^.^^ 0^ •71, ,-.V i#o.^ '5^ ^. S.^^ ^^i .S^ -^^ <' -v A"* < \: -9 c o>' \> * ^ '0 ^ '> Oo V "^Va.\ %>,'^'^' ^^<^^ -^m^-^ -^ s^ .'X '^^ -<-.. * .\-^' .^v^^' > '^^ '^c. .0 o <^' V. s\V *^,^1f a'^ •><. .C>' A^ '' .^ v>. ,^V ^1 IvN A " o •»> -^^rX ,0c> '■^% .^^^^ .0 .0 0, '^^ ^ » ^ % .^'^'^^ ' ^Oo V \ '^ ^ ^ K •'i. .^'' >'^ ^^^ V "5 OQ^ v> ^\'-"f -^ '?=' \- cv.-?-' A-^ '%, %>.^^;. cP^ ^ LOCAL LOITERINGS, ' / AND VISITS IN THE VICINITY OF BOSTON. BY A LOOKEE-ON. BOSTON: PUBLISHED BY REDDING & CO. No. 8 State Street. 1845. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1845, By redding & CO., In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Disti-ict of Massachusetts. Boston t rrinted by S. N. Dickinson &. Co. No. 52 Washington St. ^ \ Hon. abbot LAWRENCE, OF BOSTON, THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS, WITH GREAT RESPECT, INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOE. CONTENTS. PAGE. Introductory Chapter, 9 A Visit to Mount Auburn, 17 " " " concluded, . , . . .26 Lexington and its Battle Ground, 34 A Trip to Lowell, 44 A Visit to South Boston, 51 Boston Common — A Walk and a Talk about it, . . 61 A Trip to Nahant, 68 Lowell Mills, and the Millocract. 75 The State Prison, 83 A Visit to the State Prison. — A Prison Poet, . . .89 A Visit to the Farm School, 98 A Visit to the Chinese Museum, 105 A Sunday at Old Ipswich, 113 A Sabbath in Boston, 122 A Street Gossip, 130 Musings by the Merrimack, 138 1 ' Many a time, Sir, I have walked the streets, and, day-dream- ing, have fashioned to myself the doings, the hopes, and cares of thp householders. To my fancy, the brick walls of the houses have turned to glass, and I have seen all that passed inside.' Douglas Jerrold. LOCAL LOITERINGS. INTRODUCTORY CliAPTER. The reader -vvlio maj be inclined to keep my company whilst in this series of papers I shall go through the lengths and breadths of this populous city, must not expect to be entertained by startling talcs or novel incidents. I have no ' Mysteries ' of Boston to relate, no melodramatic do- ings to chronicle. I am a plain man, and shall have to do with plain matters, with common facts. If, therefore, the reader be willing, on these conditions, to ' lend me his ears,' well ; but if records of every-day subjects, and chronicles of common things, possess no interest for him, we had better at once pursue different paths, than run the risk of falling out on our journey. And it is really wonderful how many objects of interest lie in and about our daily paths, and how much amuse- ment and instruction we might derive from them, if we would but slightly exercise our reflective faculties ; we are too apt to fly in search of excitement to far-away scenes, forgetting that our sympathies may be more profit- ably enlisted by objects long familiar and near at hand. 10 IXTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. For the observing man, every locality possesses so7ne at- traction, and there is no place so mean that it may not afford material for wholesome thought. I have always been partial to great cities, not that I dislike the coimtry — far from it ; for few, when they have left the hot, dusty, brick and mortar Babylons far behind them, enjoy more than I do the fresh breeze as it sweeps over the heath, or comes rushing up the mountain side, ' with healing on its wings.' And then how glorious it is to dive into grand, dim, old woods, when the slant sunbeams are falling on the trunks of giant trees, and thousands of bright-winged creatures go glancing by. Pleasant is it to saunter through ' Verdurous glooms and grinding mossy ways,' absorbed in a half dreamy kind of melancholy. I say all this is delightful enough, at least to me, for a season ; but I confess that after such sylvan enjoyments, I always re- turn with renewed zest to my ' endless meal of brick.' I am not going to enter into a comparison between the pleasures of a city and country life. My purpose in the following papers will be chiefly to illustrate the former — - to take continually-occurring matters for my subjects, and chat on them in an easy every-day manner. I am a plain writer, and make no pretensions to style in these ' Loiter- ings,' which will, I imagine, owe any interest they may chance to possess, to the locahties they illustrate. Cities, like individuals, have characters ; some are great overgrown places, where men go on hurrying, driving, and INTBODUCTORY CHAPTER. 11 tolling, from morning till night, to build up Mammon's temple — thousands upon thousands, dropping hourly from the scaffolding, and thousands more stepping on it to fill their places. In these great workshops of the world, mind is hammered down to a goldleaf thinness, so that a few grains of it are made to cover a vast extent of surface. The Physical preponderates over the Intellectual ; and the masses congregated in such places are usually burly talkers, noisy theorists, but seldom profound thinkers. Other cities have a light and fantastic character — every house seems as if it were made of filagree work, and the inhabitants move as upon wires. Fashion, folly, and friv- olity are the presiding deities, and many are their woi"- shippers. To these a strildng contrast is afforded by learned localities, where grave, thoughtful-eyed men, glide slowly through the gloom of cloisters, and across quadran- gles surrounded by small-windowed chambers, in which the lore of ages has been nursed. Fme old places are these ! One cannot move half a street without beholding some ancient seat of learning ; and as gotliic turret and tower fling their broad shadows on our pathway, they waken recollections of the wise and good Avho trod those pavements long ago. I shall ever remember the delight with which I paced the streets of Oxford and of Cambridge, and how I made unto myself fading images of Newton, and Bacon, and Locke, and a whole host of illustrious men who in those ancient seats of learning had drank deeply from the fomi- tains of philosophy and science. Every spot in those places was hallowed by association — here Raleigh ha,d lingered — there Sidney had walked — j^onder the room which Byron occupied — and close by was Gray's favorite 12 INTKODUCTORY CHAPTER. resort ; men who had moved mankind or nations bj their powers had here received their eagle strength, and the places which knew them seemed yet to be vocal with their praise. I have visited many large cities in Europe, and each of them is associated m my mind with some distinct trait of city-character. And so has it been with respect to the cities of America, which I have as yet seen. Wlien I landed in New York, and walked through its busy and thronged streets, its hurrying, driving, bustling, sliifting, floating, semi-migratory population at once indicated its commercial bearing. There could be no mistake about the matter, for business lines were so unmistakably ruled on the faces of every one I met, that it only required a few figures to be added to make their faces perfect fac- similes of the page of a ledger. There were long inter- minable streets, with warehouses on each side, built so high up that the sky beyond looked like a strip of blue ribbon — perspiring porters, with mighty loads, met one at every step, and monstrovis wheels threatened you every instant with annihilation — ^ anxious-looldng men rushed violently in and out of countmg rooms, where sallow- visaged mortals, perched on high stools, peered curiously up and down pages crowded with figures and mystical marks. On tlije bright broad river a thousand canvass wings were expanded, and the Genius of Steam, at man's bidding, poured the treasures of the four quarters of the globe at his feet. JNIoney I money ! money ! was the god of every man's idolatry, from the merchant who risked millions of dollars every day, to the ragged boys about the wharves, who speculated with their last cent. How difi"erent to Philadelphia ! The city of brotherly INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 13 love has, or had, a quiet, demure sedateness about it. There is every where, excepting just in the most commer- cial parts, an air of gentihty which is not to be found in the Empire City. Its long, regular streets give it quite a formal appearance, which is increased by the quamt quaker garbs which envelope so many of its citizens. And it is so exquisitely neat, one might easily imagine that every house was under the especial care of some scrubljing deity. The spirit of Quakerism seems to brood over it, and a ' yea,' or ' nay,' is absolutely looked for as a matter of course. The appearance of Boston is widely diiferent from either. No one can reside in the City of Notions for a week without noting the air of refinement which exists al- most every where. Less bustling than New York, and more commercial-looking than Philadelphia, it possesses advantages enjoyed by neither. The habits of the passers by, too, are at once seen to vary from those in the cities I have referred to. In New York, if a stranger is asked in the street, for a direction to any particular point, ten to one but the person of whom he inquired, would give him a short, sharp, business-hke answer, and then hurry on at a railroad pace, careless whether he was understood or not — in nine cases out of ten it would be impossible to do so. In Philadelphia, the person inquired of would survey the querist for a few seconds before replying, and then enunciate his words so slowly that the former part of his direction would be forgotten before the latter Avas ut- tered. In Boston, the plain information required would be given so promptly and courteously that nothing could be left to be desired. The appearance of Boston, too, is very different to any 14 IXTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. other American city which I have visited. It is more Enghsh in its appearance, and on a foggy, damp, busy day, a stranger near Faneuil Hall might fancy himself in London. It was quite delightful to me, after I had for some time paced the ' distractingly regular ' streets of Philadelphia, as Dickens calls them, to get into thorough- fares of which I could not see the beginning nor end, and which were not quite flat throughout their whole length. There was one old house at the corner of Ann street which I fell in with in one of my rambles, that really was a source of great and pecuhar delight to me. There were hundreds of better houses all about its neighborhood, houses which made great pretensions, and seemed to look down on their antiquated neighbor with contempt. They were houses of property, too, and showed ofi" their glitter- ing wares as if in very mockery of the humble pointed- gabled house, which boasted only a few bags of feathers, that blocked up its dingy windows, or were piled round its low door-way. There were evident symptoms of old age and decrepitude also about the dwelling I aUude to — > the foundations had given way, and it leaned on one side ; a date was inscribed in old-fashioned figures on the front, and it was innocent of jauntily painted blinds. But dingy, and battered, and old, as it was, it had a charm for me, it was so like the hundreds and thousands of houses which I had played about and lived amongst years ago. For all I knew, it might have been one of them, transported by magical means from the midst of London, and dropped down where it then was. I looked at it as an old friend, and momentarily expected to be asked in — but the mists which fancy had thrown around it gradually cleared away, and near it stood Faneuil Hall, and a cold east wind blew INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 15 in my teeth ; and a boy at my elbow, bawled out, ' News- papers, Sir — latest news from Europe,' and I became fully aware of the fact that I was at that moment in New, and not in Old England. Well, it is my intention to ' loiter,' for a season, in this delightful city, to saunter through its busy streets, finding here a little and there a Httle — to thread its obscure lanes and thoroughfares, where poor men hve, and where the hard realities of life knock daily, hourly, as Douglas Jer- rold says, at people's hearts — where men and women seem only made to work, and eat, and sleep, and die. I want to display life as it is, not as it is too often depicted ; and there are scenes in life's drama always being enacted within our own spheres, which are little dreamed of by casual passers-by. Seeing and observing are very difter- ent affairs. Thousands use their eyes — scarcely one in a thousand does so to any good or useful purpose. Dickens says, in his ' American Notes,' ' I sincerely believe that the pubhc 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 con- templation of happiness, under circvimstances of privation and bereavement, than in my visits to these establish- ments.' This is most true — but how many hundreds are there in Boston who know little or nothing of these insti- tutions, which are an honor to their city, and which com- mand the respect and admiration of all who ^isit it from afar ? To promote a popular knowledge of these inter- esting places, is one of my purposes. In this series of papers, familiar visits to the various institutions will be recorded, their histories briefly sketched, and any points 16 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. of interest connected with them, alluded to, not as a diy matter of statistics, but with a view to amusement as well as information. There are many places of note, too, in the beautiful neighborhood of Boston, pregnant with interest, and hal- lowed by association. Cambridge, for instance, with its University and her long list of learned sons, many of whose names shine like stars in the hemisphere of genius. Then there is Breed's hill, with its revolutionary associa- tions, and Mount Auburn, with its chasteinng and pensive influences. Great national establishments, too, are in our neighborhood, each of which will well repay |;he trouble of a visit. Lowell and its factories are almost at our doors — in short, the material for a busy pen are plenty, and will be ' used up.' So much by way of preface. And now having declared my intentions, may I beg the favor of the reader's com- pany to Mount Auburn, which will form the subject of my next paper. A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 17 A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. ' Here rest tlie sleepers in a sweet repose, Sunshine upon theii' graves, and silence holy, Shedding around a chastened melancholy. * * * * * * * * Here would I rest when life's brief pilgrimage Is ever ended — flowers above me springing ; O'er-canopied by green or russet leaves j With melodies on slumberous summer eves, Like notes from angel's harps, when homeward winging Their radiant flight, their golden lyres they sweep, And join the bird of night in her sweet singing.' — Anon. A bright, glad morning in the young Spring ! The sun is pouring down a flood of radiance on the laughing earth, and on every leaf which is dancing in light above our heads, drops of dew glitter like diamonds. There is life, joyous life beneath, around, and above uS' — insects chirp in the grass — the dusky turtle goes on his rustling way amongst the dead leaves of last Autumn — ])right-eyed, variegat- ed squirrels run gracefully up the boles of trees, or peer curiously out from amongst tufted grass — bright-winged birds glance athwart the leafy gloom, singing a Avelcome to the flowers — and the bee goes by, honey-laden, with a cheerful hum ■ — < men of business or pleasure sweep along the hot, dusty road ; yes, every thing tells of life but yon 2* 18 A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBUElSr. granite gateway, which looms up in all its gloomy grand- eur, and exhibits on its front the awful emblems of Time and Eternity ! It stands like a solemn milestone on life's broad highway, intimating to every traveller that he is another stage nearer the end of his journey, and that when the weary race shall terminate, ' Then shall the DUST RETURN TO THE EARTH AS IT WAS, AND THE SPIRIT SHALL RETURN TO GOD WHO GAVE IT.' Many a time have I shudderingly passed by the old grave yards of London. Horrible places are they. I have one of them now in my mind's eye — it is situated in one of the most densely populated portions of the me- tropolis, between Fleet street and Holborn, surrounded by high, dark dwellings, whose smoky walls frown upon the small patch of mortality, for every lump of the dark clay is merely crushed bones, held together by greasy, tena- cious clay. Not a blade of grass cheers that lonely char- nel house, but its black, uneven surface lies bare to the sun whenever that luminary can pierce the mass of fog and mist which envelopes the overgrown city. The few stones which lie here and there, bearing frail records of scarcely more enduring love, are broken and defaced, or seem ' tottering to their fall.' One miserable, stunted tree, with blackened trunk and leafless boughs, remains ■ — ■ a horrible libel upon vegetation. Altogether it is indeed ' a place of darkness and a scull.' How different the beautiful but solemn cemetery which Ave are now entering ! It was a sweet and graceful thought to contemplate such a place for the last repose of the beloved — a spot where their flesh might rest in hope, and where sorrowers might repair in a spirit of cheerful resignation to sanctify their graves by memorials of af- A VISIT TO MOUXT AUBURN. 19 fection. As poor Keats said, ' It would almost make one in love with death to be buried in so sweet a place.' I shall not classify this stroll through the cemetery of Mount Auburn by regularly recording my progress thi-ough the avenues, or the walks, or by the sheets of water, as described in the guide books, but quietly saun- tering on, I shall simply notice such monuments as at- tacted me at a glance, and record the feelings to wliich they gave birth. I would just remark that I never knew one of those who lie around in dreamless sleep. In tliis city of the dead I stand a living stranger, almost as dead to the dwellei-s on this vast continent as those beneath the sod. Let but this heart cease to l)eat for a moment, and I should be more lonely than most of the sleepers here, for the footfall of casual acquaintance or the subdued eloquence of loving hearts is seldom heard near the stran- ger's grave. Almost the first monument which attracts me is one of plain marble, Avith an inscription to the memory of Rich- ard Haugiiton, who, we are informed, once conducted the Atlas newspaper. What a change ! The life of toil, struggle, perpetual effort, patient endurance, and ever- beginning, never-ending la])or, such as a public journalist only can know, exchanged for the (piiet of the tomb ! The keen Avatcher of events, the philanthropic enquirer after truth, the sagacious detector of abuses, the con- troller of a mighty engine, lies powerless, passionless, and all serene, while the strife of faction, and the jarring of conflicting political elements goes on, and the rumbling of the mighty car on which the great Juggernauts of party ride, is heard, as the ponderous fabric is dragged along by its milhons of devotees, who alternately shriek out their 20 A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. paeans of victory, or yell in fierce defiance as their bodies are crushed by the Deity they adore, Avhilst it moves in- exorably onward, its wheels axle deep in the blood of victims, and the groanings of blasted hopes, and crushed ambition sounding their sad music upon the terrible path- way. A little further on, is a monument to one who passed away early, Mary Sargent, aged 23 ; and near it a chaste sarcophagus bears a name familiar to me from my boyhood, and linked with high and holy thoughts. When I read in far distant England the works of William El- LERY Channing, and experienced the serene delight which the transparent purity of his style never failed to afford, I little imagined that I ever should be a pilgrim at his sepulchre. But ' He being dead yet speaketh,' for when such men die their very graves are vocal, and of them it may well be said, in the words of a great old Eng- lish poet, ' The memoi'ies of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.' From the tomb of the profound thmker and eloquent preacher, I passed to the grave of youth and beauty. Beneath a marble canopy, over which was a carved urn, and supported by pillars, lies the recumbent statue of a little child. And there, a marble repose is the effigy of the loved and lost. The child is represented as slumber- ing on a bed, and so beautifully is this work of art execut- ed, that the cherub form seems to rest in perfect peace upon a downy couch. The name ' Emily,' is carved on the side of the tomb — nothing more ; and it is quite enough, for it has a world of meaning in it. It tells of A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 21 the father's solemn agony and the mother's voiceless woe. That child was all the world to them, and the wide- extended globe held for them, amongst all its uncounted millions, but one ' Emily.' What need, then, of a more particular description of the perished little one ? As I stand by her place of rest, I can see the little girl with her laughing eyes and flowing locks, making the house merry with her own gladness. I hear her ringing laugh- ter, and catch the sunshine of her looks. Her light step is on the stair, and her tiny foot-fall makes her mother's heart to leap for joy. But ' the spoiler' came, and They laid her on her little grave, Amid the flowers of Spring, When the green corn began to wave, And the glad birds to sing — And happy voices were around When hers was silent us the ground. Sweet, laughing child! thy nursciy door Stands free and open now. But all ! its sunshine gilds no more The gladness of thy brow — Thy merry stcj) hath passed away, Thy pleasant voice is hushed for aye. Oh ! when the pleasant summer mom Shines over wood and fell, And far along the corn-fields borne Is heard the village bell ; When the loud wagon is laid by. And wearied beasts rest quietly, They never more shall carry thee To listen to the psalm Which o'er the meads and sheep-strewn lea Floats in the summer calm ; 22 A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. Their echoes reach thy mother's room, But oh ! they breathe above thy tomb ! Thy mother by the fireside sits And listens for thy call, And slowly — slowly as she knits, ♦ Her quiet tears down fall. Her little hindering thing is gone, And undistm-bed she may work on. There is something very touching in the deaths of httle children, but many consolations grow like sweet flowers from their graves. In the Rev. R. C. Waterston's essay on this subject, he says with equal truth and beauty, ' It is worthy of remembrance that children who are taken away by death, always remain in the memory of the pa- rents as children. Other children grow old ; but this one contmues in youth. It looks as we last saw it in health. The imagination hears its sweet voice and light step, sees its silken hair, and clear bright eyes, — aU just as they were. Ten and twenty years may go by, the chUd still remains in the memory as at first — a bright, happy child.' On little ' Emily's ' tomb is the following verse : ' Shed not for her the bitter tear, Nor give the heart to vain regret ; 'T is but the casket that lies here ; The gem that filled it sparkles yet.' I am a great admirer of simple epitaphs. In an old churchyard in South Wales, I once met with one on a simple stone, which affected me deeply. It told more about the parents' sorrow for their lost infant, than the J A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 23 most labored epitaph could possibly have done. In the old quaint spelHng, on a plain slab, was carved in rude letters only the words * mcac ariiilbc ! ' Wliat could be more pathetic, excepting perhaps the foUoAving, which I saw in Kensal Green Cemetery, in the Harrow Road, London — ' To THE MEMORY OF LITTLE KaTE.' At the Laurel Hill Cemetery, Philadelphia, I also no- ticed one of those touching inscriptions. A wliite marble slab has on it a simple word, ' Willie.' That was all -— it told plainly enough to thoughtful hearts, that bright, golden-haired, wee ' Willie,' in spite of love, had gone down in life's young spring, to darknes8 and the worm. There are many plots of ground laid out which are as yet untenanted — many sepulchres built whose portals have not as yet opened to receive the silent guests. I looked into one of these latter, and actually shuddered as I beheld the brick recesses all in readiness to receive those who were now living, healthy, life-enjoying people. There was a wealthy looking personage giving directions about the structure as calmly as if it had been a grotto. He entered the gloomy place, examined the brick-work, made business-like remarks upon the mortar, and actually measured one of the coffin recesses. It was his own fami- ly receptacle. The bare idea of the spot where I may be deposited after death is horrible to me, and how any one can criticise the cavern of moi-talityl cannot imagine. I 24 A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. have, and always have had, more horror of the grave than fear of that which will compel me to become its tenant. Here is a noticeable monviment — an elegant but plain oblong marble sarcophagus, erected, I am informed, at the expense of Hon. WilUam Sturgis, of tliis city. There is no labored epitaph upon it ; no foolish attempt to laud the unconscious sleeper below ■ — and it is well. Nothing excites my contempt more than those graven and gilded sentences sometimes to be found over rich men's graves, and which make their subjects seem almost divine. The name of ' Spurzheim ' is the only inscription on the beau- tiful and beautifully situated monument. This true Philosopher, and really great man, needs no eulogy of mine. His name and fame is world property. Far from home, but surrounded by friends, he drew his last breath in the neighboring city, whilst engaged in the search after Truth. A Avorshipper at the shrine of Sci- ence, he persisted in the ardor of his devotion until he sank a martyr on its altar. ' From the bright home that gave him birth, A pilgrim o'er the ocean wave, He came, to find in other earth, A stranger's grave.' Near Spurzheim's monviment is one of those emblems, now so common in our cemeteries, of death in youth, a bro- ken shaft, — and I know of few more graceful and appro- priate ; but unfortunately, so many bereaved friends have chosen this style of monument, that its very commomiess detracts from the impressiveness intended to be produced. One or two emblematic memorials of this kind, are quite enough in a cemetery, for Avhere there are many they do A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 25 not group well, and a stiflF and formal effect is produced. The one I now particularly refer to is exceedingly well executed, and bears the name of Mary A. Coleman. On three sides of the base are some elegiac lines. On the brink of Garden Pond, a quiet and lovely spot, is a plain Sarcophagus, of freestone, with the name of William Gallagher inscribed on it. It seems to have been erected by some friends, ' who although con- nected with him by no tics of kindred, loved and honored him.' Some well meaning but indifferent lines, eulogized the deceased. Let us set down for awhile, and beneath the grateful shadow of these trees, read the Thanatopsis. It is just the place to peruse that fine poem of the first Poet of America — WilUam Cullen Bryant I for ' To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sha^jness ere he is aware.' But we have much yet to see ; many a grave is yet unvisited — many a record of the lost and the loved, yet unread. Let us move onward through these ' verdurous glooms' — and amidst the foliage, where monumental mar1)le gleams with lustrous purity, in search of ' eloquent teachings ; ' and, by the time we have, through circuit- ous paths reached the Egyptian gateway, we shall have gathered sufficient material for the conclusion of this re- verie at Mount Auburn. 3 26 A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. [concluded.] ' Here the lamented dead in dust shall lie, Life's lingering languors o'er, its labors done, Where waving boughs, betwixt the earth and sky, Admit the farewell radiance of the sun. Here the long concourse from the neighboring town, "With funeral pace and slow, shall enter in, To lay the lov'd in tranquil silence down. No more to suffer, and no more to sin. And in this hallowed spot, where nature pours Her sweetest smiles from fair and stainless skies. Affection's hand may strew her dewy flo-\vers, Whose fragrant incense from the grave may rise.' Willis Gatlord Clarke. Somewhat refreshed by a short interval of rest, let us resume our wanderings amongst the tombs, and read on the various monuments, Mortality's title page — the his- tory of life written in but two chapters — Birth and Death ! Gleaming in all its lustrous purity through the light foliage, rises a tall marble obelisk, on whose shaft are carved floral emblems, and the names of four individuals, Lieut. Underwood, Midshipman Henry, and Messrs. Reid and Bacon. It is a monument without a tomb, for those A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 27 wliose deaths it records died premature and trJigical deaths far away. Passing onward, we come upon another child's grave, over which is a neat marble head stone, with the inscrip tion J. S. B. LoTHROP, aged four years. There is a very pretty little carving in relief on this stone, of an angel- — fitting representation of the Httle one so early called to rest. A little way from it is a square monument to the memory of one who ministered in holy things, Jo- seph BucKMiNSTER, pastor of Brattle Street Church. The Christian warrior and the little child lie side by side ! Here is a monument to the memory of one who, we are told, ' came among strangers and died among friends.' It bears the name of Capt. Joseph Cleaveland, a vet- eran who travelled eight hundred miles to witness the celebration of the completion of the monument on Bunker Hill. I never saw the enthusiastic old man, but I can imagine his venerable figure, his gray locks streaming in the wind, and his sunken eye hghted up with a spark of the old martial glory, as he gazed on the granite shaft, which proudly rose on that field where freedom waved her glorious banner. And here, his last battle fought, he lies in his hero-grave at Mount Auburn ! I like scriptural epitaphs, and here is one. ' I know that my Redeemer liveth.' It is inscribed on a monu- ment bearing the name of N. Carruth. Such simple expressions of faith are far more impressive than the labored lines we too often see. Here is an obelisk on which is carved a scroll with a hand beneath it, the fore- finger of which points to an inscription, ' There is rest in Heaven.' On a slab below is the name A. Abbe. Sometimes in strolhng through such places as these we 28 A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. meet with devices wliich puzzle us as to their meaning, and here is one of the kind. A dog sculptured out of white marble. The animal is represented as crouched in a Avatchful position, but no inscription informs us whether the effigy is the representation of one of his race who lies beneath, or merely the watcher over of an at- tached master or mistress's remains. It is one of those things which seem out of keeping with the place. One looks at it — wonders — and passes on, none the wiser for having seen, and none the better for having been puzzled by it. There is more meaning and more poetry in the device which ornaments the base of the broken shaft, on which the name of Tappan is inscribed. It is a rose branch from whose stem a fully expanded flower and some buds have been rudely and prematurely broken off — emblems of the mother and her children, whom death had imtimely plucked from the sweet home garden. One of the most imposing monuments in the cemetery is a granite mausoleum to the memory of Georgina Mar- garet, wife of John Lowell, and also of two daughters. It is situated in a retu*ed spot, and there with green leaves fluttering overhead, and birds singing amidst the boughs, the mother and her cliildren he m dreamless sleep. The monument of Jesse Putnam, known as the father of the merchants of Boston, must not be passed by unno- ticed. It is a column of white Italian marble, orna- mented with Egyptian emblems, and overshadowed by a magnificent oak tree. Near this monument is one to the memory of the Rev. Samuel H. Stearns, who died in Paris, in 1837. The mortal remains of this siientleman lie A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 29 in Pere la Chaise. He died young, and his brief life, though harassed bj the ills that flesh is heir to, was one of great usefulness. He was at one time minister of the Old South Church, in Boston. Let us tarry for a while beside this neat monument, on which is inscribed, ' To Hannah Adams, historian of the Jews, and reviewer of the Christian Sects, this is erected by her female friends. First tenant of Mount Auburn. She died Dec. 15th, 1831, aged 76.' I never knew this child-woman, as she might not unap- propriately be termed, but I have heard so much of her simple history, and of her personal appeai-ance, that I think I have a tolerably correct portrait of her hung up in my image chamber. I should like to have seen her when quaintly attired in old fashioned habiliments she attracted attention in the busy streets of Boston, or when she sat, whether in the body or out of the body, she her- self could scarcely tell, in her silent room, thinking of her dead sister, and of the luminous shadow of that beloved relative which once she believed appeared to her. Hannah Adams was one of the earliest lady writers of New England, when, as Mrs. Child remarks, this preju- dice against literary women was much stronger than now. Her absence of mind was remarkable, and many amusing instances of the ludicrous effects produced by her absen- teeism are recorded by Mrs. Child in the second series of her letters from New York, just published. Like many other learned people, too, she had a tinge of superstition ui her mental composition, for she used to tell how her sister promised to appear to her after death if she were permitted to do so. Her account of the supposed inter- 3* 30 A VISIT TO MOIIJ^T AUBUE^S". view is so interesting that I make no apology for noticing it here. ' One night,' said she, ' I sat up, as I often did, read- ing till midnight. After I had extinguished my light and retired to rest, I remained wakeful for some time. My mind was serene and cheerful ; and I do not recollect that my thoughts were in any way occupied with my sis- ter. Presently my attention w^as arrested by a dimly luminous cloud, not far from the bed. I looked out, to see whether a light from another chamber of the house was reflected on my window ; but all was darkness. I again turned to my pillow, and saw that the luminous ap- pearance was brighter and visibly increased in size. The shutters of our old fashioned house had holes in the mid- dle in the shape of a heart. I thought it must be that the moonlight streamed through one of these, and per- haps shone on some white garment hanging on the wall. I rose and felt the wall but there was nothing there. I looked out of the window and saw only a cloudy midnight sky with here and there a solitary star. When I re- turned to bed, and still saw the unaccountable column of light, then, for the first time, a feeling of awe came over me. I had hitherto thought only of natural causes ; but now a vague idea of the supernatural began to oppress me. My sister's promise occurred to my mind, and made me afraid. A trembling came over me as I watched the light, and saw it become more and more distinct. It was not like moonlight or sunlight, I cannot describe it bet- ter than by comparing it to a brilliant light shining through thin, clear, Avlute muslin. It gradually assumed shape, and then slowly emerged from it, the outlines of J A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBimiSr. 31 my sister's face and figure. The very strings of her cap, tied in a bow under her chin, were distmctly visible. A terrible fear weighed upon my heart like the nightmare, and I screamed aloud. This brought some of the family to me in great alarm ; but before they entered the light had vanished. When I told the story they said I had been asleep and dreaming. I felt perfectly sure that I had been wide awake ; but they said I was mistaken. After they left me for the night, I almost wished that the vision, if it were indeed my sister, would come again. I fell asleep, and dreamed of sweet intercourse with her, but the luminous shadoAV never came again. I cannot say whether it Avere dream or vision ; the subject has always puzzled me.' Such was her singular account, which I leave for others to speculate upon. So truthful a woman as Hannah Ad- ams assuredly was, could have had no object in fabricat- ing such a story. There are, perhaps, ' more things in heaven and earth ' of tliis sort ' than are dreamt of in our philosophy.' This singular woman, it is stated, corresponded with Mrs. Hannah More. If this be a fact, Avhere are the let- ters which the English authoress Avrote to her American sister ? They would be a valuable addition to our episto- lary literature, and are worth searching for. I must not, hoAvever, dwell longer on this subject, and have only room to add, that Mrs. Adams was buried from the house of Deacon Grant, who, I believe, had the management of her limited funds. Consecration Dell is a sweet spot, but time forbids us to linger in its pleasant sohtudes. Let us away to the Stranger's Tomb. 82 A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. The Stranger's Tomb ! What a mournful appella- tion, even for a place of graves. To me this sepulchre is peculiarly interesting ; for to it I seem to have a vague sort of claim. The other graves are, as it were, private property ; fenced off, and peopled by the faded fomis of particular households ; but this flings open its solemn doors at the mute bidding of the pilgrim and the stranger. Here, he who goes uncompanioned to his grave, may rest until the resurrection morn, and his sleep will not be the less sound because affection bends not o'er his lonely tomb. But, as Bryant says, ' "Wliat if thou withdraw Unheeded by the living — and no friend Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one, as before, mil chase His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their enjoyments, and shall come And make their bed with thee.' It mil be seen that I have selected but a few monu- ments in this beautiful cemetery for special notice ; but there are hundreds around which may well claim our at- tention, and give birth to solemn thought. Some, it may be, will think that I have chosen too grave a subject for this, first of my vicinity visits, but if it be ' Greatly wise to talk with our past hours. And ask them what report they bore to Heaven,' surely such a spot as Mount Auburn, which may emi- nently conduce to salutary and mse reflections, should not be unvisited. A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 33 I have seen many celebrated cemeteries, and taken as a whole, I think Mount Auburn surpasses them all. At Pere la Chaise there is too much of the artificiality of grief. The London Cemeteries are disfigin-ed by pomp- ous marbles and laudatory epitaphs. Laurel Hill cem- etery is very beautiful, but the ground is not sufficiently varied in character. Greenwood is too extensive ; but Mount Auburn, with its ever-varying scenery, beautifully undulating surface, and miniature sheets of water, is to me far more suited for its sacred purpose than any of those named. Our tour of this beautiful place is at length completed, and once more we are about to mix with the fiving, breathing, bustling mass of mankind outside the gates. Let us not, however, depart, without Avishing and deter- mining to ' So live, that when our summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, that moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chambers in the silent halls of death, "We go not, like the quarry slave at night. Scourged to liis dungeon, but sustained and soothed By an unfaltering tnist, approach the grave, Like one that draws the drapery of his couch Ai'ound him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.' 34 LEXINGTON LEXINGTON AND ITS BATTLE GKOUND. ' Sleep on, ye slaughtered ones ! Your spirit, in your sons, Shall guard your dust, Wliile Winter comes in gloom, Wliile Spring returns with bloom, » Nay, till this honored tomb Gives up its trust. When war's first blast was heard. These men stood forth to guard Thy house, God ! And now, thy house shall keep Its vigils where they sleep. And still its shadow sweep O'er the green sod.' Pieepont. A FEW years ago I stood on the plains of Waterloo, and with intense interest surveyed the spot where in 1815 the greatest battle of modern times was fought. I was point- ed out the place where Napoleon watched the progress of the heady fight, and that where the victorious Wel- lington stood when he shouted to the Life Guards, ' Up, men ! and at them ! ' As I gazed, listening with a dull ear to the hired jargon of the guide, I endeavored to pic- ture to myself the field of carnage, during the heat of the conflict, but the attempt was fruitless, for above me was the bright summer's sky, around me swelled the glad AND ITS BATTLE GROUND. 35 notes of birds, and far away, far as the eye could reach, were sheltered hamlets and quiet valleys, whilst on the blood-stained sod rose in harvest glory, ' The golden com Like an Indian anny with spears up-bome.' Peace brooded over the landscape, and scarcely a vestige was left to tell that here a bloody conflict was terminated, and a stop put to the career of him who Avas to go forth and vex the nations no more. I know that I felt a certain degree of national pride wliilst standing on that field of conflict, and it was natural that it should be so. Within the last few days I have paced another battle ground, less in extent, but scarcely less associated with mighty consequences to the fortunes of a great nation than was that of Waterloo. Strange semblances and striking contrasts ! here on this green spot of groimd at Lexington, so small that the eye of the careless stranger would scarcely be attracted to it, were witnessed the first flutterings of the Eaglet. There, at Waterloo, the vultures of Napoleon Avere stricken down forever. At Lexington a mighty struggle was commenc- ed ' — at Waterloo a terrific conflict was closed. Here Liberty drew its sacred blade, and there Vengeance, glutted with carnage, returned the reeking weapon to its scabbard. And as I stood, on that bright June day, within the shadow of the church which borders one side of the green space, and looked, Englishman as I was, tlirough eyes from before which I hope the distorting mists of jirejudice have long since been blown away, on the granite shaft 36 LEXINGTON wliich marks the resting place of those who fell there in seventeen hundred and seventy-five, I felt that if ever a righteous war was waged on earth, it was the one which had on that spot its commencement. There was nothing, as there had been at Waterloo, to rouse my ex- ultation, but I experienced, what after all may be a better feeling ■ — a consciousness that there right battled for its inalienable privileges, and that the spirit of Freedom hal- lowed the ground where her children fell. Lexington Battle Ground is to the American what the Field of Grutli was to Tell and his brave compatriots. At the instance of a gentleman of Lexington, who, on observing my intention of making some ' Visits in the Vicinity' for the especial edification of the readers of the Boston Journal, kuidly invited me to pay him a visit ; I one day last week, in company of a friend, drove down there, and received from a descendant of one who fell on the battle ground, a hearty New English welcome to his pleasant New England village. And pleasant indeed are these New England villages ; so different too from those of Old England — the former with so much of newness about them, the latter so vener- able and grave in their appearance. In the old country (I love to hear that almost affectionate recognition of it) on some calm summer evening, as you descend a hill side, green and fragrant with heath and broom blossoms, whilst a stream goes on dancmg to its own music at your feet, you behold a cluster of houses, Avhence thin blue curling smoke ascends, in the valley below, from which one hoary edifice arises in sombre prominence. It is of gothic de- sign, and in the mullioned windows the lozenge-shaped panes glow like gems in the red sunset; and as that AND ITS BATTLE GROUND. 37 luminarj goes down behind a bank of gorgeous clouds, his slant beams creep slowly up the steeple, (ivy-clad al- most to its summit) until at last the l)all and vane glow like molten brass against the sky, whilst all below is left in gloom. Around that sacred edifice rise shadowy an- cestral elms, beneath whose broad shadows lie in their dreamless slumbers the ' rude forefathers of the hamlet,' the patriarchs of the parish, and the little children who died yesterday. Pass on, and you enter the village street. Every thing has the stamp of age upon it ; the cottage roofs are green with the mosses of centuries. There is the old manor house, with its quaint roof, its pointed gables, its monstrous doors with ponderous hinges, its fantastic carvings of grotesque heads, which stand out m bold relief against the quiet sky. And near it is the vicarage, a neat, modest edifice, where rose trees and woodbines cluster round the casement and lift up their flowers so that they may look within. All around the parson's modest mansion there is such an air of quiet that it seems like a little heaven below. Before the house is a closely mown la^ni, across which the church flings its shadoAv — the old parish church ! Look in at one of the low w^indows and observe its large pcAvs — its empty pul- pits — its mouldering monuments — its quaintly carved men and women lying in niches with solemn looks and folded hands, and heraldric devices — its silent organ — and its lonely altar — then walk through its picturesque churchyard and read ' The short and simple annals of the poor ; ' then out again into the village, and mark the substantial farm house — sit awhile by the ' ingle nook,' where huge 4 38 LEXINGTON logs are piled up ' Pelion on Ossa,' and blazing away to all hearts' content — then away by the almshouse, where aged people sit listlessly at their doors, or tend flowers as carefully as they did their children, who died years and years ago — and on by many picturesque dwellings, until all signs of man's habitations cease on the verge of the bleak common, and some idea may be formed of an old England village scene. Very different in their quiet beauty are such villages as Lexington, and indeed all which I have seen in New England. How white and glittering those pretty cotta- ges, Avith their cheerful-looking green blinds, look. There is so much taste displayed in their construction that every one of them, with its pillars and veranda, and sometimes its observatory, seems intended as a model for exhibition — indeed the little hghtning-rods pointing from the chim- neys, seem to be the cut-off ends of the cords by which they might have lieen gently let down from cloud-land — ' and then surrounded as they are by beautiful trees, and adorned by tastefully disposed gardens, and the clearest of atmospheres around and above them, they appear to an English eye more like things seen in dreams than real dwelling places, so very airy, misubstantial-looking and smokeless do they appear. And instead of the ancient temple and its graveyard, arises an exquisitely neat church, white, and pure looking as the feathers of an eagle's wing — how it glitters in the sunshine! And hark ! from the classical pretty turret, the bell sounds ' as if an angel spoke.' As yet, the venerable graveyard is not, for the builders of the temple are its contempora- ries — it has no Past ! Gaze within > — how chaste are its adornments. Thei-e is no lidit from hiKh-arched windows AND ITS BATTLE GROUND. 89 thrown, turning the pavement to gems, but green blinds soften the glare, and produce a pleasantly ' dim-religious light.' But where have I been wandering? — it is high time that I should return to the subject matter of my sketch ; and I do so, entreating the reader's pardon for having floAvn off at a tangent from the field j^ar excellence of Lexington. After having partaken of the hospitality of our friend, we wandered to the battle ground, which indeed I had vis- ited for a few minutes before the repast. There it lay, quiet and calm, in the sunshine, looking as green and peaceful as if the death-shriek had never rung over its grassy surface. A S(|uare, and rather rudely constructed granite shaft, surrounded by a pyramidically shaped block of the same material, marks the spot Avhere lie the re- mains of the six individuals who first shed their blood in the war for mdependence. On a marble slab their names are engraved, together "svith an mscription commemorative of their deeds, written by the late Rev. Jonas Clark. The names of those whose remains are enclosed in the sarcophagus under the monument, are as follows : Jonas Parker, Robert Munroe, Samuel Hadley, Jonathan Harrington, Jr., Isaac Muzzy, Caleb Harrington, and John Brown. We were shown a house, on the north of the common, near the ground, in which one of the Harringtons lived. It is related of him that after he Avas shot down, he started up, and by a dying effort made his way towards his house, where his wife was watching for him. He stretched out his hand toward her as if for assistance, and fell again. Once more he rose and attempted to reach her, but when he had crawled to the door he fell at her feet and expired. 40 LEXINGTON Another spot was pointed out to us, where Parker fell. This man had often declared that let others do what they might, he never would run from the enemy. And he kept his word, for when on his knees, and wounded as he was, he Avas trying to reload his musket, he was transfixed by a bayonet, and thus died on the spot where he first stood and fell. Some, but a very few, eye-witnesses of that memorable conflict are yet living, and on my expressing a desire to see one of them, my friend accompanied me to a house close by, where one, an old gentleman, resided, who had witnessed the occurrence of the morning of the 19th of April, '75. My friend stated our object, to a yoimg woman, who answered our knock at the veteran's door, and we were welcomed into the house. Presently a grey-haired old gentleman entered the apartment, and greeted us very cordially. He was but httle bowed by years, although eighty-four of them had passed over his head. His features must at one time have been handsome, and even now, furrowed as they were, they were gentle and pleasant in their expression. As he was hard of hearing he took a seat close by us, and on ascertaining the reason of our visit he very cheerfully re- ])lied to my questions. ' Aye,' said the old gentleman, ' I remember that morn- ing as well as if it was only last Week, and better too than if it had been yesterday ; and I always shall while I have my reason.' ' 'T was just between the dark and the fight of the morning,' he continued, ' and I was standing on the green — I was n't a soldier then, but I was afterward, and was at the taking of Burgoyne — and I heard Pitcairn cry to AND ITS BATTLE GROUND. 41 his soldiers, " God d — n you, fire ! " So they did, hut over the heads of our people ; and then I saw him ride up in a rage, and he cried out again, " D' — n you, fire at them," and then I saw several men of our side fall.' I asked him about the precise spot where the colonists stood, and where the military were stationed ? The old gentleman rose from his chair, and fetched from a drawer three very old colored engravings of the battle — ■ they were rather rude affairs, but he described them as being very correct, and with his trembling finger he indicated the localities I asked for. ' And just there,' he added, ' I stood. I wasn't a sol- dier then, but,' and the old man's blue eye glistened, ' I ivas afterward, and was at the taking of BurgO}Tie.' ' They came to look after Hancock and Adams,' continu- ed he ; ' that 's most likely, and I 've heard that the day before the fighting here, a man wrapped up in a cloak, stopped at a farm house a few miles from this village, and asked the woman there if Hancock and Adams were not at Clark's Tavern. She said she didn't know of such a place, (she suspected they were secreted at the Rev. Mr. Clark's house) and the man was going away towards Lexington when the wind blew his cloak aside, and she saw beneath it a British officer's uniform. Well, this gave her a hint, and she called back the man and told him she had forgotten before, but there was such a place as Clark's Tavern ; and she went a little way to show him the road to it ; but mstead of sending him in the direction of Clark's house, she led him into the woods, put him on the wrong track, and so prevented his possible discovery of the fugitives.' After shakmg hands with the old soldier, we strolled 4* 42 LEXINGTON towards the Rev. Mr. Clark's house, where Hancock and Adams laj in concealment. Passing under a huge elm, split in sunder, its great limbs lying prostrate across a half deserted garden, we procured admission to the dwell- ing, and were courteously shown over it by some ladies, descendants of its once venerable occupant. It was a very old place (for America,) and had wainscotted rooms, large sashed windows, monstrous fire-places, old-fashioned staircases, and in one room an ancient bedstead and can- opy, which, lover of old relics as I am, it gladdened my eyes to look upon. And there was the good pastor's old arm chair, just as it was when he used to sit in it ; and the great old cumbrous dining table, and many high-back- ed chairs, with knobbed legs ; and on the kitchen shelves were huge pewter plates, looking so delightfully old that I could have made myself hungry after an Artillery Com- pany's feast, for the mere pleasure of eating off them. The very paper on the walls was the original paper, and as I sat in the chair afore-mentioned, I fancied Jonas Clark, with his grave, reverend look, and John Han- cock, the rich, elegant, patriotic, more than princely John Hancock, and Samuel Adams, the last of the Puritans, the angelic voiced* Samuel Adams — all sit- ting in that room, earnestly waiting for tidings, and calmly awaiting the issue of the event on the success of which they had staked so much. But time flew on, and the ancient clock in the corner warned us to retire ; so thanking the ladies for their courtesy, we left the old house, (I hope it will never be pulled down,) and strolled homeward. In our way we visited Hancock's Grove, and stood on * Vide Everett's Address. AXD ITS BATTLE GROUND. 43 the spot where Adams and Hancock witnessed the first blow struck for freedom. It is now a circular space, where those who love pic nies and swinging, do continu- ally resort in the long summer days. Here it was that Adams, on hearing the firing, saw with a prophetic eye the dim dawn of that day whose full flood of radiance was to be poured on a free land, and exclaimed, ' What a glorious morning is this for America ! ' Both of these illustrious men, I believe, lived to see the sun of freedom far ad- vanced in his bright career, and to feel the proud con- sciousness that it had been their prinlege to aid in the toils of those whose glorious aim it was — ' To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes.' A short Avalk over the hill, the patch of rock on whose summit was strewn the relics of Lexington bonfires, brought us to our friend's house once more, where ha\ing cooled our parched throats with some delicious lemonade, brewed by a master (I beg pardon, mistress') hand, and better far than any of the beverages vaunted by that bloated old bard Anacreon, I returned through West Cambridge in the cool of the day, to my home, in the City of Notions, in the pleasant prospect of proceeding on the morrow — ' To fresh fields and pastures new.' 44 A TRIP TO LOWELL. A TRIP TO LOWELL. Taking it for granted that most of tlie readers of the * Journal ' are in some degree, at least, familiar Avith the interesting ' Manchester of America,' as it has, in some respects, not been unaptly designated, I sit down to chronicle the impressions produced by it on mj mind, less for the purpose of affording information than of contrast- ing it with some of the great manufacturing cities in Eng- land, which it one day bids fair to rival in extent, wealth, and importance. And a more striking contrast than that afforded by Manchester, for instance, and Lowell, can scarcely be imagined. A few years since I visited the former town, for it has not yet arrived, large as it is, at the dignity of a city, and I will endeavor, as well as I am able, with pen and ink, to give the reader some description of its appearance. Situated on the little river Iswell, and almost in the centre of a large plain, arises a wilderness of houses, of all sizes, and of all dimensions, and all looking dark and gloomy as prisons. There are colossal buildings con- structed of dark gray stone, whose stories are piled one upon another, until the upper windows are so distant that they resemble pigeon holes. Church spires here and there vary the dark monotony, and immense factories or A TRIP TO LOWELL. 45 mills loom up in all directions, while their tall chimneys belch forth incessantly volumes of the blackest of all pos- sible smoke, from which a sooty shower of flakes falls on streets and on passengers, until they partake of the gen- eral dingy hue. Wherever you go is heard the Avhizzing of innumerable wheels, the smoking of steam-pipes, and the dull rumble of monstrous drags and wagons. Trade there reigns lord of the ascendant, and commerce holds its head quarters. To form any just idea of the magnitude of Manchester, and of the character of its population, it shovdd be entered towards evening. Then every mill is illuminated, and as their countless windows blaze forth, they present a bril- liant spectacle. The black walls are no longer seen, and the canopy of smoke which overhangs all is no longer distinguishable by the eye« At the corners of nearly all the principal streets are gaudy buildings, with enormous lamps, and into these Gin Palaces, as they are called, a continual stream of living beings enter. And oh ! what a wretched procession ! Old men and little children, drabbish women and young girls ; youths of besotted ap- pearance, and men in the very flower of life, bowed do'WTi to the dust, energies quenched, strength prostrated, minds half destroyed. Just follow me into a Manchester gin palace, and let us watch for a moment what is going on. Behind a bar, decorated richly Avith carvings and brass work, multiplied by numerous mirrors, in costly frames, with three or four showy-looking, and flasliily attired females, occupied incessantly in drawing from enormous casks, gaudily painted in green and gold, and bearing seducing names, glasses of spirits, which are eagerly clutched by the trembhng fingers of those who crowd 46 A TRIP TO LOWELL. roimd the counter, gasping as if for breath, for the stimu- ulus of drink. Look at their red, half-raw hps ; their glaring lack-lustre eyes. Listen to their ribald speech, and their profane oaths ; and see how perseveringly those retailers of liquor smile on the victims who swallow the poisons of which they are the purveyors. How minute are some of the glasses on the counter ! - Those are for the children's ' drops,' and when the mills are out, hun- dreds of the wretched-looking little creatures will visit the gin shop for i\\Q\v farthing glass. In such places as these, fortunes are made very speedily, for as yet temperance societies have done but very httle for the factory people. And then stand near one of the factory gates as the people are leaving work. It is a horrible, nay, a revolt- ing sight ! There you may see misery and wretchedness in her most forbidden aspects. Gaunt and half-clad women rush, hke mad creatures, from the doors, and hasten home where their half-idiotic children have been lying since they left them in the morning — half-stupi- fied with Godfrey's cordial. It is painful to think how many children in Manchester are annually killed off by laudanum also. And slatternly girls take their way to fil- thy houses, whilst troops of little children, many of them maimed and deformed, crawl painfully along to their half- satisfying meal — children who have never kno-svn what childhood always should enjoy, fresh air and wholesome food, and kind treatment. Such are some of the features of Manchester as they strike a stranger. How different in every respect is the appearance of Lowell. It was a clear bright morning when I ahghted from the railway car ; and as I walked up the wide street I could scarcely persuade myself that I was in a busy and A TRIP TO LOWELL. 47 fiourisliing manufacturing city. So cleanly, so fresh- looking, so new did every thing appear. The sky above was clear, and the atmosphere so transparent that objects at the greatest distance were plainly discernible. I, all at once as I gazed, became conscious of a great absence of a something, and I could not exactly make out what it was. It could not be the factories, for there they were all around me, with their little bell turrets, their ladders running up the sides and over the roofs ; nor churches, for I saw many white, and glittermg in the simshine. I at last discovered what it was, or rather what it was not. There was no smoke ; and so used had I been to see the columns of sooty vapors curling up, and expanding into a dense cloud, that now I almost wished for it as a finish to the picture before me. A pretty city is Lowell ; and when one considers that but a very few years since, scarcely a quarter of a cen- tury, tlie place on which it stands was a leafy wilderness, through which the picturesque Merrimack wound it way, it is really wonderful to observe what the energy and en- terprise of man have done. "VVliere the boughs of tall trees, laden with verdure, cast flickering shadows, paving, as with mosaic gold, the grass beneath, factories stand, and spindles almost continually revolve. The water nymphs have been scared fi-om their haunts by water wheels, and the sound of the loom is heard where once the Indian rose up at the voice of the bird. Of course I was soon attracted to the mills, but I did not visit their interiors until the following Monday. In- stead of their being situated, as in England, in dingy suburbs, surrounded by low and miserable dwelhngs, where the work people lived, huddled together by hun- 48 A TRIP TO LOWELL. dreds, they were placed in healthful situations, and gar- dens or grass plats around them imparted to them quite a cheerful aspect. The ladders, which I just now alluded to, Avere intended, I afterwards discovered, as fire escapes, in case of the staircases becoming too crowded in the event of an accident. They were all plentifully protected too by hghtning conductors, which stood as sentries over every chimney and angle. I am not aware, by the way, whether any column, or memorial of any kind, has been erected in this country, to the memory of him who drew lightning from the skies and rendered it harmless. It is, however, of little mat- ter, for, as I stood upon the plain flat stone which marks his grave in Philadelphia, and looked at the roofs of the houses around, I could not but think that the philosopher had more monuments than any livmg man, for every little lightning rod which tapered up from house, tower, and steeple, was a more suitable memorial than the proudest production of the sculptor could possibly be ; and there can be but one opinion as to the usefulness of these iron testimonials to the genius of Franklin. Having seen, and with considerable pleasure, too, the * Lowell Offering,' I was of course curious to see the class of persons Avho contributed to and supported a periodical produced under such peculiar cii'cumstances. Accord- ingly, in the company of a friend, I watched the opera- tives of one of the mills as they left it in the evening. As I have alluded to the appearance of the Manchester people under a similar aspect, I need not, for the sake of contrast, again refer to them, and will only observe that if the Lowell girls had belonged to another race of beings, the difference between them and those I had hitherto seen, A TRIP TO LOAVELL. 49 could scarcely have been more marked. All of tlie Low- ell operatives were neatly dressed, and of the hundreds who passed by us I did not notice, although I looked with very in([uisitive eyes, one whose appearance was slat- ternly or repulsive. The countenances of most were intelligent, and those of some indicated a degree of refine- ment, which in Manchester I should have no more looked for than for the appearance of the sun at midnight. But as I shall have occasion in a future paper to say a great deal more about these young ladies, I shall not occupy more space at present with this portion of my sketch. I was quite pleased during my evening perambulation of the streets of Lowell, to observe the good order and general quiet which pervaded every where. Many of the factory girls were taking their walks in pairs or in little groups, and many were busily employed in going from shop to shop — but there were no loiterers (except my- self,) no coarse language was heard any where, and at a very early hour the streets were as quiet as those of a country village. The following day being the Sabbath, I attended one of the churches, and was not altogether surprised to find that the greater proportion of the congregation consisted of females. The building was quite filled, and the utmost attention was paid to the services. A great deal has been written and said abroad respecting the attire of the Lowell operatives, and therefore I looked about, perhaps, a little more than I ought to have done, during the ser- mon ; but, really, I did not observe any thmg at all out of the way. I have seldom, indeed, seen a better dressed set of girls in every respect, and their deportment was far more becoming than that of many who I know would turn 5 60 A TRIP TO LOWELL. up their prettj noses at the idea of a factory girl wear- ing silk stockings. I only wish that we could Lowellise our English factory population, and impart to the poor neglected creatures, who are worse off than the African slave, if possible, some of that refinement, the possession of which renders all classes wiser and better in every respect. I heard much respecting these Lowell girls, and as I looked at them I could not help feeling respect and ad- miration for their many sterling qualities. I was told, too, anecdotes of some of them, which abundantly proved their self-denying virtues, and their true nobility of char- acter. Tales of privation endured, and toils encountered, in order that the embarrassments of a family might be swept away, or the education of a beloved relative be afforded. For obvious reasons I forbear to mention par- ticulars of cases like these — it is enough to know that there are such, and many such, to confirm us in our good opinion and high estimate of the working classes of the mills. Towards the close of the Sabbath I took a quiet walk along the banks of the river, and returning to my hotel, as I passed by some of the corporation boarding houses, I heard the music of a piano-forte. Several female voices united in a hymn tune, which was very sweetly sung — a tunc learned, perhaps, in some pleasant New England village home, and now sung by the far-away factory girls, whose toils Avcrc cheered by the sweet hope of a return to it. Monday morning! The mills are all alive, and in another paper I shall give some account of the hives and the workers. A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. 51 A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. A FEW Sundays since I was invited by a friend, -wlio takes a deep and peculiar interest in such matters, to accompany him on a visit to several of the institutions at South Boston, and I the more readily acceded to his proposal of going, as I was anxious to observe the manner in which such places are conducted here, and to compare or contrast their machinery with that of similar charitable, or reformatory, institutions abroad. Of course it is not my intention to write any thing which may serve as a ' guide ' to the places I visited, for it would be sheer impertinence in me to even attempt to point out the pecvxliarities Avhich are obvious and must be very familiar to most of my readers. My object is simply to note down what particularly struck me on a casual glance, and to give a running commentary consisting of the thoughts and feelings to which such objects gave birth. It was about half past nine o'clock when we drove to the door of a large stone building, erected on a pleasant eminence, which commanded a fine view of Boston harbor. Passing through an entrance hall, we found (or rather my friend did, who seemed particularly well acquainted with the in's and out's of the place) ourselves in a large apartment, lofty and avcII lighted. Along one side of the 52 A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. ■wall ran a gallery, and opposite it was a raised desk, or pulpit, in which at the time was a gentleman occupied in explaining a scriptural chart to a number of children, some of whom were seated in the gallery, and the re- mainder in a space beneath, so situated that those above could not see or hold any communication with those on the floor. Whilst the gentleman in the reading desk, the Rev. Mr. Crowell, was proceeding in liis interesting details, I had time to survey the scene before me. I may as well state that we were now in the school-room, or chapel, of the House of Reformation. The boys in the gallery consisted of children of a tender age, all of whom had been convicted of some petty crime in the local courts. I could not help looking at these yomig offenders with much regard. Many of them were very interesting- looking children — one especially, who sat m the corner of the gallery. I thmk I never saw a face indicative of more imiocence than that of the flaxen-haired boy. A painter might have selected it as a model for an image of purity. But near him were others upon whose young visages crime had already affixed its seal, giving to their faces that peculiar appearance of low cunning and shrewd- ness so often to be observed by those who study physiog- nomy in our local courts. Others again, had stupid, phlegmatic appearances, Avhich seemed to convey the idea that they had entered upon a pathway of crime in blind unconsciousness or carelessness of whither it would lead. And it was, although an interesting, a somewhat painful thought, that while these young human flowers Avere only unfolding their petals, the canker Avorm and the blight A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. 63 had impeded and stunted their moral growth, and that now though ' Some traces of Eden tliey seemed to inherit, The trail of the serpent was over tliem all.' Here, however, in this admirable institution, they were separated from the great worldly flock — penned in a well-watched fold ; and tended by kindly shepherds. Beneath these, on the floor of the room, were another set of lads, known, I believe, as the ' Boylston boys.' They ranged from six to about fourteen years of age, and were either orphans, or children for whom their parents cared little or nothing — waifs from life's wave, now safely sheltered here. By a wise arrangement, no com- mmiication is permitted at any time between this class of boys and those to whom I have just referred. In their studies, employments, and recreations they never meet, and thus there is no chance of moral infection by contact. They were a fine, chubby-looking set of lads, and were evidently far beyond their gallery neighbors in accjuire- ments, as might indeed be expected. The subject of the scripture lecture by the chaplain was the geography of the Holy Land, and as he read a chapter from the New Testament he pointed out the different places referred to in the text, and rendered his interspersed remarks peculiarly interesting. On the con- clusion of the lecture he examined the lads on the subject he had been illustrating, and it was surprising to notice the readiness with which they replied to the various questions put to them. My fellow-visiter then briefly and affectionately addressed the lads, after which they formed 6* 54 A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. into marcliing order, and we proceeded witli them to the chapel, which was beneath the roof of the House of Industry, situated a short distance from the House of Reformation. After an introduction to the gentlemanly and highly intelligent superintendent. Captain Chandler, who with the utmost courtesy afforded me every information, we proceeded to the chapel. It was a plain, neat apartment, with pews on either side, an aisle running down the cen- tre, and a small gallery for the Reformation boys. The Boylston lads occupied seats directly in front of the pulpit, and the remaining pews were filled with poor people, inmates of the house — all clean, and neatly clad. It was saddening to look at some of them, for they had evidently seen better days ; and oh ! if there be two words of really melancholy import in the language, they are these — ' Better days.' What tales they tell of crushed hopes and perished joys, and vanished prospects ! Of desolate firesides, scattered households, lacerated hearts ! Better days ! when Hope lent its enchantment to youth's view' — Hope, whose sepvilchre was now be- neath the ruins of the past — when the coming of old age was looked forward to in a spirit of calm resignation and of cheerful trust. Better days, which had passed away like the morning cloud or the early dew, leaving the sad S})irit to mourn over its desolation. Whilst the van- quished African king, we are told by historians, stood on the verge of the dark mine to which the cruelty of his captors consigned him for the remainder of his days, the barbarians around tore from his ears and nose the jcAvels which hung there, and with them the suspending flesh. As naked, the wretched monarch descended the pit, he A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. 55 murmured In agony, '■lioiv cold!^ So perhaps they feel who stand in old age on the grave's brink, all they loved and prized torn from them while yet alive ; and bleeding, they go down, murmuring in heart, as Jugurtha did with voice, ' How cold ! ' The congregation all seated — the organ, played by a blind female who came for that purpose from the neigh- boring asylum, pealed out its soft and tranquilizing tones, and ' Welcome, delightful morn,' was very sweetly sung by the Boylston boys — and really I have seldom heard better performances from more pretending aspirants to proficiency in the ' art and science of musicke.' Then followed the reading of the scriptures — a prayer, and after another hymn, this time sung by the boys of the House of Reformation, a sermon, which was exceedingly appropriate to the place and people, by the Rev. gentle- man whom I have before named. I could not help admiring the order which prevailed during service, nor being the smallest trifle in the world amused at the gravity of countenance and deportment exhibited by some of the boys. During the prayers they all stood with folded arms and closed ej^es. There was no staring about, as we sometimes see amongst ' children of a larger growth ' — no peerings at pretty faces under pretty bonnets ■ — or inquisitive lookings into adjacent pews during the devotional exercise, but all was serenity and solemness. Some of the little fellows actually seemed to grow old and sedate all at once, and if they had been a little gray-headed, and attired in long, broad- skirted coats, and knee buckles, and had been furnished with walking sticks, they might have passed off very well as Lilliputian grandfathers. 56 A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. In the afternoon we paid a visit to another estahlish- ment, The House of Correction, a place originally designed for the restraint and em2:»loyment of the idle and vicious poor, for habitual drunkards, beggars, vagrants, and those convicted of minor offences in the inferior courts of justice ; but Avhich now assumes more the form of a Penitentiary for the punishment of persons convicted of crimes properly expiable in the State Prison. Persons are sent here for the terms of nine years as a maximum, and for two months as a minimum sentence. We were introduced to the chapel, a rather dreary-looking place, divided in the centre by a partition running its whole length, so that the males and females do not see each other during the hour of worship. A very affectionate sermon was delivered to a congregation of crime, by the Rev. Charles Cleveland, the indefatigable and zealous chaplain, and the utmost order prevailed. As I sat in a pew by the pulpit, a mndow looking out on the harbor, the water of which glittered m the sunshine, was close at my right hand, and the melancholy audience, each individual composing it dressed in the motley livery of the prison- house, fronted me, and as I gazed one moment on the bright sparkling bay, and marked the white sails go glancing by, and now and then saw a free bird sweep on, singing as it went — and then looked on the sad, con- strained, prison-bound expression on the countenances of those before me, a half-melancholy stole over my spirit, and I felt glad that the poor creatures were so placed that they could not be tantalized with the peaceful outside view. When the service closed, the worshippers — if worshippers they were, for I imagine it must be no easy matter to send thoughts up to God — grateful, glad A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. 57 tliovights from such a temple — retired in diiFerent files — tramp, tramp — tramp they Avent away to their cells, each with a bible beneath his arm, to listen to the private instructions of the kind-hearted chaplain, whose very heart seemed in his work, or to cherish their own sad thoughts. I must not omit to express my acknowledgments to Mr. Robbins, the able master of the house, for his courtesy on this, as well as on a subsequent visit, to which I shall presently refer. Calling once more at the House of Industry, we were gratified by hearing the lads sing in the chapel, and after exchanging some little courtesies with the American, English, Irish, Scotch, and V/elch youngsters, and with one remarkably talented youth, a Swede, who we were told, was an excellent and accomphshed linguist, we retired highly gi-atified "with the events of the day. Since then I have paid a week-day visit to these estab- lishments. As I entered the gates, I observed the refor- mation hojs, in their blue dresses, all busily employed in weeding onions, (for it was vacation time) an occupation which was alternated with other employments of the kind, and with play. I was much gratified in going over the building and examining the large and commodious sleep- ing rooms, from every window of which beautiful views were commanded, and which admitted constant streams of pure and pleasant air. There is also a very well-selected library, and a small museum. Descending to the lower regions we saw the victualhng departments, all so clean, that to use a common expression, ' one might eat off the very boards,' looked into the laundry, and poked our nose into all manner of 68 A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. useful places. We now proceeded to the House of Indus- try, when Capt. Chandler escorted us over the buildmg, and really it was quite delightful to witness the comforts of the aged inmates, and to listen to the kind Avords addressed to them by the superintendent. The little rooms were neatly furnished, and looked quite cheerful ; pictures hung on the walls ; and we Avere told that so attached were some of the old ladies to their particular rooms, that a removal from one to another was looked upon as quite a calamity. As we walked about we- met one silent and sad-looking woman, who, it seems, in her sixty-fifth year, became the victim of a tender passion which she conceived for a good-looking pauper who worked at the house. Notwithstanding her age, she indulged in all the lack-a-daisy-ism of a love sick lass of seventeen, and so intense was her strangely taken up affection, that the poor old girl's mind sank under its force, and she became what she now is — an idiot ! I observed, as I passed on, a colored woman perfectly crippled, and so helpless that she could not move a step without help, about to be removed to a carriage, which was to convey her from the building of which she had been an inmate four years, and which she was now about to quit, to take the charge of a child ! As we passed her, she said, with much earnestness, ' God bless you, Captain Chandler ! You have been a father to me ! ' and I believe in one sense she spoke truth, for the pleasant looks of the people, Avhenever he appeared, convinced me that, unlike many persons holding such an office, he was more loved than feared. The appomtments of the house were in all respects admirable ; but I have no time to dwell on details, and we were compelled to curtail our A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. 59 visit in order to visit the workshops of the House OF Correction. Here I found extensive manual operations going on in various departments of hibor. Under a large shed were stone masons, engaged in shaping huge blocks of granite ; in another department brass nails were fabricated ; and in a third division horn buttons were manufactured. The system of discipline seemed to be very judicious, and the most perfect order and neatness appeared every where to prevail. On our return we passed through the grounds of the Houses of Industry and Keformation, where the boys were engaged in picking strawberries for the Boston market. The urchins labored Avell in their vocations ; and although I watched them pretty closely, not one of the luscious berries did I see appropriated to their own purposes. Captain Chandler had the kind look and the good word for every one of the boys, and the poor little fellows seemed highly to value his approval. I never saw boys under such perfect command, and yet the only law which governed them Avas that of kindness. There was one rather heavy-looking lad to whom Captain Chandler directed my attention ; he was half an idiot, but possessed remarkable talent for skctchmg. He was called to me, and on the cover of a strawberry box he drew, in a few moments, a horse, with very great spuit and taste. He had the true artist touch. ' I wish, sir,' said he to me, ' that they wovdd put me to the drawing trade.'' And it is really a pity that his taste shovdd not be cultivated, for I do not doubt that he would turn out a ' somebody,' if care Avere taken. ' AYould you like some pencils and drawing paper, Peter ? ' I asked. 60 A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. ' Oh ! sliould n't I ? ' replied Peter, with energy, and his dark ejes flashed with pleasure. I promised to send him some, and left him, feeling, as I often have felt before, that — ' Many a flower is born to blush unseen.' Who knows how many incipient Allstons there may be in such places as these ? Thus have I rapidly and sketchily gone over these institutions, not in the expectation of throwing new light upon their histories or present state, but with a view of acquiring mformation, and perhaps of imparting a portion of it to some whose occupations prevent their enjoying a visit to places like these, which, although close at their doors, are on that very account too often unvisited. It often happens that scenes near home are more unfamiliar than those at a distance ; but tliis should not be, for much enjoyment is afforded to travellers by the force of contrast ; at least I have found it so ; and I know I should not have half so much enjoyed my examination of these Boston institutions if I had not previously made myself in some degree familiar "vvith similar estabhshments in my own land. BOSTON COMMON. 61 BOSTON COMINION — A TALK AND A WALK ABOUT IT. It would almost seem a work of supererogation to pen a paragraph in praise of Boston Common, so universally is its beauty acknowledged — and yet it is difficult to repress exclamations of delight when remembering its * verdurous boAvevs,' (if indeed the grateful shade cast by its noble trees can be assimilated to any tiling like flowers,) or its bright broad expanse of green. Let the good people of New York talk as they will about their ' Battery,' and few Avill, I imagine, be disposed to question the attractions of that fine promenade, they cannot make the Common sufter by the comparison. Indeed, they may be better contrasted than compared. To my mind the City of Notions possesses the more charming promenade of the two. I know of only one place wliicli almost equals it in beauty — almost I say, for it is not so rich in trees as is the Common. I refer to Chippenham Mead, on the banks of the Wye, in South Wales, and close to the town of Momnouth. It was there that the poet Gray used to walk, and he called it, in his enthusiasm, ' the delight of my eyes, and the very seat of pleasure.' And truly, a more delightful locality it must be hard to find. I have often strolled over it, as the author of the ' Elegy m a Country Churchyard ' did, years before, treading in the 6 62 BOSTON COMMON. very pathway which he frequented, whilst the heautiful river sang its low song as it did years ago to his finely- tuned ear. Like the Common, it is the property of the town, and like it, too, seldom enough frequented by those to whom it is calculated to be a real blessing. As I was strolling through the leafy arcades of Boston Common a few evenings since, and watching with curious and pleased eyes the throngs who passed me by, my fancy took unto herself wings and flew away to the times when a former generation paraded there — when the noble trees, which now form such natural and graceful arches over- head, roofing the broad aisles with their masses of foliage, through which the flickering sunbeams paved the walks with a kind of mosaic gold, were young, or newly planted — and when many whose names are yet familiar sauntered there in all the pride of youth and beauty. Then, grave men, habited in quaint appareling, rested from the labors of the long day, and conversed of their old times, as we do now of ours ; whilst children, long ago in their graves, listened to oracular sayings and prophetic anticipations. There, in ' the times when George the Third was King,' did the sturdy colonists repair to discuss grievances and suggest remedial measures — and there, too, did political astronomers resort in order to watch the advent of star after star in their hemisphere, and to watch the gradually increasing dawn which preceded the rising of the Sun of Liberty. Look at yonder house, which still retains its antique appearance, and see coming from its door John Hancock, accompanied by some chosen friends. Mark the grave earnestness of their counte- nances and the almost solemn air of each of them, as they slowly pace the Common. They are discussing a mighty BOSTON COMMON. 63 question, for the freedom of millions is the theme of their debate. Samuel Adams is also there, and his sweet, persuasive voice strikingly contrasts with the boldness of Hancock's tone. Patriotic men ! they already saw in the dim distance some indications of the greatness which was to be achieved. And doAvn they sit, within the shade of the Liberty Tree, whose branches wave cheerily above them, until sunset, when, in accordance with the custom of those good old times, they seek their homes, leavmg the Common to those who prefer the moonlight for the purposes either of love, or a ' lark.' And doubtless many a tale of love has been whispered in the Mall — why should it not have been so ? Only fancy a youthful pair walking through those pleasant pathways in the early morning, before the city is awake, and when a thousand birds are smging amidst the branches. Such music is, we all of us know, the ' food of love ; ' and for my own part I know of no pleasanter place than Boston Common to take it in. It must have been quite rural, too, in the old time, for we arc told that in 1646, seventy milch kine were allow^ed to be kept there. Indeed, its original purposes were specified as a place for ' a training field, and the feeding of cattle.' It was only so late as eighteen hundred and thirty-three that a city ordinance forbade this quadruped occupation of the Common. Connected with this cattle reminiscence of Boston Common, an anecdote is related of an old lady, who was once unexpectedly called upon to entertain as guests of her husband, whose mansion overlooked the Common, a large party of French officers, belonging to the Comit d'Estang's fleet; her energies, it seems, rose with the 64 BOSTON COMMON. emergencies of the occasion. ' And what do you think,' she >Y0uld say, ' I did for the cream and milk to serve a breakfast for such a party ? Why, I sent out my servants with orders to milk all the cows on the Common, and told them, if any body asked them any questions, to tell them to send their bills to Governor Hancock.' But let us come back to modem times • — to our o^vn day — and let us take a bird's-eye view of the Common, and for that purpose we Avill ascend to the dome of the State House, Avhich looms up like a little Saint Paul's. Stay — and before we mount let us admire the statue of Washington, by Chantrey ; the philosopher, statesman, and soldier, delineated by the great sculptor 1 Chantrey was seldom great himself, excepting in a bust ; but on this statue of the ' Father of his Country,' he seems to have bestowed considerable pains and care. It is chaste and dignified, and well may the Bostonians be proud of possessing so fine a work of art. Now, then, after inscribing our names, let us ascend the staircase, and lo ! panting and perspiring, we are at last at our journey's end. And what a glorious panorama is presented to our view ! At our feet is the Common, in all its beauty, with its tiny pedestrians. The Frog Pond glistens in the sunshine ; and the ' great elm ' — a magnificent tree — stands conspicuously out from amongst its sjdvan neigh- bors. Three sides of the Common are bounded by brick and mortar, where merchant-princes reside, in homes to which commerce has invited genius and taste ; but the fourth lies open to the country, and is Avashed by the bright waters of Charles River bay ; the cheerful villages of Roxbury, Brookline, Brighton, and Cambridge, may be seen m the distance — their white houses sparkling from BOSTON COMMON. 65 amidst groves of green— and here and there graceful spires taper up, their vanes glittering like burnished gold. What a glorious prospect from this little cupola ! but I shall not plagiarize from the guide booh, by describing it. Let no Bostonian neglect to avail himself of the elevation, and no stranger should leave the city without partaking of the great and gratuitous pleasure of a view from the summit of the State House. I have -witnessed a number of what are called fine sights in my time — I have been present at the Queen's coronation, and at other such imposing spectacles, but I can, in all sincerity, aver that none ever }^elded me so much pleasure as the view on Boston Common on the evening of the recent Fourth of July. The sun was rapidly sinldng as I passed through the gates and mixed with the multitude, who pressed on toAvards the spot where the fireworks were to be exhibited. And as I stood on the eminence near the Pond, what a magnificent sight met my gaze. At the least one hundred and fifty thousand persons must have been present. I am certain there were as many as this, for I have often witnessed immense gatherings out of doors, both in England and in Ireland, and may claim to be a judge. All were attracted to one centre, and yet the whole of the Common was alive with people ; the crowd being densest, of course, near the fireworks, the frame-work of which stood in black rehef against the sky, like a fantastic temple. But what perfectly astonished me was the order which ever^^where prevailed. It was a perfectly new feature, at least to me, in such a vast assemblage. In England it would be absolutely impossible for such a mass to have assembled without the ears being pained with profanity, 6* 66 BOSTON COMMOISr. and the eyes insulted by indecency. In Ireland, I need not say that so7iie disturbance must have ensued. Per- haps in Scotland the nearer approach to such order might be found ; but even there it Avould be only in the rural districts. In the course of the evening, although I kept a good look-out, I saw nothing approaching even to any violation of the rules of propriety, nor offensive to those of taste. Not a single oath, or an improper word did I hear, and there was nowhere to be seen an ill-dressed person. Good humor was prevalent everywhere, and smiles Hghted up each countenance. As darkness came on, the only noises to be heard proceeded from the squibs of little boys, who let them oif in the crowd, to the amusement of all, and the injury of no one. As every now and then I saw a flash and heard a report, it seemed as if hundreds of bottles of luminous ' pop ' were being uncorked. Then the bands pealed forth their music, and harmony went hand-in-hand with rejoicings. In my conscience, I do not conceive that such a spectacle as Boston Common presented that evening, could be par- alleled in the world. Everybody was his o-wn pohceman, and the duty Avas exceedingly well performed. On the termination of the festivities, the crowd retired in perfect order ; and the stars, which had been very tranquilly looking on, whilst the rockets sent forth their brilliant showers, shone down upon the deserted Common, because, as Lover says in ' Molly Bawn,' ' they 'd nothing else to do.' Many glorious sights have been mtnessed on Boston Common. One of them I should particularly hke to have seen. I refer to the scene which must have presented itself when George Whitefield preached there. I can BOSTON COMMON". 67 imagine the calm Sabbatli eve — the crowd of worship- pers, beneath a cloudless skj — the fervid preacher's appearance, as he read the hymn of praise — ■ and the singing of the vast multitude. I can see Whitefield, as he stood, with his little bible in one hand, the other point- ing to the blue concave above, and hear him, as now with the persuasive tones of an angel, he pauits the bliss of Paradise, and anon, with the thunder of his eloquence, wakes up the sleepers on the brink of perdition. White- field, whenever he could, chose picturesque situations for the scene of his labors ; and Boston Common was just the place for him. On such an occasion it must have been good to have been there. A happy name is that ■ — ' Boston Common.'' There is nothing exclusive about it, and the tenii emphatically implies that it is, what it indeed is, common' — to the rich and the poor — common as the breezes which sweep along its surface, and the sky which smiles above it. It is the great Lung to the throbbing city-heart, and the organ in which the renovating and healing influences are to be found — a place where care may be for a while banished, and in which anxiety may smooth his ruffled brow. It is alike a resort of j^outh and age — for the frivolist and the philosopher. Innocence may sport there without soiling its beautiful garments — and there the grief that comes with years may find solace and relief. Fortunate was Boston in having had far-sighted men for its founders, and doubly fortunate are those, who can with pride remember the wisdom of their ancestors, as they realize the enjoyments Avhich, in the benevolence of their hearts, they planned. 68 A TRIP TO NAHANT. A TRIP TO NAHANT. A BRIGHT, clear, hot, shadowless day ! a day when the dwellers in cities, sit gasping behind green blinds, or lounge in perspiratory perplexity in rocking chairs and on sofas. The only active beings in existence are the flies, and they fully justify the ancients, who in their hieroglyphics adopted those buzzing plagues as the symbol of Impudence. The streets are half deserted, for the thermometer stands at a hundred. Sellers of soda w^ater rejoice, and the venders of ice creams enter warmly into their vocation. Sidewalk and slate, bricks and blocks of granite illustrate practically the theory of reflected heat, and visions of cool places and verdurous solitudes appear to the mind's eye of parched-up pedestrians. Every body is gone out of town, and feeling, whilst Ave lean against the door of the Athenseum, like the last rose of summer, left blooming alone, and hearing the whiz of steam from the boat at the foot of Pearl street, we suddenly make a desperate effort and reach the boat as she is pushing off" from Liverpool wharf. We are bound for Nahant ! There are motley groups on the deck of the little steamer ■ — fat elderly gentlemen take it easily, and stout mati-ons with ' shining afternoon faces,' puff" in concert with the steam-pipe. A lot of rowdyish-looking young men occupy the front of the boat, the deck of which they A TRIP TO NAIIANT. 69 convert into a ' monstre ' spittoon ; and smartly-dressed ' gents ' (excuse, reader, the dapper diminutive) sit aft, paying the pohtest of attentions to the prettiest of Yankee girls ' — 'happy-looking children are staring -with all their eyes at the sea, as we glide along past island and fort, and at length having steamed through a narrow channel, we emerge into a Avide expanse of water, and Nahant stretches before us like a long arm thrown out into the Atlantic, the Hotel being grasped like a toy house in its fist. A wild and singular-looking place it is at the first glance — there it stands, a huge rock, around which the Atlantic rolls and raves ; and standing on the point just beyond the Hotel, the vastness of old Ocean is in a measure comprehended whilst remembering that between the spot where your foot rests and Cape Clear, more than three thousand miles off, there is not a spot on which the sea bii"d may alight and rest his wearied Avings. When one's home lies beyond the blue waters, I need scarcely say that one wishes for long sight, or the gift of clair- voyance. But I must not sentimentalize' — let us look around on this beautiful scene, as the ocean breezes cool our brows. It would be alisurd in me to enter hito any description of Naiiant. Every body hereabout knoAVS every thing about it, from the time when it was sold by Poguaniuim, the Sagamore, to Farmer Thomas Dexter of Lynn, for a suit of clothes, mitil these present times, when the wolves which abounded here afford no more sport, and AA'hen the Puritan spirit has passed aAvay, Avhich prosecuted in 1088 one Robert Page of Boston, for ' settinge saille from Nahant, in his boate, ])eing loaden Avith Avood, thereby profainmg the Lord's Daye.' 70 A TRIP TO NAHANT. Having secured comfortable quarters at the Naliant Hotel, I sauntered towards the rocks, and ere long found mjself at the entrance of the Swallow's Cave. It is a romantic place, but the influx of visitors had scared away the birds which gave the place its name. Passing through it, Pulpit Rock, a huge pile of stone, the upper part of which is something like a desk, on which great books of stone lie, came in view, and at the base of it I sat dovm. to admire the wild scenery around. The rocks about Nahant are very picturesque, both as regards shape and color. They are white and green, blue and red, purple and gray, and, in some places, as the guide book says, ' very black and shining, having the appearance of iron.' Whilst I was occupied in picking my way amongst the deep fissures, caverns, and grottoes formed by them, the sky became gradually darkened, and a thunder storm came on, to avoid which I retreated into the Swallow's Cave, where I enjoyed a magnificent view of a ' white squall,' as it swept along the waters hke a sheeted ghost, and disappeared in the distance with the usual spectral accompaniments of thunder and lightning. A fine place it is among these rocks to study the now fashionable science of Geology ■ — fashionable even amongst ladies, whose little geological hammers we hear clinking wherever specimens are deemed procurable. Some peo- ple consider this same geology a dry topic, but looking at it merely with the eye of an amateur, I cannot agree with them — it is the grandest species of antiquarianism — but there are two kinds of antiquaries in the world, fools and wise men, one class valuing the relic for its own sake, the other for its associations with periods he can never know but by the dim reflex of history, and into which such A TRIP TO NAHANT. 71 relic, corn, bone, statue, or whatever it may be, more strongly transports men of vivid imaginations. Whilst the thunder storm is passing over us, let us stay in the Swallow's Cave, and seated on one of these eternal rocks, try to conjure up the pre-Adamite landscape, (which existed hundreds of years before the Indian hunted on these shores) with its flying monsters, (real dragons) with all its Brobdignag features, animate and inanimate. A little distrust, I confess, I feel of those learned resurrection men, Buckland, Silliman, and company, who composed a terrific animal so easily out of scattered relics, but the enormous bulk of the disjecta membra proves itself, and wonder has food enough in contem})lating them, per se, without pinning our faith on the sleeve of an enthusiast, who may force into conjunction members which a few hundreds of thousands of years divided in reality — but let that pass. A strange flight, the reader will say, from this little Swallow Cave of Nahant, to the planet ' Earth Universe.' Seriously, however, one sometimes finds a strange comfort in sending the soul back into antiquity — that of Rome or Greece for example — then back still into the twilight time of Hercules and Orpheus, till outstripped in this backwark flight, Romulus and Alexander become mod- erns. At last we reach an antiquity that modernises even those half-human, half-fabulous, elder brothers of ours. I mean the antiquity of this planet, of w^hich we get a^\'ful ghmpses by that wonderful dissection of our mother earth, yclept Geology. What are ivied ruins, Norman, or even British wrecks of castles, cromlechs, and all we have been fancying ancient before, while we look at the skeleton of a 72 A TRIP TO NAHANT. mammoth ? The battle of Hastings has just been fought, (the newsboys have harcllj ceased crymg ' bloody news ' in the street.) The fine young Prince Edward — the Black Prince — master Edward has just donned his armour, and looks very well in it, and that bad boy Dick has had Jiis doffed for him at Bosworth, and looked uglier than ever, slung across a horse like a calf. As to Carac- tacus, he was our elder brother certainly, but we recollect him very well. Hercules and Theseus we have but faint recollections of ; they were before our time of memory ; but as belonging to this very identical stratum of this many stratified globe's crust, we smile at all of them as pretenders to venerability. And without vagaries like these, let me ask, does not a mind, rapt as it were, into a distance of time so vast, that it seems to penetrate far into eternity, lose all remembrances of itself, and ranging through the ruins of generations, of species, and even of the surfaces they inhabited, (now land, now ocean, and presently dry land and life again) regard even the fall of empires, as trivial accidents ; a falhng dynasty as one dropping leaf in a forest, and, learning to contemplate this planet in its elements only, as part of the solar system, return to its single petty hope, blasted or cro^wTied, with wonder at its former importance prior to tliis excursion ? But lo ! ' the storm is over and gone,' and a ' rainbow based on ocean, spans the sky ; ' there are two quotations for you, reader, worth not a little. Let us visit Irene's Grotto. It is a singular and rude archway of rock, forming an entrance to a cave, half demolished by those who have stolen the stone-work of the roof for utihtarian purposes. There is notliing here which calls for particu- lar attention, so we will just go and hsten to the roaring A TRIP TO NAHANT. i6 of the -waters in the ' Cauldron,' as they boil and foam below. This is a place which the spirit of the storm visits when ' flying winds are all abroad.' It is too calm now for me to hear much, but it must be a fine place for spirits to revel in when the Storm-King's legions dash in their fury over this iron-bomid shore. We have visited the Castle Rock, which is situated on the northeastern side of Nahant, at the extremity of Cedar point. It looks something like the front of an old castle, with its huge bastions and buttresses. By the aid of a little fancy we might see the warders on the walls, and witness arrow flights from the loop holes ; but the sea-bird is its only inhabitant, and the wail of ocean resomids there, instead of the clang of mailed feet, and the cry of battle. The SpouTiNa Horn is merely a winding fissure in the shape of a horn, passing into a deep cavern under the rock. Through a tunnel the water is driven into this cavern, and thence ejected through another fissure with great force. Coleridge should have been here to hear the old deity ' wind his wreathed horn.' During a great easterly storm the scene here must be amazingly fine. But perhaps there is nothing more attractive in and about Nahant than its beaches, one of which connects great with the little Nahant, and the other, little Nahant with the town of Lynn. The former is only about half a mile in length, very smooth and beautiful ; and the latter, betw^een two and three miles in length, forming a cavise- way of fine shining sand, hard and smooth — so hard that in driving over it, the horses' hoofs make scarcely any impression, and so dehghtfuUy smooth that jou glide over it without a somid. When the tide has lately receded, 7 74 A TRIP TO NAHANT. the surface, owing to its power of retaining moisture, appears like an immense mirror ; and as the horse and vehicle pass noiselessly over it, and perfectly reflected below, one seems to be travelling in ' Cloixdland — gorgeous land,' for there is ' blue above and blue below,' every cloudlet which passes over the expanse of heaven like a floating island in a sea of light, being faithfully mirrored in this monstrous ocean looking-glass. The visitor to Nahant will find many sources of enjoy- ment, albeit the place is so small. The appearances produced by atmospheric phenomena are frequently of the most interesting kind ; such as the Parhelia, or Mock Suns, the Mirage, and the Fata Morgana ; and we now add to these wonders that of the Sea Serpent ! which veritable chroniclers declare to have been often seen off the Point since 1819, but which I was disappointed in Seeing in 1845. But I must lay down my pen, and I do so, referring the reader, who may be desirous of acquiring further information respecting Nahant, to a httle book by the ' Lynn Bard,' in which all, I presume, that can be inter- esting, is made knoAvn. For my own part, after a day and a night at this delightful spot, I returned to Boston invigorated both in body and mind ; but Avhich latter fact the reader may possibly doubt from the perusal of this rambhng and discursive paper. LOWELL MILLS, ETC. 75 LOWELL MILLS, AND THE MILL-OCHACY. I HAVE, in your company, kind and courteous reader, wandered through the streets of this pretty and pleasant city of spindles ; have indulged in sundry musings by the bright and babbling river, which, winding among hills and through valleys, makes itself remarkably useful in your locality. And now I entreat your patience whilst we thread our way through these monster manufactories which give importance to the city, and without which, indeed, the city would not be. One might as well expect a body to fulfill all the functions of ^dtahty without a heart, as Lowell to exist without its mills. Cotton Mills ! In England the very words are synonymous with misery, disease, destitution, squalor, profligacy, and crime ! The buildings themselves are huge edifices which loom like gigantic shadows in a smoky, dense atmosphere. Around them are wretched houses, and places of infamous resort ; and blasphemies and curses are the common language of those who fre- quent them. How different from the neighborhood in which we now are, where the only sound which is heard above the whirling of spindles, and the clatter of ma- chinery, is the chirp of the locust or the song of the robin. 76 LOWELL MILLS, It is ' ten of the clock,' and we are in the counting room of the ' Middlesex ' Corporation ; and having placed ourselves under the wing of one of the Cotton Lords, who has courteously intimated his intention of being our guide, we proceed to the building where broadcloths are manufactured. What a terrific series of thumpings the great wheel gives as with slow and stately movement it goes round. The workman has lifted up some planks and we see the mighty machine on its mercantile march, never accel- erating nor slackening its pace ; dripping as with cool perspiration, ' It never tires nor stops to rest, But round and round it nins,' a great organ or brain, from which hundreds of nervous filaments and ganglia are given off to the very extremities of the body mechanical. In the lower part of the building, the processes of washing and dyeing are carried on, and aU engaged in these occupations looked like so many animated blue-bags. Leaving this ' Blue Stocking Hall,' we mount a flight of stairs, and in a long room our senses are half dizzied by the noise of looms and machines of more names than I will venture to recount. Shuttles fly in all directions ; and we listen with pleased wonder to the descriptions of our friend who is ol)liged to bawl his information into ears miused to the sounds of Spindledom. Then there were carding machines of strange and mysterious structure which performed their duties in so astonishingly easy a manner, that the girls who stood looking at them seemed almost to be works of supererogation. And they would AND THE MILL-OCRACY. 77 have been useless too, only for a careless and slj way these machines had of snapping a thread or so now and then, just as if they wanted an excuse for stopping to peer into the pretty faces around, and dally with the fair fin- gers which just touched them, as if chidingly, and set them going on again as though nothing had happened. It was really wonderfully curious to observe how instanta- neously one of these machines stopped, when only a blender thread — one of many hundreds — broke, just like a child of mortality, whose frame contains 'A thousand springs, And dies if one be gone,' It seemed akin to intelligence, but one must wonder at nothing now, when thought travels on a \dve with lightning for its private and confidential secretary, and a machine in London makes latin hexameters ' to order.* Staircase after staircase we mounted, and room after room we examined, and were being constantly put into great perplexities by what we saw. And when any thing and every thing was explained to us, we nodded our head with an air of great sagacity, just as if we had a thorough knowledge of ' all about it,' and were rather gratified to find that our companion was eipially well acquainted with matters and things. Then there was considerable diffi- culty in preventing our coat tails from being nipped by cogged wheels which showed their teeth as if longing for a meal of ' devil's dust.' At length we visited the press- ing rooms, and inspected the variously patterned cloths, looking all the while as much like merchants who were about to purchase as possible, and finally we descended to 78 LOWELL MILLS, the court varcl, with a confused sound in our ears, and bkie lights dancing before our ejes. But perhaps the reader will exclaim, ' Wliat of the operatives?' — you have passed them by unnoticed — the most interesting feature of the establishment you have omitted to mention ! ' Not so fast, my anxious friend. After we have gone all through the garden, we will discourse of the flowers ! Perhaps the mills, where finer fabrics are woven, afford the greatest treats to visitors — so let us take a view of the ' Hamilton,' or the ' Merrimack.' The reader may fancy whilst reading that he is in either — the arrange- ments of all are so nearly alike. After mounting a staircase so beautifully clean, that, to use a common phrase, one ' might eat off the boards,' we entered a spacious apartment, filled from one end to the other with looms and ladies, as far as the eye covdd see. The former machines were in rapid motion. Hundreds and thousands of spindles v.'ere revolving with such velocity, that owing to an optical deception produced by the rapid motion, each looked like a little model of the ' pillar of cloud,' enclosed in a glass shade. To and fro ran the shuttles between the threads, like a livmg thing, jumping miceasingly from one side to the other of its wire-barred cage. Whirl, whirl, whirl, went a thousand pinions, and delicate hands caught hold of spoked wheels which revolved as if they were running a race, and never intended to stop, just in the nick of time. In one part of the room young girls were bending over machines much like tambour frames, and very graceful they looked, too, as the ladies did m old times, when they sat at their ' broidery.' To be sure, at Lowell there were no recesses, AND THE MILL-OCRACY. 79 and no windows tlirough whose painted glass the sunbeams passed, turning the polished oaken floor, as it were, to radiant gems — nor were there gaily-dressed gentlemen with pointed beards and slashed hose, and feathers in their caps, playing on lutes, and citterns or guitars. No, nothing of the kind. Nor had the young operatives velvet bodices, or laced stomachers, or high-heeled shoes, or quilted petticoats. But better far, they had healthy, good-humored, pretty faces, and honestly-earned habili- ments ; and yes, I will say it, as nicely-shaped feet and neatly-turned ancles, as one might witness in a Duchess's drawing room. There, in the windows, instead of painted crystal, were flowers, and shrubs, and creeping green things, so that the place looked like an exliibition room, half horticultural and half mechanical, whilst the living creatures around tended both, for which, in return, the looms transmuted by an industrious kind of alchemy their toil into gold, and the green leaves and the flowers shed a cheerfulness around, and made the poetry of the place. Poetry in the mills ! Aye, there is plenty of it for the seekhig. It is no exotic, but a flower which blooms everywhere. Just sit down by this machine, from which is flowing a rivulet of whitest carded wool, soft as a snow flake, and gaze on those ' factory girls.' You do not see one unhappy face — not a furrowed brow— -not a tearful eye. There they stand, not in enchanted gardens — not in halls of giddy revelry — not in places where the atmos- phere only nourishes sickly sentimentality. They are all in the noblest of paths — the path of duty. With a noble energy they have flung aside all false feeling, and rightly deeming that labor is honorable, they spend here the long hours of the day in the exercise of happy industry, and in the enjojTuent of a cheerful hope. 80 LOWELL MILLS, Look at yonder dove-like-eyed girl, who is just dexter- ously mending a broken thread — just mark that open brow, and that beautifully-shaped head, and don't forget whilst you are looking, to admire those graceful shoulders, and that fairy figure, not pinched up like an hour-glass, but left to grow as God pleases, and tell me, Avhether she does not look a thousand times more beautiful, factory girl as she is, than the high-bred syren whom we heard a few nights since, warbling Italian songs, and playing undescribable waltzes. The flush of youth and heart- happiness is on her cheeks, and her eye lights up as she pauses amidst her work, and thinks of the far-away home among the green mountains — a home Avherein the old folks are enabled partly through her, to sit cosily down by the ' ingle nook.' A home which she has helped them to make their own. Aye — often she goes back, spite of the spmdles around her, and whilst her hand mechanically works, to the sweet hill-side, and she sees the brook, the ■well-known brook, flowing on to its own music, now in light and now in shade, but whether in either, singing like a contented mind. She hears the small bird among the branches, and all the old familiar sights and sounds return to her, and gladden her pure mind. Perhaps she has a brother — some thoughtful-browed, bookish lad, Avho sits quietly brooding over books, and whose highest ambi- tion it is to stjxnd in the sacred desk and preach ' peace on earth and good will to man.' She remembers that promising lad, and with a sister's affection she counts the hours less long, and the toil less monotonous, because she is enabled by means of her exertions to gratify the heart's desire of one wlio is so dear to her. And then when work hours are over, there are letters to write, and on AND THE MILL-OCRACY. 81 Sabbath, during the intervals of worship, there are thoughts of home and the old parish church, to cher- ish — and hope which ' springs eternal in the human breast,' cheers her. Love, too, may fling some flowers on her pathway, for the darling deity is not to be scared away by the sound of wheels. And now, reader, is there no poetry in a cotton mill ? ' Look at these young persons,' said the estimable gentleman avIio accompanied me through the mill which I first alluded to — ' there is not one bad-looking face in it ' — and it was so — every eye was bright with virtue and intelligence — there were no down looks, nothing to make you think of the line — 'Dark ^ice would turn abash'd away;' but every face was open and fair as the day. Honest independence Avas inscribed on every brow, and it did my heart good to hear the same gentleman say, ' I am under as much obligations to these girls, as they are to me — they give me the full value for what I give them.' But there are other places worth seeing, and we are on our way to the carpet factory, escorted by a kind friend who has sufficient influence to ensure our admittance, for it is not the easiest matter to see the carpet-weaving. It would be perfectl}' absurd in me to attempt any descrip- tion of the machinery, at which I stared in monstrous surprise. Talk of Arabian Nights — why the wonders of the Eastern tales were nothing to the miracles of a carpet power-loom, where shuttles, filled with different colored threads, ran hither and thither without hands, and with such celerity that brilhant flowers grew beneath the eye, as if by magic. The scene was very lively, and as 82 LOWELL MILLS, ETC. the young ladies, who attended the looms, stood sur- rounded by their brilliant fabrics, they appeared like so many overgrown Fairies, making enchanted carpets for some young Prince, whose castle, like Aladdin's, Avas to spring up in a night. Having glanced our fill at these pretty specimens of human Arachnoida> , we were shown the power-loom, invented by Dr. Bigelow for weaving Brussels carpet. How on earth it could enter into the heart of man to conceive such a complicated affair, I cannot imagine. Unluckily it was not at work Avhen I saw it, but the gen- tleman who accompanied us, explained the principle, which I vainly endeavored to comprehend. To do so, one had need of just such a head as the inventor. Somewhat wearied with sight-seeing, we left the mills and paid a pleasant visit to the Hospital — and surely never was an institution of the kind more delightfully situated. I had been used in visiting such places, to see sick people in wards, but I do not remember to have seen, until now, hospital patients in parlors, some of which looked out to a spacious garden. I received the most polite attention from Dr. Kimball and his amiable and gifted lady, and after spending a pleasant brace of hours, repaired to the ' Stone House,' with which place I have already made my readers acquainted. Thus end my reminiscences of Lowell — a city which I took a strange liking to when I first entered it — a liking which a better acquaintance with it has not diminished. Should I ever visit it again, I shall, I feel assured, reap new harvests of knowledge, and if I do not, I shall not soon forget the kindness of persons in it, who always made my stay there so delightful, that the worst part of the place was the road which led/ro/w it. THE STATE PRISON. 83 THE STATE PRISON. A SHORT time since, at the invitation of a friend, I accompanied him, on a fine summer's afternoon, to that gloomv abode at Charlestown, known as the State Prison ; and, within the last day or two, having again inspected the place, I propose to make my visits the subject of some sketchy remarks, which I hope may not be altogether uninteresting. On my first visit, I had been amongst the woods near INIalden for some days previously, enjoying natural sights and rural sounds, and felt any thing but disposed to drive away pleasant recollections by the sight of iron bars, and stone Avails, and melancholy prisoners ! The very word grated unpleasantly on my ear, after I had been so lux- uriathig in the blessings of freedom. Prisoners on that bright, sunny day ! Could it be that living human behigs were shut out from their kind — from the streets, the fields, an, -^ A .-^ ^^ , N' C ^/ ^^' cy ^ V « ^ *?> V'' %■ 'OO' \\ -7^ -< ft * ■> »!>'-' N '^ %# :/ : 'J' ^■N r/, v^ A-^ -^^^ ■/ ^ ,-^^ ■&'■ %' .^^■ * A \ 0^'^^^yr^^-'^ ■^^ %■ "** aV ^„ r^^^o^^ r ,v.. * -^^ ^ <> . ^ * ,A Xv. a'^ .,4 -r, .0-' •r ^ « ' >• \ ^'^ °^, V 5 0" V s ^ ^>^^' N^'^' ^-^.- .\V „ o A' ;f: ••D^ '^ / c - ^'/1 .?^ ■? -5^^ ..:^ -^c. ,x^^' '^-. %!- * « 1 » ' V' s • • / ^ ^ o^ V '^ ^ - ^ ' ^ ' O , . * /\ ^O .-J> >}>^ ^ N C ' ^ 0°"^ .i\^ . N I. .vV