WASHINGTON--THE CITY--WILLARD'S HOTEL--THE POLITICIANS--GENERAL
BENJAMIN HARRISON, U. S. PRESIDENT--WASHINGTON
SOCIETY--BALTIMORE--PHILADELPHIA.
_Washington, April 3._
Arrived here the day before yesterday, and put up at Willard's. I prefer
this huge hotel to the other more modern houses of the capital, because
it is thoroughly American; because it is in its rotunda that every
evening the leading men of all parties and the notables of the nation
may be found; because to meet at Willard's at night is as much the
regular thing as to perform any of the official functions of office
during the day; because, to use the words of a guide, which speaks the
truth, it is pleasant to live in this historical place, in apartments
where battles have been planned and political parties have been born or
doomed to death, to become familiar with surroundings amid which
Presidents have drawn their most important papers and have chosen their
Cabinet Ministers, and where the proud beauties of a century have held
their Court.
* * * * *
On the subject of Washington hotels, I was told a good story the other
day.
[Illustration: EVENING AT WILLARD'S.]
The most fashionable hotel of this city having outgrown its space, the
proprietors sent a note to a lady, whose back yard adjoined, to say,
that, contemplating still enlarging their hotel, they would be glad to
know at what price she would sell her yard, and they would hand her the
amount without any more discussion. The lady, in equally Yankee style,
replied that she had been contemplating enlarging her back yard, and
was going to inquire what they would take for part of their hotel!
* * * * *
How beautiful this city of Washington is, with its wide avenues, its
parks, and its buildings! That Capitol, in white marble, standing on
elevated ground, against a bright blue sky, is a poem--an epic poem.
I am never tired of looking at the expanse of cloudless blue that is
almost constantly stretched overhead. The sunsets are glorious. The
poorest existence would seem bearable under such skies. I am told they
are better still further West. I fancy I should enjoy to spend some time
on a farm, deep in the country, far from the noisy, crowded streets, but
I fear I am condemned to see none but the busy haunts of Jonathan.
* * * * *
In the evening I went to what is called a colored church. The place was
packed with negroes of all shades and ages; the women, some of them very
smartly dressed, and waving scarlet fans. In a pew sat a trio truly
gorgeous. Mother, in black shiny satin, light-brown velvet mantle
covered with iridescent beads, bonnet to match. Daughter of fifteen;
costume of sky-blue satin, plush mantle, scarlet red, chinchilla fur
trimmings, white hat with feathers. Second girl, or daughter, light-blue
velvet, from top to toe, with large hat, apple-green and gold.
[Illustration: A GORGEOUS TRIO.]
Every one was intently listening to the preacher, a colored man, who
gave them, in graphic language and stentorian voice, the story of the
capture of the Jews by Cyrus, their slavery and their delivery. A low
accompaniment of "Yes!" "Hear, hear!" "Allelujah!" "Glory!" from the
hearers, showed their approbation of the discourse. From time to time,
there would be a general chuckle or laughter, and exclamations of
delight from the happy grin-lit mouths, as, for instance, when the
preacher described the supper of Belshazzar, and the appearance of the
writing on the wall, in his own droll fashion. "'Let's have a fine
supper,' said Belshazzar. 'Dere's ole Cyrus out dere, but we'll have a
good time and enjoy ourselves, and never mind him.' So he went for de
cups dat had come from de Temple of Jerusalem, and began carousin'! Dere
is Cyrus, all de while, marchin' his men up de bed ob de river. I see
him comin'! I see him!" Then he pictured the state all that wicked party
got in at the sight of the writing nobody could read, and by this time
the excitement of the congregation was tremendous. The preacher thought
this a good opportunity to point a moral. So he proceeded: "Now, drink
is a poor thing; dere's too much of it in dis here city." Here followed
a picture of certain darkies, who cut a dash with shiny hats and canes,
and frequented bars and saloons. "When folks take to drinkin', somefin's
sure to go wrong." Grins and grunts of approbation culminated in perfect
shouts of glee, as the preacher said: "Ole Belshazzar and de rest of 'em
forgot to shut de city gate, and in came Cyrus and his men."
[Illustration: THE PREACHER.]
They went nearly wild with pleasure over the story of the liberation of
the Jews, and incidental remarks on their own freeing. "Oh, let dem go,"
said their masters, when they found the game was up, "dey'll soon perish
and die out!" Here the preacher laughed loudly, and then shouted: "But
we don't die out so easy!" [Grins and chuckling.]
One old negro was very funny to watch. When something met with his
approval, he gave off a little "tchsu, tchsu!" and writhed forward and
back on his seat for a moment, apparently in intense enjoyment; then
jumped off his seat, turning round once or twice; then he would listen
intently again, as if afraid to lose a word.
[Illustration: THE OLD NEGRO.]
"I see dis, I see dat," said the preacher continually. His listeners
seemed to see it too.
* * * * *
At ten minutes to twelve yesterday morning, I called at the White House.
The President had left the library, but he was kind enough to return,
and at twelve I had the honor to spend a few minutes in the company of
General Benjamin Harrison. Two years ago I was received by Mr. Grover
Cleveland with the same courtesy and the same total absence of red tape.
The President of the United States is a man about fifty-five years old;
short, exceedingly neat, and even _recherche_ in his appearance. The
hair and beard are white, the eyes small and very keen. The face is
severe, but lights up with a most gentle and kind smile.
General Harrison is a popular president; but the souvenir of Mrs.
Cleveland is still haunting the minds of the Washingtonians. They will
never forget the most beautiful lady who ever did the honors of the
White House, and most of them look forward to the possibility of her
returning to Washington in March, 1893.
* * * * *
Washington society moves in circles and sets. The wife of the President
and the wives and daughters of the Cabinet Ministers form the first
set--Olympus, as it were. The second set is composed of the ladies
belonging to the families of the Judges of the Supreme Court! The
Senators come next. The Army circle comes fourth. The House of
Representatives supplies the last set. Each circle, a Washington friend
tells me, is controlled by rigid laws of etiquette. Senators' wives
consider themselves much superior to the wives of Congressmen, and the
Judges' wives consider themselves much above those of the Senators. But,
as a rule, the great lion of Washington society is the British Minister,
especially when he happens to be a real live English lord. All look up
to him; and if a young titled English _attache_ wishes to marry the
richest heiress of the capital, all he has to do is to throw the
handkerchief, the young and the richest natives do not stand the ghost
of a chance.
* * * * *
Lectured last night, in the Congregational Church, to a large and most
fashionable audience. Senator Hoar took the chair, and introduced me in
a short, neat, gracefully worded little speech. In to-day's Washington
_Star_, I find the following remark:
The lecturer was handsomely introduced by Senator Hoar, who combines
the dignity of an Englishman, the sturdiness of a Scotchman, the
_savoir faire_ of a Frenchman, and the culture of a Bostonian.
What a strange mixture! I am trying to find where the compliment comes
in, surely not in "the _savoir faire_ of a Frenchman!"
* * * * *
Armed with a kind letter of introduction to Miss Kate Field, I called
this morning at the office of this lady, who is characterized by a
prominent journalist as "the very brainiest woman in the United States."
Unfortunately she was out of town.
I should have liked to make the personal acquaintance of this brilliant,
witty woman, who speaks, I am told, as she writes, in clear, caustic,
fearless style. My intention was to interview her a bit. A telegram was
sent to her in New York from her secretary, and her answer was wired
immediately: "Interview _him_." So, instead of interviewing Miss Kate
Field, I was interviewed, for her paper, by a young and very pretty lady
journalist.
* * * * *
_Baltimore, April 4._
I have spent the day here with some friends.
Baltimore strikes one as a quiet, solid, somewhat provincial town. It is
an eminently middle-class looking city. There is no great wealth in it,
no great activity; but, on the other hand, there is little poverty; it
is a well-to-do city _par excellence_. The famous Johns Hopkins
University is here, and I am not surprised to learn that Baltimore is a
city of culture and refinement.
A beautiful forest, a mixture of cultivated park and wilderness, about a
mile from the town, must be a source of delight to the inhabitants in
summer and during the beautiful months of September and October.
I was told several times that Baltimore was famous all over the States
for its pretty women.
They were not out to-day. And as I have not been invited to lecture in
Baltimore, I must be content with hoping to be more lucky next time.
* * * * *
_Philadelphia, April 5._
After my lecture in Association Hall to-night, I will return to New York
to spend Easter Sunday with my friends. Next Monday off again to the
West, to Cincinnati again, to Chicago again, and as far as Madison, the
State city of Wisconsin.
[Illustration: A BALTIMORE WOMAN.]
By the time this tour is finished--in about three weeks--I shall have
traveled something like thirty thousand miles.
The more I think of it, the more I feel the truth of this statement,
which I made in "Jonathan and His Continent": To form an exact idea of
what a lecture tour is in America, just imagine that you lecture
to-night in London, to-morrow in Paris, then in Berlin, then in Vienna,
then in Constantinople, then in Teheran, then in Bombay, and so forth.
With this difference, that if you had to undertake the work in Europe,
at the end of a week you would be more dead than alive.
[Illustration: "THE GOOD, ATTENTIVE, POLITE CONDUCTOR OF ENGLAND."]
But here you are not caged on the railroad lines, you can circulate.
There is no fear of cold, no fear of hunger, and if the good, attentive,
polite railway conductors of England could be induced to do duty on
board the American cars, I would anytime go to America for the mere
pleasure of traveling.