds, 367 
 „ Abandoned, 368 
 „ The Secret of the Island. 369 
 
8 
 
 Verne’s (Jules) Five Weeks in a 
 Balloon, and Around the 
 Worldin Eighty Days, 779 
 Virgil’s ALneid, 161 
 
 ,, Eclogues and Georgies, 222 
 Voltaire’s Life of Charles XII, 270 
 „ Age of Louis XIV, 780 
 
 Wace and Layamon’s Arthurian 
 Chronicles, 578 
 
 Wakefield’s Letter from Sydney, 
 etc., 828 
 
 Walpole’s Letters, 775 
 Walton’s Compleat Angler, 70 
 Waterton’s Wanderings in South 
 America, 772 
 
 Webster and Ford’s Selected Plays, 
 899 
 
 Wesley’s Journal, 105-108 
 White’s Selborne, 48 
 Whitman’s Leaves or Grass, and 
 Democratic Vistas, etc., 573 
 Whyte -Melville’s Gladiators, 523 
 Wilde’s Plays, Prose Writings and 
 Poems, 858 
 
 Wood ’s (Mrs. Henry ) The Channings, 
 Woolman’s Journal, etc., 402 [84 
 
 Wordsworth’s Shorter Poems, 203 
 „ Longer Poems, 311 
 
 Xenophon’s Cyropsedia, 67 
 Yellow Book, 503 
 
 Yonge’s The Dove in the Eagle’s 
 Nest, 329 [330 
 
 ,, The Book of Golden Deeds, 
 ., The Heir of Redclyffe, 362 
 „ The Little Duke, 470 
 ., The Lances of Lynwood, 579 
 Yeung’s (Arthur) Travels in France 
 and Italy, 7 20 
 Zola’s Germinal, 897 
 
 Anthologies, Dictionaries, etc. : 
 
 A Book of English Ballads, 572 
 A Book of Heroic Verse, 574 
 A Book of Nonsense, by Edward 
 Lear, and Others, 806 
 A Century of Essays. An Anthology, 
 653 
 
 American Short Stories of the Nine- 
 teenth Century, 840 
 A New Book of Sense and Nonsense, 
 813 
 
 An Anthology of English Prose: 
 From Bede to Stevenson, 675 
 An Encyclopaedia of Gardening, by 
 Walter P. Wright, 555 
 
 Ancient Hebrew Literature, 4 vols., 
 253-6 
 
 Anglo-Saxon Poetry, 794 
 Annals of Fairyland. 365. 366, 541 
 Anthology of British Historical 
 Speeches and Orations, 714 
 Atlas of Classical Geography, 451 
 Atlases, Literary and Historical: 
 Europe, 496; America, 553; Asia, 
 633; Africa and Australasia, 662 
 Dictionary, Biographical, of English 
 Literature, 449 
 
 „ Biographical, of For- 
 
 eign Literature, 900 
 „ of Dates, 554 
 „ Everyman’s English, 
 776 
 
 „ of Non-Classical Myth- 
 ology, 632 
 
 „ Smaller Classical, 495 
 „ of Quotations and Pro- 
 verbs, 809-10 
 
 English Short Stories. An An- 
 thology, 743 
 Fairy Gold, 157 
 
 Fairy Tales from the Arabian 
 Nights, 249 
 
 French Short Stories, 896 
 Golden Treasury of Longer Poems, 
 746 
 
 Minor Elizabethan Drama, 491, 492 
 Minor Poets of the Eighteenth Cen- 
 tury, 844 
 
 Minor Poets of the 17th Century, 873 
 Mother Goose, 473 
 Muses’ Pageant, The, 581, 606, 671 
 New Golden Treasury, 695 
 New Testament, The, 93 
 Poetry Book for Boys and Girls, 
 894 
 
 Political Liberty, a Symposium, 745 
 Prayer Books of King Edward VL 
 1st and 2nd, 448 
 Prelude to Poetry, 789 
 Reader’s Guide to Everyman’s 
 Library, by R. Farquharsop 
 Sharp and E. Rhys, 889 
 Restoration Plays, 604 
 Russian Short Stories, 758 
 Shorter Novels: Elizabethan, 824 
 J acobean and Restora- 
 tion, 841 
 
 „ Eighteenth Century, 
 856 
 
 Theology in the English Poets, 493 
 Thesaurus of English Words and 
 Phrases, Roget’s, 630, 631 
 
 Note — T he following numbers are at present out of print: 
 
 89, 110, 111, 146, 227, 228, 244, 275. 390, 418, 565, 597, 664 
 
 LONDON: J. M. DENT & SONS Um 
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