LETTER XXVIII.
Floating down the great river, “the Father of Rivers,” between Indian camps, fires, boats, Indians standing or leaping, and shouting, or rather yelling, upon the shores; funeral erections on the heights; between vine-clad islands, and Indian canoes paddling among them! I would yet retain these strange foreign scenes; but I proceed onward, passing them by. We leave this poetical wilderness, the region of the youthful Mississippi, and advance towards that of civilisation. The weather is mild, the sun and the shade sport among the mountains—a poetical, romantic life!
Oct. 26th.—Sunbright, but cold. The Indians have vanished. We have passed the “Prairie du Chien;” the idol-stone of the Red Indian; the Indian graves under the autumnally yellow trees. The hills shine out, of a splendid yellow-brown. The ruins and the pyramids of primeval ages stand forth gloomy and magnificent amid he brilliant forests. With every bend of the river new and astonishing prospects present themselves. I contemplate them, read Emerson's Essays, and live as at a festival. We approach the commencement of two towns on the shore of Iowa, Gottenborg, a descendant, as I imagine, of our Götheborg, and Dubugue.
Oct. 27th.—Again at Galena, among the lead-mines for a couple of days. It is Sunday, and I am returned from church, where I have heard a young Presbyterian minister, of the Presbyterian Church, Mr. Magoan. A true disciple of the great West! No narrow evangelical views. No, an evangelical consciousness as wide as the western prairies, as vast as the arch of heaven which spans them, and with breathing-room for the fresh winds of infinity.
The young minister's theme was the relationship which exists between a cultivated and a religious life.
The importance of a true philosophy in the doctrines of religion, in order the better to understand and to develop them.
The importance of the development of physical life in promoting the advance of spiritual life.
God's guiding hand in the awakening of all this, both in society and the Church, was shown by him in an animated and earnest manner.
Job said, “He says to the lightning, go! And it goeth!”
The electric telegraph is the lightning of God's finger, made subservient to man.
Philosophy is God's light in reason, illumining the darkness both of reason and of the Scriptures.
“It is thus that a metaphysical distinction may save a soul.”
I could but think, on hearing this, of H. Martensen's dialectical gifts of God!
Lastly; the union of the highest life of the head and the heart, operating in and explanatory of all spheres of life, as they exist in the Church of the Millennium. These were the principal topics in the sermon of this young minister.
An earnest prayer, full of purport, on the prayer “Thy Kingdom Come,” completed the whole service; one of the most liberal and comprehensive, one of the freshest and most refreshing which I have heard from the pulpit of any country.
A tirade against Catholicism was the only feature in it to be regretted; because it does not become the Great West to exclude any form of the divine life. And what indeed, are all the various Christian communities other than various pews in the same church, dividing the whole into groups of families or relations?
The old pilgrim-church seems to me now to be the one which exhibits most indwelling life, which grows and expands itself to embrace the whole of human life, and to baptise it to the kingdom of God.
Oct. 29th.—I have established myself excellently at the American hotel, and I do not intend, during the few days that I shall remain here, to accept the kind invitation which I have received to a beautiful, private home. I have here my nice little Irish maid, Margaret, and have everything exactly as I wish—among the rest potatoes, morning, noon, and night, quite as good as our Årsta potatoes. I enjoy my freedom and my solitary rambles over the hills round the town during these fine days. Yesterday, the agreeable, liberal-minded young minister, Mr. Magoan, drove me and a lady, a friend of his, to a height—Pilot Knob, I think, it is called—by the Mississippi, from which we were to see the sun set. Arrived there we clambered up among bushes, and long grass, and stones,—difficult enough; and obtained, when we had gained the summit, one of those ocean-like land views which the Great West only presents. And through that infinite billowy plain rolled the Mississippi, like a vein of silver, far, far away into the immeasurable distance; and over land and river reposed the misty veil of the Indian summer and its inexpressible, gentle peace. The sun had just set; but a roseate glow lay like a joyful benediction over that vast fertile region. It was indescribably grand and pleasant.
I thought how a year ago, at this season, my spirit had been depressed at New York; how, later, it darkened still more for me at Boston, and how I then thought “Shall I be able to endure it?” And now I stood serene and vigorous by the Mississippi, with the Great West open before me, with a rich future, and the whole world bright! I thanked God!
On our return to Galena, the carriage broke down. The young clergyman sprang out, pulled forth some rope and a knife, and began to work in good earnest, as he said, merrily—
“You must know, Miss Bremer, that coach-building belongs, here in the West, to our theology.”
The emigrants to the West must, to a certain degree, experience the trouble and the renunciation of the early pilgrim-fathers. And in order to succeed, they require their courage and perseverance.
But people pass through these necessary stages much more quickly now than they did then. The beautiful, excellent American homes, with verandahs and trees and gardens, which begin to adorn the hills round Five-River prove this. The good home and the church, and the labours of Christian love, encroach daily more and more upon the fields and the life of heathenism. I do not now mean of the Indian, but of the white man.
I shall to-day go on board the good steam-boat Minnesota, to descend the Mississippi as far as St. Louis. Perhaps I may make a pause by the way at the town of Rock Island, to visit the Swedish settlement of Eric Jansen, at Bishop's Hill, a few miles from the town.
Among the agreeable memories of my stay at Galena, I shall long retain that of a banker, Mr. H., who showed me so much kindness, such brotherly or fatherly consideration and care for me, that I shall ever think of him and of his city with gratitude.
The newspapers of the West are making themselves merry over the rapturous reception which the people of New York have given Jenny Lind. In one newspaper article I read:
“Our correspondent has been fortunate enough to hear Jenny Lindsneeze. The first sneezing was a mezzotinto soprano, &c., &c.;” here follow many absurd musical and art-terms; “the second was, &c., &c.,” here follow the same; “the third he did not hear, as he fainted.”
I can promise the good Western people that they will become as insane with rapture as their brethren of the East, if Jenny Lind should come hither. They now talk like the Fox about the Grapes, but with better temper.
One of the inhabitants of St. Paul who had been at New York returned there before I left. He had some business with Governor Ramsay, but his first words to this gentleman were, “Governor! I have heard Jenny Lind!”
Jenny Lind, the new Slave Bill, and the protests against it in the North, Eastern and Western States, are, as well as the Spiritual rappings or knockings, the standing topics of the newspapers.
Whilst people in the Northern States hold meetings and agitate against this bill, which allows the recapture of fugitive slaves in the free States, various of the Southern States, especially the Palmetto State and Mississippi, raise an indignant cry against the infringement of the rights of the South, and threaten to dissolve the Union. And the States compliment each other in their newspapers in anything but a polite manner. A Kentucky journal writes thus of South Carolina:—
“Why has she not marched out of the Union before now? The Union would be glad to be rid of such a baggage!”
We are lying before Rock Island. Some kind and agreeable gentlemen have just been on board, with a proposal to convey me to the Swedish settlement. I cannot be other than grateful to them for their kindness and good-will; but the nights are becoming cold; I am not quite well, andwhat should I do there? We, my countrymen and myself, should not understand one another, although we might speak the same language. But I was well pleased to gain intelligence from these gentlemen, merchants of Rock Island, regarding the present condition of the Swedes in the colony.
Since the death of the bishop, as they called Eric Jansen, they have gone on more prosperously. He, however, by his bad management, left them burdened by a large debt of ten or eleven thousand dollars, and some of them are now gone to California, to get gold to endeavour by that means to liquidate it. Some of the Swedes at Bishop's Hill have unremittingly proved themselves to be honest, pious, and industrious people, and as such they have the confidence of the inhabitants of the town (Rock Island), and obtain on credit the goods for which they are at present unable to pay. They have built several handsome brick-houses for themselves, and manage their land well. They have begun to grow and to spin flax, and they derive an income from the linen-thread they have thus to sell. They continue stedfast in their religious usages, their prayers, and their faith in Eric Jansen, who seems to have had almost a demoniacal power over their minds. When they were ill and did not recover by the remedies and prayers of Eric Jansen, he told them that it was owing to their want of faith in him, and because they were reprobate sinners. Many died victims to the diseases of the climate, and for want of proper care.
The respectable and agreeable man, who was well acquainted with the Swedish colony, would not say anything decidedly against Eric Jansen, nevertheless he doubted him; on the contrary, he praised Eric Jansen's wife, as being very excellent and agreeable. She also had died of one of those fevers which raged in the colony; and four days afterwards, Eric Jansen stood up during divine service in the church, and declared that “the Spirit had commanded him to take a new wife!” And a woman present stood up also and said, that “the Spirit had made known to her that she must become his wife!” This was four days after the death of the first excellent wife. Such a proceeding elucidates the spirit which guided Eric Jansen.
His murderer, the Swede Rooth, will be tried in the morning. It is believed that he will be acquitted, as the occasion of the deed was such as might well drive a man mad. Rooth had married a girl in the Swedish colony, contrary to the wishes of Eric Jansen. Persecuted by the enmity of Jansen it was Rooth's intention to leave the place, and accordingly he had privately sent off his wife and child, a little boy, in the night. They were pursued by order of Jansen, captured, and conveyed in a boat down the Mississippi, no one knew where, it is said to St. Louis. Captain Schneidan saw Rooth on the very morning when the intelligence of this reached him. He was pale and scarcely in his right senses. In this excited state of mind he hastened to Eric Jansen, whom he met just setting off to church in the midst of his followers. He thus addressed him,—
“You have had my wife and child carried off, I know not where. They are perhaps dead, and I may never see them more! I do not care to live any longer myself, but you shall die first!” And so saying he drew forth a pistol and shot him in the breast. Eric Jansen died almost in a moment. Rooth made no attempt to fly, but allowed himself to be seized by the exasperated people.
The little colony amounts to between seven and eight hundred persons, and is now under the government of two men whom they have selected, and they continue to hold the same religious faith in freedom from sin as during the life of their first leader. Taken abstractedly their faith is not erroneous. The new man does not sin; but then they overlook the fact that sin is never perfectly eradicated from the human heart here on earth, and that, therefore, we must always remain sinful creatures till the time of our conversion arrives. The principal error of the Swedish emigrants consists in their faith in the sinner Eric Jansen, and in sinners such as themselves.
The weather is wet and chilly. The scenery of the banks is still of a highland character, but decreases in magnificence and beauty. The hills are broken up as it were, and lie scattered over the prairies, which terminate with the river. White towns and churches shine out here and there along the shores. We are here on the shore of Illinois. Rock Island is situated at the outlet of the Illinois into the Mississippi. On the opposite side lies the State of Iowa, and there shines out white and lovely the little city of Davenport, which derives its name from its founder, and its celebrity from a horrible murder committed there on the person of an old man, one Sunday morning, by four young men for his money. It is not long since. Bloody deeds have happened and still happen on the banks of the Mississippi.
November 3rd.—We steam down the Mississippi but slowly. The steamer drags along with her two huge barks or flat-boats, laden probably with lead from Galena, one on each side of the vessel. They say that these are a means of safety in case any accident should befal the steamer and her passengers thus be in danger; they might then save themselves in the flat-boats. But they make the voyage very slow, and in the night I hear such extraordinary noises, thunderings and grindings in the vessel, as if it were panting, bellowing, and groaning under its heavy labour, and were ready to give up the ghost. These are probably occasioned by its hard work with the flat-boats. But it is not agreeable, and the sound is so dreadful at night that I always lie down dressed, ready to show myself in public in case of an explosion. Such misadventures are of everyday occurrence on the Mississippi, and one hears frequently of such also on other rivers and on the lakes of this country. Several of the passengers on board have with them life-preservers, belts or girdles of caoutchouc, to save them in case of danger. I have none; I have here either an intimate acquaintance or friend, who would put forth his hand to me in a moment of danger. But I know not how it is; I feel as if there were no need for fear. Only I am always prepared for a nocturnal “start.”
The captain of the steamer is evidently a prudent general, and all goes on calmly and well. The table is abundant and excellent. The only thing that I feel the want of is milk for coffee and tea; cream is a thing not to be thought of, and is seldom met with anywhere in this country. One must learn to dispense with milk on one's river-voyages in the West and South. I can manage to swallow coffee without milk; but it is almost impossible for me to take tea without it. I made a little complaint about it at tea last evening.
“Well!” said a Colonel Baxter, an excellent man, opposite to me, “we frequently did not taste milk for many weeks together during the Mexican war!”
“Oh!” said I, “but then you had glory to console yourselves with. What cannot people dispense with when they have that! But here in a steam-boat, without glory and without milk! it is too much!”
They laughed, and this morning we had plenty of milk to breakfast.
The greater number of the attendants are negroes. The stewardess is a mulatto, neither agreeable nor good-tempered. There are not many passengers in the better part of the vessel, and by no means disagreeable. The gentlemen's side is rather full; two-thirds of these have a somewhat common appearance; they are “businessmen” from head to foot.
I spend most of my time in my pleasant little stateroom, or in walking backwards and forwards under the piazza in front of it, where I amuse myself by the spectacle of the river and its shores. The waters of the Mississippi still retain their bright, yellow-green colour, though they are beginning to be turbid. Three-decked steamers, large and small, with their pair of chimneys, puffing out vehemently under the influence of “high-pressure” as they advance up the stream, speed past us; vast timber-floats, upon which people both build and cook, row down the stream with gigantic oars; covered barks, vessels, and boats of every description and size are seen upon the river. It becomes more animated and broader; but still continues to flow on with a majestic calmness.
On our right lies the State of Iowa, Illinois on the left. The views are grand and extensive; broad stretches of valley expand; the hills become lower; the land, to a great distance, slopes gradually down to the river in gentle, billowy meadows, with a back-ground of wood. It has a beautiful and fertile appearance, but is not much cultivated. We are now in the corn regions of the Mississippi Valley; rich in all kinds of grain, but principally in the rich golden-yellow maize.
Along the Mississippi, through its whole extent, from Minnesota to the Gulf of Mexico, lies a pearl-band of States. There are on the eastern side of the river, Wisconsin, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi, and Louisiana; and on the western side, Iowa, Missouri, Arkansas, and Louisiana, for, like Minnesota, Louisiana embraces both banks of the Mississippi; Minnesota at its commencement among the hills, Louisiana at its outlet into the sea. Between these two States, Minnesota in the north, and Louisiana in the south, flows the Mississippi through a variety of regions distinguished by dissimilar climates and natural productions. Minnesota is its north, with the pine-forests of the north, and northern winters, with bears and elks, with the wild roses and the berries of the north, with primeval forests and Indians. Wisconsin, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennesee in the east, Iowa and Missouri, and a part of Arkansas in the west, are situated within the temperate zone. Agriculture and civilisation are extending there. These States, like their neighbouring States in the east, Michigan, Indiana, and Ohio, constitute the great corn-magazine of America, and the central portion of the Mississippi Valley. Beyond these, to the east, extend the Alleghany Mountains, and the Eastern or Atlantic States. Beyond the Mississippi States, to the west, extends the Indian Wilderness, Nebraska, and the Rocky Mountains. With Tennesee on the east, and Arkansas on the west, we enter the region of cotton; with Louisiana, the region of sugar, the south, and summer life.
Illinois and Iowa are still free States; to the south of these lie the Slave States. In Illinois and Iowa there are Swedish and Norwegian settlements; but farther south they have not yet advanced. The central Mississippi States are occupied more by Germans and Irish; and more southern still, by French and Spaniards. All these are governed by the laws and manners of the Anglo-Norman race. It is the same with the Jews, who are very numerous in America, especially in the west. But they also enjoy all civil rights like natives of the country, and are much less distinguished from the European population here than they are in Europe. So little, indeed, that I have scarcely ever thought, “that is a Jew,” it being hardly possible to distinguish a Jew in this country from a dark-complexioned American.
We are now within sight of Nauvoo, formerly the capital of the Mormon district, and the magnificent ruin of their former temple is seen standing on its elevated site. One of my friends, who some years ago was travelling on the Mississippi, went on shore at Nauvoo a few days after the Mormon prophet, Joe Smith, was killed by the people of Illinois. He saw the people of the town and the district, a population of about twenty thousand, come forth from their dwellings to the singing of psalms; saw them advance westward into the wilderness to seek there for that promised land which their prophet had foretold to them. After a wandering of three thousand miles through wildernesses, amid manifold dangers and difficulties, and the endurance of much suffering, they arrived at the Great Salt Lake, and its fertile shores. There, they have within a few years, so greatly increased and multiplied, that they are now in a fair way to become a powerful State. Faith can, even in these days, remove mountains—nay more, can remove great cities. Nauvoo is now purchased by the French communist, Cabet, who will there establish a society of “Egalitairé.”
Yes, in this great West, on the shores of the Great River, exist very various scenes and peoples. There are Indians; there are squatters; there are Scandinavians, with gentle manners and cheerful songs; there are Mormons, Christian in manners, but fanatics in their faith in one man (and Eric Jansenists are in this respect similar to the Mormons); there are desperate adventurers, with neither faith nor law, excepting in Mammon and club-law; gamblers, murderers, and thieves, who are without conscience, and their number and their exploits increase along the banks of the Mississippi the farther we advance south. There are giants, who are neither good nor evil; but who perform great deeds through the force of their will, and their great physical powers, and their passion for enterprise. There are worshippers of freedom and communists; there are slave-owners and slaves. There are communities who build, as bees and beavers do, from instinct and natural necessity. There are also, clear-headed, strong, and pious men, worthy to be leaders, who know what they are about, and who have laid their strong hand to the work of cultivation. There are great cities which develop the highest luxury of civilisation, and its highest crimes; who build altars to Mammon, and would make the whole world subservient. There are also small communities which possess themselves of land in the power of the peace principle, and in the name of the Prince of Peace. Lydia Maria Child tells us of such a one, either in Indiana or Illinois. It is a short story, and so beautiful that I must repeat it in her own living and earnest words.
“The highest gifts my soul has received, during its world-pilgrimage, have often been bestowed by those who were poor, both in money and intellectual cultivation. Among these donors, I particularly remember a hard-working uneducated mechanic, from Indiana or Illinois. He told me that he was one of the thirty or forty New Englanders, who twelve years before, had gone out to settle in the western wilderness. They were mostly neighbours; and had been drawn to unite together in emigration from a general unity of opinion on various subjects. For some years previous, they had been in the habit of meeting occasionally at each other's houses to talk over their duties to God and man, in all simplicity of heart. Their library was the gospel, their priesthood the inward light. There were then no anti-slavery societies: but thus taught, and reverently willing to learn, they had no need of such agency to discover that it was wicked to enslave. The efforts of peace societies had reached this secluded band only in broken echoes, and non-resistance societies had no existence. But with the volume of the Prince of Peace, and hearts open to his influence, what need had they of preambles and resolutions?
“Rich in spiritual culture, this little band started for the far West. Their inward homes were blooming gardens; they made their outward in a wilderness. They were industrious and frugal, and all things prospered under their hands. But soon wolves came near the fold, in the shape of reckless, unprincipled adventurers; believers in force and cunning, who acted according to their creed. The colony of practical Christians spoke of their depredations in terms of gentlest remonstrance, and repaid them with unvarying kindness. They went further—they openly announced, ‘You may do us what evil you choose, we will return nothing but good.’ Lawyers came into the neighbourhood, and offered their services to settle disputes. They answered, ‘We have no need of you. As neighbours we receive you in the most friendly spirit; but for us, your occupation has ceased to exist.’ ‘What will you do if rascals burn your barns, and steal your harvests?’ ‘We will return good for evil. We believe this is the highest truth, therefore the best expediency.’
“When the rascals heard this, they considered it a marvellous good joke, and said and did many provoking things, which seemed to them witty. Bars were taken down in the night, and cows let into cornfields. The Christians repaired the damage as well as they could, put the cows in the barn, and at twilight drove them gently home, saying, ‘Neighbour, your cows have been in my field. I have fed them well during the day, but I would not keep them all night, lest the children should suffer for their milk.’
“If this was fun, they who planned the joke had no heart to laugh at it. By degrees, a visible change came over these troublesome neighbours. They ceased to cut off horses' tails, and break the legs of poultry. Brute boys would say to a younger brother, ‘Don't throw that stone. Bill! When I killed the chicken last week, didn't they send it to mother, because they thought chicken-broth would be good for poor Mary? I should think you'd be ashamed to throw stones at their chickens.’ Thus was evil overcome with good, till not one was found to do them wilful injury. Years passed on, and saw them thriving in worldly substance, beyond their neighbours, yet beloved by all. From them the lawyer and the constable obtained no fees. The sheriff stammered and apologised when he took their hard-earned goods in payment for the war-tax. They mildly replied, ‘'Tis a bad trade, friend. Examine it in the light of conscience, and see if it be not so.’ But while they refused to pay such fees and taxes, they were liberal to a proverb in their contributions for all useful and benevolent purposes.
“At the end of ten years, the public lands, which they had chosen for their farms, were advertised for sale by auction. According to custom, those who had settled and cultivated the soil, were considered to have a right to bid it in at the government price: which at that time was 1.25 dollars per acre. But the fever of land speculation then chanced to run unusually high. Adventurers from all parts of the country were flocking to the auction; and capitalists in Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, and Boston, were sending agents to buy western lands. No one supposed that custom, or equity, would be regarded. The first day's sale showed that speculation ran to the verge of insanity. Land was eagerly bought in at seventeen, twenty-five, and thirty dollars an acre. The Christian colony had small hope of retaining their farms. As first settlers, they had chosen the best land, and persevering industry had brought it into the highest cultivation. Its market value was much greater than the acres already sold at exorbitant prices. In view of these facts, they had prepared their minds for another remove into the wilderness, perhaps to be again ejected by a similar process. But the morning their lot was offered for sale, they observed with grateful surprise that their neighbours were everywhere busy among the crowd begging and expostulating: ‘Don't bid on these lands! these men have been working hard on them for ten years. During all that time, they never did harm to man or brute. They were always ready to do good for evil. They are a blessing to any neighbourhood. It would be a sin and shame to bid on their lands. Let them go at the government price.’ The sale came on; the cultivators of the soil offered 1.25 dollars, intending to bid higher if necessary. But among all that crowd of selfish, reckless speculators, not one bid over them! Without an opposing voice, the fair acres returned to them! I do not know a more remarkable instance of evil overcome with good. ‘The wisest political economy lies folded up in the maxims of Christ.’
“With delighted reverence I listened to this unlettered backwoodsman, as he explained his philosophy of universal love. ‘What would you do,’ said I, ‘if an idle, thieving vagabond came among you, resolved to stay, but determined not to work?’ ‘We would give him food when hungry, shelter him when cold, and always treat him as a brother?’ ‘Would not this process attract such characters? How would you avoid being overrun by them?’ ‘Such characters would either reform or not remain with us. We should never speak an angry word, or refuse to minister to their necessities, but we should invariably regard them with the deepest sadness, as we would a guilty, but beloved son. This is harder for the human soul to bear than whips or prisons. They could not stand it; I am sure they could not. It would either melt them or drive them away. In nine cases out of ten I believe it would melt them.’ ”
Lydia Maria Child adds, “The wisest doctrine of political economy, is included in the doctrines of Christ.” As for me, these words run in my mind, “Blessed are the peace-makers, for they shall possess the earth.” And when I look around me in these regions for that which is the most triumphant and the most overpowering element in the Mississippi States, and among the freebooters of California at the present time, I see clearly that it is the power and dominion of the peace-maker.
We have lain still for several hours. The river has here a dangerous, sharp, rocky bottom, and as the water is low the passage is dangerous. They wait for the wind becoming perfectly still, that they may discern the places where the stream is rippled by the rocks. It is already so calm that I can scarcely imagine how it can be calmer. The Mississippi glances like a mirror in the sunshine, merely here and there furrowed by the stream. It is now quite as warm as summer, and I am impatient at lying quiet in the heat and the strong sunshine. The bed of the Mississippi has not been cleared, and it is a sign that the government of the United States has its deficiencies and its shallows, when it can tolerate such impediments on great river where there is such constant traffic. But it is not agreed as to whether the government or the people ought to do the work, and therefore it remains undone to the great detriment of the traffic of the river.
I have made two agreeable acquaintances on board, in two gentlemen from Connecticut, strong, downright Yankees; and the young daughter of one, a most charming girl of twenty,—a fresh flower, both body and soul,—a splendid specimen of the daughters of New England. We have also now a pair of giant-women on board, such as belong to the old mythological population of Utgård; and I have been particularly amused by the conflict between the wild and the cultivated races, in the persons of one these ladies and my lovely flower of New England. The former, in a steel-grey dress, with a grey, fierce countenance, stiff and middle-aged, sate smoking her pipe in the ladies' saloon when we entered it from the dining-hall in the afternoon. She sate in the middle of the room and puffed out the smoke vehemently, and looked as if she would set the whole world at defiance. The ladies looked at her, looked at each other, were silent and endured it for awhile; the smoke, however, became at length intolerable, and one whispered to another that something must be done to put a stop to this unallowable smoking.
Miss S. called the stewardess: “You must tell that lady that it is not permitted to smoke in this room.”
“I have told her so, Missis, but she takes no notice. It is of no use talking to her.”
Again they waited awhile to see whether the smoking lady would not pay attention to silent, but very evident, signs of displeasure. But no, she sate as unmoved as ever, and filled the room with smoke.
The lovely young Miss S. now summoned courage, advanced towards the smoker, and said in a very polite, but at the same time firm and dignified manner, “I don't know whether you have observed that your cabin has a door which opens on the piazza, andit would be much more agreeable for you, and for all of us, if you would smoke your pipe there.”
“No. I prefer smoking here in this room.”
“But it is forbidden to smoke here.”
“It is forbidden for gentlemen, but not for ladies.”
“It is forbidden to smoke here, as well for you as for anyone else; and I must beg of you, in the name of all the ladies present, that you will desist from so doing.”
This was said with so much earnestness, and so much grace at the same time, that the giant-woman seemed struck by it.
“No, well! wait a bit!” said she, angrily; and after she had vehemently blown out a great puff of smoke by way of a parting token, she rose up and went into her own apartment. The power of cultivation had gained the victory over rudeness; the gods had conquered the giants.
We shall now proceed on our way, but by land, and not by water. Our heavily-laden vessel cannot pass the shallows. It must be unloaded here. The passengers must proceed by carriages about fifteen or sixteen miles along the Iowa shore to a little city where they may take a fresh steamer, and where there are no longer any impediments in the river. My new friends from Connecticut will take me under their wing.
I am now at St. Louis, on the western bank of the river, deliberating whether or not to go to a bridal party to which I am invited, and where I should see a very lovely bride and “the cream of society” in this great Mississippi city, the second after New Orleans. I saw the bridegroom, this forenoon, as well as the bride's mother; he is a very rich planter from Florida, and very much of a gentleman, an agreeable man; the bride's mother is a young-elderly beauty, polite but artificial; somewhat above fifty, with bare neck, bare arms, rouged cheeks, perfumed, and with a fan in her hand; a lady of fashion and French politeness. They have invited me for the evening. An agreeable and kind acquaintance of Mr. Downing's, to whom I had a letter, would conduct me thither in company with his wife, but—but—I have a cold, and I feel myself too old for such festivals, at which I am besides half killed with questions; so that the nearer it approaches the hour of dressing, the clearer becomes it to my own mind that I must remain quietly in my own room. I like to see handsome ladies and beautiful toilettes, but—I can have sufficient descriptions of these, and I have seen enough of the beau monde in the eastern states to be able to imagine how it is in the west.
I am now at an hotel, but shall remove, either tomorrow or the day after, to the house of Senator A., a little way out of the city.
I came here yesterday with my friends from Connecticut. The journey across the Iowa prairie in a half-covered wagon was very pleasant. The weather was as warm as a summer's day, and the sun shone above a fertile, billowy plain, which extended far, far into the distance. Three-fourths of the land of Iowa are said to be of this billowy-prairie land. The country did not appear to be cultivated, but looked extremely beautiful and home-like; one immense pasture-meadow. The scenery of the Mississippi is of a bright, cheerful character.
In the afternoon we reached the little town of Keokuk, on a high bank by the river. We ate a good dinner at a good inn; tea was served for soup, which is a general practice at dinners in the western inns. It was not till late in the evening that the vessel came by which we were to continue our journey, and in the meantime I set off alone on an expedition of discovery. I left behind me the young city of the Mississippi, which has a good situation, and followed a path which led up the hill along the river-side. The sun was descending, and clouds of a pale crimson tint covered the western heavens. The air was mild and calm, the whole scene expansive, bright, and calm, an idyllian landscape on a large scale.
Small houses, at short distances from each other, studded this hill by the river-side; they were neatly built; of wood, of good proportions, and with that appropriateness and cleverness which distinguishes the work of the Americans. They were each one like the other, and seemed to be the habitations of work-people. Most of the doors stood open, probably to admit the mild evening air. I availed myself of this circumstance to gain a sight of the interior, and fell into discourse with two of the good women of the houses. They were, as I had imagined, the dwellings of artisans who had work in the town. There was no luxury in these small habitations, but everything was so neat and trim and ornamental, and there was such a holiday calm over everything, from the mistress of the family down to the smallest article of furniture, that it did one good to see it. It was also Sunday evening, and the peace of the Sabbath rested within the home as well as over the country.
When I returned to my herberg in the town it was quite dusk; but it had in the meantime been noised abroad that some sort of Scandinavian animal was to be seen at the inn; and it was now requested to come down and show itself.
I went down accordingly into the large saloon, and found a great number of people there, principally of the male sex, who increased more and more until there was a regular throng, and I had to shake hands with many most extraordinary figures. But one often sees such here in the west. The men work hard, and are careless regarding their toilette; they do not give themselves time to attend to it: but their unkempt outsides are no type of that which is within, as I frequently observed this evening. I also made a somewhat closer acquaintance, to my real pleasure, with a little company of more refined people; I say refined intentionally, not better, because those phrases, better and worse, are always indefinite and less suitable in this country than in any other; I mean well-bred and well-dressed ladies and gentlemen, the aristocracy of Keokuk. Not being myself of a reserved disposition, I like the American open, frank, and friendly manner. It is easy to become acquainted, and it is very soon evident whether there is reciprocity of feeling or not.
We went on board between ten and eleven at night, and the next morning were in the waters of the Missouri, which rush into those of the Mississippi, about eighteen miles north of St. Louis, with such vehemence, and with such a volume of water, that it altogether changes the character of the Mississippi. There is an end now to its calmness and its bright tint. It now flows onward restless and turbid, and stocks and trees, and every kind of lumber which can float, are whirled along upon its waves, all carried hither by the Missouri, which, during its impetuous career of more than three thousand miles through the wilderness of the west, bears along with it everything which it finds on its way. Missouri is a sort of Xantippe, but Mississippi is no Socrates, because he evidently allows himself to be disturbed by the influence of his ill-tempered spouse.
Opposite St. Louis boys were rowing about in little boats, endeavouring to fish up planks and branches of trees which were floating on the river.
The first view of St. Louis was very peculiar. The city looks as if it were besieged from the side of the river by a number of immense Mississippi beasts, resembling a sort of colossal white sea-bears. And so they were; they were those large three-decked, white-painted steamers, which lined the shore, lying closely side by side to the number of above a hundred; their streamers, with names from all the countries on the face of the earth, fluttering in the wind above their chimneys, which seemed to me like immense nostrils; for every steam-boat on the Mississippi has two such apparatus, which send forth huge volumes of smoke under the influence of “high pressure.”
When we reached St. Louis it was as warm as the middle of summer, and many of the trees in the streets yet bore verdant foliage. I recognise the tree of the south, the “pride of India,” which bears clusters of flowers like lilacs during the time of flowering, and afterwards clusters of red, poisonous berries; and the beautiful acacia, acanthus, and sycamore.
November 7th.—Scarcely had I reached St. Louis, when I was obliged to take to my bed in consequence of violent headache. My charming young friend from New England attended me as a young sister might have done. When she was obliged to leave me to proceed forward with her father, I found here an Irish servant-girl, who looked after me excellently during my short indisposition. I was soon better, and then went to pay a morning visit to the bridal pair, who are now residing at the hotel. It was in the forenoon; but the room in which the bride sate was darkened, and was only faintly lighted by the blaze of the fire. The bride was tall and delicately formed, but too thin; still she was lovely, and with a blooming complexion. She was quite young, and struck me like a rare hot-house plant scarcely able to endure the free winds of the open air. Her long taper fingers played with a number of little valuables fastened to a gold chain, which, hanging round her neck, reached to her waist. Her dress was costly and tasteful. She looked, however, more like an article of luxury than a young woman meant to be the mother of a family. The faint light of the room, the warmth of the fire, the soft, perfumed atmosphere, everything, in short, around this young bride seemed to speak of effeminacy. The bridegroom, however, was evidently no effeminate person, but a man and a gentleman. He was apparently very much enamoured of his young bride, whom he was now about to take, first to Cincinnati, and then to Florida and its perpetual summer. We were regaled with bride-cake and sweet wine.
When I left that perfumed apartment with its hot-house atmosphere and its half-daylight, in which was carefully tended a beautiful human flower, I was met by a heaven as blue as that of spring, and by a fresh, vernal air, by sunshine and the song of birds among the whispering trees. The contrast was delightful. Ah, said I to myself, this is a different life! After all, that is not good; no, it is not good, it has not the freshness of nature, that life which so many ladies lead in this country; that life of twilight in comfortable rooms, rocking themselves by the fire-side from one year's end to another; that life of effeminate warmth and inactivity, by which means they exclude themselves from the fresh air, from fresh invigorating life! And the physical weakness of the ladies of this country must in great measure be ascribed to their effeminate education. It is a sort of harem-life, although with this difference, that, they, unlike the Oriental women, are here in the Western country regarded as sultanesses, and the men as their subjects. It has, nevertheless, the tendency to circumscribe their development and to divert them from their highest and noblest purpose. The harems of the West, no less than those of the East, degrade the life and the consciousness of woman.
After my visit to the bride, I visited various Catholic asylums and religious institutions, under the care of nuns. It was another aspect of female development which I beheld here. I saw, in two large asylums for poor orphan children, and in an institution for the restoration of fallen women (the Good Herder's Asylum), as well as at the hospital for the sick, the women who call themselves “sisters,” living a true and great life as mothers of the orphan, as sisters and nurses of the fallen and the suffering. That was a refreshing, that was a strengthening sight!
I must observe, that Catholicism seems to me at this time to go beyond Protestantism, in the living imitation of Christ in good works. The Catholic Church of the New World has commenced a new life. It has cast off the old cloak of superstition and fanaticism, and it steps forth rich in mercy. Convents are established in the New World in a renovated spirit. They are freed from their unmeaning existence, and are effectual in labours of love.
These convents here have large, light halls, instead of gloomy cells; they have nothing gloomy or mysterious about them; everything is calculated to give life and light free course. And how lovely they were, these conventual sisters in their noble, worthy, costume, with their quiet, fresh demeanour and activity. They seemed to me lovelier, fresher, happier, than the greater number of women living in the world whom I have seen. I must also remark, that their nuns' costume, in particular the head-dress, was, with all its simplicity, remarkbly becoming and in good taste; and that gave me much pleasure. I do not know why beauty and piety should not thrive well together. Those horrible bonnets, or poke-caps, which are worn by the Sisters of Mercy in Savannah, would, if I were ill, frighten me from their hospital. On the contrary, the sight of the sisters here would assuredly make a sick person well.
During one of those prophetic visions, with which our Geijer closed his earthly career, he remarked, on a visit to me—“Convents must be re-established anew; not in the old form, but as free societies of women and men for the carrying out works of love!” I see them coming into operation in this country. And they must have yet a freer and milder form within the evangelical church. The deaconess institutions of Europe are their commencement.
The excess in the number of women in all countries on the face of the earth, shows that God has an intention in this which man would do well to attend to more and more. The human race needs spiritual mothers and sisters. Women acquire in these holy sisterhoods a power for the accomplishment of such duty which in their isolated state they could only obtain in exceptional cases. As the brides and handmaidens of Christ, they attain to a higher life, a more expansive consciousness, a greater power. Whether similar religious societies of men are alike necessary and natural as those of women, I will not inquire into, but it seems to me that they are not. Men, it appears to me, are called to an activity of another kind, although for the same ultimate object—the extension of the Kingdom of God upon earth.
Last evening, and the evening before, I made my solitary journeys of discovery both within and without the city.
St. Louis is built on a series of wave-like terraces, considerably elevated above the Mississippi. It seems likely to become an immense city, and has begun to build its suburbs on the plain at great distances apart; but already roads are formed, and even a railroad and streets from one to another. These commencements of suburbs are generally on high ground, and command glorious views over the river and the country. Thick columns of coal-black smoke ascend, curling upwards in the calm air from various distances, betokening the existence of manufactories. It has a fine effect seen against the golden sky of evening, but those black columns send down showers of smuts and ashes over the city, and this has not a fine effect. They are building in the city lofty and vast warehouses, immense shops and houses of business. The position of the city near the junction of the Missouri and the Mississippi, its traffic on the former river, with the whole of the great West, and by the latter with the Northern, Southern and Eastern States, give to St. Louis the means of an almost unlimited increase. Probably a railroad will connect St. Louis with the Pacific Ocean. It is an undertaking which is warmly promoted by a number of active Western men, and this would give a still higher importance to the city. Emigration hither also increases every year, and especially from Germany. How large this increase is may be shown by the fact that in 1845 its population amounted to thirty-five thousand souls, and that in 1849 it was nearly double that number. The State of Missouri has now about two millions of inhabitants, and is yet, as a State, not above thirty years old.
As I wandered through the streets in the twilight I saw various figures, both of men and animals, which gave me anything but pleasure. Such I had often seen and grieved over at New York; just such people, with the look half of savageness and half of misery, just such poor worn-out horses. Ah!—We need still to pray the Lord of all perfection, “Thy Kingdom come!” I returned to my hotel with a melancholy and heavy heart.
One of the peculiarities which I observed was the number of physicians, especially dentists, which seemed to abound. Every third or fourth house had its inscription of “Physician.” What could be the use of all their remedies here?
Among the persons who here visited me were some of the so-called “New-Church,” that is, Swedenborgians, who in consequence of my confession of Faith in “Morgon väkter,” had the opinion that I belonged to the “New Church.” I could not however acknowledge that I did belong to the New Church; for I find in the old, in its later development through the great thinkers of Germany and Scandinavia, a richer and a diviner life. Swedenborg's doctrine of the Law of Correspondence has for its foundation, the belief and teaching of all profoundly-thinking people, from the Egyptians to the Scandinavians; but Swedenborg's application of his doctrine appears to me not sufficiently grand and spiritual.
Everywhere in North America one meets with Swedenborgians. That which seems to be most generally accepted amongst them is the doctrines of Christ's divinity, and of the resemblance which the world of spirits hears to the earth, and its nearness to it.
In their church-yards, one often finds upon a white marble stone, beautiful inscriptions, such as,—
He (or she) entered the spiritual world, on such and such a day.
This is beautiful and true. For, I say with Tholuck, “Why say that our friend is dead. Dead, that word is so heavy, so lifeless, so gloomy, so unmeaning. Say that our friend has departed; that he has left us for a short time. That is better, and more true.”
Since I last wrote I have removed to the beautiful home, and into the beautiful family, of Senator A. A pretty young girl, the sister of the master of the house, has given me her room, with its splendid view over the Mississippi and Missouri valley. But the beautiful weather has now changed into cold and autumnal fog, so that I can see nothing of all the glory. The air is very thick. But such days are of rare occurrence in this sunbright America, and the sun will soon make a way for itself again. Mr. A. has calculated the number of sunny days in a year, for three several years, and he has found them to be about three hundred and fifteen, the remainder were thunder-storms and rainy days, and of the latter the number was the smaller.
Mr. A. is an interesting and well-informed young man, well acquainted with every movement in the state of which he is a Senator as well as an active participator in its development. Thus, during the past summer, he has delivered no less than five hundred “stump-speeches,”—[1] (I hope I have not made a mistake of a couple of hundred in the number,) travelling about in Missouri advocating the laying down of a railway from St. Louis through Missouri to the shores of the Pacific Ocean, and exhorting them to give in their adherence to the scheme. And he has been extremely successful; in St. Louis alone names are given in to the amount of two millions of dollars for the carrying out of the undertaking. It is true that they will have to tunnel through and to blast the solid walls of the Rocky Mountains, but what does that signify to an American?
The city of St. Louis was founded by rich traders. Dealers in furs and Catholic priests were the first who penetrated the wildernesses of the West, and ventured life to win, the former wealth, the latter souls.
Trade and religion are still at this moment the pioneers of civilisation in the Western country.
One of the most important branches of speculation and trade in and around St. Louis, is at the present time, the sale of land. The earlier emigrants hither who purchased land, now sell it by the foot at several thousand dollars a square foot. The exorbitant prices at which I have been told land sells here seem almost incredible to me. Certain it is that many people are now making great fortunes merely by the sale of their plots of ground. One German, formerly in low circumstances, has lately sold his plot, and has now returned to his native land with wealth to the amount of one hundred thousand dollars.
Mr. A., who is one of the “self-made men” of the great West, and who began his career at thirteen, by publishing a Penny Magazine, is now a land proprietor, and sells also plots or pieces of ground for large sums. He, like Mr. Downing, (with whom he has, also in appearance, a certain resemblance,) unites at the same time the practical man and the poetical temperament, in particular for natural objects.
There is a great number of Germans in St. Louis. They have music and dancing parties which are zealously attended. There are also here both French and Spaniards. At the hotels all is in the French style, with French names for dishes and wines. The Irish here, as everywhere else, throughout the United States, constitute the labouring population; excepting negro-slaves, the greater portion of servants are Irish.
Spite of the greatly increasing trade of the city, it is still extremely difficult, nay almost impossible for a young emigrant to obtain a situation in any place of business. If, on the contrary however, he will begin by doing coarse hand-labour, as a miller's man, for instance, or a worker in a manufactory, he can easily find employment and get good wages. And if he lives carefully he may soon gain sufficient to undertake higher employment. Better still are his prospects if he can superintend some handicraft trade, he is then in a fair way to become the artificer of his own fortune.
November 11th.—Again summer and sunshine, and a glorious view over the Mississippi and the expanse of country! The heavens are light blue, the earth is light green, everything is bathed in light. I have walked with my young friend over the hills around this place, and Mr. A. has driven me out to see the whole neighbourhood. That which always strikes me most in the great West, is the vastness and extensiveness of the landscape. It produces upon me a peculiarly cheerful and expansive feeling. I cannot but involuntarily smile, as I seem to long to stretch out my arms and fly over the earth. It feels to me very stupid and strange this not being able to do so. Mr. A. drove me to part of the neighbourhood where the wealthy citizens of St. Louis built their villas. There are already upon the hills, (though they can hardly be called hills, but merely terraces or plateaux,) and in the valleys, whole streets and groups of pretty country-houses, many of them really splendid, surrounded by trees, and flowers, and vines, and other creepers. How life increases here, how rapidly and how joyously! But do no tares spring up with the wheat? I have still hope, although I have lost my faith in the Millennium of the great West.
The State of Missouri seems to be not only one of the largest States of the Union, but one of the richest also, as regards natural beauty and natural resources. They speak of its northern portion as of the natural garden of the West; it possesses westward, lofty mountains, rich in metals, interspersed with immense prairies and forest; southward, towards Arkansas, it becomes boggy, and abounds in morasses. To the west of the State lies the Indian Territory, the people of which have embraced Christianity and civilisation. The Cherokees are the principal, but many other tribes have united themselves to this in smaller associations, as the family of Choctaws, Chickasaws, Fox and Sacs Indians. Whether this Indian territory stands in the same relationship to the government of the United States as other territory during its period of gradation and preparation, and whether at some future time it will become an independent Indian State in the great Union, I do not know decidedly, though I regard it as probable.
Missouri is a Slave State. But it seems at this moment to maintain the institution of slavery rather out of bravado than from any belief in its necessity. It has no products which might not be cultivated by white labourers, as its climate does not belong to the hot south. Missouri also sells its slaves assiduously “down south.”
“Are you a Christian?” inquired I from a young handsome Mulatto woman who waited on me here.
“No Missis, I am not.”
“Have you not been baptised? Have you not been taught about Christ?”
“Yes, Missis, I have a god-mother, a negro-woman, who was very religious, and who instructed me.”
“Do you not believe what she told you about Christ?”
“Yes, Missis; but I don't feel it here, Missis,” and she laid her hand on her breast.
“Where were you brought up?”
“A long way from here, up the Missouri, Missis; a long way off!”
“Were your owners good to you?”
“Yes, Missis; they never gave me a bad word.”
“Are you married?”
“Yes, Missis, but my husband is a long way off with his master.”
“Have you any children.”
“I have had six, Missis; but have not a single one left. Three are dead, and they have sold the other three away from me. When they took from me the last little girl. Oh, I believed I never should have got over it! It almost broke my heart!”
And they were so-called Christians who did that! It was not wonderful that she, the negro slave, had a difficulty in feeling Christianity, that she could not feel herself a Christian. What a life! Bereaved of husband, children, of all that she had, without any prospect of an independent existence; possessed of nothing on the face of the earth; condemned to toil, toil, toil, without hope of reward or day of rest! Why should it be strange if she became stupid or indifferent, nay, even hostile, and bitter in her feelings towards those in whose power she is, they who call themselves her protectors, and yet who robbed her of her all? Even of that last little girl, that youngest, dearest, only child!
This pagan institution of slavery, leads to transactions so inconsistent, so inhuman, that sometimes in this country, this Christian, liberal America, it is a difficult thing for me to believe them possible, difficult to comprehend how they can be reality and not a dream! It is so difficult for me to realise them.
The topic of interest at this moment in St. Louis is the return of Senator Benton from Washington, and his great speech in the State's house, to give an account of his conduct in Congress, as regards the great and momentous question between the Northern and the Southern States. Such speeches, explanatory or in justification of their line of conduct, are customary in all the States on the return of the senators to the State which they represent in Congress. I read Colonel Benton's speech last evening. The bold representative of the Slave State, who alike openly vindicated its rights as such, while he condemned slavery, is here also like himself, bold, candid, unabashed, half man and half beast of prey, rending to pieces with beak and claws, and full of enjoyment in so doing.
I remember the last words of his speech, which are really manly and excellent.
“I value a good popularity, that is to say, the applause of good men. That of all others I shall ever disregard; and I shall welcome censure which is hurled at me by the illiberal and the mean.”
Missouri as well as Arkansas has a deal of heathenism,
find a deal of wild, uncultivated land still. Civilisation is
ats yet at its commencement in these States. And slavery
retards its progress as with strong fetters. Fights and
bloody duels are of frequent occurrence among the white
population. Bowie knives and pistols belong to the wardrobe
of a man, especially when travelling in the State. Besides he must be continually prepared to meet with
those unprincipled fortune-hunters, who hasten from
Europe and the Eastern States (the prodigal sons of
those countries), into the West to find there a freer scope
for their savage passions.
To-morrow, or the day after, I steer my course to Cincinnati; whence I shall write to you again.
Only a kiss in spirit and a few lines to-day, because I have so many irons in the fire that I am, as it were, a little bewildered in my head, but that is with sweet wine!
I have been located since last Tuesday in the most agreeable and the most kind of homes, where those most agreeable of human beings and married people, Mr. and Mrs. S., middle-aged, that is to say, about fifty, wealthy and without children, find their happiness in gathering around them friends and relations, and in making them happy. I am occupying one of the many guest-chambers of their handsome and spacious house, and am treated with as much kindness as if I were a member of the family. A pale, gentle, and grave young clergyman (a mourning widower), and two unmarried ladies, relations of my entertainers, compose the family. My host, a giant in stature, and his little wife, have a good deal of humour, so that there is no lack of savoury salt for the every-day meal.
A word now about the journey hither from St. Louis. It was made in six days, by the Asia, safely and quietly, spite of the uneasy companionship of four-and-twenty little children, from ten years to a few months old. One thought oneself well off if only a third of the number were not crying at once. There were also some passengers of the second or third sort, ladies who smoked their pipes and blew their noses with their fingers, and then came and asked how one liked America? Usch! There are no greater contrasts than exist between the cultivated and the uncultivated ladies of this country.
One mother with her daughter pleased me nevertheless by their appearance and their evident mutual affection. But just as I was about to make some advances to the mother, she began with the question whether the United States answered my expectations? And that operated upon me like a bomb.
I spent my time, for the most part, quietly in my own cabin, finding companionship in my books, and in the spectacle presented by the banks of the river. When evening came, and with it candles, I had the amusement of the children's going to bed in the saloon, for there were not berths for them all. There was among the passengers one young mother, not above thirty years old, with eight children, the youngest still at the breast. She had gone with her husband and children to settle in the far West in some one of the Mississippi states, but the husband had fallen ill of cholera on the way, and died within four- and- twenty hours. And now the young mother was returning with all her fatherless little ones to her paternal home. She was still very pretty, and her figure delicate. Although now and then a tear might be seen trickling down her cheek as she sate in the evening nursing her little baby, yet she did not seem overcome by her loss, or greatly cast down. Seven of the children, four boys and three girls, were laid each evening in one large bed, made upon a long mattress, exactly in front of my door, without any other bedding than this mattress and a coverlet thrown over them. I had a deal of amusement in a little lad of three years old, a regular Cupid, both in head and figure, whose little shirt scarcely reached to his middle. He could not manage to be comfortable in the general bed, and longed probably for the warm mother's bosom; and therefore continually crept out of the former, and stole softly and resolutely, in his Adamic innocence, into the circle of ladies, who were sitting round the room talking or sewing by lamp-light. Here he was snapped up by his mother in his short shirt (much in the same way as our dairy-maids may snap up by their wings a chicken which they will put into a pen, or into the pot), and thus carried through the room back to his bed, where he was thrust in, à la chicken, with a couple of slaps upon that portion of his body which his little shirt did not defend, and then covered in with the quilt. In vain. He was soon seen again, white and round, above the quilt, spite of the hands of brothers and sisters, which let fall upon him a shower of blows: higher and higher he rose, raised himself on hands and feet, and, the next minute, my curly-headed Cupid stood on his two bare feet, and walked in among the circle of ladies, lovely, determined, and untroubled by the plague of clothes, or by bashfulness, where he was received by a burst of laughter, to be snapped up again by his mother, and again thrust under the quilt with an extra whipping, but too gentle to make any very deep impression. Again the same scene was renewed, to my great amusement, certainly six or seven times during an hour or two each evening. A little crying, it is true, always accompanied it; but the perseverance, and the calm good humour of the little Cupid were as remarkable as his beauty, worthy of an Albano's pencil. But pardon me! such tableaux are not exactly of your kind. Nevertheless you should have seen this!
Now for the scenery by the way. A little below St. Louis, we saw on the Mississippi, the magnificent three-decked steamer, the St. Louis, run aground in the middle of the river. We steamed past without troubling ourselves about it. It was a beautiful and sunny day. The landscape on the banks presented, for some time, nothing remarkable. Presently, however, on the Missouri bank rose up, close to the river, perpendicular cliffs, the walls of which presented the most remarkable imagery in bas-relief, sometimes, also, in high relief, of altars, urns, columns and pyramids, porticoes and statues, which it is difficult to persuade one's self are chiselled by the hand of nature, and not of art. These remarkable rocky walls occur at various places, but detached, and only along the Missouri shore.
Thus, still proceeding southward down the Mississippi, we arrived at the embouchure of the Ohio. The scenery here is expansive and flat. The clear blue Ohio, “the beautiful river,” flows calmly and confidingly into the turbid Mississippi-Missouri, as the serene soul of one friend into the disquieted mind of another. The banks of both rivers are overgrown with brushwood. The whole region has a mild and cheerful appearance. A little deserted and desolate settlement lay, with its ruinous houses, upon the point between the two rivers. It was called Cairo. It was intended for a great trading town; but had been found so unhealthy that, after several unsuccessful attempts, it had been finally abandoned.
The Asia turned her course majestically eastward, from the Mississippi up the Ohio, between the two States of Ohio and Kentucky. The Ohio river is considerably smaller than the Mississippi, the shores are higher, and more wood-covered. The river is clear and beautiful. One sees first along the banks trees being felled, and log-huts; then come farms, and lastly, beautiful country-houses upon the hills, which increase in height and in degree of cultivation. The trees become tall and beautiful on each side the river, and in their leafy branches may be observed green knots and clusters which, in the distance, look not unlike birds' nests. These are mistletoe, which here grows luxuriantly. The views now expand, the trees become more scattered, the hills retire backwards, and upon the shore of the beautiful Ohio rises, with glittering church-spires, and surrounded by vineyards and ornamental villas, with a background of a semicircle of two hills, a large city; it is Cincinnati, the Queen of the West.
Sixty years since this city was not in existence, its first founder was living here only two years since. Now it has one hundred and twenty thousand inhabitants. That one may call growth.
Before I leave the Asia, I must cast a parting glance at Mehala, the good old negro woman, the stewardess of the vessel. She was one of those good-tempered, excellent creatures, of whom one cannot help growing fond, and endowed with a great deal of that tact and prudence which belong to the negro-race. She had had fourteen children, but had lost them all by death and slave-dealing. She knew, only for a certainty, where three of them were to be found, and that was at a great distance. She spoke sorrowfully, but without bitterness. She now belonged to a German family, who had, at her own desire, hired her out for service on the vessel, “Because,” she said, “they did not understand how to treat their servants.” All her aim and endeavour was to save sufficient to purchase her own freedom; then she could, she knew, go to her married daughter in Kentucky; and there maintain herself by washing. She had already saved a little sum. On taking leave, the excellent old woman embraced me so cordially that it did my very heart good. As a contrast to this woman was another the laundress on board, as cross and ill-tempered as the other was amiable.
The Asia had not long reached Cincinnati when a mild pale gentleman came on board and conveyed me in a carriage to the new home whither I had been invited This was the clergyman, friend, and guest of the family, and of whom I have already spoken. When the door of the house opened I was met by a young-middle-aged lady, whose charming countenance bore such a speaking impression of goodness and benevolence that I felt myself involuntarily attracted to her, and glad to be in her house; and the attraction and the pleasure have increased ever since.
I have heard Cincinnati variously called “The Queen of the West,” “The City of Roses,” and “The City of Hogs.” It deserves all three names. It is a handsome, nay, a magnificent city, with the most beautiful situation among vineyard-hills, green heights adorned with beautiful villas, and that beautiful river, Ohio, with its rich life and its clear water. It has, in the time of roses, it is said, really an exuberant splendour from these flowers, and I see roses still shining forth pleasantly among the evergreen arbor vitæ on the terraces, before the beautiful houses. But the predominant character at this moment, is as “the city of hogs.” This is, namely, the season when the great droves of these respectable four-footed citizens come from the western farms and villages to Cincinnati, there to be slaughtered in a large establishment solely appropriated to this purpose, after which they are salted and sent to the eastern and southern States. I have many times met in the streets whole regiments of swine, before which I made a hasty retreat, partly because they entirely fill up the whole street, partly because their stench fills the air and poisons it. I called them respectable (aktnings-vârd), because I in every way guard (akta) myself against them. I have a salutary abhorrence of the whole of their race in this country, and if I could but impart the same to many others, then would there be many healthier and happier people than there are. I now see that Moses was a much wiser man and legislator than I imagined. If he could come back, be made President of the United States, and prohibit the eating of swine's-flesh, and enforce the prohibition and drive all swine out of the country, then would the Union be saved from the greatest evil after civil war, fromDyspepsia!
But among so much that is beautiful and so much that is good, I ought not any longer to detain myself with pigs!
I have had some beautiful rambles here and there in the neighbourhood, and have made many interesting acquaintance also out of the house. Foremost among these must I mention the Phrenologist, Dr. Buchanan, an intellectual, eccentric little man, full of life and human love, who greatly interests me by his personal character and by the large views which he takes in his Neurology and Analysis of the human brain, “of the immense possibilities of man,” allowing at the same time wide scope to the freedom of the human will. Buchanan is, in a high degree, a spiritualist, and he regards spiritual powers too as the most potent agents of all formation; regards the immaterial life as the determiner of the material. Thus he considers the will in man as determining the inner being, as influencing the development of the ductile brain, for good or for evil, and the ductile brain as operating upon, elevating or depressing the skull.
Farther, I am cheered in a high degree by the views current here, on the subject of Slavery and its possible eradication, and as regards the future of the negroes, as well as of Africa, through its colonisation by Christian negroes from America, settled on the coast of Africa, and by the products of free labour in a wholly tropical climate being superior to that of slave-labour in a half-tropical climate.
I read, in the African Repository, a periodical which is published here by Mr. D. Christy, agent of the Colonisation Society in Ohio, some interesting papers on the subject of Liberia and Sierra Leone, and the increase of the colonies on the coast of Africa. The State of Ohio has lately taken a decided step by the purchase of a large district of country on the African coast, called Gallinas, several hundred miles in extent, and where the slave-trade was hitherto greatly carried on. Some wealthy men in Cincinnati have appropriated several thousands of dollars to this purpose; and, in consequence of this circumstance, and the new country being colonised by free negroes from Ohio—it is called Ohio in Africa. An essential barrier has thus been placed against the continuance of the slave-trade on the African coast.
A States-Convention is at the present moment being held here, which consists of one hundred and eight citizens, for the alteration, or to speak more correctly, for the development of the Constitution of the State, which is now probably fifty years old. I was present yesterday at one of the sittings, and shook hands with a considerable number of the wise fathers, most of whom are handsome, middle-aged men, with open countenances, and broad, clever foreheads. A great portion of the members are lawyers; there are however several farmers, merchants, and men of different trades. Two only of the members were unmarried men. The object which the Convention has in view is to extend the power of the people, as for example, in the appointment of judges and other official persons.
There are besides other interesting objects which are a refreshment to my inmost being. There is really in Ohio a movement of central life as well in thought as in action, which I have not met with in any other State of America. And, however it may be, I seem to be living here in the very centre of the New World.
In short, my little heart, I live. I embrace in my spirit the present and the future, in various developments, in various parts of the earth, near and afar; and I feel that much is developing itself within my own soul, which formerly lay bound, or merely lived with a half-existence; and I thank God!
December.—I have now resided nearly three weeks in this good home, with these kind and good S.'s, and seen a good deal of the people and of the city, as well as of the beautiful region around this place. The country is of the most beautiful and of the most attractive character that any one can imagine; lovely villas are scattered over the fertile hills, and commanding the most glorious views over the river and the whole country. The people, yes—they are even here of all sorts, the good and the bad, the agreeable and the disagreeable; some most amiable, with whom one would wish to remain long, to remain always, and others whom one would wish—where the pepper grows. Yet the greater number whom I have seen, belong to the good and charming, and I have enjoyed much happiness with them.
I saw three young brides at a bridal party the other day, all of them very handsome, one remarkably so, for a beautiful soul beamed in her countenance. I said to her with my whole heart, “God bless you!” I saw on this occasion many beautiful toilettes, and many beautiful faces. The American ladies dress well and with good taste. And here indeed one seems to meet nothing but handsome faces, scarcely a countenance which may be called ugly. Yet, nevertheless, I think it would be a refreshment to see such a one, if in it I found that beauty which seems to me generally, not always, to be deficient in these truly lovely human roses, and which I may compare to the dewy rose-bud in its morning hour. There is a deficiency of shadow, of repose, of the mystery of being, of that nameless, innermost depth, which attracts the mind with a silent power in the consciousness of hidden and noble treasure. There is a deficiency of that quiet grace of being, which in itself alone is beauty. Am I unjust? Is it the glitter of the drawing-room and the chandelier which bewilders me?
One observation I considered as well founded. Artifice and vanity exercise no less power over our sex in this country than they do in the great cities of Europe, and far more than in our good Sweden. Some proofs of this fact have almost confounded me. The luxurious habits and passion for pleasure of young married ladies have not unfrequently driven their husbands to despair and to drunkenness. I once heard a young and handsome lady say, “I think that ladies, after they are married, are too little among gentlemen. When I go to a ball I always make it a duty to forget my children.”
A scandalous law-suit is now pending here between a young couple who have been married a few years. It was a most magnificent wedding; the establishment, furniture, everything was as expensive and splendid as possible. It was all silk, and velvet, and jewels. Soon, however, discord arose between the married pair, in consequence, it is said, of the young wife's obstinacy in rouging against the wish of her husband. Her vain and foolish mother appears to have taken the side of the daughter against the husband, and now the two are parted, and a correspondence is published which redounds to the honour of none of the family.
On the other hand, the besetting sins of the men in the Great West, are gambling and drunkenness; all may be summed up in that style of living which is called recklessness.
“For what do people marry here in the West ; for love or for money?” inquired I of an elderly, clever, and intellectual gentleman, one of my friends.
“For money,” replied he, shortly.
His wife objected to that severe judgment; but he would not retract it, and she was obliged to concede that money had a great influence, after all, in the decision of a match.
That marriages, in spite of this, should often turn out happy, must be attributed to our Lord's mercy, and to the firm, moral principles which are instilled into this generation by nature and education, and supported by the influence of general moral opinion. Nor is it other than natural, that under such circumstances many marriages are also unhappy, and that the number of divorces is large in a portion of the American States where the law does not lay any very momentous impediment in the way. The frequency of divorce here may also be caused by the circumstance of the Americans having less patience than other people with imperfection, and preferring to cut the Gordian knot asunder, rather than to labour through a course of years in unloosening it. “Life is short!” say they.
Yet in the meantime have I nowhere seen more perfectly happy marriages than in America; but these were not entered into for the sake of money.
“What is there better here in the Western States than in those of the East, that makes you prefer living here?” inquired I from my excellent hostess.
“More freedom and less prejudice,” replied she; “more regard to the man than to his dress and his external circumstances; a freer scope for thought and enterprise, and more leisure for social life.”
And yet, I seem to have remarked, that shortness of temper, impatience, misunderstandings, and envyings, all the petty feuds of social life, take up their quarters here no less than in other great cities of the New World. The good seed and the tares spring up together everywhere in the fields of the earth, whether in the West, or whether in the East.
The climate of Cincinnati is not good; the air is keen, and the rapid alternations in the weather, may have some effect in producing that irritability of temperament which I seem to observe.
It has been a pleasure to me whilst here to attend various lectures, and foremost among them I must mention Dr. Buchanan's animated and really intellectual extempore address in the Medical College, on the activity of the brain and its relationship to human free-will. Another also on Lord Bacon of Verulam by the young Unitarian minister, Mr. Livermore, which was interesting from its impartiality and its profound psychological glance. A third was by a planter and quondam slaveholder, Mr. Cassius M. Clay, of Kentucky, who emancipated the slaves upon his plantation, and now, having come forward as the opponent of slavery, a hostile feeling has been excited against him in the Slave States. Hence it happened that during a public lecture given by him on the slavery question a year ago at a city of Kentucky (Louisville I believe), he was attacked by a ferocious man and his adherents, who beat and cut him dreadfully, whilst he, unprepared for such an onslaught, had no weapon wherewith to defend himself. Already severely wounded by many bowie-knives, he would probably have perished, had not his little son of thirteen bravely thrust his way through the crowd to his father, and given him a bowie-knife for his defence. Clay could now stand on the defensive, and he did that with so much effect that he gave his opponent his death-wound. He himself lay sick of the wounds which he had received for nearly twelve months, and this was now the first time after his recovery that he had given a public lecture, but not now in Kentucky, in Ohio.
The large hall in which he was to speak was full to overflowing. I had already become acquainted with him at the bridal party, and he had since then paid me a visit, and I was pleased with his manly, determined demeanour, and the deep glance in his dark blue eye, as well as by the view he took of the necessarily rude and low condition of a State in which slavery is a “domestic institution;” of the corrupting influence of slavery on the morals and tone of mind, and as a consequence thereof the dominion of the pistol and the bowie-knife. His belief was that negro-slaves might and ought to be transformed into free-labourers. I inquired from him how his own slaves conducted themselves as free men.
“Excellently!” replied he. “But there were not many of them, and they had by degrees been prepared for freedom.”
He inveighed boldly and earnestly in his speech this evening against an institution which loosened all family-bonds and degraded women, and he uttered a violent tirade against the new Fugitive Slave Bill, as well as against Daniel Webster, who had supported it. He recalled to his recollection a painting, which he had seen as a child, in which the fires of purgatory were represented. There might be seen various poor sinners who were endeavouring to come forth from the devouring flames, but a superintendant devil stood by with horns and claws, and a huge hay-fork in his hand, ever ready to seize each poor soul about to escape from the fire, to take him on the prongs of his fork and hurl him back again. This superintendant devil he recognised as Daniel Webster.
That was the brilliant point in the speech, which throughout was controversial, and which passed over from the Slave Bill and Webster, to the Bible and Christianity. The clever combatant was not successful on this ground, and proved himself to be a poor theologian, inasmuch as he mistook Christianity for that contracted church which adhered to dogmas, and measured the doctrines; of the Bible according to their abuse or their irrational misapplication. But this abuse of Scripture is so common among the defenders of slavery, even among the clergy, that I am not surprised at many persons being provoked by it, and being led to suspect the wells of truth, from which men will draw up lies.
The numerous assembly, however, had a keen sense, they perceived the error and preserved silence. The speaker, who had been received with demonstrations of great enthusiasm, found his audience much cooled at the close.
Ohio is, as you know, a free State, and exactly on the opposite side of the beautiful river which bears its name, lies the Slave State of Kentucky, and slaves flying across the river to reach a free shore were heard of formerly as an every-day occurrence. Now such a flight avails nothing to the poor slaves. They are pursued and recaptured as well in a free as in a Slave State.
I have heard histories of the flight of slaves which are full of the most intense interest, and I cannot conceive why these incidents do not become the subjects of romances and novels in the literature of this country. I know no subject which could furnish opportunities for more heart-rending or more picturesque descriptions and scenes. The slaves, for example, who fly “the way of the North Star,” as it is called, who know no other road to liberty than the road towards the north, who wander on by night when it shines, and conceal themselves by day in the deep forests, where sometimes gentle Friends (Quakers) carry out food to them, without which they would probably perish; this journey with its dangers and its anticipations, its natural scenery, and its nocturnal guiding star;—what subjects are here for the pen of genius! Add to this the converse, the agony or the joy of warm, loving, suffering human hearts—in short, here are subjects of a higher romantic interest than are found in Chateaubriand's “Attala.” I cannot understand how, in particular, noble-minded American women, American mothers who have hearts and genius, do not take up the subject, and treat it with a power which should pierce through bone and marrow, should reduce all the prudential maxims of statesmen to dust and ashes, and create a revolution even in the old widely-praised constitution itself. It is the right of the woman; it is the right of the mother, which suffers most severely through slavery. And if the heart of the woman and the mother would throb warmly and strongly with maternal life's blood, I am convinced that the earth, the spiritual earth of the United States, must quake thereby and overthrow slavery!
Often when I have heard the adventures of fugitive slaves, their successful escape or their destruction, and have thought of the scenery of America, and of those occurrences which naturally suggest themselves on “the way of the North Star,” I have had a wish and a longing desire to write the history of a fugitive pair, so as it seems to me, it ought to be written, and I have been inclined to collect materials for that purpose. And if I lived by this river, and amid these scenes, I know for what object I should then live. But as it is I am deficient in local knowledge. I am not sufficiently acquainted with the particular detail of circumstances which would be indispensable for such a delineation, which ought to be true, and take a strong hold upon the reader. That office belongs to others beside myself. I will hope for and expect—the American mother.
Ohio is called “the Buck-eye State,” from the brown fruit of a kind of chesnut called the buck-eye, which is very general throughout the State. The State is said to possess a fertile soil, good for grain and the rearing of cattle, and pastorally beautiful scenery, although not of a magnificent character. Both this State and Kentucky are renowned for their fine trees. I regret that the season of the year does not permit of my seeing more of their beauty and of the country; of that rich country which could maintain eight or ten millions of inhabitants beyond its present number.
All within doors is good, peaceful, and charming. A new guest, a friend of the family, has enlivened the social circle for the last few days. He is a Mr. D., from New England, but not at all a Yankee in disposition; on the contrary, he seems quite refined, very dapper, and highly perfumed, as if he had just stepped out of Madame de Sevigné's drawing-room circle into ours. He interests himself principally in social life and literature, in his friends and acquaintance, in agreeable objects and the pleasures of the hour; he is an amateur of handsome ladies, bon-mots, and bonne chère; is acquainted with the minutest niceties of Shakespeare; and is able to see great things in a little billet of four lines written by a lady's hand; for the rest, he is an honourable man, a devoted friend, a good companion, and one who talks well on every-day subjects.
He has given a new turn to our observations of the great West, regarding it from a mythological point of view, and as a new Jothunhem with Thor and Loke, the Hrimthursar and Giants. And the comparisons which he makes between the Scandinavian Jothunhem, its heroes and their adventures, which he reads from a translation of Sturleson's Edda, by the poet Longfellow, and that of the New World's now existing Jothunhem and its giants, furnish occasion for many amusing narratives and relations. Thus the extreme West becomes the new Utgard, full of monsters and witches; the mammoth grotto is the glove of Skirnin; the divine hog, Schrimmer, lives here a thousandfold, and the achievements of Thor and Starkodder are renewed in those of the giants of the giant-river and the states of the Mississippi. Of these we have a great number of anecdotes, which season our meals, and our host, Mr. S., (whom Mr. D. and I call “the good Jothun,” and who seems to like the title very well), contributes many a racy and amusing addition to this mythology of the West. See here two specimens.
“A man, one of the men of the West, was standing on the shore of the Mississippi, when a steamer blew up in the air, on which he exclaimed, ‘By G—! the Americans are a great people!’ ” A common exclamation in the great West on every occasion.
“Another man, a Viking on the Mississippi, struck his boat upon a snag in the river, and as he himself hung upon this, he exclaimed, while his boat was dashed to pieces—
| ‘ | Hail, Columbia, happy land! |
| If I'm not lost, I'll be dd!’ ” |
“Another man, a passenger in one of the Mississippi steamers, lately got into a quarrel with another passenger. They went upon the upper deck and exchanged a few shots, and then came down again as if they had only been playing at ball. One of these gentlemen looked rather pale and went into his cabin, but came out morning, noon, and evening, regularly to his meals for two days; on the third, however, he was found dead in his bed, with five bullets in his body.”
One must confess that this was taking the matter coolly. A certain humorous exaggeration seems to be characteristic of the inhabitants of the West, as well in their combatant disposition as in expression. Kentucky is particularly accused of this, and gives occasion for many amusing stories. Thus it is told of a Kentucky man, that he boasted of the fertility of the soil of Kentucky in the following words—“If we manure well, and sow corn (maize), we shall get about one hundred and fifty grains for each one; if we sow without manure, we get one hundred; and if we neither manure nor sow, we get about fifty.”
The Jothun histories belong now to our daily bread, and new ones come up every day. With Mr. S., the pale minister, I do not, however, talk about such things, but, on the contrary, of theology and Swedenborgology. We dispute a little, but I find so much to learn from the crystaline truth and beauty of his soul, that I have more pleasure in listening to its quiet expression than in maintaining my own arguments. He is one of the quiet in the land, whose lives are their best teaching. He still sorrows deeply for his departed wife.
“People do not know how sufficiently to value the blessings of matrimony,” said he to me on one occasion. “We do not live in marriage up to the height of that happiness and that life, which we nevertheless hold in our own hand.”
Miss Harriet, the eldest sister of Mrs. S., an excellent, stout, grave, elderly lady, near upon sixty, does not make her appearance till dinner, and but very seldom in the drawing-room. On the contrary, I often found that she had some employment in my room, in my chest of drawers, and about my wash-stand, and that it was done stealthily, which appeared to me a little extraordinary, until I put in connection with it another extraordinary thing, and thus by means of the latter was able to explain the former. I discovered, namely, in my drawers, that a collar or a pair of muslin sleeves which I had laid aside because they had become somewhat too grey for wear, had re-assumed, by some inexplicable means, their pure white colour, and lay there fresh washed and ironed as if of themselves. In the same way I found that the old collar had been mended, and still more, a new collar exhibited itself trimmed with real lace, and a new pair of muslin sleeves which had never been there before, but which were exactly of the kind that I wore,—and for all that. Miss Harriet, when I met her, looked as grave as ever, and just as if she would say that she never concerned herself with other people's affairs, and wished that neither would others trouble themselves about hers. It was some time before I, in real earnest, began to suspect that Miss Harriet had taken upon herself the charge of the getting up and repairing of my fine linen, and supplying such new as I seemed to stand in need of. And when at length I charged her with it, she tried to look a little cross, but that good, roguish smile betrayed her; and the good, kind, sisterly soul has since then not been able to keep me at a distance by her somewhat harsh voice, and grave manner. But that this voice never spoke other than in truth, and that under that apparently cold demeanour there dwelt a good, honest heart, a clear and sound understanding, a somewhat jocose and excellent temper and powers of conversation—all this I discovered by degrees, although I had been assured by Mr. H.
And who is Mr. H.? Mr. Lerner H. is one of the gentleman friends of the house, a man whom I would very gladly have for a friend. More of him you will probably know hereafter, as we are to be fellow-travellers to New Orleans.
Miss V., the second and younger friend and inmate of the family, is so silent and quiet, and it is merely from the lofty, intellectual forehead, and the repose of the whole noble figure, that one is led to suppose her to be the possessor of more than ordinary talent. True, however it is, that now and then an observation is made, or some play of words is quietly and carelessly uttered, which makes one turn one's head, at once amused and surprised, towards the unpretending Miss V., because one seldom hears anywhere anything so good as what she has said.
Thus to-day, at dinner, when they were talking of the excitement which Jenny Lind had produced in the United States, somebody said that they had seen an announcement offering “Jenny-Lind herrings” for sale, and Miss V. immediately remarked that it was a selfish idea. And when we began to laugh, and some one said—“Oh, Miss V., do you make such puns?” our good Jothun returned, à la Kentuckian, “Yes, certainly, yes, certainly, she does nothing else. She it is who furnishes all our newspapers with puns.”
But she does other things also for the pleasure of the family, and among these is the manipulation of delicate sponge-cake, the best cake which is made in this country, and of which I have here an abundance, as a reminder of the giant-character of the great West.
You thus may see a little of our every-day life; but the pearl of all to me in social life and conversation is, my charming, sensible, and kind hostess.
I have also here the pleasure of frequently hearing pieces by Beethoven played by a young girl. Miss K. G., one of the most intimate friends of the family; and played with so much fidelity, with such an inward comprehension, that not a tone nor intention of the great master is lost. This is a source to me of the greatest enjoyment. This young lady has in her appearance a great deal of that inward, beaming beauty, which I value beyond the mere exterior beauty, which is more common in the youthful countenances of this country. At my request she has carefully studied Beethoven's second adagio in the fourth symphony which so much charmed me at Boston. Among the people who have given me pleasure here, I must mention a young poetess, Mrs. L., handsome, highly-gifted, and amiable. It is a real musical delight to hear her read poetry.
Many Swedes are resident at this place, and among them several who, after having been unsuccessful in the Old World, have succeeded in the New, and are now in comfortable circumstances. One of these has made his fortune by exhibiting “Hell,” a youthful production of the American sculptor, Hiram Powers, who was born in Cincinnati, worked here at a watchmaker's, and here commenced various works of art. Among these was a mechanical, moving representation of Hell. The Swede purchased it, set it up in a kind of museum, invited people to come and see how things went on in Hell, passed some violent electric shocks among them, accompanied by thunder and lightning, and is now a rich man, with wife, children, and country-house, all acquired by his representation of Hell!
There are some American homes in Cincinnati into which I will introduce you. First to the home where a young widowed mother lives for the education and development of her five beautiful little boys into good Christians and fellow citizens; then to the home where married couples without children make life rich to one another through kindness and intelligence, dispelling ennui from their fireside, and causing sickness to become a means of deeper union between heart and heart, between heaven and earth. This is in particular a home where I know you would feel as I did; for it is beautiful to see people live well, but still more beautiful, and still more rare to see them die so. And in this home there is one dying; quite a young girl, lovely as a rose-bud, and with such a fresh rose-tint on her cheek so that no stranger could believe that death was at her heart. But she must die, and her mother knows it too. She suffers from a fatal disease of the heart; and the heart, which is becoming too large for the narrow chest, will cease to beat in a few weeks. Both mother and daughter know this, and prepare themselves, during the days and nights of suffering which they spend together, for their approaching separation, and this with heavenly light and tranquillity. They speak of it to each other, as of something beautiful for the younger one, and she prepares herself for the companionship of angels, by becoming beneath the cross of suffering more patient, more affectionate to all; more like an angel still. There is nothing gloomy in this sick room; friends come thither with presents and with love, still more to gladden the young girl whilst she lingers on the brink of the grave, and to obtain from her, a word or a glance from that heaven with which she is already in communion.
This serenity as regards death, and this preparation for its approach, are of more general occurrence among the people of England and North America than in any other country that I am acquainted with. People there regard it as one of their human privileges that, as it must occur to become acquainted with its state, and their own pilgrimage of death; to approach the hour of their change with an open glance and a vigilant mind, and, with a full consciousness of the importance of their transit, to prepare themselves for it.
December 16th.—A day of supreme life from a great number of living interests and thoughts. Thoughts regarding the human brain, and the central point of view in which man stands with regard to the whole universe; glimpses of pre-vision from this sun and point of sight through an infinite expanse into the realms of all life, are predominant in my soul. Shall I ever be in full possession of myself, ever fully possess the world of thought which flashes through my soul?
I cannot write much more to you to-day, because I must write many letters, and above all one to Böklin, which I shall inclose in this, and which you can read if you so incline. It will complete various things in my letter to you. Spite of all the interests which detain me here, and all the charms of my home, I long to proceed southward. I am afraid of the winter in the keen air of Cincinnati, and of the American mode of heating rooms, which is horrible. It is unquestionably the cause of much of that disease which seems more and more on the increase among the class of people who live most comfortably and most within doors. I long also to reach the south before Christmas, that I may, if possible, have an opportunity of seeing those dances and festivities which I have heard are common among the negroes of the plantations at Christmas. I have heard much said about the happiness of the negroes in America, of their songs and dances, and I wish therefore for once to see this happiness and these festivals. In South Carolina and Georgia the preachers have done away with dancing and the singing of songs. In Louisiana there is no preaching to the slaves; perhaps they may there sing and dance.
17th.—A large and excellent steamer leaves this evening for New Orleans, and with it I shall proceed thither with my cavalier, Mr. Lerner H.
I must still say a few words to you about two very pleasant parties which have been given by my friends. My objection to small familiar evening parties in America is that they occupy themselves so little by reading aloud, or by any other means of drawing the small circle towards one common point of interest.
In large parties, however, many of the elements are met with which make social intercourse perfect, among which may be reckoned as foremost, that the two sexes are properly intermingled. One never sees the gentlemen here all crowding into one room, and the ladies into another, or the former in one corner of the drawing-room and the latter in another, just as if they were afraid of each other. The gentlemen who come into society—and they seem very fond of drawing-room society in an evening—consider it as a duty, and as it seems to me often also a pleasure, to entertain the ladies, and this evident good will on their part awakes in them, not a greater desire perhaps, but certainly a greater power of being agreeable and entertaining, gives them more ability to impart to men of good taste and noble mind, something much better than cigar smoke and punch. A gentleman will commonly occupy himself for a long time, frequently the whole evening, with one lady. People sit on lounges or on small sofas of all sorts, in pairs conversing together; or the gentleman gives the lady his arm, and they take a promenade through the room. Sometimes two ladies will sit conversing together for a long time; but the rule is for the two who associate together to be man and woman. Nor is it always the handsomest nor the most elegant lady who wins the most attention. I have seen Mr. Lerner H., a young and very agreeable man, occupy himself for whole hours in animated conversation with Miss Harriet. True it is that he has a great esteem for her, and in this he shows his good taste. I do not know that I have ever seen card-playing in any parties, large or small, in this country.
I shall always remember with feelings of affection some young girls with whom I have lately become acquainted, one among whom has lately met with a bitter trial; but, instead of allowing it to embitter her own heart, it has only the more caused it to expand with sympathy towards all who suffer. God's peace rest upon that young girl! She would become very dear to me. Some sisters also there were, who in pleasure and in pain live together as sisters seldom do live. And that K. G., with her beaming soul and her music, she will always remain near my heart! But now I must proceed on my journey, and for this I must get ready.
“Belle Key,” the steamer by which I shall travel, so called from the beautiful daughter of its proprietor, a belle of Louisville, is a sort of giant vessel, which, laded with every kind of product of the great West, goes as a Christmas-envoy to New Orleans.
It is now cold at Cincinnati: the Queen of the West rains down soot and ashes, so that one becomes quite grimy. I long to be with that great Christmas-beast once more on the Mississippi.
P.S.—It is said that there is especially fine wooing in the great West; a young girl has at least three or four suitors to choose from. Certainly, the number of men considerably predominates over that of women. In the Eastern States it seems to me that the women are in excess. The men go out thence into the West on the search for occupation and wealth. The preponderance of men over women increases the farther you advance westward. It was said in Cincinnati, that at a ball at San Francisco there were fifty gentlemen for one lady. It is also said that in the gold district, where there are great numbers of men and no women, that they hung up in some kind of museum a lady's dress, which was contemplated as a sort of fabulous thing. But I suspect that this belongs to the mythological legends of the great West.
In the same category may be placed that of the Garden of Eden near Cincinnati, which I am invited to visit. It is said to be a large vineyard. The beauty of the views from the heights of the Ohio may justify the name.
- ↑ Such is the name given to occasional speeches which are delivered with the intention of agitating for or advancing any object, by men who travel about for that purpose, and assemble an audience here and there, often in the fields or the woods, when they mount a tree-stump or any other improvised platform, and thence address the people, the more vehemently the better. Short but highly seasoned speeches, which go at once to the point in question, have the greatest success. Stump-speeches and stump-orators belong to the characteristic scenes of the great West.