The number of beggarly-looking negroes and negresses would have afforded her ample scope for contemplation and description. We crossed the harbor, in which rode a sixty-four-gun flag-ship, and arrived at the house of one Mr. Paul. This was the best hotel in Halifax, yet with great difficulty we obtained one room with four beds, but no private parlor which we thought necessary. With a population of eighteen thousand souls, and just now two thousand soldiers added to these, Halifax has not one good hotel, for here the attendance is miserable, and the table far from good. We have walked about to see the town, and all have aching feet and leg-bones in consequence of walking on hard ground after tramping only on the softest, deepest mosses for two months.
August 25. I rose at four and wrote to thee and Dr. Parkman;[1] Shattuck wrote to his father, and he and I took these letters to an English schooner bound to Boston. I was surprised to find every wharf gated, the gates locked and barred, and sentinels at every point. I searched everywhere for a barber; they do not here shave on Sunday; finally, by dint of begging, and assuring the man that I was utterly unacquainted with the laws of Halifax, being a stranger, my long beard was cut at last. Four of us went to church where the Bishop read and preached; the soldiers are divided up among the different churches and attend in full uniform. This afternoon we saw a military burial; this was a grand sight. The soldiers walked far apart, with arms reversed; an excellent band executed the most solemn marches and a fine anthem. I gave my letters from Boston to Mr. Tremaine, an amiable gentleman.
August 26. This day has been spent in writing letters to thyself, Nicholas Berthoud, John Bachman, and Edward Harris; to the last I have written a long letter describing all our voyage. I took the letters to the "Cordelia" packet,
- ↑ Dr. George Parkman, of Boston, who was murdered by Professor J. V. Webster in Boston, November 23, 1849.
