VIRGINIA--THE HOTELS--THE SOUTH--I WILL KILL A RAILWAY CONDUCTOR
BEFORE I LEAVE AMERICA--PHILADELPHIA--IMPRESSIONS OF THE OLD CITY.
_Petersburg, Va., March 3._
Left New York last night and arrived here at noon. No change in the
scenery. The same burnt-up fields, the same placards all over the land.
The roofs of houses, the trees in the forests, the fences in the fields,
all announce to the world the magic properties of castor oil, aperients,
and liver pills.
[Illustration: MY SUPPER.]
A little village inn in the bottom of old Brittany is a palace of
comfort compared to the best hotel of a Virginia town. I feel wretched.
My bedroom is so dirty that I shall not dare to undress to-night. I have
just had lunch: a piece of tough dried-up beef, custard pie, and a glass
of filthy water, the whole served by an old negro on an old, ragged,
dirty table-cloth.
Petersburg, which awakes so many souvenirs of the War of Secession, is a
pretty town scattered with beautiful villas. It strikes one as a
provincial town. To me, coming from the busy North, it looks asleep. The
South has not yet recovered from its disasters of thirty years ago. That
is what struck me most, when, two years ago, I went through Virginia,
Carolina, and Georgia.
Now and then American eccentricity reveals itself. I have just seen a
church built on the model of a Greek temple, and surmounted with a
pointed spire lately added. Just imagine to yourself Julius Caesar with
his toga and buskin on, and having a chimney-top hat on his head.
The streets seemed deserted, dead.
To my surprise, the Opera House was crowded to-night. The audience was
fashionable and appreciative, but very cool, almost as cool as in
Connecticut and Maine.
Heaven be praised! a gentleman invited me to have supper at a club after
the lecture.
* * * * *
_March 4._
I am sore all over. I spent the night on the bed, outside, in my day
clothes, and am bruised all over. I have pains in my gums too. Oh, that
piece of beef yesterday! I am off to Philadelphia. My bill at the hotel
amounts to $1.50. Never did I pay so much through the nose for what I
had through the mouth.
* * * * *
_Philadelphia, March 4._
Before I return to Europe I will kill a railway conductor.
[Illustration: "IMAGINE JULIUS CAESAR WITH A BIG HAT."]
From Petersburg to Richmond I was the only occupant of the parlor car.
It was bitterly cold. The conductor of the train came in the smoke-room,
and took a seat. I suppose it was his right, although I doubt it, for he
was not the conductor attached to the parlor car. He opened the window.
The cold, icy air fell on my legs, or (to use a more proper expression,
as I am writing in Philadelphia) on my lower limbs. I said nothing, but
rose and closed the window. The fellow frowned, rose, and opened the
window again.
"Excuse me," I said; "I thought that perhaps you had come here to look
after my comfort. If you have not I will look after it myself." And I
rose and closed the window.
"I want the window open," said the conductor, and he prepared to re-open
it, giving me a mute, impudent scowl.
I was fairly roused. Nature has gifted me with a biceps and a grip of
remarkable power. I seized the man by the collar of his coat.
"As true as I am alive," I exclaimed, "if you open this window, I will
pitch you out of it." And I prepared for war. The cur sneaked away and
made an exit compared to which a whipped hound's would be majestic.
* * * * *
I am at the Bellevue, a delightful hotel. My friend Wilson Barrett is
here, and I have come to spend the day with him. He is playing every
night to crowded houses, and after each performance he has to make a
speech. This is his third visit to Philadelphia. During the first visit,
he tells me that the audience wanted a speech after each act.
It is always interesting to compare notes with a friend who has been
over the same ground as yourself. So I was eager to hear Mr. Wilson
Barrett's impressions of his long tour in the States.
Several points we both agreed perfectly upon at once; the charming
geniality and good-fellowship of the best Americans, the brilliancy and
naturalness of the ladies, the wonderful intelligence and activity of
the people, and the wearing monotony of life on the road.
[Illustration: THE WHIPPED CONDUCTOR.]
After the scene in the train, I was interested, too, to find that the
train conductors--those mute, magnificent monarchs of the railroad--had
awakened in Mr. Barrett much the same feeling as in myself. We Europeans
are used to a form of obedience or, at least, deference from our paid
servants, and the arrogant attitude of the American wage-earner first
amazes, and then enrages us--when we have not enough humor, or
good-humor, to get some amusement out it. It is so novel to be
tyrannized over by people whom you pay to attend to your comfort! The
American keeps his temper under the process, for he is the best-humored
fellow in the world. Besides, a small squabble is no more in his line
than a small anything else. It is not worth his while. The Westerner may
pull out a pistol and shoot you if you annoy him, but neither he nor the
Eastern man will wrangle for mastery.
[Illustration: A BOSS.]
If such was not the case, do you believe for a moment that the Americans
would submit to the rule of the "Rings," the "Leaders," and the
"Bosses"?
* * * * *
I like Philadelphia, with its magnificent park, its beautiful houses
that look like homes. It is not brand new, like the rest of America.
My friend, Mr. J. M. Stoddart, editor of _Lippincott's Magazine_, has
kindly chaperoned me all the day.
I visited in detail the State House, Independence Square. These words
evoke sentiments of patriotism in the hearts of the Americans. Here was
the bell that "proclaimed liberty throughout the Colonies" so loudly
that it split. It was on the 8th of July, 1776, that the bell was rung,
as the public reading of the Declaration of Independence took place in
the State House on that day, and there were great rejoicings. John
Adams, writing to Samuel Chase on the 9th of July, said: "The bell rang
all day, and almost all night."
[Illustration: THE OLD LIBERTY BELL.]
It is recorded by one writer that, on the 4th of July, when the motion
to adopt the declaration passed the majority of the Assembly, although
not signed by all the delegates, the old bell-ringer awaited anxiously,
with trembling hope, the signing. He kept saying: "They'll never do it,
they'll never do it!" but his eyes expanded, and his grasp grew firm
when the voice of a blue-eyed youth reached his ears in shouts of
triumph as he flew up the stairs of the tower, shouting: "Ring, grandpa,
ring; they've signed!"
What a day this old "Liberty Bell" reminds you of!
There, in the Independence Hall, the delegates were gathered. Benjamin
Harrison, the ancestor of the present occupier of the White House,
seized John Hancock, upon whose head a price was set, in his arms, and
placing him in the presidential chair, said: "We will show Mother
Britain how little we care for her, by making our president a
Massachusetts man, whom she has excluded from pardon by public
proclamation," and, says Mr. Chauncey M. Depew in one of his beautiful
orations, when they were signing the Declaration, and the slender
Elbridge Gerry uttered the grim pleasantry, "We must hang together, or
surely we will hang separately," the portly Harrison responded with more
daring humor, "It will be all over with me in a moment, but you will be
kicking in the air half an hour after I am gone."
[Illustration: THE INKSTAND.]
The National Museum is the auxiliary chamber to Independence Hall, and
there you find many most interesting relics of Colonial and
Revolutionary days: the silver inkstand used in signing the famous
Declaration; Hancock's chair; the little table upon which the document
was signed, and hundreds of souvenirs piously preserved by generations
of grateful Americans.
* * * * *
It is said that Philadelphia has produced only two successful men, Mr.
Wanamaker, the great dry-goods-store man, now a member of President
Benjamin Harrison's Cabinet, and Mr. George W. Childs, proprietor of the
Philadelphia _Public Ledger_, one of the most important and successful
newspapers in the United States.
I went to Mr. Wanamaker's dry-goods-store, an establishment strongly
reminding you of the Paris _Bon Marche_, or Mr. Whiteley's warehouses in
London.
By far the most interesting visit was that which I paid to Mr. George W.
Childs in his study at the _Public Ledger's_ offices. It would require a
whole volume to describe in detail all the treasures that Mr. Childs has
accumulated: curios of all kinds, rare books, manuscripts and
autographs, portraits, china, relics from the celebrities of the world,
etc. Mr. Childs, like the Prussians during their unwelcome visit to
France in 1870, has a strong _penchant_ for clocks. Indeed his
collection is the most remarkable in existence. His study is a beautiful
_sanctum sanctorum_; it is also a museum that not only the richest lover
of art would be proud to possess, but that any nation would be too glad
to acquire, if it could be acquired; but Mr. Childs is a very wealthy
man, and he means to keep it, and, I understand, to hand it over to his
successor in the ownership of the _Public Ledger_.
Mr. George W. Childs is a man of about fifty years of age, short and
plump, with a most kind and amiable face. His munificence and
philanthropy are well known and, as I understand his character, I
believe he would not think much of my gratitude to him for the kindness
he showed me if I dwelt on them in these pages.
* * * * *
Thanks to my kind friends, every minute has been occupied visiting some
interesting place, or meeting some interesting people. I shall lecture
here next month, and shall look forward to the pleasure of being in
Philadelphia again.
[Illustration: WHEN IRELAND IS FREE.]
At the Union League Club I met Mr. Rufus E. Shapley, who kindly gave me
a copy of his clever and witty political satire, "Solid for Mulhooly,"
illustrated by Mr. Thomas Nast. I should advise any one who would
understand how Jonathan is ruled municipally, to peruse this little
book. It gives the history of Pat's rise from the Irish cabin in
Connaught to the City Hall of the large American cities.
"When one man," says Mr. Shapley, "owns and dominates four wards or
counties, he becomes a leader. Half a dozen such leaders combined
constitute what is called a Ring. When one leader is powerful enough to
bring three or four such leaders under his yoke, he becomes a Boss; and
a Boss wields a power almost as absolute, while it lasts, as that of the
Czar of Russia or the King of Zululand."
Extracts from this book would not do it justice. It should be read in
its entirety. I read it with all the more pleasure that, in "Jonathan
and His Continent," I ventured to say: "The English are always wondering
why Americans all seem to be in favor of Home Rule, and ready to back up
the cause with their dollars. Why? I will tell you. Because they are in
hopes that, when the Irish recover the possession of Ireland, they will
all go home."
A foreigner who criticises a nation is happy to see his opinions shared
by the natives.
[Illustration]